No One Left to Tell (5 page)

"Great! Nothing like breaking in a rookie. So where can we find Juan Valdez, connoisseur of Java?" The young woman's wit amused her partner. The man nearly choked on his coffee. But Fiona suspected her security head would find difficulty tolerating it. Especially given the fact Raven Mackenzie carried a badge.

"I am certain at this hour, Christian is working off some steam with his men. He won't be pleased with his new assignment. So I'll have to finesse his cooperation. Maybe even order him to work with you, if it comes to it."

Seeing a spark of hope in Detective Mackenzie's eye, Fiona interceded, "Before you ask the obvious, Detective. Let me clarify. If Christian chooses not to take this assignment, I won't force him. But you won't get my cooperation, either."

"But you're his boss. Ordering is what bosses do. Only they call it delegating or a paradigm shift in responsibility—whatever the new corporate buzzword," Raven asserted.

"Let's just say that Christian is his own man. And I trust him implicitly. He always has my best interest at heart. He's been a part of this family since he was a boy of ten. But you should be aware he has a past where law enforcement is concerned, I'm afraid."

"A criminal record?" The young woman's eyes flared.

"No, Detective, nothing so mundane. And I won't be talking out of school. Not about that. He is a deeply private man." Images of Christian emerged in Fiona's mind, flashes of him as a child and the man he'd grown to be. "You'll discover his nature soon enough. I've had the pleasure of getting to know him better over the past twenty-five years, and he's still a fascinating puzzle."

"You said he was blowing off steam. Where is he? The spa? The tennis court, maybe?"

Taking a sip of her tea, Fiona hid her enjoyment of Detective Mackenzie's assumption. She ignored the implication that Christian was a
kept man.

"I shall escort you to the war room, so you can see how he amuses himself with a few of his men. Christian constructed it for his use, and named it appropriately. I have to warn you. He's not expecting you. I'll have to convince him to do my bidding. But I can be most persuasive."

"Yes, ma'am, we can attest to that." Detective Rodriguez nodded.

"Persevere, Detectives, and he'll cooperate when he's ready." Fiona stood, allowing them to set down their coffee cups. "Follow me."

"This way, Detectives." Mrs. Dunhill directed them with a wave of a hand. Her genteel voice echoed down the long corridor.

Oversized tapestries and ornately framed oil paintings adorned paneled walls on the second floor. Raven hadn't seen anything like it. The extravagance took her breath away, but the theme displayed in each piece disturbed her. Ancient battles and death were forever frozen in time. The art of warfare commemorated in exquisite colors and gilded frames, as in a museum.

"Charming. Who did the art selection? Attila the Hun?" Raven muttered to her partner, but her hostess must have heard.

"Christian selected each piece. Once you see the war room, you will understand completely. He has a sense of humor, albeit black as coal." Mrs. Dunhill had been reserved until now. But when the woman raised a corner of her lip into a quick show of cordiality, Raven got the distinct impression Christian Delacorte had earned her respect.

"After you." Their escort smiled and held a small door open to usher them inside. Built into the wall at the end of the hallway, the door's dimensions were dwarfed in comparison to the grandeur of the rest of the manor.

"Why do I feel like Alice looking down a rabbit hole?" Raven whispered as she stepped across the isolated portal.

"And Fiona Dunhill is beginning to look an awful lot like the Cheshire cat," Tony mused. "Minus the furry striped tail. I hope."

Once inside the strange room, Raven's eyes adjusted to the murkiness of dimmed recessed lighting. Steps descended along four rows of stadium-style seats. A focal point of the room was the wide window down front. And a cavernous antechamber lay below, just beyond the glass. A door on the left connected to stairs leading to the floor of the gymnasiumlike chamber. Raven saw the interior of the larger room strewn with barricades, hulls of old cars, and walls of sandbags, looking like a war-ravaged village.

"This is our observation room. Please take a seat in the front row, Detectives. It looks like we haven't missed much." Mrs. Dunhill's voice was mixed with pride and fascination.

