Billionaire's Tragedy (Standalone Book) (Billionaire Bad Boy Romance) (21 page)

CHAPTER
THIRTY

Olivia

The
truth was that I wasn't so much offended by Linc's offerings of dinner and a
television set as I was scared by how quickly things were moving between us and
how much I wanted him. Our night in New York showed me that the chemistry we'd
had after the gala wasn't a fluke, and it had made me want him even more. It
was a visceral desire that I couldn't explain away – I just wanted him.

And now as he sat across
the table from me, dishing up pasta and veal parmesan as he tried to carry on a
conversation about something neutral, I wanted him even more. I couldn't ignore
the desire, nor could I wall myself off from it and stay safely ensconced in my
reporter's cubicle.

"What do you think,
Olivia?" Linc asked. He waited a moment and then said, "Earth to
Olivia..."

"Huh?" I said
as I shook my head and reached for my fork. I had no idea what he'd just asked
me. "I'm sorry, I was thinking about something else. Can you repeat the
question?"

"Are you okay?"
he asked as he gave me an odd look.

"Yeah, fine," I
nodded as I cut into my veal and lifted the fork to my mouth. "I've just
got a lot on my mind."

"Care to share any
of it with me?" he asked as he twisted his fork in the spaghetti and then
ate the perfectly wound pasta. I looked at him as I took another bite of my
veal, and considered what it would mean to let my guard down. Linc held my gaze
as he waited for my answer.

"I've been thinking
about Russo," I said, testing the waters. "I have this feeling that
he's connected to the dead shooter, but I can't figure out how."

"Well, that was out
of left field," Linc said as he stared at his plate and pushed the food
around. His silence told me that he had thoughts about Russo, too, but he
wasn't sharing them.

"Look, let's be
honest here, shall we?" I said plowing ahead. It had just occurred to me
that Linc might be able to help me get more information on Russo. I was slowly
coming to understand that with his vast resources, I could most likely get any
information I needed. "I need information about Russo and you need to get
Russo out of your way."

"And, your point
is?" he asked warily.

"I'm just saying
that we could work together to gather information that might illuminate his
dealings." I tried to be as diplomatic as possible.

"So, in other words,
you've got the brains, I've got the money," he said.

"Something like
that," I nodded as I lifted a forkful of pasta to my lips.

"That's a pretty
crappy thing to do to me, Ms. Moore," he said shaking his head in disgust.

"What?"

"You let me up here
under the pretense of being on a date, and then you tell me you need help
nabbing an interview and information for a story," he said, dropping his
fork on his plate before he stood up. "I feel kind of used."

"What in the hell
are you talking about, Redding?" I said as I looked up at him.

"I'm saying that I
asked you out on a date, you said yes, then you ran me in circles about how I
set up the date, so I backtracked and did it your way and now you're sitting
here telling me that the entire thing was a pretense for getting information and/or
money out of me so you can write a story for the
Sentinel
," he said as he walked to the end of the table and
grabbed his coat off the back of the chair.

"I did not!" I
protested. "This was not a pretense at all!"

"You really could
have fooled me," he said as he slowly pulled on his coat.

"Linc, I did not
invite you here to try and get you to foot the bill for my research on Russo or
the shooting," I said as I pushed my chair back and stood up. I was
furious with him for thinking I was using him, but I could see why he thought
that might be the case. I walked toward him with my hands held out in peaceful
surrender. "I didn't do anything with the intention of tricking you.
Please, don't leave."

I stood in front of him
looking up into his icy blue eyes wondering how I could make him understand
that I had not tried to manipulate him. I stepped closer and rested my hands on
his chest as I leaned up and kissed his lips softly. He stood like a statue,
watching me as I brushed my lips across his a second time and slid my hands
around to his sides and began pulling up on his shirt so that I could slip my
hands under it and feel his skin. I could feel my blood racing through my veins
and my breath coming more quickly. This wasn't just an attempt to reassure Linc
that I hadn't been trying to trick him; this was me wanting this strong,
handsome man standing in front of me. Suddenly, I knew that I wanted him more
than I'd ever wanted anyone, and I knew that I wanted to feel his skin against
mine again.

I stood on tiptoes and
pressed my lips to his again hoping that he would feel my deep desire and kiss
me back. Instead, he grabbed my wrists, pulled my arms out from under his coat,
and said in a cold voice, "Nice try, Matahari, but I'm not buying the
act."

With that, he pulled away
and headed to the door. He opened it and then turned to look at me. He opened
his mouth to speak, but then closed it and simply shook his head before
stepping out into the hallway and slamming the door shut behind him.

I stood staring at the
door trying to will him to return for a long time before I gave up and cleared
the dishes from the table. By the time I climbed into my bed, I still didn't
have a clear understanding of what had happened, but I knew that I wasn't going
to give up on my story or on Linc Redding – however, I wasn't sure if he would
give up on me.

