“It was done professionally,” the man said. “Whoever tapped those lights left no leads.”
“They’re there,” George said. “You and your incompetent team of men just haven’t looked hard enough.”
The man’s face flushed. The two uniformed cops standing behind him exchanged glances. “With all due respect, Mr. Redman, we’ve looked damned hard.”
“Bullshit,” George said. “Whoever’s responsible for those lights exploding is responsible for my daughter’s death and they’re still out there. Free. Probably getting ready to do something else to my family. So, why don’t you get off your asses and do something about it before that happens?”
The Lieutenant turned to his men and nodded toward the door. He moved to follow, but then stopped and looked at George. “I understand that you’re upset, Mr. Redman,” he said. “And my heart goes out to you and your family. But nobody here killed your daughter. Keep that in mind next time you talk to us.”
He was gone before George could say another word.
* * *
It was a moment before anyone in the room spoke.
In the distance, George could hear telephones ringing. He imagined his staff saying that Mr. and Mrs. Redman had no comment at this time.
He looked over at Jack. The man was sitting with his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. He was shivering. I know you tried to help her, he thought. I don’t blame you.
Elizabeth broke the silence. Her features were oddly calm. “We need to be with her, George,” she said. “She’s our daughter and we have to go. I don’t want her there alone. If they’ll let me, I’ll stay the night with her.”
She was in shock. He could see it on her face, hear it in her voice and he wished that there was something he could do or say that would take away her pain. But he wasn’t that clever.
On the table next to Elizabeth, the phone rang. It was their personal line. No one but intimate friends and the immediate family knew the number but themselves.
George reached past Elizabeth and answered it, knowing this would be one of many calls they would take in the coming days.
It was Harold Baines. To George’s surprise, he didn’t mention Celina, but instead told George to quickly turn on a television. George found the remote on a desk and pointed it at the television across the room. He pushed the power button and asked Harold which channel. Harold told him and George was surprised that he was being directed to an entertainment channel.
The sound came on before the picture.
George heard the familiar voice of a woman. Then Leana was on the screen. She was standing beside Michael Archer.
They were holding hands. Their smiles lit the screen. He and Elizabeth and Jack listened as an announcer reported their recent marriage.
Elizabeth put a hand to her mouth.
There was a sound bite. “We’re very happy,” Leana said.
George dropped into a chair. For the first time, he noticed that Leana was wearing a white dress, that Archer was wearing an immaculate charcoal-gray suit. Beyond them were mountains and a harbor filled with white yachts. There, the sun was shining.
“Are you still there?” Harold asked.
“Yes,” George said.
“I wanted you to know before the press caught you off guard again. I’m sure this was taped earlier. They’re obviously in Monte Carlo. That’s the Palace behind them.”
George was silent.
“Has she contacted you yet?” Harold asked.
“I haven’t heard a word from her since the day I threw her out of the Plaza.”
“She doesn’t know what happened to Celina, George. Leana would have called if she’d heard anything. It’s still too soon.”
George said nothing.
He hung up the phone at the same moment Elizabeth turned off the television.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“You sure you don’t want something to rest your leg on?”
In the bright, afternoon light, Eric Parker looked across the shiny mahogany desk at Louis Ryan. The man was leaning back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head, legs crossed. He was wearing khaki pants, a lightweight cotton sweater and tan moccasins.
He was staring at Eric. Although Eric couldn’t be absolutely certain, there was something in Ryan’s eyes that made him wonder if the man really cared if he was uncomfortable or not.
He didn’t want to appear weak. He was sitting in the chair opposite Ryan, his broken leg, newly cast after the other cast was ruined by the water in his apartment, extended painfully to the floor. Not only had his doctor told him to keep the cast dry, but he also told Eric to keep it elevated at all times, which he certainly wasn’t doing now.
I’m batting a thousand, Eric thought, and he considered asking Ryan for another chair or a hassock. But his pride wouldn’t allow him to.
“I’m fine,” he said, with a forced smile. “Really.”
Louis shrugged. “I don’t believe you,” he said. “But it’s your leg. Do you want a drink before we begin?”
Eric nodded. A shot of booze would do him good right now. Not only did Ryan just call him a liar, but his leg felt as if it was on fire and he was nervous as hell. Earlier, when he phoned Ryan from Diana’s apartment, he did not anticipate meeting so soon with the man. Perhaps in a week, he thought, but not on the day he returned home from the hospital and found his apartment under six inches of water.
Still, he was glad to be here. Not only was the meeting helping to take his mind off his problems at home, but soon Eric would learn why Louis Ryan had been sending him dozens of roses since his arrival at New York Hospital.
“What would you like?” Louis asked, rising. “I have everything.”
“Scotch?”
“Fine.”
He watched Ryan walk to the bar across the room. He wondered what the man wanted from him. Louis knew for years that he had been an executive at Redman International. Was it that? Did Ryan want information of some sort? Or did it have to do with Celina? All of Manhattan knew they were once an item. Did this meeting have something to do with her? Or did it have to do with George? The rivalry between the two men was infamous. With such similar corporations, they were in constant battle with one another and for years the press made it seem as if they were in a private war—which they were.
