Billionaire's Tragedy (Standalone Book) (Billionaire Bad Boy Romance) (5 page)

"I know, I
know," he said. "I'm not going to do anything radical. I
promise."

I nodded as he turned and
walked out the door, then I picked up the phone and called my florist and
ordered arrangements sent to each of the families of the victims. I told the
florist to hold the flowers until I could get down there and tuck a note
offering to help in any way I could into each of them. It would be a small
gesture, but those were the ones that had made the most difference to me after
my own parents had been shot and killed.

CHAPTER
SIX

Olivia

I
waved down a cab
just outside of the building and told the driver to take me to the Capitol.
"You know there's been a shooting down there, don't you?" he asked.
"We're supposed to steer clear of the area."

"Yeah, I know,
that's why I need to get there," I said flashing him my press credentials.
"How close can you get me?"

"I'll take you as
far as Independence and New Jersey, but I'm not going to drive into the Capitol
area," he said as he flipped on the meter and pulled away from the curb.

I shrugged and looked out
the window. The streets were covered in a light dusting of snow and combined
with the Christmas music coming from the radio, it gave the city a holiday
feel. I tried to enjoy it, but my mind was full of questions about the shooting.
As the scenery rushed by, I focused on compiling a list of questions I needed
to ask and people I wanted to talk to.

I needed to find out who
the shooter was and then figure out what he'd actually done. Ideally, I'd be
able to trace his path from wherever he stared all the way to the Capitol
steps, but I also knew that the police would be trying to do the exact same
thing and would have the details locked down. I thought about all of my options
and decided that the best way to go would be to wander down there and see what
was going on, then figure out the best approach to take.

"You ever wonder why
people shoot each other?" the cab driver asked. "I mean, what makes a
guy sit up on a Sunday afternoon and decide to grab his gun and go shoot people?"

"That, my friend, is
the million-dollar question," I said.

"I'll bet he had a
fight with his wife," he asserted. "I'll bet they had breakfast
together and then she asked him to do some chore that he'd been putting off for
weeks. When he said he'd get to it, she yelled at him for always putting off
the things she asked him to do, and he yelled at her to stop nagging him. She
told him it wasn't nagging to expect that he'd help around the house, and he
told her that he was working day and night to maintain the house, so she should
be grateful for all the things he did do, and then he grabbed his gun and
headed down to the Capitol."

"Sounds like a
personal matter," I observed with an amused smile.

"It is
personal," he said. "He works hard, and she nags, nags, nags. It's
understandable that he'd eventually go off the deep end."

"Um, John?" I
said as I looked at his hack's license affixed to the backseat. "I'm going
to hazard a guess and say that things are not going well at your home, am I right?"

"How did you
know?"

"Just a hunch,"
I replied. As a young reporter, I used to be amazed by what perfect strangers
would tell me in the form of stories about "other people" in an
attempt to give me information about themselves. As I'd gotten older, I'd come
to expect that most of what anyone told me was really a personal story about
their own situation as they attempted to make sense of their lives. I'd gotten
good at listening and then sorting out the fact from the fiction.

"Wow, you're
good!" he observed as he pulled up to the curb and prepared to let me out.

"Not really," I
said as I fished a twenty out of my wallet and handed it over. "Keep the
change."

"But it's a five
dollar fare," he protested as he dug in his pocket to get change.

"Yeah, and it's the
holidays," I said waving him off. "Go buy your wife some flowers and
tell her you’re sorry for not getting whatever it was finished."

"But it wasn't
me!"

"Whatever,
dude," I laughed. "Buy your wife flowers, anyway; trust me, it'll go
a long way."

I got out and slammed the
door shut, looking both ways before I crossed Independence and headed toward
the Capitol on foot. I could see that the police had cordoned off the entrance
to the Capitol throughway, so I walked past it and headed toward the reflecting
pool. I figured I could probably make the rounds and talk to at least a few
witnesses before someone asked for ID. As I approached the grassy area in front
of the pool, I saw a couple of teenagers huddled together talking and passing a
cigarette around the circle.

