Fine Madness

by Bretton, Barbara

  This time the desperadoes owned the town. He swallowed hard, trying to quell his nerves. For all he knew they'd had hidden cameras trained on him the whole time. He plunged his hands into the pockets of his Burberry coat and his fingers closed around the letter to Kelly.

  Some time tonight he'd find the opportunity to give it to her--he had to. Last night he'd seen the blueprints of her apartment, heard the whispered conversations in the library, and put together enough to know the noose was drawing tighter around his throat.

  Viktor was relentless. His name struck fear in even the hardest operatives and now Sean's fate was in his hands.

  And--dear God, forgive him--so was his daughter's.

  He had to warn her away, tell her to get out of the city as quickly as possible and seek help for them both.

  And somehow he had to make her believe him when he said he never meant it to turn out this way.

  #

  Max rose as Kelly entered the reception area.

  "I'm sorry I kept you waiting so long," she said as she pulled her coat from the closet. "There was a last minute snag with the Embassy this afternoon and I--"

  "No explanations are necessary," he said, helping her into her coat. A delicate cloud of perfume reached his nostrils and impulsively he gathered her silky palomino hair in his hands and pulled it free of her collar.

  Her hair tumbled over her shoulders like a fall of raw silk and it was an easy leap of the imagination for him to see that fall of hair fanned across his pillow in the moonlight.

  Forget that.

  Ryder had reamed him last night about the matter of time--and how precious little of it there was left.

  "We've got two chances," O'Neal had said. "We either do it right the first time or wrong the second, but either way we're gonna take her."

  It could be easy for her or tough and it all depended on how well Max carried it off.

  Rough hands grabbing at her soft golden skin. A scream, high and thin, torn from her throat. That mantle of queenly dignity stripped from her, baring her vulnerability to everyone.

  But worst of all, the look of betrayal in her dark blue eyes as he watched it all happen.

  For a man who'd courted a life free from responsibility, a hell of a lot of it had settled across his shoulders in the form of the beautiful Ms. Madison and he wondered about the Fates who wished him upon her.

  "We're going across the river for dinner," he said as she locked the office door. "A wonderful place few people know."

  She tilted her head slightly. "New Jersey is part of your low profile?" she asked as they headed down the hall toward the elevator.

  "At the moment." He couldn't hold back a grin. "I understand New Yorkers hold New Jersey in little esteem but I've been told it is actually a good place to live." You should know, Brody. Sixteen years in Millstone counts for something.

  Her lovely nose wrinkled. "You obviously haven't seen Newark Airport. It's probably the--"

  The elevator doors slid open and a slender man with silvery hair stepped out.

  "Good Lord, daughter, can't you wait five minutes for your late father to show up?"

  "Sean!" Kelly covered her eyes with one slender hand. "Dinner...I completely forgot."

  Sean Ryan looked from his daughter to Max. His eyes were dark blue like hers but there the resemblance ended.

  Her eyes were wary, but his were fearful. They darted from Max to Kelly and back again with the same movements Max remembered from his time in the military.

  The snake-bit nervousness of the short-timer counting off his remaining days.

  You bastard, he thought. You low-life, rotting coward. Max wanted to break that elegant nose beneath his fist, cut up those manicured hands, knock those porcelain-perfect teeth down his throat for what he'd done to Kelly.

  Sean looked away as if he'd read Max's mind and Max went on red alert. Casually he touched his right thumb to the watchband on his left wrist and activated the microphone that would relay their conversation to Ryder who waited outside in the limousine.

  "I can see my daughter is too guilt-ridden to perform the amenities." Sean extended his hand. "Sean Ryan."

  Max clasped the man's hand. "Maximilian Steel."

  "A pleasure, sir."

  Sean's demeanor was friendly and self-possessed but his damp palms told another story.

  The part of Max that had grown up on Superman and Batman was thrilled to be standing there face-to-face with Captain Blood and he had to remind himself that Captain Blood was a traitor and about as good a father as a tomcat on the prowl.

  Next to him, Kelly looked painfully uncomfortable as she turned to her father and Max wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss away her pain. "I don't know what to say, Sean. Max has made reservations and I--"

  A bead of sweat broke out on Ryan's forehead. Gut instinct told Max that Sean's dinner with his daughter had an importance that went beyond a good meal.

  Don't you ever give up, Ryan? Don't you ever just want to be with her because you love her?

  "Reservations for two can become reservations for three," he said. "I would be honored if you joined us, Mr. Ryan."

  Fury flashed in Kelly's dark blue eyes. "I doubt if Sean would be interested in dining in New Jersey," she said, her tone icy. "He doesn't believe there's life between New York and L. A."

  Sean's pain was so obvious that Max averted his eyes to give the actor a chance to dissemble and continue the charade.

  "If I've learned anything at my advanced stage in life, it is the simple truth that three is a crowd." His smile was practiced and polite. "Perhaps another time, Mr. Steel."

  Kelly's dark blue eyes implored him to let her father bow out gracefully but Max knew if he let this opportunity get past him, Ryder would see to it there was hell to pay.

  It's for you, Kelly. I have to do this to save your life...

