by D. N. Leo
She knew Zen was going to do something bad. Think fast!
“I was doing some research . . .” she said.
“Don’t you fucking lie to me again . . .” Zen grabbed the phone and walked toward a door.
“I’ve got it. I’ve got the access . . .” she spoke too fast and stuttered.
Zen walked into another room and tilted the phone so that Madeline could see that Jo was tied to a bed. “You know why she doesn’t scream? Because nobody can hear her from down here. No one can save her but you.”
Tears streamed down Jo’s face. She looked so tired and dazed with drugs.
Madeline wiped at the tears streaming down on her face as well. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Zen. I’m not lying to you about anything. Please don’t hurt her. Yes, I’ve done some research, and I got some information about a possible place of residence for the LeBlancs. I might be able to get an interview tonight with my journalist credentials. Please don’t hurt her!”
Zen tore off Jo’s shirt.
Jo cried. But she did not beg.
“Please don’t hurt her. I’ll do whatever I can tonight to get you the information. I’ll get you the list. No one else knows about this, I swear . . .” Madeline cried.
Zen climbed onto the bed. He grabbed Jo and hitched up her hips.
Madeline screamed into the phone. “Please, don’t! I’ll get you the list.”
Zen turned slowly to the phone. “Then you’d better keep your promise. I’ll call you tomorrow morning.”
Zen reached out and turned off the call.
As soon as the phone was off, Madeline slid down to the floor and wept. She had never felt that helpless in her life.
In Ciaran’s office, Lindsay pointed at the computer monitor. The video showed an enlarged picture of the brief case the man was carrying.
“What’s he doing carrying a silencer and hanging around our front gate. I’ve checked the surveillance data. He’s only been there this week. I think he’s waiting for you, Ciaran.”
“Only you and Robert know my schedule. There are much more convenient ways to get to me than lurking at the gate. Plus, I don’t use that gate. If he’s waiting for me there, then he’s an amateur. Not worth our trouble.”
“More convenient ways? Like at home? Man, Robert’d be offended hearing that!”
Ciaran nodded. “Yes, at home, wherever it is,” he muttered. “I’m having dinner with Madeline tonight at One Hyde Park.”
“You what? Holy shit. She’s a reporter. She must be a corporate spy. They’re the same gang. The guy stalked the gate, and the girl stalked you at home.”
“I don’t think they’re in the same group. He’s her adversary.”
Ciaran rewound the clip. “Pay attention to the handle of his briefcase. See that? He slid the knife out an inch. Probably tried to take her hostage or make her walk to a quiet corner and do whatever he intended to do to her.”
Ciaran enhanced the image on his computer. “He didn’t expect that Madeline would want to shake hands. That forced him change the briefcase to his left hand.”
“But if he’d wanted to kill her, why didn’t he just let her get run over by the bus?” Lindsay asked.
“Too many variables. The bus might brake in time, or she might have been able to get out of the way by herself. Or the accident might not have been fatal. If he wanted to kill her, then he would want to do it himself. Maybe he just wanted to capture her.”
“But why didn’t he follow her afterward?”
“He might have. Not right away because it would be too obvious.”
“I’ll send Robert to the apartment for your dinner tonight then.”
“We’re good friends, but I don’t intend to have dinner with Robert tonight.”
“Ciaran!”
Ciaran laughed. “Okay. I’ll be careful. You can tell Robert, but I don’t want him to hang too close. It’s only a dinner. You think I can’t handle a girl?”
“All right. I’ll call him now,” Lindsay said and exited the room. Ciaran rewound the footage and watched again.
9
Five minutes to seven. Madeline approached the corner of a series of luxurious apartments. She had no idea which one was actually One Hyde Park, nor did she know the exact number of the apartment.
What an idiot! She turned around the corner to the street front, and there he was, standing next to a marble pole at the entrance to a building, smiling at her.
