by Dee Davis
"It's certainly not random." Her response came out sharper than she'd intended, and Jeremy's head popped up, his gaze meeting hers.
"I didn't mean to sound so condemning. And I certainly didn't mean to make light of my colleagues' deaths. It's just so...so inconceivable. I mean, how does something like this disintegrate into something so squalid?"
"You know as well as I do that politics isn't a by-the-rules game. When the stakes are this high, sometimes it can seem like there's no other way."
"And so people die." Again he stared down into his glass, and Madison wondered if he'd had more than a little nip. She shot a glance at the decanter and saw that it was more than three-quarters empty.
He noticed her scrutiny and smiled. "It's not as bad as all that. It was already half-empty. And if I'm flushed, it's only because it was stuffy in here. See, I even opened a window." He waved a hand toward the large casement windows flanking the street, one of them cracked to let in the breeze.
"It's just that between the tensions of the accord, and everything you've uncovered, I've been a little tense. And this—" he held up his glass, the brandy flickering in the firelight "—helps take the edge off, if you know what I mean." He sat back, as if waiting for a verdict.
Madison sighed. "I wasn't being judgmental, honestly. Just feeling all over again as if I'm intruding." She leaned forward to put her brandy on the coffee table. "Why don't I just call you in the morning?"
"You'll do nothing of the sort. Drinking alone is a dangerous proposition. Besides, you look like you could use a break." His eyes darkened with concern, and Madison realized with a start that he really did care about her.
She smiled, and reclaimed her drink, settling back against the sofa again. "I'm fine, really. Just feeling the same frustration you are."
"Well two's company." There was a trace of melancholy in his voice and Madison realized with a start that he was lonely.
Despite his wealth and success, he was all alone.
A kindred spirit.
She fingered her glass, considering her next question. She hated to ruin the solidarity of the moment, but something he'd said yesterday had bothered her. "Are you really angry that Cullen assumed control of the consortium when Bingham died?"
Jeremy's eyes widened in surprise, then crinkled with his smile. "Good heavens, no. I was just posturing. Partially because I was angry and partially because it's good to shake Cullen up now and then. I have absolutely no desire to be chairman."
"But you're the vice-chair...." She trailed off, waiting for his answer, watching his body language for signs that he was lying.
"I like being second in command. All the glory, none of the headaches." He paused, studying her face. "But you don't want a flip answer, do you? So I'll tell you. I was concerned that something exactly like what has transpired would occur." Madison frowned, opening her mouth to respond, but Jeremy waved her off. "Not the deaths. God knows I couldn't have dreamed up something like that, but the idea that something might happen to queer the deal wasn't that big of a leap. And quite frankly, I didn't want to be the one to take the fall."
"So you let Cullen assume the risk."
"No one lets Cullen do anything, Madison. I just didn't stand in his way. And the fact remains that regardless of who is at the helm, the stakes are the same. That's why your team has got to find answers as quickly as possible."
"We're trying." Madison sighed, and stood up to walk over to the window. The wind was still blowing, ginkgo trees bending in protest, the cool draft brushing against her hair. "The current idea is that the killer may be using an alias. If we can tie the name he's been using to something tangible, we might be able to work out his real identity."
"Sounds a bit like finding a diamond at the bottom of a waterfall."
"Unfortunately that's an apt analogy." Madison smiled into the dark, her gaze held by a sense of movement in the brownstone across the way.
"Can I freshen your drink?"
She held up a hand to silence him, something out there setting off alarms in her head. She stepped closer to the window, eyes scanning the darkened building across the way. There was a flash, and instinctively Madison pivoted and dived toward him, her eyes recognizing what her ears soon confirmed.
Someone was trying to kill Jeremy.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
GABE SIGNALED for the cabdriver to pull over and got out near the corner of Sutton Place and Fifty-seventh, wondering what in hell he was doing. He'd called the operations room looking for her, only to have Harrison tell him she'd already left. Heading for Jeremy Bosner's. She probably wasn't even there anymore—if she'd even come at all.
He glanced down at his watch, realizing just how late it was. Still, he couldn't seem to stop himself, some insane compulsion to see her, to talk with her, driving him onward. Clutching the piece of paper containing Bosner's address, he crossed the street and headed for the little cluster of brownstones fronting the river.
The street was unusually dark, two of the three street lamps burned out or broken. Not something he'd have expected at this address. Usually when something happened around here, there were four or five city employees waiting in the wings to immediately right all wrongs.
Still, there was enough light to find his way, and he started up the street, then froze as a sharp hiss separated itself from the whining wind. His heart rate ratcheted up as his mind sought a logical explanation, but he'd heard the sound too many times to mistake it.
Someone had fired a gun, the silencer only partially muffling the sound.
He sprinted across the street toward the house belonging to Bosner, his imagination going into overdrive, his concern not for the man who lived there but for Madison. His heart twisted at the thought that she could be hurt, and suddenly he found himself empathizing with her father. Anything could happen in a profession like theirs.
Old memories fused themselves with the present to escalate his fear, his mind blanching at the thought of her dead, lying on Bosner's carpet, a bullet through her brain. He pushed the thought aside, not letting it find purchase. It couldn't happen again.
