What a Girl Wants

by Selena Robins

  “Watch it, Donovan, you’re acting like paparazzi.” Maxwell walked toward him. “I will have a prepared statement delivered to you in the next few days.”

  “Prepared statement?” Alex answered dryly. “I don’t do canned interviews. You’re not going to tie my hands.”

  Hollister stood in front of him, meeting him eye to eye. “I’ve had it with reporters ruining the reputations of successful men.”

  “I don’t intend on ruining anybody’s reputation. In fact,” he slid a quick glance toward Maddie, “I’m determined that doesn’t happen.”

  Maxwell turned to Maddie, his expression softening. “Please let Carl know when you’re available to continue our discussion.”

  “Thank you for a lovely lunch,” she responded. “But in fairness to Alex, he is writing the feature article and you did agree to an interview with him.”

  “You are correct. However, I’ve changed my mind.” He turned and headed back to his chair. “Good day, Mr. Donovan.”

  Maddie’s cell phone interrupted the moment. She rolled her eyes and mumbled, “Perfect timing, as usual.” She fished out her cell phone, excused herself and stepped into the hall.

  “I believe Mr. Hollister bid you goodbye,” Victor said to Alex.

  Alex walked toward the window and stood in front of Victor. “I believe I asked that you, Curly and Moe stop following me and my colleagues around.”

  The vein in Victor’s neck stood out and his hand, with fingernails that were bitten to the quick, shook. Alex’s radar was already on high alert with this guy, and he’d noted that Victor Grant squirmed in his seat when Hollister looked at him, and threw back hard liquor while on the job as if he was—well, Alex didn’t know what, but he was going to find out. Later.

  “Victor,” Hollister said. “Did you not tell your men it was unnecessary—”

  “Save it,” Alex interrupted. “Your PI-slash-bell boy admitted that his orders came from this house and—”

  “Excuse me.” Maddie walked back into the study, sounding out of breath. “I’m going to have to leave now.”

  Alex went back to the doorway. “Everything okay, babe?”

  Maddie nodded. “Yes. The…the Maui’s media-relations officer is sending me some information…for my article, and since the Internet is down at the resort I need to get—”

  “I’m sorry, has the Internet not been restored at the resort yet?” Maxwell asked.

  “You know it hasn’t.” Alex dug his Blackberry out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Here, sweetheart, feel free to use this as long as you want.”

  “She won’t need that.” Maxwell walked toward her. “You are more than welcome to use my assistant’s office. It’s fully equipped with a fax machine—”

  Maddie held up her hand, shooting both Alex and Hollister a frustrated look. “I need my briefcase, and it’s back at the hotel. I’m going to pop into a Kinko’s.” She shook Maxwell’s hand. “Thanks again for the lovely afternoon.” Alex noted that she had a slight tremble in her voice and her cheeks were flushed.

  “I’ll walk you out,” Hollister said.

  “That’s not necessary.” She grabbed Alex’s hand in a tight grip. “I need to speak with Alex before I leave. He can see me out.”

  Alex followed Maddie out the front door and the minute they stepped outside, he asked, “You sure everything’s okay?”

  “Babe? Sweetheart? Since when do you put on a public display like that? Did you enjoy what just happened in there? Because I sure as hell didn’t.”

  Alex knew better than to interrupt her. He could tell she had to get it all out.

  “You both looked as friendly as a couple of rabid dogs,” she continued. “What’s all this antagonism about? And how did you even sneak in here? Oh wait, let me guess, you let your research at Coronado with the Seals go to your head? You have a lot of explaining to do, and don’t tell me it’s about your article. Something else is going on.” She glanced at her watch. “You know what? I don’t have time for this.”

  Alex drew her into his arms. “Hey, something else is wrong. Talk to me.”

  “Later. Go back and finish round two.”

  “That can wait.” He tilted her head up. “Come on, I’ll go back with you.”

  She shook her head. “I need to be alone. And I have to go to Kinko’s before it closes and get some work done.”

