by Dee Davis
"I was next in line." Jeremy shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "And there are people who think I might have been a better bet. Look, the whole idea was to keep this all on the back burner until we got to the bottom of what was happening. But thanks to all of this, we're getting more attention than ever. The murders are continuing. And your team has done nothing."
"I told you, we've been together for less than a week," Madison interrupted, anger flashing in her eyes. "In that amount of time you can't expect miracles."
"I know that, Madison. And I'm not trying to throw stones. Especially at you." His look was imploring. "But I need this accord to go through, and for my investment to pay off. It's as simple as that. And no matter how unpleasant the prospect, I'll do whatever is necessary to make sure that's exactly what happens." His attention shifted back to Cullen. "Am I making myself clear?"
Cullen swallowed a bitter retort. There was no sense antagonizing the man. "I hear what you're saying, but I think you're worrying about nothing. Madison and Gabriel have excellent credentials. Between them they'll put a stop to this. Mark my words."
"I hope so," Jeremy said, his gaze encompassing them both. "If not, there'll be hell to pay. If this accord fails, Cullen, I'll be the least of your problems."
"Well, if this is how the other half lives, I, for one, wouldn't mind giving it a go." Gabe stepped into the heavily paneled entry hall, his eyes passing over the lavish fittings to settle on what could only be an original Picasso.
"Appearances can be deceiving," Nigel whispered, watching the butler disappear behind a pair of double mahogany doors. Candace Patterson's family was definitely part of the moneyed elite that made up much of Westchester County.
"You sound as if you know." Gabe pulled his attention from the Picasso to frown at Nigel.
"Only secondhand. But believe me, that's enough."
Gabe opened his mouth to retort, but before he could do so a woman stepped into the foyer. She looked to be about sixty, her white hair fashionably cut and arranged with the precision of a military assault. Her suit reeked of money, and Gabriel had no doubt that the diamonds at her throat and ears were real.
"I'm Bertrice Patterson." Her voice was low and husky, the telltale mark of a smoker. "Gibson tells me you're with the police?"
"Actually, we're a bit higher up the ladder." Gabe flashed his credentials. "Special Agent Roarke."
"The FBI? I'm afraid I don't understand."
Gabriel didn't bother to correct her. The less she knew about who they really were, the better. "We're investigating your daughter's murder."
"I thought it was a robbery?" She fidgeted with her bracelet, spoiling her studied impression of calm.
Gabe exchanged a glance with Nigel. "Forensics indicates she was already dead when she was robbed."
"Oh, dear God." The woman's hand rose to her throat. "I had no idea."
"Preliminary findings supported a mugging. You'd no way of knowing." Nigel's voice was calming, his smile gentle.
"I think I'd best sit down." She drew a deep fortifying breath, and motioned them through the mahogany doors.
Gabriel followed her into the room, taking in its understated opulence. "Did your daughter have any enemies, Mrs. Patterson?" It was a standard question, and he didn't expect her to have an answer, but it was a way to relieve some of the tension, to focus her grief toward a solution.
"Not that I know of." She'd linked her hands together, her knuckles white with the effort. "But then we hadn't talked recently."
"You were estranged?" Nigel had taken a seat on a chaise, his posture giving the illusion of breeding, as if he sat in millionaires' mansions on a daily basis. Mrs. Patterson's smile was weak, but genuine.
"Not at all. We were quite close. Normally, we talked daily. But she was so busy at work. She hardly ever even made it home."
Gabriel raised an eyebrow.
"She had an apartment in the city. When she had an early meeting or was planning on being out late, she stayed there instead of coming home."
Nigel frowned. "What about her husband?"
Bertrice shook her head, disapproval radiating from her very pores. "He rarely goes to the city anymore."
"Is he unwell?" Nigel asked.
"No." She shook her head, her diamonds swaying with the motion. "Just lazy. Fundamentally so, I'm afraid."
