by Dee Davis
She quickened her pace as she walked under the canopy fronting her building, grateful when Harry, the doorman, gave the revolving door its usual spin. Gabriel was probably talking to Cullen now. She felt a moment's guilt for not being there to act as buffer, and then shook her head. The two of them were perfectly capable of dealing with each other. They'd done it before. They certainly didn't need her. She was far better off finding out what it was her father knew.
A handsome older man at the front desk waved, and she struggled for the name. Ed, maybe. He was new. She'd only met him a day or so ago.
"Ms. Harper," he greeted her, smiling.
She nodded distractedly, still working on her courage. "Is my father up there?" she asked, hoping for a positive answer. He hadn't answered the phone when she'd tried to call.
"Yes, ma'am. He arrived about an hour ago, and has been calling down periodically ever since." The concierge shifted on his stool, looking a bit conspiratorial. "I told him traffic had been hell."
"Thanks, Ed." She smiled, relieved that her father was still there. "I was afraid he'd given up on me."
The older man returned the smile, and patted her hand. "Fathers never give up on their daughters."
She grimaced, heading for the elevator. Clearly Ed didn't know her father.
The doors chimed open and she stepped in, pressing her floor's button, her thoughts turning again to Gabriel. She'd almost called him twice, her hand on the cell phone keys before she'd managed to stop herself. Despite what commercials said, a cell phone wasn't the proper vehicle for an apology.
That was better done in person. On bended knee if necessary. She swallowed back a sigh. She'd made her bed, and now it was up to her to rumple it up again. She laughed at herself in the elevator's mirror. Gabriel had her so flustered she was screwing up metaphors.
Better to concentrate on the task at hand.
She'd deal with Gabriel afterward. If he loved her, he'd have to understand. She'd make him understand. Whatever it took. She'd waited a long time to find him, and she wasn't about to let her own paranoia screw things up between them.
The door dinged open, and she scrounged through her purse to find her keys, walking around the corner and down the hallway to her front door. She stood for five minutes rummaging through her junk and was just about to give up and knock, when her hands closed around the reticent key.
She slipped it into the lock, turned the key and opened the door, calling out as she came inside. "I'm home, Dad."
She threw her purse on the table, and slid out of her coat, placing her gun beside her purse. Hanging the coat on a hook, she called out again, then rounded the corner into the living room, stopping in surprise.
"What are you doing here?"
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
"WHERE'S GABRIEL?" Cullen stood in the doorway of the operations room watching Harrison and Payton. The former was ensconced at his computer as usual, the latter sitting at the conference room table, feet propped up, a fat file in his hands.
"Not here." Payton didn't even bother to look up, and quelling a surge of irritation, Cullen walked into the room.
"Any idea where he might be?"
The two men exchanged glances, and then Harrison spoke. "He went out for a walk. Should be back any minute. Is there something we can do for you?"
Closing ranks. He recognized the signs. Harrison had been absorbed into Gabriel's world. He noted the fact with no emotion. After all, it was to be expected, and despite the fact that it meant he would no doubt be shut out, it was to his advantage in the long run. "I suppose he told you all that I'm no longer a suspect."
"He mentioned it." This from Payton, who was watching him now from beneath hooded eyes. "Sorry to hear about your financial problems."
It was a dig. The perfect passive-aggressive attack. "I'll survive."
Payton shrugged.
"So where are we?" He purposely walked past Payton over to Harrison. "Anything new?"
Harrison blew out a breath, and swiveled to face him.
"We're still looking at Vrycom. Did you know that the owner of Bluemax killed himself shortly after Vrycom took over his company?"
"I heard something about it, of course, but I don't know the details. It really didn't have that much to do with me."
"You don't feel responsible?" Payton had walked over to stand by the window.
"For what, the man killing himself?" Cullen frowned. "Why should I? I didn't hold the gun. Hell, I didn't even give him a motive. We paid him more than market value for his company."
"You'd have had to pay him ten times that to get rid of his debt. He'd sunk everything into the company. By the time he paid off his creditors there wasn't anything left," Harrison said, his expression impassive.
"It's not my fault the man had no backbone. I'm in debt up to my ass, too, and you don't see me holding a gun against my temple." The minute the words were out he realized how cold he sounded, and wondered when he'd stopped seeing his associates as people, and begun to see them instead as markers on the way to success.
"The game isn't over yet." Payton shifted so that the sunlight hit him square in the face, highlighting his scar, and Cullen knew in that instant that Payton blamed him for everything that had happened in Iraq. It had been his vanity, his overriding sense of one-upmanship that had driven him to prove that he could in fact get his man out when everyone else was saying it was impossible.
He'd been right of course, but the cost had been too high.
Especially for Payton.
"I'm sorry." The words were inadequate, but he meant them for what they were worth.
"Some things aren't to be forgiven." Payton held his gaze for a moment, and then dismissed him as easily as if he were a beggar on the street.
Cullen had made a fortune out of knowing when to cut and run, so with a shrug he turned to Harrison. "So besides the fact that the Bluemax's CEO killed himself, what else have you found?"
