Cancelled Vows Page 18

  “David never lets the battery die,” Mac said. “He plugs it in every night before he goes to bed. It’s part of his routine to make sure it’s always fully charged. The only way it would go straight to voice mail is if he removed the battery, which would mean he’s in trouble.”

  The elevator doors opened, and the couple rushed off.

  Concerned for David’s and Dallas’s safety, Ed and Mac hesitated before stepping out into the lobby.

  Holding onto Gnarly’s leash with one hand, Mac was checking the screen of his phone with the other when it vibrated in his hand. He didn’t recognize the number. Hoping it was David, he brought the phone to his ear and thumbed the button to answer it. “Hello?”

  “Mac, don’t say my name out loud,” David said quickly. “I don’t have a lot of time. They may be tracing your calls.”

  “Sure thing, son. What do you need this time?” Mac replied with a forced upbeat tone while looking straight into Ed’s eyes. He could see that his lawyer had received the message.

  Ed took Gnarly’s leash from Mac to free up his other hand.

  “I killed two cops,” David fought the rising anxiety in his tone. “They were going to kill Dallas and me, and I shot them with my own gun—self-defense. Ballistics is going to instantly connect their deaths to me. Dallas and I are going off the grid.”

  “So what do you want me to do about it?” Mac asked in the standard tone of an annoyed parent for the benefit of anyone nearby who might have been listening.

  “You need to find out who’s behind this,” David said. “Mac, these cops were dirty, and they were after Dallas. They knew who I was—that I was law enforcement. The only ones I gave that information to was Hopkins and his team. The order for the hit had to have come from someone involved in Yvonne’s murder investigation—someone inside the police department.”

  “Got it,” Mac said.

  “Gotta go.”

  “Be safe.”

  Click!

  Mac’s chest felt tight from holding his breath when he brought the phone down from his ear and slipped it into its case on his belt.

  “What happened?” Ed asked in a low voice.

  Mac answered him in a whisper. “David shot two cops.”

  Ed’s jaw dropped open. He sucked in a deep breath. “My God.” His eyes grew wide. “Every cop in the city’ll be after him.”

  “As soon as they run a ballistics test on the bullets,” Mac whispered. “David shot them with his own gun in self-defense. It’s in the system. They were dirty, Ed.”

  “Cruisers are equipped with cameras, Mac,” Ed said. “If it was self-defense and the cameras caught it—”

  “Most likely, they disabled the cameras before picking them up,” Mac said. “Like they’d want their paid hit caught on tape? They have to belong to that gang—the Dirty Six—that Gibbons was telling us about.”

  “With Tate killed last night and two more taken out today, they’re down to three now.”

  “Plus their leader,” Mac said.

  “Well, Mac, you know as well as I do that if David is going to get through this alive, we need to get this case wrapped up—and wrapped up quickly. Every cop in this city will be looking for an excuse to kill him before he can say ‘I want my lawyer.’”

  “That’s why I want you to get down to that police station to talk to Gibbons again,” Mac said. “Find out what they know about this, and tell her that her leader is someone connected to the Yvonne Harding murder case. David said those cops knew he was law enforcement. He wasn’t in his uniform, and no one at ZNC knew that.”

  “That means Hopkins or a member of his team passed that information onto the cops dispatched to take out Dallas and David,” Ed said. “That should narrow things down for Gibbons. Are you going out to find David?”

  “No.” Mac took the leash back from Ed. “Like you said, this case needs to get wrapped up before David finds himself on the wrong end of a firefight.” He pressed a button on his cell phone. “While you and I are working this case on this end, reinforcements in Spencer will be working on Audra’s Romeo-and-Juliet murders.”

  “Might as well,” Ed said with sarcasm. “They’re not doing anything.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” David said when he saw that Dallas had led him out of an alley and onto Fifth Avenue. They were directly across the street from Saks. “We’re running from the police, and you want to walk right into one of the biggest and most expensive department stores in the city?”

