Stephen Frey (23 page)

T
hey had arrived six weeks ago in a sealed brown envelope. Inside there had been no note claiming responsibility for the hideous contents—two graphic pictures which, since the day they'd been delivered, had accompanied him everywhere. Constantly buried in a pocket because he was too afraid to let them out of his immediate control. Even as he campaigned more successfully each day, they lay nestled close to his heart. As he shook hands with blue-haired ladies at auxiliary luncheons and kissed babies at hospitals. As he smiled sincerely at future constituents and promised to do good work.

Paul sat behind Jimmy Lee's desk gazing vacantly at the photographs that lay before him. He had his own study in his own home just over the hill, but he found that it gave him comfort to come here and sit in his father's chair. It gave him a soothing sense that Jimmy Lee was still looking over his shoulder and that everything would eventually be all right.

He put his wineglass down and picked up one of the photographs. It was a picture of Melissa's battered face and bruised neck as she lay on the sand, eyes wide open, her corneas a ghastly red. He dropped the picture and picked up the second one. The same image stared back at him, except that in this photograph there were hands grasping Melissa's neck. His hands. Paul could see the unmistakable brown birthmark on the third knuckle of his left hand.

Paul shut his eyes, churning in his mind, through the events leading up to Melissa's death, as he had so many times over the years. They'd been swimming in the playhouse pool when she had impulsively decided to go to the lake, pulling him through the mansion and down the hill by the wrist, both of them naked. At the bottom of the hill he'd fallen to the sand in a drunken stupor and closed his eyes for what seemed like only seconds. When he had awakened, she was facedown in the water. She must have drowned, he reasoned, but there were those marks on her neck and the blood-filled corneas. Sure signs that she had been strangled. He grimaced and looked away as the photograph began to tremble in his hand. Then he stuffed both photographs hurriedly into the top drawer of the desk at the sound of a rap on the study door.

“Come in.”

Frank Ramsey entered the room.

“Sit down,” Paul ordered.

“What can I do for you?” Ramsey asked, sinking into a chair on the other side of the desk.

“I want an update on Bo.”

“We could have done that by phone.”

“You and I will not use phones to communicate important information from now on,” Paul said quickly. “Not even land lines. Do you understand me?”

“All right.”

“We will arrange meetings by phone and that will be all.”

“All right,” Ramsey agreed again, trying to understand what was going on. Paul seemed distracted, almost to the point of panic.

Ramsey was certain that the full scope of Warfield Capital's business had never been made clear to him. Upon joining, his primary assignment had been to run the firm as Bo had, following the strategies and disciplines Bo had implemented. Ramsey would take no major risks, and under no circumstances would he allow anyone to uncover Warfield's massive investment in Online Associates, a year-old Internet-infrastructure company based in Fairfax, Virginia, just outside of Washington, D.C. That was all they had told him. It was mysterious, but he hadn't cared. The investment bank he'd been working for had been about to fire him for exceeding his trading limits and losing the firm a significant amount of money. The position at Warfield allowed him to keep his situation quiet and maintain the lifestyle to which he had become accustomed. Jimmy Lee would pay him two million a year and give him an interest, albeit tiny, in the fund. But even a tiny interest in a fund the size of Warfield could be immensely valuable.

Ramsey's immediate superior would be Teddy, but he was also to maintain close contact with a man named Joseph Scully—something that hadn't made any sense to him. Scully didn't appear to be connected with Warfield in any way and was even less numbers-oriented than Teddy. However, Ramsey had complied with his orders, working closely with Scully when Warfield had quietly transferred vast amounts of money down to the little firm in northern Virginia. And then he had learned that Dale Stephenson had somehow become aware of Online Associates.

“Have you spoken to Bo?” Paul asked.

Ramsey shifted uncomfortably in his chair. When Stephenson had turned up dead on a fishing trip, Ramsey had considered the possibility that the timing of Stephenson's accident had been no coincidence. However, he had managed to dismiss the idea that Stephenson had actually been murdered, instead allowing his judgment to be clouded by greed and the fact that his tiny sliver of Warfield Capital could be worth hundreds of millions of dollars. Now Teddy and Tom were gone, and Bo had almost been killed last night in an explosion. “I spoke to him a few minutes ago, in fact. He called to let me know that he would be coming home to the estate tonight and into Warfield first thing in the morning.” Ramsey paused. “He also informed me that Meg had had a bad fall in a parking garage on her way to the hospital.”

Paul glanced up from the birthmark on his knuckle. “Is she all right?” he asked quickly.