"Hey, what
happened?" I asked as I scanned the area, trying to determine if the cops
were anywhere near.

"Some wacko went
postal and shot up the Capitol," a boy with a thin beard and olive wool
cap said. "It was fucked up, man!"

"Oh, really? Do
tell," I said trying to act disinterested enough to get them to spill
everything they knew – or thought they knew. "Got another cig?"

"Yeah, sure,"
the boy said as he fished a crushed pack of American Spirits out of his jacket
pocket and flicked one at me. "Lighter?"

I nodded and took both
from his hand, lighting the cigarette and inhaling deeply. I'd given up smoking
after a run in with rebels in the Congo in which I'd nearly lost my life because
my lungs were so weak I almost wasn't able to run. Since then, I'd only
occasionally bummed a smoke, and this seemed an opportune moment to do so. I
took another drag and as I exhaled, I said, "So, some wacko shot up the
Capitol?"

"Yeah! He went nuts,
man!" the boy shouted as he passed the cigarette he was holding to the
girl standing next to him. She was small and thin with a haircut that only
teenagers could pull off: an inky black buzz cut on one side of her skull with
shoulder-length waves on the other. Her exposed ear was pierced no less than
ten times all the way up the curve and she had a small green stud in her nose.
She was wearing a bomber jacket over what looked like several layers of
t-shirts and a pair of jeans that looked about three sizes too big. On her feet
was a pair of tightly-laced, wine-colored Doc Martens. She looked like the kind
of girl I wished I'd been in high school: cool and totally unimpressed by
anything. She took the smoke from the boy and rolled her eyes as he began
recounting what had happened in an overly dramatic tone. I listened to him, but
watched her out of the corner of my eye.

"He just started
shooting?" I asked.

"Yeah, man, he
grabbed his gun and just started spraying bullets everywhere!" the boy shouted.
"It was fuckin' nuts! We dove to the ground and tried to belly crawl for
cover!"

"Blake, shut the
fuck up," the girl said. "You are such a drama queen and a terrible
liar."

I looked at the girl and
she flashed me a half grin followed by an eye roll that topped all eye rolls. I
waited for her to elaborate, knowing that cool kids were loath to respond to
the nosy intrusion of adults. When she didn't, I raised an eyebrow in question.

"The guy walked down
the Mall like a man on a mission," she said as she lifted the cigarette to
her lips and took a deep drag. "Then, he looked around like someone who
was waiting for someone else to join him. Like when your mom is waiting for you
in front of a store or something, you know?"

I nodded. I knew exactly
what she was talking about, but it had been a long time since anyone had been
on the lookout for me.

"Then, some people
started climbing the steps to the Capitol, and he reached inside his jacket,
pulled a gun out, and started walking fast toward them," she said as she
handed the cigarette back to the boy. "And then, he started
shooting."

"That's it?" I
asked.

"I don't know, I
dropped to the ground and crawled over behind that tree," she said as she
gestured towards a big pine tree in front of the reflecting pool. "He kept
yelling and shooting, and when I peeked around the tree, I saw him standing
over one of the people aiming his gun at their head. He pulled the trigger
about three times as he yelled, ‘You can't have my gun! You can't have my freedom!’
Then, the cops shot him and he fell over. It was fucked up."

"I can
imagine," I said as I tried to keep track of all of the information she
was giving me. "Did he do anything else?"

"Hey, you kids! Get
away from there!" a police officer shouted. "This is a damn crime
scene, not some rave!"

"Loser," the
girl scoffed as she rolled her eyes so far back I marveled at her ability.
"Like we'd be caught dead at a rave. That's so 2005."

"Dude,
seriously," the boy echoed as they both began walking away.

"Hey, wait, can I
get your names?" I asked. "I'm a reporter for the
Sentinel
and I've got an article to
write, but the dickheads obviously aren't going to let me anywhere near the
scene."

