The Fifth Avenue Series Boxed Set (19 page)

“Yes, you do,” George said.
 
As she passed, he grabbed her by the arm and twisted her around so they faced each other. “Tell me the truth.
 
Eric did this, didn’t he?”

“You’re hurting me,” she said.
 
She tried to release herself from him.
 
“Are you going to rough me up too?”

He loosened his grip on her arm.
 
“Just tell me the truth.
 
Don’t lie to me.”

“So, I’m a liar now?
 
Let go of my fucking arm.”

But George wouldn’t let go.
 
“Why are you protecting that son of a bitch?
 
Tell me what happened.
 
What did he do to you?”

Leana wrenched her arm free and backed away from him.
 
“He did nothing to me.
 
All right?
 
Nothing.
 
Now, leave it alone.”

“Not until you tell me what happened.”

She looked at him incredulously.
 
“What the hell do you care?
 
You’ve never cared about me.
 
You don’t even love me.
 
Never have.”

“Oh, so it’s this again.”

“That’s right,” she said.
 
“It’s this again.
 
What an inconvenience it must be for you to hear the truth.”

“Your truth.”

“Whatever,” she said.
 
“It’s always been Celina and you know it.
 
But here’s the thing, Dad—it stops now.
 
Stay the hell out of my life.
 
I don’t want you in it.
 
You bring me down.”

George flushed.
 
“You’ve got a lot of nerve talking to me like that.”

“I could say the same for the way I was raised.”

“Right,” he said.
 
“Everyone should have it as bad as you’ve had it, Leana.
 
A nice home, the best clothes and schools.
 
Everything you’ve ever had was the best that money could buy.”

“You and your fucking money,” she said.
 
“Is that all you’re about?
 
Who gives a shit about your money?
 
It’s always been you that I wanted, not the damn home, clothes or schools.
 
It’s never been any of that.
 
All I ever wanted was your attention.
 
Maybe a sign that I mattered to you.
 
But you were never willing to give it to me.
 
You were always too preoccupied with your business.
 
And your money.
 
And Celina.
 
Let’s not forget her since she makes so much of it for you.”

George regarded his daughter for a moment.
 
He felt angry and hurt, guilty and sad, and he knew it was because Leana was speaking the truth.
 
He hadn’t been a good father to her.
 
Just a good provider—that’s it.

He left for the adjoining room.
 
Nothing could be solved here now. The air was dirty.
 
“I’m leaving,” he said.

Leana followed him to the door.
 
“Good.”

“Don’t sound so happy,” George said.
 
“You’re leaving, too.”
 
He opened the door and Leana saw two uniformed bellhops waiting in the hall.
 
It was clear by the embarrassment on their young faces that they heard most of the argument.

“Her luggage is in the bedroom,” George said to the men.
 
He stepped aside so they could retrieve it and looked at Leana.
 
She was standing with her back to a window, her arms folded, her head lifted just slightly too high.
 
She paid no attention to the bellhops as they crossed in front of her.
 
Her attention was on George.

“You have two options,” George said.
 
“You can either have the luggage placed in your car and follow me home—where you belong—or you can hand over the keys to your car, the key to this room and have the luggage brought to the lobby, because you’re not staying here.
 
If you want to be on your own, Leana, then you’ll have to do it on your own—not with my help.
 
The decision’s yours.”

Without hesitation, Leana turned to the table beside her and reached for her purse. She retrieved her car keys and the hotel key, and tossed them to her father.
 
Her face was expressionless as she watched him pick them up.

George pocketed the keys.
 
“You’re making a mistake,” he said.

“That’s a matter of opinion.”

“No,” George said.
 
“That’s a matter of fact.”
 
He nodded toward her purse.
 
“Hand over your credit cards.
 
All of them.”

Leana did as she was told, feeling curiously liberated as she emptied the cards from her wallet and handed them over to him.
 
She also took out her cash and tossed it at his feet.
 
He didn’t think that she could make it on her own?
 
Fine.
 
She’d show him and everyone else that she could.

George asked the bellhops to pick up the cash and keep it.
 
“I know you have money in the bank,” he said to Leana.
 
“There’s nothing I can do about that.
 
But I also happen to know it isn’t much and you’ll soon run out.
 
Maybe then, when you really have nothing, you’ll realize just how good you’ve had it and come home.”

“Just how good I’ve had it,” she said.
 
“God, you’re pathetic.
 
I’m never coming home.”

The finality of her words and the cool tone of her voice struck him like a fist.
 
Did she realize what she was saying?
 
How would she make it without him?
 
She hadn’t worked a day in her life.
 
