by D. N. Leo
“Madeline is not a stranger, Mother,” Ciaran growled.
“Did you scan her before she came here?”
“There was no need.”
“Are you sure? Or have you just gone soft? I can see the resemblance, Ciaran.”
“Resemblance of what?” Madeline asked.
“I am in charge of the family business, Mother. I can bring anyone in as I see fit.”
“I don’t like your tone, Ciaran.”
“You wouldn’t have to hear it if you stayed in Dublin.”
Jennifer laughed. Her voice was like bell. “Listen to yourself, Ciaran. You sound like your father. A woman’s place is in the home.”
“And Father was correct.”
“The protection your father built for Mon Ciel was to keep all of us safe. Tadgh told me you received a message about the timing. So I suggest you stay put inside Mon Ciel.”
“I have things to do outside.”
“You can keep her here, if it’s what it takes.”
“With all due respect, Jennifer, I can’t stay here and be a piece of furniture. Like Ciaran, I have things to do. In fact, we have to leave now.” Madeline looked at Ciaran, gesturing at her phone. Ciaran nodded.
Jennifer arched an eyebrow.
She probably isn’t used to anyone talking back to her, Madeline thought.
“Very well.” Jennifer sighed.
“In regard to your incidental exposure, I’ve gone beyond anger. I can never stay angry at you for long, Ciaran. I just wanted to see that you were safe and sound.”
“Incidental exposure?”
“Oh, so you’re not as totally on top of everything as you might think.” Jennifer put a stack of newspapers on the table. “Don’t take this family for granted, Ciaran.”
“I’d never . . .” It came out in a raised voice, more like a hiss. Madeline knew it was a snap of Ciaran’s control. He calmed down instantly. “I know what I have to do. It will be business as usual by the end of the week. Should I call the staff in, Mother?”
“Do as you see fit.” She walked for a few steps and turned around. “One more thing, your cousin George—someone trashed his place a couple of weeks ago, looking for the artifact. He and his family were fine. Just had a bit of a fright.”
Ciaran narrowed his eyes. “A couple of weeks ago? Why wasn’t I informed?”
“You’re not exactly on good terms with George, Ciaran. He told Tadgh. It wasn’t just any artifact they were looking for. They identified the specific item.”
“Is that why Tadgh came back to London?”
Jennifer smiled. “You really should talk to you brother more.” Jennifer nodded a goodbye to Madeline and exited the room.
Madeline grabbed the stack of newspapers while Ciaran pulled out his cell phone and called Tadgh. He wandered over to the window, looking outside. Tadgh wasn’t picking up his phone.
Madeline flicked through the pages of the paper. The two of them had made the front page of all the newspapers in the UK. Pictures of Ciaran with his arm wrapped protectively around Madeline’s waist as they left the police station and when they had entered One Hyde Park were prominently displayed. All associated articles speculated about the rare public appearance of a LeBlanc at a police station in London, and about Madeline’s role.
“Bloodthirsty media hounds,” Madeline mumbled to herself. That’s what Jennifer had meant by the unwanted exposure. The LeBlancs had never been exposed to the media.
Ciaran gave up on calling Tadgh. Madeline put the article on the table for him to see. He glanced at it.
“Robert would have never let this happen,” he muttered and made himself a cup of coffee.
As she flipped randomly through the pages of the newspaper, she saw a small article on page four. “Two mysterious deaths in Mortlake.” She shuffled through the other papers. On pages four and five, a series of small articles about Mrs. Hanson and Shaun the gardener. Mysterious deaths by stab wounds. No weapon found.
The exhale of breath came out of her mouth so loudly that it captured Ciaran’s attention. He turned toward her, looking as if he was waiting for whatever might be coming at him next.
Chapter 31
“What’s your family, Ciaran? Mafia?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Anyone who goes against your family will get themselves killed,” Madeline said.
“Madeline!” Ciaran’s voice came out in a warning growl.