  She tried to sound indifferent, but he knew her better than even he realized. Something was upsetting her that had nothing to do with him showing up here this afternoon or his confrontation with the old guy.

  She rolled her eyes. “Slow down that overanalytical brain of yours. It’s work. That’s it.”

  Guess she knew how to read him. She gave him a look that told him to back off because she didn’t want to talk about it. Whatever it was.

  He tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “I’ll call you soon as I’m finished here, and we’ll go out for a late dinner.”

  She reached around and tapped his ass. “Play nice.”

  He gave her a quick kiss on the lips. She left. He went back into the sitting room and nodded toward Victor Grant. “This is a private meeting.”

  “He’s staying,” Hollister responded.

  Alex leaned against the arm of the tanned suede sofa. “Suit yourself.”

  “I always do.” Hollister smirked. “Don’t make the mistake of fencing with me. I know who I am and what I am capable of.”

  Old guy wants to play hardball does he? Okay. Alex was more than up for a match. “I have no doubt you’re capable of many things.” He walked over to where Hollister stood and lowered his voice for Hollister’s ears only. “You and Liam Galvin.”

  Hollister’s mouth became an even tighter line, and his face paled. In a heartbeat, he regained his composure and turned to Victor. “I think it would be best if I do speak to Donovan in private.”

  Victor rose and headed for the door.

  “Before you leave. Use my assistant’s office and arrange to halt that submission we talked about the other day.”

  Victor’s brows furrowed, but then it looked like his boss’s code must have sunk in. “I’m afraid it may be too late. I was told it was put to bed and will be out tomorrow. But I’ll give it my best shot.”

  Submission? Put to bed? Alex thought. Newspaper terminology. Interesting.

  Hollister rubbed his forehead. “Okay, let me know. I’ll make a few calls myself later. Please close the door on your way out.” He glared at Alex. “Who gave you that name?”

  “Liam Galvin?” Alex grinned. “Research, plus my uncle is the senior editor at the Irish Times. Do you think it’s a matter of nature or nurture that journalism runs in my family? We can pick up on that conversation later, right?”

  Hollister rubbed his forehead again. This time he left a red mark. “What’s this all about?”

  “Tell me about Liam Galvin.”

  “You tell me what you think you know.” Maxwell poured another brandy. “And I want to be assured that this conversation is off the record.”

  “No dice.”

  “You son of a bitch.” Maxwell threw back the brandy in one swallow, then sucked in a loud breath as a chaser. “Do you know what gossip like that could do to my reputation, my companies, shareholders, all the employees around the world who work for me, and to my family?”

  “I’m not surprised that you listed family as your last concern.” Alex walked to the mini bar and lifted a jug of water. “May I?” At Maxwell’s nod, he poured himself a glass. “Okay, we’ll keep this conversation off the record.” He took a sip of water. “I’ll treat you as a confidential source. So, what’s your version?”

  “I have to admit, you are good.” Maxwell let out a cynical laugh. “You expect me to fall for that bluff? You don’t know much, do you? You threw out a name, expecting me to s
pill anything I might know. This conversation is over.”

  Alex added an ice cube to his water. “You think I’m bluffing?”

  Hollister studied him. The ticking of the mahogany grandfather clock in the corner was the only sound.

  “Tell you what.” Alex finished the rest of his water, set the glass down and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “Why don’t you call your valet in, and we’ll ask him if he thinks I’m bluffing? What name does he use now?” Alex paused for a few beats. “Carl, is it?”

  “So, Ms. Saunders, do I keep going or is this the end of the road for us?”

  Maddie stuffed the twenty pages of information she’d printed off at Kinkos into a manila envelope, while balancing her cell phone between her ear and shoulder. “Probably,” she said to PI Bernie. “Unless it’s free, I’ll have to take it from here.” She crossed the street and headed to a small park with lush grass and a big palm tree.

  “There is something else that I didn’t include in that package I sent you.”