“You say that now because you’re angry.”

“Could your ego get any bigger?
 
Listen closely.
 
I say that now because I’m sick of you, I’m sick of coming in second and because I mean it.”

“We’ll see,” George said.
 
He turned to the bellhops as they re-entered the room.
 
“See to it that she leaves here,” he said to the men, and then he was gone, through the door, without looking back.

“I’ll need a few minutes,” Leana said to the bellhops. “Would you mind bringing back the bags and waiting for me in the hall so I can change?
 
I won’t be long.”

When she was alone, she sank into a nearby chair and closed her eyes.
 
She felt drained and exhausted.
 
Her father was gone.
 
After all these years, she finally told him how she felt.
 
She finally stood up to him.
 
She should be happy, but why did she feel like crying.

But she wouldn’t cry.
 
She made her decision and she would stick to it.
 
It was time the rest of the world learned that George Redman had another daughter.
 
It was time that her father and mother saw what she was capable of.
 
Leana was determined to make a success of herself—and she would do it without her father’s help, without her father’s money.
 
Unlike Celina.

In the bathroom, she ran a brush through her hair, changed into a faded pair of jeans and an oversized white silk shirt, and applied enough makeup to hide the bruises on her cheeks and the base of her nose.
 
Those around her eyes she concealed with dark sunglasses.
 
There was nothing she could do about the cut on her lip.
 
It was small, but it showed.

When she joined the men in the hall, she thanked them for waiting.
 
They retrieved her bags and she followed them to an elevator.
 
When they reached the lobby, Leana asked the men to put her bags in a cab while she used a phone.
 
She had to call Harold Baines.
 
At the opening of Redman International, he mentioned something about helping her find a job.
 
Now, she realized that his contacts could be invaluable.

When Harold answered, she told him what happened and asked if she could use one of his guest bedrooms.
 
“But only until I find a place of my own,” she said.
 
“Yes, I’m all right.
 
I’ll tell you everything when I see you.”
 
She paused.
 
“And Uncle Harold?
 
Please don’t tell Dad that I’ll be staying with you.
 
For once in his life, I want him to worry about me—if that’s possible.”

The day was warm and sunny when she left The Plaza.
 
A breeze ruffled her hair and felt good against her skin.
 
As Leana came down the stairs and stepped into the waiting cab, she apologized to the bellhops for not having any money to tip them, thanked them for their trouble and left for Harold’s townhouse—oblivious to Vincent Spocatti, who was following her in a cab of his own.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“She’s staying with Harold Baines.
 
I followed her there myself.”

Louis Ryan turned in his chair and watched Spocatti cross the Aubusson rug that led to his desk.
 
For a man who killed people for a living, Louis thought Spocatti dressed and carried himself unusually well.
 
The man moved easily, almost gracefully, despite his sheer muscular bulk.

At forty-one, Vincent Spocatti was neither a former intelligence officer nor a past member of the FBI.
 
However, from what Louis knew of him, he had studied his opposition and employed their tactics himself.
 
He was a computer expert and an international assassin who had amassed a personal fortune with his talents.
 
His hair was black and cut short, his cheekbones pronounced, the cleft in his chin deep.
 
Years ago, as one of the Army’s top boxers, being quick and light on his feet had won him many a fight.
 
After seven years as a private agent, he never had been caught.

Being ruthless helped—and that’s why Ryan hired him.

“And you have someone there watching her now?” Louis asked.

“I have two men,” Spocatti said.
 
“Baines lives in a townhouse on the corner of 81st and Fifth. One man is stationed just outside The Met, watching the front entrance. The other is in a van on 81st Street, watching the side entrance and eavesdropping with a directional microphone. The device has an ultra-frequency function that picks up telephone conversations.
 
Everything is linked to a digital recorder.
 
She won’t say a word or make a move without our knowing it.”

Satisfied, Louis nodded.
 
“You’re certain she’s staying with him.
 
She could just be paying him a visit.”

“She’s staying with him,” Spocatti said.
 
“I was standing near her when she phoned Baines from the lobby.
 
She asked if she could stay in his guest bedroom until she found a place of her own.
 
I have a feeling they’re close.”

“How close is close?”

“Father-daughter close.
 
She called him Uncle Harold on the phone and they spent a lot of time with each other at the party.”

Louis considered this for a moment.
 
He had met Harold Baines years ago, while at a dinner party for the mayor.
 
Despite the fact that Baines spoke eight languages and was VP of International Affairs for one of the world’s leading conglomerates, the man participated in little conversation.
 
He spoke only to those on either side of him—his best friends, George and Elizabeth Redman.