Endgame (Last Chance Series) (32 page)

Gabe shook his head. "I must have already been in Cullen's office."

"It'll work out," Payton said, his somber gaze meeting Gabe's. "You just have to take it slow."

"Not my strong point
." Gabe grimaced. He'd always gone full tilt for the things he wanted. And he wanted Madison.

"Hey, guys, I think maybe I've got something here."

Gabe pulled his thoughts away from Madison, and followed Payton over to the computer terminal. "What did you find?"

"Something more about Bluemax." He pointed to the screen. "According to this, the owner of the company was a man called Edward Clinton. He patented a process for producing semiconductors that dramatically cut the cost per unit. If it had worked it would have revolutionized the industry."

"If it worked?" Payton frowned at the monitor. "You're saying it didn't?"

"He never got to find out. Vrycom leveraged his company, and took everything, including the patents. Clinton was left with nothing but debt. The official press from Vrycom was that the patents were worthless. But considering the fact that at least three of the men sitting on the Vrycom board had significant investment in the old process, I'd say it was a
little suspect."

"So you're thinking this Edward Clinton is out for revenge?"

"Not unless we're talking ghosts. The man killed himself about six months after the takeover. Right after his court case was dismissed."

"So it's another dead end." Gabe blew out a frustrated breath as his cell phone be
gan to ring. He nodded for Payton and Harrison to continue, and turned away from them, his mind already jumping to the possibility that it was Madison. "Roarke."

"We need to talk." Nigel's voice sounded tinny on the other end, traffic noise and static making it hard to hear.

"I thought you were on your way to London."

"Not for a couple of hours. I'm outside the building right now. Can you meet me in front?"

"Why don't you come up here?"

"Not a chance. Not everyone is as understanding as you are, and I don't relish the idea of running into Cullen Pulaski."

"I never said I understood, Nigel. It's just the way the game is played."

"Among like minds, pe
rhaps, but Cullen plays differently. Anyway, I need for you to come down here."

His instant reaction was to refuse. There was nothing left to say. But instinct kicked in, and his gut answered for him. "All right. I'll come."

"There's an alley half a block away. I'll be there." Nigel clicked off, and Gabriel closed his phone, his mind churning.

"Who was on the phone?" Harrison's interest was cursory. His attention still focused on forcing the computer to yield answers.

"Nigel."

That got his attention. Payton's, too. "What the hell is he doing? I thought he'd be halfway to England by now."

"Evidently not." Gabe started toward the door. "I'll be back in a bit."

"You're going?" Payton's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"He said it was important." Gabe shrugged. "It beats sitting here banging our heads against the wall." An understatement actually. At the moment he was more inclined to ram his fist through it.

Every step forward seemed to send them back three, and he wasn't used to being on the losing end of the stick.

*****

NIGEL FERRIS STOOD in the shadow of the alleyway, waiting. Sooner or later, Gabe would make an appearance. He owed Gabe and he wasn't leaving until he had the chance to talk to him. A crowd surged through the revolving door of the adjacent building, and Nigel glanced at his watch. 5:30 p.m. Quitting time.

His plane for London was at eight. Not much time. He pulled his coat collar closer around his neck and willed his friend to appear. If he'd read the signals between Gabe and Madison correctly, there was something going on between the two of them. Something significant. And if he was right about things, then they might not have the opportunity to build on what they'd started.

As if he'd heard Nigel's sile
nt plea, Gabe turned into the alley, his shoulders hunched against the chill of the wind. Nigel waited until he was certain Gabe was alone, and then stepped out of the shadows.

"So what's with the cloak-and-dagger routine?" The words weren't much more than a mumble.

"I'm the enemy, remember? I figured it was best to watch my back."

"We've said ever
ything that needs to be said." Gabe stopped in front of him, avoiding his gaze.

"About my part in the operation, yes. But not about Madison."

Gabe's head jerked up. "What the hell does she have to do with you?"

Nigel pulled Gabe deeper into the shadows. "Nothing at all, but unless I misread things
, she has everything to do with you. And I think we missed something important when we were at the scene of Jeremy's murder. It's been bothering me since then. But by the time I worked it out, I had been banished from the kingdom, so to speak."

"And so you thought you'd come back to share?" There was bitterness mixed with Gabe's anger. Not that Nigel blamed him.

