The Golden Girl

It was like entering a maze. She couldn’t believe that her own company could have so many accounts for, at least on the surface of things, bogus subsidiaries. She felt sick to her stomach. The S.E.C. implications alone would be enough to send shock waves through the stock exchange.

She massaged her temples. What a mess!

And then she took the rubber bands off a sheaf of papers that looked like canceled payroll checks. Madison felt even sicker. Because there was the signature of a William Charles Pruitt III. The little baby buried in the family vault. He had a social security number, and apparently, he’d been drawing several different salaries over the years at Pruitt & Pruitt.

A dead person on the payroll.

With the title of senior vice president.

Maddie leaped from the bed and went to run across the hall to tell Troy. His hotel-room door was ever so slightly ajar. From inside she could hear sounds of a struggle.

Panic swept over her. Troy had declared to security that he was an agent before the flight, and he had been allowed to check his sidearm, unloaded, through customs and security. But the Gotham Roses undercover agency was, ostensibly, a shadow one. Renee had explained to her on her orientation day that in some situations, this secretive nature would operate against them. For instance, she couldn’t identify herself as an agent on the flight. So she had no weapon. This hadn’t seemed like a problem with Troy along at the bank, but it sure as hell was a problem now.

Well, Madison thought, time to see if what Jimmy Valentine taught me works in a real situation.

She inhaled deeply, gathered her energy into her solar plexus, the way she’d been taught, and kicked the door open, surprising the man who was choking Troy. With a flying sidekick, she kicked the man as hard as she could in the side, knocking him over. Troy fell to the floor, looking, at least to Madison, as if he was dead.

“I thought you were killed,” the man growled as he stared up at her. “I saw you. You were dead.” His eyes were wide, and Madison thought he looked spooked.

Taking advantage of his shock, she kicked a foot to his face. He grabbed it though, pushing her backward. Falling against the small hotel table, Madison lost her balance. She and the bastard who’d killed Claire both scrambled to their feet. She used Jimmy Valentine’s leg-sweep method to bring him down again. Then she added a sharp kick to his diaphragm, knocking the wind out of him.

Wasting no time, she kicked his windpipe, and leaned hard with her foot on his throat. She heard a sort of sickening whistle. Then he clawed at her leg. He was gurgling, fighting for air, and she leaned down her weight more. Finally, the man passed out. She ran to the bedside table, lifted the lamp, and came back and smashed it on his head for good measure. Then she raced to Troy and felt for a pulse. It was there, a little weak, but there.

She didn’t know if she should call for an ambulance. She was essentially in a foreign nation with an FBI agent and a man she’d just single-handedly beaten up. She stood and went to the bathroom, wetting a towel with cold water and coming back to Troy and pressing it on his head. In a minute or two—during which she tried to fight her fears—he started to rouse. He coughed, and then his eyelids fluttered.

“What happened?” he croaked.

“I’m not sure. I saw your door open a bit, came in, and that guy—” she pointed to the man on the floor “—was choking you until you passed out.”

“Jesus…” He sat up and rubbed his throat, which was very red. “Can you get me a glass of water? And shut the door in case someone walks by.”

Madison did as he asked. Then Troy stood and looked down on the man. “Do you recognize him?”

The guy on the floor was extremely well-built, almost to the point of being muscle-bound, with close-cropped dark hair and a square jaw. He had a scar near his left eye, and a single diamond stud earring.

“No. But he recognized me…um, Claire. He said that he had seen me—dead.”

Troy leaned down and felt the man’s carotid. “He’s still alive.”

Troy rolled the man on his side and found his wallet. “No ID.”

“What’s that?”

“What?”

Maddie knelt down and rolled up the man’s sleeve. “Look. A tattoo.”

“I’ve never seen anything like that.” It was an intricate dagger—truly a work of art.

“It’s Russian.”

“What does it say along the dagger?”

“Kremlin Killers.”

“Mob. They’re infiltrating some of New York’s drug trade, not to mention Moscow and some of the fallen Eastern European countries. Heavy into the prostitution biz. Drugs. Murder for hire.”

“So what do we do with this guy?”

“We call the local authorities. I also have to call in to my boss at the Bureau. Oh, and hey, thanks for saving my life. He caught me off guard.”

“Well, I owed you. Now we’re even.”

“Not by a long shot, but thank God you came across the hall.”

“I had something to tell you.”

Maddie explained to him about the accounts for William Pruitt.

“Shit, Madison…we’re going to have our hands full with the forensic accountants.”

“No kidding. Listen, you call the police. I’m going to pack…eat something. Get ready. Now that I did what I need to, can I change out of my Claire look?”

“No. You need it for your seat on the return flight. Since 9/11, it’s a lot trickier for us to fly commercial and make changes. Use her passport, same as on the way here.”

“All right, but as soon as we land, I’m losing the wig. It’s itching me like mad.” Because it had been put on expertly by the stylist, Madison was afraid to take it off and put it back on herself.

“You got it.”

Maddie left Troy’s room and headed over to her own. Once inside, she opened the minibar and took out a little vodka bottle. She poured it into a glass and swallowed it in one swig to settle her nerves.

Kremlin Killers.

What the hell had Pruitt & Pruitt gotten mixed up in?

Chapter 15

In The Know With Rubi Cho

So is one of our city’s fairest heiresses finally getting some much-needed R&R?

The lovely and always perfectly put-together American heiress, Madison Taylor-Pruitt was snapped at JFK airport in this photo with a hunky assistant. Business or pleasure?

Our poor Madison has been chained to her desk for far too long, and with the police closing in on Jack Pruitt, and Madison being eyed for even greater responsibility, we can only applaud her. Head to the islands—or the slopes of Aspen—our dear Madison. We think it’s high time you remembered you’re one of the city’s most eligible bachelorettes.

Chapter 16

Madison awoke on Saturday, checked her e-mail from the office by hookup from her apartment, attended to her electronic scheduler, left voice mails for about three dozen employees and enjoyed two cups of coffee. Then she saw her picture in Rubi’s column. After the flight, she had gone into the ladies room in the airport and taken off her wig. Her hair was matted and flat, but it felt good to run a brush through it. Then she pulled it back into a ponytail and headed to baggage claim with Troy. By chance, a photographer spotted her and snapped away.

At 11:00 a.m. the phone rang—an interior phone from the concierge or front desk.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Pruitt, there’s a John Hernandez here.”

“What?”

“Yes, ma’am. And he’s parked his motorcycle outside. Is that all right, ma’am?”

“Um…yes. Oh, dear…” Madison was completely flustered. He had to have seen the paper. Rubi’s column wasn’t in the financial section—it was way up front.

“Shall I send him up?”

“Yes, do. Oh…God, what a mess.”

Madison ran to the bathroom. Her hair was pulled up in a loose ponytail, she had on no makeup, and she was dressed in her yoga outfit.

“Damn!” she said to her reflection. The last two weeks or so were starting to take their toll. She swiped some concealer under her eyes to get rid of the dark circles, but there wasn’t time to do anything else.

The doorbell to her apartment rang, and Madison’s hands started shaking.

“Great,” she muttered, “I can practically kill a man with my bare hands, but at the thought of seeing this guy, I’m mush.”

She went to the apartment door and opened it. John stood there, looking gorgeous in a black sweater and worn jeans that showed off his well-muscled legs. He was holding a copy of the newspaper open to Rubi Cho’s column. And fury was registered on his face.

“That’s not a very good picture of me,” Madison offered, trying to defuse the situation, smiling halfheartedly.

“So let me get this straight. I’m good enough to fuck, but apparently, I’m not good enough to tell even the first thing about your life to.”

She recoiled at the curse, as if she’d been physically slapped. She’d never heard him use curse words before. “That’s not how it is, John.”

“Isn’t it? This guy—” he thrust the paper toward her “—he looks like he’d fit in with your life on Central Park West.”

“It was business. Please…please come in. If I had it to do over again, I swear to you I’d have told you right from the beginning.”

John shook his head. “I’ve been played,” he said and started to turn.

Madison grabbed his arm. “Please…you haven’t been played. I was just too scared to tell you the truth.”

Jaw clenched, he half faced her. “Scared? To admit you were rich?”

“Please just let me explain. Please?”

“And what about this guy?” He held up the paper.

“Please? Come in, and I’ll explain.”

John shook her off his arm, but he did follow her into the apartment. This was worse than the most vicious board meeting, Madison decided. She was used to fighting people through her lawyers, through her public-relations team. She was used to veiled digs and slights on the social ladder. She was even used to blind items in Rubi Cho’s column. But this was a man who wore his fury right out there. Given what they’d shared in bed, Madison told herself she should have assumed he’d fight just as passionately.

She watched as his eyes registered her apartment. “Renovations?” he sneered, apparently recalling why she said her place was off-limits. “You just didn’t want me parking a Harley outside your lobby.”

“That’s not it. Sit down,” she urged.

He sat on the couch, but leaned forward, as if he was most definitely not going to get comfortable. He tossed the paper on the coffee table, right next to a Fabergé egg. Then he clasped his hands together tightly.

Maddie remained standing, and she started pacing, trying to gather her thoughts.

“When I started working at the charter school, I wanted to just be me. Not some heiress…I wanted to be in the classroom, interacting with kids, not being treated with kid gloves myself. Mr. Hayes, the principal, he agreed to honor that and was very supportive. I was also able to fund computers and do all sorts of amazing things through the Pruitt Family Trust, and I got to do it basically anonymously. At school, I was Ms. Taylor, not Pruitt. I wasn’t there to elevate myself, John. I was there to make a difference. Quietly.”

He wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at some unseen spot on the oriental rug, his eyes intense.

She rushed on, headlong, into her story. “Then I met you. It was the highlight of my week—every week. But I felt like I had the Maddie who worked with the kids and you, and the Maddie who was running Pruitt & Pruitt’s real-estate division. And they were two parts that would never meet, so why bother telling you all about my ‘poor little rich girl’ life.”

She took a breath, then continued. “The more you told me about your upbringing, the less I felt like I could tell you about mine. It was hopelessly lonely, and I was raised by nannies and shuttled off to boarding schools with other lonely kids. But it wasn’t about gangs and life and death on the streets. In my own way, I admired you…and was embarrassed by some of the excesses of my life. I mean, I won’t pretend that I don’t love going to Sotheby’s and bidding on a painting or spending the weekend in Paris, but I just couldn’t face your scorn.”

“Scorn?” He looked up with hurt and anger registering in his eyes. “Why would I treat you with scorn, Madison? Why would I judge you like that? I don’t like to be judged for my Harley or my tattoos, so why would I judge someone else?”

Madison looked at him pleadingly. “I don’t know. I just couldn’t imagine you accepting that I live in this life and run a huge conglomerate, and you live your quieter life of meaning. I figured you would either be intimidated or would hate me for being rich.”

“Or maybe you thought I’d just be after your money.”

“I never once thought that!” Her own anger flared.

“Don’t give me that,” he snapped. “I’m sure it ran through your mind.”

“Never once! Damn you! Never once.”

“Well, then what about being embarrassed by me? Maybe you just don’t think I’m good enough to be seen out with you. I mean, you kept me away from your apartment, your life, the restaurants and places where you’re seen…you would come to Harlem to avoid being seen with me.”

“That’s just not true. I would never be embarrassed by you. Ever. But you were so…gallant. I mean, you wanted to pay for my cabs…how could I take you somewhere I usually go and ask you to pay for a sixty-dollar Blue Pearl martini? I could just imagine what would run through your mind. That I was spoiled. And that sixty dollars could buy a whole lot of school supplies.”

She watched his face and saw a slight softening. She regarded that as an opening, much as she watched opponents at the negotiating table for signs their position might be weakening.

“I don’t know what to think, Maddie. I mean, you lied to me.”

She went to him and knelt down between his legs. She loosened his hands from each other with her own, then slipped her hands into his palms. “I just wanted what I had with you to be real. If you only knew what I faced every day—the backstabbing, the vicious negotiations. The social climbing. And I could have faced telling you about my world, but I guess I wanted to wait until we felt solid, without having to raise the ugly issues.”

“What ugly issues?”

“Let’s say we go on from here…I still go to your place. Will you come here?”

He hesitated. “I guess.”

“Fine. And when I have to go to a black-tie function, will you come with me? Will it bother you that we travel by limo and I’m whipping out a black American Express card, and that I have to fly away on business on a moment’s notice?”

“Look, Madison, I hadn’t thought that far.”

“Exactly. But would it bother your pride if I could give us some amazing things—different things from your life. I mean, John, no one ever cooked for me my whole life—other than our family chef. You gave me that gift. I loved that date. And I can give us other things, but I know in terms of what you might think, in terms of ego, or…you know at these functions, you’ll meet people who will act appalled that you’re a teacher. That you’re not ‘one of us.’ I didn’t want to subject you to that right away. I wanted us to have a real shot, John. I don’t know if I thought that at first. I only knew that when I would go to your school on Mondays, I felt like some schoolgirl with a crush. And when you’re someone who routinely closes deals worth hundreds of millions of dollars, that’s not a very comfortable feeling.”

He finally looked her in the eye. “No more lying?”

She took her finger and crossed her left breast. “Cross my heart.”

Without warning, he grabbed her and pulled her to his chest, almost lifting her to him, and kissed her. “I was sick riding over here, Madison. I can’t get you out from under my skin. I’m crazy for you.”

Yet again, she was amazed at the ferocity of their connection. She kissed him back, straddling his lap and putting a hand on each side of his face. Hurriedly, he pulled off her top, kissing first one breast then the other.

