Park Avenue (Book Six in the Fifth Avenue Series)

by Smith, Christopher

  “Well, that’s gruesome.”

  “Our lives wallow through pools of gruesome, Mr. Cullen.”

  “You don’t need to convince me of that—I read today’s obits. You’re intriguing, Carmen. Isn’t it unusual for a woman to get into this sort of profession?”

  “This sort of profession?”

  “Killing people.”

  “Women have been killing people for years, Mr. Cullen.”

  “It’s James. And what a memory you just evoked. The moment you said that women are killers, I thought of Elizabeth Redman shooting Anne Ryan all those years ago. She just flashed before my eyes. Poor thing. Down on her knees scrubbing toilets in prison while trying to dodge the dykes. It must be unbearable for her in there, especially given the life she was used to. But she isn’t an assassin—just a good shot. For you, killing is a profession.”

  “Why are you so hung up on my gender as it pertains to my profession?”

  “I just find it unusual that a woman would do this.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not sure why.”

  “You think women should just be soft, subservient kittens, don’t you?”

  “Carmen,” Spocatti said.

  “No, no,” James said. “Let her have her say. I enjoy banter.”

  “That’s kind of you,” she said. “You know, to allow me to speak. But I’ve probably said enough. Can I see your bum leg?”

  “Can you see my what?”

  “Vincent told me that you lost your leg to cancer, which happens to intrigue me. Most men I know can’t bear any sort of pain because they don’t go through as much pain in their lives as women do. We bleed, James. Every month. Just like clockwork, come the blood and the cramps and the headaches and the bloating and the nausea. And if we choose, we also give birth, which I would imagine tears apart a woman’s body. Though I wouldn’t know myself because I’m barren.”

  “Barren?”

  “Barren. So when I heard that you lost your leg to cancer, I thought that it must have been a particular sort of hell for a man to experience that kind of pain. For women, I would imagine it would be different. Maybe another level of pain—severe, sure—but still somewhat in their wheelhouse, if that makes sense.”

  “None of this makes sense.”

  “But it does. What I’m trying to say is that women are tougher than men. They always have been, always will be. Take, for instance, Florence Holt. Now, there’s a woman who went down fighting. So did Celina Redman when Spocatti killed her. I hear she fought like the devil when he drowned her. But some of the men I’ve killed over the years? Sure, a few stepped up to the plate and gave me a challenge, but most are pussies whereas women are crafty. Women will go for your eyes with their fingernails and claw at your throat. Men will just try to punch their way out of a situation, which is a joke when you’re up against someone like me. Now, may I see your leg?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Is it plastic or wood?”

  “It’s neither.”

  “Titanium steel?”

  “Carmen.”

  “Aluminum alloy?”

  Spocatti moved to speak again, but Carmen held up her hand. “Let’s all lighten up.” She looked at Cullen. “It’s just banter, right? Harmless banter that some men and any woman could take.” She leaned toward him. “You should see me in action with hotel receptionists. They’re the best. There was one woman at a Holiday Inn Express—”

  “Holiday Inn Express?”

  “You make it sound like a disease. But you probably only stay at the best hotels, don’t you, James? I’m a woman, and you wouldn’t believe where I’ve had to lay my head.”

  “I’d believe it. But back to the hollow-points. If you have a chance, use them next time. I’d like to see the outcome. Maybe with Michael Archer? He’s up next, isn’t he? You’ve followed him twice now, right?”

  “I have.”

  “Spocatti said Archer might have seen you the first time.”

  “It’s possible.”

  “And it probably doesn’t matter. He probably thought you were just a fan. A creepy one lurking about, but I’m sure at this point in his life he’s had his share of those. You know, his death would crush Leana, which I know Louis would have enjoyed. In the days leading up to her own death, having her in misery over the loss of her brother would have delighted him, God rest his soul. She’d be an emotional wreck. Don’t you think it’s a good idea that we kill him now so she suffers? Or do we do her new husband first? That would really get her.”

  “You haven’t paid us to kill De Cicco, James,” Spocatti said. “Just the seven people who already are dead, as well as Leana, Michael and George, who soon will be dead. If you want to negotiate Mario’s death, we can.”

  “You’d charge me for an extra person?”

  “Of course. This is business.”

  “But I’m paying you fifty million dollars.”

  “For the ten people we agreed upon.”

  “How much for another?”

  “Mario De Cicco, son of Antonio De Cicco, is not just another person. He’s a member of a powerful crime family. For him, ten million.”

  “That’s an obscene amount.”

  “It’s wholly up to you.”

  Cullen thought about it for a moment, then he had another idea. He told them and waited for their reaction. When none came, he felt disappointed. “You two are like icicles,” he said.

  “You expect us to be warm and fuzzy?”

  “Warm and fuzzy like a grenade.”

  “When do you want this done?”

