What a Girl Wants

by Selena Robins

  Maxwell picked up a breadstick from the tray and snapped it in two. “Celeste would not be humiliated this way. She told me that if I would not stay married and move to Italy with her, she would expose Liam Galvin’s identity.” He shook his head. “Damn woman, I didn’t even know she knew about Carl’s…Liam’s past.”

  “Who told her?” Donovan’s voice was quiet.

  “I had warned Carl to never divulge who he was, but Celeste was an expert game player, remember? She’d succeeded in winning Carl’s trust.”

  “So you broke it off with Felicia?”

  “I had no choice but to tell Felicia our arrangement had to end. But I planned on asking her to be patient and wait for me. I knew sooner or later Celeste would tire of our marriage.”

  Donovan stood and went to the bar to pour himself some water. “Felicia didn’t want to wait?”

  “I didn’t get the opportunity to ask her. When I showed up on Madison Avenue a few weeks after dealing with everything, the condo was empty and there was no forwarding information. I exhausted all the avenues and contacts I thought could lead me to her.” He remembered how it had felt to yet again experience a heavy loss. “I left for Italy with my wife.”

  “Do you now know why she disappeared?”

  “Unknown to me at the time, Celeste and my father paid Felicia a visit as soon as Kirby divulged my association with her. It was then that Felicia threw in their faces that she was pregnant with my child.”

  Donovan’s eyes widened. “She told them but not you?”

  “Correct. I only found that out recently. I also discovered that not only did Felicia keep her pregnancy a secret from me, but for a handsome price paid to her by my father—I imagine she was extracting vengeance for my not leaving Celeste—she agreed to never tell me about the baby.”

  His father had drummed into his head that family was everything. How could the man say that and keep his son’s own flesh and blood a secret from him?

  “A year after our move to Italy,” Maxwell continued, “Celeste divorced me. Her next challenge was to obtain a title, and she was in hot pursuit of an Italian count. I agreed to a divorce on the condition that she never spoke about Liam Galvin and of course, I agreed to pay her a sizeable annual alimony check. When I returned to the States, I tracked down Felicia’s brother, George Saunders.

  “At the time, George operated a small-press magazine, and on the pretence of being an interested investor, I met with him. Through conversations I found out that Felicia was married and living in Ohio. That was the end of that. I moved back to Europe for a few years.”

  Donovan walked toward him and leaned against the table. Maxwell thought he saw sympathy in his expression.

  The buzzer on the wall-mounted intercom buzzed. Maxwell stood and pressed the button. “Yes?”

  “Excuse me,” Carl said. “Mr. Tim Graham is here. I told him you were occupied, but he insisted—”

  “That’s my partner,” Donovan said. “The photojournalist traveling with us.”

  “Escort him up, Carl.” He sat back in his seat. “I do not intend on speaking to him about any of this—”

  “You won’t have to,” Donovan said. “Tim must have found out something important for him to come here instead of calling me.”

  “Like what?”

  “Tim called me earlier, when you were making your calls. He spotted your guy Victor Grant in a bar with Crystal Washington.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yup. I was going to fill you in later. He overheard Grant tell Washington they could rake in major bucks from the tabloids with the big scoop they had. Grant said he couldn’t believe he was able to send her so much information for the past six months without getting caught.”

  “That son of a bitch.”

  “I agree with you there. Tim overheard enough to know they’re both plotting to leak Maddie’s parentage and the DNA test to a tabloid. Grant also told Washington she should look into the name Liam Galvin, because he’d heard it once or twice from the old man.”

  Maxwell slammed his hand through his hair. “Grant is too stupid to live if he thinks he’ll get away with any of this.”

  “Hope Satan is keeping that fire going, because I think hell froze over,” Alex said. “I agree with you again.”

  The door opened and the photographer entered. “Mr. Hollister, sorry to interrupt, but I need to speak to Alex alone.” The photographer held a brown envelope in his hand.

  Maxwell nodded.

