Curse of Soulmate--The Complete Series

by D. N. Leo

  “I don’t have a month. I give you three days.”

  “It’s not possible . . .”

  “I don’t give a shit. If I don’t get this done in time, I’ll be dead. But I’m not going down alone. I can guarantee you that. I’ll send you more info as soon as I have it. But three days is all the time you’ve got.”

  Zen hung up.

  Madeline slid down to the floor and curled up next to the sofa. She let the tears fall freely. She could fall apart right here, right now. Nobody knew, and nobody cared. Jo was her family—the only family Madeline had ever known. She had taken her in and had shared her family with Madeline unconditionally. Jo’s parents had never once asked Madeline about her own family—they knew she didn’t have one. Otherwise, she would’ve had to tell them that she had come in a basket, abandoned on the front porch of some random house.

  Her teeth chattered, and her body shook with the chill. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten or slept.

  At the corner of the room, the fireplace stood cold and empty. She had forgotten to start the fire.

  A shadow hovered at the window and tripped over the potted plant at the front door, but Madeline had drifted to sleep and heard nothing.

  A piece of paper slid under her door.

  A crash woke Madeline. She jumped up to her feet, panting.

  Then she let out a sigh of relief. She had kicked the side table in her sleep, and the vase on top of the table had crashed to the floor.

  Madeline checked the clock. She must have passed out for the night. It was just past five in the morning. She glanced out the window without any hope of seeing the winter sun at this hour. Madeline went to the kitchen to make herself a strong mug of coffee and to find something with which to clean up the broken vase.

  A short moment later, she settled in front of her computer and stared at the mountain of documentation she had researched about LeBlanc Pharmaceuticals.

  Secrets.

  That was the conclusion she had drawn. Not that she couldn’t find any information. On the contrary, there was too much information. Ten years of experience in journalism had taught her that the information about the LeBlancs was only a facade. Even the underground information revealed nothing about the company that they didn’t want the public to know.

  The LeBlanc family was filthy rich—and extremely private.

  Madeline had to congratulate herself after hours of searching. She found one picture of the current head of the family, Ciaran LeBlanc. One lousy picture. The picture must have come from a very keen stalker. It was taken from a distance, and the scene it showed was reflected on a traffic monitoring mirror in a car park.

  Judging by the proportion of the cars and guards around him, Madeline speculated that Ciaran was tall and well-built, but on the slender side.

  Young, she mused, and maybe long hair. The picture was so distorted that Madeline wasn’t sure she would have recognized Ciaran if she met him in the flesh.

  She drew imaginary lines with her finger around Ciaran’s face, trying to make out the part that the poor quality image didn’t catch.

  Then she glanced at the corner of the door, on the floor, and saw the note.

  Madeline picked the note up.

  It read, “Hyde Park.”

  Chapter 5

  Madeline stretched for her morning run and winced at how stiff her body felt after slacking off for a week. Hyde Park was just around the corner from her place. Had Zen wanted to tip her off as to where the LeBlancs lived? She doubted that.

  There were residential areas in Hyde Park, but she couldn’t imagine the LeBlancs in these apartments, regardless of how exclusive they were. Madeline speculated that members of the LeBlanc family lived in castles in secret highlands.

  She jiggled a container of self-defense spray in her pocket to ensure it was secured and within easy reach, then headed to the park.

  The fog was as thick as clouds. Madeline could hardly see more than ten feet in front of her. She kept to the left, but then by habit drifted over to the right. Suddenly right in front of her, a man emerged from the fog like a warrior. Late thirties. Tall. At least six foot three, she would guess, with a slender build and well-toned muscles covered attractively in fair English skin. His thick, black hair almost touched his shoulders. His strong face, the face of a dark angel, looked straight ahead before it registered the coming motion. His eyes . . . Madeline was sure that it was his eyes that caused such an electrifying reaction in her body. Dark, smoky gray eyes. Intense, captivating, and striking.