“Let’s go to bed,” Madison said huskily. She slid off his lap and led him by the hand to her bedroom. They each undressed and climbed under the chilly sheets. She hadn’t opened the blinds that morning, so they were cocooned in the semidark coolness of the room.

She pushed up against him and then lifted her thigh over the top of him, sliding up so she was on top. She pulled the ponytail band out of her hair and let it cascade down, leaning over and tickling his chest with the ends of her hair.

He pushed her back a bit, staring up at her face. “You’re my angel, you know.”

She nodded and looked down at him. He was so extraordinarily masculine, so powerful. “You’re mine.”

She slid farther back, then took him and slid him inside her. Both of them moaned at once. He grabbed her wrists and pulled her down so he could breathe in her ear, letting her hear how much she drove him wild. At the sounds of his building orgasm, she grew more turned on until she swore it was as if they had shut out the rest of the entire world and were lost in this sexual space that was unlike any she’d experienced before.

When they were done, they were both sweaty and completely spent. She climbed off him and then nestled against him. “Please don’t leave today.”

“Never.”

And soon, Madison was sleeping soundly next to John, feeling safer than she had in weeks. Maybe her whole life.

Chapter 17

Madison and John had dinner at Nobu. They took his Harley—but her American Express card. And they had a great time.

“I’ve never had sushi before,” he said shyly.

“Let me order for us, then, okay?”

He nodded, and she placed their order, choosing milder fish she thought a beginner might like. They drank hot sake, and then a cold filtered one. Madison felt downright giddy. All the time she had been dreading John discovering her wealth, she’d never stopped to think about all the fun they could have spending it. She imagined trips and dinners and skiing and weekends at the beach over the summer.

“You look happy,” he said. “I like it when you smile.”

“It’s just such a relief not to have this secret between us. I feel like a hundred-pound weight has been lifted from my chest. And I love the idea that we can have Manhattan as a playground together.”

“As long as I get to play with you, then I don’t mind, angel.”

“You know, when you say things like that…I get…so turned on.”

“Dessert at your place?”

She nodded. When dinner was over, they rode back to her building and made love again.

“Stay the night?” she asked him, leaning up on one elbow and tracing her fingers along his chest. She thought back in her mind—she had never asked a man to spend the night before. She was always working in her home office late into the night—staying the night would be inconvenient. But with John, she just didn’t care.

“Can’t, angel. I’ve got to get up really early to face a classroom full of teens tomorrow. What about tomorrow night you stay over after tutoring?”

“Can’t. Have you read in the papers about the murder of Pruitt & Pruitt’s legal counsel?”

“Vaguely. It didn’t register before, you know? I don’t pay much attention to anything having to do with Wall Street. I don’t watch the news—I’m usually going over lesson plans.”

“She was my best friend. And she was murdered. And my father is a suspect.”

“What?” He narrowed his eyes and looked at her in the flickering light of a candle they’d lit.

“It’s a really ugly story, but the bottom line is, they were lovers and they hid the affair from me. When she died, she and I were estranged. I don’t think my father killed her. I don’t think he hired someone to do it. But the fact remains that until the police do find out who did it, our company’s stock will go down unless he is replaced as CEO and chairman. He wants me to be the new CEO…and my uncle Bing wants to be CEO.”

“What do you want?”

“Well, I find Bing out of touch with the employees. He’s just not the person to lead us forward, I don’t think. And I’ve been groomed for this my whole life.”

“Then you should go for it…. I understand about tomorrow. What about later in the week?”

“You don’t happen to own a tux, do you?”

“No, Madison. I don’t have a tux hanging in my closet. Don’t have much call for one in my line of work.” He reached around and pinched her backside.

“Ouch,” she said, laughing. “Well, what if I was to send you to my father’s tailor and have him fit you for one pronto? Could you escort me to a little party on Thursday and then maybe stay over?”

“Sure. What kind of little party?”

“Oh…a fund-raiser.”

“What kind of fund-raiser?” he asked, playfully suspicious.

“Oh, you know…for New York senator Ellie Richardson.”

“Please tell me you’re kidding.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m not.”

“Sure, I’ll go. But if I get Senator Richardson alone for two minutes, I’m going to ask her why she’s cut funding for education.”

Madison laughed. “Good for you! You do that. But she’s no pushover.”

“That’s all right. Neither am I.”

Bing was furious. Madison could see it in his eyes. The board had voted to “temporarily” ask Jack Pruitt to step down until the “cloud of suspicion surrounding the death of Claire Shipley is resolved, though the board has every confidence in his innocence.” The press release went on to state, “In the interim, the board has named Madison Taylor-Pruitt as acting CEO. Ms. Taylor-Pruitt has proved herself a capable and visionary leader, and we have no doubt this decision is the one to steer our corporation and shareholders in the twenty-first century.”

Bing asked her to step into his office after the board meeting.

“Shut the door.”

Madison did as he asked, bracing herself for the confrontation. Her uncle was a near-twin of her father, though his hairline receded a bit and his hair was all silver. He stood about six feet tall, and had the build of a former world-class diver—broad shoulders and lean physique.

“I hope you’re satisfied with your little coup d’état,” he hissed. He was always condescending to everyone.

“It wasn’t a coup, Bing. This company needs energetic leadership, and for right now, we need a smooth transition.”

“Look…you can fool them all, but you and your father can’t fool me. I think this entire disgrace has been orchestrated.”

“I won’t even dignify that with a response. Claire is dead. That’s hardly an orchestrated act simply to win a seat as CEO, Bing. When you calm down, then we’ll talk.”

Madison turned on her heel.

“I’m not through with you, young lady. Don’t you dare walk out on me.”

“Well, I’m done with you. And as new CEO, I have a busy agenda.”

She walked out of his office and slammed the door behind her.

“What’s wrong, Madison?” Bing’s administrative assistant asked her.

“Nothing, Katherine. He’s just clearly unhappy with the board’s decision.”

Katherine Gould nodded. She was about fifty, and Madison always thought she was truly elegant. She worked her hair into a ballerina topknot each day, accentuating her high cheekbones, and Madison knew Bing gave her a clothing allowance. He was absolutely convinced that only the most impeccable assistant should greet anyone he did business with—it reflected on him, just as, Madison was sure, he felt the present scandal reflected on him as well.

“He’s been under a great deal of stress lately,” she whispered.

“We all have, Katherine.”

“I know…but…” Katherine looked completely torn.

“What?”

“I don’t know if I should tell you, though as new CEO…”

“Katherine, whatever you say to me, I will hold in strictest confidence. I’ve always had an open-door policy with my people. And by that I mean this entire company, from the cleaning crew to my executives.”

Katherine’s eyes welled. “What if it had to do with your father?”

Madison tried not to reveal her emotions. “If he’s in trouble, Katherine, it’s my duty as CEO—and as his daughter—to help him, while at the same time not letting it affect the company as a whole.”

Katherine nodded and bit her lip. Looking over at Bing’s office, she saw he was facing away, on the phone, staring out at his view of the skyline. She handed Madison a file, wordlessly. Madison simply nodded and said, “Whatever’s here, I’ll respect your confidence and faith in me.”

She took the file folder and, without looking back and acting as if anything was wrong, retreated to the executive elevators and went to her floor and office.

Once there, she told her assistant she wanted to see Troy. She had expected a raised eyebrow or two over the Rubi Cho picture; however, she guessed that her long-standing reputation as the company’s biggest workaholic preceded her. No one seemed to believe the trip was anything but business. Madison didn’t know if that made her feel better—or worse. Had she forgotten how to have fun all these years? There had to be a happy medium between Kiki Davis tossing her thong to the crowd—and Madison.

Troy came into her office carrying two tablets of legal paper and several pens, looking as if he was ready for a meeting.

Once they were ensconced inside, Troy shut the door and Madison tossed the file from Katherine Gould on the table.

“This came from Bing’s assistant.”

“What is it?”

“We’re about to find out together. She was visibly upset.”

Madison opened the file folder. “Holy shit!”

Inside were photocopies of some of the same pages Claire had squirreled away in her safe-deposit box. There was also what looked to be a secret memo from her father to Claire authorizing some of the shell companies.

“This looks really bad, Troy.”

“Sure does.”

“God, what a mess. I think Bing knows. He implied my father and I had orchestrated this whole thing. I think, as my father’s handpicked choice to follow in his footsteps, Bing thinks I am in on it, too.”

“I guess I’ll take these pages to the forensics accountants, too.”

“You know, let me hold on to them for a day or so. It’s my company—and if irregular accounting is going on, I’d like to have a clear idea of what’s involved.”

“Okay. Watch your back.”

“I’m starting to develop eyes in the back of my head from watching my back so much.”

Troy left her office, and Madison glanced at her watch. It was five o’clock. No one in the office budged. Not at Pruitt & Pruitt. To succeed in the corporation, junior executives were expected to put in a minimum of sixty hours a week at the office. Most put in more, always trying to get ahead of the person at the desk next to them. Usually at seven, some people started to put on coats. At nine, a few souls still toiled, and at ten o’clock, fewer still—but the office wasn’t empty. By the next day, people would start coming in around five-thirty in the morning.

Madison picked up the phone and buzzed her assistant.

“I’m going to put in a long night. Please order me up a two-liter of Diet Coke, a Cobb salad and a basket of bread rolls from the executive dining room.”

Madison hung up the phone and took off her suit jacket. She rolled up the sleeves of her blouse and went over to her conference table. It was going to be a long night.

Hours later, her salad was barely touched. A croissant was half eaten and all the Diet Coke was gone. Around midnight, Madison called for the car service. She wasn’t tired—and it wasn’t a caffeine buzz. What Madison had discovered was so chilling that she was pretty sure she’d lie wide awake until morning.

Chapter 18

Madison burned the candle at both ends. She was developing a theory—one so bizarre she refused to share it with Troy. She barely could acknowledge it in her own mind. She pored over records and combed the Internet researching the Russian mob, in particular the Kremlin Killers, as well as going to the New York Public Library to take out several books on the Pruitt-family kidnapping.

In between all that, she had her new agenda as CEO. She had a press conference on Tuesday morning, and she was fielding more phone calls than ever. Ryan Greene sent her an enormous flower arrangement as a token of “congratulations” on her new position, though his note was sweet enough to comment that he wished the appointment was under less stressful circumstances.

She called to thank him.

“It was nothing.”

“Ten orchids and sprays of lilies of the valley, flown in from Hawaii at this time of year, aren’t nothing. So just accept my thanks. Though I’m sure you’re buttering me up so you can fight me over property I want in the Meatpacking district—the old beef plant I hear we both want. I’m going to put up a hotel.”

“You wound me, dear Madison. Can’t one friend send another friend flowers without it meaning I’m trying to gain the upper hand?”

“Not when it’s you, dear, sweet, conniving Ryan.” She knew he was capable of utter ruthlessness. More than one Pruitt & Pruitt employee had come to her firm after being fired by Ryan Greene, usually for reasons so preposterous Madison would laugh.

“You flatter me. Hey…in all seriousness, congratulations, but if you need someone to talk to, I’m here for you.”

“Thanks.”

“You going to Ellie Richardson’s thing on Thursday?”

“Yes.” The Senator Richardson fund-raiser, with a Christmas theme, would be the kickoff of the holiday season’s whirl of social activities.

“Want to go together?”

“Can’t. I have a date.”

“You?”

“Am I that hard up?”

“You’re stunning, darling, it’s just I can’t recall your last date during the social season.”

“Well, I have one.”

“Who is it? Julian Knight from Keller and Knight?”

“No.”

“Keith Swanson—the guy running the gallery?”

“He’d be more likely to ask you out.”

“He’s gay?”

“Yeah. You must have no gaydar, my friend.”

“All right. No more guessing. Just fess up.”

“You don’t know him.”

“Hmm. You’re being very mysterious. You know you’re making me jealous.”

“I doubt it. But I’ll see you Thursday.”

“See you Thursday. And you can be sure I’ll try to steal you away from your date.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Thursday lunch, Madison met her father at the intimate restaurant Chez Bella. He was waiting when she arrived, and she bent down to kiss his cheek as she reached his table.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hi.” He motioned to the chair opposite and then waved a waiter over.

“Yes, Mr. Pruitt?”

“Madison, what will you have?”

“A Perrier with a twist.”

The waiter nodded and discreetly disappeared.

“Dad?” Madison said as she settled in her chair.

“Hmm?”

“Dad, did your family ever talk about your brother’s kidnapping?”

“Well, that’s an odd lunch topic. Why would you bring that up? It’s ancient history. Before I was even born, honey.”

“I don’t know. I was just thinking about it. Such a weird chapter in the family history.”

“Well, we didn’t really talk about it. Bing was the oldest, and I doubt he remembers much either—other than he once said he remembered being assigned bodyguards. Off-duty cops. But, your grandmother had a nervous breakdown, and it was just understood that it wasn’t something to talk about. At least not in front of her.”

“The man who did it…he always said he was innocent.”

“Yeah.” Her father nodded. “He was a Russian immigrant. He swore his confession was both coerced and without the benefit of an interpreter.”

“Was it?”

“I don’t know. I mean, there was overwhelming evidence against him, Madison. The ransom money. Baby William’s clothes buried in his backyard.”

She nodded. Looking at her father closely, she didn’t detect any nervousness. But, like her, he was used to staring down enemies across the negotiating table. Never let ’em see you sweat was his mantra.

“Okay. I was just curious.”

“Now I have a question for you.”

“What?”