That was a pack reaction. She should have known. One of them got attacked, and the whole pack would kill to protect. She got that. She understood pack mentality. She had encountered many in her line of work. Wolves. Madeline could hear the word roaring in her head. Her heart pounded, and her blood pumped so hard that it felt as if her head would explode.
“Did you kill Peter?”
“Peter who?”
“The man who pulled me off the bus in front of your headquarters.”
Ciaran smiled. “Ah, when we saw the news at One Hyde Park, I asked if you knew him, and you said no. You lied to me, Madeline.”
“I didn’t know you at that point.”
“You still don’t know me, Madeline. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have asked me that question.”
“Did you kill Shaun, the gardener?”
Ciaran shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at Madeline. “Do you really want me to answer those questions?”
Madeline stared back. He was right. She didn’t really want him to answer because if he admitted to it, she didn’t know how she could live with herself. But it his answers were no, she had revealed her distrust.
She withdrew a step and stormed out of the room.
“If you want to call a taxi, there’s a phone in the hallway with a direct number,” Ciaran called after her.
She raced along the corridor. She had to get out. She didn’t hear Ciaran coming after her. Of course, he wouldn’t. He’d shown her the door. She had questioned his family. His pack. Would she have done the same if she were in his situation?
At the front door of the house, she came to a skidding halt.
She would and could do worse.
She’d killed before. She wasn’t innocent. It was a secret she’d shared with Jo, but it wasn’t the reason they had built a relationship. Jo’s family was hers, and she would do anything to protect them. Anything.
A short moment later, Madeline stood at the doorway. A tear trickled down her face, but she didn’t bother to wipe it away. “This place does not qualify as a household in its current state.”
Ciaran sat in a reading chair in the corner of the room, sipping his coffee quietly and watching Madeline over the rim. “It’s waiting for the rightful and deserving owners to make it a household.”
Another tear escaped Madeline’s eyes. “I know you didn’t do it.”
“Neither did my family, Madeline. You were right—we could kill, but we wouldn’t. It’s not our way.”
Madeline nodded. “I believe you.”
She rushed in and all but fell into his arms. There, she felt his muscles quiver and his body vibrate with emotions. “Don’t ever walk away from me like that again!” he said as he kissed her forehead.
“Okay, I promise. I have a temper, and sometimes, I can throw a tantrum.”
“I noticed!” Ciaran chuckled. “I’ll arrange a location to meet Zen and get Jo back tonight. To avoid further misunderstanding with law enforcement, could you liaise with your Stephen to get the police on site? If he’s here.”
“He’s not my Stephen. And yes, he’s here. He messaged me last night.” Then she frowned. “You can do this easily with a phone call to detective Adamson, I’d imagine?”
Ciaran smiled. “Adamson is as straight as an arrow. We reported the incident at Mrs. Hanson’s to him but mentioned nothing about Jo and the kidnapping, which occurred at the same time. I can go back to him with reasons for not reporting it, but regardless of how much wheeling and dealing I do, he’ll suspect we have something to hide.”
“My family doesn’t deal with media and the police when it comes to our internal business. And you didn’t go to the police in the first place when Jo was kidnapped—for a reason that you will one day tell me.”
“Hey, I didn’t call the cops because Zen threatened to . . .”
“That’s the reason you’d give Stephen, but not me, Madeline.”
Damn! He didn’t manage a gigantic conglomerate for nothing. “Right, I have something to hide. But you have to admit that you need Stephen now to make arrangement with the police? Because he came here as my friend, not as a cop. He’s not a big deal FBI agent or anything. He just catches small timers.”
Ciaran laughed. “Madeline, don’t worry. I’ll be gentle with him. Okay?”
Damn, again! Am I that obvious? “Okay, I’ll call Stephen,” Madeline muttered and scurried out of the room.
