A Cross to Bear (9 page)

“You’re in over your head, child.”

Gabby hit the brakes and stopped dead in traffic. Horns blared behind them, and a man in a truck shook his fist out the window.

She ignored him.

“Thanks for your help, but I don’t need a goddamned naysayer right now. I’m doing this, with or without your help.”

Quip gave her a sidelong glance and folded his arms. “Fine, you made your damned point.”

Gabby eyed him apprehensively.

“Well, go on then, you’re late.”

***

They pulled up across from Steele Tower, and Quip let out a groan. “Steele?” he said.

“You know him?”

He quickly overcame his initial surprise and shrugged it off. “Well, who the hell ain’t heard of Michael Steele? He’s one of the richest people in Chicago.”

“All right,” said Gabby. “If I’m not out in—”

“Oh, hells no. I’m going with you,” said Quip.

“You can’t. It’ll look suspicious.”

“Listen—”

“No, Quip. I have to do this alone. If anything happens to me, go to the police,” said Gabby.

Quip looked as though he might protest but then flashed a quick smile. “Huh, I guess you got some of your sister in you after all. Half hour and I’m going in there after you.”

“Thanks. Wish me luck.”

Steele Tower loomed before her, reaching so high that to look at its apex made Gabby dizzy. Inside, the place was surprisingly homey. While the outside was just as the name implied, cold, hard steel, the inside was all curved corners and dark wood infused with metal. There were so many plants and even small trees about the lounge that Gabby felt as though she were in a greenhouse.

As she walked toward the receptionist, a uniformed guard approached.

“Miss Shepard, I presume?” said the guard.

“Yes, that’s me,” said Gabby with an air of confidence.

The man looked her up and down briefly before turning on his heel. “This way, please. Mr. Steele is expecting you.”

He led her to the elevator, which rose to the ninety-ninth floor in a few heartbeats. The doors opened up to a brightly lit room with arched ceilings of stone, a floor of marble, and pillars to match. The ceiling was curved glass, allowing in sunlight for the many exotic fruit trees lining both walls. A lone wooden door that looked to have been looted from a castle stood before them at the end of the room.

“This way,” said the guard.

He brought them to the door and knocked once. A slat in the door opened, and a pair of eyes looked her over. The slat closed. A lock disengaged.

Another guard greeted her. This one was long-haired, like the other, and was fitted with a sidearm as well. Gabby couldn’t help but wonder if he drove a black sedan.

He appeared uncomfortable as he looked her up and down, yet he allowed her passage. “Mr. Steele asks that you wait in the garden.” He indicated the room to the right. “He will be out shortly.”

The penthouse was no less impressive than the rest of the building. It was wide open, with few walls, and even those had numerous windows built into them, along with long, curving fish tanks. The skylight from the reception room continued into the main room before being replaced by a curving ceiling.

Michael Steele seemed to be the kind of man who liked curves.

Gabby moved into the garden and was awed by the vast beauty of the place. She strolled leisurely through the immense domed greenhouse, past exotic flowers and vining plants, fruit trees and bushes. In the center of the room, she found a deep pond fed by a rushing waterfall carved out of stone.

“It’s good to be king,” Gabby murmured to herself.

A flower caught her eye, and she bent to smell it.

“That is a ghost orchid; it is quite rare.”

Gabby jumped and turned to find Michael Steele staring at the flower. His eyes slowly moved over Gabby’s skirt, bosom, and lips. “Hello again, Miss Shepard,” he said with an offered hand.

Gabby shook it. It was big, rough, and firm. “Mr. Steele.”

He wore a metallic-hued gray suit with a solid baby-blue tie and matching pocket square. The jacket was unbuttoned at the moment, revealing a matching vest. The outfit was impeccably tailored, accentuating every curve and corner of his athletic frame. He was a well-groomed man. Even the lines of his days-old stubble were perfect. His longish dark hair was neatly styled into a disheveled state, the kind of hair that looked good no matter what.

“Please, Sarah, join me on the balcony for a drink and we’ll talk,” said Michael.

