“Why hasn’t Dad come for you yet?”
“What?”
“By now, he should have done something to get you back. In fact, I fully expected to find you dead when I came back home. But you’re still alive.”
“You say that like you want to see me dead,” she snaps.
“I don’t but—”
“Leira,” she says, her brow wrinkling with pain. “You have no idea what these weeks have been like for me. The torture I’ve had to endure.”
I scan the flawless skin exposed in nothing but her underwear. Not so much as a bruise, let alone any signs of torture. My eyes come to rest on the bra and underwear, black lacy things that look more attractive than they probably feel.
“Oh my God!” I gasp, skittering away from her. “You and…Richard?”
Her face goes slack with surprise. “Don’t be ridiculous, Leira. Why in the world would I be involved with him?”
“That’s a good question,” I say in an accusatory tone.
She stares at me a moment longer with a pained expression on her face. Just when I’m beginning to think maybe I’ve misconstrued the situation, it transitions into a sneer.
“You stupid girl,” she spits. “Now you’ve ruined everything.”
My heart stops for several beats. “Why?” I manage to whisper.
At least now I know how Richard knew about Dad’s attorney, enough to convince me the policeman was legit. But how did he know I was in Barcelona in the first place?
“It doesn’t matter,” she replies, twisting to sit back against the wall and face forward.
“He killed our mother, two of your sisters!” I scream.
She turns to give me an insolent look. “He didn’t kill our mother or Lorraine. That was an accident.”
“Is that what he told you?” I retort. “And what about Layla?”
She turns to stare ahead again, practically boring a hole into the wall to avoid looking at me. “Layla just…she wouldn’t tell him! The shooting was an accident. He said he didn’t mean to do it.”
“Another convenient lie.”
“Stop it!” She snarls, turning to me with an angry look. “Just…tell us what Dad told you, and he’ll let you go!”
“And you call me the stupid one,” I say with wonder in my voice. “You honestly think he cares about you, don’t you? You’re just a tool to him Lucinda, at best a plaything he’ll use and then toss away when he’s done. Unless he kills you first. Maybe you should look into the death of his wife years ago.”
“Shut up!” she snaps, though I can see I’ve gotten to her.
“No, Lucinda, we need to get out of here. Now! The jig is up and now he definitely has no use for you. We’re in his apartment, right? Surely you know—”
“Shut up!” she screams.
“Lucinda!” I seethe, wanting to strangle her right now. But I need to keep a cool head, if only to make it out of here alive. I’m sure they’ve been listening in on us and any moment now—
The door swings open. By the time I’ve turned my head around to see who it is, the large man that has entered is two steps away from me. There’s a cloth in his hand, and I know what’s coming. This is getting ridiculous.
“No, don’t—”
Once again, the world turns black.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Enrique
I stare up at the high-rise, windows lit up against the dark New York sky. He’s moved in the past twenty years. A view like the one Richard Coleman has from this penthouse apartment is certainly one I would have remembered.
I don’t know if Leira is up there with him, or housed in a separate location. It wouldn’t be impossible for him to have her smuggled in, even in the busiest part of the busiest city in the world. After all, penthouse apartments are definitely afforded their own separate entrances. No need for those VIP residents to have to mingle with the commoners who are only in the top 2% of net worth individuals.
I rehash the plan in my mind one more time before walking right through the front entrance.
There are a doorman and a concierge. In my uniform of a plain t-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes, it’s probably difficult for them to gauge whether or not I “belong.” But professionalism is its own form of discretion, and I’m greeted with a polite, but definitely inquiring smile.
“I am here to see Richard Coleman,” I say to the concierge. “The name is Enrique Marín.”
The requested name earns me the briefest hint of skepticism. “Is Mr. Coleman expecting you?”
A sardonic smile touches my lips. “He most certainly is.”
“Very well, I’ll call up.”
My self-assured smile remains in place, giving him all the more reason to do just that.
“Mr. Coleman, I’m sorry to bother you, but there is an Enrique Marín here to see you?”
I watch him, wondering if this will really work. I’ve come to Richard on his home turf, giving him not only the advantage but, based on what floor his apartment is on, also the high ground.
Of course, it could just be bold enough to blow up in my face when he gets a little too suspicious.
“Yes, sir, he is standing right here in front of me,” the concierge replies with a slight wrinkle of confusion in his brow. His eyes scan me up and down as he listens to something on the other end. “He’s youngish, probably mid-twenties. Dark hair, dark eyes, casually dressed, and—”
He listens some more, and my confidence begins to wane.
“Yes sir,” the man says, hanging up. He takes a moment to give me a wary look, quickly replaced by an engaging smile before he speaks. “Please follow me.”
I quietly let go of the breath I was holding and give him an easy grin, as though I fully expected to be allowed up. He walks all the way across the lobby that is taken straight out of Architectural Digest and around a secret corner. There is a lone elevator there, and he pulls out a set of keys to unlock it. When it opens, I walk in. He reaches in to press the lone button, just in case I couldn’t do it myself.
