Endgame

by Dee Davis

  "Where the bloody hell is my daughter?" Philip Mer-rick spat at Cullen, pacing the Turkish carpet like an enraged sultan. His eyes were narrowed to slits, his mouth drawn into a tight line, his voice strung tighter than a Strad-ivarius.

  "I've told you, Philip, I don't know." Cullen's voice wasn't exactly tranquil. The events of the night were quickly spiraling out of hand. First the near-miss with the purported hacker, then Jeremy's murder, and now Gabriel disappearing with Madison. "Gabriel just called to say that she needed a little time. He'll watch out for her."

  "Like hell he will." Philip's voice had risen to a shriek. "You know as well as I do he's far more likely to use her and then leave her high and dry like that prick she married. You said the bastard called. Where did the call come from?"

  "I don't know, he wouldn't tell me." Cullen did not like being put on the defensive, even when it was Philip. Especially when it was Philip. They'd been friends for a long time, but there had always been an air of superiority about the man that had irked Cullen. And there'd been times when Cullen quite cheerfully would have paid good money to see Philip being taken down a peg.

  But now wasn't one of those times. Not when Madison was involved. On one thing they absolutely agreed, and that was their shared love of Philip's daughter. "He's not going to hurt her."

  "You don't know that." Philip had calmed a little, if only so that he could think. "Did you star sixty-nine him?"

  Cullen shook his head. "It didn't occur to me. I trust the man, Philip."

  "Do it now." Philip was already looking around the room for the telephone.

  "I can't. I've received other calls."

  "Well, check the caller ID," he demanded.

  "I'm not going to second-guess my command team just because you feel like you've lost control of your daughter." Cullen shook his head regretfully, knowing his friend was about to explode.

  "God damn it." Philip didn't disappoint. "I want to know where my daughter is."

  And so they'd come full circle.

  "She'll be back in the morning. Gabriel said so. She just needed time to sort through what happened. She was there when Jeremy was murdered. And you know as well as I do that she'll be feeling guilty about it."

  "It wasn't her fault," Philip snapped.

  "Of course not, but that's not the way she'll see it. Gabriel's been through this kind of thing before." He reached out to pat his friend, an obviously ineffectual way to placate him based on the glare he got in return. "He'll know how to help."

  "I don't want him to help her. I don't want him to do anything to her." This last was said through gritted teeth.

  "I know that, Philip. But she's a grown woman, and she has to make her own choices."

  Philip sank down on the sofa, burying his face in his hands. "I should never have let her get involved in all of this."

  "You couldn't have stopped her." Cullen sat in the chair across the way, exhaustion gnawing at him.

  "But you could have." Philip lifted his head, his eyes flashing with accusation. "It's your fault she's part of this. You used her."

  An unaccustomed wave of guilt crept up the back of Cullen's neck. "Maybe so," he acknowledged on a sigh, "but she came willingly. And she's not the innocent you pretend she is, Philip. She's an FBI agent, along with all that entails. Furthermore, she's good at what she does. Quite possibly the best. And I need her expertise, it's as simple as that."

  "It's not that simple and you know it. She's your goddaughter, for God's sake. You're supposed to care about her." His voice was rising again. "But instead, as usual, you've put your interests ahead of everyone else's. Has it occurred to you, Cullen, that she could have been killed tonight?"

  "Of course it occurred to me." He clenched his fists, fighting the emotions rippling through him. "And scared the hell out of me, as well. But again, I remind you, it was her choice to put herself into the line of fire. Not mine."

  "And how do you figure that?" Philip asked, his voice deceptively soft.

  "She's a professional. How many times do I have to say it? If she wasn't here, she'd be off on some other case, and for all you know it could be even worse."

  Philip stood up, crossing over to the chair, towering over Cullen. "If anything happens to my daughter, Cullen, I swear on everything I hold holy that I'll kill you myself. Am I making myself clear?"

  "Perfectly," Cullen said, holding himself together by the most tenuous of tethers.

