“Yeah, we are,” Feeney said grudgingly.
“Why?” I asked.
“You know why. It’s never been any secret.”
I stayed mute, letting him remind me, which he did finally.
“Within an hour of Whittaker going into the river, we brought in experts--guys who know the currents and tides along the Hudson like they know the back of their hands. They took their measurements, did whatever it is they do with them, and swore that his remains would come ashore within twenty-four hours. They even told us where to find him, near Battery Park in lower Manhattan.”
“But he failed to turn up,” I said.
“That’s right, despite one of the most extensive recovery efforts for a single body that has ever been undertaken. Ever. We searched for two friggin’ weeks, not just near Battery Park but throughout the entire range of New York Harbor and beyond. We never found a trace of Whittaker. He just disappeared.”
I’d sailed enough to know that currents and tides could be unpredictable. Given a strong enough wind, all predictions were off. But nothing like that had happened in the period of time that Feeney was talking about.
Still, there had to be an explanation.
“What about sharks?” I said. “Could they have gotten to him?”
“You don’t find a lot of those in the Hudson River,” Feeney reminded me dryly. “Out in the harbor maybe. But he should have hit Battery Park long before Jaws could get anywhere near him.”
“What about since then?” I asked. “Have you had any sightings of him, any reports of him showing up someplace?”
“We’ve had thousands of leads. Maybe tens of thousands. I’ve lost count.”
“Any of them pan out?” I asked.
“You’d know if they had. That asshole would be sitting on a life sentence.”
“So that’s it?” I said. “You think he’s still alive simply because you never found a body?”
Silence on the other end of the phone, echoing all the way from my desk to the muck and mire of Washington, which fittingly enough had been built on a swamp.
I liked Feeney and I respected him. In a fight, I’d want him to have my back. I sure as hell didn’t relish the idea of going up against him. But that didn’t mean that I wouldn’t if push came to shove.
“Here’s what we want.” The steel edge in Feeney’s voice said that he was done farting around. “Keep your eyes open. Any hint that the lovely Miss Whittaker is in contact with her father, give me a call.”
He paused a moment, then added, “There’s still a sizable reward out for him. Big enough that not even you would think it’s chump change.”
My hand tightened on the phone. I only just managed to keep my voice calm.
“You want me to inform on her?”
“It sounds so harsh when you put it like that but…yeah.” Quickly, he added, “If it makes you feel any better, it’s for her own good. And hell, you can just donate the reward to charity.”
I thought fast. If Whittaker was alive and had crawled out from under his rock, Emma could be at risk. He was her father, after all. Out of a misguided sense of loyalty, she might do something that landed her in prison or worse.
I’d go to any lengths to prevent that. But Feeney didn’t have to know it.
“Here’s what I want,” I countered. “You tell me the real reason why you think Whittaker is alive and I’ll do everything I can to help you get him.”
Silence again until finally Feeney said, “And if I won’t take that deal?”
“Then it’s been nice knowing you. Emma’s my priority. I’ll keep her safe, including from you. If Whittaker goes anywhere near her, you’ll never know.”
His sigh echoed all way from the J. Edgar Hoover building to my ear.
“This is where I’m supposed to say something about obstruction of justice, yada, yada. But we both know that you’re lawyered up the wazoo.”
“We do both know that,” I confirmed.
“This goes no further?”
“No way. I’m going to talk with Emma about this.”
He weighed that, then said, “Okay, but no one else. And keep in mind that she may already know.”
Before I could tell him that he was wrong about that, Feeney went on. “Six months before he supposedly offed himself, Whittaker made a trip to Vegas. He met there with a guy who’s called ‘the magician’s magician’, Hiram Walker. Walker actually designs tricks, illusions, whatever you want to go call them for other magicians. He’s a legend in that world.”
“What did Whittaker want to talk with him about?” I asked.
“It took some persuading to get Walker to give that up but in the end we pointed out that his fondness for peyote made it smart for him to be nice to us. Whittaker paid him handsomely to design a way to make it look like a person had shot himself in the head. I mean as in blown his brains out. He wanted plenty of blood and gore that would really stand out on video.”
I cursed under my breath. Whittaker had planned to fake his death months in advance, even going so far as to arrange to do it in public where he knew it would be captured for all time. When I thought about what that had done to Emma, I wanted to kill him myself.
Barely keeping my temper in check, I asked, “That only gets him as far as the water. What happened then?”
“It’s likely that he had divers waiting for him just below the surface with oxygen and a water sled. There’s a marina less than half-a-mile north of where he went into the water. We think he had a boat waiting for him there but we were never able to identify it, much less figure out where the bastard went.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, as in smell the. I’ll remind you that a load of money that Whittaker stole is still missing. We figure a hundred million, maybe more. And we think the lovely Miss Whittaker knows where it is.”
This time, I didn’t hesitate. The words were out of my mouth before he finished speaking. “She doesn’t.”
