Endgame Page 4

  "It will if she's the head of Braxton Labs." Madison drew out the last two words, waiting for him to acquiesce. Tracy Braxton was the best in the country.

  "We'll see." He shrugged, his gaze dismissive.

  Anger flashed, and she opened her mouth to retort, but Harrison cut her off, his expression carefully neutral. "I've also been studying the progress of the Chinese agreement, taking into consideration the effect on negotiations with each death." He pointed at his computer. "If someone is trying to damage the accord, there should be a correlation. In addition, I'm also in the process of gaining access to e-mail and computer records for all six men."

  Gabriel nodded. "How about family members? Has any attempt been made to talk with them?"

  "We've only been on the case for twenty-four hours." Madison tried but couldn't keep a note of exasperation from her voice. "We're not miracle workers. Besides, I was waiting for you. We are supposed to be collaborating on this."

  "Well, I'm here now. So it seems the first order of business is for the team to meet." Gabriel stood up, bis black brows drawn together, eyes narrowed in thought. "Since you've already done the preliminaries—" he nodded in Harrison's direction "—why don't you prepare an overview of what you've found? And Madison can bring us up to speed on the Chinese accord. If the two things are related we'll need to understand the ins and outs of what's gone into negotiations, as well as understanding who the remaining key players for the consortium are." He glanced down at his watch. "We'll reconvene here tomorrow morning."

  "Is that all?" Madison fought to control her temper. She hated being dictated to more than anything, shades of a childhood spent with a business tycoon for a father.

  "For now," Gabriel said, turning to leave the room, her sarcasm obviously sailing right over his head.

  She turned back to Harrison, her mouth still open to retort. Harrison was grinning. And Madison suddenly felt the absurd desire to laugh. "Was it my imagination or did he have a bit of a God complex?"

  "I think maybe you're overstating things just a bit." Harrison laughed, leaning back against the conference table.

  "Not at all. The man practically dragged me back to the cave by my hair."

  "Well, I'll have to agree with the cave part. But if your reaction is anything to judge by, I'd say he'd have gotten you there without damaging your do."

  "What the hell are you talking about?" She was yelling, which was something she never did, the hot burn of her cheeks a telltale sign that she was losing it.

  Harrison held up his hands in defense. "Nothing. I just call them the way I see them. And you've got to admit that Roarke has your number. He hit nine out often buttons and has reduced you to shrieking."

  She shut her mouth with an audible click. Harrison was right. Gabriel Roarke had managed to completely unnerve her, probably intentionally. And she'd promised herself a long time ago that she'd never again let a man get to her like that.

  No matter how much he intrigued her.

  Gabriel strode through the hotel lobby, trying to order his thoughts. Whatever he'd expected of Cullen Pulaski's protege, Madison Harper wasn't it.

  On the one hand she was a real beauty, complete with long legs, tight ass and silky blond hair he itched to bury his fingers in—California clean with a New York City edge. On the other hand, she saw a hell of a lot more than he was comfortable with, her piercing gray gaze stripping him naked with no more than a glance. It was enough to drive a man to drink.

  He stopped at the door to the bar, the lively conversation inside enticing. Normally he didn't drink this early in the day, but at the moment the idea held real merit. Everything was happening too fast. He'd spent the last two days trying to pull out of his undercover persona, to recapture some sense of the real Gabriel Roarke.

  But the truth was he'd lost himself years ago, his identity eroding away like a riverbank. Sometimes in tiny, almost unidentifiable bits and pieces—other times in huge chunks, the roaring water threatening the entire structure. What was left was an empty shell. A finely tuned machine.

  And Gabe was comfortable with the fact, preferring it to the demons that haunted him. It was far easier to bury himself in work, to hide from the past and the mistakes he'd made. With a shake of his head, he turned his back on the bar and headed for the elevator. What he needed was a hot shower, and some time with the files Madison had given him.

  Just the thought of her sent a riot of emotion rushing through him, a flood he wasn't certain he was equipped to handle. And that, added to his mixed emotions about the mission in general, made the present situation untenable. Cullen Pulaski wanted the Gabriel Roarke he'd been fourteen years ago. But quite frankly, that man didn't exist.

