Sweet Talk (Buchanan-Renard #10)

Sweet Talk (Buchanan-Renard #10) Page 28

“I wonder if he paid the loan shark back,” Ronan remarked.

“It’s easy to check.”

“From the look on his face, I’m guessing, no. Is that his wife with him? She’s pretty. There’s a small resemblance to Olivia.”

“I don’t see it.” But then he knew what a witch Natalie was to her sister.

It took a lot to surprise Grayson, but he nearly did a double take when he saw who walked in the door.

“Olivia and I went to see one of MacKenzie’s victims today,” he told Ronan. He then explained everything that had happened with Jeff Wilcox.

Ronan was impressed that Mitchell Kaplan had taken the case. “The prosecutor won’t like that.”

Grayson shrugged. “Asher’s reaction was telling. He went into a panic.”

“His reaction to getting fired? From what I know about him, he’s got to be used to it. I’ve heard he’s a terrible attorney.”

“I’m going to look into his finances. I think he was paid to make the deal and put Wilcox away. The last thing Robert MacKenzie wants is a trial.”

“Are you thinking MacKenzie paid Asher?”

“That’s what I’m thinking. Not directly, of course. The guy’s one shrewd son of a bitch.”

“It’s going to be tough to prove that Asher even knows MacKenzie,” Ronan said.

Grayson smiled. “Not that tough. Asher just walked in the door.”

“Are you kidding me? Showing up here . . . not real bright. I’ll get some pictures of him with MacKenzie. I’m gonna have to use my cell phone,” he said. “And I can’t let MacKenzie see me do it. Where’s Asher now?”

“At the bar on the left. He’s gulping down whiskey.”

“From what you’ve told me, Asher has had one hell of a day. He must need courage before he talks to MacKenzie. Real stupid to talk to him here, though. Speaking of the devil, there he is. The birthday boy. I’ll see what I can do about pictures.”

The crowd had parted, and Grayson had a clear view of Robert MacKenzie. He was standing by the French doors to the terrace, surrounded by well-wishers. His wife stood just behind him. There was no doubt who the stunning woman was, for Olivia was her spitting image.

Grayson dismissed her and focused on MacKenzie. The man was quite the showman. He had an easy smile and a charming way about him. Self-confidence oozed from his pores. Grayson watched him closely and decided that what made him so charismatic wasn’t just his handsome looks or his personality but the way he interacted with other people. It was a talent really. His gaze never left the person he was talking to. He didn’t once glance to the left or the right. His concentration couldn’t be broken. If he were talking or listening to a woman, he added touch to his repertoire. He would pat her arm or clasp her hand, nodding sagely when the woman paused for a response, and all the while his eyes would be locked on hers. He appeared to be fascinated by whatever his companion was saying. His intelligent eyes reeked sincerity.

MacKenzie reminded Grayson of a sorcerer. He could be all things to all people. He made them feel as though they could whisper their secrets, and he alone would keep them safe. He didn’t pretend to be God, just one of His agents.

How could they not trust him? Grayson was impressed. He was watching a master work the crowd, and because MacKenzie’s guests were all so spellbound, they couldn’t see what he really was.

MacKenzie used their greed to lure them in. He didn’t go after all the wealthy people, just the ones who coveted more. There were plenty of rich, successful people who were prudent with their money, who used their wealth wisely and generously, but Robert MacKenzie knew how to weed them out. He went after those who were never satisfied. He understood their twisted and pathetic insecurity, and he pounced on it. He knew exactly how to snare them: You’re a rich man now, but is it enough? And will it last? With your well-deserved, though admittedly lavish, lifestyle and with rampant inflation? No, of course it won’t last. How could it? Can you envision what your life will be like when it’s all gone? Do not worry, my friends. Give me your millions, and like a modern-day Midas, I’ll double it . . . triple it . . . quadruple it.

He made them believers.

And because they were the superrich, others wanted to emulate them. People who aspired to such wealth looked to these paragons of affluence for examples of what to do. The hopefuls believed the rich had an in, that they were in the know and understood the fluctuating market. If the man who signed their checks invested with MacKenzie’s Trinity Fund, shouldn’t they take their meager life savings and invest, too?