“Do you have any plans to introduce me to your boyfriend?”

Madison flushed for a minute. “How would you know about that?”

“My tailor, dear. You women have your hairstylists, we have our tailors.”

“Damn,” she muttered. “Who knew there was a tailor code of honor?”

“More like a fatherly one. Morris has a daughter around your age.”

“Great,” Madison said unenthusiastically.

“Well? Who is he?”

“Let’s drop it. You won’t approve.”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, he’s poor.”

“So? I’ve met enough rich assholes for one lifetime. It takes more than money to impress me. What does he do?”

“There’s the other thing. He’s a teacher, not a captain of industry.”

“So what do you like about him?”

“I can’t believe we’re having an honest conversation here.”

“Well, if Claire’s death taught me anything, it’s that life is short. So what do you like about him, Madison?”

“It’s hard to put into words. He’s honest and principled. He’s more concerned with making a difference than just…things. You know, money. Whatever. He didn’t let his upbringing—poverty, gangs, all of it—define him. He’s different, Dad.”

“Gangs?” Her father arched an eyebrow. “Well, I’ll form my own opinion. Maybe the three of us could have dinner sometime.”

“Um…sure. I figured you’d be against the relationship because of the difference in our backgrounds.”

“I have a little more integrity than that, Madison. Give me a little more credit. And give me a chance.”

“I’m sorry. His name is John Hernandez. And when I’m with him, the whole world seems very far away.”

Jack’s eyes grew moist.

“What, Dad?”

“Eh…Madison, I never had that—except with Claire—and that was marred by knowing I had hurt you. Your mother and I…we never should have married. You know that. We were like oil and water. And I regret that we dragged you through the divorce of the century. I guess I thought, because you’re such a workaholic like your old man, that we’d ruined you as far as love was concerned. I guess I’m just gratified that love found you anyway.”

Madison reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I guess it did.”

If Madison thought the sight of John in her bed drove her mad, the sight of him in a tuxedo left her breathless.

“Well?” He cocked an eyebrow at her as he stood in her doorway.

“Oh, my God, you’re so handsome, John.”

He smiled and stepped into the foyer, sweeping her into his arms and kissing her. “And you look stunning.”

“This old thing?” she joked, stepping away from him and twirling around in her Dolce & Gabbana. A rich emerald color, she bought the dress because she knew she would stand out in the sea of black—and it matched her eyes. It clung to every curve, and the back dipped down to the small of her spine, revealing her creamy complexion, smooth and perfect.

“Can we skip this thing and just stay home?” John asked.

“Afraid not. It would be in very bad form.”

“All right then, I guess our carriage awaits us, fair lady.”

He presented the crook of his arm, and she linked arms with him, feeling light, despite the confusion swirling around in her life. Madison realized what she’d told her father was true. When she was around John, she forgot the rest of the world.

Downstairs, Charlie waited with the limousine. He gave her a mischievous look, a playful wink that said he approved of her handsome date.

“John Hernandez, this is Charlie, my protector and driver and all-around friend.”

John shook hands with Charlie. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you. It’s good to see Madison out at this hour, instead of me driving to the office to pick her up from a fourteen-hour day. Not to mention she usually has a briefcase full of papers anyway.”

Madison and John climbed into the limousine. Charlie slid behind the wheel, and soon they were easing out into traffic and heading to the Waldorf-Astoria. The ballroom had been reserved for the senator’s fund-raiser. A long line of limousines snaked along the street, waiting to discharge the glittering and glamorous guests. Paparazzi had staked out a spot to snap pictures as everyone who was anyone in Manhattan disembarked on the sidewalk. However, they were hoping for a shot of Kiki or someone willing to play into their search for sex and scandal. Madison was starting to be old news, a fact she was grateful for.

When Madison and John finally arrived at the entrance, they stepped out of the limousine and entered the venerable hotel and New York institution.

Around Thanksgiving, most of the hotels, the Fifth Avenue stores and the city as a whole started ringing in the holiday season. An infectious holiday mood arrived along with the Muzak of “Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire.” The city embraced the holiday season with everything from wreaths suspended from light poles and hotel awnings, to holiday displays in every storefront window.

The Waldorf was no exception. A tall tree rose two stories high in the lobby, decorated with Victorian-themed Christmas ornaments. It shined and gleamed, with an assortment of colorful wrapped presents beneath it.

A smaller tree—also Victorian themed—had an entire feather motif, and was festooned with decorations mimicking ones from Victorian times made from ornate bird feathers, from peacocks to egrets.

“Wow,” John whispered. “I usually have a Charlie Brown tree from the lot down the street.”

“You’re one up on me. I never have a tree. Too busy at work to even enjoy it, let alone remember to water it. Last year, I worked Christmas Day.”

“Not this year, angel. We’re spending it together.”

Madison smiled at the thought. John smiled, too.

“See, the decorations make you feel like a kid again, don’t they?” Madison said.

“Not really. When I was a kid, we didn’t have anything like this. Ever. But it does get you into the spirit of things.”

They made their way to the ballroom. It was arrayed before them like a postcard. The centerpieces on each table were miniature evergreen topiaries decorated in silver Christmas ornaments. Silver and gold festooned the room. The chairs were draped with white silk cloth and tied with gold sashes. Crystal goblets glistened under the immense chandelier, and the band was playing background music—a Cole Porter song.

Couples mingled in the area reserved for cocktails. Men in tuxedos and women in their finest clutched flutes of champagne and martini and wine glasses.

John clutched her hand at the sight of the vice president’s wife, Anne Kelly, a fiery redhead with green eyes, who was charmingly outspoken and had enlivened the Washington, D.C., social scene. She waved to Madison.

“You know her?” he whispered.

“Anne? Yeah. She and Vice President Kelly own an apartment on the twelfth floor of my building. Lovely. They have a cute Jack Russell terrier named Barney. I sometimes walk him in the park—borrow him on Saturdays when I feel like I need a little fresh air.”

“Man, do I feel out of place. Anne Kelly. I wish she’d run for president. I feel like…everyone knows I don’t belong. Bet I’m the only guy here with a tattoo covering his entire upper biceps.”

Madison turned to face him. “Bet you’re the only guy here with biceps that look sexy enough to have that tattoo.” She lowered her voice and whispered in his ear, “I also bet no one else is as good in bed as you are…or has the kind soul you have. So screw them all and let’s have a good time, then go home and make love all night long.” She leaned back to look him in the eye, winked at him and hoped he would relax. She was rewarded with a grin.

“Anything for you, angel. I aim to please.”

“And you do, darling. You do…. Well, time to meet and greet,” Madison said. They approached the receiving line, and waited patiently to say hello to Senator Richardson, who was solo this evening. Her husband, a departmental political-science chair from Colombia University, was keynoting at a United Nations function. Senator Richardson was dressed in a black ball gown with a sweeping train. She was older, with honey-blonde hair tinged with frosted highlights, but her figure was still petite and trim.

“Madison, dear,” Ellie greeted her.

“Hello, Senator…. I’d like you to meet John Hernandez.”

“John, a pleasure.”

John extended a hand.

“Are you from the Palm Beach Hernandez family?”

“No.” He grinned sardonically. “I’m from the Spanish Harlem and Bronx Hernandez family.”

The senator, a consummate politician, didn’t bat an eye or miss a beat. “Good…I carried those districts in the election, you know.”

John nodded. “I was one of the people who voted for you…. But I won’t again unless education funding goes up.” He winked at her, and she laughed.

“Madison, seems I have a constituent to appease.”

“Yes, ma’am. And he’s a tough customer. A teacher at the Harlem Charter School for Excellence.”

“I’ve heard of it. We’ll have to talk, John. And I’ll have to do my best to see school funding isn’t shortchanged by the Washington bureaucrats. And Madison, please give your father my regards.”

“Of course.”

Madison and John moved away from the senator, passing her security detail, who all had on earpieces.

“Look,” John squeezed Madison’s hand, “there’s CeCe Goldberg and Cara Phillips.”

CeCe was a major anchor/producer for a network newsmagazine. Cara was another on-air talent, a blonde with a penchant for sleeping her way to the top—at least that was the rumor Ash and the Gotham Roses had whispered on to Maddie.

“Let’s avoid CeCe, if you don’t mind. Her show is planning on doing a segment on Claire’s murder. I really don’t need her pumping me for quotes. She’s a bit of a shark.”

“Too late.”

CeCe was charging straight at them, her perfectly coiffed brown hair not even moving a strand. Sixty, she was dressed in a dignified Oscar de la Renta red gown—befitting the start of the holiday season—and plenty of diamonds.

“Think she has enough bling-bling?” John whispered just as she reached them and stuck out her hand.

“Madison Taylor-Pruitt…congratulations on the CEO announcement. You’re a mover and a shaker, that’s for sure.”

“Thank you, CeCe.”

“So tell me, how is your father holding up?”

“Holding up?”

“I hear a grand jury may be convened as early as next week.”

“My father isn’t the sort to worry about maybes and innuendo, CeCe. He’s far too busy for that. And you can quote me on that.”

Madison smiled, but made sure her eyes were cold and unfriendly. She took John’s hand and moved along without saying goodbye.

“Man…”

“What?”

“Now I know why you run that company of yours—you’re not somebody to mess with. I sure hope you never look at me the way you looked at CeCe Goldberg.”

“That old battle-ax? CeCe thrives on scandal, and on making people cry on camera. You learn really fast not to give people like that an opening.”

“And I thought the mean streets were tough.”

Madison stood on tiptoe and pecked him on the cheek. “We are from two different worlds of toughness. I’m glad I have you to be…myself with. We don’t have to be tough with each other.”

The two of them continued to “work the room,” as Madison called it. They even greeted Jane Kimball, the second-in-command at the CIA. Madison knew her from a Democratic Party fund-raiser she’d attended over the summer. Jane was utterly brilliant, and one of a new wave of CIA who was fluent in Arabic—and Swahili. She was an army brat who’d lived all over the world. Madison felt a special kinship with the woman now that she herself was an agent working for the United States government. Of course, Kimball didn’t know that…or did she? Madison mused.

Madison also saw several acquaintances from the Gotham Roses. They were all assigned to Renee’s table. Before John and Madison could make their way there for the first course, though, Madison saw, with dread, that Fluffy Peters was making her way toward them.

“Oh, no…”

“What?”

“See this woman heading straight toward us?”

“The older woman in the tiara?”

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t a tiara a bit much?”

“Not for Fluffy.”

“That’s a cat’s name.”

“It’s also the name of the most vicious Palm Beach socialite of them all. She winters down there, but unfortunately doesn’t leave until December 10 every year, just so she can make the first round of Christmas balls in NewYork. Brace yourself.”

Fluffy, her skin so stretched from plastic surgery that no emotion registered on her face, thrust out her hand.

“Madison, dahling,” she said, accentuating her syllables in an affected form of speech.

“Fluffy.” Madison smiled.

“You look smashing, dear. Simply smashing.”

“Thank you, Fluffy.”

“And who is your gentleman friend?”

“May I introduce John Hernandez.” Madison patted his arm in a gesture of affection.

“Ohhhhh, how lovely. Of the Palm Beach Hernandezes? I know them quite well.”

“No, ma’am.”

“Well, then where? Where would I know you from? The Puerto Rican sugar family? I met some of them last winter at the Breakers in West Palm. We were both there for a wedding.”

“No. I’m actually from New York.”

“New York? There are no Hernandezes in the social registry from New York that I know of.”

“He’s not in the social registry, Fluffy dear…Do tell, who designed your dress?”

Fluffy looked down, as if she couldn’t remember what gown she had worn. “Oh…this? Carolina Herrera…I’m always loyal to Carolina. Now, go back. Where do you know each other from?”

“He’s a schoolteacher, Fluffy. I met him through my work with the Gotham Roses.”

“Oh…” She managed a wan smile, though not a single crease appeared on her Botoxed brow. “I see…I misunderstood that he was associated with your charity. I thought he was your date.”

Madison decided she had had quite enough of Fluffy Peters.

“He is, darling. Why, we’re ever so serious. In fact, my father can’t wait to meet him. And if I could tell you the way this man drives me wild in bed…but, really, we must be getting to our table.”

Madison linked her elbow through John’s arm and giggled as they walked through the crowded ballroom.

“You are really naughty, Madison. Why would you do that to that poor old woman?”

“That pompous old snob? She deserved it. You can’t ever use the word poor associated with Fluffy. Trust me.”

Madison expertly steered them to their table—set for twelve—all Gotham Roses and their dates—including Ashley, accompanied by a male-model friend of hers she knew from Chic.

Madison sat next to Ashley and introduced her to John. Ashley introduced her date, who went by the one-name moniker Tryce.

“Nice to meet you, John.” Ashley smiled as handshakes were exchanged. She was wearing a Richard Tyler gown in a rich chocolate brown, and her hair was set in pin curls, like an old-fashioned flapper.

“Your hair looks great, Ash,” Madison offered.

“You like it?”

Madison nodded. “It’s so different. Bet you anything you’re copied, and at the next function a half-dozen women do their hair like yours.” It wouldn’t be the first time Ashley set off a chain reaction with her sense of style.

Their waiter came over and Madison placed her drink order—champagne. While John was ordering his drink—a cold Heineken—Ashley whispered in Madison’s ear, “Forget what I said about slumming it. He’s delicious. Positively edible.”

