From Manhattan with Revenge (The Fourth Book in the Fifth Avenue Series) (7 page)

“See?” he said. “Madrid. It always comes
back to one of the big foreign cities. Everything happens there.” He leaned
toward his glass of iced tea and puckered his lips around the straw. He sipped
it while he studied her. “Did he die of natural causes?”

“He was gunned down in the streets of
Mexico City.”

“Mexico City,” he said, as if he was
underscoring his former point, which she found pointless. “Awful, but not a
surprise. When was this?”

“Fourteen years ago. I was twenty-four.”

“And you sought revenge?”

“He was my father. I loved him. Someone
had to pay.”

“Did you find whoever killed him?”

“I did. I also found the others who
targeted him. I killed them all.”

“That was a brave undertaking.”

“I was twenty-four. I didn’t know any
better.”

“Youth can be so liberating and dangerous.
For you, I’m assuming it was both. Why did they want your father dead?”

“He was hired to take out the leader of a
drug cartel. The cartel wasn’t happy about that. They came after him. The end.”

“And then you went into the family
business?”

“You could say that. Everything changed
for me after my father’s death. I saw a different world. I discovered I was a
crack shot. The people who used to hire my father contacted me. They offered me
a job for an obscene amount of money. The person I was asked to kill was about
as close to evil as you could imagine. He hurt people. I suppose that’s why I
took it. Maybe I thought by getting rid of him, I was doing some good in the
world. Maybe that was my justification. But you’re right—that’s youth for
you. Liberating and dangerous. Now I work for hire. My only exception is that I
refuse to kill children. I haven’t looked back since.”

“Not until Alex...”

Just hearing his name stung. The image of
his face flashed before her eyes. The ache of his loss was like a tide closing
in, suffocating her. She remembered the first time he told her he loved her but
then forced the memory away.
Focus
. “Actually, Alex makes me look
forward,” she said. “They’ll pay for what they did to him.”

“I don’t blame you.”

I don’t care if you do.
“I need
your help. I need to know how to get to Katzev.”

“Your story is fascinating, Carmen.”

“I don’t see it that way.”

“I do. And I want to thank you for sharing
it with me.”

You gave me no choice.

“I have one question?”

“What’s that?”

“Why won’t you kill children? A life is a
life. Who cares if it belongs to a child?”

“A conscience needs to begin somewhere,
Mr. Gelling.”

“That’s a smooth answer, Carmen, but I
think it goes deeper. Do you have a child?”

She didn’t want to go there, but this
wasn’t about her. It was about Alex. It was about doing anything to avenge his
death, so she leveled her eyes with his and told the truth. “I can’t have
children.”

“What a shame. Or not. In my case, I wish
I never had children. Rotten little greedy beasts. Still, why can’t you have
them? Can’t conceive?”

“That’s right. Years ago, when I was in
love with a young man I worked with at the Met, we tried to get pregnant. We
were seriously involved for about a year at that point. Neither of us wanted
marriage, but children? We both wanted children. Unfortunately, each time we
tried, I miscarried. Three times in a row to be exact. I saw my doctor and was
told I couldn’t carry. Apparently, something’s wrong with my tubes. So, life
cheated me out of having a child. I have no interest in cheating others out of
what I wanted, but couldn’t have. Whenever asked, I refuse to do it. There are
no exceptions.”

“I’m sorry for your losses.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“But it’s still there, isn’t it?”

It was with her every day, but she was
finished with this line of questioning and sipped her tea, offering no
response.

“This Katzev,” he said. “Of course, I’ve
heard of him. And also of Jean-Georges Laurent and what you and Alex did to him
that night at the Four Seasons.”

“Laurent tried to kill us.”

“I know he did. And I have to say, what he
had in mind was ingenious. Under different circumstances, I think even you
would admit to that. But you and Alex were smart to come clean with each other
when you did. Love saved you. By telling the truth, you spared each other’s
lives. It’s like a movie.”

“How do you know this?”

“It’s what I do, Carmen. It’s what keeps
me going at one hundred and three. People talk to me and tell me things. I’d
never tell you who told me anything, of course. That goes back to my days as a
psychiatrist. Confidentiality is critical, which is why Vincent trusts me and
why you will come to trust me.”

He leaned forward in his chair and met her
gaze. “Just as you would never kill a child, I would never sell either of you
out. We all have our morals and ethics, regardless of how far they’re sometimes
stretched. I believe that doing the right thing is important. What Laurent and
Katzev tried to pull on you and Alex crosses the line. So, here I am. Prepared
to help.”

She was growing impatient with him. She
just bared part of her soul to him. Now, she wanted the address. “Where does
Katzev live?”

“I have no idea.”

It was like a slap across her face. She
was confused. Then angry. She just spilled some of her most personal secrets to
this man. “But I thought you knew? Spocatti sent me to you because you knew.”

“That isn’t true. He sent you here because
I know people who might know. In fact, I know people who likely will know
because I know everyone. That’s what you’re really here for, Carmen—my
contacts. I’m going to give you a name of a person who I’m fairly certain will
know Katzev’s address. Or can find it. She’s powerful. Travels in all sorts of
circles, some of which she’d rather keep quiet, not that I blame her. Odd
woman, really, if you know her history, but that’s the sort of person you need
right now. Someone with her history. And her contacts. And her knowledge of
these sorts of things, of which she’s intimate. I’ve already called ahead to
tell her about you. She’s eager to meet because she thrives on this as much as
I do.”

“What’s her name?”