  With a wicked grin, she turned to him. “Think about it, sugar. Anyone in their right mind would be hidin’ in out-of-the-way places and shoppin’ in dive stores because they wouldn’t have much cash or would be usin’ stolen credit cards. The police are gonna think like you’re thinkin’. What criminal—”

  “I’m not a criminal.”

  “The police don’t know that right now,” she said. “They’re gonna think we’re strapped for cash with no credit cards and no way to get help. They aren’t gonna expect us to walk into a major department store in broad daylight and spend thousands—”

  “I wasn’t planning on spending thousands of dollars,” David said. “But I get your point.” He gestured to her bag. “That phony ID and those credit cards—they aren’t stolen, are they?”

  “No,” she said. “They go to a bona fide account I set up to use in an emergency, and I think this qualifies. Don’t worry. I’m not committin’ fraud. I’ll pay off the credit cards as soon as the bill comes in.” She tugged on his hand. “Come along, puddin’. We’ll be fine.”

  Once again, David realized he’d been holding her hand for the several blocks of side streets and alleyways they’d traveled down to get back in the area of Central Park. Her hand felt like it belonged in his. Abruptly, his thoughts turned to Chelsea. A wave of guilt washed over him when he realized he hadn’t thought of her since before the shooting.

  What’s she going to think about me when she hears about this? How can I explain it?

  After a quick jog across the street, Dallas led David through the front doors.

  Surrounded by marble and glass, he was tempted to back out of the store. He felt that everyone who looked at him would be able to see that he couldn’t even afford to pass through their doors.

  “Don’t be scared, darlin’. I’ve got your back.” Looping her arm through his, she led him to the escalators. “We need to change out of these clothes. Our lives depend on it.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Blakeley is on a conference call,” the administrative assistant said before jumping to her feet and running after Mac, who hadn’t slowed down on his path from Preston Blakeley’s outer office into what he assumed was the network CEO’s office. Instead, Mac walked into a conference in which practically every chair around the long table was filled with men and women in suits.

  The larger-than-life face of Senator Patrick Brennan filled an enormous wide-screen monitor at the end of the room.

  “Now about the upcoming debates,” the senator said. “Let’s hold off on scheduling them until we find out what shows have the highest expected ratings during the sweeps.” He uttered a deep-throated chuckle. “Then have your man contact my inside contact at the party’s headquarters to schedule the debates opposite those shows.” His chuckle turned into laughter that was joined by the laughter of his off-screen entourage. “It would be cruel to give the people too much to think about this election cycle.”

  Smelling a platter filled with cookies in the middle of the conference table, Gnarly took a running leap and landed onto the tabletop, which sent the high-level executives flying in all directions. He galloped to the platter and went to work on the sweets.

  “Call security!” a woman who had been sitting behind Blakeley yelled to the assistant, who had already run back to her desk to make the call.

  “Who’s that?
” The middle-aged politician’s eyes narrowed. “What’s going on there, Blakeley?” He craned his neck to get a closer look through the satellite hookup at the happenings in the chief executive’s conference room.

  When one brave executive tried to cut off the intruder with a punch to the jaw, Mac smoothly ducked the blow, grabbed the flying fist, and twisted the man’s arm behind his back before shoving him facedown onto the tabletop. While he was holding him down, Mac turned to Preston Blakeley. “I want a word with you now. Someone ordered Ali Hudson and my brother dead, and I want to know who did it.”

  “Blakeley,” the senator said while making a cutting motion with his hand across his throat to someone off camera. “We’ll continue this meeting after you get your house in order.”

  The monitor went black.

  Security guards, their weapons drawn, charged into the conference room. “Let him go, Faraday!” the chief of security ordered.

  Moving slowly, Mac released the vice president and held up his hands. His gaze remained locked on Preston Blakeley.

  “Everything is okay here,” Preston said. “We’re good.”