  “Shoot.” She kicked off her sandals and sat crossed legged under the tree. “Wait, how much is this going to cost me?”

  Bernie chuckled. “You seem like a nice enough kid. This one’s on the house.”

  She leaned back against the tree. “Okay, I’m listening.”

  “Remember I told you someone else was following the same trail I’ve hit?”

  “Yes.” She pushed off the tree and sat straighter. “Do you know who it is?”

  “Does the name Crystal Washington mean anything to you?”

  “Liam Galvin, born in Belfast, quit school at the age of fifteen and worked the docks for two years,” Donovan said. “He joined the IRA shortly after Bloody Sunday, and became a member of a twelve-man active service unit, nicknamed the RPK Gang because of their use of RPK machine guns. This gang was responsible for ambushing four British soldiers, killing two and wounding two. Your man Galvin was the gang’s driver. After the ambush it’s suspected that he escaped across the border into the Republic of Ireland, and then came to the US on a false passport.”

  Jesus Christ. Maxwell resisted the temptation to pour himself another drink. He’d had too many already, and though he had a high tolerance, the alcohol combined with the stress of the conversation could make for disastrous consequences.

  “Still think I don’t know that much?” Donovan asked.

  Maxwell sat back in his chair and adopted an air of indifference, even though his pulse pounded through his veins. “What you failed to mention about that operation is that it was a military action during war and—”

  “Military action?” Donovan’s eyes blackened. “Is that how you justify murder?” He shook his head. “And what you failed to mention is that Liam Galvin is your brother-in-law.”

  Son of a bitch, how the hell did he find that out? Maxwell remained calm, not wanting the cocky reporter to see the effect this walk down memory lane was having on him. Even after all these years, he could still hear the voice of the first woman he loved with his heart and soul, Elizabeth Gallagher Hollister, his first wife. She had begged him on her deathbed, in her sweet Gaelic accent, to help her brother.

  “Ta gra agam duit,” she had whispered to him.

  “I love you too,” he answered as he sat beside her bed, witnessing how the ravages of cancer were stealing her away from him.

  “How lucky we are to have found this deep love, that saying goodbye is so damn tragic.” Her voice had barely been audible. “Find love again and have a family. I know you will never forget what we had. I only ask you to take care of Liam for me. He’s a good man. It was all a mistake.”

  It was a deathbed promise he’d vowed to keep, and he had.

  Maxwell tore himself back to the present. “Where did you get this information?”

  “I have my sources.”

  Maxwell rocked back and forth in his leather chair. Granted, Donovan had some facts, but not all the right facts and he could either let Donovan believe he had the story straight, throw him out and get Liam out of the country, or he could take a risk and ensure this went no further.

  He chose the latter. “This is still off the record?”

  Donovan nodded.

  “Are you willing to sign an agreement stating what I tell you does not leave this room?”

  “I’m not surprised you have nondisclosure agreements handy. I’ll take a look at it.”

  Maxwell left and returned with the agreement. After Donovan read it and signed it he poured himself a glass of soda water. “Liam Galvin is my first wife’s half-brother. Same mother, different father. He had a hard time adjusting to his father’s death. He was three years old at the time. In less than a year after his father’s death, his mother remarried and gave birth to a baby girl. He resented his stepfather and felt betrayed by his mother. The parents handled this by ignoring his pouting and tantrums and allowing him to do whatever he wanted. His sister idolized Liam and as she got older doted on him, giving him the attention he wasn’t getting from their mother. But it wasn’t enough. He fell into the wrong crowd as a teenager.”

  “Wrong crowd?” Donovan shook his head. “The IRA makes the Hells Angels look like a bunch of altar boys.”

