As I pulled away, I looked each of them in the eye. “I’m going to hold you to that. Both of you.” Pulling myself together for Leah’s sake, I asked, “Now, how are we going to do this?”
Twenty minutes later, we had formulated a plan and were en route to Leah’s office building. Ok, it wasn’t much of a plan because Clark held all the cards, but it was something. I was glad to have it, as well as Abe and Elijah on my side.
I knew Clark had purposely selected the thirty-first floor because the top ten floors in Leah’s office building were currently empty. Number thirty-one was smack-dab in the middle of the empty floors, meaning there would be no traffic coming or going and no neighbors above or below.
I hated to think how he had managed to secure a key card or when he had slipped it into my mailbox. The mere thought of him being that close to me—ugh. I needed to stop that type of thinking and focus on the plan.
Abe and Elijah would accompany Nicoh and I as far as Clark would allow. Leah had specified no cops and perhaps we had taken liberties with that statement, but for the time being, that didn’t rule out everyone else. I’d much rather have them cooling their jets on the elevator than thirty-plus floors out of reach.
Ramirez would have an undercover team waiting at a safe distance, but since we’d decided not to risk wearing any special gadgets Clark might find, they’d be flying blind, waiting only on signals from Abe or Elijah. Yeah, like I said, not much of a plan. It wasn’t something I could control, or worry about. I’d let the rest of them do that. For now, all I could think about was Leah.
I was surprisingly calm as the four of us entered Leah’s office building, my mind clear. Even Nicoh stood at attention, his head held high, despite being tethered to my side. Abe and Elijah were equally stoic, clad in all black ensembles, one flanking us on each side. From the hostile, almost frightening expressions each wore, I was glad they were on my team.
Clark had selected a time of day where the hustle and bustle of the workday had long subsided and we moved easily through the lobby to the bank of elevators that would take us to the thirty-first floor. As the massive doors slid shut, I caught a glimpse of a figure lingering next to the faux palm trees that lined the hallway. Our eyes connected as the gap disappeared and the elevator began its ascent.
Ramirez.
It lasted seconds, but the ride to the thirty-first floor felt like an eternity.
“You sure you’re ready to do this?” Abe asked, his tone was one I would have expected him to reserve for a comrade heading into battle, not for a hysterical photographer with knocking knees and sweaty palms.
I gave him a curt nod. Sure, why not? I thought to myself. I was ready. I did this kind of thing every day, between picking up dog doo and dealing with self-important, entitled clients like Charlie. Oh yeah, here it was, on my daily to-do list: rescue best friend from maniacal killer. Easy peasy. Rah. Go team. I blew out a deep breath as the elevator slid to a halt, then inserted the key card Clark had supplied. The doors screeched opened, resembling fingernails on a chalkboard. Fitting—in a Freddy Kruger sort of way.
We peered around as we edged out of the elevator and found nothing but a hallway leading to the left. A sharp voice boomed over the intercom, nearly piercing my eardrums, “Ms. Jackson. I need you to throw that key card as far down the hallway as possible. No girly throws, please.” I tossed the card as requested and it landed about fifty feet ahead of where we stood.
“Very good, Ms. Jackson. I guess lugging all that camera equipment around does a body good.” Obnoxious. “Your arm candy can step back into the elevator. Their job is done here. They may return to the lobby and tell Detective Ramirez to get his men out of the building, while making sure they do the same. In the meantime, I need you and your canine to move slowly down the hall.”
Great. I glanced one last time at Abe and Elijah and gave them a single head nod. Their faces were stony and expressions unreadable as they moved onto the elevator and the doors closed. I waited until I heard it descend before advancing slowly down the hall.
I reached the end before I heard the voice again. This time, it was almost conversational, the frosty tone gone, “Ah, finally, we are alone. Please turn right. You will see a series of concrete posts immediately to your left. Select one and secure the canine’s lead to it. I’ll wait.” How considerate, I thought snarkily as I turned into an expansive, unfinished room.
The floor hadn’t been built-out yet, so all the beams, wiring and fluorescent lighting remained exposed. I saw the concrete posts the voice had referenced and made a show of looping Nicoh’s lead around it twice before tying it off.