"Nothing concrete. I've been trying to find out more about the man, but so far I haven't turned up much. He wasn't much of a player before Bluemax, and quite frankly I'm not sure people took him all that seriously even with the company. His one big claim to fame seems to have been his company's encounter with you."
"Not me per se. I was only part of the process. My primary role was to identify companies that either had technology we needed, or were standing in the way of something we were trying to accomplish. Then it was up to someone else to get the dirt on them, so to speak."
"Keeping your hands clean?" Payton's comment was an observation, nothing more. Whatever animosity he carried was safely masked again.
"No. It just wasn't my forte."
"So what do you remember about Bluemax?" Harrison asked.
"Not that much really, it was a long time ago. They had some patents we wanted, and we offered to buy them out, patents and all. But Bluemax turned us down, so we organized a forced buyout. As I said, we needed what they had, and if we couldn't get it the old-fashioned way—"
"You took it by force," Payton finished for him, not attempting to hide his disgust.
"It was just business." Cullen shrugged. "Vrycom existed for the sole purpose of furthering the technological revolution. Our job was to make sure new advances were kept within the circle of people most likely to be able to do something with them. It was a cooperative of a sort. We worked together for a common good."
"Yours." It was a statement, not a question, and Cullen chose to ignore it.
"There was financial gain certainly, but on both sides of the coin. A lot of the companies we bought out welcomed our involvement. And even the ones who didn't made money. I can't help it if it wasn't enough. If you're going to survive in this business you have to develop a thick skin. If I told you all the times I overextended only to come back from the brink it would surprise you. It's the nature of the beast. You learn to cope."
Payton opened his mouth to argue, but Harrison held up a hand to stop him. "I think we'd best all agree to
disagree on this point. Besides, Cullen's culpability isn't the issue here. Finding the killer is. And to be honest, what happened with Bluemax may be totally spurious. Even if we assume that there is a connection between the CEO's death and the murdered victims, there's still a problem with pattern. Jeremy Bosner had nothing whatsoever to do with the Vrycom."
"I might be able to explain that." Gabriel walked into the conference room, his face flushed with anger. "According to Nigel, Jeremy may not have been the intended victim."
"What the hell were you doing talking to Nigel Ferris? I thought he'd tucked tail to run back to the prime minister." Cullen fought against a rush of anger. Ferris deserved to be hung by his thumbs and if Cullen had his way, he'd see that it happened, international diplomacy be damned.
"He should be at the airport now. But before he left, he had some information to share."
"About Jeremy Bosner," Harrison prompted.
"No, about Madison."
Cullen's gaze collided with Gabriel's and his blood ran cold. "What about her?"
"Nigel studied the trajectory of the bullets at Jeremy's brownstone. He believes that the shot was meant for Madison, not Jeremy."
"But why would someone be gunning for her?" Cullen asked, his heart constricting. "She has nothing to do with Vrycom or the accord."
"Yes, but you do."
"I'm sorry, I'm not following." Cullen frowned, his hands closing around the edges of the table, trying to find something solid to hang on to.
"Then let me spell it out for you. With the exception of Jeremy, all the victims are the children of members of the Vrycom board." Gabriel was standing over him, towering actually, and Cullen felt a moment of real fear.
"And Cullen doesn't have any children." Harrison, too, was standing, his eyes narrowed in understanding.
Gabriel nodded. "But he has a goddaughter."
"Oh, my God." Cullen felt the blood drain from his face, his hands still clenching convulsively at the conference table. "Where is Madison now?"
"She's with her father," Gabriel said.
"That's impossible." Cullen stood up, leaning against the table for support.
"What do you mean?" Gabriel shifted so that they were standing eye-to-eye.
"I mean that Philip is in Brussels. He was called away this morning. So unless Madison has left the country, she can't possibly be with her father."
*****
"KINGSTON, WHAT ARE YOU doing here?" Madison asked, her mind already sorting through possible explanations. "I was expecting my father."
"I know." He walked over to her, taking her hands. "I'm sorry for the intrusion, but it was easier to wait up here." He gave her hands a squeeze. "Your father asked me to let you know that he'd been called away. Brussels, I think. He said you'd be here waiting, so I figured I'd just swing by. But when I got here you hadn't arrived yet, so when the concierge mistook me for your father and gave me the key, I'm afraid I didn't bother to correct him." His smile was somewhere between impish and apologetic, the expression making him look younger.
"You could have called." She squeezed his hands and let go, walking over to the refrigerator for a bottle of water.
"I was in the neighborhood." He shrugged. "Besides, I thought maybe you'd give me an update on what's been happening with the investigation."
She nodded, pulling out a bottle of Evian. "You want something?"
Kingston shook his head. "I'm fine. Had a latte on my way over."
She opened the bottle and the two of them walked over to settle on the sofa. "Did Dad say why he wanted to see me? He told Payton it was urgent."
"He didn't say anything. But I think he was a bit distracted. Something to do with a drop in the European bond market."
Par for the course. Philip Merrick had chosen his business over his daughter almost since the minute she was born. "No big deal."
"It is, obviously." Kingston reached for her hand again. "I'm sorry."
