Endgame

by Dee Davis

  "Isn't Lexco a member of the consortium?" Nigel asked, leaning back slightly as if he were only marginally interested in the question.

  "Yes. But we're not all that interested in the accord. In fact, I voted against it initially."

  "But your company has had dealings with China for years. I'd have thought the trade agreement was tailor-made for Lexco."

  "I already have the alliances with China that I need." The man's smile was slow, and wasn't reflected in his eyes. "Why would I want to help other companies encroach on my business?"

  "Then why belong to the consortium at all?" This from Nigel.

  "Why not?" Rymon shrugged. "This way I can keep tabs on what they're doing."

  "But obviously you changed your mind about participating. I mean, you let your daughter take Bingham Smith's place as a negotiator."

  "Gentlemen, you've got the wrong impression of my relationship with my daughter if you think I controlled anything she did. Candace has always done exactly what she pleased. And even if she had felt the need to consult someone over a decision, it wouldn't have been me."

  "So why have her work here?" Gabe leaned forward, trying to get a bead on the man sitting across from him.

  "In a word, she was brilliant. If she didn't work for me, she'd have worked for someone else."

  "And you didn't want her working for the competition."

  Again the man shrugged. "Would you?"

  "What else can you tell us about the night Candace was killed?" Gabe asked. "Were you working late, as well?"

  "Yes. In fact, Candace and I had dinner together up here. But she was interrupted by a phone call. Something urgent."

  "What time did the call come in?" Nigel asked.

  "I can't say exactly. Somewhere around nine-thirty. I know I came up here around nine. And we had a drink before dinner. We were just starting the second course."

  "That fits. M.E. puts time of death around ten-forty," Gabe mused, trying to fit the facts into a recognizable whole. "What can you tell us about the call?"

  "Not all that much. I admit to listening, but it was still one-sided. From the tone of the conversation, I'd say it was something to do with the accord. She talked maybe two minutes, then rushed out of here like a house on fire. Said something about meeting someone." He stared down at his hands. "That was the last time I saw her."

  For a moment Gabe thought he'd misjudged the man, that he had in fact cared for his daughter, but then he looked up, his gaze cold and assessing.

  "Will that be all?" He glanced at his watch. "I'm due in a meeting in five minutes. I hate to rush you out, but I've told you everything I know."

  They stood to go, walking together toward the door. "Mr. Rymon—" Gabe fought to keep his tone civil"—did Candace use the phone over there?"

  "No." The older man shook his head. "It was her cell."

  They reached the door, and Rymon headed off in the direction of an open conference room. Nigel and Gabe walked toward the elevator in silence, each lost in his own thoughts.

  "Not exactly father of the year material," Nigel said as the doors closed. "You think he had anything to do with his daughter's death?"

  "I wouldn't put it past him." Gabe stared up at descending floor lights. "But no, I don't think he was involved. There's no motive."

  "Well, he's clearly not a fan of the accord. And Can-dace was obviously a supporter." Nigel trailed off with a shrug.

  "Doesn't play out." Gabe shook his head. "If the accord goes south, any American involved with the Chinese is going to be hindered. Maybe even cut off. I don't see Rymon as the kind of man to take that kind of chance. There are other things he could do, which bear a hell of a lot less risk."

  "Great," Nigel mumbled as the elevator dinged open. "We're right back where we started."

  "Maybe not." The night air was cold as they stepped out into the parking garage. "There's Candace's cell phone. If we pull the LUDs, we'll know who the hell it was that called her. And I'm betting whoever it was will be a direct link to the killer."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  "Good morning, sunshine. Payton told me he thought you were down here." Harrison plopped down in the overstuffed Starbucks chair. "Latte fix?"

  "Something like that." Truth was, it had been a long sleepless night, and she'd spent most of it analyzing and reanalyzing her attraction to Gabriel Roarke. Not that it amounted to anything except a momentary lapse in judgment.

  Squaring her shoulders, she met Harrison's questioning gaze with a smile. "I just needed some time to think without everyone watching over my shoulder."

