Endgame

by Dee Davis

  "Where's Madison?" Merrick finally barked into the phone.

  Gabe looked over at the bed, only to see her burrowing deeper underneath the covers, a pillow thrown conveniently over her head. He had no idea if she was honestly sleeping or faking it to get out of a conversation with her father, but he wasn't inclined to put it to the test. Let the old man stew.

  "She's sleeping."

  "Well, wake her up. I want to talk to her." The man's apoplexy carried from tower to tower across Manhattan, probably sending electric meters surging along the way.

  "I'll have her call you back, I promise. Right now, I need to answer my phone. So if you'll excuse me..." He didn't give the man the chance to answer, disconnecting and reaching for his jeans and the other phone—still happily playing the theme from the Lone Ranger—in the pocket.

  "Roarke."

  "Where the hell are you?" It seemed everyone was a little testy this morning. Cullen's tone was just this side of irate.

  "None of your damn business." He felt a bit like Romeo and Juliet, only no one was on his side. And the Capulets were in bed with the Montagues.

  "Is Madison with you?" The voice was more controlled now, as if his anger were being held in check.

  "Yes. And except for everyone calling us, we're fine."

  "I'm sure you are." Cullen sighed, the action negating some of the sarcasm in his voice. "But in case you've forgotten, there's a killer on the loose, and every moment matters. I was all for Madison having a bit of time to herself, but enough is enough. I want you both in my office in fifteen minutes. We need to regroup, and I need to provide tangible evidence to Philip that you haven't eaten his daughter alive."

  Gabe contained a grin, thinking about doing exactly that. "An hour."

  "Half an hour," Cullen insisted. "And not a minute longer. I've got a crisis on my hands, and the two of you are supposed to be fixing it—not each other."

  "Fine. Half an hour." Gabe hated being dictated to, but Cullen was right; the respite was over. He clicked off the phone, turned toward the bed.

  Madison had removed the pillow, and was sitting propped up against it, her hair spilling down over her breasts in a way that made his throat turn dry. "Anything new?"

  Gabe shook his head, fighting hard against his hormones, feeling the effect of her nudity on his lower anatomy. "He just wants us in the office pronto."

  "I'm not surprised, considering the body count. We should have been in an hour ago." She was reaching for her clothes, avoiding his gaze.

  "You needed a break. Besides, until we get the foren-sics reports back, there really isn't that much we can do." He followed her lead, and began to dress, trying not to think about what her withdrawal might mean. "Cullen is just worried about the accord."

  "Considering Jeremy's death, I'd say the concern is legitimate." She pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and then tucked her shirt into her pants. "But I'm still not convinced we're looking at organized terror. The M.O. is all wrong."

  "The first half maybe. But not so much now." He frowned, still trying to pull out of his libido-driven haze. "And I think everyone agrees that the murders are tied to the accord somehow."

  "It certainly seems that way."

  "You don't sound convinced." He buttoned bis shirt, his mind finally shifting to business.

  "I'm not completely. But I don't really have anything to base it on, just a feeling. I think we'll know a lot more when we find an identity for W. Smith. Did Cullen mention whether Harrison had found anything?"

  "No. He was more concerned with making sure we got the lead out."

  She nodded. "When did you say we'd be there?"

  "Half an hour." He felt like he was talking to a stranger, the resulting kick to his gut almost winding him.

  "No good." She shook her head, slipping into her holster. "I need to go home and grab a shower. Why don't you go on ahead, and I'll meet you there. It'll..." She fumbled with her gun, finally sliding it into place. "It'll be better that way." She shot him an automatic smile, and with an angry grimace, he walked over and grabbed her by the shoulders.

  "Just because your father disapproves doesn't mean that he's right."

  Her lower lip trembled. "I know that."

  "Then why the withdrawal?" He searched her face, trying to understand what was going on inside her mind.

  "I just thought it would be better if we concentrated on business. Last night..." She trailed off again, looking down at her feet.

