Sweet Talk (Buchanan-Renard #10)

Sweet Talk (Buchanan-Renard #10) Page 14

“I’m not marking him off.”

“I’m not either,” Grayson agreed. “I’m just saying I don’t think it’s him.”

“Who besides Jorguson would want her out of the way?”

“She works for the IRS. That could open up all sorts of possibilities. Who knows what some disgruntled taxpayer might do.”

“I don’t believe they’ve released her name yet, which means they haven’t notified the family. Probably still trying to locate them.” Ronan walked down to the surgical waiting room to see if anyone was there. He returned a minute later. “It’s empty.”

“After I get an update, I’ll call Olivia’s aunt.”

The nurse he’d asked to check on Olivia interrupted. She was smiling. “The patient is on her way to recovery. She’s going to be all right. The surgeon said he would be out in a few minutes to talk to you. He also said she’s a very lucky young lady.”

Grayson felt as though he could take a deep breath again, so great was his relief. Ronan noticed. He waited until the nurse had left, then asked, “You only had one date with Olivia, right?”

“Right.”

“Did you . . .”

Grayson knew what he was asking. “What the hell, Ronan.”

“So that’s a no, you didn’t.”

They both heard the bell indicating the elevator doors were about to open. Each put his hand on the grip of his weapon and waited. Two detectives stepped out. The younger one was the spitting image of the actor Tom Cruise, down to the thick brown hair and square jaw.

“Doesn’t that guy look like . . .” Ronan whispered.

“Yeah, he does,” Grayson agreed.

Both detectives were eating sandwiches and chatting. They stopped when they saw Grayson and Ronan. The older one, wearing part of his sandwich on his mustache, called out, “Who are you?”

“FBI,” Ronan answered.

“You don’t need to be here. We’ve got this.”

“No, you don’t.” Grayson didn’t raise his voice, but the look in his eyes showed he was in charge.

“This is our case,” the Tom Cruise look-alike snapped. He had a definite swagger as he walked toward Grayson.

Grayson wasn’t impressed with his rooster tactics. Neither was Ronan who said, “No, this isn’t your case. It’s ours.”

“We were assigned this at the scene,” Mustache told them. “Didn’t see either of you there.”

“So you knew this woman was gunned down, that it was a hit, right?” Grayson asked.

“Yeah, of course,” Mustache replied.

“But you didn’t think to post guards?”

The two detectives glanced at each other. Then Mustache said, “She’s in surgery. We were going to wait and see if she made it . . .”

Grayson spotted the surgeon at the end of the hall. He was talking to the nurse.

“You deal with them,” he told Ronan as he walked toward the OR doors.

He heard Cruise say, “I’m gonna make some calls.”

Ronan responded, “You do that.”

After Grayson talked to the surgeon, he made the dreaded call to Emma Monroe, Olivia’s aunt. It hadn’t taken him long to get her cell phone number and to find out she was in Palm Springs for a seminar.

Emma knew something was wrong as soon as she answered the phone and heard Grayson’s voice.

“Olivia’s going to be fine,” he began.

“What happened?” she demanded before he could continue. “Was there an accident?”

“No, there wasn’t an accident,” he said and then explained what had happened to her. He also told Emma what the surgeon had said and ended by repeating once again that Olivia was going to be fine.

Emma was beside herself. “Three gunshots? Someone shot her three times? Who would do such a thing to a lovely, kind . . . she’s been through so much . . . she’s had so much pain and now this. You find out who did this, Grayson.” She went from shock to fury.

“I will,” he promised.

“Where was she shot?”

“Right hip, left shoulder, and left side,” he said. He’d already given her that information, but he knew she was having trouble taking it all in.

“Someone needs to contact Dr. Pardieu. I hope the surgeon has already called him,” she said.

“Dr. Pardieu?”

“Andre Pardieu. He’s her physician. Grayson, I’m going to get on the first flight I can find . . . no, I’ll charter a jet,” she decided. “I should be there—”

Grayson interrupted. “The city’s snowed in, Emma. No flights in or out.”