“Babe McAdoo. She’s a socialite from one
of the big New York families. Nontraditional. A bit off. As eccentric as, uh,
you know who.” He glanced quickly at Big Ben. “But in her set, maybe that’s
just how it is. Who knows with her? There will be times when you’ll think she’s
speaking in tongues, but it’s all an act. When you get down to business with
her, she’s all business. It’s like she switches on a light and becomes the
person you need. And when she’s that person, she’s quite good. I actually
admire her when she’s that person.”

“Her name sounds familiar to me.”

“McAdoo Seasonings? That’s her family.”

“I think I’ve put her on turkey.”

“That’s a curious way to put it, but in a
way, I suppose all of America has. She’s been spread from coast-to-coast. And
her reach goes beyond the salt-and-pepper set, for which I’m certain she’s
grateful. Why limit yourself when there are so many other things that can be
crushed, blended, and sprinkled?”

“Can I trust her?”

“I wouldn’t send you there if you
couldn’t.”

“When should I see her?”

He looked across the room at Frank, who
stood in front of a fireplace, above which was a large mirror. “What time is
it, Frank?”

“Just after eleven, sir.”

“That was quick. Did the mirror help?”

“Yes, sir.”

Gelling looked at Carmen. “I adore him.
You should see Babe now. She lives on Park. I’ll give you her address. And
please, after you speak with her, if you could call me? Or even call and stop
by afterward? I’d appreciate it. I like to keep up.” For an instant, she saw a
flash of vulnerability cross his face. A hint of fear. “Knowing how things are
proceeding. That’s what keeps me going. It’s what makes me want to see
tomorrow.”

CHA
PTER
EIGHT

Babe McAdoo lived in a townhouse on
Seventy-Fourth and Park. Given the long history of her family’s seasonings,
which Carmen knew were popular in the States, especially around the holidays,
when everything is breaded, roasted, dusted, and stuffed, the building was
large and stately, one of those rare Manhattan mansions that you stopped to
marvel at due to its sheer size and beauty.

Carmen didn’t want to be on the street
longer than necessary. She walked up a wide set of granite stairs that led to
two massive, lacquered mahogany doors, which gleamed in the sun as if they’d
just been polished. She rang the doorbell and waited for someone to answer.
When the door opened, an older man in a black suit looked out at Carmen with
cool dismissal.

She knew it was because of the way she was
dressed. And that her hair was a mess because she had no product with her at
the Holiday Inn Express. And that she wore no makeup for the same reason. She
probably looked a hot wreck. She felt him judge her in that instant and had to
stop him when he started to close the door. He thought she was a transient.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I’m Carmen
Gragera. I have an appointment to see Ms. McAdoo.”

His eyes widened. “
You’re
Carmen
Gragera?”

“I had a rough night.”

“Apparently. I apologize for closing the
door. Too many people stop by to ask for money. They come in droves. I
thought—”…”

That I was a bum.
“That’s
fine,” she interrupted. “I know you’re probably used to seeing something quite
different when someone comes to visit Ms. McAdoo. Women in Chanel. Birkins.
Skin lifted so far, it’s surprising they don’t have beards. That sort of
thing.”

“I’m afraid, I am.” He opened the door for
her. “Please come in. And forgive my manners. Ms. McAdoo is expecting you. I
assume you’re carrying?”

She motioned toward her pocket and he
removed her gun.

“It will be kept in a safe spot,” he said,
putting it in his jacket pocket. “And the rest of you?”

She held out her arms. “There’s nothing
more, but feel free to search.”

He did. Satisfied, he said, “If you’d
follow me to the parlor, you can have a seat while I gather her for you.”

Gather her for me? Am I
dealing with another invalid?
“If now isn’t a good time—”

“She’s just upstairs doing her Turtle
Breathing.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Her Turtle Breathing.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s part of her Zen workout. After
twenty minutes of Naval Chakra, she always ends with a technique called Turtle Breathing.
When she arrives, you’ll find her quite relaxed.” He paused and reconsidered
his statement. “Well, as relaxed as Ms. McAdoo can be. I’ve never seen a person
with such energy. It’s...inspiring.”

The way he said
inspiring
made it
sound exhausting.

They went to the parlor, which seemed as
if it was sheathed in gold. Gold-colored wallpaper. Deep gold curtains with
massive gold tassels at the five floor-to-ceiling windows facing the street. A
sprawling gold Aubusson rug stretched across the parquet floors. Intricately
carved gold moldings at the ceilings.

For punches of color, Babe McAdoo placed a
black Steinway grand by the front windows; large paintings on the walls circled
the room; and four bright red Victorian chairs, upholstered in crushed velvet,
were at the room’s center, facing each other with a marble-topped coffee table
between them. There was more, but as much as she wanted to, she didn’t want to
take all of it in. She wanted to get to work.

And yet as Carmen sat in one of the
uncomfortable chairs, that part of her that admired all that surrounded her
couldn’t help but look and assess. What she saw was the real deal, much of it
seemed untouched. Looking around, she thought a lot of people must have an
enthusiastic need for McAdoo Seasonings, because what she noted—from the
painting of water lilies by Monet to the authentic Tiffany lamp on the table
beneath it—couldn’t have been in their collection otherwise.

There was a disturbance in the air. She
heard footsteps coming down the grand set of stairs she saw in the entryway.
Then a voice. “Something wet,” she heard a woman say. “Something that pops on
the tongue. A spritz of fantastic. And maybe crackers. Or something like that.
Figure it out. It’s what you do best, Max. Five minutes. Is she in there?”

“She is, madam.”

“I’m dying to meet her. I
need
this. My body
craves
this. It’s been too long. Also get some cheese. She
might be hungry. I heard she had a hell of a night last night, poor girl.
Sprinkle the cheese with the McAdoo lime chile pepper powder. My
blend—not the diluted one we shuck on the shelves. It’ll give it a zing.
Not too much, though. I don’t want to blow her head off.”