  "As you say in this country, there is no time like the present. I'm afraid I insist, Mr. Ryan."

  Kelly looked as if she could cheerfully strangle him. A sharp twinge of pain ran through him but there was no hope for it. They were already at four weeks and counting fast.

  Five years of training had prepared him for this moment and to his surprise he found himself thinking like a PAX operative.

  "I gratefully accept your invitation, Mr. Steel, though I'm certain my darling daughter would rather I did not."

  Ryan paused as if waiting for Kelly to politely disagree but she remained stubbornly silent.

  "Be that as it may," Sean continued, "I must admit the thought of New Jersey gives me pause."

  Max laughed out loud. He'd been fighting the New Jersey prejudice all his life. "I guarantee you'll not find the restaurant a disappointment."

  "It's not that I doubt your word, son, but I must insist upon taking both you and Kelly to my favorite place in the Village as my guests. Il Duce is a small place,, yes, but the service is splendid and the wine list--" He kissed his fingertips and looked toward the sky. "A gift from the gods. What more can I say?"

  Max nodded and they followed Captain Blood into the elevator.

  "You'll regret this," Kelly hissed as the doors slid closed. "He's not at all what you think."

  Max thought of the miles of computer printout on Sean Ryan locked away in the vault at PAX headquarters and wondered what would happen when she finally learned the truth.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sean was in rare form that night.

  Even through the red haze of anger that flooded her brain Kelly was able to recognize the fact that her father's legendary Irish charm was in full flower.

  If she weren't so angry, she'd almost be amused.

  Max Steel seemed to be enthralled with Sean's stories about the golden days of Hollywood. She hadn't thought the sophisticated businessman to be a silver screen fanatic but all through the main course he plied Sean with Beaujolais and questions that inspired one long-winded story after another until she was ready to scream.

  He had no business be
ing charming.

  Charm didn't mean a thing when you came down to it.

  She would rather have had a dull-as-dishwater father she could count on than this mercurial man who had never managed to be around when she needed him most.

  Sean got up to greet some friends at another table and Kelly turned to Max the moment her father was out of earshot.

  "Stop encouraging him," she snapped, "and please stop offering him wine. He's in his cups already as it is."

  Steel's odd green-gold eyes betrayed no emotion. "Your father is an adult, Kelly. He knows best what he can and cannot drink."

  "He knows nothing," she hissed, her anger escalating. "And he certainly doesn't know when he's had enough."

  She followed Max's gaze and saw Sean smiling at a young red-haired woman and toasting her with a glass of champagne.

  "He looks happy enough," Steel observed. "A man has the right to choose his own course, Kelly."

  She stiffened as she came up against the familiar wall of male solidarity. "Only when his rights don't take away mine."

  He refilled her wine glass. "Do you always speak in riddles?"

  "If you knew the situation, you wouldn't need to ask that question."

  "Tell me," Max said, "then I won't ask it again."

  She fixed him with a look. "Frankly, Steel, I don't think it's any of your business."

  "I agree but I would still like to understand."

  Would you? she thought. With his millions and his jets and his fancy playmates, would he really want to be reminded of how it could all end up one day?

  "You couldn't understand, Steel," she said finally. "Not in a hundred years."

  #

  Ryder O'Neal left the limousine in a PAX-owned garage near Houston Street and took a seat at the bar at Il Duce.

  Ordering himself a club soda he angled his barstool so he could watch the dining room reflected in the gold-veined mirror opposite him.

  Thanks to a microscopic receiver in the inner curve of his left ear, Ryder was able to monitor the entire conversation between Max, Kelly, and Sean Ryan.

  He had to hand it to Max--the guy was outdoing himself. Ryder'd had a few bad moments when he heard Sean pop out of the elevator on the twenty-second floor, but damned if Max hadn't handled the situation with an inventiveness Ryder himself envied.

  Saying yes to dinner at Il Duce was inspired. If there was one thing Ryder was sure of, it was that Sean Ryan hadn't shown up on his daughter's doorstep because he wanted to break bread with her.

  The reasons were more complicated--and much more dangerous.

  The last communique he'd had from headquarters had been sobering. The other side had pegged Maximilian Steel as the man they needed to court and plans to contaminate the groundwater were moving forward more quickly than anyone at PAX cared to think about.

  If this ruse didn't pull Ryan's superiors into PAX's net by the beginning of the New Year, the New York City reservoir was slated to be tainted with a mild strain of Asian flu--nothing terribly fatal, mind you--just enough to make ten million people feel lousy for a day or two.

  Just long enough to prove that Viktor Maksymenko meant business.

  PAX already knew they meant business. When Viktor was involved, death was commonplace. The string of bodies crossed continents, economic strata, and loyalties.

  While Max waited for Kelly Madison to dress for dinner, two young and enthusiastic couriers for the United States had been found, throats slashed, in a roadside inn on the outskirts of Boston. Alistair Chambers was coming out of retirement--and cutting his honeymoon short--to break the news to their families.

  He watched as Ryan kissed the red-haired woman on both cheeks then rejoined Kelly and Max at the table.

  "Sorry I took so long," he said, motioning for the waiter with a shaky wave of his hand. "Lorena is an old friend."