#

When
I walked into the newsroom the next morning, I was determined to use the
information given me to try and trace the shooter's identity back to Davis
Russo. I knew that if the shooter had come from Richmond, it would be difficult
for him to cover all of his tracks, so I was determined to start at the end and
trace the shooter's path backwards to the beginning point.

Carl looked up from his
computer when I tossed my purse on my desk and began rooting through the files
I'd been accumulating in a box on the floor. I pulled out all of the clippings
I'd saved over the past week and began spreading them out on my desk.

"Whatcha doing,
Liv?" he asked.

"I've got an idea
about how the shooter might be connected to Russo," I said as I began
lining up the headlines in chronological order. Most were the same bits of news
repeated over and over, but the
Washington
Post
article had a little extra information in its summary that noted the
shooter was wearing a jacket that had been connected to a group of survivalists
who called themselves the Blacksburg American Revolutionaries. I made note of
this information and pulled up what I could find on the group.

They'd been formed in
1974 when war protestors were rising up and calling on citizens to lay down
their weapons in order to end the war in Vietnam once and for all. In Richmond,
a group of concerned, white citizens had rallied to ensure that the
"commie-lovers" and hippies wouldn't interfere with their right to
own weapons. There had been some skirmishes, and several protestors had been
involved in brawls, but mostly it had been peaceful protests until May of 1975
when protestors had marched to the Virginia Capitol and demanded that the governor
call for a laying down of arms. Protestors and the BAR had clashed and three
people had been shot. The shooter had been identified as Beau Danford, a
college student from Blacksburg. The article went on to say that the charges
had been lowered to accidental discharge of a weapon and that Danford had been
released with a warning on his record. There was no further mention of Beau
Danford in any of the BAR history, and when I searched for him online, it was
as if he'd disappeared into thin air.

"What's the theory,
Liv?" Carl asked as he got up from his chair and walked over to my desk.
When he didn't get a response, he put his hand on my shoulder and prompted,
"Liv?"

"Jesus, Carl!"
I shouted as I jumped in my chair.

"Sorry, I didn't
mean to startle you, but you weren't responding," he said as he patted my
arm.

"Carl, I think there
is something fishy going on here," I said as I pointed to the computer
screen where I'd enlarged a black and white picture from the 1970s taken from
the BAR organization’s homepage and made note of a man who looked an awful lot
like a young Larry Bangor stood holding a gun as he raised a fist in the air.
"Who does that look like to you?"

"Hmmm, I wouldn't
swear to it in court, but it looks kind of like Senator Bangor, just with
hair," he said as he leaned in to get a better look. "Any names on
the picture?"

"No, but I think
you're right," I said as I enlarged the picture again. "Can you tell
who is standing to his right?"

"Nope, the face is
obscured," he said shaking his head. "But the guy on his left looks
like one of those snake-oil salesmen from Western movies, doesn't
he
?"

"It does," I
nodded as I quickly did an image search in the Blacksburg newspaper archives in
an attempt to try and identify the pictures. The search yielded two blurry
photos, one of which was definitely a picture of the same group of men standing
on a stage with a sign behind them that read, “BAR: Promoting Second Amendment
Rights of All Citizens.”

Again, the man to the
right of what we thought was Bangor, was looking away from the camera, so he
wasn't immediately identifiable. However, in this photo, all of the men were
holding guns and the mystery man held a gun that had what looked like a mark
made by a branding iron in the shape of a circle on the stock. I couldn't read
what it said because the picture was too blurry, but there was no question that
the distinct mark was on that gun.

"Carl, can you read
that?" I asked as I pulled the sheet of paper off the printer and handed
it to him.

"Nope, but it looks
like a circle with a star in the center or something sort of similar to a
star," he said.

As I took the paper back
from Carl, I heard a reporter across the room say, "Oh, crap," then
yell, "Someone turn up the volume on the television!"

As the sound came up, we
heard a local reporter saying, "Here at the D.C. Police Department
Headquarters, detectives are stumped by their inability to identify the man
who, one week ago, went on a shooting spree at the Capitol, killing three
senators and wounding two others. Today, investigators say that they've been
joined by the FBI as they work around the clock to identify the shooter, but
have come up empty handed since there are no identifying fingerprints or DNA in
the local or national systems. They are putting out a call to local communities
to step forth and identify this man seen on your screen. He is believed to be
in his late fifties or early sixties, with dark brown hair, brown eyes, and a
small tattoo on his upper calf in the shape of a star inside a circle. Anyone
with any information is urged to call the number at the bottom of your screen
and give the police any information, no matter how trivial you think it might
be. Reporting live from the Washington D.C., this is Mandy Banks live with
Action News."

Carl and I looked at each
other, and then back at the piece of paper I held in my hand.

"I'd better start
calling around and finding out what the BAR was all about and whether their
logo was a star inside a circle, don't you think?" I said with a grin.