His warm eyes bore into mine, pleading as I took his big head in my hands and whispered, “I love you, Nic, be a good boy while I get Leah.”
He started to howl when I moved away, so I stretched out a hand, touching it gently to his nose.
“It’s ok, baby.” He tilted his head, obviously not satisfied, but ceased nonetheless.
“Oh my, what a well-behaved pet. One can certainly appreciate that.” The voice laughed, sarcastically.” Jerk-wad. “You’ll be happy to know your bodyguards complied—handsome couple, by the way—and your cop friend and his donut-eating buddies have officially left the building.”
More laughter. Grating. No one likes a comedian who laughs at his own jokes.
“It’s a lovely evening, Ms. Jackson. Please join us on the veranda.”
Veranda? Give me a break. I moved through the open space, thankful the lights were on as I made my way to the opposite side of the floor, where I assumed the patio was located.
As promised, Winslow Clark waited for me in the broad entrance that led to the outdoor patio, looking like he had walked straight off the pages of GQ. His sun-bleached hair was slicked back off his tanned face, exposing his piercing blue eyes and too-too polished teeth, visible through his fabricated smile. He was dressed to the hilt in what looked to be an Armani suit of exceptional cut, a crisp white button-down dress shirt underneath. Shoes were of the Italian variety, with a high gloss sheen I could have probably seen my reflection in.
“You like the suit?” He preened, waving his hand in a downward motion. “I borrowed it from my brother when he graciously lent me his identity. Guy had great taste, but his choice of professions? Commission-only? In this economy? You’ve got to be kidding. Besides, who wants to stand around talking about a Jaguar all day? Totally overrated. All the fun is in driving it.” More boisterous, annoying laughter.
I ignored Clark’s attempt at banter. “Where. Is. Leah?”
“Oh come on, Arianna. You’re no fun. Leah said you’d be fun. Now I’m not so sure.”
I seriously doubted Leah had said anything of the sort. He stepped backward onto the patio and nudged something with his foot. There was a built-in planter in the way so I couldn’t determine what it was, though I had a bad feeling.
“Hmm. Looks like Leah’s not going to be any fun for a bit, either.”
Gasping, I stepped forward slightly—just out of Clark’s reach—so I could get a better look. I could almost make out Leah’s crumpled form at the base of the planter. She wasn’t moving.
“What did you do to her? Is she…is she…”
“Relax, Arianna. Take a load off. She’s fine. I gave her a little something to help her…mellow out,” he said, laughing at his own little joke. Irritating. “Girl was giving me a raging headache with all that talking. How do you deal with it?”
“I manage fine,” I replied dryly. “Are you sure she’s ok?”
“Arianna, I’m hurt.” He pretended to pout, pulling his lips into a tight frown. “I said she was fine, and she is. She’ll be back in the Land of Chatty Cathy in a while.”
More laughter. I gritted my teeth. Even under normal circumstances—those being the ones where he wasn’t planning on killing me—this guy would get on my nerves. Give him a big fuzzy microphone and you’d have the epitome of a cheesy 1970s game show host. Seriously. It was all I could do not to pu
nch him in the throat. A sudden burst of adrenaline made me decide I would do so later, given the opportunity. For now, I had to keep him talking. So far, so good.
Clark blathered on, “Moreover, we had a deal. A trade is a trade. And it wouldn’t be fair if I reneged on my part before we even started, now would it?”
Ah, now we were getting somewhere. “If that is the case, surely you won’t mind if I move Leah to the elevator and send her on her merry way? Now that I’m here, that is.”
“I would mind, actually. We’re getting to know one another and here you are, already making up new rules. Arianna, have I mistakenly given you the impression I would be open to negotiating?” his tone steeled, ever-so-slightly, but enough to let me know I had hit a nerve.
I put on the best remorseful expression I could muster. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Ah, Arianna, I see we are going to get along just fine,” he chuckled, “but you simply must call me Clark. Like Clark Kent. I’m dashing, like Superman, aren’t I?” My gag reflexes engaged two-fold.