But while the press made it appear that their hatred for one another stemmed purely from business matters, Eric knew differently. Years ago, in a moment of confidence, Celina told him that George was once thought responsible for the death of Louis’ wife. While Eric himself didn’t believe that George was capable of murder, he never ruled out the possibility. There had been too many times over the years when George’s feelings for Louis Ryan surpassed the point of mere hatred and become something colder, darker and more personal.
He watched Louis pour Scotch into two short glasses of ice. I don’t know why you asked me here, he thought, but if you want me bad enough, it’s going to cost you.
Louis came over with the drinks. Eric accepted his and they touched glasses. “To the future,” Louis said, and they sipped. Eric felt a hot flash of liquid fire shoot down his throat and bloom in his stomach. He took another sip and began to relax. Ryan stepped over to a wall of windows that looked uptown. To Eric, he seemed consumed by The Redman International Building.
Eric leaned forward. The group of reporters he passed earlier were still gathered in front of the building’s entrance. Although he wasn’t sure why they were there, he assumed it had to do with the takeover of WestTex.
“I want you to help me destroy George Redman,” Louis said.
Eric looked at the man, not sure if he had heard him right. Louis was still facing the windows. The sun beating through the glass turned his silvery crown of hair to gold.
“You’ll be paid an obscene amount of money for what little I want from you,” Louis said simply. He left the window and reclaimed his seat. “In fact, even after you pay off your hospital bills, refinish your apart
ment and replace your neighbor’s paintings and her Henry VIII furniture, you’ll be set for life.”
Eric was speechless. How did Ryan know about his apartment? About the destroyed paintings and furniture? The pipes burst only that morning.
Louis opened a desk drawer and removed a slip of paper. He handed it to Eric and Eric saw that it was a check. His eyebrows rose—the amount was indeed obscene. “And how will I earn this?” he asked.
Louis sat down. “I need you to confirm some information I received concerning the takeover of WestTex Incorporated. All you have to do is copy a few files for me and that check is yours.”
“Confirm?” Eric said. “Then you’ve already been in contact with somebody from Redman International?”
Louis casually waved a hand.
“Who?”
“Doesn’t matter. What matters is that I don’t trust this person. Unlike yourself, he doesn’t want to see Redman burn.”
So, it’s a man. “What makes you think I do?”
“Because you hate George,” Louis said. “I think we both know that Redman has destroyed your reputation. You couldn’t get a job in this city even if you wanted to flip burgers. It’s also obvious that Redman is behind the pipes bursting in your apartment. He canceled your insurance for a reason. He wants you out of his building and out of New York.”
“How do you know all this?”
Louis sipped his drink and met Eric’s gaze levelly. “There’s nothing I don’t know about you, Eric. Not the beating you gave Leana Redman the night of Redman International’s opening, nor the contract you put out on her while you were in the hospital.”
Eric could only stare. If the man wanted to, he could blackmail him with this information.
“So,” Louis said. “We have a deal?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
From the great semicircular balcony of their corner suite at the Hotel de Paris, Leana stood looking down at the crowded port of Monte Carlo. It was late afternoon, the sun was setting and in the distance on a jutting, rocky promontory, she could see the Palace, framed beyond by a deepening-blue sky and the Mediterranean.
The air was cool, clean and smelled of salt. Dozens of yachts and sail boats were returning to the harbor after a day at sea. All around her, the charming Edwardian villas she had come to love as a child were a refreshing change from the skyscrapers of Manhattan.
It was still difficult for her to believe that only yesterday she had been in New York, single and living a nightmare.
Behind her, she heard a faint groan and the rustling of sheets. She turned to look across the room at the bed and found Michael settling onto his stomach, his arms outstretched, his face turned to hers. He was breathing soundly and Leana thought that he was beautiful.
She was glad he could sleep. For her, sleep hadn’t come. Everything that led to them coming across the Atlantic to this hotel room was still whirling in her mind.
It seemed unreal that she married Michael only that morning and that they made love all afternoon. Last night, Mario nearly killed him. If she hadn’t looked up from the car’s back seat and seen Michael standing in traffic, if she hadn’t screamed for Mario to not shoot, she knew that either he or one of his men would have done so.
And Michael would be dead now.
The idea that her association with Mario might have led to Michael’s death was something she didn’t want to face. Michael came into her life at its darkest point and he lifted it. All those days they spent cleaning and painting her apartment—and going out on the town when they were too exhausted to continue—meant the world to her. He had changed her life for the better and she loved him for it.
Today, marrying Michael had felt right, regardless of how briefly she’d known him. Leana knew she would never have a relationship with Mario. She knew he would never leave his wife for her. His father wouldn’t permit it. If she had gone with him to the apartment he offered, if she had allowed him to come in and out of her life as he had in the past, she knew she would have been miserable.
