Park Avenue (Book Six in the Fifth Avenue Series) (67 page)

She turned to him as the
crowd laughed, she saw him shake his head at her, and then she grasped his hand
tighter.

“Just a few more people,”
Leana said.
 
“But they’re very
important, so please indulge me.
 
To
my head of security, Sean Scott, who has kept me safe and sound thanks to the
recommendation of my great friend, Anastassios Fondaras, who also is here
tonight—as if you ladies didn’t know.”
 
She turned and reached out to Scott, who
was standing behind her.
 
“Stop
blushing,” she said.
 
“I can see it
from here.”

“I’m not blushing, Miss
Redman.”

“You are so
blushing.”
 
She turned back to the
crowd.
 
“Finally, I’d like to thank
two very important men in my life.
 
First, my father, George Redman, whose own hotel, The Hotel Fifth, opens
tonight on Fifth.
 
I hope you all
spend time there at some point.
 
He
has taught me a great deal about business without him even knowing it, and I’m
grateful for that.
 
Probably more
than he knows.
 
And finally, there’s
Harold Baines, my hero, and my forever best friend.
 
Many of you knew Harold.
 
Many of you knew how special he was, how
interesting and kind he was.
 
What
some of you might not know is that this hotel was restored because of a
significant gift Harold gave to me.
 
It’s my intention to seek out other historic buildings in this city, and
save them through detailed restorations, just like the one you’ve seen here
tonight.
 
I love my city.
 
I know all of us love our city.
 
While none of you ever will find me
building a skyscraper, you will find me occasionally throwing parties like this
that celebrate an historic building that deserved a second chance, and got
it.”
 
She nodded her head at them
and pulled her brother closer.
 
“Thank you,” she said.
 
“Now,
lights off me, and back to the party.”

The spotlight was turned
off, the lights in the lobby resumed to normal, and Carmen stood there, quietly
furious as dozens of well-wishers came up to talk to Leana.
 
Walking off the dance floor was
Michael.
 
Carmen looked from him to
Leana, and knew that he was her ticket.

She switched on her phone
and walked over to him.

“Mr. Archer,” she said,
“I’m so sorry.”

He looked down at
her.
 
His brow furrowed.
 
“Sorry about what?”

“The news just
broke.
 
I was checking my voicemail
while Leana gave her speech, and a friend sent this to me.
 
Here,” she said.
 
She showed him her phone, which featured
her Photoshopped Google news image of George Redman’s murder at The Hotel
Fifth.
 
She watched his face turn to
stone, and knew she had to act now before he decided himself how best to go
forward.

“Leana is surrounded by
people now,” Carmen said.
 
“Before
the press gets wind of this, maybe you should bring her over.
 
We can go somewhere private, show this
to her, and then I’ll leave you in private to console her, to make phone calls,
and also so you can be alone.
 
My
concern is that if we don’t act now, the media will tear her apart.
 
It’s just a matter of time.”

“Give me a moment,” he
said.

When Michael returned,
Carmen saw what she was faced with—Michael Archer, Leana Redman, and the
towering man Leana had just publicly thanked for protecting her.

“What’s this about?”
Leana asked.

“It’s best if we go to a
private space,” Michael said.
 
“Quickly.
 
Do you or Sean
know of any place where we can talk alone?”

“I’ll ask again,” Leana
said.
 
“What is this about?”

Carmen watched Michael
nod at the hulking man standing behind Leana, who waved his hand ahead of
them.
 
“There are offices just
behind where the guests check in.
 
We can use one of those.”

Carmen followed them
through the crowd, already knowing that she was in over her head.
 
She could take care of Leana and Michael
without a problem, but the other man?
 
The one who was three times her size?
 
She wasn’t sure of that at all.
 
He reeked of former military.
 
She knew that if he was chosen to
protect Leana, which clearly was the case, that he likely was as skilled as
she.

I need to abort this,
she thought.
 
I can’t do this alone.
 
Not with him here.
 
Even Spocatti would know when he was
outnumbered.
 
We protect ourselves
first.

But as
she thought this and they moved through the reception area and into one of the
offices, something caught her eye.
 
Her gaze lingered upon it for an instant; she continued forward without
a hitch, and she began to process a new plan that might work if she played this
correctly.

CHAPTER
NINETY-SEVEN

Spocatti had no time to
waste.
 
Soon, people would wonder
where Redman was.
 
Security would
wonder, and they’d start searching.
 
He needed to finish this and walk calmly out of here, and then, on the
street, he needed to send Carmen a text to see if she was either finished or
still at it.

He looked down at Redman,
who was stunned and struggling to get to his feet while the two guards lay
unmoving on the floor.
 
Their eyes
were open, but they were unseeing.
 
The men were dead.
 
One had
fallen on top of Redman, essentially pinning him to the ground.

“Get up,” Spocatti
said.
 

“Who sent you here?”

“Louis Ryan sent me.”

“Don’t fuck with me.
 
Who sent you?”

“I’ve already told
you.
 
