Park Avenue (Book Six in the Fifth Avenue Series)

by Smith, Christopher

  “It’s no problem.”

  “But it would cause problems.” He turned to Michael. “Three of my men are outside, either in cars or on the sidewalk. They’re armed, as I am. They’ve done a quick surveillance of the area. Things look quiet, but nothing is absolute. There is a car waiting for you just beyond the door. A driver is inside, ready to move. Keep your heads down, walk quickly and slide into the back seat. When you’re in, tuck your heads between your knees. I know this is stressful, but we have you covered.”

  “I appreciate it, Sean.”

  “I appreciate you,” Meredith said.

  * * *

  They went tensely into the night, all aware that Michael had been recognized and that some diners had followed them out to get a look at the movie star and best-selling novelist.

  “They’re like wolves,” Meredith said.

  “They’re fans,” Michael said. “Like you said, it comes with the job.”

  “I don’t know how you do it. I’d scare them off with a broom.”

  From the bistro’s entrance, Michael heard the manager ask that his guests come back inside at once.

  “There’s been a situation,” he said. “Please. Come inside where it’s safe.”

  “It’s unsafe?” a woman asked.

  So much for discretion, Michael thought.

  Ahead of them was the car. A black Mercedes. A brute of a man was standing beside the rear door, holding it open for them. Another man was at the wheel. Michael glanced around him. Manhattan at night. Light reflected off glass. Cars raced by on the street. On the sidewalk, pedestrians either strolled or walked at a quick clip.

  They were nearly at the car when gunshots rang out.

  “Rifle,” Sean said.

  Meredith was propelled into the car.

  Another gunshot sounded, ripping into the sky.

  Behind them, a woman screamed.

  Sean shouted something to one of his men, who broke into a run down the sidewalk.

  But something was wrong. Something had connected with Michael’s chest. Winded, he collapsed onto Meredith just as the door slammed shut behind them.

  Sean got into the front seat, swung around, and reached out a hand to grab Michael’s arm.

  “Were you hit?”

  It was difficult for him to breathe. He felt hands on his body. Meredith’s hands cupped his face.

  “He’s hurt,” she said.

  The car sped away.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  “Were you shot?” Sean asked again.

  Michael blinked and tried to catch his breath. He pressed his hand against his chest, which hurt like hell, but his shirt was dry, not wet with blood. “No,” he said. “When you pushed me inside, I think my chest connected with the edge of the door. It knocked me off balance and I fell on top of Meredith.” He sat up and Meredith put her hand on his knee. “Sorry,” he said to her. “It knocked the wind out of me.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked.

  “I’m sure.”

  She turned to Sean and any trace of the warmth she showed him earlier dissolved into the Meredith few wanted to tackle. “What the hell was that?” she said.

  “A scare tactic. They were using a rifle. If they wanted to shoot him, they would have.”

  “What’s this about?”

  “We don’t know yet.”

  “When are you going to know? How long has this been going on?”

  “For a while,” Michael said.

  “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “It hasn’t directly affected me. Leana’s been under fire. You’ve read the news. You know about her eye. Now apparently someone’s eyes are on me.”

  “Whose? Why?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “You went through this years ago. So, it’s happening again? How can this be happening again?”

  “Louis Ryan is dead, Meredith. This is something else.”

  “People like the Redmans and Mr. Archer—”

  “Call me Michael.”

  Sean nodded at him. “The Redmans and Michael always will be targets, whether because of their money or their fame, or both,” Sean said to Meredith. “This could be a copycat crime. And it’s easy to see why that could be.”

  “Please enlighten me.”

  “Michael has a new movie coming out. The exposure surrounding its release is significant. George Redman is about to open the city’s largest residential high-rise and a hotel that is going to compete directly with his daughter’s hotel. Lately, everyone involved has been generating press—a lot of it. This city has a long memory. People remember what happened to the Redmans and Michael. The keyword here is ‘copycat.’ What if someone with an ax to grind against George Redman is just picking up where Louis Ryan left off? George has plenty of enemies. You don’t become a billionaire without pissing off your share of powerful people. I think he’s the key. Whoever is behind this wants Leana dead, they want Michael dead, and they want George dead. They want every Redman dead. And you’re a Redman, Michael. At least partly.”

  “But why?”

  “I don’t know. Why did Louis Ryan do what he did? Because he wanted revenge. Does someone else want it? Obviously. But for what reason? That’s what we need to figure out.”

  “How do you explain what happened to Charles Stout and Florence Holt? They aren’t Redmans.”

  “We don’t know if their murders are connected.”

  “They’re connected by Louis Ryan,” Meredith said. “They sat on his board. It was in the papers. That can’t be a coincidence.”

  Sean studied her for a moment while the car rocked through the city. “So, maybe it isn’t a coincidence,” he said. “But how do you link the two together?”

  “You hire a professional,” Meredith said. “No offense to you or your team, Sean, but it would seem to me that having another skilled person on this couldn’t hurt. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  “How is he?” Mario asked as Leana came into the living room, where he stood waiting for her next to the sofa. Michael had arrived forty minutes ago, and they discussed the details of what happened. Leana insisted that he not go home, as he wanted to, but instead stay in one of their guest bedrooms.