He simply wouldn't let it.
*****
MADISON HIT JEREMY at waist level, her forward motion sending them both sprawling backward to the floor. She shifted to cover him as a second bullet slammed through the open window, this time shattering glass.
"Jeremy? Are you all right?" The whisper sounded louder than a cannon, and she waited, heart pounding for another shot. "Jeremy?"
There was no answer, and nothing more from the window except the shush of the wind as it slid through the broken glass, setting the curtains swaying. Carefully rolling to her side, she turned so that she could see the old man, her heart twisting at the sight.
Blood stained the front of his smoking jacket, the thick fluid darkening the velvet, matting it like old fur. Coming to her knees, she reached for his neck, her fingers confirming what she already knew.
Jeremy was dead.
Pulling her gun from its holster, she moved toward the window, careful to stay below sill height. Counting to ten, and satisfied that there had been no more shots, she inched up until she was level with the bottom of the window, staring out into the night, trying to locate the shooter.
The buildings across the way were still dark, and except for a swirl of dead leaves in the wind, nothing moved. No light. No flash. No gunshot.
She estimated no more than a few minutes had passed all told, which meant the shooter might still be there. Judging from the flash, her guess was that he'd been waiting in the abandoned building, his shot clear the minute Jeremy paused in front of the window.
In her mind's eye, she saw him standing there holding out the brandy glass. Her brandy glass. Ruthlessly, she pushed all emotion away. There'd be time enough later.
Still holding the Glock ready, she moved quickly through the room and out into the foyer. The front door was closed, and on the other side she knew she'd become a target. She thought about ca
lling for backup, but knew that it would take too long. If there was any hope of apprehending Jeremy's killer, she had to move now.
She jerked open the door, staying behind it until she was certain there was no accompanying gunshot. Then, leading with the Glock, she swung out onto the stoop, keeping to the shadows, moving quickly down the steps, her gaze locked on the building across the way.
As she pulled open the gate, a shadow moved, and she swung her gun to the left, holding it carefully in her sights. For a moment nothing moved, and then suddenly the shadow stepped into the light.
"Gabriel." She released her breath, her lungs collapsing like an accordion. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I heard a shot." His dark brows were drawn together, his eyes shining almost silver in the half-light. "I thought that—"
"Jeremy Bosner's dead." She cut through whatever he'd been about to say, recognizing the emotion in his eyes, and not ready to deal with it. "Two shots through the window. It came from over there." She gestured toward the scaffolded building with her gun. "I was just going to check it out."
"You're sure you're okay?" His gaze slid from her head to her toes, leaving a burning sensation following in its wake.
"I'm fine," she assured him, fighting to keep her voice level. "We're losing time."
He nodded, his attention shifting to the building across the way. "You stay here, I'll check it out."
A surge of anger hit her broadside, and she struggled to maintain control. It was a rerun of a common story. Most men she worked with ultimately tried to protect her, it's just that somehow coming from him it hurt all the more. "I'm coming with you. You need someone on your back."
He started to argue, then apparently thought better of it. With a nod, he started across the street, gun drawn. She followed, sequestering her resentment. The building's entrance was on ground level, and Gabriel motioned her to one side as they ducked under the scaffolding, the darkness intensifying.
She turned her back to him, the Glock trained on the street, her gaze vigilant. Nothing moved except the leaves rustling in the gutter and the trees bending in the wind, but she wasn't taking any chances.
The light from Jeremy's window spilled out across the sidewalk, giving the illusion that everything was all right.
"I'm in," Gabriel called, and she turned to follow him into the hallway. Unlike Jeremy Bosner's, this brownstone had been converted into apartments, one on each floor, with the staircase connecting the common space. There were drop cloths everywhere, paint cans and tools the only ornamentation. The building was obviously deserted.
Gabriel opened a door on the right and swung inside. "Clear," he said emerging again into the hallway. Madison opened the next door following the same procedure, and they alternated until they'd checked the entire floor.
"You said the shot came from up there?" Gabriel gestured toward the ceiling with his gun.
Madison nodded, already moving for the stairs. "Just above us, the room facing the street." She forced herself to climb slowly, pausing every couple of seconds to listen. Gabriel was right behind her, his eyes and gun on the hallway below.
Sirens wailed in the background, and Madison shot him an inquiring glance as they stepped out onto the landing.
"I called as soon as I heard the shot."
She nodded, grateful suddenly to have him here, despite his antiquated notions about women on the job. There was only one door on the second floor, and it stood open, light from the street filtering through, giving a sense of movement to the shadows.
"I'm going in," she whispered, steadying her hand on her gun.
Gabriel nodded once, his weapon trained on the landing, his eyes on the stairs, keeping watch. He had her back. There was an odd comfort there. And with a deep breath, she swung into the room.
The drapes rippled in the wind as it moaned through an open window. Shadows danced on the floor and wall, but other than their ghostly presence, the room was empty.
The killer was gone.
