Blood Always Tells by Hilary Davidson (always you kirsty moseley .TXT) 📗

to stay more than a couple of days, he realized, dropping his shirt in a laundry bag and hanging it outside the door of his room. The thought horrified him, especially the image of himself lugging a shopping bag through the hotel lobby. Dominique would have laughed her head off at him.

Dominique. Just thinking of his sister squeezed his chest tight.

He switched his focus to practical matters. At least he didn’t have to worry about work. He’d sent a message to the owner of the company he freelanced for, and she’d already responded offering condolences, promising as much time off as he needed, and asking where she could make a donation in his sister’s memory. He considered calling Sabrina, but explaining the truth to her was too painful to imagine. Deep down, he hoped she would see the news when it broke on Monday, as it was sure to. After that, they could talk. He dialed Tom Klepper’s office number, left a terse message, and hung up. What was he supposed to do now? It was a Sunday night; there was only so much he could accomplish. He wanted to hunt down Trin Lytton-Jones, but only after he talked to the others on his list. He needed to be prepared for that encounter.

While he was working out his next move, his cell phone rang. Desmond answered on the first ring.

“Stop playing games with me, you S.O.B.” The voice was a man’s, but wound so tight there was a squeak in the back of his throat.

Desmond glanced at the screen, but didn’t recognize the number. “Who the hell is this?”

“You just called me!”

“Ah.” All Desmond had said on Tom Klepper’s voice mail was, This is Desmond Edgars. I’m calling about Gary Cowan. That, and a phone number. The man’s reaction was baffling. “That was fast.”

“Can it, you schmuck. Is he okay or not?”

“No.”

The other man spluttered. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t even know who this is, do you?” Desmond asked.

“You’re a piece of garbage who works with Max.”

There it was. Max.

“Funny you mention Max,” Desmond said, “because I want to talk with him.”

There was stunned silence on the other end. “Who… who is this?” Klepper croaked.

“I told you when I called. Desmond Edgars.”

There was silence on the other end of the line, but Desmond could sense the gears turning in Klepper’s brain. “Edgars… wait, I’ve heard that name before. You’re the Glamazon’s brother, aren’t you?”

“If by Glamazon, you mean Dominique Monaghan, yes.”

“Why are you calling me? What do you want?” The tension left Klepper’s voice with the suddenness of a balloon pop. His taut, strained interest dropped precipitously, but picked up again. “Wait, did Dominique call you? Because I haven’t been able to reach Gary. I never thought of calling her.”

“Yes, Dominique called. She filled me in on what was going on this weekend, including Gary’s little scheme.”

“His scheme? What’s that, exactly?”

“Gary arranged to have himself kidnapped this weekend.”

“That’s crazy!” Klepper sounded outraged.

“Gary spilled everything to Dominique, you know.”

“Oh. In that case…” Klepper sounded completely deflated. “You know you can’t tape this call, right? That’s illegal in the state of New York. It’s not admissible in court, and you’d go to jail for taping me against my will.”

Desmond rolled his eyes to the ceiling. Marcus Aurelius had plenty of advice for dealing with fools—clearly, they were as plentiful in ancient Rome as they were today—but he figured the Stoic philosopher would be hard-pressed not to lose his temper with Tom Klepper.

“You helped him out with his kidnapping plan.”

“You can’t kidnap yourself,” Klepper corrected.

“You hooked him up with Max.”

Even though he couldn’t see the man, he was sure Klepper got pale. “I—I—I only wanted to help Gary.” Klepper drew in a sharp breath. “That’s all I care about.”

“Well, all I care about is finding Max.”

“I want that, too,” Klepper admitted. “He won’t let me contact Gary. For all intents and purposes, he’s holding Gary hostage.”

“Are you sure about that?” Desmond wasn’t ready to tell him that Gary was dead. He wanted to see his reaction in person. The demand for a ransom was hard to believe. Had Max killed Gary and then demanded a payoff for him? Quite the set of brass balls on Max if that was true.

“Max called me late last night,” Klepper said. “He said he’d been thinking, and since Gary wanted to be kidnapped, he might as well do a good job of it. He told me I had to pay a substantial fee if I wanted Gary to live through this.”

Chapter 26

Desmond chose Fifth Avenue as his conduit to Tom Klepper’s office. That route took him past the grand edifice of the New York Public Library and its guardian lions, and into a throng of tourists. At almost eight o’clock on a cold, dark night, the streets were packed. He didn’t enjoy crowds, but he welcomed the sight of the marble jungle cats. Patience and Fortitude, he could never remember which was which, only that Dominique had told him the lions’ names that first time they’d visited New York. She cared about details. She always wanted to know more.

He resisted the urge to gaze up at the Empire State Building as he made his way down to Thirty-Fourth Street. He didn’t want to be marked as a tourist. He was a man with a mission. Moreover, he didn’t understand how people could be bowled over by the sight of tall buildings. Had they never been up in the air, looking down? From that perspective, even the tallest building was just part of the landscape.

Security was tight, which he’d expected. He handed his driver’s license to one of the uniformed guards at a desk, waited for him to peck-type his information into a computer, then stood still, stone-faced, as they took his picture. After that, the guard called Klepper’s office, gave Desmond a badge, and told him to go on up to the twenty-eighth floor.

Tom Klepper answered the door of the suite himself, cell phone in