Soon, their table was full, and Renee had joined them. Madison was amazed at how she greeted those at her table, not revealing in the slightest that she was anything more than the woman behind a charitable organization—certainly not a woman with a veritable mini-Quantico beneath her town home. She smiled at Madison warmly, not a single look or even a blink letting on that they were up to their necks in a dangerous case, or that Madison and Troy had nearly met their end in the Caymans.

Renee’s “date” was her daughter, Haley. A pretty, blond high-schooler, she often accompanied her mother since Preston was sent to prison. Renee had once expressed to Madison that she worried for her daughter and wanted to be there for her in her father’s absence. That included never scheduling more than two evenings out in the same week. During the busy social season, that was difficult, but Renee’s savvy solution was to take Haley along and introduce her to the cream of society, letting Haley meet dignitaries and politicians. Consequently, Haley was as poised as any adult in the room.

The evening progressed happily. At one point, though, when Madison went to the ladies room, Princess Chloe St. John—another Rose, and an agent—accompanied her. When they were out in the hallway, Chloe, her thick blond hair in an updo, and wearing a stunning Richard Tyler off-the-shoulder amber silk chiffon gown, took her by the elbow.

“Madison? Just wondering…any sign that the Duke may be involved in your case?”

Madison shook her head. “I don’t think so. This seems personal in some way.”

“Trust me, though, it wouldn’t be unlike him to make things personal if he thinks you’re close to Renee. Promise you’ll be careful.”

Madison nodded and the two of them went to powder their noses, appearing to all others like two former debs all grown up. They made their way back to the table, Madison still marveling at how seamlessly agents pretended as if they were nothing more than heiresses.

After dinner, Senator Richardson gave a speech outlining her plans for social security legislation, the environment, and highway initiatives, as well as a sweeping pronouncement about free speech and patriotism that sounded remarkably like a presidential stump speech. Ashley noted that the senator’s voice was firm and passionate, and she was wearing a black vintage Valentino gown as fashionable as anything on any of the twenty-somethings. She was completely telegenic. Dessert—a beautiful white cake with an apricot and custard filling and edible flowers on the top—was served, and dancing began.

John asked Madison to dance to a slow song. On the dance floor, he whispered in her ear, “I’ve been a very good boy, but I really want to tear that dress off you. Can we go soon?”

“Mmm,” Madison murmured. “You have been a good boy. I can’t believe I was worried about how you would deal with all this nonsense. You’re an old pro. You sure you’re not one of the Palm Beach Hernandezes?”

He laughed out loud and twirled her around.

“I’m the envy of every guy here.”

“No…I think the ladies at our table are quite taken with you. They’ll be asking you to fix them up with your friends if you don’t watch it.”

“Sure…and you know, I could just see Fluffy Peters on the back of a Harley.”

At that thought, Madison laughed. Then Ryan Greene came up to the two of them as the song ended.

“Hi, Madison…you going to introduce me to your mystery date?”

“Ryan, this is John Hernandez. Not of the Palm Beach Hernandezes.”

John laughed at their inside joke, and he shook hands with Ryan. Madison asked, “Where’s your date?”

“Knowing Charlotte West, I’d guess she’s in the bathroom checking her lipstick for the five-hundredth time this evening.”

“Sounds like Charlotte.”

The band started playing a song by Anita Baker, and a woman whose voice uncannily resembled Baker’s was singing.

“Mind if I dance with your date?” Ryan asked John.

“It’s up to her,” John teased.

Madison nodded and kissed John on the cheek as Ryan took her hand and led her into the middle of the dance floor.

“Seems like a nice guy.”

“He is.”

“Doesn’t look like one of us.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The small diamond stud in his left ear. Hair a little too long. Cut of the tuxedo…too buff for Wall Street.”

“God, you’re observant.”

“Just where you’re concerned.”

“Why?”

“Come on…you can have your fling with stud boy over there, but after a while, what are you going to talk about? With me, God, we can talk deals and mergers and acquisitions and all the things that make the hearts of people like us really race.”

He dipped her ever so slightly and looked her in the eye. Then they resumed their dance.

Madison smiled ruefully. “You know, Ryan, there was a time I would have thought you were right. And I don’t think I’ll ever lose my killer instinct in the boardroom. But I realize there’s more to me than mergers and acquisitions and land deals. And for some reason, he’s the guy who makes my heart race.”

“You and I, we’re destiny, Maddie. Trust me.” He winked at her. They continued dancing. Madison knew he saw her as an acquisition and merger he couldn’t have. But that was better than really hurting him. He was a friend.

When their song ended, she went and sought out John, who was being “chatted up” by CeCe. He was tight-lipped and looked relieved when Maddie came to get him.

“Come on, John, let’s call it a night. Excuse us, CeCe.”

The two of them left the ballroom, and he said, “Man…she was determined to make me crack.”

“Good thing you’re such a tough guy.”

“I don’t know. I felt like I was being grilled by a police interrogator.”

They emerged from the Waldorf, and Madison shivered slightly. She had on a light silk wrap, but the temperature had dipped to nearly freezing. John instantly took off his tuxedo jacket and wrapped it around her. Then they saw Charlie up the street and waved. He was leaning against the car reading the paper. He nodded at them, climbed back in and drove to the curb right in front of them. He hopped out to get the door for Madison as John reached for the handle at the same time.

“Sorry,” John said. “Still not used to that.”

“No problem,” Charlie said, and gave him a clap on the back.

Madison was relieved when the heat came on in the limo right away. She shivered and shook off the cold.

“How was your night?” Charlie asked.

“Wonderful.” Madison beamed. She snuggled up against John and they drove toward Central Park. “Of course, the usual social nonsense. CeCe Goldberg was after scoop, and Ryan Greene was determined yet again to create the ultimate real-estate merger, but all in all, I had a wonderful time.”

“What’d you think, John?”

“I got to dance with my angel, here, so it was all good.”

Madison laid her head against his arm.

“Oh, damn,” she said suddenly.

“What?” John asked.

“Nothing…Charlie?”

“Hmm?” He looked back in the rearview mirror.

“Can you stop at the grocery store over on Eightieth? I just realized I forgot to ask Estelle to pick some coffee up when she came to clean today. And I cannot start my day without it.”

“No problem.”

A few lights later, Charlie make a left and drove to the grocery store, parking the limo across the street from it to avoid a no-loading zone.

“Why don’t you let me run in?” he asked. “Coffee…need anything else?”

“No, Charlie, it’s okay…John and I will go. Maybe we’ll get some fruit for the morning, too.”

John opened the door for her and she slid out, still wearing his tuxedo jacket. The two of them held hands as they crossed the street and entered the supermarket.

“I took tomorrow off,” John said. “I have some papers to grade, but other than that, I’m all yours.”

“Great.” She smiled. They took a little red plastic basket and wandered the brightly lit aisles of the gourmet grocer, filling the basket with French-roast coffee, some pastries, oranges, grapes, and some cheese and crackers.

At the register, John took out two twenties and paid for their purchases, then the two of them left the supermarket.

Suddenly, a huge explosion rocked the entire block. Madison fell backward into a pile of newspapers delivered for the morning, and John hit the sidewalk, smashing his elbow.

Debris rained down, ash and dust, and an acrid smell of burnt flesh filled the air.

With tears in her eyes, Madison looked across the street. Where her beloved limo driver had been parked with her limousine now stood the flaming wreckage of a car.

Chapter 19

Thinking fast, Madison grabbed John’s hand. “Let’s go!”

“What? We’ve got to wait for the police,” he said, his voice raspy with the smoke around them.

“Trust me,” she begged and pulled him around the block and then down the street to a subway station. In the distance, they heard sirens.

“Are you crazy, Madison? Someone wanted you dead. We’ve got to talk to the police.”

Teeth chattering from shock, Madison knew she had to think clearly. She shook her head from side to side, fighting tears, trying to breathe deeply and collect herself, squeezing her eyes shut to try to stave off the vision of the burning car that she was certain was now forever etched in her mind.

“John…we’ve got to get to your place. Fast.” She pulled him down the steep staircase into the suffocating air of the subway station. The smell of urine and stale, unmoving grimy air assaulted their nostrils.

“Give me a few dollars,” she urged him. Taking the bills he handed her, she bought a Metrocard and led him through the turnstiles.

Maddie kept looking over her shoulder, moving farther down the platform. A few minutes later, she could hear a subway car in the distance, its lights a glow down the tunnel. Finally, a subway car rattled to a stop, and its doors opened with a swooshing sound.

“Come on,” she urged.

Shaking his head, he nonetheless followed her. “You’re in shock, Maddie. We need to go back. We’re witnesses.”

They hopped on the subway car. Its doors whooshed shut, and it pulled out of the station and into the dark of the tunnels.

“Where is this car headed?” she whispered.

“Not sure.”

“Let’s ride it for a couple of stops, get off and hail a cab to your place.”

“Madison…”

“Shh…” She squeezed his hand, teeth still chattering.

Three stops later, they found themselves within thirty blocks of John’s town house. They hailed a cab and were dropped off. Madison looked at her watch. It was just before midnight.

They let themselves into John’s apartment, but she stopped him before he turned on the lights.

“Wait! They could be watching us.”

“Who’s they? Madison…what is going on?”

“You have to trust me. I need to call the FBI. Remember that man I was seen with in the Rubi Cho column?”

He nodded. “How could I not remember? I was so jealous.”

“He’s an FBI agent.”

She conveniently left out that she was undercover, too.

Using her cell phone, she dialed Troy, gave him her location and told him she was safe.

“Whoever did this thinks I’m dead, Troy, and that’s a good thing. I need you to do one more thing before you come here.”

“What?”

“I need you to use your FBI credentials to get into my office. In the upper-left drawer of the credenza against the far windows is a locked briefcase. I need you to bring it.”

“Okay. Hang in there.”

“Trying to.”

“I won’t be able to get there for a little while. I’ll need to gather together a team. Give me a couple hours.”

“Won’t matter. Not like I’m going to get any sleep anyway.”

She hung up and then John came behind her in the dark.

“Let’s get out of these clothes and take a hot shower. I want to get the smell of smoke and street off of me.”

She nodded and allowed him to lead her into the bathroom. They took off their evening clothes. Compared to her apartment, John’s little bathroom was cramped, and the two of them barely fit in the shower stall, wedged together, their bodies close.

He turned on the hot water, still without the lights on, and pulled her to his chest. As the water enveloped them, followed by the steam, Maddie finally allowed herself to absorb—even partially—what had just happened. Great wracking sobs escaped from her mouth and she put both of her arms around John’s neck, clinging to him the way a drowning person clings to a life preserver. What if he had been killed? At the thought of the explosion, she felt a pain in her heart.

Charlie was like family to her. He had guarded her with his life…had paid the ultimate price for being part of her world. Guilt consumed her, and she laid her head against John’s chest and allowed the water to cascade over her, washing away some of the pain as he just held her.

After the hot water began to run lukewarm, John turned off the shower and helped her from the stall, wrapping her in a big well-worn towel. He led her into the bedroom and dug through his drawers—still in the dark, his room only illuminated by a single night-light—until he found a pair of sweatpants for her and a big sweatshirt. He donned the same—sweats and a T-shirt, then a zippered sweatshirt he sometimes wore for his morning run.

“Want a cup of tea, angel?”

Madison still had the sniffles from her crying jag. “Kind of, yeah.”

She followed him into the kitchen as he readied a kettle of boiling water, his profile illuminated in the moonlight coming in through the kitchen window. Then he poured her a cup of peppermint tea and made himself one.

“I keep this tea for when I have a cold. Drink it down…. Come on, let’s go to the couch.”

Madison sat down. He went to get the comforter from his bed and wrapped it around her, then sat down next to her. For a long while, he didn’t say anything, just pulled her against him and stroked her damp hair. Finally, he cleared his throat.

“I need to ask…Why are you involved with the FBI, Madison?”

She knew Troy would never reveal her status as an undercover operative. So she told John pretty much the rest of the story, leaving out her own involvement—Claire’s death, her father, rumors of offshore accounts and the mob.

“Basically, Claire was onto something. I really can’t be one hundred percent sure of what, but I have a really good theory I’ve been developing all week.”

“So you think whoever’s behind this was who ran us off the road—or tried to—at West Point.”

Madison nodded, feeling almost robotic, numb.

“Can’t the FBI and police protect you?”

“Yes, but until all the pieces to this puzzle are solved and the people responsible are arrested, I can only be but so safe.”

John rubbed his eyes with weariness, worry. “I don’t like this at all.”

“Neither do I…and every time I think about Charlie, I want to just curl into a fetal position and cry. But I’d rather get mad. I’d rather get these bastards once and for all.”

In the dark, she couldn’t see John’s face. She curled against him and he stroked her face.

“I love you, Madison,” he whispered almost inaudibly.

Madison had never really said the words to a lover. She had never even thought them about anyone else. She was too busy. Her BlackBerry was jammed full, her voice mail always overloaded, her e-mail overflowing. Love would have just been another inconvenience to fit into her schedule—right there wedged between a meeting with the board of directors and dinner with the head of the zoning commission. But this felt right.

“I love you, too.”

Around three in the morning, she and John were dozing, when there was a knock on the door. John startled awake, stood and went to his peephole.

“It’s that guy…from the FBI,” he whispered.

Madison rubbed her eyes. “Let him in.” Her body ached, and she felt as if she’d been sucker punched in the gut.

Troy nodded at John, shook his hand and identified himself, and entered with another agent he introduced as Mark Layton.

“I brought the briefcase, Madison, but before we go over all that, we want to get you to a safe house. Right now, we were able to talk to the M.E. He’s saying two people were blown up in the limo—you and Charlie. That way we can keep you safe—no one’s looking for you—until this is all straightened out.”