  "It's not as bad as you're imagining it is," Harrison said. "The only one who seems to have issues is Gabe, and that's really only about his preference for doing things on his own."

  "You sound like you're on his side." It sounded childish and she immediately regretted the words.

  Harrison smiled, sipping his chai tea. "I wasn't aware there were sides."

  Madison fought the urge to throw something, settling instead for the acid heat of her coffee sliding down her throat. "There aren't. Not really. It's just that..." She stopped, not certain how much she wanted to admit to Harrison.

  "He's a bit overbearing?"

  Not exactly what she'd been thinking but there was definite truth there. "Among other things."

  "Methinks the woman doth protest too much." Harrison's grin faded as he studied her face. "Did something happen between the two of you in Colorado?"

  Madison swallowed, searching for words, knowing her hesitation was probably answer enough. "Nothing that mattered."

  "It obviously mattered, Madison, or you wouldn't be down here brooding."

  "I'm not brooding." She tightened her hand on her cup, letting the warmth soothe her.

  "Hey," Harrison held up a hand, "I just call it like I see it. I've seen the sparks between the two of you. And you've definitely been avoiding each other since you got back, so I put two and two together."

  "And got five. There's nothing going on between us except mutual dislike. Whatever else you think you saw was in your imagination."

  "Or you're lying to yourself." Harrison saw far more than she wanted him to. "Either way, I get the picture. It's none of my business."

  Madison opened her mouth to retort, but thought better of it and instead changed the subject. "Any luck with the IP address?"

  "Actually that's why I was looking for you." His eyes brightened with excitement. "I think maybe I've got a name. It took a while to narrow it down to an Internet service provider. As I suspected, there were relays, but I finally worked my way back to point of origin—and an owner. Guy named W. Smith."

  "No relation to Bingham, right?"

  Harrison shook his head. "That'd be too easy. Fact is, I really don't know too much about him. He hasn't got a record and no prints on file. And with a name like Smith he's not exactly easy to isolate. There was a phone number and a P.O. I got it from the ISP. I tried the phone, a Virginia exchange, but it was disconnected. The box is in Charlottesville. Place called Mail Smart. But according to the manager the guy who rented it closed his account a couple of days ago."

  "The name match?"

  "Yup. But the application didn't provide much info. Same disconnected phone, and a physical address that would mean he's living in the middle of Downtown Mall. Bogus all the way."

  "The manager remember what the box owner looked like?"

  "Nope. Not a thing. Charlottesville is a college town, so it's not unusual for people to come and go."

  Madison blew out a slow breath. "Looks like our Mr. Smith covered his tracks. If he exists at all. Any chance it was just another relay point?"

  "No. The hacker was definitely working from that IP. But he could have used a computer from anywhere."

  "How about a driver's license?"

  "Found a couple thousand in the U.S." He grimaced, swallowing some of his tea. "There weren't any in Charlottesville, though. Although I found around fifty in Virginia. We're sorting through the
m now."

  "So we're back to the needle in the haystack." And then some. Madison would bet her life savings that W. Smith didn't even exist. At least not under that name.

  "It would seem so. But I'm not ready to throw the towel in yet. Payton's working on aliases. Maybe we'll get a hit there. And I've got a few more things I want to try. If he exists, we'll find him."

  Of that Madison had no doubt. Harrison took this sort of thing as a personal challenge and he wouldn't quit until he'd found everything there was to find about Mr. Smith. Trouble was, that kind of searching took time. And quite honestly, she had the distinct feeling that time was running out.

  Gabriel stood in the doorway of the operations room, automatically searching for Madison. She was in the corner at the computer. Her ponytail spilled out across the blue of her shirt, and he crushed the urge to taste the soft satin of her neck, instead settling for the simple pleasure of goading her.

  "You were gone when I came back last night. You have other plans?" He purposefully kept his voice brusque, waiting for the rise, knowing it was coming from the sudden tension in her shoulders.

