Park Avenue (Book Six in the Fifth Avenue Series) (66 page)

So, be it,
he thought.
 
So, be it.
 
So, be it.
 
So, be it.
 
No one’s perfect.
 
No one’s perfect.
 
Least of all me.
 
Least of all me....
 
Look at me.
 
Not perfect.
 
Not perfect, at all....

As he brushed against
death’s cold rails, the one thing he didn’t think of was Louis Ryan.
 
When Cullen closed his eyes a final
time—his breathing barely there, the weight on his chest no longer as
intense as it had been throughout the day—he wondered whether he would go
to heaven or hell.
 
For the most
part, he’d lived a good, honest life.
 
He’d made his share of mistakes, but they were nothing to be ashamed
about, at least until now.
 
Where
did this past month leave him in the heavenly order of things?
 
Would he go into the fires of hell, or
would he ascend to the heavens and be forgiven by God?
 

Those were the thoughts
that carried James Cullen out of this world.
 
At first, he felt his body rise, he saw
a bright spiral of light swirl his way.
 
And then, confusing him in those last few moments before his mind winked
out, that spiral turned to the darkest black he’d ever seen, and it consumed
him.
 

In the
absence of answers, his heart seized, his breathing stopped, his body jerked,
and then James Cullen lay still on the sofa, dead.

CHAPTER
NINETY-FOUR

There was only one way to
do this—with urgency.

Spocatti slipped through
the crowd.
 
He watched George
Redman’s security team turn to him as he approached, and probably because of
the look of horror planted on his face, they looked at him with wary concern.
 

Hands dipped into
jackets, where there would be guns.
 
One man stepped left and blocked Redman.
 
Spocatti shook his head at them and held
up his phone, which glowed into the room.
 
He stopped so he wouldn’t start a panic, and waved for one of the men to
come over to him.

“Has Mr. Redman seen
this?” he asked.
 
“The news just
broke.
 
It’s a tragedy.”

“What’s a tragedy?”

With shaking hands,
Spocatti held out his phone.
 
The
man saw enough of what was on the screen that his eyes widened, then he turned
and motioned to the other guard to get Redman.

“What’s your name, sir?”

“Vicenzo Massara.
 
I know Leana—”

“Mr. Massara, would you
be willing to come with us?
 
None of
this can happen here.
 
Mr. Redman
needs to be told in private.
 
He’s
going to want to see your cell for himself while we get on the phone to confirm
whether Ms. Redman is indeed dead.
 
You’ll then be allowed to leave, but please keep this to yourself.
 
Will you do that for Mr. Redman?”

“Of course, I will.
 
But with the press here, it’s just a
matter of time before everyone knows.
 
They’re going to swarm him.”

“That’s why we need to
get Mr. Redman alone, inform him, and then get him out of here.
 
You did the right thing.
 
Come with me.
 
There is a suite of offices around that
corner.
 
That’s right.
 
Cut to the left.
 
Please keep your features neutral.
 
Mr. Redman is behind us.
 
That’s the door there.
 
Let me unlock it.”

“What’s this about?” he
heard Redman say in a low voice behind him.

Spocatti kept his phone
in his left hand, and pressed his belt buckle twice with his other.
 
Two darts fell into his hand, the tips
of which would release a concentrated dose of cyanide once they punctured
skin.
 

The first time he used
them was on a job in Germany.
 
They
worked so well that he knew they were the best and fastest way to deal with the
pressures of the night, particularly with the sheer amount of security he had
to deal with.

The man opened the door.

Behind him, Spocatti
heard what sounded like a woman scream.
 
Though with the orchestra playing and with the buzz of the crowd, he
couldn’t be sure if that’s what it was.
 
He locked eyes with the guard, who also looked as if he had heard
something unusual, and whose face bore the expression of a man determined to
protect Redman from the fallout.

“Somebody might have just
learned the news,” he said to the man.

“Come inside,” he
said.
 
“Quickly.”

Spocatti turned to George
Redman as he was led past him into the room.
 
Will he recognize me?
 
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Redman,” he said.

“Sorry about what?”

“It’s your daughter.”

Alarm came over George’s
face.
 
“What about my daughter?”

Spocatti held up his
cell, took a step forward, and gave the phone to Redman.
 
Then, in one calculated motion, as
Redman read the news of his daughter’s death and his two guards read over his
shoulder, Spocatti took one dart in each hand, focused on the guards, and then
lunged forward, burying the darts deep into their necks and taking all by
surprise.
 

Redman dropped the phone.

Behind him, the men
started to gasp.

Spocatti
leaned back on his left leg and, with a swiftness that could only come from
years of training, he lifted his right leg toward George Redman’s chest,
savagely kicked him, and sent him and the two men behind him toppling to the
floor.

CHAPTER
NINETY-FIVE

Pepper Redman screamed as
the man closed the distance between them, but it was a wasted effort.
 
The orchestra below was too loud, not to
mention the crowd, which was too festive and noisy for anyone to hear anything
from this height.
 