"I thought it was important enough to risk your wrath. Whether you choose to believe it or not, I still consider you my friend. And if Madison is important to you, then she's important to me, too."

"So tell me what the hell
it is you think you know?"

Nigel waited a moment to be certain he had Gabe's full attention. "It's about the trajectory of the shot."

"The one that killed Jeremy," Gabe prodded.

Nigel nodded. "Something felt off to me at the time, but I couldn't quite place it. Then this morning it came clear. Look, Jeremy was moving from the wing chair to the drinks cart when he was shot."

"Passing in full view of the window."

"Right. But he was shot in the neck. And you know as well as I do that that's a risky shot. Much better to go for the head. And if the man was in plain view, the killer had plenty of time to aim for the head."

"Maybe something jarred his hand." The remark was a throwaway, Gabe's complete attention zeroed in on Nigel now.

"Or maybe he was never aiming at Jeremy at all."

Gabe sucked in a breath, the importance of Nigel's words hitting with brute force. "Madison."

"Exactly. She said she was standing to the side of the window when she thought she saw movement. And then she stepped into clear view."

"And saw the flash." Gabe's brows drew together as he visualized the events of that night.

"And dived to protect Jeremy." Nigel spread his hands in fait accompli. "If she hadn't moved, she'd have been hit. In the head. She's shorter than Jeremy."

"Oh, my God." Gabe's gaze locked on Nigel's. "That's why there was a second shot. The killer had missed his target. And if I hadn't shown up, there'd have no doubt been a third shot."

Nigel nodded. "I thought you should know."

Gabe turned to go, his mind obviously on finding Madison. Nigel stood watching, wishing he could take back the past few days. Turn back the clock and restore their friendship. But then perhaps it had all been a myth anyway.

People in their line of work couldn't afford attachments. Allies maybe. But not friends. And certainly not lovers.

Still, Nigel found himself wishing Gabriel and Madison Godspeed.

*****

MADISON GLANCED for the forty-fifth time at her watch, hoping her father hadn't given up on her, wishing that the taxi driver had taken the FDR instead of fighting the traffic on First Avenue. Patience was not one of her father's virtues. A trait she'd obviously inherited.

Finally they rounded the t
urn onto Seventy-second and with squealing brakes came to a stop in front of her building. She shoved a twenty through the window separating the front and back seats, and without waiting for change slid out of the cab.

She'd spent the ride over replaying every word of her last encounter with Gabriel over and over in her mind. Wishing there was a way to call it back. Knowing that there wasn't. One made one's bed and all that.

The wind off the river slapped her in the face, pulling her thoughts to the case and the possibility that her father had information. Something to do with Cullen. Her heart rate ratcheted up a notch as she considered the possibility that the news might not be good. After all, he'd chosen to meet her away from Dreamscape.

She quickened her pace as she walked under the canopy fronting her building, grateful when Harry, the doorman, gave the revolving door its usual spin. Gabriel was probably talking to Cullen now. She felt a moment's guilt for not being there to act as buffer, and then shook her head. The two of them were
perfectly capable of dealing with each other. They'd done it before. They certainly didn't need her. She was far better off finding out what it was her father knew.

A handsome older man at the front desk waved, and she struggled for the name. Ed, maybe. He was new. She'd only met him a day or so ago.

"Ms. Harper," he greeted her, smiling.

She nodded distractedly, still working on her courage. "Is my father up there?" she asked, hoping for a positive answer. He hadn't answered the phone when she'd tried to call.

"Yes, ma'am. He arrived about an hour ago, and has been calling down periodically ever since." The concierge shifted on his stool, looking a bit conspiratorial. "I told him traffic had been hell."

"Thanks, Ed." She smiled, relieved that her father was still there. "I was afraid he'd given up on me."

The older man returned the smile, and patted her hand. "Fathers never give up on their daughters."

She grimaced, heading for the elevator. Clearly Ed didn't know
her
father.

The doors chimed open and she stepped in, pressing her floor's button, her thoughts turning again to Gabriel. She'd almost called him twice, her hand on the cell phone keys before she'd managed to stop herself. Despite what commercials said, a cell phone wasn't the proper vehicle for an apology.