“She suffered a concussion and a nasty cut on her head, but she will make a full recovery.”

Paul nodded. “I'm glad, but I'm still very concerned about Bo's return to Warfield.”

Ramsey shook his head. “Bo seems cured, Paul. I don't think you have anything to worry about. I've been watching him closely, and he hasn't been hitting the bottle. He wasn't even drinking at the funeral reception.”

“That's not why I'm concerned,” Paul snapped.

“What do you mean? I thought you were so worried about his late-night activities screwing up your campaign.”

Paul caressed a handle of the desk drawer for a moment before answering. “You and I both know that the real reason I don't want Bo back at Warfield is that I don't want him finding out about our investment in Online Associates,” he finally said. “I don't trust him. He's looking for it, I can feel it.”

“What's so important about Online?” Ramsey asked boldly.

Paul considered his reply carefully. “The company has developed a revolutionary technology. We can't allow anyone to go sniffing around down there.”

“He's your brother, for Christ's sake.”

“All the same, I—” There was a loud knock at the door. “Come in.”

Bruce Laird entered the study. “Sorry,” he said, stopping at the sight of Ramsey. “I'll wait until you're done.”

“No, come in, we're finished.” Paul looked at Ramsey. “I want you to stick to Bo like glue. I want to know if he's digging. Now leave us.”

When they were alone, Paul pointed at Laird. “Are you having an affair with Catherine?” he asked bluntly.

“What?”

“You heard me, Counselor. Are you and Catherine having an affair?” Paul demanded again, louder this time.

“No.”

Paul leaned back in his chair, suspicious of the way Laird had avoided eye contact. “Bo's been doing some digging, Counselor. He's found out about your little problem at Davis Polk eight years ago.”

Laird's eyes flashed to Paul's.

“It's time to be done with him. Make it happen.”

CHAPTER 15

“
I
t's such a nice evening,” Ashley remarked, gazing up through the near darkness at the tall trees towering over them as she came out onto the wide cedar deck spanning the back of Bo's house.

“Very nice.” Bo was nursing a glass of water, which sat on the deck railing.

“It's gotten chilly,” Ashley observed, placing her scotch glass beside Bo's water and pulling the cardigan sweater she had borrowed from Meg's closet snugly up around her neck. “How's Meg?”

“She's upstairs in our room, resting. She's still kind of out of it.”

“I'm sure.” Ashley had raced down to the emergency room with Bo and Silwa to find doctors already working on a gaping cut above Meg's eye. “Have you been able to figure out what happened?”

“She doesn't remember much, and I haven't pressed her on it yet, but as far as we can tell, she lost her balance going down a flight of stairs at the parking garage and hit her head at the bottom. Simple as that.”

“How awful.” Ashley shook her head, imagining the horrible impact.

“She's going to be all right. I've gotten a full-time nurse, who's upstairs with her now.” Bo pulled a cigarette out and lighted it. “I'm going back up there in a few minutes, but I needed a smoke.”

“May I have one?”

“Sure.” Bo reached into his shirt pocket again and held the pack out for Ashley. “I enjoyed this morning,” he said, lighting her cigarette. “It was wonderful to catch up after all these years. I've really missed you.”

“I've missed you too.” They were silent for a while, watching the darkened treetops sway in the evening breeze against a starlit sky. “What's that?” she asked, pointing through the darkness at the tree line a hundred feet from where they stood. Between the deck and the tree line was a neatly manicured rose garden.

“Where?”

“It's kind of a glow through the trees.”

“Oh, that's our carriage house,” Bo answered. The three-bedroom house lay a quarter mile away at the end of a driveway that curled past the mansion and meandered through the woods. “We use it when we have families staying overnight with lots of children.”

“Should I be staying there?” Ashley was using a guest suite in Bo's house.

“No, no,” Bo said quickly. “As I said, we use it when we have families here with lots of kids. I don't care how big a place you have, it's nice to be able to send someone else's children packing when it's time to turn in.”

“Agreed,” Ashley said, laughing. She had often wondered how Bo would be with children. “How are you feeling?” she asked, nodding toward his arm.

“Fine.”

“I don't know why I bothered to ask,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You wouldn't tell me even if that arm was about to fall off.”

Bo grunted his response. She was right.

“Since when did you start drinking vodka?” Ashley tapped his glass. “I remember you as a scotch drinker like me.”