It was the domino effect, Grayson thought. From the top to the bottom, from the first to the last, they would all fall.

Drink in hand, Asher was weaving his way through the crowd to get to MacKenzie. When he reached him, he motioned to MacKenzie’s wife and waited a few feet away. MacKenzie ignored him and everyone else until he finished his conversation, then, with a whispered word from his wife, he excused himself and joined Asher.

The attorney’s forehead was beaded with sweat, and as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat away, he talked fast and furiously. Grayson waited to see how MacKenzie would react to Asher’s bad news.

Had he not been watching so closely, he would have missed it. For a second or two, but certainly no longer, MacKenzie’s expression cracked. Grayson saw real, raw anger. Then—wham bam—Mr. Nice Guy was back. Smiling broadly, he put his arm around Asher’s shoulders. He looked like a man who couldn’t have been happier to see an old friend and hear the latest news. MacKenzie was good, all right, a pro playing his role.

Grayson thought about Olivia and the hell she’d endured from the time she was just a little older than Henry, and he suddenly wanted to smash his fist into MacKenzie’s sparkling white teeth.

Ronan came back carrying a stemmed glass of ice water and a small digital camera. “I got some great photos with this camera and my phone. I’ve already sent a couple of them on to our computers.”

“Where’d you get the camera?”

“I confiscated it.” He slipped the camera into his pocket and said, “Hey, isn’t that Senator What’s His Name?”

Grayson nodded. “Yeah.”

“What a schmuck.”

“Yeah, he is.” He lost sight of Asher and asked Ronan if he knew where he was.

They both spotted him at the same time. Asher was standing by the entrance, guzzling one last drink. He put the glass down and headed for the door.

“Who’s that calling out to Asher?” Ronan asked. “I can’t see his face.”

“Neither can I,” Grayson said.

They watched Asher drag his feet as he crossed the ballroom. The man demanding his attention finally separated himself from the crowd.

“Carl Simmons,” Ronan said. “Wonder what MacKenzie’s top attorney wants to chat with Asher about.” He was grinning as he asked the foolish question. “Talk about a schmuck.”

“No, Simmons is much worse than a schmuck.”

“He’s got an alibi for the night of the shooting. While Olivia was taking three bullets, Simmons was with a woman. According to her, they were supposed to attend a party but decided to spend the night in bed instead. Of course, Simmons could have paid someone to shoot Olivia, so, yes, you’re right.”

“Right about what?”

“He stays on the list.” He pulled out the camera he’d lifted and said, “I think I’ll get some shots of Asher with Simmons. Look how scared Asher is. Maybe I can capture that expression and show it to him when we pull him in.”

Ronan left on his errand, but Grayson stayed where he was and kept his eyes on Simmons. The longer Asher talked to him, the more Simmons’s outrage grew.

Olivia was going to get her security guard back whether she wanted it or not. Simmons’s expression went way beyond anger, and Grayson knew his hate would be directed at her.

If Simmons was going to do something, it would be soon, and with that possibility in mind, Grayson called two bodyguards on his list and sent both of them to Olivia’s apartment. One would stay outside her door, the other in the lobby.

He then phoned Olivia. Hell, what if she wasn’t home? He took a breath when she answered.

“Is your door locked?”

“Grayson, where are you? I can barely hear you.”

He walked into a back hallway. “Is this better?”

“Much better,” she said. “Where are you? I thought you were going to the birthday party.”

“I’m at the party . . .”

“Have you seen him?”

He could hear the anxiety. “I’ll tell you all about it. You’re staying in tonight, right?”

“No, I was just leaving. Jane’s back in the hospital, and I thought I’d sit with her for a while.”

“Does she know you’re coming?”

“No.”

“Good. Then you won’t have to call and tell her you’re staying home.” He told her about Asher and Simmons. “I’ve got a feeling Simmons is going to do something. The look on his face . . . he’s going to come after you. Could be as soon as tonight. You have to stay home. Check your door and make sure the deadbolt is in place. I’m sending over a couple of bodyguards, and I’m going to come by as soon as I’m finished here.”

“Yes, all right.”

“I mean it. Promise me.”

“I promise,” she said without hesitation.