  He stepped onto the elevator and stood silently, watching the light over the door move from floor to floor. With a subdued ding it stopped, the doors sliding open to expose a genetically themed hallway. Hotels were all alike.

  He inserted the key card and entered his room. After the artificial brightness of the hallway, it seemed abnormally dark, the heavy drapes closed against the city glare. The hairs on his neck rose as the instincts that had kept him breathing over the last decade kicked in.

  He wasn't alone.

  Automatically, he reached to his waist for his gun, dismayed to realize it was across the room in his suitcase. Moving with a stealth born of experience and adrenaline, he was across the room and reaching for his weapon when a voice broke the darkness.

  "You're losing your edge, Roarke." Sunlight flooded the room as the curtains parted, and Payton Reynolds stepped out from behind them. "One more second and you'd have been a dead man."

  "Or you." Gabriel swung around to face his friend, his gun barrel trained on the other man's chest. "What the hell are you playing at?"

  "Just testing your wits." The younger man smiled, laughter quirking the corners of his mouth. "I thought you'd never get back."

  Gabe returned the smile despite himself, and lowered his weapon. Payton hadn't changed a bit. He'd never had any patience—unless he was hunting someone. Then he was tenacious as hell, keeping at it until he had his quarry centered in the crosshairs.

  He spoke seven languages, knew more guerilla warfare than possibly any man alive, and had an uncanny knack for thinking ahead of the game, seeing inside someone's head, guessing the direction of his thoughts before the poor bastard got there himself.

  "And in the meantime you decided to break into my room?" Gabe walked over to his suitcase and dropped the gun inside, then turned back to face his friend.

  Payton shrugged. "It wasn't difficult. And I needed a place to wait."

  "You couldn't have just gotten a room of your own?"

  His smile was slow. "And spoil the fun?" He moved forward and the sunlight caught his scar, the jagged line starting at his brow and cutting diagonally down to his chin.

  "When did you get in?"

  "A couple of hours ago. I'd have been here sooner, but it was a little dicey getting out of Beijing. Some unfinished business." His face tightened for a moment, then almost as quickly relaxed. Payton kept his own counsel. Sharing only what he deemed absolutely necessary.

  Always a loner, he'd beat around the army for several years before landing in Delta Force. But once there, he'd taken to operations like the proverbial duck to water, and Gabe couldn't have asked for a better man.

  Until Iraq.

  After that, he'd never really been the same. He'd spent almost a year in recovery, and then disappeared, going underground, supposedly selling his services to the highest bidder. Gabe had never asked for the truth. And Payton had never offered.

  All that mattered was that he trusted the man. With his life, if necessary.

  Payton moved farther into the room, his gaze assessing. "So where the hell have you been?"

  "Meeting my counterpart." The word was innocuous enough, but somehow he'd managed to give it context, because Payton's smile widened.

  "The profiler?"

  "I see you read my files." G
abe shot a look at the open folder on the desk. Payton was nothing if not efficient.

  "There wasn't much else to do." Payton shrugged. "Is Nigel here?"

  "Yeah. I sent him over to get the medical examiner's final report on Bingham Smith."

  "The one who fell in front of a train?"

  Gabe nodded. "I figured we ought to check the details ourselves, rather than trusting someone else's sources."

  "Ah," Payton said, "we're back to the profiler again. Surely she's not that bad?"

  "She's fine." More than fine, actually. The woman was a looker, and the buttoned-up G-man persona had only enhanced the fact. "It's just this whole thing. I don't like being anyone's puppet."

  "Then I'm afraid you're in the wrong profession, chum." Payton dropped onto a chair, suddenly looking tired, his scar white against his tan. "Dancing to someone else's tune is the name of the game. My guess is it's the puppeteer you're upset with more than anything. Cullen Pulaski has a way of rubbing folks the wrong way, you in particular."

  "If I recall, you're not exactly a Pulaski cheerleader yourself."

  "I pride myself on not cheerleading for anyone. Except maybe myself." The man's smile turned self-mocking. "You get anything new from the profiler?"

