The spotlight was turned off, the lights in the lobby resumed to normal, and Carmen stood there, quietly furious as dozens of well-wishers came up to talk to Leana. Walking off the dance floor was Michael. Carmen looked from him to Leana, and knew that he was her ticket.
She switched on her phone and walked over to him.
“Mr. Archer,” she said, “I’m so sorry.”
He looked down at her. His brow furrowed. “Sorry about what?”
“The news just broke. I was checking my voicemail while Leana gave her speech, and a friend sent this to me. Here,” she said. She showed him her phone, which featured her Photoshopped Google news image of George Redman’s murder at The Hotel Fifth. She watched his face turn to stone, and knew she had to act now before he decided himself how best to go forward.
“Leana is surrounded by people now,” Carmen said. “Before the press gets wind of this, maybe you should bring her over. We can go somewhere private, show this to her, and then I’ll leave you in private to console her, to make phone calls, and also so you can be alone. My concern is that if we don’t act now, the media will tear her apart. It’s just a matter of time.”
“Give me a moment,” he said.
When Michael returned, Carmen saw what she was faced with—Michael Archer, Leana Redman, and the towering man Leana had just publicly thanked for protecting her.
“What’s this about?” Leana asked.
“It’s best if we go to a private space,” Michael said. “Quickly. Do you or Sean know of any place where we can talk alone?”
“I’ll ask again,” Leana said. “What is this about?”
Carmen watched Michael nod at the hulking man standing behind Leana, who waved his hand ahead of them. “There are offices just behind where the guests check in. We can use one of those.”
Carmen followed them through the crowd, already knowing that she was in over her head. She could take care of Leana and Michael without a problem, but the other man? The one who was three times her size? She wasn’t sure of that at all. He reeked of former military. She knew that if he was chosen to protect Leana, which clearly was the case, that he likely was as skilled as she.
I need to abort this, she thought. I can’t do this alone. Not with him here. Even Spocatti would know when he was outnumbered. We protect ourselves first.
But as she thought this and they moved through the reception area and into one of the offices, something caught her eye. Her gaze lingered upon it for an instant; she continued forward without a hitch, and she began to process a new plan that might work if she played this correctly.
CHAPTER NINETY-SEVEN
Spocatti had no time to waste. Soon, people would wonder where Redman was. Security would wonder, and they’d start searching. He needed to finish this and walk calmly out of here, and then, on the street, he needed to send Carmen a text to see if she was either finished or still at it.
He looked down at Redman, who was stunned and struggling to get to his feet while the two guards lay unmoving on the floor. Their eyes were open, but they were unseeing. The men were dead. One had fallen on top of Redman, essentially pinning him to the ground.
“Get up,” Spocatti said.
“Who sent you here?”
“Louis Ryan sent me.”
“Don’t fuck with me. Who sent you?”
“I’ve already told you. Ryan speaks from the dead. Or, at least from his will, which has directed much of this, though not all of it. I hear Antonio De Cicco was behind a good deal of it. Who knew? And a relation by marriage no less. I’d say that’s cold.”
Spocatti took a step forward. “Do you remember me, Mr. Redman? Three years ago? In this very building, but in Leana’s office, which was on one of the higher floors? You remember, don’t you? You and Ryan scuffling like schoolboys, only with a loaded gun between you? Your daughter, Leana—who also will die tonight—being shot in the gut, just as you were? Do you remember that? Do you remember me?”
George looked confused. “Leana’s not dead?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I’m not sure, but by night’s end she will be.”
“But your phone said she was.”
“Cell phone tricks,” Spocatti said. “You were looking at an image, not at a website.” He clucked his tongue. “So easily fooled.”
“There are cameras all over this building,” Redman said.
“So, there are. Are there any in here? I haven’t seen any, which makes this my lucky day. Get up.”
George didn’t move.
“Get up now, or I’ll make sure your death is slower than theirs was. Now, get up.”
George struggled to push the man off him; he turned onto his side, and collapsed from the effort. Redman was a big man and in good shape, but he obviously had been hurt in the fall because he was having difficulty getting one of his legs underneath him. Knowing he had little time left, Spocatti thought that instead of breaking the man’s neck, which is what he had planned to do, he should just use another dart and be done with this so he could get out of there.
He glanced down, pressed the button on his belt buckle, and another dart fell into his palm. Just as he was pinching the end of it and preparing to throw it at Redman, Redman spun around and faced him.
In his hand was a gun.
Surprised, Spocatti took a step back.
When Redman was on his side and blocking his view while trying to stand, he must have pulled it free from one of the guard’s holsters.
The next few moments passed in a blur.
Instinct told Spocatti that Redman wouldn’t wait to shoot, and he was correct. With the gun shaking in his hand, George Redman fired the gun three times. In the same moment, Spocatti leaped sideways into the air, swung his arm around in a fierce arc, and threw the dart straight toward Redman’s face.