“How long will that be?”

“I hope not long at all. But I can’t make you any promises. All I do know is at this point, someone is very, very determined to see you very, very dead.”

“What about John?”

“He’s a material witness. We can hide him, too, but I think sticking a detail on him for a few days will be enough. We’ll say he saw nothing. Honestly, with you dead, they probably think they’re home free.”

“Can you catch whoever did this? Charlie was…he was a really good man.”

“We’re working on it, Madison. We’ll get them. How quickly depends on what’s in this briefcase you had me bring.”

“Okay. So when would I go to this safe house?”

“Now, Madison. There isn’t a lot of time to second-guess this whole thing.”

Madison’s gut twisted some more. She had gone from the height of being in love, dancing at the Waldorf, to death, grief, and now life on the run, all in the space of one night.

She turned to face John. “I have to go with them. I can’t let anyone else die because of me. They’ll watch you for a few days. But promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Forget about me, Madison. You’re the one who’s in danger. How can I get in touch with you?”

Madison looked at Troy.

“You can’t. Not directly.” He took out his wallet and handed John a card. “You can call my cell and relay messages. And I can relay them to you. But until this blows over, your best bet is just to act the role of the grieving boyfriend.”

Madison rushed over to John and kissed him on the lips. “I’m going to get these guys. I’ll see you soon.”

Looking every bit the part of the grieving boyfriend, John nodded. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Then, with an equally grieving heart, Madison nodded at Troy and left John’s apartment, not quite sure of when—or if—she would see him again.

Chapter 20

The safe house turned out to be a nondescript motel in southern New Jersey. When they arrived at the room, Madison crashed for an hour or two on the very lumpy mattress, exhaustion overtaking her. When she awoke, Troy and two other agents—Layton and an agent named Lawson—were there, eating from a platter of cold cuts and catching some of the news coverage of her “death” on CNN.

Stock in Pruitt & Pruitt plummeted with this latest twist, but the board quickly announced the succession of Madison’s uncle Bing, and Wall Street analysts thought there was the possibility of a rebound based on rumors of an acquisition of a cereal and sports-drink company.

“Frankly, Jim,” one analyst said, staring at the camera, “Pruitt & Pruitt has a long history stemming from early in the last century. They invest wisely, diversify intelligently, and have had good leadership. I think they can rebound from this.”

Madison padded into the bathroom and rubbed cold water on her face. In her mind, she could picture Charlie offering to go into the store for them. Then the car being blown to bits. Her only consolation was he hadn’t suffered—and it was very, very small consolation.

Madison squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them again, she sighed, rinsed her face again, then opened the toothbrush and toothpaste the agents had picked up for her—along with a hairbrush and mouthwash. She guessed they’d also go shop for some clothes for her. Though she doubted she’d be dressed in Ralph Lauren. More like whatever was on sale at the local department store. She brushed her teeth and ran the brush through her hair, then resolutely left the bathroom, ready to lay out her suspicions for the FBI.

“Guys…I’m ready to go over my theory now.”

“Great,” Troy said.

The motel room was shabby, and included a kitchenette with an ugly, brown Formica table and four uncomfortable chairs. Commandeering the table, Madison opened the briefcase and asked the agents to each take a seat.

“Okay, gentlemen, see if you can follow all this…. Many years ago, my uncle, the infant William Charles Pruitt III, was kidnapped and murdered. He was the second child of my paternal grandparents. My father hadn’t been born yet. The case created a frenzy. Even the president of the United States at the time called the local police, as well as the head of the FBI, asking them to put all their manpower into solving the crime. It looked like an inside job. Eventually, suspicion pointed to Victor Karaspov, a Russian immigrant employed by the household as a caretaker.”

Madison pulled out old photos and a couple of books from the library on the kidnapping. She had paper clips marking pages of photos. Most were in black and white.

“Victor claimed a lot of things. First, that he had no interpreter, so he didn’t understand the charges. Then that he was framed.”

“Aren’t they all?” Lawson, a solidly built agent with black hair and an olive complexion, said, rolling his eyes.

“I thought so, too,” Madison said. “But there’s more than meets the eye. Eventually, he changed his story, saying that he had kidnapped the baby—but not murdered him—by then the body had turned up, burned beyond recognition. He said he had a child, and he could never do anything so cruel, that he was the fall guy for a larger group of men. Later, they said a botched rescue attempt—a police raid—may have hastened the murder.”

“Was he framed?”

“Well, no one believed him. But in his interviews he came across as anything but a criminal mastermind. Eventually, Victor died in prison, still professing his innocence. That’s where the story ended, except for some enterprising journalists. One of them, a man named Harrison, was originally from the town where the body was discovered. He had grown up fascinated by the case and did his own investigation. He found evidence that Victor’s family received a payoff—no one knows from whom. They took the money, moved away, and changed their name. Victor spent the rest of his years in prison with no visitors from his family. But his wife remarried eventually, and his daughter was apparently quite well provided for.”

“Okay, so how does this intersect with you?” Troy asked. “Other than the attack at the cemetery in Venetian Lake and a false social-security number for a long-dead baby.”

“Ask me the last name of the man Mrs. Karaspov married.”

“I’ll bite.”

“Gould.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Mark Layton asked.

“Christ…” Troy said, “that’s the name of Bing Pruitt’s assistant. Katherine Gould.”

“You got it…. And there’s more. Okay…so the reason—aside from the incident at Venetian Lake—that I looked at this, was that the papers Katherine gave me don’t match the ones I got from Claire’s safe-deposit box.”

“What do you mean…don’t match? They’re both cooked books.”

“Yeah. But Claire’s cooked books all point to Bing approving the payments to the nonexistent William Pruitt. His signature is on a lot of the papers. And Katherine’s cooked books all point to my father.”

“I don’t get it,” Troy said, leaning over as Madison spread out both sets of false papers.

“Well, let’s say Claire was on the up-and-up. She was a whistle-blower who wanted to figure out what was going on. And it would have killed her inside—if she really did love my father—to think he’d approved the false social-security number, the bogus companies, and so on. But bottom line, she would have come forward, because she was an attorney and she was moral, and that was just Claire. But someone killed her before she could meet with the FBI. Her books say Bing was behind the bogus companies, the mastermind. So who would want her dead? Bing. And if my father was setting her up, it’s not like she would have these fictitious books out of thin air—thus, if she already had papers and ledgers proving it was Bing, then my father could let her blow the whistle, and he gets the girl, and his brother out of the way, and his company’s illegal millions keep rolling.”

“So the fact that the papers she had pointed to Bing leads you to believe they’re the legit fakes—and Bing wanted her out of the way.”

“Right. And if I hadn’t gotten this other set of fakes from Katherine, I would have let it go from there. But since she doesn’t know what I have from Claire, I think Katherine wants to mislead me, intentionally, and send me gunning for my own father who, on the face of things, I am angry with for having an affair with my best friend. Unbeknownst to her, he and I reconciled at a dinner this week.”

Troy opened one of the library books. There was a picture of Victor’s wife and daughter leaving the courthouse.

“So what did you find out about Katherine?”

“Well, according to the writer of the book, her mother married another Russian and moved to a Russian enclave in working-class Brooklyn. This became a key area for the infiltration of the Russian mob after the fall of Communism and glasnost.”

“What do your personnel records indicate?”

“Her background is impeccable. She has a great education, and she clearly has elevated herself above where she came from. I see her in the office. She dresses beautifully, carries herself like an aristocrat.”

One of the agents stood and went to the small refrigerator and got a bottled water. “So how do you know it’s not a coincidence? Gould isn’t all that unusual a name.”

“I thought about that, too. So I went digging further. It’s her mother, all right, who was married to Victor. Then I did some discreet asking around on the office grapevine. Turns out, I never knew, but when she first joined the company years before, she worked for my father.”

“Your father? How come you didn’t know that? You work there, too.”

“Yes. But this was long before I was working at the company, around the time of my parents’ divorce. I was eleven or twelve. Office scuttlebutt has it that Katherine and my father had an affair. My mother found out about it…the affair was one of a thousand indiscretions on my father’s part. So it wasn’t like anyone put much stock or credence into it. It was never common knowledge. But the timing of the whole affair was unfortunate. Even if it was just rumor, my father didn’t need to give my mother’s lawyers ammunition. Right around that time, Katherine suddenly goes to work for Bing.”

“So who’s idea was the whole scheme to set up the offshore accounts, to have William on the books, the whole nine yards?” Troy asked.

“Well, I think Katherine carried the torch for my father for years. Call it woman’s intuition. If she and Bing began an affair, I think she introduced him to the Russian connection…and I’m not sure why he took the bait, but he bit all right.”

“So how do we catch the bastard? And her?” Troy asked.

“He thinks I’m dead. What if I show up to a private meeting with him? Confront him. Shock him with the fact that I’m not dead. I wear a wire. I get him to fess up. You cowboys sweep in, you get the bad guys, I get my old life back. We’re all happy. Case closed.”

“I don’t know if I like that,” Troy said. “Too many variables. Bing is volatile. Gould has connections to the mob. I don’t like it. I really don’t. Preliminary look at the limo points to C4. Fucking C4 explosives. These people don’t play around, Madison.”

“And neither do I. Treat me like an agent, Troy. Not a friend. I don’t think you’d hesitate to send one of your female FBI agents into harm’s way. And I am not staying in this sorry motel for the rest of my life. I already miss my Egyptian-cotton sheets.”

Troy finally cracked a smile.

“Great…This is what I get for working with heiresses.”

Chapter 21

The night before Madison was due to confront Bing, she couldn’t sleep.

In the first place, she was emotionally exhausted by the relentless coverage of her death. And she was tormented by guilt at seeing her father—and Ashley, and even her mother, who normally could drive her insane just by being on the same continent—all torn to pieces by the funeral. The FBI told her that they couldn’t risk placing the people she loved in jeopardy by revealing she was alive. Their grief had to look real—the better for the confrontation with Bing. They even provided her father and mother with ashes, which were buried in the family plot in Rye, New York. Bing served as a pallbearer, which infuriated Madison. She had never been particularly close to him. After all, the Pruitts were known for their stoicism. It wasn’t like she’d grown up with warm, fuzzy memories of him.

Then there was lower-key, but still in the papers, coverage of Charlie’s funeral, attended by old pals from Vietnam, as well as her father and other people from Pruitt & Pruitt who had gotten to know Charlie over the years.

Madison tossed and turned restlessly. She missed John. She missed talking to him. She missed sleeping next to him. She wanted to go back to the life she was trying to create.

Finally, she gave up and went out to the kitchenette where Troy was already drinking coffee.

“What’s your excuse?” she asked.

“Hmm?” he mumbled sleepily. “My excuse for what?”

“For not sleeping. What’s up with you?”

“You know, working side by side with you these last couple of weeks…it’s hard to then separate the friendship and know I’m going to put you in a vest and surround you with snipers and hope this guy doesn’t go off the deep end and try to kill you. They’ve nearly run you off the road, shot at you, blown up your car…”

“Next thing you know, they’d have put cyanide in my martinis.” She tried to make him smile, but Troy was grim-faced.

“I ever tell you I lost my first partner?”

“No,” she whispered. She pulled up a chair.

“Yup. A woman. Great person. Had just found out she was pregnant, too, and was going to ask for a transfer to a desk job. Husband was an awesome guy, completely gaga in love with her. A secret-service agent. They met in D.C. We were all on assignment there. I was an usher in their wedding party.”

“How’d she get killed?”

“We were undercover on a case involving money laundering. Not unlike this one. Drug kingpin, in that case. He somehow got wise to her—she was acting as one of his kids’ nannies. She traveled with him and his family. He had two wives of all things. Some kind of sick fucker. Anyway, he killed her—shot her stone cold in the center of her forehead—right in front of his eleven-year-old son. Told the kid he had to be able to do things like that if he wanted one day to be the kingpin himself.”

“Oh, my God…” Maddie whispered. She patted Troy’s hand.

“I…she didn’t see it coming. None of us did. I was grateful it happened in a split second, but I took a leave of absence for a month. Really had to think about whether I could handle this job.”

“I’m glad you didn’t quit. We might never have met.”

“Yeah…but it never gets easier. Not really. You toughen up. You learn to tell yourself it’s all part of the risks. That we’re all working for the greater good. That it’s the eternal battle of good versus evil, white hats versus black hats. That we’re on the side of the righteous. But if you care about people, you never get used to watching them go out there in a vest.”

“You know, going through all this…it makes me more determined to be an agent. I’m really proud that Renee asked me to join.”

“Even if you always have to hide that side of your life from John?”

She nodded. “I told him no more secrets. But I guess I tell myself this is different. Like you said, it’s for a greater cause. But I’m also good at it. I was the one who put the puzzle together. I can do this, Troy. Renee’s faith in me wasn’t misplaced. She was right. I can make a difference in a way I never thought possible.”

“All right then, Agent Pruitt…go wash up and get ready. Today’s the day.”

“We’re going to get him, Troy.”

“Let’s hope you’re right.”

Madison rose and turned to go to the bathroom. Two agents were posted outside the motel room.

“Maddie?”

“Hmm?” She turned her head to look at Troy.

“Do me a favor? Wear this?” He took a silver chain from around his neck, a ball design like the kind for dog tags. Suspended at the bottom was a medal.

“What’s this?”

“It’s Saint Christopher. It was my partner’s. I guess I’m superstitious. I want you to wear it.”