  He placed a finger under her chin, bringing her head up, forcing her to look at him. "Last night?" he prompted.

  "Last night was wonderful. You know that. But I don't want you to think I expect anything more. I.. .1 appreciate what you did for me, but—"

  "Don't give me that crap." He cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Last night was a hell of a lot more than me comforting you over Jeremy Bosner's death and you know it. Whatever is happening between us, Madison, it's real. And no one, not your father, not Cullen, not you, is going to stop us from seeing where we go from here." His anger peaked and then died, and he forced himself to meet her gaze head-on.

  A tremulous smile threatened as she chewed her bottom lip. "I didn't mean to belittle it. It's just so new, and there's so much happening and—"

  He cut her off with a hard kiss, and then abruptly pulled away. "We've got work to do. I'll head to Cullen's and you go home for that shower. But make no mistake, Madison, things between us are a long way from over. And I for one intend to make certain you don't forget."

  The smile appeared again, and then she was gone, taking the light from the room and leaving Gabe more alone than he'd ever been in his entire life.

  Whoever said that love was a bitch was abso-fucking-lutely right.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  "I want to know what the hell has gotten into you?" Philip Merrick stood at the breakfast bar in Madison's apartment, looking like he was about to go three rounds with Mike Tyson.

  "Nothing has gotten into me." Well, something had, but she wasn't about to share it with her father. "I just needed some decompression time, and I knew if I came home last night I wouldn't get it." She eyed her father over the top of her coffee cup, waiting for him to offer rebuttal.

  "I'm sorry if I came on too strong." His attempt at contrite was just this side of believable.

  Madison smiled. "Dad, the day you stop meddling in my life will be the day you're dead, so stop trying to pretend otherwise. And for the record, I'm fine. Honestly. I was a little shaken up last night, and Gabriel offered me a way out for a bit." An understatement that almost had her blushing.

  "I'm glad you had the time you needed, but I hate the thought that you didn't come home because of me. I only want what's best for you." His expression was one she recognized, frustration and pride mixed together with a bit of bewilderment. Her father never had been comfortable dealing with a daughter.

  "You want what's best for you Or maybe just what you believe is best for me. But neither of those alternatives is what's best for me. I'm the only one who can determine that, Dad. And the sooner you get that, the easier it will be for both of us." It was an old argument, and she didn't really expect a breakthrough today. It was just an obvious way to turn the conversation away from Gabriel.

  "I try."

  He did not, but if he thought he did, then he got credit. She shot him a tolerant smile, thinking of Gabriel growing up all alone. At least she'd always had her parents— to some degree. And God's honest truth, it was better than the alternative.

  "I love you, Dad. And I appreciate that you worry about me. But right now, I've got to get over to Dreamscape and my team. There's a murderer on the loose, remember?"

  He opened his mouth to protest, but shut it again. Wise man. "Can I give you a lift?"

  "That'd be great." It was as close to peace as they were ever likely to come, but he was her family, no matter how dysfunctional. "Just let me grab my gun." Even as the words came out of her mouth she realized it was the wrong thing to
say.

  "Damn it, Madison, I wish you wouldn't carry that thing around with you." He'd gone from penitent to mulish in something under fifteen seconds. Might be a record.

  "It's hard to kill the bad guys without it." She shuddered as the thought brought back vivid memories of Jeremy Bosner taking a bullet. Her gun hadn't done him a bit of good.

  "I'm sure you did everything you could, honey." Philip Merrick didn't use endearments, he didn't even do comforting very well, and here he was mind reading to boot.

  She forcibly closed her mouth, her eyes on her father.

  He shrugged, a smile lighting his usually stark features. "I won't pretend that I like what you do, Madison, but that doesn't mean I'm not perfectly aware of how good you are at your job. If anyone could have saved Jeremy it would have been you. So stop blaming yourself. All right?"

  Madison wasn't sure how to take the new and improved version of her father, but she decided face value was usually best—with caution, of course. "Thank you for that."