  There was a collective gasp around the room.

  “We’ll reschedule this meeting for another day,” Preston said. “Leave Faraday.” Then, taking note of Gnarly, who had finished the cookies and sat down in the center of the table, he added, “And his little dog, too. We have a few things to discuss.”

  The assistant who had ordered them to call security tapped a button on the table to disconnect the satellite feed before gathering her belongings and following her colleagues out. Once everyone was gone, she closed the doors to leave Mac and the CEO alone.

  After Mac had ushered Gnarly off the table, Preston Blakeley gestured for Mac to take a seat, which he declined. “I don’t have a lot of time. Every cop in this city is looking for Hudson and my brother.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Preston Blakeley said, turning around in his seat to face Mac. “You seem to think, for some reason, that I put out a hit on Ali Hudson, Yvonne Harding’s assistant. My first question is, why would I care enough to want her dead? If I don’t like someone, all I have to do is fire him or her—which is what I did in Hudson’s case. It’s totally legal. Killing her is not only immoral and unethical but also highly illegal—and it would potentially destroy everything I’ve built.”

  Mac chuckled. “You’re a very wealthy and powerful man. It’s been my experience that not all wealthy and powerful people view murder in the same way you claim to. They consider it a more permanent way of eliminating potential problems.”

  “It’s more than a claim,” Preston said. “I’m a realist.”

  “You said you fired Hudson. Why?”

  “Because she was Yvonne’s assistant. She worked for Yvonne—even though we paid her. When Yvonne died, we had no need for Ms. Hudson. So I fired her.” He pointed a finger at Mac to make a point and said, “Now, Ryan Ritter tried to get me to transfer her so she could work for him, but I told him to discuss that with her.” He offered a grin. “I don’t know a lot about Ali Hudson, but from what I’ve seen, she’s a smart enough cookie to prefer unemployment to working for Ritter.”

  “Why do you say that?” Mac asked. “From what I know about Ritter, he’s one of the most successful journalists ZNC has. Wouldn’t that be a promotion?”

  Preston grinned. “I understand you have a daughter, Mr. Faraday.”

  “Yes.”

  “I have two. As one father to another, I wouldn’t want either of my daughters to work for Ryan Ritter. Don’t get me wrong—he’s extremely smart. He’s a tremendous journalist and has a huge following. Never says anything unless he has the facts to back it up. He’s respected by millions. He’s good to his employees, who all love him.”

  “I feel a ‘but’ coming,” Mac said.

  “He’s also a world-class womanizer,” Preston said. “He’s fifty years old and unmarried for a reason. He’s had his eye on Ali Hudson ever since her first day at ZNC.” He uttered a low laugh. “That young lady is tough, though. She’s handled herself very well with him. But just because she’s a scrappy fighter doesn’t mean she should be put on the front lines to have her heart played with.”

  “Then you didn’t fire her because you wanted to get rid of her?” Mac asked. “It was for purely professional reasons?”

  Preston shrugged both of his shoulders. “Why would I want her dead? I didn’t know enough about the girl to want her dead.”

  Yanking out the chair that Preston had offered him, Mac sat down. “Were you aware that Ali Hudson was assisting Yvonne Harding in investigating Audra Walker’s murder?”

  “She was Yvonne’s assistant,” Preston said. “I’d expect her to help Yvonne with her stories. But I ordered Yvonne to stay clear of the Walker case.”

  “Why? Were you afraid of what she’d find out?” Mac asked bluntly.

  The formerly congenial expression on Preston Blakeley’s face evaporated.

  “Audra Walker’s assistant told me that you tried to cancel her interview with Yvonne Harding,” Mac continued. “She even told me that Audra predicted you’d try to have it cancelled because she had discovered that you were a heavy backer of Senator Brennan—who I just now saw leading a meeting. Walker’s book implicated his father in the murder of his sex-symbol mistress, Jolene Fitzgerald, who was about to go public with their love affair.”