Faint voices sounded on the overhead speakers within the confined space. Drawing her attention to the floor below, a group of uniformed men circled a shirtless man, clad only in his black uniform pants and military-style boots. The group seemed oblivious to their presence. One of the five men blindfolded the man in the center. With a hood placed over his head, he looked like he would face a firing squad, minus the last smoke. His tanned muscular torso glistened with sweat, but the others looked well-rested. Their uniforms were impeccably creased. What had this poor man been put through before she'd entered the room? He must have drawn the short straw and would pay for his bad luck.

Transmitted over the speakers above, a guard's voice penetrated the quiet space of the observation deck. "If you're ready, lights out."

After a nod from the hooded man, the overhead light extinguished. Blackness filled the large chamber. Raven couldn't see a thing below. Her hands tightened on the armrest. Edging forward, she peered through the dark.

"I'm turning out the lights here as well, but the glass is equipped for night vision. You'll be able to see everything, just like the guards. Only they'll be wearing night-vision goggles," Mrs. Dunhill explained. "The window is a mirror into the chamber. They can't see us, but we can see them."

The small space went pitch-black for only a second until the viewing window activated. Raven's eyes adjusted to the crimson glow cast into the room.

"Speaking of Disney, our new partner must be Goofy," Tony whispered for her alone. "The man's gotta be twisted. What sort of guy orders his men to go through this kind of abuse and calls it training?" He shook his head. "That poor hooded bastard is like a lamb bein' led to slaughter."

In awe, Raven's jaw dropped. Realizing what was about to happen, she spoke aloud, "What the hell is going on down there? Is he insane?"

"Most probably." Fiona spoke in a hushed tone. The pale red glow cast an eerie shadow on her face. "But watch. This is remarkable."

Equipped with night-vision headgear, the small army of five waged war against the hooded man. To Raven's utter astonishment, the guy going solo was the aggressor. Before any of the guards moved, one had been incapacitated by a spin kick to the gut. A quick jab followed, directed at the man's head. But the blow had been pulled up short to avoid injury. The guard doubled over. Gasping for air, he'd been taken out of play. The count was four to one. The fox eluded the hounds for now.

In their dark uniforms, the four remaining men nearly blended into the blackness. And the hooded man with dark pants looked headless—a fierce torso suspended in the gloom. Radiating the crimson of night vision, his body reflected a strange aura.

Being one to root for the underdog, Raven found herself pulling for the guy who should've been at a disadvantage. Edging closer to the window, she felt Tony doing the same.

The hounds circled the fox, coming in for the kill. Raven tensed, holding her breath. One man raised an odd-looking rifle to his shoulder and fired a round at the prey, narrowly missing his chest. A streak of color dribbled down the wall where he'd been standing. Anticipating the shot, the fox had rolled to his right and ducked for cover behind sandbags. But just as quickly, he prowled again, going after the man who fired the shot. The very weapon used on the offense gave away the guard's position—a deadly game of Marco Polo. Raven reminded herself that the guy was blindfolded.
How extraordinary!

"Is this paintball?" she asked, keeping her eyes fixed below. "In the dark?"

"Christian adapted a variation of the game, adding the hood and blindfold." Fiona's voice was monotone, barely a whisper. The war game captivated the woman.

A loud groan erupted over the speaker. The fox took out another hound.

"And where is Christian? Watching from somewhere while this poor schlub gets nailed?" Tony scoffed.

"That poor schlub
is
Christian, Detective Rodriguez. Didn't I make that clear?" Raven heard the smile in the woman's voice. "He'd never expect this from his men. All he wants is for them to do their damnedest to take him out of the game."

Silence. Her partner caught her eye with a puzzled look.

"Anyone ever do that?" Tony's voice filled with admiration. He scooted forward to check out the action below.

"No. Not to my knowledge."

Mrs. Dunhill was proud of her head of security—a man who'd just used one of his guards as a shield for a paintball blast. With his forearm around the guard's throat, and a hand grappling the man's head, he could have easily broken his neck. But this was a training game and not about killing. The guard held up his hands in surrender. Delacorte had taken out three of the five hounds.

Raven narrowed her eyes into the blackness.
This was their new partner?
So much for treating him like a rookie on a murder investigation. This man wouldn't be fetching coffee or allowing them to fill his days with busywork. Yet the prospect of working with him intrigued her.