  “Just do it gradually. It should be a series of horrific shocks that will continue to unnerve her. Take out Archer when you want to. And I mean that—do him at any point leading up to the opening of her hotel, which opens soon. You know I want it to end there for her. Front-page chaos. Bloody, uncensored photographs circulated on the Internet by some mysterious person who happens to be me. In the meantime, if we rattle her enough—if we really shake her to her core—the poor thing might not be able to pull off anything but the opening of her own casket. Same goes for George, who’s opening a new building of his own on Columbus Circle. Apparently, according to the Times, it’s going to be the tallest and most expensive residential building in Manhattan. Blah, blah, blah. Now Hugo Morel’s name is attached to it. Have you heard? There’s a whole suite of floors numbered to fetch the attention of the Chinese. Is there nothing George Redman doesn’t think of? Oh, yes—his own safety. We’ll see if he’s alive to open his building. Or to open his new hotel. My bet is that he won’t be. But remember, he needs to be alive when his daughter dies. Or he must think she’s dead—you two work it out. If he has any feelings for her, which is questionable given what I know of their relationship, it should at least sting him. That is critical to Louis’ plan. Devastate George Redman before he dies. Hearing of his second daughter’s death might do that. So, put her through hell, if only to make him think that he’s next, which, of course, he is.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  In her apartment at Redman Place, Pepper Redman blinked away tears of rage as she hung up the phone on her uncle, who just told her, in no uncertain terms, that she now was to take direction from Leana on the Columbus Circle project.

  “You will cause no friction,” George said. “I expect each of you to work well together. I’m finished with this pettiness between you two. She expects you there at five, tomorrow morning. I wouldn’t be late.”

  “Then I’ll be there at four.”

  “Leana will see that as a challenge. Just be there at five, Pepper. Show up with a good attitude. Get along with her.”

  For a moment, she stood absolutely still in her kitchen, her mind filled with betrayal, her stomach clutched into knots. She took a deep breath and blew it out into the room. She took a deeper breath, held it for a moment, felt her face grow red, and then shouted into the room a sort of garbled, alien noise that most would not consider human.

  She t
ried to fathom how this could have happened to her given all that she had done for her uncle and all that she had given him—all of that time spent on the building, all of that hard work, all of the coordination it took to bring the project to the point where it was at now—on time, under budget, near completion.

  She went to her refrigerator, took out a bottle of wine, poured herself a glass, and downed it before pouring herself another.

  None of it made sense. She and her uncle already agreed upon Hugo Morel’s concepts. How could a few hours spent with Leana, of all people, and who could barely see, be enough to change a perfectly acceptable design? Something she and George each thought was on point? And how was changing one simple design enough for her uncle to believe that Leana should now take the reins?

  When she asked, his excuse was pathetic.

  “You’re stretched too thin,” he said to her. “You’re still the lead on your other projects. And there will be others. But now it’s time for me to see what Leana has in her.”

  “Why?”

  “Beyond what she created with Morel? I think I owe it to her. I also think she’s doing a superb job with her hotel. So, I need to see if there’s something in her that could benefit Redman International. There might be. I might have overlooked it. What I saw from her today was on par with what I used to see in Celina, which is no small feat.”

  “You expect her to have any attention to detail when she’s half blind?”

  “Let’s just say that even with one eye, Pepper, she saw more than you did in Morel’s concepts. And she worked with him to improve them, which only will help to sell that apartment and probably many others. This isn’t the end of the world, so stop behaving as if it is. I expect you to be professional tomorrow. Are we clear on that? No games.”

  “Fine. But she’s going to have to earn my respect.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not how this is going to work. She’s your boss on this project. You’ll need to earn hers.”

  It was enough to make her want another glass of wine, but she resisted it. She needed to be sharp tomorrow. If Wharton taught her one thing, it was that at times like these, she needed to focus.

  But it still stung.

  How could he do this to her? Why would he do this to her? The Hotel Fifth would garner good press for her career, but the Columbus Circle job was the one that would have shot her to the top and put her name on the Manhattan map. It wasn’t fair. She’d done all the work. Now her bitch of a cousin was going to waltz in and take the lion’s share of the praise. For what? A few week’s work?

  She’s going to destroy me on this job, Pepper thought. She’s going to make it her mission to get rid of me. I have to plan for that. I can’t let her win.

  But right now, she couldn’t process how to manage the situation. She was too upset. Despite the wine, she was tense to the point that her shoulders had seized up.

  She went into the living room, stood in front of the enormous gilt-framed mirror next to her piano, and studied herself in the glass. It was times like this that Pepper Redman didn’t see the successful young woman she had become, but rather the fat girl from Arkansas whose life had been in the shit can until she won a scholarship that changed everything.

  Looking at herself now, she didn’t see the fitted perfection of the twenty-thousand-dollar Chanel suit she wore, or how her red hair curled up just right from the tops of her shoulders, or how pretty her skin was, or how bright her green eyes were. Instead, she saw something ugly and destroyed, and she hated herself for it and for what she had allowed to just happen.