*****
A TECH ZIPPED the body bag closed, and Madison shivered. Jeremy had deserved better. The little parlor had lost its cozy feel in wake of the forensics team, the fire gutted to embers, the overhead lights exposing fading upholstery and worn fittings.
She tipped back her head, rubbing her neck in an effort to relieve the tension radiating down her spine. It had been a long day. First the near miss at the apartment, and now again here in the brownstone.
Harrison hovered beside her, his concern written across his face. "You really ought to go home." His voice was a whisper, but it carried anyway, and Gabriel, standing beside the fireplace, frowned.
With a conscious effort, Madison straightened her back, and shook her head. "I'm fine, Harrison."
The twist of his mouth indicated that he didn't believe a word of it, but thankfully, he held his tongue.
"Would you mind walking through it with me one more time?" Nigel asked, and she turned to face him, forcing herself to focus, exhaustion warring with emotion to leave her more than a little woozy. "I just want to be sure I have it straight."
She'd already gone over it two or three times, but she understood the need to visualize, so she stood up, ignoring Harrison's hand. "We were talking. Jeremy was over there by the fire."
Gabriel continued to watch her, his eyes hooded, making it impossible to tell what he was thinking. They hadn't said anything much since the others had arrived. In fact, she got the distinct feeling he was trying to avoid her.
Not that it mattered what he was doing.
She returned her gaze to Nigel and continued her explanation. "I was over on the sofa. We talked about this morning's fiasco. I think, quite honestly, he was enjoying the excitement."
"And then you walked over to the window?" Nigel cut in.
"Yeah. Well, more to the left of it, I guess. It was open, and I was cold, so I didn't want to stand directly in front of it." She shivered at the memory, and then squared her shoulders shaking it off. "I was looking out the window, watching the wind in the trees, when I thought I saw something."
"And that's when Bosner got up?" Nigel was standing by the wing chair now, moving in an approximation of Jeremy's path. Harrison was watching him as he too tried to visualize the events leading up to Bosner's death.
"Yes," Madison said. "He offered me another drink."
There was a cough from the direction of the fireplace, and Madison shot a look at Gabriel. His expression was impassive, but something glittered in his eyes, and Madison was pretty certain she knew what it was.
Blame.
Not that the sentiment wasn't deserved. If she'd been paying attention instead of chatting over brandy, Jeremy Bosner might still be alive. It was her fault. All of it.
"Madison?" Nigel interrupted her thoughts, his gaze going from her to Gabriel and back again.
"I'm sorry." She held up a hand. "It's been a long night." Gabriel moved again, this time turning his back on her, and she pushed all thoughts of him aside, focusing instead on Nigel. "I didn't actually see him move because I was still watching out the window. I shifted front and center, so that I could see better, and that's when I saw the flash."
"The shot."
She nodded. "From there, I reacted on instinct, diving for Jeremy and pushing him to the floor. There was another shot. It's probably embedded in the wall somewhere. And then nothing."
"Forensics found it." Payton walked into the room, glancing down at the chalk lines marking the place where Jeremy had died. "Rifle cartridge. .223. Hopefully we'll get something from ballistics."
Madison nodded again, releasing another breath, trying to sort through all that had happened. Eight deaths. All of them murder. But definitely not by the same hand. Whatever was happening, the assassins were changing.
"This guy knew what he was doing." She glanced back out the window, her gaze locking on the building across the way. "And he wasn't worried about hiding his actions. He had to have known I was in the house, and that I'd co
me after him. But it didn't matter, he killed Jeremy anyway."
"You could have been killed." Gabriel pushed away from the mantel, one fist clenched against his side.
"But I wasn't." She shrugged, avoiding his gaze.
"Only because he saw me coming." He took a step toward her and then checked the movement. "You shouldn't have come here on your own."
"I did what needed to be done. It's part of my job, in case you've forgotten." She clenched her jaw, hanging on to her control by a hair. "There was no way to know that the killer would strike tonight. My only mistake was reacting one second too slowly. If I had moved faster, maybe Jeremy would still be alive." Tears threatened, and she choked them back, cursing under her breath.
"Your reactions were fine." Harrison's hand on her arm was meant as comfort, but just at the moment that's the last thing she needed. She shook him off, still glaring at Gabriel.
Their gazes met and held, and she tried to read the expression in his eyes, but whatever he was thinking, it was well masked. With a sigh, she turned her thoughts back to the situation at hand. "Whoever the guy is, he's done this before. Professionally. There's nothing emotional going on here. No sacrifice for the cause, or anger at perceived wrongs. This guy calculated his every move."
"You're saying it's different from the earlier murders." Harrison sat on the arm of the sofa, the wheels in his head obviously turning as he, too, considered the situation.
"The first ones, certainly. There's a degree of intimacy involved with injecting someone with a drug, particularly with Aston and Stewart as they were killed on home ground. It would take a certain amount of nerve, but the risk is only worth it if the killer knew them and therefore had easy access, or if he wanted them to know who he was before they died. That's a far cry from a hit."
"And that's what you think Bosner's and Patterson's murders were." It was a statement not a question, but Madison answered anyway, her gaze meeting Gabriel's.