  As soon as Alex stepped outside the doorway, Tim handed him the envelope. “Thought you should see these right away. Compliments of Ferret Face and Washington,” Tim said. “Your blood pressure is good, right?”

  “Text book.” Alex opened the envelope. “I take it this could cause a stroke?”

  “Probably.”

  Alex dug out photographs from the envelope and scanned them. “Rat bastards. I’m going to kick their asses so damned hard, they’ll think Attila the Hun had a minor attitude problem compared to me.”

  “You think Mr. Billionaire ordered these shots?”

  “Doubt it. But I’m sure as hell going to find out.” Alex leaned against the wall. His head spun. The pictures were of Maddie swimming, dancing seductively with Alex, riding with Tim, having lunch, lazing by the pool. Those bastards. There was even one of her stepping out of his shower with a towel wrapped around her. But what had ignited a bloodthirsty anger were pictures of her naked, when Maddie obviously thought she had privacy in her suite.

  “Deep breaths, buddy,” Tim said.

  “How could we not have noticed someone snapping these? Or Maddie not realize she was being watched?” He kicked his heel against the wall. “Christ, how close did they get to her to take these?”

  “Looks like someone used a digital camera that zooms paparazzi-style. They wouldn’t have to have been that close,” Tim explained. “They gave up picture quality for a high-level zoom.”

  “Why would they print them on cheap paper like this?”

  Tim shook his head. “Grant wanted to flaunt the goods to the bitch first. Once she paid him, he would have sent her the originals digitally.”

  Alex paced to work off some anger before heading back to his friend. “How did you get your hands on these?”

  “After Washington left the bar, Ferret Face stayed behind and sucked down a few more martinis. Made him careless, because when he went for a piss, he left the envelope behind. I grabbed it off the table. Thought it had information about the crap they intend to spill to the rags,” Tim said. “Dumb ass didn’t even notice he left the bar without them.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Alex opened the door and went back into the sitting room. He removed the pictures from the envelope except the naked ones. He didn’t want Hollister to see those. He threw the other pictures on the table. “Did you authorize these?”

  Hollister fanned the pictures out. “Absolutely not.”

  “That’s not the worse of it.” Alex held up the envelope. “Grant and Washington also had pictures of Maddie taken when she thought she had privacy in her suite.”

  Hollister paled. “Was she in a state of undress?”

  “Not showing you those, but yeah.” Alex picked up the pictures on the desk. “What the hell did you expect? Grant is on your payroll and you met with Washington in New York.” He shoved the pictures inside the envelope. “When you scheme with assholes, you get shit for brains at the end of it all.”

  Hollister stood, pressed the intercom button and raised his voice as he spoke into the microphone. “Carl, contact Jorgen immediately. I want to see you both in my office.” With bloodshot eyes, probably from the brandy he’d thrown back all night, he pounded his fist on the table. “Grant will pay for this with his life.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Revenge is sweet and not fattening.”

 
—Alfred Hitchcock

  “Do you mind if I smoke?” Victor’s breathing sounded shallow as he faced Maxwell outside the mansion later that evening. After Donovan had left, Maxwell had summoned the PI for an emergency meeting.

  “I don’t care if you burst into flames,” Maxwell answered. The tiki torches that aligned the walkway cast a shaky shadow of the PI flicking his cigarette lighter with a trembling hand.

  “Max… Mr. Hollister… I was… I mean I am loyal. I got caught up. Let me explain—”

  “What is it you want to explain?” Maxwell stepped closer to the PI and lowered his voice, keeping it calm and steady. “That you have all the characteristics of a dog except loyalty?” Even to his own ears he sounded deadly. “For the ridiculous sum of money I’ve paid you for the past two years, if I had asked you to run naked down Fifth Avenue, singing Yankee Doodle Dandy, you should have asked me when and in what key. That is loyalty.”