The balcony!
Gabby fought back her apprehension and boldly followed him back through the penthouse. She kept her purse close, comforted by the weight of the pistol within.

Michael led her out onto the balcony overlooking the city. He pulled out a chair and offered her a seat at an intricately carved wooden table. Each leg was like a tree, and the branches and boughs of the four trees came together to form the top. The chairs were of similar make.

A big pitcher sat at the center of the table, along with two glasses.

“Iced tea?” he asked.

“Please, thank you.”

Gabby watched him pour the tea. He performed the mundane action with grace and steady precision.

“Where shall we begin?” he asked.

Gabby took out her phone and placed it on the table.

“Do you mind if I record this? For the blog. I would hate to misquote you.”

He indicated that he didn’t and drank his tea.

Gabby pushed “Record” and realized that she hadn’t thought of any interview questions.

Why was my sister found dead outside your building?
she wanted to say.

Instead she focused on his work, wanting to learn more about her enemy. “Why do you do it?”

“Pardon?”

“Saving rain forests, fighting deforestation. Taking on multimillion-dollar logging companies.”

Michael Steele wasted no time pondering the question. “I do it because someone has to.”

“And that someone might as well be you?”

He shrugged and sipped his tea. Gabby followed suit.

“Our world is a cradle of life in a cold, dark universe. She is our mother. The human ego unchecked leaves a path of death and destruction in its wake. So I stand in that path, doing whatever I can to ensure that something is left standing once the human race grows out of its destructive adolescence.”

“You see humans as children?”

“Yes, I do,” he said. There was sorrow in his dark eyes. “Humans are wonderful creatures, delicate, versatile, and beautiful. But they have not yet learned to take care of themselves and their world.”

“They?” She cocked an eyebrow.

“We,” he said with a grin.

Gabby blinked away the eye contact, finding it hard to hold his gaze.

“Some people think that your forest preservation is just a front. That Lunaris Enterprises has its hands in other less wholesome practices. There is no money in buying rain forests and not harvesting their resources. Yet, you are a billionaire.”

“People exaggerate everything. I am
worth
that much because I own so much land. And saving rain forests is much more profitable than one might think. There are many powerful people in the world who wish to contribute to the well-being of the planet. They are quite generous.”

“Some people say that you secretly own the companies who donate the heaviest, that you are actually laundering dirty money.”

Michael regarded her intensely. “Did you come here to accuse me of something?”

She blanched. Her mouth went dry. “No,” she managed to say before taking a drink of her tea. “I thought that I would give you a chance to address your accusers.”

He didn’t believe her. She could sense it quite plainly.

“There will always be those who want to see me fail. I choose to give them none of my energy. There are far more pressing matters. It is enough that I know myself. The world can believe what it wants.”

Gabby found herself believing him.

“Lunaris has saved thousands of species from extinction. Every day we help take one or more off the endangered list. We own millions of acres in hundreds of countries and have put thousands of poachers and companies who promote deforestation out of business. We are trying to preserve the natural beauty of this world for future generations. There are those who have lost fortunes because of our actions—those who would profit from the destruction of our world. They spread propaganda and lies in an attempt to weaken our resolve and create discourse.”

“What is your idea of the perfect world?” Gabby asked.

Michael laughed at that. “John Lennon comes to mind.” He sipped his tea and thought for a moment. “I would say that the Native Americans had the right idea.”

It was Gabby’s turn to laugh now. “But you own a skyscraper. You have personal jets.”

“I have those things because I must have those things. It is the world we live in.”

“I thought you were trying to change the world,” Gabby retorted.

He gave her that winning smile again. “And round and round we go. If you have done your homework, you will know that this building’s windows are made of solar panels. In the basement is one of the world’s most advanced thermal power generators. This building creates more power than it uses. Over two hundred thousand kilowatts are put into the grid every month. You are correct. I am trying to change the world. And I am doing so by example. Now, unless you have any more questions, I must be going. Saving the world is busy work.”

He got up and came around to her side of the table to pull out her chair.

“Thank you,” she said.