They were seven
floors up, and right now, with this bald-headed beast cornering her, she saw no
way to escape.

“Who are you?” she
demanded.

“I work for Gordon
Elling.”

“Then you work for
me
!”
she shouted.
 
“Do you get it?
 
You work for
me
!”
 
She looked over at the elevator, where
Parker was lying dead inside.
 
She
still couldn’t process it.
 
She was,
at once, numb by his death and enraged by it.
 
“Why?” she asked.
 
“Why did you kill him?
 
He was the best thing that ever happened
to me.
 
What the hell is wrong with
you?”

“Miss Redman, your first
mistake was threatening Mr. Elling.”

Pepper looked
confused.
 
“What are you talking
about?
 
I haven’t threatened
him.
 
I’m terrified of him.”

“Terrified enough to
threaten him.
 
He got your
package.
 
He received the
photographs of you entering his building with the briefcase and exiting without
it.
 
He received the photographs of
you getting into his limousine, including the photograph that showed him
sitting inside of it.
 
And he got
your letter, which you signed.
 
So,
stop playing dumb.
 
You wanted out
of this at the last moment, which you were told never could happen.
 
So, you tried this route.
 
Unfortunately for you, that was a
mistake.
 
This is the end of you.”

“I don’t know what you’re
talking about.”

“Yes, you do.
 
Why lie about it now?
 
Either way, the result is going to be
the same.”

“But in the elevator, you
said you were going to hear my side of it.
 
You said you were going to make a phone call.
 
I assume now that it was to Mr. Elling.”

“That was just to shut
you up.
 
Are you really that stupid,
girl?
 
I killed your man.
 
Do you really expect me to just let you
go now?
 
Really?”
 
He laughed.

She forced herself to
think.
 
Her mind raced.
 
How could this have happened?
 
She saw a lapse in his logic, and went
for it.
 
“Why would I have
photographs taken of me the first day we met?
 
I didn’t know at that point that I
couldn’t back out of the deal.
 
I
was only told how much money to bring.
 
You’re not making sense.”

“I’ve made perfect
sense.
 
This backfired on you.
 
This is where it begins and ends for me
and for Mr. Elling.
 
As smart and as
cunning as you thought you were being, what you never understood is that no one
ever threatens Mr. Elling and comes out of it alive.”

“You’re saying that
you’re going to kill me?”

He took a step closer and
tilted his head to the side.
 
“Oh,
come on, Penelope.
 
After what
happened to your friend in there?
 
What do you think?”

“I’ll double whatever
he’s paying you if you leave now.
 
Just go away.
 
Take the
elevator, leave the building.
 
My
office is upstairs.
 
I can cut you a
check.
 
Or get you cash.
 
If you give me time, I can get you
cash.
 
You can tell Mr. Elling that
I got away, and that money will be yours.
 
No one needs to know.
 
Please
don’t do this.”

“Do you think I’m an
idiot, Penelope?
 
If I get in that
elevator, you’ll signal someone from security, and you’ll have me detained by
the time I reach the lobby.”

“I wouldn’t do that.
 
I swear I wouldn’t.
 
I want to live.
 
I have too much to live for.
 
You have no idea the life I have in
front of me.
 
You have no idea how
hard I’ve worked for it.
 
I’m
telling you, I wouldn’t do that.”

“Wouldn’t
or couldn’t?
 
Either way, it doesn’t
matter, because right now you die.”

CHAPTER
NINETY-SIX

Carmen stood along the
periphery of the dance floor, watching Michael Archer twirl his sister around
to the delight of many.
 
When the
waltz ended with a burst of applause, Leana gave her brother a kiss on the
cheek.

Carmen needed to get to
them now, while they were still together.
 
She removed her cell from her clutch, turned it on and checked the
image.
 
But she looked up when she
heard Leana say something to a short, good-looking man with silver hair.
 
The man nodded, and then spoke into his
cell.
 
A moment later lights in the
lobby dimmed, and a spotlight was trained on Leana, who kept hold of her
brother’s hand.

She was going to give a
speech of some sort.

“I’ll keep this very
brief,” Leana said to the crowd.
 
“But I wanted to take a moment to thank all of you for coming in support
of my first hotel.
 
I can’t tell you
what it means to me.”

Again, the crowd applauded,
only louder this time, and Leana lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the
light so she could see them.
 

“The Park is possible
because of a few people.
 
First, my
husband, Mario De Cicco, whose guidance and support have been unwavering.
 
I can’t see you, Mario, but I know
you’re close.
 
My general manager,
Zack Anderson, whose enthusiasm and love for the hotel business shows in every
detail of what you’ve seen here tonight.
 
To my brother, Michael Archer, whom a few of you might know.
 
He and I have been put through the
ringer over the past few weeks, for whatever reason, but we’re here tonight and
stronger because of it.
 
He’s going
to kill me for saying this, but he has a new movie coming out next week, so go
and see it.”