When they closed the distance, Ciaran frowned. Madeline winced. She must look like crap after her crying marathon. A concerned expression crossed Ciaran’s face briefly and then disappeared.
“It was inconsiderate of me not giving you the exact address yesterday. So I thought I should wait for you at the entrance. You look beautiful.”
She loved his accent, but she knew a dig when she heard it. She was in black jeans, a deep gray turtleneck, and a long red leather jacket. Yes, the red leather jacket was respectable, given what she could stuff in her emergency travel bag. But what she wore was in no way compatible with the ten-thousand-dollar-minimum outfit on him.
Jo’s image was still fresh in her mind, and Zen’s voice still echoed in her head. Oh hell! She just realized that she’d forgotten to put her makeup on, and she was still wearing her ponytail.
“Madeline?”
“Huh?”
“What’s the matter?”
“What? Oh . . . I’m sorry. I’m just very tired. . .” Madeline rubbed at her eyes.
She hated herself at the moment. What happened earlier had knocked all the wits out of her.
Ciaran looked at her, his eyes pausing on her face for a second. He was skilled, she thought. Before the gaze became an awkward moment, he reached out, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, protectively and friendly.
“Come on, let’s get some food into you. It always does the trick.”
Ciaran led Madeline through the entrance of a gigantic door, via a long hallway that had thick carpets, marble floors, and several pieces of contemporary artwork and into a so-called ‘apartment.’ Apartment was too humble of a word to describe what she saw, but given her mental state right now, she had to settle for the term.
At the door, Ciaran took his coat off, hanging it in a small cloakroom snugged in the corner. Then he took Madeline’s jacket. There was no sign of anyone else in the apartment. There was only his coat and her jacket, cozily hung on fancy hooks.
Madeline glanced at the living room as the grandeur swept over her. She was in no way dressed for such a place, but she kept her poker face. She had a job to do.
The room opened to the city view via glass walls. A dining table was located in the middle of the room. Leather sofas curved cozily in corner. A long glass cabinet containing expensive wine and spirits sat in another corner.
This isn’t a home, she observed.
Ciaran shifted a chair out for Madeline to sit down. He walked quickly to the counter of the open kitchen. Noticing her gaze, Ciaran turned around, giving her a big grin.
“You needn’t worry. I didn’t cook. The food comes from the best kitchen, however. Delivered just ten minutes ago.”
“This is how you live?” Madeline gestured widely at the apartment. “Eating takeout by yourself? You don’t even have a TV in here. What do you do after work?”
“Pity me!” He smiled again.
The wonderful grin was still on his face when he opened a bottle of red wine. She didn’t want to guess the price tag.
“I’ll let it breathe a bit.”
He turned to the covered plates on the counter and lifted the lids.
“I’m not by myself tonight, am I? You’d make a good companion. I think you’d approve of this excellent menu.” Ciaran paused and pretended to scowl. “You didn’t expect a full-on banquet, did you?”
Madeline laughed. “I’m not very selective when it comes to food, so you’re doing just fine!” She left her chair and helped him to fetch the food and bring it to the table.
&nbs
p; They set up the table and started their dinner. The interview began casually. Madeline asked questions that she hated herself for asking because they weren’t good enough for even the weather channels or the morning talk shows.
They nearly finished the dinner. Ciaran sipped his wine and looked at Madeline over the rim of the glass. “So what is it about my family that you really want to know?”
Madeline gave a small pause, then pushed on. “Where do you actually live? And don’t say it’s classified. You’re not an FBI agent.”
Ciaran laughed. “I can see you’ve got your real reporter hat back. I thought you’d turned into a robot when I saw you early tonight.”
Ciaran paused and focused on Madeline’s eyes. “What happened?”
The smile had gone from Ciaran’s face. “You have circles under your eyes, and you look as if you spent the entire day crying.”
Madeline rubbed absently at her eyes. “I asked the question first.” Madeline stared at Ciaran, saying nothing.