CHAPTER NINETY-EIGHT
“Leana,” Michael said, when Sean closed the door behind them. “There’s been some distressing news.”
For a moment, her face became tense with worry. “Where’s Mario? Does this have anything to do with Mario?”
“It doesn’t,” Michael said. “As far as I know, Mario is safe.”
“So, this is an issue of safety?” It was her guard who asked the question. “What’s happened, Michael?”
Michael looked at Carmen, and she felt a sinking in her gut because she knew what was about to come. She stood near the door and intentionally looked as if she was the bearer of the worst news possible. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling, and waved a hand in front of her face as if she were trying to evaporate tears.
“I’m sorry,” Michael said. “I never got your name.”
“I’m Ginger Hines. I’m a friend of Anastassios, who knew I wanted to come. I had no idea I’d be in this position tonight.”
“What position?” Leana asked.
Carmen held out her phone for Michael, who took it, and showed it to the man who was there to protect Leana. The man read the screen, but there was no reaction on his face. Michael held the phone at his side.
“I’m so sorry,” Carmen said. “A friend told me when you were giving your speech. I thought it was only right to let you know before the media attacked you, which they will. They probably know now. I didn’t mean to interfere, but I’ve read what you’ve been through. I thought that letting you know first could help.”
“I’m not going to ask again. What are you talking about?” Leana asked.
Carmen willed tears to her eyes. “Keep my phone. I’ll come back for it later. I can’t be here right now. I can’t see this. I’m so sorry, Leana. I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry about what?” She looked at Michael, obviously confused, worried and angry. No one was telling her what she wanted to know, and her frustration was mounting. “What is she talking about?”
“May I leave?” Carmen asked.
“Thank you,” Leana’s security guard said. “We appreciate all that you’ve done, Ms. Hines. I know this wasn’t easy.”
“It’s
tragic,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be the one—”
“We understand,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said. “What is your name?”
“It’s Sean. We’ll have your phone back to you in a moment. You can wait outside if you’d like.”
Carmen wiped her eye and nodded. And then, with steel in her heart and one grand performance under her belt, she left the room, collected herself, and walked swiftly down the hallway ready for the next step.
CHAPTER NINETY-NINE
Spocatti was hit, but George Redman was dead.
The dart was lodged in the center of his forehead. The cyanide either mainlined into his brain or his heart.
Either way, it didn’t matter. The job was done. But if someone heard those gunshots, Spocatti’s life was about to get more difficult.
He pushed himself up, shrugged off his jacket, and saw the damage. He’d been shot in the upper left arm. And while he wasn’t bleeding profusely, he was bleeding enough that people would notice if he left in this condition.
Quickly, he created a tourniquet out of his belt. He wrapped it several times above the wound, pulled it tight, and tucked what was left of the strap around his arm so it would look as smooth as possible in his jacket. He was in pain, but the pain only made him feel more alive.
He checked his jacket, saw the hole and the blood, and slipped it on. Across the room, on the wall, was a large, decorative mirror. He stepped over Redman and one of his guards, went to it and turned so he could look at the sleeve. In this light, the belt made his upper arm bulge weirdly. Worse, a bit of his shirt showed through the hole.
But the blood was dark, and it could camouflage.
He pressed his finger against the area where the shirt was still white, and as he did, it turned dark red. In the lobby, where the light was soft, it would be less of an issue. He took a breath, tugged down his jacket, and made sure that he looked as polished as possible.
Move.
He went to the door, eased it open. Nothing. He stepped out, moved into the lobby, and saw the last thing he wanted to see across the room. It was Epifania Zapopa, and she was talking to an older man. He kept his head down, and started to move toward the exit, but it was no good. She spotted him. He heard her cloying voice rise above the din. “Papi!”
He quickened his step. Out of his periphery, he saw her slipping through the crowd in an effort to intercept him.
“Papi!”
He passed the waterfall and was almost to the door, when above him, he heard a woman shriek. He turned and looked up to see a flash of red hair appear at the top of the mezzanine. And then, as cool as Spocatti was, even he became unnerved when the woman was shoved over the half wall and began to pinwheel through the air.
Collectively, the crowd gasped.
The woman was pushed so hard, she connected with the waterfall. She fell into the broad band of water, down through its liquid brightness, and landed with a sickening thud at its illumined base.
People started to scream.
Security drew their guns and pressed forward en masse.
The crowd was of two minds. Either they hurried over to the woman, who was lying in an unnatural, broken heap, and where the press already were taking photographs of her grisly death in vivid explosions of light, or they bull rushed the exits.
Spocatti joined those leaving the building. He fell in line behind them, a false look of horror on his face. In their effort to flee, people slammed against his arm, but he bit through the pain, stepped out of the building into the night, and was struck by what he heard.
At least on this corner of Fifth Avenue, with so many on the sidewalk stricken by what they had just witnessed, it sounded to him as if the city was crying.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED
For Carmen, it all came down to one thing. Create pandemonium, and do it swiftly. It would take them only moments to figure out that what she handed them was an image on her cell, and not a website.