“Is Clark you’re given name?” I asked sincerely, ignoring his question. It was likely rhetorical, anyhow.
“It is indeed. Given to me by my father, Theodore Winslow, to whom you’ve recently become acquainted.” At my surprised look—I was truly—he threw his head back and laughed. “Don’t be so surprised. I know about all the mischief you and the lovely Leah have been stirring up the past few weeks. Just between you and me, liked her hair better the other way. This screams retro-Meg Ryan. So not a good look on her.
“But I digress. Before you ask, yes, my father raised me, if you could call it that. He was truly brilliant, but a bit of a one-trick pony,” he babbled. “GenTech, specifically, the Gemini project, was his life. Thanks to your father, Martin Singer, my father’s work was nearly destroyed.”
He leaned against the wall, reminiscing. Obviously, he’d heard the story from his father many times over the years.
“Is your father still alive?” I asked quietly, prompting him to continue, to keep him talking.
“He is, but the loss of Gemini consumed him. Ate at him. Reduced him to nothing but a shell of the man he once was. Even exacting revenge failed to fill the void he felt. That he still feels.”
“Revenge?” I was pretty sure I knew what he was referencing, but wanted him…needed him to spell it out.
“Come on, Arianna,” Clark shook his head, “I thought you were smarter than this, that you and your chum here had at least the basics figured out.” He rolled his eyes at my apologetic shrug but continued, “He killed Alison Anders, of course. To get back at Martin.”
I had been prepared for this admission, but mentally shuddered at his cool, nonchalant delivery. I needed to keep my emotions in check for the duration. I was sure there would be more revelations to come. For the time being, however, Clark was engrossed in his tale and oblivious to my discomfort.
“The duplicity of their affair enraged him. Not that he cared they had one, but that they thought they could get away with it. Martin judged and chastised my father for years, calling him immoral and self-righteous. And yet, in the end, Martin was no better. He manipulated the project for his own personal gain, while accusing my father of doing the same. My father simply couldn’t take it any longer, he had to do something. He developed a plan that would take cunning and patience. However, to reap the rewards, he could wait.
“Once he learned Alison was pregnant, he kept tabs on them, educating himself on their every habit and routine. Alison’s premature contractions were his doing—he was a doctor, after all—so slipping the right concoction into her herbal tea while she lunched with friends was easy work for him. It just took a bit of creativity.
“After she went into labor and had given birth to you and your sister, he made a quick trip to the hospital to administer a healthy dose of happy juice to the new mother. Before anyone knew what had happened, it was bye, bye, Alison.” Clark sounded so proud, so enamored of his father, I wanted to vomit. I palmed my fists at my sides. Keep it together, I thought to myself.
“Despite having pulled one over on Martin—who was devastated by Alison’s death—his revenge was short-lived. GenTech lost its funding and pulled the plug on Gemini. It wouldn’t have been so bad, had Martin not subsequently destroyed or taken everything pertaining to the project. Once again, my father had to act. And quickly. He even coerced the Baumgardners and their lawyer, Silverton, into fabricating the adoption paperwork he would later slip into the hospital files. All that remained was taking care of Martin.”
“He killed Martin, too?” I asked, my tone casting doubt. Tread carefully, I told myself.
Unaffected, he nodded. “Only after he had given Martin every opportunity to come clean, to tell him where the formulas were. Martin refused, of course, so father had to help him see the error of his ways. I’m sure Martin had plenty of time to contemplate that during his trip off the Skyway Bridge. No pun intended.” He smirked and though I hadn’t flinched, added, “Oops. Too soon? Sorry, my bad.” Internally, I barely managed to contain myself, though my face remained a blank slate.
Nonplussed, Clark continued, “Anyway, with Martin out of the picture, the Baumgardners stepped in to stake their claim, as was their legal and dutiful right, and presto, little Victoria and Arianna got new lives.” He threw his hands up, as if announcing we’d won a prize, not lost our birth parents.
I ignored him. “So why’d he go to all the trouble of fabricating the documentation? Why take the risk? Why not kill us?”