“Muchas gracias,” I say with a smirk.
I’m rewarded with a tight smile. “You are very welcome, sir.”
The ride up is quick thanks to all the advancements n modern technology. A blessing and a curse, I suppose. When I exit, there is already a man waiting for me, no doubt chosen because of his resemblance to a military tank.
“Enrique Marín?”
I’m tempted to give a smart assed answer, but this job is going to be difficult enough as it is. “Guilty as charged,” is what I settle on.
Either way, he’s not amused.
“I’ve been ordered to pat you down and scan you with this before I take you in,” he says, holding up a black wand.
Expected.
It would have been stupid of me to do this with a weapon or suspicious technical device on me. I lift up my hands and allow him to do his thing. The only items he finds are my keys, wallet and phone.
“I’ll be holding onto the phone while you meet with Mr. Coleman.”
I could protest, but I need to get inside that apartment. “No sneaking in any porn on that while I’m in there,” I say with a smirk.
Again, not amused.
I follow him to the only entrance in this hallway, a set of double doors at the end. The foyer is exactly what you’d expect from a megalomaniac like Richard Coleman. It’s just ostentatious enough to reek of wealth, as if that view of Central Park wasn’t enough, but not to the point of complete tackiness. The henchman-cum-bouncer guides me further along until we reach another set of double doors.
“Come in,” the voice on the other side says after the man with me knocks twice.
Hearing that voice sends a chill through me. It’s not familiar at least beyond what I’ve heard from various videos online, but it’s the same voice that spoke before I saw the man attached to it kill another man.
When the doors are opened, that’s when the memories come flooding back. I look around wondering if, in fact, t
his is where I grew up. I spent so much time sneaking into my father’s office as a kid, it’s practically etched into my brain. There’s the leather couch that I always hid behind when he entered before I could escape.
Even the globe is still there.
“Look familiar?”
My eyes land on the man behind the desk who is staring hard at me with green eyes that most definitely spark a memory. The marks on his cheek are fresh.
So Leira is probably here somewhere. That certainly saves me from having to look too far when this is over.
“Did she do that to you?” I ask with a smirk, gesturing to his face.
“You can go, Leonard,” Richard says, his voice and eyes hard as he continues to stare at me.
I tear my gaze away to get a better look at the place, circling in place with my hands stuffed in my pockets. Snatches of memories fall into place, locked in like stacks of LEGOs.
“I liked the decor of the old place so much I had them transfer it here, inch by inch. I suppose I’m nostalgic that way.”
I turn around to find a taunting smirk on his face as he studies me. He waves a hand toward the chair across from him. “By all means, have a seat.”
I walk over to take a seat, and it turns in to a brief staring contest as we lock eyes with each other.
The son who saw his father commit murder.
The father who probably still wants to kill his son because of that.
“Enrique Marín,” he murmurs. “I liked Eric better, chose it myself. I thought about Richard Jr., but I figured there could only be one of me. Better to become your own man, which you apparently have. Quite busy the past few years it would seem.”
A cold smile lifts one side of my mouth. “Not to worry, I’ll be retiring soon.”
Richard laughs, deep and hearty. “Is that a threat? Here, in my own home? I could easily kill you, and everyone would still believe my version of things.”
“It isn’t like you haven’t done that once or twice before.”
His amusement fades. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to confess? Maybe I should get closer so I speak into the wire.”
“Neither of us is that stupid.”
“No,” he says, sitting back to cooly assess me. “You’re too slick to pull something that obvious off. So, what is it? Will ninjas be crashing through the window at any moment?”
“That would be amusing, wouldn’t it?” I say, smiling at the thought.
“So why are you here?” he asks, his voice going dangerously dark.
“I’ve come to get answers.”
“Information,” he mutters. I hear a subtle note of bemusement in his voice. “It’s interesting that you should say that. Because I myself have been in search of answers recently, and you may just be the key to getting them. In fact, that’s the only reason you aren’t already dead.”
Outside I maintain a facade of perfect calm. Inside, the blood flow in my veins may have reversed course for a second or two. He has a plan of his own, which is odd because he certainly wasn’t expecting me.
He reaches out to press a button. “Leonard, have them bring her in.”
Now my blood is at a cold standstill. Leira is not supposed to be directly involved in this.
Which means I need to act quickly.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Leira
The monotony of being on my own is quickly eradicated when the door swings open. I expect Lucinda to walk in, perhaps to persuade me once again to talk. Instead, the same lug I briefly recall from earlier grabs me by the hand and snatches me up from the floor.
I’m dragged through a very nice apartment and back into the office I was in earlier.
Except this time, we have company.
“Enrique!” I gasp in surprise, my heart soaring that he’s come for me. But the look on his face is anything but encouraging. In fact, he looks at me the way he did back on the boat, when I was nothing more than a fly in his ointment.