"Is the marriage sound?" Gabriel wondered suddenly if perhaps they'd missed the boat on this one. Maybe there was another suspect.
"In its own way, I suppose. They seem to tolerate each other. And for whatever reason Candace showed no interest in divorce."
"Is it possible he may have felt differently?"
Bertrice laughed, the sound hollow. "Believe me, he hasn't the gumption for something like that. And besides, there's a prenup. With Candace gone, he's left high and dry."
"What about work?"
"I wouldn't know anything at all about that." She shrugged. "You'd need to ask her father."
Nigel frowned. "I wasn't aware that Mr. Patterson had anything to do with Lexco."
Again she laughed, but this time the sound was more natural. "He doesn't. But then he isn't Candace's real father. I'm afraid I was a bit indiscreet in my younger days. Fortunately Harold overlooked the fact." She waved a be-jeweled hand through the air as though dismissing the memory. "Lex Rymon is Candace's father. Although it was years before Candace got him to own up to the fact. Rather a complicated mess, our family."
"Was Mr. Rymon close to your daughter?"
"They got along, but I'd say it was more a business understanding than a father-daughter relationship. My daughter was single-minded about making it on her own. Lex gave her the opportunity to do just that."
"Work for her father." Nigel was stating the obvious, but bis tone conveyed much more.
"In a manner, yes. But not in the usual Daddy's-little-girl way. Believe me, she wouldn't have lasted at Lexco if she wasn't up to it. Lex simply wouldn't have allowed it."
"I take it he's not the sentimental type."
Her smile was brittle. "In our circles sentiment is dangerous."
Gabe sensed the interview was over. He stood up, not sure exactly what they'd gained, but accepting that it was time to move on. "Thank you for your time."
Nigel followed his lead, standing up, his expression conciliatory. "We're sorry to have intruded."
"It's all right," she said, her gaze encompassing them both. "I want to know what happened to my daughter, and anything you gentlemen can do toward that end is a welcome intrusion."
The butler materialized at her side, almost from thin air, and with a stiff nod, escorted them from the room. Gabe stepped out into the sunlight, squinting in the afternoon glare.
"Well, that was a colossal waste of time." Nigel reached into his coat pocket for his sunglasses, and put them on, the action masking his expression.
"Probably so. But at least we can be fairly certain that Candace's relatives didn't do her in. From lack of interest if nothing else."
Nigel shrugged, lighting a cigarette. "They don't call them the idle rich for nothing, mate."
Gabe laughed. "It was sort of Stepford-wifeish, wasn't it?"
"And then some. Still, all of it added together makes her involvement with the accord seem a likely motive. The question, of course, is how do we prove it?"
"Well, first off, I think we have to talk to Lex Rymon."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Madison sat back in her chair, massaging her temples. She'd reread the files, trying to find something that tied the victims together. But beyond their wealthy background and their ties to the consortium and the accord, there was nothing unique. Which meant that it was going to be hard to predict who would be the next target. Like looking for a needle in a haystack. A defined haystack, but nevertheless a difficult if not impossible task.
The most obvious targets were Cullen, Kingston and Jeremy. They each had principal roles in the upcoming summit and all three held positions of power within the conso
rtium. Although she'd also been able to identify about six others who held similar roles, and another twenty who had primary roles in one area or another. Add to that the fifty member companies, and the list could potentially be inexhaustible.
The primary question, of course, was how much they should be told. Obviously some degree of concern for safety was necessary. But too much information would only cause panic, the result being that the Chinese would head for the hills and the accord would be dead. A rock and a hard place if ever there was one.
Madison sighed and pushed her hair behind her ears. She needed a break.
Payton was over in the corner, typing on a laptop that looked like more like it belonged on the starship Enterprise than in their operations room. He'd sequestered himself almost as soon as Gabriel had issued orders, and best as she could tell, hadn't moved since.