“Then I will,” Madison said. “Thank you, Troy.”

Maddie turned from him, her eyes wet with tears. She’d be damned if she was going to let Troy lose another partner.

Chapter 22

The plan was to surprise Bing—and Katherine.

Bing was scheduled to speak at the ribbon-cutting ceremony for the waterfront tower property. Katherine—Troy found out by hacking into her scheduler at work—was going to accompany him. Troy had managed to plant a bug on the lapel of Katherine’s suit jacket, which she had left that morning on the back of her desk chair for a few minutes, so the FBI was listening in on their conversations in the limousine.

After the ribbon-cutting, Bing and Katherine were driving to look at a piece of property farther south. It was a fairly open space, also waterfront, and snipers would be posted on the tops of the four warehouses surrounding the area. Once Bing and Katherine got out of the limo, ostensibly to meet the Realtor who’d told them she would be arriving in a Mercedes, Madison would exit the car instead.

In the Mercedes would also be three agents, all crouching. On the way to the meeting site, Madison tested and retested her own wire. She tried to breathe normally, despite the weight of the vest and the way it constricted her rib cage. And she told herself over and over again they were going to get them.

In the vacant lot, the minutes ticked by. Madison saw two vans full of agents, but they were battered old vans that would never arouse suspicion. She reminded herself they were full of men and women ready to protect her at all costs.

Troy reassured her, “Look…he’s expecting a Realtor, not you. Most especially not you. You’re armed, you’re wearing a vest. We’ve got you covered from every angle. The bottom line is, we’re looking for something to hang him and Katherine with—rather than risking that they somehow twist this and pin the whole scheme on your father, or worse, cover their tracks so well they hire a Dream Team defense and get away with it. So we’re looking for a confession of sorts.”

“What if they see you guys?”

“We’ve done this a hundred times before, Madison. Again, they’re not expecting this. You see that van. You see the guys on the roof. They see an abandoned warehouse area and a piece of property they want to buy. They see the Mercedes of the Realtor they’re meeting.”

Madison inhaled and exhaled a few times. Troy’s cell phone rang.

“Yeah…? Okay. We’re ready.”

He hung up. “They’re five minutes away.” He spoke into his wristband, which had a walkie-talkie built into it. “Five minutes, people. Remember, Madison is going to be in the thick of things. At all costs, she is to be protected. Hold fire unless I give the signal. No one get trigger-happy. Let’s do this. And let’s get them.”

Five minutes later, Bing and Katherine’s long, black limo pulled into the gravel area in the center of the four old warehouse buildings. Their driver parked and leaned his seat back, expecting to wait for the two of them as they toured the land. Madison saw him take out a newspaper and start reading.

Bing and Katherine climbed out from the back of the limo, shut the car door, and were talking. Katherine pointed through the warehouses—you could glimpse the Hudson River through the buildings. Madison knew how their minds worked. They loved the property. Hell, if she wasn’t on the case, she’d buy it herself.

Madison waited until their backs were turned slightly, and then she climbed from the Mercedes after a whispered “Good luck” from Troy. Almost involuntarily, she fingered the medal around her neck.

“Hello, Bing. Katherine…” she said as she stood and they faced the direction of her voice.

“Oh, my God,” Katherine said.

Bing’s face was drained completely of color. “How…? How…?”

Madison shut the door of the Mercedes and took a couple of tentative steps toward them.

“Surprised to see me?”

Neither one of them said a word.

“Yeah…shocking, isn’t it? I just refuse to die. You blew up my limo driver, but miraculously I didn’t get blown to smithereens. I’m still standing.”

Bing glared at Katherine. “I thought you said you’d take care of everything.”

“I did.”

“Well, someone screwed up. It’s obviously not taken care of if we still have the former acting CEO of Pruitt & Pruitt standing right in front of us.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” Madison stared at them coolly. “Katherine…why?” Madison asked. “I’ve sung your praises at work…thought you were absolutely someone who was essential to our organization. Why? I mean, not only did you frame my father, but you were willing to kill me…and Claire?”

“I was Claire,” she said, her voice tinged with bitterness. “Years ago. I was the girl who fell in love with Jack Pruitt, who believed in him. Believed in his high ideals. And then he discarded me. Worse, he passed me off to his brother. Like I was something to be traded.”

“So why didn’t you move on, Katherine? Why didn’t you leave the company, find another job?”

“Pruitt & Pruitt was my life.”

“You mean your obsession. Does Bing know?”

“Does Bing know what?” Bing snapped.

“He doesn’t, does he?” Madison suddenly felt more confident. This wasn’t unlike a boardroom meeting, setting the scene, making a case. Manipulating the players if need be.

“I don’t know what?” Bing’s face registered annoyance. Madison knew he hated being in the dark about anything—surprises were his least favorite thing in the world. They once gave him a surprise fiftieth birthday party—and at the Plaza, no less—and he didn’t speak to Jack or Madison for a month afterward.

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” Katherine waved her hand in the air dismissively. “Ignore her.”

“Oh, no…it’s something, all right. Why don’t you tell him, Katherine? You tell him.”

“Tell me what? What is she talking about? This is madness. Get to the point.”

“Do you know Katherine’s real name?”

“Of course I do. Katherine Gould.”

“No, no, no, Uncle Bing…” Madison was mocking him, inciting his fury further. “The name on her birth certificate. The name she was born with. The name she had when she went to the courthouse. To watch her father’s trial. Poor little immigrant girl with her kerchief on. Thick accent. Ugly black shoes. Hand-me-downs. Tell him, Katherine. Tell him all about it. Or should I say Katarina?”

Katherine Gould stared with pure hatred at Madison. “Shut up, you pathetic bitch. You spoiled, spoiled, worthless girl.”

“Guess it’ll be up to me to clue in poor stupid Bing. That’s why you’re not CEO—or won’t be for long. Too gullible. Don’t have the temperament needed to have a position of that power.”

“Shut up!” Katherine shrieked. “Just shut up, now!”

“Her real name, Uncle Bing, is Katarina Karaspov.”

Bing didn’t react—not at first. It took a second for the name to seep into his brain. Madison watched it, almost as if watching a movie in slow motion. Then she finally saw the recognition dawn on him.

He turned to Katherine. “What? You’re…the…the daughter of that beast who killed my baby brother?”

“My father didn’t kill anyone. He was railroaded by the system. By a system that couldn’t see past his thick tongue, his accent, his ugly black shoes, like she just said. A system set up to revere people like the Pruitts and despise people like the Karaspovs. Immigrants. Use us like workhorses, then turn on us in an instant.”

“But he killed my brother. He…burned him.”

“He didn’t. He wasn’t capable of it. He turned that child over to the men he worked for. It was supposed to be a clean job. They were supposed to give him to a nursemaid—to his own former nanny to care for him. Hell, she loved him more than his own stupid mother. She was too busy with her bridge club to even tuck her children in at night.”

Bing’s face was pale, and he had broken out in a sweat. “I can’t breathe,” he said, clutching at his throat.

“My father took the fall for his partners in crime, in return for enough money for me to go to college, for my mother to buy a house. But I knew he was innocent. And though I was the little immigrant girl, I made sure I got straight A’s, that I worked two jobs, that I had the ‘right clothes,’ the right look, the right hairstyle. And I spent years—long relentless years—researching the Pruitts. I know more about the lot of you than you know about yourselves.”

“So you went for the job with my father with malice aforethought.”

“Absolutely. And along the way, he fell in love with me. And I became enamored of him. I changed my plan from ruining the Pruitts to the ultimate irony—becoming their matriarch. Marrying into them in the ultimate realization of the American dream.”

Madison looked at Katherine’s face. She was flushed, heady with the dream she’d once embraced.

“Then he threw me out like I was worthless. Or worse, old. I saw him going for younger women. Women who weren’t even fit to converse with him, let alone share his bed. Then that Claire…for God’s sake, she was your age. That was too much to take.”

“But what about me?” Bing asked, horrified. “What about me, us. Our dream?”

“You’re so stupid. Really…do you think you hold a candle to me? You’ve never been bright enough to compete with your brother—or me, for that matter.”

“But we were going to run Pruitt & Pruitt together.”

“You’re a fool. A stupid old fool,” Katherine said. “Men really never outgrow thinking with their pants, Madison. They’re not like women. Not like us.”

Madison realized Katherine had said more than enough for the FBI, but she needed to know if Bing was a pathetic patsy or a full participant, especially where the murders were concerned.

“Bing…okay, I get that maybe you were jealous of my father—had a sense of brotherly competition, but…why go along with her plan? You have enough wealth for a lifetime and then some. Why? I don’t understand.”

“I was so tired of the attention he got, Madison. Him and his golden-girl offspring, while me, I had two ex-wives and no children.” His voice was laced with a nasty sarcasm. “Katherine’s too old now. I guess I…she came to me with a plan. To increase my wealth tenfold through working with money that we could hide offshore. No one would know. And at the same time, we were creating a set of books that would topple your father’s reign as CEO. I’d never heard a more perfect plan in my entire life. It was sheer brilliance.”

“Bing—” Madison shook her head sadly “—my father loves you. You’re his only brother. He feels protective toward you.”

“Please…don’t patronize me,” he snapped. “Once he came along, he was all my mother cared about. He got the attention, he got the love, and I was shunted aside, this ugly reminder of William’s death. Then my father chose him as the heir to the throne of Pruitt & Pruitt. He chose him to lead the family into the new century. Me? I was an afterthought.”

“Bing, you run a huge part of the company. You’ve been on the cover of Fortune and been profiled in the Wall Street Journal. You’re delusional.”

“Would a delusional person have so perfect a plan? And it would have worked…”

“Except for Claire.”

“Except for Claire. So we had to get rid of her.”

“Bing,” Madison shook her head. “But kill her? How?”

“Katherine and I figured out she was snooping around. So it was a preemptive strike. I told Claire that I knew Jack was crooked, and I had proof. If she met me at the warehouse, I would give her the evidence. Once she got there, friends of Katherine’s erased her. End of story.”

Madison was stunned. Claire had gone there knowing the evidence might point to Jack. But she was willing to hunt for the truth, just as Madison was. Her admiration for her friend’s courage grew.

“And me? Getting rid of me?”

“If your father had married Claire, as was his plan, they would have had babies, and you, my dear, would have found your fortune divided many more ways—maybe even eradicated entirely. But once Claire was gone, I realized that if Katherine could arrange for your demise, too, then Jack would be completely and utterly destroyed. Only putting him in prison for illegal accounting practices would be the cherry on top.”

Madison was chilled. The two of them were stark raving mad, and now she had enough evidence on both of them.

“Well, your plan failed, you two. I’m still alive.”

Madison started to back up to the Mercedes, but Katherine pulled a gun from her purse.

“Sorry, my little blond heiress. Now it’s your turn.”

Suddenly, SWAT teams made their presence known. A male voice shouted from the rooftop, “Freeze. Put the gun down…you’re surrounded.”

The Mercedes’s doors opened, and out stepped Troy and his team, their automatic weapons drawn and trained on Bing and Katherine. At the same moment, Bing grabbed Madison and thrust her in front of him as a shield.

“Hold on, everybody,” Troy said, holding his arms up and urging calm.

Katherine trained her gun on Maddie’s head—right at her temple.

“If anyone moves one step closer, she’s dead.”

“Now…you do that, and you’re in a heap more shit, Katherine. That’s a capital offense…needle-in-the-arm kind of crime…” Troy spoke calmly, in a measured voice. “We don’t want this turning into a bloodbath.”

Madison tried to weigh her options, and found they were rather slim at the moment. If the SWAT teams could take out Katherine, she felt she could handle Bing, but the gun butt pressed to her temple was limiting any choices she had.

“I’d rather die right here than go to prison like my father,” Katherine said. “And taking a Pruitt brat with me will only make my demise truly spectacular and worth it.”

“No one’s killing anyone here, Katherine,” Troy said, inching his way forward.

Katherine and Bing, meanwhile, were inching their way backward with Madison.

Suddenly, Madison’s heel caught in a small rut in the gravel-and-concrete lot. As she fell and lost her balance, Katherine herself fell backward for a second, which was all Troy’s SWAT team needed. They shot her what seemed to Madison like a hundred times, and her body shook from the impact of dozens of bullets striking her like a target at target practice.

That left Madison and Bing, who were now wrestling on the ground.

He had his hands clasped around her throat, on top of her. Madison knew there was no way they could shoot him without risking the bullet traveling through him and hitting her. Taking her fingers, she gouged his eyeballs, and he let out a high-pitched squeal.

Rolling off her, Bing grabbed Katherine’s gun, which had fallen to the ground right by them. He couldn’t see, but he felt for Madison, who was rolling away from him. He grabbed her hair and brought the gun toward her. At that moment, the SWAT team had a clear shot—and took it…

Just as Madison’s uncle Bing pumped two shots into her—one just below where the vest protected her…and one in her thigh.

Madison felt as if she’d been punched with fire. The world started going black, the sky turning to stars.

The last thing she saw as she turned her head was Bing, his body moving as it was riddled with bullets, and then Troy…saying, “Hang in there, Madison!”

And then…

Nothing.

Chapter 23

Madison next woke up three days later in the hospital intensive-care ward. Morphine clouded her brain and she had no recollection of anything. She felt pain, but it was softened by the morphine. She felt fear, because she saw the machines around her.

And then she saw John’s face.

She relaxed a little at the sight of him. He stroked her face, and said something like, “You did it…they got them…. Don’t talk…I love you.”

And then blackness.