  Her father reached out to hug her, the gesture awkward and touching all at the same time. "I just don't want to see you hurt."

  She pulled back, knowing that they'd stopped talking about her profession. Even without words, she knew her father was referring to Gabriel. And she would have shot back something pithy, except she wasn't sure that he wasn't right.

  Whether she wanted to admit it or not, Gabriel Roarke certainly had the power to hurt her. Only time would tell if that in fact would turn out to be the case. She supposed she ought to guard her heart or at least pull back, but she'd tried that without much success. There was something about the way he looked at her that turned practical intentions to hard-boiled mush.

  He'd said they'd take things as they came. That there was something worth nurturing. But she wasn't as sure. Experience was a hard teacher, and she'd learned from the master. Still, there was always the exception to the rule.

  And on that thought, she rinsed her cup, and grabbed her gun.

  Gabriel was having a hell of time concentrating on the files in front of him. If he were honest, he'd admit that it was because he couldn't keep his mind off last night, but instead he pretended he was just irritated with her for being late.

  "You taking medicine?" Harrison asked without looking up from his computer terminal. The man had eyes in the back of his head. "That's the third time in the last half hour you've checked the clock by the door."

  Gabriel didn't bother to answer, just shot another look at the blasted clock.

  "I've got a ballistics match," Nigel announced. "Or at least I think I do." He was sitting at a separate computer station, looking at a graph of the bullet's serrations.

  "I thought Tracy's forensics people were working on that." Payton, too, was working on tracing forensics data. He had spent the last couple of hours comparing the partial fingerprint they'd found at the abandoned apartment to those listed in AFIS.

  "I just thought I'd get a jump on it," Nigel responded. "Beats chasing my tail. Anyway, I think I've got something."

  Gabe pushed all thoughts of Madison aside and looked over Nigel's shoulder at the computer screen, Payton and Harrison flanking him on either side.

  "Based on striation and composition, it looks to me as if our .223 is a match to one used in a confirmed terrorist attack in Beijing two months ago. Two shots were fired during an informational meeting between the Department of Defense and the Chinese equivalent. No one was hurt, and a local dissident group claimed credit. However, officials never identified the shooter."

  "Was anyone from the consortium present?" Gabe asked.

  "No." Payton shook his head in response. "I remember the incident you're talking about, Nigel. And at least when I cross-checked it, I found no personnel on either side that are currently involved in negotiations. In fact, I don't remember finding a ballistics report."

  "I have a bit more pull than you do these days." Nigel tipped his head back to meet Payton's gaze. "The report is obviously need-to-know information. But considering the ballistics match, I made it clear that we needed to do just that."

  Payton frowned, but held his tongue, and Gabe was grateful for his self-restraint. Nigel could be a bit of a prima donna at times, but it didn't change the fact that there was a match and that there was an apparent connection to their situation.

  "So we have a tenuous tie between two events," Gabe said, "but nothing to lead us to the killer."

  "Well, we do have the name of the group. And unless I'm mistaken, it's one of the two that Payton mentioned earlier as possible organizations that had reason to want the accord to fail."

  "So who do they use for black ops?" Gabriel stepped back from the computer, the wheels in his brain cranking. "Payton, can your sources help pinpoint any names? Maybe there's a link between our W. Smith and someone they use in the U.S.?"

  Payton nodded, his attention still on Nigel, his expression masked.

  "I can check the data in our computers, as well," Harrison added. "By cross-checking the incident with the group itself, I might be able to come up with something I missed before."

  "Good. At least it's something positive I can report to Cullen. Have you found a match for the fingerprint, Pay-ton?"

  "Nothing local. I'm checking state by state now. And I've got a call into Interpol to see if they have anything. I'll get back to you if something turns up. But to be honest I'm not that hopeful. There's not much here to go on. Certainly not enough for a statistically significant match. But I figure it's still worth a try." Payton shrugged.