  Philip strode from the room, anger radiating with every step. Cullen could almost smell the rage. Or perhaps it was fear.

  His fear.

  Nothing was going as planned. Everything seemed to be falling apart.

  Dear God, what had he done?

  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound so philosophical. Guess it's just the morbidity of the evening," Madison apologized, pulling the robe closer about her shoulders.

  Gabe pushed away the last of his burger, and tried not to stare at the expanse of skin exposed by the vee of the robe. She'd hit a nerve. Several in fact, but he wasn't about to reveal more than he'd already let slip. If concentrating on her more salacious assets would keep his mind occupied and his mouth shut, then so be it.

  "It was just talk." He shrugged, managing to keep his voice light, almost flip, but he could tell she wasn't buying. "You get enough to eat?"

  She glanced down at her plate, looking almost surprised to see it empty. "I'm fine."

  "There's still dessert." He lifted the lid on a piece of chocolate pie, his mind already picturing her savoring it.

  "No thanks." She smiled, her expression suddenly guarded. "I think I've already had enough."

  He wondered if there was really subtext to her words, or if he was merely projecting his emotions onto hers. Either way he needed to pull back. This wasn't what he wanted. If he couldn't still see the signs of her exhaustion, the barest hint of pain, he'd be heading for the nearest bar.

  But he couldn't leave her on her own.

  She needed someone with her. And if her father was out, so was Cullen. And he sure as hell wasn't going to leave her with Nigel or Payton. They were his friends, but he was also more than aware of the fact that they were full-blooded males, and Madison in a terry-cloth robe would try the sexual patience of a saint.

  And his friends weren't exactly deity material.

  Harrison Blake was even worse. Just a friend. Yeah, right. Not unless the man was a eunuch. Gabe frowned, emotions swirling inside him with the force of a whirlwind.

  "Are you okay?" Her face was creased with concern, the expression sending his heart hammering. If she only knew....

  "I'm fine. I was just thinking about the case. About Bosner's murder." As soon as the words left his mouth he willed them back.

  Her face tightened and she wrapped her arms around her waist, the combined gesture making her seem all at once lost and frightened.

  "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

  She shook her head, visibly pulling her emotions into control, or at least keeping them well masked. "Don't be ridiculous. It's our case. We have to talk about it. I don't know why I'm letting it get to me this way. I know better."

  She said it as though she could control the emotion, but Gabe knew better. Guilt was an insidious thing, whittling its way deep inside you, twisting around your gut until it was almost inextricable.

  "You can't control what you feel, Madison."

  "Of course I can." The words were uttered with enough gusto for four people, but it still didn't sound as if she believed them. "I don't have a choice really, do I? Not if we're going to figure out who's behind all of this. One thing's for certain, I don't want Jeremy's death to have been for nothing."

  He had to admit she had spunk. Still, he worried that suppressing it would only make it all that much worse later on. Not that there was a thing he could do about it. She had to find her own way. He more than anyone recognized the truth in that.

  "They'll go over the apartment and the building across the way with a fine-too
th comb. If there's anything to find, we'll find it."

  "That's just the problem." She chewed on her lower lip, a sure sign she was wrestling with something. "Whoever our assailant is, he doesn't make mistakes."

  "Everyone makes mistakes. We just have to find them."

  "Maybe." She was frowning now. "But it's almost like two different things are happening here. First the murders. And then the hacker and our attempt to catch him."

  "What are you getting at?" Gabe asked, intrigued.

  "I'm not sure really." She leaned forward, the robe gaping open a bit, but Gabe forced his mind to stay focused on her words. "The murders, even in the beginning, have been performed with a certain degree of skill. At first in an obvious attempt to avoid being caught, and then with the proficiency of a hit man."

  "Right. You said earlier that it almost seemed like two different killers."

  She nodded, her brow still furrowed in thought. "I think that makes sense. But what I'm talking about here would be a third player."