“She shouldn’t be alone. She needs someone to watch out for her.”

“There will be someone with her at all times,” he promised. “No one’s going to get to her.”

“Has anyone called her parents and her sister?”

“I’ll check,” he said.

“I’ll call them. They’re all in Miami, celebrating with some new investors. Olivia’s father purchased a mansion overlooking the ocean.”

Grayson could hear the disapproval in her voice, which told him there were family issues. He didn’t care about that. His total focus was on finding out who wanted Olivia MacKenzie dead.

Little did he know just how high that number would be.

ELEVEN

Olivia could have sworn Tom Cruise stopped by to say hello. Then Grayson appeared and shooed him away.

She floated in and out of consciousness. Everything was a blur, and visions swirled around in her head: snow and paper bags flying through the air and John’s face at the window and a thin crimson line streaming across the white earth. Then, out of the fog, Grayson’s face appeared. Why was he there? Did he want to kiss her again? She couldn’t focus enough to find out, and she drifted away once more.

The next time she came to, she felt something cold on her head. She forced her eyes open and saw Grayson leaning over her. She closed them again. She was hallucinating. Focus, she told herself. She knew she was dreaming and needed to make herself wake up. Yet, when she looked again, he was there. He was no illusion.

When he moved the cold pack on her head, she felt the throbbing pain. She opened her mouth to complain but nothing came out. Her throat was so sore.

Finally in a raspy voice she managed to whisper, “What is it with you and ice?”

“What is it with you getting hit in the head?” He smiled as he added, “The nurse wants you to keep this on your bump.”

“Bump?”

“I think you slammed your head into the brick wall outside your building.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

He didn’t have a ready answer to her question. She struggled to sit up and felt pain all the way down to her toes.

“Be useful. Help me sit up.”

“You are sitting up.”

She closed her eyes. “Go away.” She wanted to stay awake, but the fog was descending again and she couldn’t fight it.

The next time she woke up, she was lucid and feeling half human. She looked around. She was in a room filled with vases of flowers, and Dr. Andre Pardieu was standing at the foot of the bed reading her chart.

“Bonjour, Docteur.”

“Ah, you’re back with us,” he said.

“I have to give Jane some blood.”

“No, not now. You need to rebuild your strength, then you can help her.”

Their conversation continued in rapid French. Grayson stood in the doorway listening. It was apparent the physician had great affection for Olivia. Grayson could have sworn he heard him call her Pipsqueak.

At the end of their talk, Dr. Pardieu switched back to English. “Now that I see you’re all right, I’ll keep my plans to go to France. I’ll be in Paris for a conference, and then I’ll be going on a holiday with my family. If you need me, you know how to get hold of me.” He kissed her on the forehead before he left the room.

Olivia was looking out the window when Grayson walked in, and she hadn’t noticed him watching her. He wondered how anyone could look that good after being shot three times. Her face was pale, but she was still beautiful. Her dark auburn hair spilled out on the pillow behind her.

She caught him staring at her. Those clear blue eyes locked on his. Then he walked over to the window ledge and leaned against it. He folded his arms across his chest and said, “How are you feeling?”

“All things considered, pretty good,” she replied.

What was he doing here? she wanted to ask. How did he get involved in this? One silly kiss, then two months without a word. Message received, she thought. He obviously hadn’t wanted to have anything to do with her and had moved on. Damn it, so had she.

“Are you ready to answer some questions?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

“I do remember,” she said, surprised that she did. “But it won’t help much. There was a black SUV parked at the end of the block. The motor was running, and I remember thinking that he was waiting for someone. Guess he was waiting for me, wasn’t he?”

“Apparently so.”

The topic of the conversation was horrific, she thought, yet they were both acting and sounding so casual about it. Olivia knew Grayson must be used to dealing with attempted murders and all sorts of other awful happenings. He was a pro at this sort of thing. Nothing much seemed to faze him. She, on the other hand, was a novice.

“Could you see anyone in the SUV?”