  She whirled around, anger flashing, and he felt a moment of triumph. If he couldn't arouse her passion the old-fashioned way, this would just have to do. "I waited until almost nine and then gave up. I gather you decided to sleep in?" She shot a pointed look at the clock. "I've been here since six."

  It was only 7:30 a.m. but he still felt as if she'd scored a point, and the idea didn't sit well. "So what are you doing sitting here? I thought I told you to talk to Cullen."

  "I did." She paused for a beat, her smile overly sweet, the exact opposite of the expression in her eyes. "Last night. And your suspicions were groundless. He was trying to help Alicia Stewart, just like I said. Under the circumstances, he had no reason to believe there'd been foul play. It was only later, after Jacob Dashal's death, that he began to have questions."

  "Convenient answer, don't you think?"

  "Or maybe, considering what happened in Iraq, you just want Cullen to be guilty of something."

  Her words took him by surprise, hitting closer to the truth than he cared to admit. "Who told you about Iraq?"

  "Payton." Her eyes darkened with regret. "He really only mentioned it in passing, and I shouldn't have said anything about it. Certainly not like that."

  "Contrite" was an emotion she didn't wear well, and he almost wished he hadn't snapped. Almost. "He shouldn't have talked about it at all."

  "I was just trying to understand the bond between the three of you." Her hand fluttered aimlessly through the air. "I didn't know that it was off-limits." Her color rose, a bit of the spark back in her eyes. Madison wasn't the type to stay down for the count.

  A part of him was glad.

  "It's not off-limits per se. It's just ancient history. I don't talk about the past. Frankly, I'm surprised you got Payton to tell you anything."

  Her smile was brittle. "It's what I do, remember?"

  Maybe he'd underestimated her profession. Payton wasn't an easy mark. If she'd gotten him to open up... He considered the thought, and then dismissed it. The woman was causing enough trouble without him allowing that she might actually have value beyond decoration. "Regardless of what he told you, what happened all those years ago in no way affects my ability to lead this team."

  "If your relationship with Cullen is colored by what happened, then I think it does." She was standing now, hands on her hips "Maybe that's why he wanted me along for the ride."

  "To keep me in line?" He took a step toward her, but she held her ground. "Honey, there's not a woman alive who can do that."

  "A moot point, surely—" she moved forward, eyes narrowed, her gaze locked with his "—since no one is likely to volunteer for the job."

  "Are you sure?" She was so close now he could count the freckles spattered across her nose, feel the warmth of her breath against his skin. "Seems to me you were more than ready the other night."

  He felt rather than saw her intake of breath, and saw the slight dilation of her pupils. He'd hit home, but she wasn't about to admit it.

  "I think you've got it backward, Mr. Roarke." The whispered name might as well have been a blasphemy. "If I recall correctly, it was you who chose to engage. And you who lost control. And, if I had to call it, you who wouldn't have been able to stop."

  "Are you implying I forced you?" The words came out on a rush of anger, the emotion cresting inside him, red-hot.

  "Of course not," she snapped. "I never do anything I don't want to." She blanched as she realized what she'd said, taking a step backward in defense.

  With a twisted smile, he moved in for the kill. "Checkmate, I believe."

  "Hardly." Her lips twisted into the semblance of a smile. "I never said I wasn't involved, Gabriel." This time his name came out sounding like cream for a cat. "Merely that I wasn't the one who lost control."

  Again he felt a surge of admiration. Madison Harper was a worthy opponent. Not that he wanted one.

  "Hello, you two. Having a bit of a spat, are we?" Nigel's voice broke between them like ice water, and Gabe turned to face his friend, but not before he saw Madison's hand rise to her throat, the look of relief passing across her face just this side of insulting.

  Damn the woman.

  "We were just discussing Cullen, and his involvement in the murders." Madison stepped around him, all signs of their quarrel successfully banished from her voice. "Gabriel seems convinced that Cullen's been holding out on us. And I was just trying to prove that he was wrong." She shot him a simpering smile. "But as you're no doubt aware, he's not an easy man to convince."