  Maxwell squeezed a slice of lemon into his glass before answering. “He was a seventeen-year-old boy who allowed temptation to take over good judgment and made bad choices. He quit his job at the docks and was hired as a driver for the RPK Gang. The pay was three times what he was making cleaning fish. As far as he was concerned he was a chauffeur. The only information he was given were pick-up and drop-off times and destinations. On the day of the ambush, he was told the RPK members were meeting with four British soldiers to discuss the aftereffects of Bloody Sunday, come to a truce of sorts.”

  Donovan leaned forward and planted his elbows on his knees. “You stated earlier that he wasn’t ever given any details. Why did they suddenly fill him in? Did he not question why his gang members were so heavily armed for a peace talk?”

  Maxwell rattled the ice in his glass. “I can’t answer detailed questions. I never asked.”

  “Really?” One word, but Maxwell read the tone and question behind Donovan’s delivery. How could someone in his position, someone who headed one of the largest financial and real estate conglomerates in the world, not do a thorough check of the facts?

  Fact was, he had no intention of filling in the gaps for Donovan.

  “You need to get your man Liam in here.”

  Maxwell shook his head and held his hand up. “That’s not open for discussion or debate.”

  Donovan gave him a look that said, Figured as much.

  “Do you want me to continue?” Maxwell asked.

  “Be my guest.”

  Maxwell ignored the sarcastic tone. “When the ambush and shooting took place, Liam realized he was part of an execution plot. He made the decision to take off and leave the gang behind. He drove to a nearby phone booth and tipped off Scotland Yard, giving them the names of the gang members and the location of not only the ambush, but the RPK headquarters.”

  “What a hero.” Donovan straightened in his seat. “He never carried an RPK?”

  Maxwell shook his head. “He never brandished or fired a weapon. He was sickened by what he had witnessed.”

  Donovan lifted his brow. “A hero and a saint.”

  Maxwell tightened his grip on the arm of his chair. “I can end this conversation right here and now.”

  Donovan stood. “You won’t.” Leaning over the back of the chair across from Maxwell, he asked, “If what you told me is true, why didn’t he identify himself and tell his side? After all, he was led to believe he was going to meet a few British soldiers and sing Kumbaya, right?”

  “He was only seventeen years old. He was scared and confused and had just witnessed two murders.”

  “Where did he go
after the call?”

  “To this day, I don’t know. He disappeared for five years. He was not only on the run from the law but from the IRA as well.” Maxwell swiveled his chair around and looked out the window. “When my wife graduated from school she moved to Wales to work. Liam had discovered that his mother and stepfather had died so he tracked down his sister in Wales. He managed to slip through the border to visit her. He lived with her for a year. She tried to talk him into going back and turning himself in, explaining what he had witnessed, but he refused. Unknown to her, he’d obtained a false passport and he ran away to the USA. She used up all her savings but managed to find him two years later in New York, working in the Meat Packing District. That’s when I met and married her. Shortly after we married she was diagnosed with cancer, and she told me about her brother before she died.

  “I made a promise that I would take care of him. And I have. He’s been a law-abiding citizen. A hardworking, loyal employee and friend to me and my family.”

  Donovan cupped his chin and studied him for a few seconds. “Who else knows about him?”

  “My ex-wife knew a few things, but she hasn’t and won’t talk.”

  “And how can you be sure?”

  Maxell shot him a cynical smile. “She loves money. Her silence was and is for sale.”

  “You know what Galvin’s going to have to do, don’t you?” Donovan walked around the table and leaned against the windowsill. “None of this is on the Internet, and I have no idea how you managed that, but it wasn’t that hard for me to dig up this information.”

  “You signed an agreement that this was confidential.”

  “It is. But if I was able to uncover this, who says another reporter won’t? And aren’t there enough secrets in your life already?”

  “I am not going to throw a loyal friend under a bus because he screwed up as a young man.” He gave Donovan a hard stare. “You of all people should understand that.”

  Donovan furrowed his brow for a moment and then his eyes widened with understanding. “I see you’ve done your research. No problem. I paid for my mistake and owned up to it. What I did was wrong, but you can’t compare a high-school prank with a terrorist act.”