by Dee Davis
"Keeping your hands clean?" Payton's comment was an observation, nothing more. Whatever animosity he carried was safely masked again.
"No. It just wasn't my forte."
"So what do you remember about Bluemax?" Harrison asked.
"Not that much really, it was a long time ago. They had some patents we wanted, and we offered to buy them out, patents and all. But Bluemax turned us down, so we organized a forced buyout. As I said, we needed what they had and if we couldn't get it the old-fashioned way—"
"You took it by force," Payton finished for him, not attempting to hide his disgust.
"It was just business." Cullen shrugged. "Vrycom existed for the sole purpose of furthering the technological revolution. Our job was to make sure new advances were kept within the circle of people most likely to be able to do something with them. It was a cooperative of a sort. We worked together for a common good."
"Yours." It was a statement, not a question, and Cullen chose to ignore it.
"There was financial gain certainly, but on both sides of the coin. A lot of the companies we bought out welcomed our involvement. And even the ones who didn't made money. I can't help it if it wasn't enough. If you're going to survive in this business you have to develop a thick skin. If I told you all the times I overextended only to come back from the brink it would surprise you. It's the nature of the beast. You learn to cope."
Payton opened his mouth to argue, but Harrison held up a hand to stop him. "I think we'd best all agree to disagree on this point. Besides, Cullen's culpability isn't the issue here. Finding the killer is. And to be honest, what happened with Bluemax may be totally spurious. Even if we assume that there is a connection between the CEO's death and the murdered victims, there's still a problem with pattern. Jeremy Bosner had nothing whatsoever to do with the Vry-com."
"I might be able to explain that." Gabriel walked into the conference room, his face flushed with anger. "According to Nigel, Jeremy may not have been the intended victim."
"What the hell were you doing talking to Nigel Ferris? I thought he'd tucked tail to run back to the prime minister." Cullen fought against a rush of anger. Ferris deserved to be hung by his thumbs and if Cullen had his way he'd see that it happened, international diplomacy be damned.
"He should be at the airport now. But before he left, he had some information to share."
"About Jeremy Bosner," Harrison prompted.
"No, about Madison."
Cullen's gaze collided with Gabriel's and his blood ran cold. "What about her?"
"Nigel studied the trajectory of the bullets at Jeremy's brownstone. He believes that the shot was meant for Madison, not Jeremy."
"But why would someone be gunning for her?" Cullen asked, his heart constricting. "She has nothing to do with Vrycom or the accord."
"Yes.but you do."
"I'm sorry, I'm not following." Cullen frowned, his hands closing around the edges of the table, trying to find something solid to hang on to.
"Then let me spell it out for you. With the exception of Jeremy, all the victims are the children of members of the Vrycom board." Gabriel was standing over him, towering actually, and Cullen felt a moment of real fear.
"And Cullen doesn't have any children." Harrison, too, was standing, his eyes narrowed in understanding.
Gabriel nodded. "But he has a goddaughter."
"Oh, my God." Cullen felt the blood drain from his face, his hands still clenching convulsively at the conference table. "Where is Madison now?"
"She's with her father," Gabriel said.
"That's impossible." Cullen stood up, leaning against the table for support.
"What do you mean?" Gabriel shifted so that they were standing eye-to-eye.
"I mean that Philip is in Brussels. He was called away this morning. So unless Madison has left the country, she can't possibly be with her father."
"Kingston, what are you doing here?" Madison asked, her mind already sorting through possible explanations. "I was expecting my father."
"I know." He walked over to her, taking her hands. "I'm sorry for the intrusion, but it was easier to wait up here." He gave her hands a squeeze. "Your father asked me to let you know that he'd been called away. Brussels, I think. He said you'd be here waiting, so I figured I'd just swing by. But when I got here you hadn't arrived yet, so when the concierge mistook me for your father and gave me the key, I'm afraid I didn't bother to correct him." His smile was somewhere between impish and apologetic, the expression making him look younger.