  “Tomorrow morning, Sean will assign someone to you,” she said to him. “After tonight, you need protection, so suck it up—as I have—and let Sean help you. I won’t take no for an answer, so just do it.”

  He relented. She showed him to his room and told him to get some sleep. “You’re too important to me,” she said before she left him alone. “Without you, all I have is our father, and what good is that going to do me? I’ll see you in the morning. And don’t think about leaving in the night. The doorman has instructions to call us if you try to leave. Mario will just come and collect your ass. Believe me, you won’t want that. Yes, I’m being demanding, but only with the best of intentions.”

  Now, she needed answers. Michael told her about Meredith’s idea of hiring a professional to find out what was happening, that another person on the job couldn’t hurt. Leana agreed.

  She looked over at Mario. “He’s in his room. I need to make a call.”

  “Who are you calling?”

  “Gloria Spellman. She’s an artist friend of mine. I’ve known her for a few years and I like her a lot.”

  “What is an artist going to do in this situation?”

  “She’ll give me the number of her ex-husband, who happens to be one of the best private investigators in the city.”

  “Who is that?”

  “Marty Spellman.”

  “I think I’ve heard of him.”

  “He’s probably tailed your father.”

  Mario didn’t react.

  “Sorry,” she said. “That was uncalled for.”

  “It’s probably true.”

  “Give me a minute, OK? It’s late, but not too late. Hopefully, she’ll answer.” She went into the kitchen, grabbed her cell on the island, and dialed
Gloria’s number. To Leana’s surprise, she answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Gloria, it’s Leana Redman.”

  “Leana! I’ve been worried about you. Did you receive my flowers at the hospital?”

  “I did. They were beautiful. Thank you so much.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “This eyepatch of mine can go to hell, but I’ll manage.”

  “When does it come off?”

  “Not soon enough.”

  “But you’ll be able to see?”

  “That’s what they say.”

  “What’s happening to you? First the tarp on your hotel, now this.”

  “We don’t know what’s happening, which is why I’m calling. I was wondering if you could give me Marty’s number? I think I need him.”

  “I think you do, too. Call him. He’s in Vegas now with Jennifer, so you’ll be able to catch him. It’s early there. Do you have a pen?”

  Leana grabbed one from the island and wrote down his number on a scrap of paper. “I owe you one, Gloria.”

  “For his number? You owe me nothing. But between us—and don’t ever tell him I said this to you—he really is very good.”

  “I’ve never met him.”

  “He’s charming. And he will be able to help you. We’ve had our differences, but he has talent. And he’s a good man. He’ll work hard for you. He’ll help sort this out and finish it.”

  “I’m counting on it. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  She severed the connection, collected her thoughts, and made the call. To her relief, he answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Marty Spellman?”

  “Who’s calling?”

  “I need your help.”

  “How did you get this number?”

  “Your ex-wife, Gloria, gave it to me. We’re friends and she said I should call you. I know it’s late, but I’m in trouble and I wasn’t sure where else to turn. I know you’re the best.”

  “Who is this?” he asked again.

  “Leana Redman.”

  “George Redman’s daughter?”

  “You could put it that way.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  She told him everything.

  “I’ll be back in New York in two days,” he said.

  “Can we meet then?”

  They agreed on a time and a place, he told her to call him if anything changed and they hung up. She went into the living room. “Two days,” she said to Mario. “He’s in Vegas with his wife, but we’ll meet as soon as he gets back.”

  “I feel as if I’ve let you down, Leana.”

  “No, you haven’t.”

  “But I have.”

  “How?”

  “Because I should be able to figure this out.”

  “You went to your father. Together, we made the decision to marry. We knew the risks of what might happen if we went forward without him. If he chooses not to help, then we have to consider different avenues. Marty Spellman is one of them. I think the more people we have working on this, the better.”

  “I won’t argue with that. But I am going to talk to my brothers again. I’ve worked around my father before. I can do it again.”

  “I wouldn’t recommend that,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “It’s too dangerous. Your father is too smart. If you go around him, he’ll find out. He’ll know.”

  “He didn’t know before. Miko and Tony are discreet. They’ll understand.”

  “Look. If we agree to the wedding, will he be back on board?”

  “Probably.”

  “Then we agree to the wedding. I don’t want to screw around with him. He’s too unpredictable. Too dangerous. Call him tomorrow. Tell him we’d love a proper ceremony at his estate and that we appreciate his generosity, but it needs to happen after the hotel opens. If we do that, I think he’ll start to help us again.”

  “He might.”

  “We do the ceremony. We apologize. We bring him back in.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Mario said. “In the meantime, come over here. I want to hold my wife.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  For two days, Leana remained focused and busy on the tasks at hand. She began her mornings at her father’s high-rise and she ended her day, often deep into the evening, at her hotel with Zack, who was as tireless as she, especially given their pending deadline.