  Yeah, sure.

  Ryder polished off his club soda. If his guess was on the mark, probably fifty percent of everyone else in that restaurant were linked to the other side.

  Sean's attempts to contact U. S. intelligence most likely had not gone unnoticed by his superiors and Ryder would bet the man's every move was being monitored.

  Scattered around the dining room of Il Duce was a veritable Who's Who of mid-level operatives--none of whom you'd like to meet in a dark alley.

  Unfortunately, none of whom Ryder recognized. Thanks to a few tricks he'd learned from his wife Joanna, a magician with makeup, no one there would recognize him either.

  Ryder motioned for another club soda. In the dining room Sean ordered a fourth bottle of wine then launched into a story about his last trip to the Cannes Film Festival.

  It was going to be a long night.

  #

  For the second time in twenty-four hours, Max was reminded of Vietnam.

  Not that he'd ever seen anything like Il Duce when he was bellying through the mud of the Mekong Delta--jungles didn't sport maitre d's and leaded crystal chandeliers or women like Kelly Madison.

  But there was still something vibrating in that gilt-and-plush dining room, something primitive that made him want to cover his back and head for higher ground.

  "...and then I said to Elizabeth and Richard..." Sean continued spinning tales about days gone by while next to him his daughter slowly burned.

  The red-haired woman across the room talked to her dinner companion but her eyes watched Sean as if he were a specimen under a microscope.

  You're one of them, Max thought. He didn't bother to question how he knew but he would bet his Rolex and two Porsches he was right.

  It was getting colder in New York by the hour.

  And Florida was sounding better every minute.

  #

  "Anisette?" The waiter hovered over them, all smiling subservience, as he held the bottle of licorice-flavored liqueur aloft. "The very best, I promise you."

  "But of course," said Sean.

  "Absolutely not," said Kelly.

  "Amaretto, perhaps?" the waiter urged.

  "Nothing," Kelly said, voice firm. "Just espresso."

  "A dinner is incomplete without brandy." Her father's golden voice was slurred with an evening's accumulation of booze. "Surely you will reconsider, Kelly."

  Kelly looked over at Max Steel who was doing his classy best to pretend this exchange wasn't happening. If she had her wish, the polished parquet floor beneath her feet would yawn open and swallow her up, embarrassment and all.

  No such luck.

  "...my daughter seems to think I'm in-inebriated..."

  This isn't the Winter Garden Theatre, Sean. You don't have to project to the last seat in the house.

  "...a round of drinks for the house..."

  She met Max's eyes across the table and the look of compassion and--dear God!--pity was almost more than she could bear. Don't look at me like that. It's bad enough without letting you see his shame. You've built an empire. You must be able to stop an old man from humiliating himself.

  "Perhaps espresso and zabaglione is best all around," Max said, his tone easy and confident and so masterful that even Sean fell silent. "What could possibly compete with Chateau Lafite-Rothschild?"

  The answer, of course, was nothing and not even Sean, anxious for more booze, could argue.

  Her regard for Max Steel went up another notch.

  Unfortunately, so did her embarrassment over Sean who, even without additional liquor, grew more inebriated with each second that passed.

  "He'll never make it to the limo," she said to Steel while her father struggled to sign an autograph for a polyester matron from Brooklyn. "He'll pass out the second he hits the air."

  "Do not worry. I'll take care of him." Steel's voice was commanding and she almost believed he'd be able to do so.

  Kelly's elegant, worldly father exited Il Duce stage left on the arms of Steel and his chauffeur and it took every scrap of dignity at her command to hold her head high as she followed behind them.

  At least she didn't have
to endure the humiliation of settling her father back into the Morgan on Broadway--somewhere between last night and this evening's terrible dinner he had managed to gather his wits together long enough to check into the Russell.

  So it was at the Russell on the East Side where they deposited him.

  And it was in front of the Russell where she finally lost control.

  "I never cry," she said, wiping angrily at the tears rolling down her cheeks. "I don't expect you to believe me, but it's true."

  "I believe whatever you say, Kelly." Steel leaned forward and slid closed the panel separating them from the driver.

  "Liar." The word popped out before she could stop it. "You don't even know me. How can you possibly know what to believe?"

  "Instinct," he said.

  She made a face. "I'm nothing like him, Max. I'd say I take after my mother, but I don't remember her at all." So much for the all-American family life.

  Steel clicked off the opera light and the back seat was cloaked in comforting darkness.

  "I was five when my mother died," he said. "All I remember about her is that she smelled of roses."

  "That wasn't in Time."

  "A great deal wasn't in Time."

  She sniffed and pulled a Kleenex from the console. "You're lucky, Steel. I can't even remember that much about my mother."

  "Your father raised you?" he asked.

  She nodded. "I went with him to every movie location until I was ten years old. I even had a bit part in the Masked Raider."

  "What happened when you were ten? School?"

  "Marriage."

  He frowned. "I have more trouble with your language than I realized."

  "His marriage," she said, "not mine. Sean discovered just how much he liked getting married."

  "In itself marriage isn't a crime."

  "It is when you forget you have a daughter to care for."