  She should have challenged her uncle. She should have fought with him for her right to finish that building. But she didn’t. She became Penelope again, the bookish, overweight, meek girl from the sticks who never got the boy, never was popular, and who always backed down from confrontation until Wharton beat that out of her. She’d let him take away the person she had invented for herself through diligence, intelligence and hard work—Pepper Redman.

  How could I have allowed him to do that? How could I have been that weak and that stupid? She’s going to ruin me. I know she will.

  And then a thought occurred to her.

  Unless I ruin her first.

  * * *

  She went into the kitchen, grabbed her cell from the Birkin she had treated herself to earlier, and called Parker. Was he working? Could he be out? She had no idea how he spent his time, but when you looked like Parker, at the very least, the latter was more likely.

  She tapped out his number imagining that he was having dinner with one of his other paying lady friends. Charming them. Laughing with them. Fucking them. She couldn’t still the stab of jealousy that came from that. She was attracted to him. She liked him more than she should. He was perfection in the bedroom and when they went out, his manners were superb. Without embarrassment, she could take him anywhere—just as he could take her to places she never thought she’d reach when he had his way with her.

  But that wasn’t her focus now. He or his potential contacts were.

  To her surprise, he answered.

  “This is Parker.”

  “Parker, it’s Pepper.”

  “Hey!”

  “How are you?”

  “Just back from the gym. Sweaty. You should see me. In fact, I wish you could see me. Everything that should be rippling is doing just that.”

  “Parker, this isn’t one of those sorts of calls, though I appreciate the image.”

  “It’s actually true.”

  Focus.

  “I was wondering if you were free to come by tonight?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “You’re free?”

  “I, uh, had a cancellation.”

  “Too much information. How soon can you be here?”

  “An hour?”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  As usual, he arrived on time, which was another reason she liked him so much. Punctuality was important to Pepper. It was one of the things she was taught at Wharton. Punctuality was key in the workplace. It was the key to success, particularly if you showed up early and left late. Parker was respectful of her time. He was thoughtful. She appreciated that.

  And Christ is he hot. He’s the hottest man you’ve ever been with Penelope, and you know it. You’ll never do better than Parker, unless you lay down a significant sum of cash for some seriously ramped-up stud. But why bother when the magnificence that is Parker is standing just outside your door? Escort or not, who needs to know? Parker has the means to change and to assimilate. He’s so polished and likable, you could bring him back to your mother, who would adore him. You’d also have an amazing sexual life if you took him up on his offer and became seriously involved with him.

  She couldn’t deal with those thoughts right now. She shoved Penelope aside, opened the door and found Parker standing there, perfectly groomed. His thick, wavy Sicilian hair was gelled in such a way that his curls gleamed from the light above him in the hallway. He was wearing khakis and a white, button-down Oxford that showed off his deep tan and pressed against his sculpted chest to the point that his nipples were visible. His shoes were gorgeous. Dark brown. Obviously Prada because she knew Prada when she saw it. He stood six-foot-two. She looked up at him with a flash of desire before she checked herself and asked him inside.

  But she knew by the way he cracked a smile that he had caught that look on her face.

  “Would you like a glass of wine?” she asked. “Something stronger? A martini? Scotch? I have everything.”

  “How about if we just go to the bedroom?”

  “That’s not why I asked you here, Parker. I plan on paying you for your time, but this meeting is about something very different.”

  “I told you that you don’t have to pay me anymore. I’d like to be with you, Pepper. I think we could have a go of it. You know I went to a good school. You know I’m trying every day to find a decent job in a rotten economy. I only do this side t
hing of mine because I need to eat and pay the bills. I’m not proud of it. I’m actually ashamed of it. But I think a lot of you. I think of you all the time.”

  So do I.

  “Why don’t we go into the living room?” she said.

  “How about this first?” He leaned forward and gently kissed her on the lips. “And this?” He kissed her again.

  As difficult as it was to resist him, she did. “Parker, I need to talk to you. Please? Let’s sit over here. You in that chair and me in that chair.” She smiled at him. “That way there will be no funny stuff.”

  “Will that come later?”

  “We’ll see. After what I’m about to say to you, you might never want to see me again.”

  “I can’t imagine that happening.”

  She felt unusually nervous because she knew that might be the case. They each took a seat and she looked at him for a moment before she spoke. He was smiling at her in anticipation. Was she willing to risk losing him over this? Penelope wouldn’t. Penelope would never give him up. But what about Pepper? How much of Penelope was still inside Pepper? She wasn’t sure. She was beginning to think this was a mistake when she heard her uncle’s voice telling her that she essentially was off the biggest project of her career. The one project that would seal her career. And that she’d be answering to Leana. That was almost as bad. That, in fact, was a slap across the face.

  But maybe there was a way not to involve him directly.

  “I’m in a situation,” she said.

  His smile faded. “What kind of situation?”

  “It’s not good. I’ve been threatened.”

  “By whom?”

  “Parker, do you trust me?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then please understand that I can’t divulge too much about this. I want to involve you as little as possible.”

  “Do you know who threatened you?”

  “I do.”

  “Is it life threatening?”

  My career is my life.