“Yeah, well, it’s nice that you think so. But there’s a reason why she stood up for her father the way she did after he was arrested. We’ve put together a collection of photos of them going back to when she was a toddler. The look on her face in every one of them makes it clear that she loved and trusted him without reserve. As for him, he called her his star and that’s how he treated her. It all adds up to her being the one person he could count on to safeguard the money.”
My throat thickened as I thought of the child Emma had been. If I ever had a daughter, I’d make damn sure I did a better job protecting her.
Gruffly, I said, “I’m telling you that you’re wrong.”
“And I hear you but I’ve got to go with the facts. What’s more, we think that Whittaker is running low on whatever funds he managed to take with him. If he’s ever going to surface, now’s the time.”
“Let’s say that you’re right. Why would he come to New York? If Emma really is in league with him, why wouldn’t she just go to wherever he is?”
“We keep close enough tabs on her that if she were to make a move in that direction, we’d know,” Feeney said. “Besides, Whittaker may have another reason for coming here himself.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“He isn’t the kind of guy to accept responsibility for the consequences of his own actions. On the contrary, he’s much more likely to look around for somebody else to blame. What do you want to bet that you’re it?”
Carefully, I said, “All I did was fight to save my own company.”
“We both know there was more to it than that,” Feeney said, not unkindly. I got the impression that he privately approved of what I’d done. But he still wasn’t about to ignore the implications of it.
“You were determined to destroy the men who threatened what your father had built,” he said. “Who threatened you. You stopped at nothing in order to drive them into the ground. Whittaker has to know this. Maybe before he rides off into the sunset with his daughter and his millions, he wants his pound
of flesh.”
My chest tightened. All I’d told Emma was that I’d protected my father’s legacy. I’d kept to myself the lengths that I’d gone to in order to prove that I was tougher, smarter, stronger than him and the men who threatened what he’d built. If she discovered what I’d really done--
If she already knew--
I got off the phone with Feeney a short time later. In the silence of my office, I thought of the woman I had held in my arms, with whom I’d shared the pleasures of raw sex, tender love making, roller coaster rides, bagel breakfasts, and so much more.
What did I know about her for certain?
Emma loved her father. At least, she had and she didn’t strike me as the sort of person who could stop loving easily.
Whittaker was still alive.
He could be in New York.
She was hiding something. From me.
The possibility that she could be in league with her father felt like a serrated knife twisting through me. A dark part of my soul was ready to believe it but the rest knew better.
Emma wasn’t the risk here. On the contrary, she was the person likely to be in the greatest danger. Whatever his motives, I was dead certain that Whittaker wouldn’t hesitate to make use of his daughter no matter what that resulted in for her.
A desperate sense of urgency clawed at me. Abruptly, I stood with such force that my desk chair rolled back and hit the wall hard. I ignored it and headed for the door.
Chapter Seven
Emma
“You’re alive.”
The words were wrenched from me. Staring at my father, I could scarcely breathe. My chest felt as though it was in a vise. One that was squeezing my heart to pulp.
He stood in front of me, solid and real, a little thinner than I remembered but otherwise not looking much worse for the wear despite having been on the run for three years.
Face to face with him, I had to wonder how I’d ever believed that a man so clever and resilient was dead. Oh, right, the video of him blowing his brains out. The nightmares that seeing it had induced. The three years of silence and grief. And shame. Being the target for the blame that rightly should have been directed at him.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
There was a time when I would have given almost anything for this moment. I’d fantasized about seeing my father again, dreamed of it, hoped and prayed for it. I’d long since lost count of how many times I’d seen someone in a crowd and thought for a moment that it was him, my spirits suddenly leaping only to crash back down again.
Eventually, I came to accept that he was gone and, just as critically, what he had done. Unable to afford any sort of therapy, I read books about post traumatic shock and recognized some of the emotional and physical symptoms in myself. Understanding that had helped, although I’d been numb to a very great extent until Lucas came into my life.
Thanks to him, I was no longer merely surviving. I was actually living.
Or I had been. Without warning, the dark past reared up like a massive, terrifying wave that threatened to pull me under again.
“I know this is a surprise,” my father said. He sounded remarkably calm given the circumstances. “But we have to talk.”
“A surprise?” Bile rose in my throat. I could barely speak for choking on it. “I thought you were dead! You let me believe that. For three years! And now you suddenly reappear--?”
“For god’s sake,” he hissed, “keep your voice down! We can’t talk here, let’s--”
He reached for my arm but I pulled back before he could touch me.
“I’m not going anywhere with you! How can this be happening? Why is it?”
I didn’t even try to keep the suspicion out of my voice. Better he should know how the mere sight of him affected me.
His face hardened but an instant later, his expression changed again. He looked deeply concerned and utterly sincere.
Had he always had that chameleon-like quality and I just hadn’t noticed before? If he had, that would certainly explain how he’d been able to trick so many people into trusting him. Including me.
