From Manhattan with Revenge (The Fourth Book in the Fifth Avenue Series) (9 page)

“What is this?” Carmen said.

“It’s not what you think.”

“What the hell am I supposed to think?”
Carmen pointed at the man she knew only as Jake. The man who followed her last
night. The man who got into a cab with her last night. The man who left the
bar, sold her out to Katzev’s men, and nearly got her killed last night.
“Stop,” she said to him. “Right there. Stop.”

“Why?” he said, not stopping. “You’re
unarmed. You’re half my size. You don’t tell me what to do, Carmen.”

She whirled at Babe McAdoo. “You set me
up?”

Babe looked offended. “I did no such
thing. He’s here to help you.”

“Help me? He nearly got me killed last
night. He sent them directly to me. You know that.”

“I had no choice,” he said.

“You had every choice,” Carmen said.

“No, I didn’t. I left that note for a
reason. It was to give you a heads up. Don’t be naive. They were following me.
They saw us on the street. Because of traffic, we lost them at a light when we
were driving around the city, but that didn’t stop them from texting me. When
we arrived at the bar, I waited for you to make your phone call before checking
the text. They ordered me to call them, so I did. They threatened me to tell me
where we were, so I told them. You would have done the same thing. All we have
is our own survival, Carmen. You of all people know that. At least I tipped you
off before getting the hell out of there. I didn’t have to, but I did.”

“So, now you’re a fugitive to them?”

“I am.”

“Right.” Again, she looked at Babe. “Why
are you doing this? I don’t trust him. Unless you’re with him, you shouldn’t
either. If anything happens to me, you know Spocatti will take both of you
out.”

Babe McAdoo lifted her pale yellow caftan
at her sides and let the fabric flutter against her slender body. “While I love
the drama you’re creating, Carmen, it’s all for not, so just snuff it. Spocatti
will do nothing of the sort. You’re overreacting. Just be quiet and listen. I’m
telling you, it’s not what you think.” She looked over at Max. “Bring me the
phone, please.”

Max took the phone off the table behind
him and brought it to her. Babe dialed then handed Carmen the phone. “Go on,”
she said. “Take it before he answers.”

“Before who answers?”

“Spocatti. We’re here to help you. He’ll
tell you that. He knows all of us are in this room. You’re misinterpreting the
situation. He’ll make that clear to you, then we can get on with it.”

It was a moment before Spocatti came on
the line, and when he did he sounded out of breath. “Yes,” he said.

“It’s Carmen. Are you all right? You sound
winded.”

“You’ll need to ask her if I’m all right,
Carmen. Would you like to speak to her? She’s lovely. All sweaty and naked and
lovely. I know you’ve always wondered how it would be with me, so here’s your
chance. She’ll tell you if I’m all right—if I’m better than all
right—but you’ll need to rely on your Italian because her English is
shaky at best. Not that it matters much with her mouth so full. Have I told you
that I love Capri?”

“Vincent—”

“Oh, and if you’re calling about the
situation you’re in right now, you’re fine. Babe’s the best. Just listen to
her. Trust her. I’ve known her for more than twenty years and she’s as legit as
they come. I was debriefed before you got there because they knew you’d have
questions and concerns. Lay them to rest. I’ve worked with Jake, whose real
name you’ll find out soon enough. Jake is better. You’ll see why he chose it
over the name his parents saddled him with. Not unlike you, he’s being
pressured by the syndicate. He did try to help you last night, but they got to
him before he could do much of anything. Don’t blame him. We always choose
ourselves first, no matter what. You’re no different. If you were in his shoes,
you would have done the same thing. So, join forces with him. Listen to Babe.
Find Katzev. Apparently, he is the one you’re seeking, from what Jake tells me.
And Babe. Now, I’d love to talk to more, but...I can’t remember her name...is
as red as a beet and wants a moment to breathe. Keep in touch. You know I’m
here if you need me. So, I expect to hear from you. Soon.”

The line went dead.

She clicked off the phone and handed it to
Babe, who gave it to Max, who walked across the room with it and placed it in
its cradle. Vincent never would set her up. She knew that. She trusted him as
if he were her brother. She looked at Babe and then at Jake, who were looking
at her as if they didn’t know how she would react.

She trusted no one easily. But she had to
listen to Vincent. When it came to her, he’d never be responsible for holding
out the noose that took her life.

She sat down in one of the red chairs.

“Babe, if you have coffee, perhaps all of
us could talk?”

“I have my private McAdoo blend,” she
said.

“I had a feeling you would. I assume it’s
strong?”

“It’ll blow your head off.”

“That’s not what I want to hear right now,
Babe,” Carmen said.

CHA
PTER TEN

When Max brought a tray with a pot of
coffee, cups, saucers, cream, sweeteners, and cookies on it, he placed it on
the table between Carmen, Babe, and Jake, and offered to pour.

“I’m fine,” Carmen said. “Thank you.”

She poured herself a cup, took it black,
sipped it, decided she liked it, and chose a short bread sugar cookie from the
platter. With the exception of the cheese and cracker she ate earlier, she
hadn’t eaten today. She bit into it and leveled Jake with a look.

“What’s your real name?” she asked.

“Fred.”

“So, Jake,” she said. “Why don’t you fill
me in on what you know? Why were Alex and I targeted?”

“You’re end-of-cycle,” he said.

She knew what that meant, but she wanted
to push him to see how much he’d reveal. “And what does that mean?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Even before you killed
Laurent, they were finished with you. They thought you knew too much and it was
time to invest in other people as skilled as you.”

“Too much about what?”

“No idea.”

“You must have some idea.”