Ciaran gave in. “I don’t live here. I don’t live anywhere for a long time. I travel a lot for business.”
Ciaran looked at Madeline for a long moment. This time, he let it grow into an uncomfortable moment. “Now it’s my turn to ask a question. What happened to you today that made you cry?”
“I’m interviewing you—I get to ask the questions. You agreed to it.”
Ciaran calmly stared. “My turf, my rules. I agreed to the interview. I didn’t agree to not ask you questions.”
“I don’t like this. I don’t like the setting. I don’t like your tone. I don’t like your questions. Hell, I don’t even like my questions. Let’s end the interview here. Thank you for your time.” Madeline stood up, heading toward the cloakroom.
Ciaran grabbed her elbow. “Wait.” When she shrugged him off, he immediately released her and raised up his arms apologetically. “I apologize. It was rude of me to ask you that question. It was inappropriate.”
Madeline paused.
“Could we finish the dinner properly, please? I’ll answer your questions in the meantime.”
Madeline hesitated.
“We still have the dessert. Don’t make me eat it by myself.” He lowered his voice. “It’s a cheesecake. Dark, rich Belgium chocolate with a hint of chili, topped with strawberries, and a touch of . . .”
“Okay, okay, we’ll have it!” She swaggered back to her chair. When Ciaran sat down, she shifted, inhaled, exhaled, and started the rant.
“Okay, I’m not interested in your family, your private matters, or your business. A friend of mine developed a computer game with some very special technology. She believes that her program has been hacked by someone using a computer located in your London headquarters. She doesn’t have the evidence. So that’s why I’m here. To help a friend. I have no proof of the game stealing, nor do I have any authority in this matter. I just need the names of your employees who might have used your equipment to hack my friend’s game.”
Madeline breathed heavily after the long speech that she had given without even pausing for punctuation. Lying felt horrible. But she had a job to do. Jo’s life was at stake.
Ciaran looked at Madeline blankly for a second and cocked an eyebrow. “Is that all?”
Madeline nodded.
Ciaran stood up, heading toward the cloakroom. “Then let’s go.”
“Go where? Why now?” Madeline followed obediently without even realizing it.
“I won’t be here tomorrow, so we have to do this now. I can’t reveal the names of my employees who play computer games. Privacy policies. I don’t care if they play games. However, I don’t like my employees using work equipment to play interactive games with outsiders. That could potentially weaken the system and risk us being hacked. I’d like to think that there’s no one playing any games from our operating systems.”
They exited the elevator and walked down a long, shiny hallway from the foyer to approach the parking lot. Large screens were mounted on the walls, the sound muted and subtitles scrolling across the bottoms. Out of the corner of her eye, Madeline saw a familiar image flash on a screen. She stopped and watched.
The breaking news was about the unidentified dead body of a man in his mid-thirties found floating in the river. The image of Peter stared back at Madeline. She stared at the photo of the man who had saved her life a day ago. She didn’t realize it, but a tear rolled down her face.
“Do you know this man?” Ciaran asked.
She shook her head. “Do you?”
Ciaran gazed into Madeline’s eyes. “No,” he answered. Then he wrapped his arm around her waist and led her along the corridor toward the entrance to the lot.
He lied, she mused.
10
Half an hour later, Ciaran parked his car at the side entrance of the headquarters. Madeline noticed he always had his arm around her back to support, lead, or guide her. A primal protective gesture, Madeline thought. She caught the scent of him—natural, spicy, and masculine.
She didn’t know what the scent of masculinity was, but at the moment, that was the only word she could find that fit.
She noted the way his Adam’s apple moved when he spoke and the exquisite sound produced by the throat that she could easily spend a lifetime exploring. She loved the way he loosened his tie and yanked it off his collar, the way the corner of his mouth quirked when he made a joke, and the way his eyes twinkled. The emotions she saw in those striking gray eyes were genuine.