  Maxwell had always been obsessively careful with everything that involved his business and personal life. He’d surrounded himself with hardworking, trustworthy people. He researched, checked and double-checked references. How the hell had this waste of skin that stood in front of him slipped through the cracks? He didn’t have time to analyze that at the moment because he wanted to instill the fear of God into this turncoat son of a bitch.

  “Please, Mr. Hollister, it’s not what you think—”

  “You have no idea what I’m thinking.” He leaned in closer. “Because if you did, you’d need a change of underwear.”

  Victor’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. No sound came out of his mouth.

  Carl drove the Escalade to the front, shut the engine and stepped out. Jorgen, his longtime head of security—who was usually stationed in New York to oversee all security issues at the Hollister Tower and was on a short vacation with his family on Makana—also exited the car.

  At six foot seven inches and three hundred pounds of pure muscle, the ex-Navy Seal was a force to be reckoned with any time of the day. But even more so against the black-as-coal sky, wearing army fatigues, a T-shirt that had to be custom made to fit the circumference of his upper arms and a leather holster across his enormous chest.

  Jorgen stalked toward Victor. Beads of sweat the size of pearls poured down the side of Victor’s face. “Hey, Jorgen.” Victor waved. “Didn’t know…you were in…in town.”

  “Everything is ready, sir,” Carl said to Maxwell.

  Jorgen snapped the cigarette out of Victor’s mouth and ground it into the ashtray by the railing. Never taking his eyes off of Victor, he said, “You know these can kill you, don’t you?” Jorgen bared his teeth, strikingly white against his dark skin, and let out a raucous laugh as he slipped the pack of cigarettes from Victor’s breast pocket, took one out and shoved it between Victor’s lips. “But then again,” he paused, “what does it matter now?”

  The unlit cigarette fell from Victor’s mouth and his eyes bugged out like a cartoon character’s. “You have to be shitting me.” He swung his head from Jorgen to Maxwell. “Max…Mr. Hollister, let me explain. I know you’re…you’re not that kind of man.” Panic colored his voice. “I said I was sorry. Okay, I admit, I got selfish, getting involved with that Washington broad.” He took a step back from Jorgen. “I’ll tell you everything I told her. I’ll take responsibility—”

  “Damn right you’ll take responsibility, and there is nothing you need to tell me. I have enough information to know that you betrayed me.” Maxwell nodded to Jorgen. “You know what to do.”

  Carl handed the Escalade keys to Jorgen and gave Victor a sympathetic look. Carl took Victor’s hand and clasped it with both of his. “May it be quick and merciful.” He lowered his head and turned his back.

  “What? What the fuck?” Victor yelled. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”

  Jorgen grabbed Victor’s arms, swung them behind his back and cuffed him.

  Victor kicked the side of the car. “You’ll never get away with this.”

  Jorgen opened the back door of the Escalade and shoved Victor inside. “Time to go, Fredo.” He slammed the door, saluted Maxwell and walked around to the driver’s side. Maxwell could tell Jorgen was having trouble keeping a straight face.

  He watched as the car disappeared down the long driveway. He turned and noticed Carl’s shoulders shaking.

  Carl wiped the corners of his eyes. Tears of laughter. “That’s the most fun we’ve had around here in a long time.”

  “May it be quick and merciful?” Maxwell grinned. “Cheesy, but a nice touch.”

  “Jorgen came up with that.”

  “My father once said beware of the man whose loyalties can be bought with hard cash.” Maxwell sighed. “He was right about that.”

  For a few minutes earlier that evening, Maxwell and Donovan had put their animosity aside and agreed that the photographs taken of Madison were despicable and should be handled right away. Donovan had pointed out that the pictures were duplicates and the originals had most likely been sent to Washington electronically.

  As soon as Maxwell had learned of Victor’s disloyalty, he’d summoned Jorgen and Carl and instructed them to pack the Grants’ personal belongings from Victor’s bungalow, where he resided with his wife on the Hollister Estate. Maxwell had roused his bank manager out of bed with an urgent request to stop payment on all monies going into the PI’s bank account and to cancel Victor’s and his wife’s expense accounts and credit cards, which were courtesy of the Hollister Corporation. He’d also placed the wheels in motion to get Grant’s PI license revoked as soon as possible.