  “Audra Walker’s book came out at a very inconvenient time,” Blakeley said.

  “Right when Senator Brennan was making a bid for the presidential run. Now he’s planning to take another stab at it. What do you stand to lose if he’s implicated in Audra Walker’s murder?”

  “Brennan lost his bid for president because on top of Walker’s book accusing his father of arranging Jolene Fitzgerald’s murder, the police made him a person of interest in Walker’s disappearance,” Blakeley said. “So if you’re thinking of accusing me of killing Walker to save my candidate, you’re wrong.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time that a motive for a murder backfired,” Mac said. “Walker’s assistant also told me that after five minutes alone behind closed doors with her, the interview was back on. What happened in that meeting?”

  Preston Blakeley rose from his chair. “I don’t have to answer your questions.”

  Standing up, Mac grabbed Blakeley’s arm when he tried to pass him. “You think Audra Walker did her homework? Want to see how well I can do mine? Whatever she dug up, I can dig up too, and I can use it to my advantage, which I will do if my brother ends up dead—especially if I find out you were behind it.”

  “I am not behind any of this.”

  “If you’re telling the truth, then whatever Walker had on you, I’ll keep to myself,” Mac said. “I’m not looking to destroy anyone’s reputation or life. I only want to find out who killed Audra Walker and Yvonne Harding—”

  “Rubenstein killed Harding,” Preston said. “The police already said so.”

  “That’s bull!” Mac said.

  “He was killed trying to escape.”

  “Because he realized he’d been set up,” Mac said. “Someone had cleared him through security and let him in the building, and he told them that Yvonne was interviewing him for Crime Watch.”

  “There was no interview,” Blakeley said.

  “You’re right there,” Mac said. “Someone cleared Rubenstein, allowing him up to the studio. He didn’t have the means to get into the building and up to the studio without someone clearing him through building security.”

  “Had to be someone on the inside,” Preston said.

  Mac agreed with a nod of his head. “I believe Yvonne Harding was killed because she was investigating Audra Walker’s murder, and the killer thought she was getting too close. Now he’s tying up loose ends by going after Ali because he fears she knows too much.” He stepped up to P
reston Blakeley. “So tell me where you were the night Audra Walker disappeared.”

  “You think I’m behind this?” Preston Blakeley said with a laugh.

  “Two years ago, Audra Walker came back to this building late at night and was murdered,” Mac said. “Something happened while she was here that got her killed. According to witnesses, you and Audra Walker got into an argument—”

  “That was business,” Preston said. “Just because we disagreed politically—”

  “I’ve investigated more than one murder that was committed in the name of doing business,” Mac said in a cold voice. “Where were you that night?”

  “I don’t know for sure. It was so long ago, and the police didn’t consider me a suspect, so … home, maybe.”

  “How about when Yvonne Harding was shot?”

  “That one’s easy,” Preston said with relief in his tone. “I was up here—in this very office—with my executive assistant on a conference call with the West Coast. There were six people in California who saw me, plus my assistant. We didn’t know there had been a shooting until my secretary ran in to tell us.” He grinned. “I can prove it. The conference call was recorded, like we do for every one of these meetings. The recording shows my secretary running in to tell me that Yvonne Harding had been shot.”

  “How convenient for you,” Mac said.

  “Any other questions?” Preston asked him with narrowed eyes.

  “Only one. What did Audra Walker have on you?”

  There was a long silence, and Preston Blakeley regarded Mac. “Off the record?”

  “All I want is for Ali Hudson and my brother to be safe.”

  Preston Blakeley lowered himself into a chair at the table. His shoulders slumped. “I don’t know how she managed to do it. I was so careful.”

  “What?”

  “Several years ago,” Preston said before stopping to pour himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the table. Mac saw that his hands were shaking as he took a long drink. “About a dozen years ago, I was on a business trip out to the West Coast, and I met a woman—”