  Because Madeline had spent so much time evaluating the beauty of the human being in front of her, she didn’t have any time to adjust her speed or steer herself away from the imminent collision. She would have been knocked off her feet and landed on her backside if he hadn’t grabbed her.

  “Goddamn it, don’t you look when you run, Ciaran?”

  The words were out before she could edit them. She had called his name, which meant she had to think with lightning speed right now to explain herself—to explain that she was not a stalker. Her thoughts ran rampant. She could tell him it wasn’t him she was after, she wanted his company. No. She didn’t want his company, she needed the guy who worked in his company. Hmm . . . but that wouldn’t explain how she knew his name. Maybe she should tell him she’s a psychic? No again. That would be a lie, and it wouldn’t go down well. Her thoughts tangled in a mushy mess, and she felt as if her face was on fire.

  Ciaran released Madeline after a swivel to balance the running momentum so that they both regained their footing. “Excuse me!” he said.

  “Sorry, it was my fault. I should have kept right—no, I mean left.”

  “Is that an offense to run on a wrong side of a pedestrian path in a public park in New York?”

  She wanted to swoon with the sexy accent, but her suspicion had gotten a better judgment of her. Madeline narrowed her eyes. “How do you know I’m from New York?”

  “Your accent gave it away. I have a lot of business dealings in New York. I can tell.” Ciaran grinned.

  Her heart skipped a beat when she saw that grin. For pity’s sake, you’re thirty-three, not a teenager, Madeline. Focus.

  Ciaran drank from his bottle water and sat down on the bench. “I don’t think my name is written on my forehead.”

  “Talk to your PR department. I’m the reporter who’s been bugging them for the past few days to get an interview. Of course I know your name.” That was lame, she thought. Ciaran didn’t have a public profile, and she couldn’t even get a decent picture of him. But she couldn’t think of anything else, so she settled with the statement.

  Ciaran nodded politely, and waited.

  “Oh, I’m Madeline Roux, from The Trumpet.” Madeline reached her hand out for a handshake.

  “The Trumpet?”

  She didn’t need to look at Ciaran’s face to see his expression. “Oh, we’re certainly not the New York Times or anything . . .”

  “I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to offend . . .” He stood up quickly from the bench to return the handshake before she withdrew her hand.

  Madeline laughed. “You have to do a lot better than that to offend me. We’re young, small, and not a mainstream magazine. Of course you’ve never heard of us.”

  Ciaran smiled. “How off-stream are you?”

  “Well, let’s say we’re just a bit quirky in our approach to serious issues.”

  Ciaran murmured, “Ah, interesting! So you don’t just blow the whistle, you blow the whole magnificent trumpet to the glory!”

  Madeline laughed. “You’ve got it, Ciaran!”

  She suddenly realized that she hadn’t laughed for days. It felt good. But it was much too friendly. Madeline tilted her head to look behind Ciaran. He turned, looking in the same direction.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Bodyguards.”

  Ciaran looked at Madeline blankly. Then he just laughed.

  “You think I’d have bodyguards wit
h me when I go running? Who do you think I am? A prince?”

  “Practically,” Madeline muttered.

  “I beg your pardon?” His smile faded.

  “What do you expect people to think? Your family isn’t media friendly. Your company has more security than the military. Nobody knows anything about your family. It is more difficult to approach you than it is to make an appointment to see the Queen!”

  “Well, that’s because the Queen has to answer to her people. We don’t have to answer to anyone.”

  “Or you’d have everyone answer to you?”

  Ciaran lowered his voice. “We have money. But we don’t bribe or bully anyone. I don’t care for my family being judged because we want our privacy.” Ciaran jammed his hands in his pockets, waiting for Madeline’s response.

  She cursed herself. “I’m sorry. It’s just been very hard to get in touch with you. I mean with your PR department. It’s almost impossible, and my boss isn’t happy at all about my progress.”

  Ciaran nodded. “What did The Trumpet want to talk to our PR department about? You came all the way from New York—it couldn’t be a minor issue.”