  "It's a step in the right direction. Anything else come back from Tracy's with regard to Bosner's shooting?"

  Harrison picked up a report. "No casings or fingerprints on site. The building was supposed to have been locked, although there's no apparent tampering with the door. So either it was inadvertently left unlocked, or our killer knows his way around locks. Based on the epicenter of the shattered glass, the location of the slug in Bosner's wall, and the entry wound on the man, they're almost one hundred percent certain the shot came from the second floor window you found open." He looked up from the papers. "For someone to make that kind of shot he'd have to be really good. And have the right equipment. You said you heard a hiss?"

  "Silencer, but not a big one. Just enough to muffle the report."

  "All of which supports our theory that it's a pro," Harrison said, holding out the report.

  Gabe took it, wishing that it held something more in the way of answers. Something that would help him nail the killer.

  "Cullen's asking for us." The sound of Madison's voice surrounded him like an embrace, and he steeled himself to keep the resulting emotion off of his face.

  She was dressed in black, her white button-down perfectly pressed, not a hair out of place. But in his head, he saw her naked, gleaming with sweat, her body locked against his. His blood pressure shot up, his heart pounding in his ears. Through sheer force of will, he banished the thought, managing somehow to keep his smile impersonal.

  But their eyes met, and the message sent and received was purely sensual in nature. A promise of things to come.

  "Let's go," he said breaking eye contact, trying to compose his jumbled thoughts. "I've just been getting an update of where we are, I'll brief you on the way."

  She nodded, smiled at Harrison, which irked him more than he'd like to admit, and turned to go. He followed after her, knowing full well that three pairs of eyes were still locked on them. Eyes that were trained to see even the smallest detail. To find truth in lies, and reality buried beneath subterfuge.

  In short, he was toast.

  "So basically we've got nothing." Cullen Pulaski sat at his desk, hands clasped in an effort to remain calm.

  Gabriel sat in a chair across the desk, next to Kingston. Madison sat on the windowsill, fidgeting with the blinds' cord.

  "We know that the murders are tied together, and we believe there may be a link to an organization in China," Gabriel said. "Harrison and Payton are
working to follow up on the lead."

  "Where do things stand with the accord?" Madison asked.

  "The Chinese are running scared, just as we suspected." Cullen picked up a pencil and twirled it between his fingers. Anything to help him maintain an illusion of calm. "The president got a call this morning."

  "It's gone that high?" Gabriel frowned, surprise blending with concern.

  "Started there, actually," Kingston said. "This has been the president's game from the beginning. We're merely the lucky players who get to dodge the bullets."

  "And bring home the money, if it succeeds." Gabriel's eyebrow lifted, a hint of cynicism coloring his voice.

  "There's always a payoff, Gabriel, you know that." Cullen shrugged, wondering again if he'd been wise to bring Gabriel and Madison into this.

  "Yes, but is this one worth the price?" Madison's voice was soft, her eyes probing as she watched him.

  "That's not a question I can answer." Cullen dodged the question as best he could, struggling to shift the conversation to safer ground. "Besides, it isn't my call. The president is the only one that can put an end to negotiations."

  "The president or the Chinese," Kingston reminded.

  "Which leaves us playing a bluffing game. We have to convince the Chinese government that everything here is fine, when in fact everything here is far from that."

  "But you can't hide it from them, surely?" Madison stood up, rubbing the small of her back, and Cullen noticed the shadows under her eyes. "I mean Jeremy and Candace's murders have been all over the papers. You've managed to quash it a bit, but not entirely."

  "Yes, but the connection between the two of them has been nothing more than speculation at this point. And that gives us what we need to create doubt."

  "But there isn't any—" Madison started, but he cut her off with the wave of a hand.

  "It's enough for now. And unless I hear something different from Washington, it's the way we're going to proceed. The summit is on unless I tell you otherwise, which means that we must work all that much harder to find the culprits and bring them to ground." He snapped the pencil in two, the pieces clattering across his desk.