She reached into her clutch for one of the darts and pinched it between her thumb and index finger. She went to the fire alarm at the end of the hall, which she had spotted earlier and which had given her a rush of hope. She pulled down the handle, and in the wake of the wailing alarms and the sudden cries of fear from those in the lobby, she ran down the hallway before the door to the office could open.
She knew the guard, Sean, would be the one to open the door, and she was ready for him when he did.
She cupped her hands over her ears, and looked terrified when the door sprung open. It was him. Inside, she could hear Leana crying uncontrollably.
“What’s happening?” she said.
“There must be a fire. We need to get everyone out of here. Now.”
When he turned away to speak to Leana and Michael, Carmen acted. She removed the clip from her hair, and held it low at her side as she shook her hair out. Then she jammed the dart directly into the man’s spine.
Purely on instinct, Sean Scott swung around and bashed Carmen hard across her face with the full weight of his fist. She fell to the ground and skidded across the floor, her nose broken.
For a moment, she was too stunned to move. There was nothing but a roaring in her head, the coppery taste of blood in her mouth, and a faintness that would end her if she gave herself over to it. Drawing on whatever strength she had left, she forced herself up just as the guard fell to the floor, dead.
Leana leaned down beside him, checked for a pulse, and then looked up in horror at Carmen. “You killed him,” she said.
Carmen wiped the blood that was flowing from her nose, and shook it on the floor. She was still light-headed, but she was coming back into herself. “So, I did.”
“Who are you?” Michael asked.
Carmen couldn’t help a smile. She dropped her clutch to the floor, but not before grabbing the can of mace that was inside it. “I’m Louis Ryan,” she said. “Back from the dead.”
She pressed the button that released the blade from her hair clip, flicked it at her side, and held out the can of mace in front of her. She swiped the blood from her face, and started to move toward them.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED ONE
“Where are Leana and Michael?” Mario said, moving through the crowd with Marty and his wife, Jennifer, at his side. They scanned the area for them as the lobby emptied and people fled the building.
“There are security cameras hidden everywhere,” Marty said. “Look around—you’ll see them. Somewhere in here, somebody is monitoring them.”
Mario turned, looking for Sean Scott, but instead he saw Zack Anderson, who was trying to keep the crowd calm as they hurried through the open doors.
He called out to him.
Zack looked up, and ran over.
“Have you seen Leana?”
“I saw her about fifteen minutes ago, before this happened.” He pointed over to the sprawling reception area. “She went through there. Sean and Michael were with her. So was a woman with blonde hair.”
“What woman?”
“No idea, but she looked upset. Sean looked as if he was trying to console her.”
“What’s back there?” Marty asked.
“Offices. Nothing more. Is Leana OK?”
“If she’s with Sean, she is. I want to get her out of here with me, not with anyone else. I assume there’s no fire?”
“There isn’t. Somebody must have yanked one of the alarms. Somebody ruined tonight for her.”
Mario shook his head in disappointment, and hurried with Jennifer and Marty to the reception desk. He lifted himself up, and slid over it. Marty and Jennifer followed suit. What they found in the back were two hallways, one that led to the right and another that cut to the left.
“I’ll go right,” Mario said. “You two go left. When one of us finds them, we call out to each other. Then we regroup, and try to figure out what happened here tonight.”
“Don’t go into this blindly,” Marty said. “Take your time. Listen as much as you can despite
the alarms. We don’t know who that woman was, but I find it suspicious that the alarm was pulled not long after Zack saw them together. It could be nothing, but in my business, you take nothing for granted.”
“Understood.”
At that moment, they heard Leana scream.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWO
“Scream again,” Carmen said, “and I’ll cut your throat.”
“Put down the blade,” Michael said. “Please, put it down.”
Carmen titled her head toward him. “Now, why would I want to do that?”
“Because you’re frightening her.”
“And that concerns me how?”
“You can leave. There’s still time. You don’t have to do this.”
“A contract is a contract, Mr. Archer. You’ve signed your share of them over the course of your career. I’m assuming you always delivered what you promised. So will I.”
“Why are you doing this?” Leana asked. “What’s the point?”
“The point is that Louis Ryan planned for this to happen should anything go wrong the first time around, which it did as we all know. I’m just one of the vehicles that will finish his unfinished business. You remember his original plan, don’t you, Leana? And you, Michael? Kill every Redman. We can do this quickly and painlessly, or it can get messy and painful. You decide.”
She took a step toward them, her can of mace and the blade lifted in front of her. Blood was dripping out of her nose and down her face. She saw Michael look around him, likely looking for something to throw at her, but there was nothing. She took another step forward, and they each took a step back. “Don’t make this difficult,” she said, moving closer. “Either way, the outcome will be the same.”
Park Avenue (Book Six in the Fifth Avenue Series) Page 41