They both eyed me
suspiciously until I dug my credentials out of my bag and showed them. I found
a couple of smudged business cards at the bottom of my bag and handed one to
each of them saying, "Think about it, and if you decide you want to talk
to me more formally, my number and email address are both on there. Olivia
Moore, that's me. Just call or drop me a line and I'll get right back to
you."

They nodded, tucked the
cards into their pockets, and turned to walk away. "Thanks for the
smoke!" I called after them. The boy raised his hand, but didn't turn
around.

I knew I didn't have
enough to write a full front-page story, but I could tell that the cops weren't
going to let me anywhere near the scene at this point, so I retraced my steps
back to Independence and headed down the street as I tried to plot my next move.
I needed coffee. The only shop I knew of on this end of town was a few blocks
down, so I set out rapidly walking.

I had just turned the
corner at Independence and 1
st
 
Street
when a door opened and a man came barreling out, not looking where he was
going. We collided so hard that I felt my forehead slam against his chin
seconds before I felt his arm wrap around my waist keeping me from falling
backwards on to the sidewalk.

"You stupid
idiot!" I yelled into his chest as I raised my arms to push him back away
from me. "Why don't you look where you're going? God, you're gonna kill
someone!"

When I stepped back and
looked up, I found myself staring straight into the piercing blue eyes of none
other than Linc Redding.

CHAPTER
SEVEN

Linc

After
my meeting with Brant, I'd called down and told Mick to be ready to head out. I
had him drive me to the florist's where I signed the cards that would be
included in each of the floral arrangements I was having sent to the families
of the senators who'd been shot and told the florist that if anyone asked, they
were to refer them to the cards I'd included in each envelope. I didn't want to
call attention to myself in a way that looked like I was desperate. I simply
wanted to the families to know that I'd be there if they needed anything. It
was the least I could do.

But I also wanted
information. I wanted to know who the shooter was and what pushed him to gun
down five senators on a Sunday afternoon just before Christmas. I knew Brant
would do what he could to find the information, but I needed to do something
and sending flowers was only the tip of the iceberg. I told the florist to call
me if there were any problems with delivery and then headed out the door
towards the
car ,calling
a quick thank you over my
shoulder. Just as I'd pushed the door open and stepped out on to the sidewalk,
I felt the force of bone against bone as a pedestrian plowed into me, knocking
skull against chin. Instinctively, I reached out and grabbed the walker around
the waist to keep her from falling backwards, and when I looked down, I saw a
pair of familiar green eyes staring back up at me.

"You stupid
idiot!" she yelled. "Why don't you look where you're going? God,
you're gonna kill someone!"

"Dammit, I didn't-"
I shouted as I rubbed my chin trying to lessen the pain of impact.

"Oh my God!"
she yelled as she looked up at me. "Do you just go around making a habit
of barreling through everyone who gets in your way?"

"Hey, I didn't shove
you!" I shouted back. "You seem to take up an awful lot of space,
lady. And, I wasn't the one speed walking down the sidewalk not looking where I
was going!"

"The hell you
weren't," she shot back. "You're one of those guys who takes up space
because you feel it's your due, aren't you? Get your hands off me."

I quickly let go, not
realizing that I still had an arm wrapped around her waist and suddenly very
aware of how her body felt pressed against mine. I let go and stepped back as I
watched her rub her forehead and look up at me with those piercing green eyes.

She was even more
beautiful than I'd remembered, and there was something about her stubbornness
that upped the attraction. As we stared at each other like two warriors before
the showdown, I could feel the effect of her presence running through my veins
and was incredibly thankful for the cover of my long wool coat.

"I'm sorry," I
said finally breaking the standoff. "I apologize. I was preoccupied and
wasn't looking where I was going. Are you okay?"

"Are you mocking
me?" She narrowed her eyes and regarded me with suspicion.