My eyes dart to Richard and find him smiling darkly, for some reason, focused on Enrique.
The man holding me walks me over to a chair and throws me into it.
“You can go, Simon,” Richard says. “I don’t think these two will be trying anything.”
So he wants privacy for some reason.
Once the three of us are alone again, Richard glances back and forth between the two of us. “A veritable Romeo and Juliet, it would seem.”
“How do you know my father?” I ask.
“Leira,” Enrique says in a warning tone.
“You had your chance for quid pro quo earlier; now I’m moving on to blackmail,” Richard says.
Before I can ask what he means, he has a drawer open and a gun in his hand, pointed directly at Enrique.
“No,” I exhale.
“It’s fine, Leira. He’s not going to shoot me.”
Richard laughs. “And why the hell not?”
“Because I already have all of your information. I had it less than a minute after I walked through those doors.”
Richard’s hand falters and he narrows his eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“It’s amazing what modern technology can accomplish these days,” Enrique says, pulling out his keys. He holds up one in particular. “By all accounts, this is nothing more than a simple key. In reality, it copied everything from every encrypted device in this place and sent it out.”
“My man scanned you before you came in. Besides, this room blocks all signals, in and out.”
“Almost all. When was the last time your security team updated this place? Unless it was recently, they probably don’t know about epsilon wavelengths. Nanotechnology is an amazing thing, isn’t it?”
“You’re bullshitting me,” Richard says through gritted teeth, though that perfectly tanned skin has gone a few shades lighter.
“Let her go, and I’ll have my people delete every bit of it.”
“Or I could just get it another way,” Richard says, pointing the gun my way.
Enrique remains as cold as ice, his gaze like obsidian lit on fire. “You do that, and the feds will be knocking on your door in less than twenty minutes.”
“Just enough time to get rid of anything problematic,” he says, switching the gun back to Enrique.
I can see that he’s being wary of what he says, afraid of being recorded. Which means he might just believe that Enrique is telling the truth.
“Aren’t you at least curious as to why I walked right in the front door rather than a surprise attack like I did with most of your clients?” Enrique says, as cool as a polar bear’s toenail, as my Dad sometimes puts it.
What game is Enrique playing here? More importantly, what’s the exit plan?
“It crossed my mind. But I’ve decided I don’t give a shit. One way or another, I’ll get that information back.” Richard turns to me with a sneer. “And I’ll get the information I need from you too. And then, just for shits and giggles, I’ll get rid of any headaches in my life…as slowly and deliberately as possible.”
Enrique just sits there, but I see the pulse in his neck quicken.
“How good are you when it comes to track and field?” Richard says, pointing the gun at Enrique’s kneecap with a look on his face that all but signals his intent to pull the trigger just to give him a harsh warning.
“I’ll tell you!” I scream.
They both snap their attention to me, equally irritated at the interruption. “I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
“Is that so?” Richard says in a droll voice, happy to indulge me for his own sadistic amusement.
“Yes,” I say, giving him a level gaze. “But you have to tell Enrique how his mother died, and where her body is. Quid pro quo, no? It’ll be much easier than torturing it out of me. If you think my sister, Layla, was stubborn, wait until you have to deal with me. Or, I could just tell you.”
Richard considers me for a long moment, mulling that over.
“Leira, do
n’t,” Enrique warns. “If you tell him, your father will have nothing left to protect himself. And this man will kill you all the same.”
“Shut up!” Richard roars. I can tell he’s rapidly losing it. He’s a man that’s quick to panic, which can be useful if manipulated just the right way. Or it could be deadly.
“Come on, you know you want to tell him,” I say with a hint of taunting in my voice. “Watch the look on his face as he learns firsthand what you did to her. All because she dared to stand up to you. All because he learned something he shouldn’t have.”
I force myself not to look Enrique’s way. This facade of keeping Richard hooked by his own twisted ego, the one that might just get off on telling his own son how he killed his mother, it would crack if I had to look at him after being this casually cruel about his mother’s death.
“You’re going to kill both of us anyway, you know it,” I say, trying to sound defeatist, which is easy since I have no idea how this will end. At the very least, I’ll have done this for Enrique. “He deserves to know the truth.”
“What he deserves is a slow and painful death,” Richard says, obviously no longer caring about being recorded. An evil smile spreads his mouth. “But quid pro quo is quid pro quo.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Enrique
I’m down to my underwear. After Richard’s men scanned me once again and took everything on my person, he at least afforded me that one dignity. Or maybe looking at a younger, more virile version of himself as he savored telling me about my mother was too much even for him to handle.
Leira has gone completely off script, not that there was one to begin with, at least as far as she’s concerned.
But it could work in my favor in more ways than one. I won’t deny that hearing the truth about my mother is too tempting to pass up. As painful as it will be, at least I can finally close that door on the part of my subconscious that has been eating away at me since Sister Clara first told me she wouldn’t be coming back.
Spanish Pirate: A BWWM International Legacies Romance Page 24