She wasn’t sure at all about her psychic ability, but she was damn sure that her years spent in a relationship drought had led her close to being a slut.
Close.
She had never acted on her need and desire, although she knew she was entitled to. But the masculinity in Ciaran brought the beast out of her and made every fiber of her being vibrate.
He quickly led Madeline through layers of doors. The place was like a maze. Ciaran opened a steel door, revealing a room that looked like an enormous security scanner. “Leave any electronic equipment out here, including your camera or recorder. This scanner will wipe and destroy everything and anything that has a memory capability.”
“Thanks. Good to know. I can’t afford to lose this.” Madeline took her camera and recorder out. “They’re my life, you know!”
Ciaran smiled. “I wager.”
He led Madeline through the scanner and into the control room. Madeline had never seen anything like it. The room was packed with endless rows of computer mainframes and monitors. She didn’t know what the ten people in the room were doing, but they stopped and greeted Ciaran as he walked in. Ciaran responded with a friendly but authoritative nod. Whatever they were doing, she was sure it wasn’t medicine they were making.
“This is just the electronic security control of the headquarters,” Ciaran explained. “We don’t make medicine here. Would you like a tour of the labs?” Ciaran gestured toward a series of monitors which displayed multiple screens of pharmaceutical labs, where several people in white coats were working.
“They’re working at this hour?”
Ciaran chuckled. “Yes, at this hour, precisely, but not London time. These are the Australian labs you’re looking at. It’s office hours over there. They focus on the Asian-Pacific range. These are the London labs, here, in this headquarters.” Ciaran pointed toward a couple of screens in the corner. “We develop new and important products here. Our overseas labs are mainly for production, not development.”
Madeline nodded. “I appreciate you showing me all this. The security and the operation are very impressive.”
“We operate within legal boundaries. We have strict security to protect us against the competition. Also to protect the consumer from any imperfect practice. We are responsible for what we do. Nothing comes in or goes out without scanning and quarantine. We are not media friendly, as you have mentioned, but we have nothing to hide. We just protect our privacy.”
Madeline gave Ciaran a moment after his eloquent speech.
“You must be proud of your family.”
“You can meet them, if you like. They don’t bite.” Ciaran smiled.
Befriend the LeBlancs? Not in this lifetime. She wasn’t cut out for this social circus. She never forgot where she came from.
“Could we look at the computer usage, please? I don’t want to know more than I need to.”
“As you like.” Ciaran smiled politely and gestured toward a small door.
They entered a smaller room. Ciaran rolled up his sleeves and manually operated the mainframe computer. Madeline looked at him. What a scene! She could not believe that he manned the computer himself like this. She thought he would summon one of his technicians to ask for a report.
Codes and commands flowed through the monitor, none of which she knew or even recognized.
A river of paper streamed out from a printer. Ciaran fetched the paper and brought it toward Madeline. He tore off the last couple of pages.
“This is the summary of the computer usage in all of our international headquarters.” He gestured toward the river of paper. “I can’t give you the detailed log, but you can have this report.” He pointed to a table. “As you can see, no computer in any of our headquarters was used for interactive game play in the last three months. Specifically, working computers have supremely advanced firewalls. No foreign programs could be installed. No one would be able to play any games from our headquarters, Madeline.”
Madeline shook her head.
“I can extend the search window to six months if you like, but I doubt it would make a difference, as the incident with your friend’s game sounded recent.”
A pounding headache ripped through her head.
“I can’t ban employees from game play during working hours. But as you have seen, no foreign electronic objects with any game-playing capacity can pass through the scanner. There’s no reason—and no way—for an employee to smuggle a computer into the workplace just to play games.”
“Are you sure?” Her brain had stopped working. A dead end! She thought.
“This is the bloodline of our entire organization. When it comes to security, yes, I am very sure about it. Whatever your friend is looking for, it’s not here, Madeline.”