  "Her name is Madison Harper." Just stating her name sent electricity coursing through him—the woman had definitely made an impression, but probably not the one she'd wanted.

  "All right." Amusement colored Payton's voice. "Did Madison have any new information?"

  "They found three more deaths that could fit the pattern."

  Payton frowned. "They?"

  "Seems I'm not the only one who brought in his own people. She's got a friend, Harrison something or other, a computer geek. He's the one who found the additional deaths."

  "Sounds like the kind of man we can use. Know anything about him?"

  "No But I will." Gabe grimaced. "And in the meantime I gave them both assignments."

  "And how did that go down?"

  Again Gabe saw piercing gray eyes, silver laced with steel. There was more to the woman than looks. She had backbone, too. And he admired that in anyone. Even a female. "Not well. I think she took it as more of a challenge than an order. But the end result will be the same."

  "And as far as you're concerned, that's all that matters?"

  It was a question Gabe wasn't certain he could an-swer—at least on one level. But he quickly pushed the thought aside. "Of course. I want to find the answer to Cullen's puzzle, stop whoever is behind it, and get the hell out of here."

  "And that starts with what the geek found."

  "Yeah. All three dead guys were key members of the consortium. Which brings our total to six. All in the past thirty-six months."

  "How long has the consortium been working on the Chinese accord?"

  "Almost three years. But there would have been prep work so it could go back further than that."

  "And our guys were involved?" Payton's brows drew together in concentration.

  "Exactly. We'll know more tomorrow." Gabe let out a sigh. God, he hated working by committee, far preferring the ease of handling things on his own. But life rarely afforded that opportunity. Especially when Cullen Pulaski was around.

  Besides, if he was honest, he'd have to admit that the only real fly in his ointment wore a blue suit and Chanel No. 5.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Madison was running late, a fact she loathed, but could do nothing about. All efforts to hail a taxi had been futile and she'd wound up taking the bus. Under normal circumstances she quite enjoyed the M31 and people-watching out the window, but today she was meeting with Gabriel Roarke and she didn't think that he was the type to tolerate anything less than punctuality.

  She sighed, checked her watch, and hurried into the elevator, willing it to move faster. If everyone was already there, she'd have to make an entrance, and she abhorred that kind of attention.

  Especially with him watching.

  She got off on the 43rd floor and made a beeline for the conference room, her heart beating a staccato rhythm in her chest. The elevator door on her left dinged, and she glanced over as it opened.

  "Madison, darling." Cullen Pulaski stepped into the hallway and pulled her into a bear hug. Not exactly a professional moment, but at least she didn't have to go into the lion's den on her own. "You remember Kingston and Jeremy?" He released her, gesturing to the men behind him.

  Madison forced a social smile, and they all began to walk toward the closed door of the conference room. Kingston Sinclair was a longtime associate of her father's. Known for his unbending tenacity in business, his ex-marine attitude showed in both his work and his physique. Despite his age, he was in top physical form, his strength due more to years of routine than any vanity. She remembered him at family affairs, always in the corner with a colleague and a whiskey—straight.

  Jeremy Bosner and her father were old friends. He had acted the role of kindly uncle most of her life, like Cullen, serving as a sort of stand-in for real family. She hadn't seen him much since she'd left home for college, but her memories were fond ones.

  As the vice-chairman of the consortium, Jeremy should have taken charge after Bingham's death, but he'd been passed over when the board had selected Cullen instead. Today tension was evident in the line of his shoulders and his clenched hands. Maybe he wasn't as comfortable with Cullen in the chairman's seat as he'd have everyone be-lieve. Or maybe he had other concerns. Madison forced herself not to jump to conclusions—an occupational hazard.

  Cullen pulled the doors open and the four of them walked into the room. Sitting on the far side of the table, his grin rivaling the Cheshire cat's, Harrison was the first person she saw. But even so she could feel Gabriel Roarke, the current between them powerful and compelling. She pivoted slightly and their gazes met and held.