“This is pure water, Sis,” Bo replied proudly, picking the glass up and taking a swallow, thinking how the only time he ever drank vodka in the past was when he had to drive. “I've decided to clean up my act in my old age.”

“I never thought I'd hear you say that.”

“Me neither,” he agreed with a wry smile.

“Have the police or the FBI found out anything about what happened?” Ashley wanted to know, sipping her scotch. “About the explosion, I mean.”

“No. This afternoon I spoke to the agent in charge down at the Bureau office in Lower Manhattan, and he said they hadn't made much progress. They are fairly certain the target was Michael Mendoza, but I'm not taking any chances.” Bo gestured toward the woods. “I've had our security force doubled.” But the estate was so huge, even twice as many men couldn't cover everything.

“How is Michael?”

“I don't know. I called several times today but couldn't get through to his room, and the hospital wouldn't provide any information on his condition. I suppose they are trying to keep a tight lid on this thing, keep it out of the press as long as they can. After all, he is a United States senator.”

“Who do you think was behind the explosion?”

Bo shook his head. “I don't know. A man like Michael Mendoza has many enemies.”

“I have no doubt,” she agreed.

“What?” Bo asked, hearing the unexpected edge in Ashley's voice.

“Nothing,” Ashley said quickly. “Have you tried contacting Silwa? He might know what's going on with Michael.”

“I tried Silwa twice and couldn't reach him. I left a couple of messages on his cell phone. I know he checks it religiously. The times I've called him he's always called me right back.” Bo took a puff from his cigarette. “I hope Michael is all right.” He flicked an ash and watched it dive to the ground ten feet below. “I want to thank you, Ashley.”

“For what?”

“Saving my ass.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were the cavalry. You got here from Europe just in the nick of time. I'm glad you got my messages.”

“I could tell from your voice that you really needed me.” She looked up into the trees again. “I know this sounds terrible, but I don't think I would have come back just for Jimmy Lee's funeral.”

Bo nodded. Jimmy Lee and Ashley had never seen eye to eye. “And I know
this
will sound terrible,” he said. “I don't care why you came back, I'm just glad you did. I'm obviously the most qualified member of our family to run Warfield. You did both of us a favor. I'll take care of your share of the wealth better than Frank Ramsey ever would.” He hesitated. “Most of all, it's just good to see you.”

“Were you surprised they were going to kick you out?” Ashley asked.

“I wasn't surprised at Paul.”

“At Catherine?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I thought we always had a good relationship. I thought she appreciated the fact that I've tried to look out for her all these years. I suppose I was a fool.”

Ashley hesitated. “You can't come between blood,” she said solemnly. “You think you can, but when it comes down to it, you really can't.”

Bo glanced up. “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” Ashley said, her voice turning hoarse.

Bo turned toward her. “You mean you know?”

“Yes.”

“That I'm adopted?”

A tear spilled down her soft cheek. “We're both adopted, Bo.”

He stared at her for several moments. “When did you find out?” he asked gruffly.

“It was the summer before my senior year of college. I was about to take off for California with my friends for vacation. I was in the attic at Mom and Dad's place looking for some clothes and I found the paperwork.” Tears were streaming down her face. “I couldn't believe what I was reading. That you and I were adopted,” she said, choking on her words. “You from an agency in Florida and I from one in Texas.”

Bo placed his cigarette down in an ashtray beside his glass, then took hers from her shaking fingers and slid his arms around her small shoulders. “It's all right, sweetheart.”

“It tore me apart, Bo.”

“And you never told me.”

“I didn't want you to feel as terrible as I did. I was so lost when I found out. It was as if I didn't really belong to the Hancock family. As if I wasn't really a part of all of this,” she said looking out into the darkness behind the mansion. “Suddenly I understood the sarcastic comments Paul and Teddy had made all those years, and it hurt so badly.”

Bo nodded. “I know how you felt, Sis. Exactly how you felt,” he said, remembering the emotions that had ripped through him as Paul and Teddy taunted him in the corridor outside Jimmy Lee's hospital room. “It was like I had been an overnight guest all of these years.”

“Yes, yes,” she agreed, holding on tight, so glad to feel his strong arms wrapped tightly around her.

“Is that why you left?” Bo had wanted to ask her about this for so many years. “Is that why you went to Europe after college and never came back?”

She hesitated. “Partly.”

“Partly?”

“There was another reason,” she admitted, struggling with the words.

“I missed you so much,” Bo said, taking a deep breath. “Maybe I knew. Maybe down deep I always realized that it was you and me against them for more than just the fact that we were the two youngest.”