"If I were you, I'd
call the D.C. police and clue them in on the information, too," Carl said,
giving me a stern look.

"If I do that, then
we won't get the scoop, and Frank will be pissed that I gave away a chance to
save the paper," I said, returning his stern look with one of my own.

"I'm just saying,
it's not good for you to inhibit a murder investigation, Liv," he said,
shaking his head, knowing that I was going to do whatever it was I was going to
do, the police be damned.

"I’ll let them know,
but I'm going to make darn sure that the story is solid before I do," I
said, turning back to my desk and typing in the information I had. I'd search
our archives and those of the
Post
to
see what I could come up with on the BAR.

"Liv, you've been
down this road before," Carl warned. "Don't you think you should
learn from your mistakes?"

"Forty-eight hours,
Carl," I said holding up my hand to stop him from saying anything else.
"Forty-eight hours and then I'll go to the police."

"All right, but
don't come crying to me when you find yourself in hot water," he sighed,
shaking his head.

"I won't, I
promise," I said as I turned my attention to my computer screen and began
searching for Beau Danford.

CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE

Linc

I
was incredibly
angry with Olivia when I left her place, but I was also frustrated with myself,
because no matter how I felt about what she was doing, it was clear that I
still wanted her. I wasn't sure how I was going to find a way to make peace
with that, but by the next morning, I'd decided that turnabout was fair play
and that if she was going to ask me for favors regarding Russo, then I'd ask
her for help ensuring that HR 8212 got enough attention to have a fighting
chance of being passed.

I called Mo on my way
into the office, but got her voicemail, so I left a message asking if she would
be free for dinner and left her a time and place to meet if she was. When I got
to the office, I found out that Brant hadn't yet arrived, so I grabbed a cup of
coffee and got to work making calls to senators who I thought might support the
gun safety bill. We still had three days before the bill came up for a vote, so
I wanted to use every moment possible to garner votes.

After the fifth call, I
started feeling discouraged as senator after senator either indicated that they
weren't going to support the bill or outright refused to take my call. I got up
to see if Brant had arrived and found him sitting at his desk staring off into
space, looking unlike himself.

"What's up,
Pace?" I said as I walked in and sat down.

"Huh? Oh,
yeah," he said shaking his head as if clearing a thought from his mind.
"Nothing, what?"

"What's going on?
You look like you were miles away," I said as I propped my feet up on his
desk and leaned back. This habit had always irritated him, but today he acted
like he hadn't noticed.

"Just thinking about
something." He looked at me and smiled a weary smile before he said,
"Get your damn feet off my desk, Linc."

"Ah, good, you're
not completely gone," I grinned as I removed my feet and sat up. "I'm
not getting support for the bill. Do you have any idea what's going on?"

"Yeah, I think I
do," he nodded as he pulled out a copy of the
Washington Post
and pointed to a small article on the front page
below the fold. The headline read, "Gun Safety Senator Caught in Political
Wedge: Support for Bill Weakens."

"What the hell is
this?" I shouted. "Who wrote this?"

"It's Bangor; he's
in trouble with the party, but the article doesn't say why. It just hints at
the possibility that he's going to be ousted from the top seat because of party
disagreements," he said as he slapped the paper on the desk. "If he's
pushed out, then we're screwed for sure, and if that happens, then the Chinese
are definitely not going to sign the deal with us."

"Dammit,
Brant!" I shouted as I slammed my fist against the desk. "We cannot
lose this bill because Bangor is a moron!"

"Linc, I hate to
tell you this, but I think we lost the bill when that anonymous guy shot our
support to death outside the Capitol," Brant said running a hand over his
chin and then rubbing his eyes. "We're not going to win this one,
buddy."

"We can’t
lose!" I yelled as I paced the floor running my hand through my hair and
trying to think of a way to save this sinking ship. "We have not spent all
this time developing technology that could save people's lives only to lose the
chance to implement it because of some moron who shot up the Capitol!"

"Linc, calm down,
would you?" he said as he stood up and came around from behind his desk.
He grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me. "We're going to get enough
votes to pass the bill, trust me."

"You don't know
that!" I shouted as I wrenched myself out of his grasp and stormed over to
the window. I slammed my fists into the glass, shaking it in its frame.
"Dammit, Pace, we've worked too hard on this project for too long to let
it die now! I'm not going to let it die!"

"Linc, we're going
to be fine," he said as he stood next to me and rested a hand on my
shoulder. "I know how important this is to you. It's important to me,
too."

Unable to speak, I simply
nodded and then turned and walked out of the room. I knew Brant was more than
well aware of the reasons why this setback was so upsetting, and I trusted him
when he said we'd find a way to keep the bill from dying in the Senate. I knew
that he understood that if the bill died, I'd feel like I'd failed my parents,
and after fifteen years of trying to avenge their deaths, I wasn't ready to
fail at the last moment.