  After Jorgen was done playing with Victor’s mind, he was to drive him to the airport where a one-way ticket on the red eye would fly him to San Francisco to join his wife. What was awaiting him San Francisco was Mrs. Grant, livid and spitting fire, as she had been evicted from the penthouse suite at The Hollister Bay Luxury Resort and escorted to the nearest fleabag motel.

  Before boarding, Jorgen would let Victor know that one double-cross was one too many, and if he even dared breathed the names Liam Galvin and Madison Elizabeth Saunders and if any of those pictures resurfaced anywhere, the scenario they had played out earlier would indeed become a reality. Maxwell had full confidence in Jorgen’s ability to drive this point home.

  Carl opened the front door. “Would you like a nightcap before you turn in?”

  Maxwell stepped inside. “I’ll take it in my room.” He headed up the stairs, stopped and turned around. “Carl, we’re going to have a serious discussion tomorrow.”

  Carl nodded. “Because of Crystal Washington being alerted to the name Liam Galvin?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Maxwell now felt as if a steamroller had driven over him and crushed his heart. “We’ll discuss it in the morning.”

  “Take a load off,” Crystal said to Alex, patting the sofa cushion next to her. “I’ll tell you about an idea that just hit me.”

  “Hope it left a bruise.” Alex felt wasted after leaving Hollister’s. He had a mother of a headache, his stomach was empty and cramped and he could barely see straight, let alone stand in Crystal’s hotel room. But there was no damn way he was going to sit beside her.

  After leaving Hollister’s, Alex had beelined it to Crystal’s hotel—on the other side of the island—to find out why the hell she had a hard-on for Maddie, conspiring with that piece-of-crap PI, and to get her to back off.

  He shook his head at her insistence that he sit and kept a stranglehold on his temper. “I don’t intend on sticking around that long.”

  As pissed off as he was, he knew losing his temper wouldn’t accomplish anything. He had even jumped out of the cab a mile from her hotel so he could cool down and run off the anger that had begun brewing inside him when he found out about her arrival and especially about those damn pictures taken of Maddie.

  After banging on her door, he went st
raight to the point, asking her out of professional courtesy—even though he almost choked on the word professional—to destroy the pictures and to keep any information she’d obtained from that weasel Grant to herself until things could be sorted out in private by the people involved. By then, Hollister would have instructed his PR people to issue a formal statement to the mainstream media, and anything leaked to the rags would only be after-the-fact gossip. The rumormongers would have already moved on to some rock star’s latest escapades.

  Alex knew that trying to reason with the self-proclaimed Ice Diva was like slipping rings on an octopus wearing boxing gloves. Still, he gave it another shot. “You know why I’m here. Let’s make this quick. I’ll even spring for a limo to take you to the airport in the morning.”

  “I have no intention of leaving in the morning, or of agreeing to your terms until you hear me out.” She poured a glass of wine for herself. “Come sit. Let’s have a heart to heart.”

  The stranglehold on his anger loosened. “You don’t have a heart.”

  She toed her high heels off and lifted her bare feet onto the coffee table. Running her finger around the rim of her wine glass she said, “Darling, you look like you need to let off some steam.” She tilted her head toward the king-size bed to her right. “For old time’s sake?”

  “I’d just as soon welcome a backrub from a ninety-year old man.”

  She laughed that bitchy laugh she was so proud of. “You know damn well that underneath my ice diva exterior is—”

  “An immense lack of character.”

  “That too.” She extended her arm across the back of the sofa as if she were engaged in a relaxing conversation. “Surely you didn’t forget how hot we were together?”

  “I don’t have the patience for your head games.” He pushed off the wall and walked to the sofa, purposely towering over her. “You’re skating on thin ice. And as much as I’d like to be there when it cracks—”