"Any luck?" She walked over to lean against the corner of a desk, looking down at him.
He closed the computer with a snap and swiveled to face her. "Nothing concrete. I've been talking to some of my Chinese contacts, and they're definitely aware of what's been happening. Not only the deaths, but the fact that we've been called in."
"And is that a good thing or a bad thing'?" She wasn't sure what to make of Payton Reynolds. He was self-contained like Gabriel, but without his sense of confidence. Almost as if Payton forced himself to keep the world at bay.
Despite the scar, he was the kind of man who could easily disappear into the background. Which if his dossier was to be believed, he'd made into an art form. Stealth as a commodity. But it had taken its toll. Too many hours on his own, pretending to be something he wasn't. It was there in the lines of his face and the hollows under his eyes. Dancing with darkness had a price. And Madison had the feeling that Payton Reynolds had paid—more than once.
"A little of both, I suspect." His answer was clipped, as if he really wasn't prepared to offer anything more, but she was his commanding officer in a way, and if she wanted to actualize the role she had to be willing to stand her ground.
"Meaning what, exactly?" She straightened up, giving her an even better height advantage, prepared to go the distance if he continued to hold out on her.
Instead, he smiled, the gesture changing his face, casting the scar into shadow, his craggy face suddenly handsome. "There's nothing I'm keeping from you, if that's what you're implying. Unlike Gabriel, I've got no problem with chain of command."
He'd read her like a book, and Madison found herself smiling in return. "I just need to know where we stand with the Chinese. It'll make it easier to decide how much of what we suspect should be made public."
He nodded, considering the question, then tipped back his chair so that he could see her more easily. "As I said, I talked to some of my contacts, and most of them seem to agree that although the delegates are getting restless, they're not ready to pull out of the game just yet."
Madison frowned, leaning back against the desk. "You said most of them. Was there a dissenter?"
"One." Payton crossed his arms. "Lin Yao. Not his real name, of course." His eyes flickered with mischief. "I'd have to kill you if I told you that."
He was laughing, but there was unmistakable sincerity in his voice, and Madison wondered for a moment what exactly Payton had been doing in China.
"I just want to know what he said."
"First you have to understand that not all the Chinese want the government to make a deal with the United States."
"I realize we have enemies in China, Payton, but surely it's getting better."
"No." He shook his head. "You're missing the point. The United States isn't the problem. The Chinese government is. And there are forces at work within the country that would do anything to make sure that the current regime is unable to maintain its power."
"And getting technological aid from the U.S. would be counter to that mission."
"Exactly. Unfortunately Lin Yao has no solid evidence. Just innuendo and rumor. My guess is even if Chinese dissidents are involved, they've hired an outside source. Someone with nothing to lose except a paycheck."
"A mercenary."
The word hung between them for a moment, and then Payton's grin reappeared. "Something like that. Or maybe someone who has another gripe with the accord. Someone who couldn't be traced back to the Chinese."
"And of course he has no idea who this person might be."
He shook his head. "Nope. But he's going to do some digging."
"Why would he help us?"
"He wouldn't." Payton shrugged. "But he owes me. And I owe Gabriel. So there you go."
"The mission in Iraq?" The question was out before she could stop it.
Payton's expression hardened. "It was a long time ago." It was a clear dismissal, but she pressed on anyway, compelled by something she couldn't quite identify.
"Cullen told me a little bit about it."
"Cullen Pulaski is a fool." There was no mistaking the animosity in Payton's voice.
"Then why..."
"I told you—" he waved a hand through the air, cutting her off "—I owe Gabriel."
Full circle stop.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry. I'm just trying to understand the dynamics of the group. I mean, it's not like I really know any of you."
Payton visibly relaxed, as though whatever demons she'd called forth had settled back into the dark recesses of his mind. "There's not much to tell really. I served under Gabriel for two tours."
"Delta Force."
He nodded. "We were tasked with some of the more unsavory missions. Including the rescue of Pulaski's underling."
