Endgame (Last Chance Series) (13 page)

"Not that I know of." She'd linked her hands together, her knuckles white with the effort. "But then we hadn't talked recently."

"You were estranged?" Nigel had taken a seat on a chaise, his posture giving the illusion of breeding, as if he sat in millionaires' mansions on a daily basis. Mrs. Patterson's smile was weak, but genuine.

"Not at all. We were quite close. Normally, we talked daily. But she was so busy at work. She hardly ever made it home."

Gabriel raised an eyebrow.

"She had an apartment in the city. When she had an early meeting or was planning on being out late, she stayed there instead of coming home."

Nigel frowned. "What about her husband?"

Bertrice shook her head, disapproval radiating from her very pores. "He rarely goes to the city anymore."

"Is he unwell?" Nigel asked.

"No." She shook her head, her diamonds swaying with the motion. "Just lazy. Fundamentally so, I'm afraid."

"Is the marriage sound?" Gabriel wondered suddenly if perhaps they'd missed the boat on this one. Maybe there was another suspect.

"In its own way, I suppose. They seem to tolerate each other. And for whatever reason Candace showed no interest in divorce."

"Is it possible he may have felt differently?"

Bertrice laughed, the sound hollow. "Believe me, he hasn't the gumption for something like that. And besides, there's a prenup. With Candace gone, he's left high and dry."

"What about work?"

"I wouldn't know anything at all about that." She shrugged. "You'd need to ask her father."

Nigel frowned. "I wasn't aware that Mr. Patterson had anything to do with Lexco."

Again she laughed, but this time the sound was more natural. "He doesn't. But then he isn't Candace's real father. I'm afraid I was a bit indiscreet in my younger days. Fortunately Harold overlooked the fact." She waved a bejeweled hand through the air as though dismissing the memory. "Lex Rymon is Candace's father. Although it was years before Candace got him to own up to the fact. Rather a complicated mess, our family."

"Was Mr. Rymon close to your daughter?"

"They got along, but I'd say it was more a business understanding than a father-daughter relationship. My daughter was single-minded about making it on her own. Lex gave her the opportunity to do just that."

"Work for her father." Nigel was stating the obvious, but his tone conveyed much more.

"In a manner, yes. But n
ot in the usual Daddy's-little-girl way. Believe me, she wouldn't have lasted at Lexco if she wasn't up to it. Lex simply wouldn't have allowed it."

"I take it he's not the sentimental type."

Her smile was brittle. "In our circles sentiment is dangerous."

Gabe sensed the interview was over. He stood up, not sure exactly what they'd gained, but accepting that it was time to move on. "Thank you for your time."

Nigel followed his lead, standing up, his expression conciliatory. "We're sorry to have intruded."

"It's all right," she said, her gaze encompassing them both. "I want to know what happened to my daughter, and anything you gentlemen can do toward that end is a welcome intrusion."

The butler materialized at her side, almost from thin air, and with a stiff nod, escorted them from the room. Gabe stepped out into the sunlight, squinting in the afternoon glare.

"Well, that was a colossal waste of time." Nigel reached into his coat pocket for his sunglasses, and put them on, the action masking his expression.

"Probably so. But at least we can be fairly certain that Candace's relatives didn't do her in. From lack of interest if nothing else."

Nigel shrugged, lighting a cigarette. "They don't call them the idle rich for nothing, mate."

Gabe laughed. "It was sort of Stepford-wifeish, wasn't it?"

"And then some. Still, all of it added together makes her involvement with the accord seem a likely motive. The question, of course, is how do we prove it?"

"Well, first off, I think we have to talk to Lex Rymon."

MADISON SAT BACK in her chair, massaging her temples. She'd reread the files, trying to find something that tied the victims together. But beyond their wealthy background and their ties to the business consortium and the accord, there was nothing unique. Which meant that it was going to be hard to predict who would be the next target. Like looking for a needle in a haystack. A defined haystack, but nevertheless a difficult if not impossible task.

The most obvious targets were Cullen, Kingston and Jeremy. They each had principal roles in the upcoming summit and all three held positions of power within the consortium. Although she'd also been able to identify about six others who held similar roles, and another twenty who had primary roles in one area or another. Add to that the fifty member companies, and the list could potentially be inexhaustible.