  "Yes. I'm afraid, he's far more the yours-is-not-to-question-why type. But then, I'm told some people seem to prefer that." He shot a knowing glance at the two of them, clearly not fooled for an instant. "Despite that, however, I do hope you'll allow me to interrupt your tete-a-tete. I come bearing gifts." He held up a manila envelope.

  "The LUDs." Gabe reached for the envelope, but Nigel shifted, moving it just out of reach.

  "Now, now, surely you're not going to rob me of my triumph." His eyes sparkled with mischief, and Gabe contained a sigh of frustration.

  "Nigel, I have no idea what you're talking about." Madison was frowning at the two of them. "Care to enlighten me?"

  "With pleasure." He waved magnanimously at the table behind them, and they all moved to have a seat. "Besides discovering that Candace Patterson had an amazingly dysfunctional family, we also learned that she'd been called away from work by a telephone call the night she died." He patted the envelope.

  "And you've brought us the LUDs." Madison nodded with a smile, clearly up to speed. "So what do they have to say?"

  "There are two incoming phone calls that fit the time frame, the first at nine forty-two and the second ten minutes later. Each lasted less than three minutes." Nigel opened the envelope and pulled out a sheet of paper. "The first was from a number in the East Village. I'm having it traced, and the second was from here."

  "Our operations room?" Madison took the sheet of paper, scanning the contents.

  "No. The call went through the main switchboard at Dreamscape."

  "Cullen." Gabe said the name softly, almost as an afterthought, but Madison heard him, her gaze colliding with his.

  "We don't know that." She chewed the side of her lip, returning her attention to the sheet of paper. "This isn't a very good copy."

  "It's the best I could do." Nigel shrugged. "And I almost didn't get that. There was the little matter of authorization. They weren't all that impressed with my British credentials. I'm afraid I had to resort to flattery or we'd have had nothing at all."

  "All that matters is that you got it." Gabe reached for the page, taking in the two highlighted lines. "And that we've got the numbers. Based on what Lex Rymon said, I think we can be fairly certain the first call is the one he referenced. She must have gotten the second after she left."

  "So either one could be the killer," N
igel said.

  "Well, Lex said the first call made her angry, right?" Madison looked to Gabe for confirmation. "And then she ran out of the dining room. So that makes caller number one look pretty darn suspicious."

  "And since she was working with Cullen, a call from Dreamscape isn't all that unusual." Nigel said.

  "But it's certainly not conclusive. The second caller could be the one."

  "Is there a telephone log?" Madison asked, propping her elbow on the table, resting her chin against her palm.

  "No. At least not at the switchboard. The phone company has one. But unfortunately it doesn't show extensions," Nigel said.

  "So it could have been anyone." Gabe fought to control his frustration.

  "Well, that late at night there has to at least be a record of who was in the building." Madison frowned.

  "One step ahead of you," Nigel said, pulling more papers from the envelope. "There were around sixty people present that night. And over a third of them have had some contact with the accord or the consortium."

  "It might be worth running the list by Cullen." This from Madison. Gabe frowned as their gazes met and held. "He might be able to shed light on who did or didn't know Candace."

  "Maybe. Unless, of course, he's the one who made the call," Gabe said, knowing he was baiting her.

  "I'm sure he'd have told us if he'd talked to her." Her voice conveyed an assurance that wasn't reflected in her eyes. It was a solid attempt at defense, but he could see she had doubts. He ought to count it as a victory, but somehow the taste of success had turned rancid in view of her distress.

  Nigel cleared his throat. "Why don't I check on it? Under the circumstances, it might be better than one of you taking the old boy on."

  Gabe started to argue, then lifted a hand in surrender. Maybe Nigel was right. Hell, maybe Madison was right. Maybe he was still holding on to his resentment. If Cullen hadn't gotten them all involved...

  But that was stupid. What happened hadn't been Cul-len's fault. No, that blame rested securely on Gabe's shoulders. Nothing would change that fact, and he'd do well to remember it.