The next time Madison awoke, she felt stronger. She still didn’t remember much. She could recall Charlie and the limo blowing up, and Bing…and being wired. But the precise way she got shot was a blur.

Her father was there, looking ashen, next to John. “Darling…don’t speak. You’re getting the best medical care money can buy.”

Madison’s eyes focused, and she saw three private-duty nurses around her. If she could have, she would have laughed. She couldn’t move—what did she need three nurses for?

Her father said, “Bing and Katherine are dead. Claire’s murder solved. I’m cleared…but at what price?”

She mouthed the words “How bad?”

“Your vital signs are stronger now. You lost a lot of blood. But you’re a tough one. Of course, anyone who has seen you in action in the boardroom knows that. And you were lucky. The bullets missed major organs. And the one in your leg missed your femur.”

Madison trained her eyes on John and smiled.

Her father said, “He hasn’t left the hospital. He’s a good man, Maddie, love…I’m very happy for you. So now you’ve got to pull through and get out of this damn bed and home where you belong.”

Madison grimaced as pain started coursing through her spine.

“Nurse!” her father shouted protectively. A nurse appeared with a syringe…and Madison fell backward into space into a sweet morphine oblivion.

The next person she saw was Troy.

“I sent John to a hotel to shower and get some sleep,” he said. “Your father is having a press conference right now. Everything’s going to be okay, Madison.”

She nodded. She felt more alert. “Thanks,” she whispered. “Water?”

Troy looked over at a nurse, who approached the bed with some ice chips, which she spooned into Madison’s mouth. The soothing cold wetness trickled down her throat.

Troy looked at the nurses. “I need five minutes with her.”

They nodded and left them alone.

“The Governess is really grateful on this one, Madison. Really grateful. If you weren’t undercover, trust me, you’d have a drawerful of medals.”

“Just…glad…it’s…over.”

“Sure. Me, too. I guess you can retire to your penthouse now.”

She shook her head. “I’m going to…walk,” she croaked. “Then kick your ass.”

He winked at her. “We’ll see, tough girl, we’ll see.”

Madison looked over at the windowsill. Huge flower arrangements, spectacular showy ones, stood in crystal vases.

“Ryan Greene, CeCe Goldberg—of course, she wants an exclusive, Anne Kelly…Christ, the president, Renee, Ashley. You got so many flowers, we started sending some to the cancer ward…try to brighten a few patients’ lives a bit.”

“Good.”

Madison smiled. She was going to be fine. She knew it. And the hell with anyone if they thought this meant she was going to quit the Gotham Roses secret spy division.

Epilogue

Troy called Madison at work a couple weeks later.

“Hey…is this my old partner?”

“Oh, my God, Troy…how are you?”

“Fine. Assigned to a new case but missing my old partner. I keep bugging Renee to find us something new to work on.”

“That would be great.”

“How’s the office?”

“Feels good to be back, even if I’m still recovering from the ordeal. But I was going crazy cooped up in the hospital and then at home. On the bright side, my father is CEO again and I’m second-in-command. Stock is healthy…we’re building, climbing…doing great, Troy.”

“And John?”

“Wonderful.”

“You two set a date yet?”

“Sometime next summer when he has off from school. We want to marry in Tuscany.”

“Some guys have all the luck.”

Madison fingered the medal she still wore around her neck.

“Troy?”

“Yeah?”

“I still have your medal. I need to get it back to you.”

“Nah…you keep it. I want you to have it to keep you safe.”

“Thanks.”

“Listen, this isn’t an entirely social call. I need for you, your father and John to meet me somewhere.”

“Why do you need them?”

“You’ll see.” He sounded mysterious. “Renee actually has a surprise for you. But I need to deliver it to keep your real relationship with Renee a secret.”

“All right,” she said cautiously. “Where?”

“Drake Hotel. The restaurant. Eight o’clock on Friday. Reservations will be in my name. Table for five. Just sit and order a cocktail and wait for me. Don’t be late.”

“But—” she said, but found herself listening to dead air.

How odd, she thought.

On Friday, she and John and her father took her father’s limousine to the Drake. As she sat in the back with them, she couldn’t help smiling. “Out with my two favorite guys.”

“Well, we’re with our angel,” John said. He wore a Hugo Boss suit she bought him for his birthday. Her father came in his suit from the office, and she wore a simple black suit by Calvin Klein with a cream-colored blouse. In her hair was an antique comb John had bought her at a street fair they went to in Greenwich Village. Filled with marcasite and emerald stones, it had tiny art deco–looking butterflies.

They arrived at the Drake at a nudge before eight o’clock. As Troy had said, there was a table waiting for them in the back. The maître d’ said, “This is the table that was requested. Very private.”

Their waiter, with an elegant French accent, took their drink orders, and they sat back and looked at each other. Madison assumed they were all thinking the same thing. What the hell were they doing there, and why was this FBI agent acting so…well, downright cloak and dagger?

At eight-fifteen, Madison checked her watch. “Okay,” she said aloud what was on her mind. “The suspense is killing me.”

Five minutes later, the three of them—they had all sat with a view of the entrance to the restaurant—saw Troy walking in with a tall gentleman.

Troy approached the table—and he was beaming.

“Thanks for coming,” he said. “I’d like to…well, the hell with dragging this out. I’d like to present to you your uncle, Madison…your uncle William Pruitt.”

Madison’s father nearly choked on the water he was sipping. John dropped his bread knife. And Madison felt that if she stood, her legs would fail her.

“What?” Her voice was tremulous.

The tall man—who did look remarkably like her father—leaned down and pecked her on the cheek. Then he shook John’s hand, and walked to the other side of the table and stared at Madison’s father.

“Jack…” he said hoarsely. “It’s true.”

Jack stood and embraced him, fiercely, overcome with uncharacteristic emotion. The two of them stood there for several long minutes. Then everyone sat down and Madison said, “Troy, what’s going on?”

Troy and William smiled, while her father—perhaps for the first time in his life—looked understandably shaken.

“Well…while you were laid up, Madison, we went through Bing’s and Katherine’s apartments with fine-tooth combs. But even before that, something was…well, as the expression goes, ‘sticking in my craw.’ Remember how Katherine, when confronted, pretty much admitted everything?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well…one thing she wouldn’t admit, didn’t admit, was her father’s guilt in the murder. She said he had kidnapped the baby, but the child was supposed to go to his nursemaid who loved him like a son.”

“I assumed it was a woman who refused to believe her father was capable of the ultimate evil.”

Troy shook his head. “I don’t know. It seemed like more than that to me. So I started digging. And digging. Madison, Jack…I am telling you that I never worked so hard on anything in my life. Dead ends, false leads…but eventually, I found him. With my boss,” he looked at Madison meaningfully, “pulling some strings.”

Troy looked over at the man next to him.

“Are you…sure?” Jack asked hesitantly.

“Yes. Despite him being a dead ringer, we ran some DNA tests using Madison’s blood from the hospital. He’s your brother.”

Jack covered his mouth with his hand and started weeping. “I’m sorry…this isn’t like me. It’s just that…”

“I know,” Troy said calmly. “It’s a little overwhelming. I’ll let William tell you what he knows.”

William cleared his throat and fiddled with his linen napkin. “I was too young to remember anything, of course. I only knew that my mother loved me dearly—my adoptive mother. My nursemaid did take me in, but whether from fear or guilt, after just a month or two, she allowed me to be adopted by a wonderful family—a college professor and his wife in Vermont. Lovely people, who had no idea who I was or where I was from. The adoption was handled privately. The nursemaid had a fake birth certificate claiming I was hers. She said she was a single mother whose parents disowned her and she felt I would be better off with two parents.”

“And you had no idea?”

“None. I knew I was adopted. Mom told me when I was seven. They never had any more children, and to be honest, they doted on me so much that I didn’t feel like I was overly curious. When my father passed away—I idolized him, such a wonderful man, so revered at the University of Vermont, taught history—I started thinking about it some more. My mother and I tried to find my birth mother. But some things didn’t add up. The birth certificate, we discovered early on, was fake. So it seemed like we were at a dead end. I just…let it be. I assumed it was just the way it was.”

“Then, when I showed up,” Troy said, “it all fit together.”

Madison and Jack began peppering William with questions. Was he married? Did Madison have cousins? Was his childhood happy? What did he do for a living?

Madison was delighted to discover her uncle was a professor at New York University—in the history department like his father before him. He specialized in the history of Europe in the twentieth century. He had, he said, a very happy life, other than occasionally looking at the starry sky and asking those big questions, like who am I and where did I come from?

His wife was also a professor—she taught English, and specialized in medieval literature and Chaucer. He had a daughter Madison’s age who was a schoolteacher like John, and a daughter three years older than Madison who was a stay-at-home mother of a little boy.

“What do they think of all this?” Madison asked.

“They’re so grateful I’m at least getting the opportunity to meet…you all.”

Then he looked down, suddenly somber.

“What?” Jack asked. “We didn’t scare you off with all our questions, did we?”

“No…I just…well, it’s important to me that you know I’m not interested in the Pruitt fortune. Money’s not important to me. I just wanted the opportunity to know where I came from. Honestly.”

Madison’s father waved his hands. “Look, William, after all I’ve been through watching Madison in that hospital bed…I’m determined that we build a relationship. I’m still stunned. Still…overwhelmed, frankly. But I’m also telling you that your daughters will want for nothing in life. Your grandson will have a trust. They can do nothing with the money, or they can donate it, or they can enjoy the good life for a while. You and your wife can continue teaching…or she can go to England and spend the rest of her life haunting medieval monasteries researching old manuscripts. The money is yours. It’s your birthright. But we’ll let the lawyers figure all that out. For tonight—” he raised his glass “—we celebrate.”

Madison, John, Troy, William and Jack all lifted their water glasses or wineglasses and clinked.

Madison looked around the table. Pruitt-family secrets very nearly killed her.

But now…now she believed that Pruitt-family secrets just may have opened up a whole new world to her.

One she couldn’t wait to start exploring. She couldn’t believe the twists and turns her life had taken recently. As her father and William tried to catch up on lost years, Madison’s cell phone chimed. She kissed John on the cheek and excused herself to take the call in the hotel lobby.

“Madison?”

“Renee?”

“Do you like your surprise?”

“I don’t even know what to say. I can’t believe it.”

“The Governess pushed hard to find him. She—and I—are delighted with your hard work and this was one way to say thank you. You’re an asset to the organization and we’ll use your skills again, you can be sure. Until the Duke is locked away, the Roses aren’t safe.”

“Count me in. Only next time I could do without the gunshot wound,” Madison said wryly.

“Ah, that Type A personality. Somehow, Madison, I knew you’d want to work with us again.”

“Never challenge a Pruitt. We don’t like to lose.”

“And neither do the Roses. Take care, Madison. Go enjoy your dinner.”

Madison said goodbye and closed her cell phone. Renee was New York City’s keeper of secrets, and Madison was certain of one thing: the Duke—and anyone on the wrong side of the law—had better not underestimate the power of the Roses.

Turn the page for an exclusive excerpt from the next book

in the exciting THE IT GIRLS miniseries from Silhouette Bombshell.

FLAWLESS

by Michele Hauf

On sale October 2005

at your favorite retail outlet.

Chapter 1

London—Scotland Yard

Green and crimson fire escaped myriad facets of the diamond. Cut in the asscher style—a stepped square cut with cropped corners—each slight tilt or turn of the jeweler’s tweezers released another scintillating wink of color. Even beneath the harsh fluorescent lights of Scotland Yard’s interrogation room, the rock put on a show.

There must be a flaw. Nothing in this world was perfect.

At the back of her thoughts Becca Whitmore heard whistling. Symphony No. 8 in B minor? That one of the Scotland Yard inspectors would cruise down the hallway whistling Schubert made her smile. Someone must have stepped out on the town last night for a bit of culture.

“Miss Whitmore, I am told?”

Thoroughly startled by the male voice, Becca dropped the diamond. It clinked onto the Formica table and then jumped onto the creased ultrawhite card she always used to lay out gemstones.

A whistle acknowledged her jumpiness. “Sorry,” the man offered. “Will dropping it damage the thing?”

Tucking her hair behind her ear, Becca resumed her composure. “No.”

Why then had she been so jumpy about dropping the gem? It was too early, and she was still on New York time, which should find her snuggled in bed.

“Diamond is one of the hardest substances found in nature, Mr….”

“Agent Dane.”

A slender, six-foot-tall advertisement for laid-back leaned in the doorway to the interrogation room, wearing a presumptuous smile and a pale blue turtleneck sweater. Tufted blond hair warred for one direction on his scalp, and lost. Right hand cocked at his hip flared back a black tailored suit coat to reveal sculpted pecs beneath the snug sweater. The Brits had a thing for close-to-body tailoring, as if they still clung to the 60s-era style.

Swank, Becca thought.

He tugged out a leather badge wallet from inside his coat pocket and flashed it quickly. “Agent Aston Dane. MI-6.”

The wallet snapped shut as Becca stood and offered her hand. “Becca Whitmore.”

Grasping her hand with both of his, he pumped twice. A simple band circled his right thumb. Silver? Cool, relaxed. Thumb? Open. She had a knack for judging a person by the jewelry they wore. Men, most particularly, offered intriguing analysis merely for the subtleties their choices uncovered.

“Nice to meet you. Could I see that badge again?”

Still holding her hand, Dane winked. “You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

Becca tugged her hand from his grip. A lift of her eyebrow challenged. “I don’t need a little slice of plastic to prove my credentials.”