"You could have called." She squeezed his hands and let go, walking over to the refrigerator for a bottle of water.
"I was in the neighborhood." He shrugged. "Besides, I thought maybe you'd give me an update on what's been happening with the investigation."
She nodded, pulling out a bottle of Evian. "You want something?"
Kingston shook his head. "I'm fine. Had a latte on my way over."
She opened the bottle and the two of them walked over to settle on the sofa. "Did Dad say why he wanted to see me? He told Payton it was urgent."
"He didn't say anything. But I think he was a bit distracted. Something to do with a drop in the European bond market."
Par for the course. Philip Merrick had chosen his business over his daughter almost since the minute she was born. "No big deal."
"It is, obviously." Kingston reached for her hand again. "I'm sorry."
She pulled her hand back, and slid back to the corner of the couch, suddenly feeling inexplicably uncomfortable. She'd known Kingston forever, but he'd never been up here with her alone. She shook her head at her own foolishness; she was jumping at shadows again.
He obviously felt the tension, too, because he walked over to the bookcase, making a play of examining the titles there. "So why don't you give me an update?"
"We're trying a new tack." She didn't want to share Gabriel's suspicions about Cullen. Despite evidence to the contrary, she didn't really put that much stock in the idea. Cullen was ruthless when it came to business, but he'd never be party to killing someone. "Have you heard of Vrycom?"
Kingston's shoulders tightened, and she could see the tension radiating down his arms. "I'm not familiar with the name."
He was lying, but she wasn't certain why. "It existed during the '80s. A paper tiger meant to take out rivals, Companies with technology the cartel needed or wanted to bury. A company called Bluemax was one of the victims."
Kingston swung around to face her. "I thought you were working on the angle that it was something to do with the accord."
"We were. But there's evidence that an association with Vrycom could be the real motivation. Cullen served as the chairman, and eight of nine victims' fathers also sat on the board."
"Eight of nine? That leaves an anomaly, surely."
"Yes. Jeremy." She smiled, with what she hoped was confidence. "But we're working on that angle, as well."
"I see." He reached out to pick up a photograph of her and Cullen taken the previous Christmas. "You and Cullen are close."
Madison nodded, wondering why the abrupt change of subject. "He's been there when I needed him."
"More than your own father sometimes."
"Dad does the best he can. But he's consumed by his work. Nothing will ever change that. And I guess Cullen has sort of filled in the gaps. Tag-team fathers or something like that." She kept her voice light, but she could see from Kingston's expression that he was aware of how much her father's absences had hurt.
"I had a son, you know," Kingston said, staring down at the photograph.
Another non sequitur, but Madison contained her frown of impatience. "You've never mentioned a son." Which, considering how long they'd known each other, seemed more than just odd.
Kingston's smile was sad. "He died."
Again Madison had the feeling that there was more going on here than the surface conversation, and gently she probed for details. "Was he a baby?"
"No. He was a grown man. Or a
t least he thought he was." There was deep sadness there, and maybe just a hint of guilt.
"What was his name?" She walked over to him, placing a hand on his arm, the gesture meant for comfort.
He looked at her, almost as if he were surprised to find someone else in the room. "Edward. Edward Clinton." He sighed. "His mother got custody when we divorced. I never really had the chance to know him."
"I'm so sorry, Kingston."
"Are you?" he asked, his expression changing again, darkening somehow. "Yes, I guess you would be. You always were a sympathetic child."
She stepped back, not certain why, but letting instinct take control. "How did he die, Kingston?"
He lifted his eyes from the photograph in his hands, his gaze meeting hers, and she recognized anger glittering there. "He killed himself."
"Oh, God. I'm so sorry."
"No, Madison." He shook his head, carefully placing the photograph back on the bookshelf. "It's me who should be sorry. I always liked you."
She frowned, trying to understand what one thing had to do with the other. "Are you all right, Kingston?"