“I don’t. But they think you know too much
about something. Maybe them. Maybe something they did. Maybe something Alex
did. Who knows?” He leaned forward and poured himself a cup of coffee. “But now
that you’ve killed Laurent, they also want you dead for murdering their
colleague. Maybe even especially because you killed him and dared to challenge
them. All of their resources are pointed at you right now, Carmen. They want to
send a message to the other agents working for the syndicate. Fuck with them,
meet your death.”

“How many are on me?”

“Best guess? Another agent recently told
me that the syndicate employs about seventeen people. Give or take. Probably
more. Before Alex died, that included you, Alex, me, and the two men who died
last night—the one whose chest I crushed, and the one hit by the truck.
With us out of the picture, that would leave about a dozen or so. That said, no
one knows for sure.”

“Why are you out of the picture, Jake?”

“End-of-cycle. They’re cleaning house.
Apparently, I also know too much, though I’m not sure about what and I don’t
have time to find out. I want out of this city and this life. Time for a
change.”

“Here’s what doesn’t make sense to me,”
she said. “If the syndicate wants you dead, why did you agree to work for them
last night? Why were they on the phone texting you about my whereabouts?”

She looked at Babe, who was looking at
Jake with a furrowed brow.

“Am I the only one who finds that odd? Do
you, Babe?”

“I do.”

“So, why don’t you explain, Jake? How are
you a target one day, then their champion the next?”

“I’m hardly their champion, Carmen, but
I’ll tell you how it went down. The two men hired to kill me last night proved
that the syndicate wants me dead. I needed to buy time and figure out a way to
get out of the city safely. Because of what you did to Laurent, I thought I had
another shot with them and took it. After the guy who chased me became
roadkill, I contacted Katzev and promised I could deliver you to him. I told
him I knew he wanted me dead, but to give me a chance to prove my loyalty to
them. So, I used my contacts. I found you. I bought time. When you left me at
the bar alone, I answered their text, left you a note, and got the hell out of
there before they arrived. You and I both know that when you’re targeted for
elimination, that’s it with them. Sure, I found you for them. But they’ll still
try to kill me.”

“So, in other words, you set me up for
nothing.”

He studied her over his coffee. “No, in
other words, I bought myself time. You’ve been around long enough to know this
isn’t personal, Carmen. You also know I owe you nothing. My first
responsibility is to myself. Same goes for you. If I can buy myself time to
figure out a way to get out of this city and away from Katzev and the rest of
them, that’s what I plan to do.”

“And yet here you sit,” she said. “Why?”

Babe McAdoo turned in her chair and looked
at Carmen with delight on her face. “Finally,” she said. “The best part.”

“What’s the best part, Babe?”

“We’re going to have an adventure,” she
said. “My biggest and most aggressive one yet.”

Carmen saw it and waited for it.

“It’ll be fun,” Babe said. “Just the three
of us, with Spocatti a phone call away to offer guidance should we need it. Oh,
and so long as we call him with daily updates to feed whatever part of him
needs to be fed in order to keep him alive, Gelling has promised us access to
his contacts. And of course we have mine, which dig deeper into the roots of
New York than Katzev ever could imagine. This isn’t, after all, my first time
at the rodeo.”

Carmen held Babe’s gaze and sat unmoving.
She looked at that weird little Zen bird sitting before her—her red hair
and yellow caftan clashing against this room she had sheathed in gold—and
couldn’t help feeling her gut sink.
Go on
, she thought.
Just say it.

“Don’t you see?” Babe McAdoo said. “Gird
your loins, Carmen. We’re going to take down the syndicate.”

CHAPTER ELE
VEN

While Carmen met with Babe McAdoo,
Illarion Katzev prepared to address the syndicate.

On the massive stainless steel wall before
him were thirteen flat screen monitors. In the center, one was left dark out of
respect for Jean-Georges Laurent, whose face was blown off at the Four Seasons
several weeks ago in ways that demanded a closed casket at his funeral, where
people clucked their tongues in pity not because he was dead, but, some felt,
because they were cheated out of seeing the ruined nature of what rested
within.

The other twelve monitors, on the other
hand, were alive with images of unhappy people from around the world, all
locked in their safe rooms and transmitting across secure lines.

In the wake of Laurent’s death, these
people comprised what was left of the syndicate—three women and nine men.
None was pleased to be here now, though at least they understood the importance
of why they were asked to leave behind their heady lives to deal with a
potentially dangerous situation before it became too late to do so.

For Illarion Katzev, that understanding
would make the meeting more productive and, when decisions were made, easier to
deal with when plans were put into motion.

In the wake of Carmen Gragera’s escape
from the Waldorf Astoria the night before, Katzev decided to call the meeting
in an effort to get in front of the situation before Carmen got in front of it
herself.

Each person who looked back at him now
knew the extent of Gragera’s skills, which were impressive. She wasn’t somebody
they took lightly—some feared her—which is one of the few reasons
they marked her for death several weeks ago, thinking it was time to destroy
her connection with them and sow fresh talent elsewhere.

But what concerned them most was her
romantic relationship with Alex Williams, whom they also considered a threat
because a respected third party informed them that, for whatever reason,
Williams had been gathering intelligence on them.

In Bora Bora, they successfully killed
Williams, but Carmen escaped, which all agreed left them in danger because Alex
likely shared his intelligence with her. And if he had, with enough
investigative work, that knowledge could lead her straight to them, which was a
concern because with her lover dead due to them, all believed she’d seek
revenge soon.

So, Illarion Katzev, a formidable man not
yet fifty who made his fortune the old-fashioned way—through murder and
with ruthless calculation—read over his notes a final time while the
others prepared themselves for his recommendation on how best to handle the
elusive Gragera now.