He walked her to the door and offered his hand. “It was good to meet with you, Miss Shepard.”

“Thank you for having me,” she said.

The guard escorted her out, and Michael closed the door behind her

Outside, Quip was waiting not so patiently. “What took you so damned long?” he said in a huff.

Gabby was distracted by a noise on the roof and turned to watch a helicopter flying away.

“Hello?” Quip sang.

“Sorry. What did you say?” said Gabby.

“Damn, girl. He cast some sort of spell on you?”

“I was just thinking. C’mon. I need a cocktail.”

“So? What did he say?” Quip asked from the passenger seat.

Gabby stopped at a red light and waved her phone. “I’ve got it all on here. But the gist of it was ‘I’m a great guy who is trying to save the planet.’”

“What about Maggy?”

“Well, I didn’t just come out and ask him.”

Quip scoffed. “No shit, Shirley. But you could have sugarcoated it and gotten some general information on his rumored relations with strippers.”

Gabby bit her nail, wondering why she hadn’t thought of that.

“You should have let me go in,” said Quip.

“I don’t even know you.”

Quip waved her off. “I know you. You’s what they call ‘in over her damned fool head.’”

“You know, you’re kind of rude to people you just met. Maggy might have liked that over-the-top, in-your-face shit, but I don’t appreciate it.”

Quip whistled and fanned himself with a little Japanese fan he had been hiding God knew where. “If truthful is rude, then I’m a bitch. I don’t sugarcoat it, honey. You want a fake-ass friend like that, go get one; they’re a dime a dozen. Quip is one in a million, baby. Believe dat!”

Gabby sighed and shook her head. “You still want that drink?”

“Does Channing Tatum make you hard? I always want a drink.”

Flustered, Gabby gunned it through a yellow light.

“Where are we going?” Quip asked. “I know a great little place back the other way.”

“I was thinking my place.”

“Oh, honey,” said Quip, resting the fan over his chest. “I’m sorry. I don’t swing that way.”

“You want to go or not? There might be something of yours at Mags’s place anyway.”

Quip sobered at the mention of his dead friend. “Yeah, that’s fine. I didn’t have any plans anyway.”

“You?” said Gabby, raising an eyebrow. “On a Friday night?”

Quip scoffed. “I got plenty of
prospects
, just no plans. Nothing as important as saying good-bye to Maggy.”

They rode for a time in silence. It was a comfortable silence, Gabby realized. She felt quite safe around Quip. He wasn’t exactly macho, but he was tall and had the body of an African god. She had no doubt that Quip could hold his own against just about anybody. She realized also that he was just the type of friend that Maggy had attracted.

***

Within two minutes of entering the house, Quip had gone downstairs into the wine cellar as if he owned the place. But the action told Gabby that he had obviously been here before, which put to rest any suspicions she still had about Queen Princess.

“Call me a lush,” said Quip as he emerged with two dusty bottles. “But I think this calls for one of Mags’s favorites.”

He put the two bottles of ten-year-old French pinot noir on the counter and cocked a hip.

Gabby popped a cork, and they cheered to “the indomitable Maggy.”

They burned through three bottles that night, sharing stories of their sister and friend. Quip had her laughing so hard at times that she almost blew wine out of her nose. He told the funniest stories and was so animated that Gabby was helpless to resist enjoying herself. After the second bottle, he reenacted a dance routine that he and Maggy had performed at a downtown drag club. He insisted that Gabby try to learn Maggy’s parts, and though she refused at first, she soon found herself being dragged onto the impromptu dance floor beside the kitchen island.

The witching hour came and went, and Gabby found that she was quite drunk. The two had been laughing and carrying on for so long that her cheeks hurt terribly.

“I’ve got to get some sleep, Quip. I think I’ve got the spins.”

He forced her to drink down two big glasses of water, saying that she would thank him in the morning. She gagged more than once and got the water down before being led to the bedroom. Quip helped her out of one of the frilly costumes they had found in the closet and tucked her into bed.

“Sleep tight, child. Queen Princess is watching over you. Ain’t no wolves going to make it through this door.”