He didn't look well at all, one hand clutching the bookshelf, the other stuffed in his pocket. Her gaze automatically followed the line of his arm, locking in place on the familiar bulge in the immaculate Armani blazer.
A gun.
Before her body could react to the emphatic signal from her brain, he pulled out his hand, the silencer-clad .38 sending the message full stop. "I'm not all right at all, Madison. But in a few moments, I will be."
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Gabriel took the corner on two wheels, then ground to a halt behind a long line of waiting cars. He cursed under his breath, wishing he had a siren or something to clear the way, knowing that even that wouldn't necessarily be enough to break up a traffic jam in the city.
He wasn't certain what he'd find at Madison's, but the fact that her father was in Europe combined with Nigel's information about her possibly being a target had sent him running after her. Or more precisely slugging along in Cullen's Maserati in rush-hour traffic. He banged a hand on the steering wheel, almost rear-ending a taxi.
He'd tried her cell phone and her home phone, and she wasn't answering. He'd even talked to the personnel in her building, but to no avail. Payton was working to try and get someone up there, but in the meantime, even if it turned out to be a wild-goose chase, he couldn't sit still and take the risk that something could be wrong.
Except that sitting is exactly what he was doing—along with apparently half of New York City With another curse, this one not mumbled, he dodged another taxi and pulled into the far lane and up to the curb, blatantly ignoring the posted no-parking sign. He'd never been one for rules anyway. And right now his gut was screaming that Madison was in trouble.
Nothing else really mattered.
Slamming the car into Park, he leaped from it, barely stopping to turn off the engine. Patting his jeans pocket to be certain he had the set of keys Cullen had given him, he set out toward Seventy-second on a run.
His cell phone rang as Gabriel rounded the corner onto First, and after five insistent rounds of the Lone Ranger, he slid to a stop, fumbling in his pocket for the damn phone.
"Roarke." He knew he was yelling, but his irritation was fueled by fear.
"It's Harrison." To his credit Madison's friend sounded as worried as Gabe did. Maybe more so.
Gabe sucked in a breath, and fought for control of his voice. "Did you find her?"
"No." Harrison sounded apologetic, and he rushed to finish before Gabe could hang up. "Look, I don't know how this will impact things, but I thought you should go up there armed with all the facts."
"What did you find out?" Gabe started to walk again his pace just short of a run, still intent on reaching Mad-ison.
"I found the link we were looking for. The CEO of Bluemax was Kingston Sinclair's son. I don't know if that makes Kingston our killer or not, but I thought you ought to know."
"I thought you said the man's name was something else."
"It was. Apparently he used his mother's name. There's not a lot there. Father and son were estranged for years, but rumor has it that Kingston helped with the funding for Bluemax. That's how I tracked it down initially—" Harrison stopped suddenly as someone grabbed the phone.
"Gabriel?" Payton's voice was just this side of alarmed "You need to hurry. I sent the NYPD to Kingston's and he's not there, but they found the sniper rifle. And at least on surface examination it fits the ballistics for Jeremy's murder. I don't know where he is, but if he's at Madison's she could be in trouble. We're on the way. But you're closer."
Gabriel started to run again, still clutching the phone, not bothering to hang up. Three blocks to go—he just prayed there was still time. He'd only just found her, and he'd be damned if he was going to lose her now.
"I tried to do this before, you know. Twice in fact." His eyes were slightly unfocused, the sheen of sweat on his brow indicating he wasn't as calm as he'd have her believe.
"What do you mean?" She asked, playing for time, trying to figure out how to get to the foyer and her gun.
"The first time was in the operations room. Do you remember? I closed the blinds. I intended to do it then, but that computer boy interrupted." He frowned, and took a step toward her, and she forced herself to hold her ground. "But I heard you say you were going to Jeremy's. So I followed you there, and waited in the apartment across the way. It should have gone down easy, but you moved faster than I'd expected. And then Gabriel Roarke showed up." He spat the name out as if it tasted bitter. "You're a lucky girl. But I'm afraid your luck has finally run out."
