The Fifth Avenue Series Boxed Set (39 page)

Cain backed away from the basket, his hands at his sides, the fire reflected in the glass of his spectacles.
 
“No,” he said.

“Do it!” Michael shouted.

“No.”

The fire grew in intensity.
 
He didn’t have much time.
 
He kicked the metal basket in an attempt to tip it over and knock out the fire, but the basket spun across the hardwood floor like a fiery comet, stopping with a metallic clank beneath the open window, where the curtains moved in the air.

There was a sudden burst of orange as the curtains ignited.
 
With fresh air coming into the room, the fire had its fuel and it used it to roar and churn.
 
It tasted the dry, cheap fabric and it twisted with surprising speed toward the stained ceiling, not stopping until that, too, was alight with fire.

And still the fire grew, creeping along the walls and ceiling, destroying everything it touched.
 
Michael turned to Cain, who was staring at him, his gaze unwavering, daring.
 
There was a bitter smile on his lips.
 
Bits of fire and sparks were falling all around him from the ceiling.
 
The heat and smoke were becoming unbearable.
 

Michael lifted the gun to the man’s head, cocked the trigger and heard a similar sound from across the room.
 
He knew that if he pulled the trigger, his life also would end.
 
After all he had been through, he wondered if that was such a bad thing.

“You don’t have the guts to do it, do you?” Cain said.

Michael’s eyes began to water.
 
He wasn’t sure if it was from the smoke filling the room, or from the fact that he was facing certain death.
 
He wondered if his father ever really loved him.
 
And then he realized it didn’t matter.

He pulled the trigger.
 

There were two explosions.
 

Cain’s face erupted in a cloud of blood and he went down like a tenpin.
 
Michael collapsed to his knees and fell to one side.
 
As he lay there, his breathing slowing, the heat from the fire warming his already paling face, he knew he was dying.
 
As bright as the room was, Michael was losing sight of it.
 

Breathing wasn’t an option.
 

He choked on his last few breaths and swore his father to hell.
 

He was floating now, lifting, no longer a part of his body.
 
He saw his mother’s face but couldn’t hear her voice.

And then there was a flash of bright light and a sudden, terrible darkness.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“There’s this little party tonight,” Celina said, steeling herself while she leaned through the doorway of Jack Douglas’ office at Redman International.
 
“It’s in honor of two events—the work Countess Castellani has done for HIV research, and the recent discovery of twelve Monet paintings in the attic of a famous Parisian brothel.
 
Now, look. I know you dislike these types of events, but it’s being held on Anastassios Fondaras’ yacht, which is the largest private yacht in the world, so that alone should be interesting.
 
I was wondering if you’d like to join me.”

Jack grinned.
 
“Did you just say, Countess Castellani?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Is she a real person or a reality star?”

“I don’t know how to answer that—parts of her are real.
 
And she’s very nice in a complicated way.”

He groaned.

“It’s for a good cause.”

“Agreed.”

“And you’ll like Anastassios.”

“What is it with these names?”

“They’re the international set.”

“Oh,” he said.
 
“Well, I’m the American set.”

“They’re good people.
 
They just have titles.”

“How much did they pay for those titles.”

“Depends on the method of payment.
 
Are we talking cash or something else?”

“Let’s not go there.”
 

She cracked a smile.
 
“I know it sounds ridiculous, but it is what it is.
 
I don’t want to go either, but I have no choice.”

He was seated at the desk that used to belong to Eric Parker, feet up and crossed on the shiny wood surface.
 
Empty coffee cups and paperwork concerning the takeover of WestTex surrounded him.
 
“If I go, can I borrow your father’s dinner jacket again?”

“Only if your car breaks down and it rains.”

“Then I’d better start praying for both,” he said.
 
“Everything I own is at the cleaner’s.”
 
He lifted his feet from the desk and stood.
 
“Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“If you hate these events so much, why do you go to them?”

“Because it makes my father happy,” she said, stepping into the room.
 
“And it’s smart business.
 
He always said you never know when or where you’ll strike a deal.
 