A marvel to watch in the dark, he felt his way without benefit of eyesight. The man reacted like a bat using sonar to navigate. His controlled and powerful movements were efficient, a predator on the prowl. Narrowly escaping one paintball round after another, Delacorte reacted on pure instinct.

"I got a feeling about our new partner," she whispered to Tony. "I think we just invited the fox to our henhouse. And his name is Colonel Sanders."

"I hear ya." Tony nodded. "Old-fashioned or extra crispy? Either way, we're fried."

Mrs. Dunhill's voice broke the eerie calm of the room. "I hate to interrupt his sport, but I'm sure you have work to do, a murder to solve."

The floor below grew quiet. On the hunt again, the fox searched for his next victim. Fiona Dunhill stepped forward, speaking into the intercom. Her voice echoed into the cavern. "Christian? We have guests. And I need to speak to you, please."

Slowly, the men stood and removed their headgear, but only after Christian capitulated by raising his hands. Lights gradually brightened and the guards dispersed. The war games were over.

After a furtive glance, she turned off the intercom to give Christian and her some privacy. "If you'll excuse me. I'll only be a moment." The older woman left the room and descended the stairs, looking unsettled for the first time today.

"Something we said?" Tony chided.

Yet Raven felt uneasy, strangely disappointed the match was at an end. Drawing closer to the viewing window, she nibbled at the inside of her lip, waiting. When Mrs. Dunhill approached the man left standing, he tugged at his black hood. Raven found herself eager to put a face to the name of Christian Delacorte.

Barely winded, Christian pulled off the black hood, then yanked the underlying blindfold to hang around his neck. His dark hair tousled, he ran fingers through the waves to straighten it. With a questioning look, he asked, "What's up, Fiona? What's so important?" Concern softened his usually solemn expression.

"Sorry to have interrupted you, Christian. But something has happened. I need your help." She watched his reaction.

"Anything. Just ask." Tossing the hood aside, he reached for a black T-shirt lying across a sandbag barricade. Ready to pull it over his head, he stopped when she reached for his arm.

"Don't be so quick to volunteer." She felt the warmth of his skin, slick with sweat. "I'll understand if you can't do as I ask. But I don't trust anyone else."

"That sounds ominous," he replied. His rich voice echoed in the war room. "Guess you better fill me in. Come on. I'll follow you upstairs."

"No. We can't go up just yet. I need to talk to you here, now."

Without pushing, he waited for her to speak. Christian's penetrating stare caught her by surprise. His gaze acted like a truth detector. Even in childhood, his eyes best captured his guarded nature. It hadn't always been so, but tragedy changed a person. She knew that from experience.

"Two homicide detectives are in the observation room. Mickey Blair got himself killed last night." Saying it aloud made her stomach twist. "His particular skills earned him business apart from his security work at Dunhill. And I'm afraid this work may have contributed to his death."

Christian narrowed his eyes, the sternness back in his expression. "What are you leaving out?"

At first, Fiona didn't know what to make of Mickey Blair's death. The man had seen the dark side of her nature and had kept her secret, true enough. But with him dead, there was no one left to tell. She might have felt a weight lifted off her shoulders, except for one thing. Someone else had pointed an accusing finger by stepping in the middle and killing Blair in the process. And that scared the hell out of her.

Christian waited for her answer. Revealing everything to him might cost her his devotion, so she tempered her candor with a gnarled fraction of the truth.

"In a past life, I did some things I'm not proud of. And Mickey was part of that life." Her throat clenched. A tear slid down her cheek. She turned her head, avoiding his stare.

"Did you have anything to do with—" He stopped. As he stepped closer, she heard his whisper. "Just tell me what to do. I'll protect you." His hand gently squeezed her shoulder.

His willingness to safeguard her interests, without fully understanding the truth, touched her deeply. It reassured her she'd chosen the right man to trust with her life. Turning, she looked him in the eye, speaking in a hushed tone.

"No. I didn't have him killed. At least, not in the way you might imagine."

"You're being so damned cryptic. How can I help if I don't understand."

"I need you to work with the police on their investigation. They've already agreed to—" She never got the chance to finish before he shot back.