  He was clean-shaven, dressed all in black and leaning casually against the windowsill. But there was nothing casual about this man. Even relaxed, he held himself under tight control, his expression giving away nothing. They stood for what seemed to be an eternity, eyes locked, until Madison grew uncomfortable, and despite her resolve, looked away—straight at the amused eyes of the man sitting next to him.

  Curly brown hair framed a wonderfully craggy face highlighted by a pencil-thin moustache and neatly shaved half beard. He was dressed in a turtleneck sweater, tweed jacket, and corduroy pants. All that was missing was a pipe and a couple of dogs.

  This had to be Nigel Ferris.

  He coughed discreetly and she drew in a deep breath, surveying the rest of the room while she pulled her thoughts in order. Directly across from Gabriel and Nigel, a fourth man sat holding a cup of coffee, his dark hair spilling around a pale face bisected by a jagged scar. Knife wound, if she had to call it. An old one. He lifted his head, throwing his face into full light, as if daring her to comment, his green-eyed gaze assessing.

  AWOL had evidently decided to return to the fold. She struggled to remember his name. Payton something. His expression was somewhat less forbidding than Gabriel's, but only slightly.

  Wonderful.

  "Morning, Cullen," Gabriel said, pulling Madison's thoughts firmly back to the matter at hand.

  With a brief nod for Jeremy and Kingston, Gabriel's eyes fixed on her again, his lips curled upward in a mocking smile. "Glad you could join us, Miss Harper." His voice was dismissive as if she were a truant schoolchild.

  Anger washed through her and almost unconsciously she straightened her stance. "It's Madison. And I wasn't aware there was a time card to punch." She purposely walked past him to take a seat by Harrison, turning her smile to the group at hand. "But now that everyone's here, shall we begin?"

  Gabriel opened and then shut his mouth, as attention shifted to her. With an inward smile, she started the meeting, determined to maintain the upper hand. "I think first off we need to have introductions."

  "You all know Cullen." She nodded in his direction. "And this is Kingston Sinclair. He head
s up Radion Enterprises and serves on the consortium board." Kingston lifted a hand. "And Jeremy Bosner serves as VP for the consortium and owns Activitron Electronics." Both men, along with her father, Cullen, and a handful of others, were card-carrying members of America's industrial elite.

  "We're delighted that all of you could come on such short notice." Cullen took over the meeting effortlessly. Madison sat back with a sigh, happy for the opportunity to simply observe. "You both know Madison." Cullen smiled benevolently in her direction. "And next to her is Harrison Blake. Harrison is an expert in computer foren-sics."

  The man with the scar studied them both intently, as if memorizing their faces, then stared back down at his coffee cup.

  "That's Gabriel Roarke." Cullen waved a well-manicured hand in Gabriel's direction. "He's heading up the team with Madison." He paused for a moment, studying the two remaining men. "The dapper fellow next to him is Nigel Ferris, and the quiet one with the coffee is Payton Reynolds."

  Madison wondered how many times people introduced Payton by some nonessential identifier. Anything to avoid the scar. It was a natural reaction, a polite one in most cases, but she'd bet money that Payton Reynolds wasn't the kind of man who appreciated deception of any sort.

  "Now that we all know each other, why don't we get down to business." Gabriel Roarke neatly assumed command, sidestepping her completely. Which was no doubt exactly what she deserved for letting her attention wander.

  Still, she wasn't the type to just sit back and do nothing. "Good idea." She forced a smile. "I'll start, shall I? I spent the morning on the phone to Tracy Braxton."

  "From Braxton Labs?" Jeremy asked, obviously impressed.

  Madison nodded. "I asked her to examine all three autopsy reports."

  Kingston frowned. "Jacob didn't have one. So there should only be two."

  "Harrison has found three more deaths that fit into the pattern," Gabriel interjected, looking down at his notes. "Luther Macomb, Frederick Aston, and Alan Stewart all died within the last thirty-six months."

  "People die all the time." Jeremy frowned.

  "Yes, but these fit the pattern," Harrison said. "All three were members of the consortium, and they were all active in working on the accord. And—" he paused for effect, ever the showman "—all three were apparently quite healthy."