  Sean Scott was with her at all times and she kept in touch throughout the day with Michael, who now had a guard of his own. Each morning, she talked with her father about the project and what she planned to accomplish that day, but not once did he bring up the shooting that could have claimed Michael’s life.

  Where he did engage her was with Pepper. “How are you two getting along?”

  “Actually, she’s taking direction. And with zero attitude. So, apparently miracles do happen, because I wasn’t expecting this. What did you say to her?”

  “That I wouldn’t tolerate anything less than a professional attitude from her. That she needed to fall in line, look to you for leadership and do her job. I’m glad to hear she took me seriously.”

  “She has—at least, for now. I have a question for you.”

  “Shoot.”

  “We haven’t discussed this directly. I want to know if you know what’s happening to me now? Who’s behind it? Any ideas?”

  “I’ve given it some thought. I’m not sure.”

  “I don’t understand why I’d be targeted unless somehow it’s connected to you.”

  “I agree.”

  “Could this be tied to what happened before? Charles Stout and Florence Holt sat on Ryan’s board and they were murdered. The night they were murdered, the tarp covering my hotel was defaced. Then there’s what happened to my eye.” She decided to go there even if he wouldn’t. “There’s also what just happened to Michael, who Ryan also wanted dead. There are too many coincidences for there not to be some sort of connection.”

  “But how? Ryan is dead.”

  “I don’t know how. Sean Scott, my head of security, wonders if this is a copycat crime. If someone else wanted revenge against you for any reason, they could throw people off by killing Holt and Stout, and then carry out what Ryan first set into motion.”

  “Where’s the sense in that? I know I have my share of enemies, Leana. If someone wanted me dead, they’d just hire it out and be done with it. Why go to the trouble of killing Holt and Stout—and targeting you—if all they wanted was me?”

  “I have no answers,” she said.

  “You’re over-thinking this.”

  “Somebody’s got to. Are you worried for yourself?”

  “I’ve hired someone,” he said.

  That surprised her. “An investigator?”

  “A bodyguard.”

  “I thought you had one.”

  “Now, I have another.”

  “Are you going to talk to an investigator?”

  “I’m not sitting idle on this, Leana. Let’s just say that conversations are in process and that you’re being protected in ways that you aren’t even aware of.”

  Her surprise deepened. “You have someone tailing me?”

  “I do.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that sooner? What if Sean noticed some guy lurking around and thought the person was a threat? That’s what he’s trained to do. He could have hurt him. Or worse.”

  “Sean hasn’t done any of that because the person I hired is one of his own men. Sean knows about it. We didn’t want to tell you because you’d look around for him, which might tip someone off. Whoever is doing this sees Sean beside you. The other man is stealth. Protecting you is more effective this way.”

  “Now, I’m going to wonder who it is.”

  “Do yourself a favor and forget it. Listen to me on this. I am fully aware that there is a threat. I’m your father. We may have our ups and downs, but I’m certainly not going to sit on my ass if your life is on the line. Or mine for that
matter. I’m going to do something about it.”

  “When did you start having these conversations?”

  “The day you were shot at on the street.”

  She was touched. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say to him. Why did thing always have to be so complicated between them? She felt a rush of affection for him that was alien to her. “So, why are you telling me this now?”

  “Because you think I’m a bastard. Because you think I don’t care, which isn’t true. I do. Because we need to get on track as father and daughter. Because I knew you were wondering when and if I was going to do something. Of course I’m doing something. Of course I’m concerned. But if I showed that concern to you, it would only rattle you more than you already are, so I’ve played it cool. Look, Leana. You’re about to achieve one of the great moments of your life with your hotel and with the opening of my high-rise. Why ruin that? Let me and the team around you handle whatever is going on. Let Mario use his resources to help. Same for Anastassios, even if I don’t trust him the way you do. But whatever. The more eyes on this the better.”

  “Thank you.”

  “There’s no need to thank me. As I said, you’re my daughter. And we will get to the bottom of this. It might be a challenge, but I’m not about to lose Celina and you. And frankly, I’m not ready to check out just yet myself.”

  “I’m speaking to a private investigator tomorrow,” she said. “Marty Spellman.”

  “I know of him.”

  “You know his ex-wife, Gloria.”

  “That’s right. I hear he’s good.”

  “I’ve been told he’s the best.”

  “You deserve the best. Even when you think I don’t, I’ve got your back. Others do, too. Soon, Marty Spellman will have it. And we’ll end this together so you can have those moments you deserve. OK?”

  “Do you think we can end this?”

  “I’m putting in a hell of a lot of money to make sure that we can.”

  She was about to say that she loved him, which she did despite their pasts, but something held her back. When was the last time she told him that she loved him? When she was a child? Likely. It had been years since she’d said those words to him—and he to her—but there still was too much baggage between them for her to express her gratitude. All her life, she wished that hadn’t been the case, but it was. Still, she was grateful—she was surprised that he’d done any of this for her, and so she came to a common ground. “Maybe all isn’t lost for us,” she said.