And so she left with Michael. To her surprise, Mario didn’t put up a fight. Instead, he held her, kissed her and told her that the situation with Eric Parker would be taken care of while she was gone. Leana knew what that meant and the thought chilled her.
Mario was going to kill him.
* * *
It was in the cab that Michael proposed.
After she told him about the gun, the note and the contact Eric Parker put on her, he surprised her by removing two airline tickets from his inside jacket pocket. “You know I love you,” he said. “You’re too smart not to know it. Marry me. We’ll fly to Europe. You’ll be safe there. You’ll be safe with me. We’ll get away from this and we’ll be happy. I promise.”
It was all so easy.
Leana was so frightened by what was happening in her life, so confused and worried about her future, she realized that she wanted to leave New York, that she didn’t want to return until Eric Parker—and his contract—had been dealt with. She would be too scared living there otherwise.
Without giving it another thought, she took the small Tiffany box he gave her, opened it and found inside one of the largest solitaire diamonds she’d ever seen. “Of course, I’ll marry you.”
It was morning when they arrived in Nice. Rested from the trip over, they rented a car, drove the short distance to Monte Carlo and checked into their hotel suite only long enough to take a shower. It was then, while Michael undressed, that Leana noticed the dark bruises on his back, stomach and shoulders. Alarmed, she asked him what happened.
“I was mugged,” he said simply.
“Mugged? When?”
He put a finger to her lips. “It happened yesterday morning. Three guys jumped me on Avenue B.” He shrugged. “They didn’t get much money and I’m still alive. That’s what matters.”
“What were you doing on Avenue B?”
“Research for a book.”
“You’re taking this awfully calmly.”
“Don’t forget I’m an actor.”
She put her arms lightly around him.
“Did you go to the police?”
“What good would that have done?”
He was right, of course. Leana recalled her own experience when the man harassed her in Washington Square. She felt the same as Michael. The police could do little in situations such as this. There were too many people in the city and not enough officers to make a difference. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” she asked.
“I didn’t want to worry you.”
“You should have,” she said. “Are you all right?”
“In a few hours we’ll be married,” he said. “I’ve never felt better.”
“You’d better not be acting now,” she said.
At Cartier, they bought their wedding rings—two simple bands of platinum. At a men’s clothing store, Michael found a charcoal-gray suit and black loafers. And at a small boutique, Leana bought a simple yet elegant white silk dress. Although it was not the wedding dress of her childhood dreams, she accepted this because she knew now that dreams rarely came true. And so what if they didn’t? Too many things had gone wrong in her life. She felt lucky to have found a man who wanted to spend his life with her.
When they had everything they needed, they went to the crowded port, chartered a yacht and were wed by the yacht’s captain in international waters at sea. Now, as dark clouds moved in from the west, eclipsing the setting sun, Leana left the balcony and stepped into the bedroom, her hair stirring in the rising breeze.
She closed the French doors. Michael was still asleep. Despite the diminishing light, she could see the bruises on his back and thought how painful they looked. She wondered how he could move, let alone sleep. But as she stood there looking at him, she realized just how tired she was. For the first time since their arrival, she felt as though she could actually sleep.
She checked her watch and decided to lie down for a half hour before calling the front desk and
making dinner reservations. She removed her black silk kimono and snuggled into bed beside Michael. His body was warm, his breathing heavy. She closed her eyes and began to drift.
* * *
She was awakened hours later by the sound of rain beating against glass.
Leana stretched in the dark and checked the digital clock on the bedside table. Three hours had passed. She closed her eyes with a groan. “I can’t believe I slept this late,” she said aloud. She turned to wake Michael, but his side of the bed was empty. She sat up, looked around the dark room and saw a flag of light coming from beneath the closed bathroom door. She heard running water. He was in the shower. She was tempted to settle back onto the warm sheets and go back to sleep, but they hadn’t eaten since morning and she was hungry.
She turned on the lamp beside her and looked through the windows. Rain was whipping against the glass. There was no going out in this weather. Although the hotel had a restaurant she loved, she didn’t feel like putting it together and leaving their suite. Room service it is, she thought, and reached for the phone.
As she lifted the receiver to her ear, she didn’t hear a dial tone, but a male voice saying: “…paid Santiago half this morning. He’ll get the rest of the money you owe him when you finish the job and kill her father—”
The voice abruptly stopped. Leana sat there, puzzled—she knew that voice. She strained to hear something more, but only the hum of static was left on the line.
“Michael?” she said. “Are you on the phone?”
There was silence, then the sound of someone taking a breath. Leana replaced the receiver. She sat motionless and felt uneasy. The voice she heard wasn’t Michael’s, yet she was almost certain she had heard it before. But where?
She quickly picked up the phone and held it to her ear. Now, there was nothing but a deep dial tone. Whoever was on the line had hung up.
The Fifth Avenue Series Boxed Set Page 28