“All great questions, Arianna. I’m so glad your brain has decided to join us. From the look on your face the past several minutes, I wasn’t sure you possessed one.” What a jerk. “It was mostly curiosity and convenience, at first. And as it turns out, the best decision he ever made.”
“What happened to the Baumgardners?” I asked.
“Dead. That witness, Sophie Allen, too,” he responded lightly, as though I had asked him whether he took cream or sugar in his coffee. “Father planted a few false stories to make it seem as though they had abandoned the adoption business to pursue other opportunities, things of that nature.”
“So, their deaths…were your father’s doing?” Clark nodded, before adding, “Of course, once I was old enough, I helped him out when I could. You know, first with the lawyer, Silverton. Old fool was on borrowed time, anyway. A bad heart and all. I helped ease him into the next life once he started getting sentimental about the old days, sending copies of stuff he shouldn’t have to your parents and the Winestones. Of course, I had to clean up that mess, too.”
I took a deep breath, readying myself for whatever Clark was about to dish out. I knew it would be bad. Keep him talking a little longer, I thought. Just a little longer…
“Do you realize how hard it is to make a plane crash look accidental?” He grinned, clearly enjoying himself, then continued without waiting for a response. “I had no idea. I won’t go into all the gory details, but once it was done? What a rush. Love your pop’s D-backs hat, by the way. It’s one of my all-time favs,” he paused to wink while I tempered my emotions, my heart thudding heavily against my chest.
“Though it wasn’t as fun, it did make the Winestone’s car accident that much easier, less of an impact and all that, but you take what you can get. Tanner, of course, was the easiest to deal with.”
By this point, my fingernails had cut into my palms, making them bleed but still, I had to keep it together. I looked at Leah’s prone body for strength and proceeded.
“You…killed your own brother?”
“Yup, gave him a bit of a helping hand while he was out hiking near Big Bear. Boy, was he surprised to see me. It was almost as though he had seen a ghost.” He laughed raucously, as I thought back to what Bonnie had told Abe, Elijah and Anna about Victoria the day she had taken the photo from the dealership.
“Anyway, we were brothers by blood only. It’s not like we grew up together or anything. He went t
he Sterling Joy route.” As if that explained everything away.
“I never met Tanner-boy until the day he met his maker. Guy was a tool, a real waste of space. My father would have been insulted to know that had come out of his gene pool. It was my duty to handle it before Father could find out.”
“What about Frederick Glass, the guy who took ownership of Mrs. Winestone’s Jag?”
“At your service,” he chortled. “Clever, huh? And just for the record, the Winestone’s car was sweeeet. I was actually sorry I had to leave it sitting in that to-remain-unnamed location. Let’s just say I’m sure the locals took good care of that fine piece of machinery.”
I glanced at Leah again, who still appeared to be unconscious. I prayed that he had only drugged her and that after all of this, she’d be ok. With that in mind, I proceeded with the question I had wanted to ask Clark from the beginning.
“Why Victoria? Why did you kill my sister? Was she getting too close?”
His reaction was not at all what I had expected. “Too close?” He burst out laughing. Loudly. Harshly. Gloating. “Don’t you get it? You and Victoria were the key all along. Martin gave you both a gift. And thanks to you, my father’s work—Gemini—will rise again.”
Whatever he had anticipated my reaction might be after that announcement, it was not a blank stare. He threw his hands up, thoroughly exasperated.
“You still don’t get it, do you?”
I shrugged. “What gift?”
He huffed, still piqued by my underwhelmed response.
“It was two actually. Two gifts. The first is your very existence. Proof of Gemini. Proof of its success.” He slapped his hand against his leg after each sentence for emphasis.
“Proof of my father’s success,” I carefully corrected, purposely stepping into dangerous territory, “but no matter, the question remains, if it was such a gift, then why kill Victoria? Why threaten to kill me?”
Either oblivious to or choosing to ignore the slight I had made to his father, he snickered. “Because of the second gift, of course. In those early years, my father was so blinded by rage he overlooked the bigger picture.
Gemini Rising (Mischievous Malamute Mystery Series, Book 1) Page 13