“Don’t let anyone in, no matter who it is. If your sister or your mother knocks on the door, don’t answer.”

“I understand,” she insisted. “Stop worrying. I won’t let anyone but you in.”

“One more thing,” he said. “If one of your kids calls, you don’t leave. You call me. I’ll leave here in five and be at your apartment in fifteen. If you need to go, I’ll drive you.”

“Okay.”

Her quick agreement pleased him. He checked the time, then went to find Ronan. He spotted Asher leaving the ballroom. The guy was practically jogging, he was in such a hurry to get away. Simmons was on his cell phone and followed Asher at a much slower pace. He wasn’t paying any attention to where he was going and nearly knocked a waiter over.

Ronan came up behind Grayson. “Want to say hello to the birthday boy?”

Grayson smiled. “Yeah, I’d like that. Got to make it quick, though. I’m going to stay with Olivia tonight. I’ve got an uneasy feeling . . . probably nothing, but I want to hang around.”

MacKenzie saw them coming. He had just blown out candles on a gigantic birthday cake amid cheers.

“What’s the wife’s name?” Grayson asked.

“Deborah.”

“Olivia looks like her.”

“Wait until you get a close look at her father. Same color eyes.”

“Ronan.” MacKenzie said his name and extended his hand. “Good to see you again. How is your investigation going? Have you arrested the man responsible for shooting my daughter?”

“Not yet,” Ronan answered.

“Then what brings you here?” MacKenzie asked pleasantly. He looked at Grayson and then back to Ronan.

“I heard it was your birthday, and I wanted to give my congratulations,” Ronan responded.

Without so much as a blink, MacKenzie smiled broadly and said, “I appreciate that. Please . . . have a drink and something to eat. Enjoy yourself.” He paused and then turned to his wife. “Where are my manners. Deborah, this is Agent Ronan Conrad. He was assigned to our daughter’s investigation.”

She greeted Ronan with a warm smile. “Such a terrible ordeal, to get a phone call telling us our daughter had been shot.”

“Did you rush to her side?” Grayson asked the question.

Deborah looked at her husband, no doubt hoping he would answer.

“It wasn’t possible to go to our daughter,” Robert answered. “We were in Florida at the time, and our schedule wouldn’t permit deviation.”

“She’s put us through such worry over the years,” Deborah said. “She’s been ill most of her life. Hasn’t she, Robert?”

“How inconsiderate of her,” Ronan drawled.

Grayson didn’t show any outward reaction to Deborah’s comments, though he was seething inside.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Agent Grayson Kincaid.”

“FBI,” Robert told his wife.

Deborah’s hand went to her throat. It was impossible not to notice the huge diamond ring she wore. “Is there a problem?”

“Are you working on the investigation with Ronan?” Robert asked.

“Yes, but I’m also a friend of Olivia’s.”

“Then you know . . .” Deborah began.

“Know what?” Grayson asked when she hesitated and looked to her husband again.

Robert answered. “How fragile our daughter is.” He suddenly looked quite sad. “Mentally fragile. She’s been through so much . . .”

“And put you through so much, Robert,” Deborah reminded him.

He showed a flash of impatience for being interrupted and then a quick nod. “Yes, she has.”

Grayson couldn’t be quiet any longer. “Do you mean when she was in the chemotherapy unit? Was that when she put you two through so much?”

“I see she’s talked to you about her past,” Deborah said. Her voice had taken on a hard edge.

“She had you to comfort her when she was going through that hell, didn’t she?”

Once again Deborah deferred to her husband who said, “The poor thing. She does tend to exaggerate.”

“Exaggerate what? The side effects?” Grayson asked.

“It wasn’t as bad as she tells people,” Deborah explained. “She’s got quite the active imagination.”

“Then you did stay with her while she was going through the chemo? She was just a child, wasn’t she?”

“No, neither one of us stayed with her. It just wasn’t possible,” Deborah explained.

“Then how do you know that Olivia exaggerated?” Ronan asked the question.

“I don’t believe this is the time or the place for this conversation,” Deborah said. She was angry and opened her mouth to say something more, but her husband stopped her by putting his hand on her arm.

“You’re right. This isn’t the time,” Grayson agreed.