The primary question, of course, was how much they should be told. Obviously some degree of concern for safety was necessary. But too much information would only cause panic, the result being that the Chinese would head for the hills and the accord would be dead.

Madison sighed and pushed her hair behind her ears. She needed a break.

Payton was over in the corner, typing on a laptop that looked like more like it belonged on the starship Enterprise than in their operations room. He'd sequestered himself almost as soon as Gabriel had issued orders, and best as she could tell, hadn't moved since.

"Any luck?" She walked over to lean against the corner of a desk, looking down at him.

He closed the computer with a snap and swiveled to face her. "Nothing concrete. I've been talking to some of my Chinese contacts, and they're definitely aware of what's been happening. Not only the deaths, but the fact that we've been called in."

"And is that a good thing or a bad thing?" She wasn't sure what to make of Payton Reynolds. He was self-contained like Gabriel, but without his sense of confidence. Almost as if Payton forced himself to keep the world at bay.

Despite the scar, he was the kind of man who could easily disappear into the background. Which if his dossier was to be believed, he'd made into an art form. Stealth as a commodity. But it had taken its toll. Too many hours on his own, pretending to be something he wasn't. It was there in the lines of his face and the hollows under his eyes. Dancing with darkness had a price. And Madison had the feeling that Payton Reynolds had paid—more than once.

"A
little of both, I suspect." His answer was clipped, as if he really wasn't prepared to offer anything more, but she was his commanding officer in a way, and if she wanted to actualize the role she had to be willing to stand her ground.

"Meaning what
exactly?" She straightened up, giving her an even better height advantage, prepared to go the distance if he continued to hold out on her.

Instead, he smiled, the gesture changing his face, casting the scar into shadow, his craggy face suddenly handsome. "There's nothing I'm keeping from you, if that's what you're implying. Unlike Gabriel, I've got no problem with chain of command."

He'd read her like a book, and Madison found herself smiling in return. "I just need to know where we stand with the Chinese. It'll make it easier to decide how much of what we suspect should be made public."

He nodded, considering the question, then tipped back his chair so that he could see her more easily. "As I said, I talked to some of my contacts, and most of them seem to agree that although the delegates are getting
restless, they're not ready to pull out of the game just yet."

Madison frowned, leaning back against the desk. "You said most of them. Was there a dissenter?"

"One." Payton crossed his arms. "Lin Yao. Not his real name, of course." His eyes flickered with mischief. "I'd have to kill you if I told you that."

He was laughing, but there was unmistakable sincerity in his voice, and Madison wondered for a moment what exactly Payton had been doing in China.

"I just want to know what he said."

"First you have to understand that not all the Chinese want the government to make a deal with the United States."

"I realize we have enemies in China, Payton, but surely it's getting better."

"No." He shook his head. "You're missing the point. The United States isn't the problem. The Chinese government is. And there are forces at work within the country that would do anything to make sure that the current regime is unable to maintain its power."

"And getting technological aid from the U.S. would be counter to that mission."

"
Exactly. Unfortunately Lin Yao has no solid evidence. Just innuendo and rumor. My guess is even if Chinese dissidents are involved, they've hired an outside source. Someone with nothing to lose except a paycheck."

"A mercenary."

The word hung between them for a moment, and then Payton's grin reappeared. "Something like that. Or maybe someone who has another gripe with the accord. Someone who couldn't be traced back to the Chinese."

"And of course he has no idea who this person might be."

He shook his head. "Nope. But he's going to do some digging."

"Why would he help us?"

"He wouldn't." Payton shrugged. "But he owes me. And I owe Gabriel. So there you go."

"The mission in Iraq?" The question was out before she could stop it
.

Payton's expression hardened. "It was a long time ago." It was a clear dismissal, but she pressed on anyway, compelled by something she couldn't quite identify.

"Cullen told me a little bit about it."

"Cullen Pulaski is a fool." There was no mistaking the animosity in Payton's voice.

"Then why..."

"I told you—
" he waved a hand through the air, cutting her off "—I owe Gabriel."

Full circle stop.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry. I'm just trying to understand the dynamics of the group. I mean, it's not like I really know any of you."