"Not in the least,
I'm absolutely sincere," I assured her as I held out my hand. "I'm
Linc Redding."

"I know who you
are," she said taking my hand and shaking. There was a jolt of electricity
that passed between us and I inhaled sharply as I felt it. She looked up at me
and continued, "The whole city knows who you are."

"And you are?"
I asked, not wanting to let go of her hand.

"Oh, yeah, Olivia
Moore," she said looking slightly embarrassed. "I work for the
Sentinel
. Features reporter."

"I see," I said
as I finally let go of her hand. She was looking up at me with a perplexed
expression and I smiled as I watched the snow falling on her cheeks, then
quickly melting, leaving drops of water that made her skin shine. When she said
nothing, I asked, "What?"

"What are you doing
in a florist shop on a Sunday afternoon?"

"Buying a mattress
for my bed," I replied dryly. "What do you think I'm doing?"

"Don't be a smart
ass," she laughed.

"Better than being a
dumbass," I retorted.

"Oh Lord, you are
sad," she groaned. Her laughter was rich and deep and it warmed the cold
air. It also made me want to say anything that would keep it flowing, even if
it made me look like an idiot. "That's seriously the lamest comeback in
the history of comebacks."

"What can I say, I'm
a clumsy lame ass," I shrugged, earning another laugh. I looked down at
her and said, "So, Olivia Moore, now that I've told you why I'm out here,
I believe that you owe me the courtesy of reciprocity."

"You didn't tell me
why you're out here," she said as she stared up at me. Her eyes sparkled
with interest as she watched my face. "Why are you at the florist's on a
Sunday afternoon?"

"You are
unrelenting, aren't you?" I asked as I tried very hard not to let my gaze
wander lower than her eyes. It was difficult, because the jacket she was
wearing was unzipped enough to give a glimpse of her curvy figure underneath
it. Everything about her seemed soft and sensual. Everything, that is, except
her razor sharp mind.

"I'm a reporter, Mr.
Redding; if I relented, I'd never get the story," she said as she raised
an eyebrow and then rolled her eyes. The look was so dismissive that I laughed
out loud and received a surprised look from her.

"Touché, Ms.
Moore," I nodded. "But tell me, if I do tell you why I was in the
shop, is it going to end up splashed across the front page of the
Sentinel
tomorrow morning?"

"Well, depending on
what you were doing in there, it might," she admitted. "I mean, if
you were in there buying flowers for your dear mother for Christmas, it could
be really good publicity for you, but it probably wouldn't make the front page.
If you were in there buying flowers for a secret mistress, then that might make
the society page as a mention in passing, but unless she was the D.C. madam, it
probably wouldn't earn front page status. But seriously, Mr. Redding, why were
you in there?"

"I can assure you
that it was nothing as interesting as your imagined storyline, Ms. Moore,"
I replied.

"Then why won't you
tell me?"

"Because I don't
think it's any of your business. Do you?"

She looked at me for a
moment and then threw her head back and began laughing loudly. I wasn't
entirely sure what had inspired this response, but as I watched her, I couldn't
stop a smile from spreading across my lips and before I knew it, I was
chuckling. The harder she laughed, the more I laughed and soon the two of us
were consumed by uncontrollable laughter. People walking by shot us
disapproving looks that only served to fuel the fit. It took several minutes
for us to regain control, and once we did, I hesitated to say anything for fear
of setting off another wave of laughter.

"Well, Mr. Redding,
it looks like we've reached an impasse," she said with a grin. "You
won't give me information, and since that's what I seek, I guess I'll be on my
way."

I opened my mouth to
protest that she hadn't answered my question, but then I shut it and decided
that I was not going to let myself sound like an idiot in front of this smart,
beautiful woman. I simply nodded and turned toward my car. I pulled open the
door and then turned around to say something, but she had disappeared into the
sidewalk crowd. I replayed the entire exchange on the drive to my apartment,
and by the time I reached it, I was trying to figure out how I could engineer a
way to see her again.