  Gabe's eyebrow shot up in question, his disbelief palpable.

  "Not a third killer," she clarified. "But I'm not convinced the hacker is related to our killer. At least not directly. I mean, look at the merry chase he's been leading us on. It's almost like he wants us to catch him."

  "Which is the exact opposite of the killer. But maybe he's playing two games with us. A blatant attempt to confuse."

  "Maybe." She tilted her head and sighed. "But it doesn't feel right to me. Why would he make the effort?"

  "To distract us? Or maybe it is a separate person. Someone who is part of the same group and therefore honestly playing the role of decoy."

  She sat back, playing with a now cold French fry. "It's possible. Maybe even makes sense. Especially since the diversion—if that's what it is—didn't start until we were on the job. But I'm still thinking the explanation is something more than that." She shook her head. "But I'll be damned if I know what."

  "Payton and Harrison are working on finding something to tie W. Smith to a flesh-and-blood person. And if he's one and the same as the killer, we're in business. If not—" Gabe shrugged "—then maybe he'll be attached to our terrorists and through that link we can find the killer."

  "All of which takes time." Madison stifled a yawn. "And that's something we simply don't have."

  "Not with consortium members dropping like flies." She shuddered, and he immediately regretted his choice of words. "When exactly is the summit scheduled?"

  "In ten days. Which means that the Chinese are likely to go ballistic when they hear about Jeremy's murder. And unfortunately there's not a lot we can do to soothe their fears. The truth is, someone out there is murdering people faster than we can process them. All of which spells trouble for both the consortium and the accord." She paused, her eyes saying what her mouth could not.

  Cullen and the others were in immediate danger. And for Madison at least, that was more frightening than anything else the killer might hope to accomplish.

  "Cullen knows how to take care of himself. I've seen the man in action, remember?"

  "But you had his back." She was chewing her lip again, the strains of the day clear against the pallor of her face.

  "I've got it again." Her face hardened, and he immediately amended the statement. "We 've got his back." Unless Cullen was the one pulling the strings. Gabe didn't want to believe that, but it wasn't something he could ignore, either.

  "We don't know that he's involved." Madison sighed, the lines around her eyes deepening. It seemed they were now communicating without words. A heady thought.

  "All we can do is examine the evidence. You know as well as I do that eventually it will tell us what we want to know."

  She nodded, but looked so forlorn, he reached out to touch her hand, not certain whether he was doing it for her or for him. He just knew he needed the contact.

  Fire danced along his skin. He almost jerked back, but she turned her palm, her fingers closing around his.

  "We'll make this right." It was as much a question as a statement, her eyes begging for reassurance.

  His hellcat had a softer side, and the idea warmed him all the way through, her humanity lending her an air of vulnerability that he found enticing.

  Hell, downright sexy.

  Unfortunately she was also nearly asleep on her feet, which meant that her needs superseded his. So for the moment, it seemed, he'd been given a reprieve. Although it sure as hell didn't feel like one.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Madison woke with a start, the neon lights from Times Square flashing a pathway of pulsing light across the floor. She could almost feel a tangible beat. The city breathing. She rolled over and stared at the ceiling, her mind turning to the man on the other side of the closed door.

  Gabriel Roarke.

  Just the thought of his name made her shiver in anticipation. She rolled over onto her stomach and pulled the pillow over her head. What she needed was sleep. Or rather, rest—honest-to-God, peaceful rest.

  She flopped onto her back again.

  Fat chance of it happening here. She toyed with the idea of getting dressed and going home. Surely her father was gone by now. She even went so far as to swing her legs over the edge of the bed, her eyes lighting on the closed door.

  Leaving would mean walking right by him, and just at the moment, she didn't trust herself to successfully make that journey. Which meant she was stuck here until morning.

  With a sigh, she stood up and walked to the window, looking down at the street. Even at this hour there was activity below. People walking along, some sauntering in groups, others hurrying, on their way home or off to meet friends.