Payton visibly relaxed, as though whatever demons she'd called forth had
settled back into the dark recesses of his mind. "There's not much to tell really. I served under Gabriel for two tours."

"Delta Force."

He nodded. "We were tasked with some of the more unsavory missions. Including the rescue of Pulaski's underling."

"He said it was a rough mission. That people died."

His dark gaze met hers. "It was a hell of a lot more than that—" He cut himself off, his face shuttering again, whatever he'd been about to say firmly locked away. "Look, the reality is that Cullen Pulaski snaps his fingers and people jump to do his bidding, no matter the cost. Just look how fast you came running."

There was an element of truth in what he said, but she felt compelled to defend her godfather. "Whatever he does, he has good reason. You can count on that."

"What seems reasonable from one point of view often seems less so when viewed from the opponent's side."

"And you think that's what's happening here? That Cullen is manipulating this whole thing to his advantage?" It was exactly what Gabriel had said, the thought at once repulsive and cogent.

"The thought has crossed my mind, but I don't have anything concrete to back it up."

"Just a hunch?" Madison
shivered, certain that if Payton Reynolds had a hunch, there would be something behind it.

"Something like that
." He shrugged, another shadow chasing across his face. "Or maybe it's just that I don't like the man. Anyway, we'll just have to wait until we gather more information. First up, I want to see what Lin Yao finds."

Hopefully, something that cleared Cullen of involvement. Madison shook her head, pushing thoughts of her godfather's innocence from her mind. Payton was right, time would tell.

"In the meantime," she said, forcing a smile, knowing that he could probably see right through her, "maybe Harrison can uncover the identity of the hacker. In my experience, once you attach an IP address to a physical one, it's only a short hop to a suspect."

"It might work that way with domestic crimes, but i
f this is really the work of Chinese dissidents you can be certain that tracing them won't be as easy as finding the computer used to hack into our system."

This time her smile was genuine. "You've obviously never worked with Harrison."

*****

LEXCO HAD corporate headquarters in three countries, but their chief financial operations remained in New York. Which meant the oblig
atory high-rise power building, in this case black glass and steel at the southernmost tip of Manhattan. Lex Rymon had run his company with an iron fist for almost fifty years, and his success was evident even in the steel and concrete of the building.

The executive dining room was no exception, the plush bar appointed with crystal and velvet. Gabe and Nigel had already cased the place and found two security cameras and an acoustic panel that no doubt concealed recording devices. Seems Mr. Rymon liked to check in on his execs.

It had been tempting to disable the devices, but until he'd talked to Rymon, Gabe figured there was no sense in raising suspicion. As far as the man was concerned they were here to ask questions about his daughter's murder— nothing more.

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting." Lex Rymon walked into the room, his expression clearly contradicting the sentiment. He was a big man, rough around the edges despite the Canali suit. His handshake was firm, and Gabe could feel calluses beneath the hundred-dollar manicure. He might be a billionaire, but he had blue-collar in his pedigree somewhere.

"Thanks for agreeing to see us." Nigel was, as always, the consummate diplomat. Maybe it was something in all that tea. "We've just got a few questions."

"Bertrice called me. But I'm not sure what I can add that you don't already know." He motioned to a glass-topped table, and then walked over to the bar. "Can I get you a drink?"

Gabe waved away the suggestion, taking a seat at the table. Nigel followed suit, although he looked longingly at the bourbon Rymon was pouring.

"Bertrice said you suspect something other than robbery." He didn't sound surprised or particularly concerned, just curious.

"Your daughter was robbed postmortem." Nigel looked over at Gabe, the question in his eyes indicating he too had noticed Rymon's lack of emotional response. Either the old boy was good at hiding his feelings, or Bertrice had been right when she'd said there was little love lost between father and daughter.

"That means someone else is responsible for her death. Do you have any leads?" Rymon picked up his glass and brought it to the table, sitting down across from Gabe.

"That's why we wanted to talk to you. We thought maybe you could shed some light on Candace's last few hours. According to your statement, she was working late that night."

Rymon nodded. "She was here, but it wasn't Lexco business that had her here after hours. She was working on that damned accord. It was all she talked about."

"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?"