And these are the sorts of events where deals are made.”

“All right,” Jack said.
 
“I can see that.
 
But something tells me you want more out of life than just striking a deal.”
 
There was a silence while he glanced out the windows before him.
 
Even at this height, the buzz and activity of midtown was noticeable.

“Have you ever been bungee jumping?” he asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Bungee jumping.
 
Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of it.
 
You strap a heavy elastic cord around your ankles, dive off a cliff or a bridge, and plummet to a body of water, usually a river or stream.
 
It’s fun.
 
Just when you think you’re about to hit the water, the bungee slows your fall and you snap away from it, bouncing back into mid-air, where you start to fall again.”

Celina looked at him.
 
“You do this?”

“I sky dive too.”

“What are you, Indiana Jones?”

“I was thinking more of a Jason Bourne.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”

“I just like to live.”

“Sounds to me like a good way to die.”

“Oh, come on,” he said.
 
“It’s completely safe.
 
Where’s your sense of adventure? Look—I’ll tell you what.
 
I’ll go to this party with you tonight if you go bungee jumping with me tomorrow morning.
 
There’s this place in Upstate New York that I go to with friends.
 
Very peaceful.
 
Just trees and birds and mosquitoes—not a building or a takeover in sight.
 
And I can guarantee you that after the jump, you’ll never look at life the same way again.
 
You game?”

Celina saw the challenge in his eyes and nodded.
 
“I’m game,” she said.
 
“But we do it blindfolded.”

Jack laughed. “Lady, you got yourself a deal.”

*
  
*
  
*

When Celina returned to her office, she found her father there, near her desk, arms folded.
  
“I just got off the phone with Ted Frostman,” he said.

Celina remained in the doorway.
 
They had waited days to hear back from him. “And?”

“We’ve got them,” he said.
 
“Ted called a few minutes ago to say that Chase has run its due diligence, and that the right people are impressed.
 
They want to back us.”

Celina felt as though a weight had been lifted from her.
 
They were coming down to the wire.
 
Within a week, the exact date of the Navy’s move into the Gulf would become public.
 
If WestTex wasn’t theirs by then, the deal with Iran would collapse and they would have to call off everything.
 
And lose billions in the process.

She went to her desk and sat.
 
“Tell me what you know.
 
Do we have a commitment from Chase?”

George started to pace, energy coming off him in waves.
 
“Not yet.
 
First, they want to discuss fees, our deal with management, the possibility of outside investors, etcetera.”

“How comfortable are they with Iran?”

“That’s the sticking point,” George said.
 
“Big surprise there.
 
Some feel the deal is too shaky.
 
A few nearly backed out because of it.”

Celina understood that.
 
Even she was concerned with the verbal agreement her father had secured with Iran.
 
On more than one occasion, she wondered what would happen if, on the day WestTex became theirs, Iran decided to back out.
 
We would lose everything
, she thought.

“The good news is that they know I’d never risk Redman International if I didn’t feel this deal was going to fly.
 
I’m meeting with Ted and a few select members of Chase today.”

“Want me to come along?”

“I don’t think so,” he said.
 
“You’ve got enough work to keep you busy here.”

Celina looked at the files stacked on her desk, at the reports she had yet to read.
 
That
, she thought,
is an understatement.

“I’ll tell you what happened later,” he said.
 
“You’re going to the Fondaras party?”

“Jack’s coming with me.”

George lifted an eyebrow.
 
“Really…?” he said.

“It’s not what you think. We’re just friends.”

“Of course.”

“I didn’t want to go alone.”

“Who would?”

A beat of silence passed.
 
The moment stretched.

“But he is kind of cute, isn’t he?” Celina said.

There was a mischievous look in George’s eyes when he started toward the door. “Wait until I tell your mother,” he said.

*
  
*
  
*

Clouds were moving in from the west when Celina and Jack left the limousine and started up the ramp to the Crystal Princess.
 
Jack was in black dinner jacket, Celina was in a simple white evening dress.
 
A river-cooled breeze that smelled faintly of salt was in the air, as were the light sounds of an orchestra.