"He said it was a rough mission. That people died."
His dark gaze met hers. "It was a hell of a lot more than that—" He cut himself off, his face shuttering again, whatever he'd been about to say firmly locked away. "Look, the reality is that Cullen Pulaski snaps his fingers and people jump to do his bidding, no matter the cost. Just look how fast you came running."
There was an element of truth in what he said, but she felt compelled to defend her godfather. "Whatever he does, he has good reason. You can count on that."
"What seems reasonable from one point of view often seems less so when viewed from the opponent's side."
"And you think that's what's happening here? That Cullen is manipulating this whole thing to his advantage?" It was exactly what Gabriel had said, the thought at once repulsive and cogent.
"The thought has crossed my mind, but I don't have anything concrete to back it up."
"Just a hunch?" Madison shivered, certain that if Pay-ton Reynolds had a hunch, there would be something behind it.
"Something like that." He shrugged, another shadow chasing across his face. "Or maybe it's just that I don't like the man. Anyway, we'll just have to wait until we gather more information. First up, I want to see what Lin Yao finds."
Hopefully, something that cleared Cullen of involvement. Madison shook her head, pushing thoughts of her godfather's innocence from her mind. Payton was right, time would tell.
"In the meantime," she said, forcing a smile, knowing that he could probably see right through her, "maybe Harrison can uncover the identity of the hacker. In my experience, once you attach an IP address to a physical one, it's only a short hop to a suspect."
"It might work that way with domestic crimes, but if this is really the work of Chinese dissidents you can be certain that tracing them won't be as easy as finding the computer used to hack into our system."
This time her smile was genuine. "You've obviously never worked with Harrison."
Lexco had corporate headquarters in three countries, but their chief financial operations remained in New York. Which meant the obligatory high-rise power building, in this case black glass and steel at the southernmost tip of Manhattan. Lex Rymon had run his company with an iron fist for almost fifty years, and his success was evident even in the steel and concrete of the building.
The executive dining room was no exception,
the plush bar appointed with crystal and velvet. Gabe and Nigel had already cased the place and found two security cameras and an acoustic panel that no doubt concealed recording devices. Seems Mr. Rymon liked to check in on his execs.
It had been tempting to disable the devices, but until he'd talked to Rymon, Gabe figured there was no sense in raising suspicion. As far as the man was concerned they were here to ask questions about his daughter's murder— nothing more.
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting." Lex Rymon walked into the room, his expression clearly contradicting the sentiment. He was a big man, rough around the edges despite the Canali suit. His handshake was firm, and Gabe could feel calluses beneath the hundred-dollar manicure. He might be a billionaire, but he had blue-collar in his pedigree somewhere.
"Thanks for agreeing to see us." Nigel was, as always, the consummate diplomat. Maybe it was something in all that tea. "We've just got a few questions."
"Bertrice called me. But I'm not sure what I can add that you don't already know." He motioned to a glasstopped table, and then walked over to the bar. "Can I get you a drink?"
Gabe waved away the suggestion, taking a seat at the table. Nigel followed suit, although he looked longingly at the bourbon Rymon was pouring.
"Bertrice said you suspect something other than robbery." He didn't sound surprised or particularly concerned, just curious.
"Your daughter was robbed postmortem." Nigel looked over at Gabe, the question in his eyes indicating he too had noticed Rymon's lack of emotional response. Either the old boy was good at hiding his feelings, or Bertrice had been right when she'd said there was little love lost between father and daughter.
"That means someone else is responsible for her death. Do you have any leads?" Rymon picked up his glass and brought it to the table, sitting down across from Gabe.
"That's why we wanted to talk to you. We thought maybe you could shed some light on Candace's last few hours. According to your statement, she was working late that night."
Rymon nodded. "She was here, but it wasn't Lexco business that had her here after hours. She was working on that damned accord. It was all she talked about."