  “Nothing serious, really. I suggested the topic. LeBlanc Pharmaceuticals is a very successful business. I’m sure the media has made the most of what they could. But for me, behind that business success is always the people. I always find your family . . . intriguing.”

  Ciaran smiled. “You think we have something to hide?”

  “No, I think you have a lot to show. I’d like to have a bit of what you’re willing to show.”

  Ciaran paused for a brief moment then nodded. “So is it my family or my family’s business that you’re interested in?”

  She looked into Ciaran’s eyes. They were intense now, deep gray and mysteriously serious.

  “Both.”

  He shook his head. “You have only one option.”

  “Your family.”

  A slight smile crossed Ciaran’s face. “Then you can interview me. I will represent my family. Would tomorrow night be convenient? Over dinner?”

  “What? Of course! Dinner?”

  “That’s the only time I can manage.”

  Madeline nodded.

  Ciaran smiled. “Seven p.m. at One Hyde Park. I’m looking forward to it. Goodbye for now, Madeline.” Ciaran nodded a goodbye and turned to walk away.

  “Why? Your family has never talked to the media before.”

  Ciaran turned around, sending Madeline a look that made her stomach quiver. “Simply because I’d like to see more of you!” he said.

  Then he walked away and disappeared into the fog.

  Chapter 6

  Madeline’s internal clock woke her in the morning—it seemed she had adjusted to the time difference. She didn’t have many hours of sleep, but they were good and solid hours, enough to get her going and be prepared. Tonight was her chance to end this and put her life back to normal.

  Was that all she wanted with the dinner? Had she thought about Ciaran at all?

  She got off the bed, giving herself a mental slap whenever her brain wandered in Ciaran’s direction. She needed to stay focused and plan for the night.

  She should have chosen the business rather than the family when Ciaran gave her the options. But the man headed the family and ran the business. He could give her the exact information she needed. If she had gone with the business option, then she might have ended up with one of the minions whose job was to withhold information from her.

  Madeline made herself a cup of coffee and stopped that stream of thought. There was no point rationalizing a past action that she couldn’t reverse anyway.

  Her response to Ciaran in the park hadn’t been optimal. But she was a woman, and his physical attraction was undeniable. Hell, he was like a magnet! Mental slap.

  Madeline tucked at her hair, pulling it back into a ponytail and putting herself into active working mode. Her phone rang. Paul’s voice squeaked through from the other end of the line when Madeline picked up.

  “Here you are, still on the planet. Thank God. You can’t just go poof and let me handle everything, Maddie!”

  Paul was co-editor with Madeline at The Trumpet. His task was to add a feminine touch to the magazine. Balance the scales, he always said, as Madeline had made the magazine quite ‘boyish.’ Paul was a decent writer and a good guy in the industry, as far as Madeline concerned.

  “A girl is entitled to a vacation, Paul!”

  “I’m so glad that you finally realize you’re a girl! Yes, you can take a vacation. But you have to give me some notice in advance of more than, say, half an hour! Also, I can take care for your half-finished stories, but not your half-eaten slop, half-finished carrot rubber, and half-decent boyfriend.”

  “First, the slop is homemade lasagna, and you’re lucky to have half of it. Second, the carrot cake is from Jo’s brother’s one-of-a-kind bakery, and he specifically baked it for me. So you’re welcome to have it, and I’ll thank them on your behalf. Third, Stephen is not a half-decent man. He’s better than a lot of guys I know.”

  “Oh, so Stephen is your boyfriend now, is he?”

  “Who were you talking about?”

  “Not Stephen, apparently! A bold guy. Shuffling through your desk like a thief. Took off when I called out. Be careful, Maddie. I think you might have a stalker . . . and that’s a best-case scenario.”

  Madeline felt a pinch of worry. A dozen what-if scenarios flew through her mind. “Are you okay?” she asked Paul. “I’m sorry if this worries you.”

  “No, I’m all right,” Paul said.

  “You want me to call Stephen? He’s a cop. He could do something about this.”