“Oh? And yet, who the bloody hell is Becca Whitmore?”

“I’m the gemologist.”

“Ah! Yes, the expert in gems imported from the good old US of A. I was told an American was making the trek. From the JAG?”

He referred to the FBI’s Jewelry and Gem program. They only worked thefts in the United States, and so had handed the case on to the CIA. The CIA had been the one to contact Becca’s superior, Renee Dalton-Sinclair.

This case had begun in New York, but had quickly gone international with today’s theft in London.

Yesterday’s attempted theft involved a request for a very specific ten-carat diamond—the very diamond sitting on the white card, Becca presumed. The New York gems dealer had told the thief she’d sold the stone, and then he’d shot her in the head.

The victim? One MaryEllen Sommerfield. Becca knew the woman from the occasional purchase or meeting at a gems convention. MaryEllen was still alive, a bullet lodged in her frontal lobe as if a ticking time bomb. Surprisingly, she remained coherent, and had been able to give the details to the questioning officers.

She’d also told the officers she’d sold one ten-carat stone to a London jeweler who had plans to create a necklace for a Transylvanian countess, and another to a Paris dealer. Had the thief been aware there were two stones? He hadn’t made such knowledge apparent to MaryEllen.

Becca’s cover was more than a story; she actually was a gemologist. But she was so much more. Recruited into the Gotham Roses four years earlier by Renee Dalton-Sinclair, Becca served as an agent in an undercover operation that concentrated on crimes committed by the rich and untouchable. Those “good ole boys” who lived above the law and could get by with nearly anything—yes, even murder—merely by flashing their cash or the incredible power of political connections.

On the surface, the Roses were made up of young socialites who focused on charity and giving back to the community. Nary a crime fighter in the bunch. Hardly the sort the criminals would expect to come beating a path in their wake.

Less than two dozen of those exceptional young women were aware of and worked for the covert branch of the Gotham Roses, which cooperated with the CIA, FBI and other crime-fighting agencies.

Fate had placed Becca in the path of a fleeing purse snatcher several years earlier. Reacting to instincts she’d never known she possessed, she’d swung her Fendi bag, catching the thief in the face and laying him out flat. Renee Dalton-Sinclair had witnessed this scene from the back seat of her limo.

Renee Dalton-Sinclair was a gorgeous and powerful woman married to Preston Sinclair, a noted businessman who had been incarcerated for embezzlement. The scandal had been the motivating force behind Renee’s creating the Gotham Roses. Renee answered to a mysterious woman the Roses knew only as the Governess. Becca often wondered if she were CIA or FBI, or someone higher.

No matter, the Governess had made it clear she wanted intel on this case—and hard evidence. Suspicions from unnamed sources suggested there was something different about these two diamonds.

What had Agent Dane asked? Ah, was she with JAG.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss my orders,” she finally said. The usual excuse. Scotland Yard knew the CIA had sent her here. “You said you’re with MI-6?”

“We’re the obvious match for this case—” His pause ended in a forced smile. He smoothed his palm down the front of his thin blue sweater. Summoning the truth or concocting a lie? It was the kind of pause Becca was familiar with, and used herself, when needed.

“So what makes you believe this case is organized crime?”

Agent Dane stepped backward and slapped a hand over the wall next to a large picture window. The expanse of glass changed from a light-blocking white to reveal it was actually a two-way window.

“Exhibit A,” he offered, crossing his arms and ankles to pose beside the scene.

Inside the room sat a thin man in black sweats. Blood trickled down his stubble-darkened jaw. A vivid purple bruise marred the left side of his forehead. Hands secured behind his back, his head hung, and his shaved scalp revealed a scar that curved around his ear.

“Is that the thief?”

“You’d bloody better believe it. Picked him up as a lovely bonus prize along with the diamond. Sergei the Dog, a middle-tier thief.”

“Middle-tier?”

“Sure. You’ve got your scummy low-class blokes who do smash-and-grabs and tilt over little old ladies on street corners.” He ticked off his fingers as he explained. “You’ve got your upper tiers who do exquisitely planned heists. And then there’s the middle, who are basically all the rest. They work in groups or are hired by the big blokes who haven’t the time or motivation to delegate the upper-tier heists.”

“I see.”

“Good on you, Miss Whitmore. I like a woman who picks up the ball without fumbling. There’s also a notation on Sergei’s record that he’s snitched for the SVR. Er, that’s the—”

“I know what the SVR is.”

“Stupid Violent Russians.”

Becca compressed her lips and crossed her arms. “What is it about the Russians you don’t like?”

“Besides the Cold War?” He shrugged. “It’s a joke. You know, humor?” He sighed and punched a fist into his opposite palm. “Tough room. SVR, Russian intelligence,” he said. “But isn’t that an oxymoron? Russian. Intelligent?”

Despite her reservations, Becca had to smile at that one. Ah, hell, she let out a chuckle.

“Whew. The room is finally starting to warm up.” Dane’s smile was easy and it piqued Becca’s attention. Yes, definitely an open man. Direct opposition to her need to keep things close. “So the CIA has flown you all the way over to London for that pretty little rock?”

Nodding and exhaling a sigh, she said, “Don’t remind me of the flight.”

“Don’t like to fly in airplanes?”

“I fly well enough, it’s over water that makes me, mmm—” she tilted her palm up and down “—nervous.”

“Hydrophobic?”

“Yes.” And, far too much information to reveal to a perfect stranger.

He gestured to the diamond. “A nice piece. Ten carats, I believe. Snatched earlier this morning from a gems dealer over in Liverpool. But I don’t understand why the entire store was not ransacked. There were other gems of equal size, yet this bit of sparkle was the only thing taken.”

“It is curious nothing else was stolen,” she agreed. “There was no sign of forced break-in at the New York store. The dealer said the thief specifically asked for this stone. As if he knew she had it. And yet, she had only purchased it five days earlier.”

Picking up the diamond, she redirected her focus. Hefty. Solid. The asscher-cut was rather ugly. Herself, she preferred the classic round brilliant-cut stones.

Either way, it was an extraordinary showpiece. A stone this size would likely be utilized as the key setting in a necklace or brooch. Only the wealthiest of wealthy could touch such a fine piece, a social set with which she was familiar.

What troubled Becca was that someone had tried to kill for this diamond. Murder didn’t seem necessary. Had the London theft been foiled by the arrival of Scotland Yard? No time for murder? Or had the thief’s MO changed? Was this even the same thief who had struck in New York? Or had that man alerted another in his gang to the sale?

If it was organized crime, as Agent Dane had alluded, the scenario seemed likely.

She fished out a disk light from her valise. It was a little larger than a quarter; a snappy little device Alan Burke had designed for her. A squeeze of the rubber case produced UV light on one side and white light on the other side. Alan was the gadget guru for the Gotham Roses, who operated out of the brownstone on Sixty-eighthAvenue. Alan never met a challenge he couldn’t fill or a foreign movie he didn’t like.

Leaning over the table to block some of the unnatural overhead light, Becca beamed the ultraviolet light across the diamond. As expected, the diamond fluoresced. But wow, it fluoresced…pink! Most diamonds fluoresced blue, and fluorescence wasn’t necessarily favorable when pricing a stone. More fluorescence tended to make the diamond murky, sometimes oily in color when viewed in natural daylight. As an attribute it was prized only if the fluorescence cut the yellow in the stone to produce a blue-white color.

But this stone wasn’t yellow; in fact, it was quite clear.

“That’s odd.” Flipping the light disk to white light, Becca then tilted the diamond to redirect the blocks of prismatic color beamed across the white card. There was something…

Startled at her discovery, Becca turned the crown of the diamond toward the tabletop. By beaming the white light through the lower pavilion of the gem, it produced a kaleidoscopic dance of light on the pale gray Formica. Within the glow, small, dark spots littered the colors…in a pattern.

Letters?

“There’s something on the table of this diamond. An ion beam brand?” she spoke her suspicions out loud.

Dane leaned over the table. “There’s something inside the diamond?”

“I’m not sure.” Becca held up the diamond before him. “There is a method jewelers use to mark diamonds in a minute manner. It’s completely invisible to the naked eye, unlike the oft-used laser engraving burned into the girdle. This is the girdle.” She ran a finger around the edge of the diamond. “Ion beam branding deposits identification codes or matrices inside the diamond, which are only viewable with a high-powered microscope.”

“And where is yours?”

“Not here. The 200x microscope required is too large to lug about in my little case. But what makes the discovery strange is that I didn’t need it.”

She flashed the light over the crown of the diamond. Just one more check. Indeed, a faint pink glowed within the stone.

“Brilliant.”

“Yes, but check this out.” She flashed the white light across the stone. “Hell.”

“So that’s where diamonds come from, is it, Miss Whitmore? Hell?”

This time, Becca did not see anything. No letters or branded matrix. In fact, the marks she had seen were now completely gone.

“This isn’t right—”

“Oh, blighted bollocks!” Dane dashed from the room.

Whatever had bit him in the ass?

Becca spun to the two-way window. She jumped up and rushed to it, slapping her palms to the glass. The suspect convulsed on his chair.

Dane appeared and grabbed the man by the throat. White spittle oozed over his tightly clamped lips. The agent pounded a fist against his chest then released the bound man with a thrust. Still strapped to the chair, the man fell backward, landing on the floor, his feet in the air. He didn’t move.

Dane shouted, “Sod me!”

He flung his arms out and turned to approach the two-way window. He gave the glass a good pound with his fist. Anger stretched his mouth to a tight sneer.

He kicked the chair leg, and exited the room.

Becca rushed to the open door and peeked out to find Agent Dane standing in the hallway, hands to hips and head shaking. He looked to her and fisted the air again. “Bastard killed himself.”

________________________

Erica Orloff

2005

1-55254-366-8

en

Harlequin

Copyright © 2005 by Harlequin Books S.A.

Published by Silhouette Books

America’s Publisher of Contemporary Romance

Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to

Erica Orloff for her contribution to

THE IT GIRLS series.

SILHOUETTE BOOKS

ISBN 1-55254-366-8

THE GOLDEN GIRL

Copyright © 2005 by Harlequin Books S.A.

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

® and TM are trademarks of Harlequin Books S.A., used under license. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

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Books by Erica Orloff

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ERICA ORLOFF

is a native New Yorker who relocated to sunny South Florida after vowing to never again dig her car out of the snow. She loves playing poker—a Bombshell trait—and likes her martinis dry. Visit her Web site at www.ericaorloff.com.

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ONCE A THIEF by Michele Hauf, Silhouette Bombshell

HOT PURSUIT by Kathryn Jensen, Silhouette Bombshell

DEVIL’S BARGAIN by Rachel Caine, Silhouette Bombshell

THE GOLDEN GIRL by Erica Orloff, Silhouette Bombshell

Chick Lit

Women’s fiction with attitude, these humorous, edgy, hip stories celebrate life’s little curves…From Red Dress Ink

WITH OR WITHOUT YOU by Carole Matthews, Red Dress Ink

KILLER SUMMER by Lynda Curnyn, Red Dress Ink

DO THEY WEAR HIGH HEELS IN HEAVEN? By Erica Orloff, Red Dress Ink

Fantasy/Science Fiction

Powerful, magical tales, vivid characters and richly imagined worlds from the first imprint solely dedicated to female focused fantasy—Luna Books

THE DESTINED QUEEN by Deborah Hale, LUNA

URBAN SHAMAN by C.E. Murphy, LUNA

POISON STUDY by Maria V. Snyder, LUNA

ON SALE OCTOBER 1ST

Showcase

Enthralling stories by the brightest stars in women’s fiction—from MIRA Books, and big romances that sweep you away—from HQN Books

MASQUERADE by Brenda Joyce, HQN Books (historical romance)

Romantic Suspense

Danger…romance…adventure…suspense! Stories that will take your breath away—from Harlequin Intrigue and Silhouette Intimate Moments

SECURITY MEASURES by Joanna Wayne, Harlequin Intrigue

Inspirational

Stories of faith, hope and love that warm the heart and nourish the soul—from Steeple Hill Love Inspired and compelling suspense—from Love Inspired Suspense

DIE BEFORE NIGHTFALL by Shirlee McCoy, Steeple Hill Love Inspired Suspense

Women’s Fiction

Books that celebrate the “next” stage of women’s lives…because every life has a second chapter! From Harlequin Next

PELICAN BAY by Charlotte Douglas, Harlequin Next

Fantasy/Science Fiction

Powerful, magical tales, vivid characters and richly imagined worlds from the first imprint solely dedicated to female focused fantasy—Luna Books

IN STONE’S CLASP by Christie Golden, LUNA

ON SALE OCTOBER 15^TH

Sexy Reads

Powerful, provocative tales full of heat and passion—from Harlequin Blaze, Silhouette Desire and Harlequin Presents

THE TYCOON’S TROPHY WIFE by Miranda Lee, Harlequin Presents

Inspirational

Stories of faith, hope and love that warm the heart and nourish the soul—from Steeple Hill Love Inspired and compelling suspense—from Love Inspired Suspense

DECK THE HALLS by Arlene James, Steeple Hill Love Inspired

Women’s Action Adventure

Strong, sexy, savvy heroines who save the day…and always get their man. From Silhouette Bombshell

FLAWLESS by Michele Hauf, Silhouette Bombshell

Chic Lit

Women’s fiction with attitude, these humorous, edgy, hip stories celebrate life’s little curves…From Red Dress Ink

THE NIGHT I GOT LUCKY by Laura Caldwell, Red Dress Ink