Softly, he said, “I’m taking an enormous chance being here, Emma. I’m doing it for your sake. Please, hear me out.”
In that moment, I wanted nothing so much as to walk away. But he would still be there, he would still exist. And until I knew what he wanted, I would never be able to rest.
“Five minutes,” I said, all but spitting the words out. “That’s it.”
He grimaced and for a moment I thought he was going to reprimand me as he had when I was a child, only perhaps without the restraint he had shown then. But he only nodded.
“All right, come with me.”
The alley we were standing in cut straight through to the next block. At the far end, a large black SUV was waiting. Two men stood beside it. A third was behind the wheel. Nearby, another pair of guards kept watch along the street. A second vehicle was parked near them.
All the men were young and very fit. From the bulges under their jackets, I guessed that they were armed but their faces gave away nothing. I looked at my father, who shrugged, as though the explanation of all the security should be obvious.
“I’m a wanted man, Emma. I have to take precautions.”
Of course, he did. But he’d left me without any way of doing the same. Alone, exposed, and vulnerable.
And now he was back. I had to be out of my mind to listen to him for even a moment. I thought once again of just walking away. But curiosity and the small, treacherous hope that he might be able to explain his actions got the better of me.
I slid into the backseat of the SUV, clasped my hands in my lap, and waited for him to speak.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked.
“You’re wasting time. Say whatever you came to say before I’m out of here.”
My father raised a brow but he didn’t argue. “Very well. You’ve become involved with Lucas Phelps.”
Whatever I’d been expecting, that wasn’t it. I stared at him in surprise. “How do you know that?”
His smile was chiding. “You don’t honestly think that I haven’t been keeping an eye on you?”
I stared at him dumbfounded. “You’ve had me watched?” I had been so alone the past three years. Or at least, I’d thought that I was. All that time my father was present in some sense, watching over me?
Was I supposed to be touched by that? To take it as proof of his love?
“I understand that these years haven’t been easy,” he said. “But it’s important for you to know how immensely proud I am of you. You’ve shown such courage and fortitude.”
He looked and sounded utterly sincere. I couldn’t fathom that. How could this be happening?
“Believe me,” he went on, seemingly obliviousness to my emotional distress. “I wanted to wait, to find the right time to come back into your life, when it would be safest. But this business with Phelps has forced my hand.”
Cautiously, feeling my way, I said, “It’s true that Lucas and I are acquainted.”
A look of disappointment flitted across my father’s face. I remembered that expression all too well. I’d seen it any time I did something that displeased him.
That hadn’t been often. His approval had meant everything to me and I’d done all I could to earn it. But I’d been a child then and I most certainly was not any longer. In a sense, he had seen to that.
He responded with the measured patience that I also recalled.
“Come now, Emma. Phelps somehow convinced you to move back into the Arcadia, into the same apartment where he’s staying. And yesterday, I saw the photos taken of the two of you at a gala. It’s very obvious that you’re far more than merely acquainted.”
For a man normally given to only the mildest and most controlled reactions, his distaste couldn’t have been clearer.
I fought a blush. This was absurd. I was a grown woman speaking to a parent who had betrayed and abandoned me. He had no
right whatsoever to sit in judgment of anything I did.
“It’s none of your business,” I said flatly.
“On the contrary. It’s the reason why I’ve taken the risk of coming here. Phelps is a very dangerous man.”
His presumption angered me enough that I snapped back at him. “To you, maybe. Not to me.”
My father’s customary control slipped a notch. “You’re a fool if you think that,” he snapped. “He’s utterly ruthless when it comes to getting what he wants. There’s nothing he won’t do and no one he won’t use.”
I stared at him in disbelief, astonished that he would have the nerve to say any such thing. He was the ruthless one, capable of deceiving thousands of people to get what he wanted with no thought for the consequences they would suffer. For him to try to defame the man who had refused to be another of his victims was just one more lie.
“All Lucas did was fight back when you and others tried to take over his family’s company!”
My father paled at my defiance. Or was it that I had revealed how much Lucas had told me and that I believed him?
With shaking hands, he opened a compartment in the backseat of the SUV, revealing a small bar. He poured a finger of single malt whiskey into a cut crystal glass tumbler.
I watched in surprise as he knocked it back in a single swallow. To the best of my knowledge, he’d always been a very light drinker, certainly not given to imbibing during the day. If that had changed in the last three years, surely there would have been physical signs of such dependency?
But he looked in good health generally, apart from signs of fatigue that could be explained by worry for his personal safety. Or even by jet lag.
I had no idea how far he’d traveled to reach New York. A few hundred miles across the border from Canada? Or half-way around the world?
It didn’t matter. The only question I cared about was what had really compelled him to come.
Or who?
Chapter Eight
Emma
Caress Part Three (Arcadia Book 3) Page 4