Ryan speaks from the
dead.
 
Or, at least from his will,
which has directed much of this, though not all of it.
 
I hear Antonio De Cicco was behind a
good deal of it.
 
Who knew?
 
And a relation by marriage no less.
 
I’d say that’s cold.”

Spocatti took a step
forward.
 
“Do you remember me, Mr.
Redman?
 
Three years ago?
 
In this very building, but in Leana’s
office, which was on one of the higher floors?
 
You remember, don’t you?
 
You and Ryan scuffling like schoolboys,
only with a loaded gun between you?
 
Your daughter, Leana—who also will die tonight—being shot in
the gut, just as you were?
 
Do you
remember that?
 
Do you remember me?”

George looked
confused.
 
“Leana’s not dead?”

“Maybe.
 
Maybe not.
 
I’m not sure, but by night’s end she
will be.”

“But your phone said she
was.”

“Cell phone tricks,”
Spocatti said.
 
“You were looking at
an image, not at a website.”
 
He
clucked his tongue.
 
“So easily
fooled.”

“There are cameras all
over this building,” Redman said.

“So, there are.
 
Are there any in here?
 
I haven’t seen any, which makes this my
lucky day.
 
Get up.”

George didn’t move.

“Get up now, or I’ll make
sure your death is slower than theirs was.
 
Now, get up.”

George struggled to push
the man off him; he turned onto his side, and collapsed from the effort.
 
Redman was a big man and in good shape,
but he obviously had been hurt in the fall because he was having difficulty
getting one of his legs underneath him.
 
Knowing he had little time left, Spocatti thought that instead of
breaking the man’s neck, which is what he had planned to do, he should just use
another dart and be done with this so he could get out of there.

He glanced down, pressed
the button on his belt buckle, and another dart fell into his palm.
 
Just as he was pinching the end of it
and preparing to throw it at Redman, Redman spun around and faced him.
 

In his hand was a gun.

Surprised, Spocatti took
a step back.
 

When Redman was on his
side and blocking his view while trying to stand, he must have pulled it free
from one of the guard’s holsters.
 

The next few moments
passed in a blur.

Instinct
told Spocatti that Redman wouldn’t wait to shoot, and he was correct.
 
With the gun shaking in his hand, George
Redman fired the gun three times.
 
In the same moment, Spocatti leaped sideways into the air, swung his arm
around in a fierce arc, and threw the dart straight toward Redman’s face.
  

CHAPTER
NINETY-EIGHT

“Leana,” Michael said,
when Sean closed the door behind them.
 
“There’s been some distressing news.”

For a moment, her face
became tense with worry.
 
“Where’s
Mario?
 
Does this have anything to
do with Mario?”

“It doesn’t,” Michael
said.
 
“As far as I know, Mario is
safe.”

“So, this is an issue of
safety?”
 
It was her guard who asked
the question.
 
“What’s happened,
Michael?”

 
Michael looked at Carmen, and she felt a
sinking in her gut because she knew what was about to come.
 
She stood near the door and
intentionally looked as if she was the bearer of the worst news possible.
 
She lifted her eyes to the ceiling, and
waved a hand in front of her face as if she were trying to evaporate tears.

“I’m sorry,” Michael
said.
 
“I never got your name.”

“I’m Ginger Hines.
 
I’m a friend of Anastassios, who knew I
wanted to come.
 
I had no idea I’d
be in this position tonight.”

“What position?” Leana
asked.

Carmen held out her phone
for Michael, who took it, and showed it to the man who was there to protect
Leana.
 
The man read the screen, but
there was no reaction on his face.
 
Michael held the phone at his side.

“I’m so sorry,” Carmen
said.
 
“A friend told me when you
were giving your speech.
 
I thought
it was only right to let you know before the media attacked you, which they
will.
 
They probably know now.
 
I didn’t mean to interfere, but I’ve
read what you’ve been through.
 
I
thought that letting you know first could help.”

“I’m not going to ask
again.
 
What are you talking about?”
Leana asked.
 

Carmen willed tears to
her eyes.
 
“Keep my phone.
 
I’ll come back for it later.
 
I can’t be here right now.
 
I can’t see this.
 
I’m so sorry, Leana.
 
I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry about what?”
 
She looked at Michael, obviously
confused, worried and angry.
 
No one
was telling her what she wanted to know, and her frustration was mounting.
 
“What is she talking about?”

“May I leave?” Carmen
asked.

“Thank you,” Leana’s
security guard said.
 
“We appreciate
all that you’ve done, Ms. Hines.
 
I
know this wasn’t easy.”

“It’s tragic,” she
said.
 
“I didn’t mean to be the
one—”

“We understand,” he said.

“Thank you,” she
said.
 
“What is your name?”

“It’s Sean.
 
We’ll have your phone back to you in a
moment.
 
You can wait outside if
you’d like.”

Carmen
wiped her eye and nodded.
 
And then,
with steel in her heart and one grand performance under her belt, she left the
room, collected herself, and walked swiftly down the hallway ready for the next
step.