  “No, no,” Madeline assured him. “I can handle this. Give me a few days. I’ll sort it out, I promise. Let me know if anything else happens. Hey . . . how about you work from home for a few days?”

  Paul chuckled. “Really, Maddie?”

  “Yeah, really,” Madeline said. “Just do that for me, will you? I’ll talk to you later. I’ll explain more. Everything. Okay?”

  Paul reluctantly agreed and hung up the phone.

  Madeline called Zen. He switched on the video phone when he picked up the call. His sleazy smile flashed on the screen.

  “Miss me?”

  “You don’t have to sniff around my workplace and freak out other people. I said I’d get the information for you, and I will.” Madeline fumed.

  The smile disappeared from Zen’s face. “I didn’t snoop around no place. Who else knows about this?”

  A missed step, damn! Slow down, she warned herself.

  “No, I’m just annoyed, that’s all. I have a few unkind readers sending nasty notes to my paper, that’s all.”

  “Your job sucks. Poking your nose into other people’s business—you’ll end up with something as big as a bomb or as little a bullet. They’re both lethal, though! What have you got for me?”

  “Ah . . . not much yet. Is White Knight a game or a character?

  “It’s an avatar. Jesus Christ! Don’t you know anything about games?”

  “No, not really. I don’t even know exactly how to get the information. Even if I should get inside the LeBlanc premises, you want me just to go around asking who plays White Knight?”

  Madeline could picture Zen wanting to knock his head against the wall to quell his frustration. Maybe it was her head that he wanted to whack. She chuckled on the inside and kept a straight face. Playing dumb was working for her at this point, so she kept at it.

  Zen calmly explained, “No, don’t ask directly, and don’t alarm any one. All you have to do is to tell them that one computer within their premises was used to play an interactive game. Make it up. Say the game was illegal or whatever. Don’t say anything about White Knight at this stage. I need a list of the real names of those who played games from that building. If you can narrow it down to the one guy who plays as White Knight, that’s ideal. But I understand it might be difficult. Got it?”


  Madeline nodded.

  “When can I expect some results?”

  “Come on, you only gave me Hyde Park. That’s a residential address, not the business headquarters. How am I supposed to . . .”

  “What? I didn’t give you the address. I didn’t know the address. Who tipped you? Who else knows about this?” Zen’s face started to burn with anger.

  Fuck! This is a total fuck-up. Who wrote the note? She searched frantically in her mind for an answer but found nothing.

  “What happened? You better fucking tell me!” Zen yelled into the phone.

  “I . . . I was . . .”

  “Tell me!” Zen’s demonic voice threatened to rip open the phone.

  Chapter 7

  The ceiling-high, double-steel door automatically slid open when Ciaran approached, revealing a vast lush office with glass windows opening to the endless horizon of the city. Before the door closed, Lindsay called from behind, “Ciaran!” and trailed into the office with a stack of paper in his hands.

  Ciaran turned around. “Yes, Lindsay, did I forget to sign something?”

  Lindsay Freeman was in his late thirties and had been Ciaran’s right-hand man as long as Ciaran had been in business. As they were of similar age, Ciaran could talk to Lindsay almost about anything. They were good friends, and Ciaran trusted Lindsay to be the face of the business when it came to dealing with outsiders.

  “You’ll want to take a look at this,” Lindsay said and put a computer disc on the desk.

  Ciaran glanced at the disc. “Gate security? Shouldn’t Robert be handling this?” He slid the disc into the computer.

  “I just checked things over, and this caught my eye.”

  Ciaran shook his head. “You can’t keep an eye on everything. Robert’s a very capable man.”

  “No doubt about that. But I’ll sleep better checking everything this week because you’re here.”

  “I don’t want to be the cause of your sleep deprivation. By the way, how are Liz and Anna?”

  “Enjoying their vacation at a warm beach in Bali now.” Lindsay grinned. “Anna finished her exams with good grades and wanted a vacation before entering high school.”