“No, the windows were tinted, and it was snowing. Visibility wasn’t good. The driver was on my side of the street. And that’s it, Grayson. That’s all I know.” She smiled and waited for his next question.

“That’s it, huh?” he said.

“I should call my aunt. I don’t want her to worry.”

“I talked to her.”

“You did? You didn’t upset her, did you?”

“No, of course not. Hearing that you’d been shot three times didn’t upset her at all.”

She ignored his sarcasm. “She’s in Palm Springs.”

“No, she’s on her way here.”

Olivia asked him about her boss and her friend Jane, but she didn’t mention her parents or her sister.

“Just a couple of questions, and I’ll let you rest while I go talk to Judge Bowen and Judge Thorpe,” he said.

“They’re here?”

He nodded. “So is your boss, Thurman. They’re in the waiting room discussing their contempt for an attorney named Simmons.”

“I’d like to see them.”

“There are about twenty other people waiting to say hello and make sure you’re all right.”

“I’ll talk to Judge Bowen, and—”

“After I talk to them,” he said. “But before I go . . . do you have any idea who might have done this?”

“Don’t you mean, who wants me dead?”

“Yes.”

She started wiggling fingers on her right hand, then her left, as she counted. Then her right hand again.

“At least fifteen people would like to get rid of me,” she said.

“Did you include Jorguson?” he asked.

“No,” she answered. “Should I? That makes it sixteen people who would like me to disappear. I’m sure there are more. I’ll be happy to write their names down for you.”

He thought she was joking. He walked over to the side of her bed, towering over her. “This is a serious matter, Olivia,” he said.

“I am being serious, Grayson.”

“Your aunt told me she couldn’t imagine anyone would want to harm you. She said you’re sweet and kindhearted.”

“I’m not.” She sounded disgruntled.

He wasn’t going to argue with her. He turned to leave and stopped, remembering the other question he wanted to ask. “When we were having lunch, you told me you had a goal you wanted to accomplish.”

“Yes.” She’d hoped he’d forgotten the conversation.

“Does your goal have anything to do with the number of people who would like to get rid of you?”

“Yes.”

He waited for her to explain, but she remained stubbornly silent. “We aren’t playing twenty questions,” he snapped. “What’s your goal, Olivia?”

She knew he would eventually find out what she was trying to do. What did she care if he thought she was a vindictive, traitorous daughter? Doing the right thing was more important than the guilt she felt.

“I’m going to put my father in prison.”

After talking to Judge Bowen, Judge Thorpe, and Royal Thurman, Grayson understood their contempt for the attorney Carl Simmons. Suggesting that Olivia was a drug addict at a very young age when, in fact, she had gone through chemotherapy was despicable, and Grayson personally wanted to throw the bastard into a wall.

He spent the next several hours finding out all he could about Olivia that wasn’t on her résumé. Her aunt Emma was a great help. Despite the weather, she had managed to get back to D.C., and they sat together in the nearly deserted hospital cafeteria discussing Olivia’s past and her contentious relationship with her immediate family. Emma began by telling him about the experimental program Olivia and three other young girls were part of and a little of what they had endured.

“Olivia wouldn’t be happy I’m telling you about this,” Emma said. “She’s a very private person. Her relationship with her parents was strained even back then. I didn’t realize for a long time that none of them—her father, her mother, nor her sister—ever came to see Olivia when she was allowed visitors at the hospital. Olivia was all alone.”

Grayson didn’t show any reaction to what she was telling him, but he now understood why Olivia helped kids who didn’t have anyone to watch out for them. She knew what it was like.

“Tell me about her father.”

“Robert MacKenzie is one of the most charismatic men you’ll ever meet. He could sell you a beach house in the Arctic. He walks into a room, and he owns it. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“In the past Robert has run several companies. Each one ended up going under, yet Robert did quite well. He got his salary and bonus when he resigned. He’s always lived extravagantly. When he bought a home in New York, I thought he would divorce my sister, but that didn’t happen. She’s still with him.”