"Your son was the CEO of Bluemax. That's why you killed the others. An eye for an eye." It was all starting to make perfect sense—in an insane kind of way. But then that was the type of mind Madison was used to dealing with.
"Right answer, wrong quotation. The gods visit the sins of the fathers upon the children. Euripides. They took my son, so I took theirs."
"But why me? My father had nothing to do with Vry-com." As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew the answer. "Cullen. This is about Cullen, isn't it?"
Kingston shrugged. "He has no children, but he loves you like a daughter. The loss will be as great."
"But it won't bring back your son."
His eyes hardened, clarity returning with a vengeance. "No, it won't. But I can at least assuage my anger and exact a bit of revenge."
"Like you did with the others." She was staring down the barrel of a gun, and still she wanted a confession. If the situation hadn't been so dire, she'd have laughed.
"I killed them all. And I wouldn't have been discovered if it hadn't been for Cullen's meddling. That's when I decided to bring you in. Make things a little more personal. I was the one who convinced Cullen that you should be a part of his famous Last Chance team. And I was the one who kept them running in circles."
"With a little inside help. Did you know about Nigel?"
His smile was slow. "Nice bit, that. At first I didn't know who it was. But then when I realized where his loyalties lay, it made sense. And quite honestly I couldn't have recruited a better partner. Poor bastard had no idea how much he was helping me."
"You killed Schmidt."
"Yes. I had to. If you'd found him alive he'd have screamed his innocence, and with a little digging you'd have been able to verify the fact. It wasn't part of the plan, but I couldn't afford to take the chance."
"But in killing him you risked discovery."
"Believe me, my dear, no one on your little team is going to connect the dots. It's too obscure."
"Gabriel will figure it all out. He's close to the truth now. He'll catch you in the end."
"Doesn't matter to me. All I ever wanted was to avenge my son. And with your death, I'll have completed the task."
He leveled the gun, and she heard the click as he sent a bullet to the chamber, the sound indicating that she had mere seconds to move.
The obvious thing was to dive for cover, but then she'd still have the disadvantage of his being armed and her not. Her weapon was still lying in the foyer, the fifteen feet or so she'd have to travel to retrieve it a death trap.
Better to immobilize the threat. And it was now or never.
Without waiting to analyze further, she dived for Kingston, feeling a bullet rip through her shoulder before she even heard the hissed report. As she crashed into him, she swung her arm upward trying to dislodge the gun.
They fell to the ground, each struggling for control, and Madison grabbed his right wrist, slamming it hard on the floor. The gun, finally freed, spun off to the left, and slid under the open drapes. Not much help, but at least it leveled the playing field.
Kingston was surprisingly fit for a man his age, his maneuvering a sign that he'd studied martial arts somewhere along the way. Wrapping his arm around her neck, he managed to lever them both to their feet, her body locked against his.
Swinging backward with her left leg, she hooked it around his knee, simultaneously swinging her elbow back into his diaphragm. The quick release of breath signaled that she'd hurt him, and she took full advantage of the moment, twisting free, scrambling toward the window and the gun.
But Kingston was faster, grabbing her hair and yanking her back to her feet, his fist making contact with her chin. Her vision swam for a moment, but she managed to turn and get in a blow of her own, the contact sending her adrenaline rushing.
Locked together, they did a macabre dance around the living room, each of them trying to maneuver toward the gun lying beneath the drapes. She tried again to bring him to his knees, but he twisted his hands in her hair, yanking back her head with enough force to make her dizzy.
Ignoring the pain in her head and shoulder, she kicked out again, making contact with his knee. The pop was au-dible, and he screamed in pain, falling backward, his hold on her tightening as he continued to fall.
Their combined weight shattered the window and Kingston slid through the broken glass, pulling her with him. For a moment she felt weightless, and then as she grabbed for a handhold on the windowsill, Kingston's body pulled taut as his fall was broken by his grasp on her calves.