  New York—the city that never sleeps.

  She laughed at her own silly thoughts. She'd lived most of her life here, and still she found it oddly foreign, as if she could never predict what might come next. It was exciting, but also a little insular, as if she were marooned in the middle of nineteen million people.

  A lonely thought. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.

  "I thought I heard you moving around." His voice was as smoky as the night. "Are you all right?"

  She sucked in a breath and turned to face him. "I was just feeling alone."

  "Part of what you do, I guess." He walked toward her, stepping for a moment into the dancing neon light. He'd pulled on his jeans but hadn't bothered to fasten them, the hair on his chest narrowing to a thin line that disappeared into the open zipper.

  "No, it's more than that." She had the fleeting thought that she shouldn't be sharing—that it was too intimate— but the words pushed out of their own accord. "I mean, you're right of course, I do spend a lot of time living in killers' minds. Part and parcel of their nightmares. But this is something more, something I've felt ever since I was a little girl. Silly, I guess, but I've never been able to shake it."

  "It's not silly." He took a step toward her, the dark engulfing him again. "I know the feeling. Or at least something like it."

  There was always the chance that he was taunting her. In the dark it was impossible to see his face. But some part of her urged her to take the chance. To believe.

  "It's almost as if you're alone in a room full of people." He spoke softly, as if to himself. "I spent my entire childhood like that. Always on my own, never trusting anyone. And then somehow it just spilled over into my adult life." She heard him release a breath, a sigh. "You may live in the monster's nightmare, Madison, but I have to live with him. Pretend I am him. And sometimes I wonder if there's anything left of me at all."

  "What a pathetic pair we are." Her laughter rang hollow, and she felt the momentary fear that in saying it she'd somehow made it true.

  "Not pathetic. Just self-aware." He was slightly mocking now, but the words included them both, giving a sense of connection rather than rejection.

  She liked the way it felt. Liked the way the darkness enclosed them, a cloak protecting them against the dangers of the night. As if he'd r
ead her mind, he closed the gap between them. His breath brushed across her face, and then he was kissing her, his hunger only surpassed by her own.

  She wound her hands through his hair, savoring its soft, springy texture. They pressed together, the heat of the moment combusting between them in a spiral of passion she hadn't believed existed in the real world.

  Everything that was hard and unyielding about him came together in the moment, hot and demanding. And she matched him thrust for thrust as their tongues met and dueled. Each of them striving for power. Possession.

  There was a current arcing between them, the connection incendiary. He was a take-no-prisoners kind of man and she reveled in the thought of what that might mean. His hands found the smooth plane of her back beneath the undershirt she slept in, massaging in circles, the friction from his callused palms erotic.

  He moved slightly, his mouth trailing kisses along her brow line and down her cheek, finding the soft whorl of her ear, his tongue stroking the tender skin, a prelude of things to come. She pressed closer, feeling him hard against her abdomen, and knew he was aching for her as much as she longed to have him hot and ready inside her.

  They danced around in a circle, Madison running her hands along the velvet muscles of his chest, while he felt for the hem of her camisole. She leaned back, lifting her arms, her eyes boring into his. In one fluid movement he stripped away the cotton chemise and, with a swallowed moan, pulled her back into his arms, his skin hot against hers, all velvet and steel.

  He kissed her, then bit her bottom lip, the sensation somewhere between pleasure and pain, traveling first to her belly and then trailing fire to the wet place between her legs.

  God, she wanted this man.

  With a blatancy that surprised her, she slid her hand into the open waistband of his pants, gliding along the smooth skin of his abdomen until her fingers closed around him and moved rhythmically up and down.

  With another groan, he swung her up into his arms and moved to the bed, setting her amidst rumpled sheets of cool cotton. She arched her back, her hands on her own breasts, their gazes colliding in a heat that was palpable. She let her hands trail slowly down her stomach to the apex of her thighs, teasingly running a finger across the crotch of her silk panties.