Ten rings and Stephen had not yet picked up. Madeline walked up and down the hallway, waiting. There was no natural light although the down light was lit twenty-four/seven. The floor was covered in black stone tiles which were slightly uneven and difficult to walk on. Madeline’s shoes had a bit of a heel, and they tended to slide into the gaps between the stone tiles. In addition, the hard soles of her shoes made clicks that seemed to echo through the area even though Madeline was very sure that she was walking lightly and not stomping.
Along the hallway, there were twelve white statues of what Madeline guessed must be Greek Gods. They all had kind and caring faces and looked like the sort of gods one would feel comfortable talking to—or maybe praying was more appropriate.
Madeline thought it a good idea to stop pacing up and down the hallway. The noise she was making might annoy those gods. Just then, one of Madeline’s pointy heels got stuck in a gap between two stones. The walking momentum made Madeline fall forward, punching her palm against the toe of a god’s statue. For a moment, Madeline thought she had broken a bone in her hand or dislocated her shoulder. But no, she took a quick inventory, and she was not hurt—but the god was. The toe had broken off. She caught it before it slid off and shattered on the stone floor.
“Oh, my God! Oh, dear, sweet Jesus God, please forgive me!”
“What’s that, Madeline?” Stephen’s voice piped up from the other end of the line.
Madeline finished her phone call with Stephen, making an appointment to meet with him at the bakery café at the London Eyes.
She walked into the great hall, and Ciaran looked as if he was ready to go out with her to meet Stephen.
“I broke a god’s toe.”
Ciaran cocked an eyebrow in question.
“I broke his toe, but I’m going to fix it. All I need is some super glue.”
Madeline showed him the toe in her palm.
Ciaran had a blank look, glancing at the toe and back at Madeline’s expression. Then he had a fit of laughing. He looked at her standing there with a toe in her hand and thought about how much he adored her.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get someone to fix it for you!”
“No, no, it’s my doing. I broke the god’s toe, so I’ll fix it.”
Ciaran smiled. “As you like. I’m sure he won’t mind having a toe missing for a few hours. But we’ve got to go now.”
On the way out of the house, Madeline asked, “Why don’t you have marble statues, or metal ones that would be sturdier and last forever? I hope these statues didn’t cost a fortune.”
“Nah, I bought them cheap. Just a couple of million each.”
Seeing the appalled look on Madeline’s face, Ciaran laughed.
“I was just kidding. The statues aren’t antique or anything like that. They aren’t expensive at all. That hallway connects to a new extension of the house—it was built ten years ago. The statues were added to blend the décor with the old section. The statues in the old part were all antique. I blew the head off of one of them.”
“I’m sure you’re the favorite child in the family!”
“That’s a safe bet.” Ciaran grinned.
In London, Ciaran swapped the car for a long black limousine. He asked Madeline to call Stephen and request that he walk across the bridge to the opposite side of the river from the London Eyes.
Before Stephen reached the car, Ciaran asked Madeline not to mention the location of his house.
A moment later, Stephen opened the limousine’s door and got in. After the standard greeting, Ciaran offered Stephen some scotch. Stephen accepted and grinned at Madeline’s stare.
“What? I’m not on duty.”
“Please excuse this moving office. I trust you understand.”
“Of course. I was surprised when you’d agreed to meet at a café.” He looked at Madeline. “I’m so sorry for messing up your plan, Madeline.”
“No, I appreciate your help, and I’m glad you stopped by Zen’s place. It turned out to be a positive thing, actually. He thought I could play hardball.”
“Could you?” Stephen asked.
“Yes, with Ciaran’s help.”
Stephen looked at Ciaran suspiciously.
Ciaran sipped some scotch. “Stephen, what’s in this for you? I just don’t believe that a normal friendship would make you travel all the way from New York to London. I don’t believe in sentimental reasons, either, and am therefore assuming you have a crush on Madeline.”
Stephen choked on his scotch. “Then . . . I . . . I don’t have a reason.”