She pulled her hand back, and slid back to the corner of the couch, suddenly feeling inexplicably uncomfortable. She'd known Kingston forever, but he'd never been up here with her alone. She shook her head at her own foolishness; she was jumping at shadows again.
He obviously felt the tension, too, because he walked over to the bookcase, making a play of examining the titles there. "So why don't you give me an update?"
"We're trying a new tack." She didn't want to share Gabriel's suspicions about Cullen. Despite evidence to the contrary, she didn't really put that much stock in the idea. Cullen was ruthless when it came to business, but he'd never be party to killing someone. "Have you heard of Vrycom?"
Kingston's shoulders tightened, and she could see the tension radiating down his arms. "I'm not familiar with the name."
He was lying, but she wasn't certain why. "It existed during the '80s. A paper tiger meant to take out rivals. Companies with technology the cartel needed or wanted to bury. A company called Bluemax was one of the victims."
Kingston swung around to face her. "I thought you were working on the angle that it was something to do with the accord."
"We were. But there's evidence that an association with Vrycom could be the real motivation. Cullen served as the chairman, and eight of nine victims' fathers also sat on the board."
"Eight of nine? That leaves an anomaly, surely."
"Yes. Jeremy." She smiled, with what she hoped was confidence. "But we're working on that angle, as well."
"I see." He reached out to pick up a photograph of her and Cullen taken the previous Christmas. "You and Cullen are close."
Madison nodded, wondering why the abrupt change of subject. "He's been there when I needed him."
"More than your own father sometimes."
"Dad does the best he can. But he's consumed by his work. Nothing will ever change that. And I guess Cullen has sort of filled in the gaps. Tag-team fathers or something like that." She kept her voice tight, but she could see from Kingston's expression that he was aware of how much her father's absences had hurt.
"I had a son, you know," Kingston said, staring down at the photograph.
Another non sequitur, but Madison contained her frown of impatience. "You've never mentioned a son." Which, considering how long they'd known each other, seemed more than just odd.
Kingston's smile was sad. "He died."
Again Madison had the feeling that there was more going on here than the surface conversation, and gently she probed for details. "Was he a baby?"
"No. He was a grown man. Or at least he thought he was." There was deep sadness there, and maybe just a hint of guilt.
"What was his name?" She walked over to him, placing a hand on his arm, the gesture meant for comfort.
He looked at her, almost as if he were surprised to find someone else in the room. "Edward. Edward Clinton." He sighed. "His mother got custody when we divorced. I never really had the chance to know him."
"I'm so sorry, Kingston."
"Are you?" he asked, his expression changing again, darkening somehow. "Yes, I guess you would be. You always were a sympathetic child."
She stepped back, not certain why, but letting instinct take control. "How did he die, Kingston?"
He lifted his eyes from the photograph in his hands, his gaze meeting hers, and she recognized anger glittering there. "He killed himself."
"Oh, God. I'm so sorry."
"No, Madison." He shook his head, carefully placing the photograph back on the bookshelf. "It's me who should be sorry. I always liked you."
She frowned, trying to understand what one thing had to do with the other. "Are you all right, Kingston?"
He didn't look well at all, one hand clutching the bookshelf, the other stuffed in his pocket. Her gaze automatically followed the line of his arm, locking in place on the familiar bulge in the immaculate Armani blazer.
A gun.
Before her body could react to the emphatic signal from her brain, he pulled out his hand, the silencer-clad .38 sending the message full sto
p. "I'm not all right at all, Madison. But in a few moments, I will be."
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
GABRIEL TOOK THE CORNER on two wheels, then ground to a halt behind a long line of waiting cars. He cursed under his breath, wishing he had a siren or something to clear the way, knowing that even that wouldn't necessarily be enough to break up a traffic jam in the city.
He wasn't certain what he'd find at Madison's, but the fact that her father was in Europe combined with Nigel's information about her possibly being a target had sent him running after her. Or more precisely slugging along in Cullen's Maserati in rush-hour traffic. He banged a hand on the steering wheel, almost rear-ending a taxi.
He'd tried her cell phone and her home phone, and she wasn't answering. He'd even talked to the personnel in her building, but to no avail. Payton was working to try and get someone up there, but in the meantime, even if it turned out to be a wild-goose chase, he couldn't sit still and take the risk that something could be wrong.
Except that sitting is exactly what he was doing—along with apparently half of New York City. With another curse, this one not mumbled, he dodged another taxi and pulled into the far lane and up to the curb, blatantly ignoring the posted no-parking sign. He'd never been one for rules anyway. And right now his gut was screaming that Madison was in trouble.
Nothing else really mattered.
Slamming the car into park, he leaped from it, barely stopping to turn off the engine. Patting his jeans pocket to be certain he had the set of keys Cullen had given him, he set out toward Seventy-second on a run.
His cell phone rang as Gabriel rounded the corner onto First, and after five insistent rounds of the Lone Ranger, he slid to a stop, fumbling in his pocket for the damn phone.
"Roarke." He knew he was yelling, but his irritation was fueled by fear.
"It's Harrison." To his credit Madison's friend sounded as worried as Gabe did. Maybe more so.