“And didn't look like them or think like them,” she added.

“Yes,” he agreed reluctantly. “So why did you leave?”

Ashley stepped back from his arms and looked away. “I . . .” But she couldn't finish.

“What, Ashley? Come on,” he urged.

“I can't.”

“Why not?”

She buried her face in her hands and shook her head. “I just can't.”

Bo moved behind her and put his arms around her again. “We used to tell each other everything. Can't we still do that?”

Ashley caressed the back of his hand. “It's something I'm not proud of.”

“Whatever it was, it happened almost twenty years ago. The statute of humiliation has run out.” He kissed her gently on the forehead. “We've all had moments of indiscretion in our youth that we regret. For God's sake, look who's talking. Now tell me. It can't be that bad.” He paused. “It might be important.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tell me, Sis, please.”

She turned slowly to face him. “Bo, I—”

“Hello.”

Bo's head snapped in the direction of the voice. Through the glare coming from a spotlight affixed to an eave high above the deck, he could see Bruce Laird standing by the deck's screen door. “What do you want?” He hadn't heard Laird pull it back and step outside, and he wondered how long Laird had been standing there listening.

“We need to talk, Bolling,” Laird said, his voice full of purpose.

“Can't you see I'm busy?” Bo asked angrily. But Ashley broke free from his grasp, bolted for the door, and brushed past Laird as she ducked inside. “Why have you come to my house, Counselor?” he asked curtly as Laird strode across the deck. “What do you want?”

“It's time to talk.”

“We have nothing to talk about.” Bo grabbed a glass from the railing and realized as he brought it to his lips that he had picked up Ashley's drink by mistake. The scent of scotch rose tantalizingly to his nostrils and for a moment he considered taking a swallow. Just one lovely sip. It had been only a few days since he'd enjoyed the warm flood of liquor into his system, but it seemed like forever. He took another whiff and could almost taste the scotch running down his throat. “You showed your true colors in my father's study last night,” he said, putting the glass down. “You made it clear where your loyalty lies when Paul tried to run me out of Warfield.”

“I was doing my job as the family's attorney,” Laird retorted. “I was advising you and Paul on legal matters related to Warfield Capital. Making certain that your father's wishes were carried out. That the bylaws were being adhered to properly.”

“I know about you, Counselor.”

Laird's posture stiffened. “What are you talking about?”

“I know about that problem you had at your law firm before you joined the Hancock family office eight years ago. And I know that several of your clients were involved in organized crime. I know that you did things you shouldn't have.” Bo saw the shock registering on Laird's expression. Allen Taylor had done his job well over the past few days. “I also know that during those eight years Jimmy Lee never gave you a raise, and that he never gave you a piece of any Hancock business the way he gave Frank Ramsey a piece of Warfield.” Bo paused, allowing what he had said to sink in. “Jimmy Lee didn't have to, because you were screwed. The law firm was about to fire your ass, Counselor. You would have been blacklisted. You had nowhere else to go.”

“Shut up, Bo,” Laird hissed. “You aren't as smart as you think.”

“You couldn't stand Jimmy Lee for what he did to you all those years, could you? Couldn't stand him for manipulating you like some poor puppet. Couldn't stand the fact that he left you with nothing when he died. You have to exact retribution. That vindictive brain of yours won't let you just fade away.” Bo pointed at Laird. “I believe you know a great deal more about what's going on at Warfield Capital than you're letting on. If you're smart you'll tell me right now.”

“I'm warning you, Bo.”

“I suppose I could ask Catherine. You've probably told her everything.”

“Why the hell would I do that?”

“You've been having an affair with her for some time.”

“I have not.”

“Why did Catherine call you the other night when I was at your apartment? I saw the number on your phone. It was Catherine's.”

“She wanted me to escort her to her husband's funeral. I felt that was the least I could do for a woman who had just lost her husband.”

Caught off guard, Bo didn't know what to say. Taylor had been so certain about the affair.

“You know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think
you're
the one who knows more about what's going on at Warfield than he's letting on. You are a relentless man, Bo Hancock. I've known you long enough to realize that when you want something badly enough, nothing gets in your way.” Laird spoke with cold deliberation. “You want to run Warfield, and despite stiff opposition, nothing is getting in your way.”

“What are you saying?” Bo snapped.

“Teddy is gone, allowing you an opportunity which you have taken full advantage of.”

“I've always taken advantage of opportunities,” Bo said, moving closer to Laird, towering over him. “I see no evil in that.”