Madeline glanced at Ciaran, warning him not be too harsh on Stephen.
“So then, what’s your plan to help Madeline?”
“I’ll talk to Zen and get Jo back.”
“What do you have to give him?”
“Nothing. But he knows I’m a cop and I could cause him trouble.”
“And you think that this is sufficient to scare Zen and get Jo back?”
Stephen looked at Madeline as if asking for a rescue.
Madeline spoke gently. “I know that London is out of your jurisdiction. But could you get some collaboration here if action is needed?”
“Depends on what kind of action. I’m on vacation. I’m not even carrying a weapon.”
“So you were just being a sentimental fool, jumping on an airplane to come here without any idea what you were going to do?”
“Ciaran,” Madeline warned again.
Ciaran stared at Stephen. He cocked an eyebrow and waited for Stephen to respond. Madeline knew Stephen was doing his best not to stutter under the pressure.
“Stephen, you might think that I am in no position to judge your motives or interrogate you about your actions. And you’re right. You and I are in competition for the same woman, and on that ground, we are equal.”
“Excuse me, do I need to get out of here?” Madeline asked, astonished.
Ciaran continued, “However, when it comes to solving the problem Madeline has at hand, I now have a stake in it more than you do. I am involved. Blood has been spilled, and I have lost a friend in the process. On top of that, I have my family and my business interests to protect. So I do hope you understand why I have to ask these hard questions.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Stephen cleared his throat. “I understand. So what do you want me to do to help? I assume you have a plan?”
“I’m not asking you to do or give us anything. On the contrary, we’re going to give you the collar.”
“What?”
“We will trap Zen, and you’ll catch him. Simple. But you have to make it official. You have to liaise with the cops here. How you play it out is totally up to you. I’ll notify you with Zen’s location when we get to it. How does that sound?”
“Ah . . . ah . . . perfect . . . I didn’t expect this . . .” Stephen nodded.
“How fast can you get a team together?” Ciaran asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve never worked with British partners before.”
Ciaran pulled out a card and gave it to Stephen.
“Detective Adams
on is a good man to talk to. Can you get something together soon?”
“How soon?”
“Let’s say a couple of hours.”
“Jesus . . .”
“Can you do it or not?”
Stephen nodded somewhat doubtfully and got out of the car.
Ciaran smiled at Madeline’s astonishment.
“Two hours?” she asked.
“Well, he didn’t ask for more, did he?”
Madeline shook her head and sighed. “What about your promise to me?”
“I don’t think I was too harsh on him.”
“He’s harmless, Ciaran!”
Ciaran turned at Madeline. He rubbed his thumb on the dimple on her left cheek. “He’s too good to be true, Madeline.”
Chapter 32
As soon as the screen of the video call flashed, Ciaran reached over and turned the video function off.
“Put the video on, Ciaran,” Zen’s voice croaked.
“You don’t have anything I want to see. Do you want the location or not?” Ciaran asked.
They were sitting at a table in a private room at an exclusive restaurant in Knightsbridge. Madeline sat next to Ciaran, her eyes glued to the phone on the table, listening to his voice coming out of the speaker.
“This isn’t my turf. I ain’t going to fall into one your traps. I’ll give you the location, and you bring the crucifix. I’ll have equipment on site—you’ll code the program for me, and then I will give you Jo.”
“No. I’m not digging a grave for you. Let’s meet halfway. We’ll go to the tomb, and while you dig for your crucifix, I’ll finish the program for you.”
“And what if you set a trap for me? Call the cops or something?”
“I can do the same thing if we meet at your location! Look, I don’t have time to play around. I want Jo back. I don’t care about the crucifix and your little program, whatever it does.”
“All right . . . what’s the location?”
“We’ll see you tonight at seven at Rufford Abbey.”
There was sound of tapping on computer keyboard. And then, “Mr. LeBlanc, you think I’m an idiot?”
“As you like!”