That was better done in person. On bended knee if necessary. She swallowed back a sigh. She'd made her bed, and now it was up to her to rumple it up again. She laughed at herself in the elevator's mirror. Gabriel had her so flustered she was screwing up metaphors.

Better to concentrate on the task at hand.

She'd deal with Gabriel afterward. If he loved her, he'd have to understand. She'd make him understand. Whatever it took. She'd waited a long time to find him, and she wasn't about to let her own paranoia screw things up between them.

The door dinged open, and she scrounged through her purse to find her keys, walking around the corner and down the hallway to her front door. She stood for five minutes rummaging through her junk and was just about to give up and knock, when her hands closed around the reticent key.

She slipped it into the lock, turned the key and opened the door, calling out as she came inside. "I'm home, Dad."

She threw her purse on the table, and slid out of her coat, placing her gun beside her purse. Hanging the coat on a hook, she called out again, then rounded the corner into the living room, stopping in surprise.

"What are
you
doing here?"

"WHERE'S GABRIEL?" Cullen stood in the doorway of the operations room watching Harrison and Payton. The former was ensconced at his computer as usual, the latter sitting at the conference room table, feet propped up, a fat file in his hands.

"Not here." Payton didn't even bother to look up, and quelling a surge of irritation, Cullen walked into the room.

"Any idea where he might be?"

The two men exchanged glances, and then Harrison spoke. "He went out for a walk. Should be back any minute. Is there something we can do for you?"

Closing ranks. He recognized the signs. Harrison had been absorbed into Gabriel's world. He noted the fact with no emotion. After all, it was to be expected, and despite the fact that it meant he would no doubt be shut out, it was to his advantage in the long run. "I suppose he told you all that I'm no longer a suspect."

"He mentioned it." This from Payton, who was watching him now from beneath hooded eyes. "Sorry to hear about your financial problems."

It was a dig. The perfect passive-aggressive attack. "I'll survive."

Payton shrugged.

"So where are we?" He purposely walked past Payton over to Harrison. "Anything new?"

Harrison blew out a breath, and swiveled to face him.

"We're still looking at Vrycom. Did you know that the owner of Bluemax killed himself shortly after Vrycom took over his company?"

"I heard something about it, of course, but I don't know the details. It really didn't have that much to do with me."

"You don't feel responsible?" Payton had walked over to stand by the window.

"F
or what, the man killing himself?" Cullen frowned. "Why should I? I didn't hold the gun. Hell, I didn't even give him a motive. We paid him more than market value for his company."

"You'd have had to pay him ten times that to get rid of his debt. He'd sunk everything into the company. By the time he paid off his creditors there wasn't anything left," Harrison said, his expression impassive.

"It's not my fault the man had no backbone. I'm in debt up to my ass, too, and you don't see me holding a gun against my temple." The minute the words were out he realized how cold he sounded, and wondered when he'd stopped seeing his associates as people, and begun to see them instead as markers on the way to success.

"The game isn't over yet." Payton shifted so that the sunlight hit him square in the face, highlighting his scar, and Cullen knew in that instant that Payton blamed him for everything that had happened in Iraq. It had been his vanity, his overriding sense of
one-upmanship that had driven him to prove that he could in fact get his man out when everyone else was saying it was impossible.

He'd been right of course, but the cost had been too high.

Especially for Payton.

"I'm sorry." The words were inadequate, but he meant them for what they were worth.

"Some things aren't to be forgiven." Payton held his gaze for a moment, and then dismissed him as easily as if he were a beggar on the street.

Cullen had made a fortune out of knowing when to cut and run, so with a shrug he turned to Harrison. "So besides the fact that the Bluemax's CEO killed himself, what else have you found?"

"Nothing concrete. I've been trying to find out more about the man, but so far I haven't turned up much. He wasn't much of a player before Bluemax, and quite frankly I'm not sure people took him all that seriously even with the company. His one big claim to fame seems to have been his company's encounter with you."

"Not me per se. I was only part of the process. My primary role was to identify companies that either had technology we needed, or were standing in the way of som
ething we were trying to accomplish. Then it was up to someone else to get the dirt on them, so to speak."

"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 patte
rn. Jeremy Bosner had nothing whatsoever to do with the Vrycom."

"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 ti
tles 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 rea
lly 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 tight, 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 at 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."