Part 27 (1/2)

”I've got something they want.”

”You're probably right. In your world people want money more than revenge.”

As the elevator rose, Gillette's mind flashed back to the image of the pistol aimed at him from outside the window. Of how, for a split second, he'd thought he was dead. How, when he'd heard the gun go off, he'd expected a flash of excruciating pain, then nothing. Then he'd realized that the shot had come from the gun of one of the two men Stiles had trailing them in another vehicle, that the a.s.sa.s.sin had been hit.

For a brief moment afterward, he had lain sprawled on the seat, wondering if it was all worth it. Wondering if Faith and Stiles were right, if it was time to enjoy life a little. Maybe having an empire wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

”Hopefully the cops will get something out of the guy when he wakes up after surgery.”

”If they do,” Stiles answered, ”they're miracle workers.”

”Why?”

”He died in the ambulance.”

”Oh.” Death. So close. He could almost feel it.

The first two attacks had shaken Gillette, but hadn't made him consider getting out, or actually think about death. But now it was clear that whoever was behind the attacks wasn't going to stop until he was dead-or they were. And this time he'd stared right down the barrel of the gun.

”Maybe they can ID him and still find out something. Link him to whoever's behind this.”

”Don't count on that, either,” Stiles said dismissively. ”My guess is they'll find out he was some random thug who got half the cash before and would have gotten the other half after.”

”Your cup's running over with optimism.”

”Comes with the turf.”

The elevator slowed as it approached the thirty-second floor: Everest Capital.

”Quentin,” Gillette spoke up as the doors parted. ”I . . .” He dropped his voice. ”I appreciate what you did in the car.” He stopped outside the elevator. Far enough away from the Everest receptionist that she couldn't hear. ”You put yourself between me and a bullet.”

”Reflex,” Stiles said firmly. ”Nothing else.”

”Still, I-”

”That's what you get from me, Christian. Execution.” Stiles hesitated. ”Look, somebody wants you dead, and that won't be the last time they try. Whoever they they are,” he added after a beat. are,” he added after a beat.

”How are we going to find out who they they are?” Gillette asked, following Stiles as he headed toward the receptionist. ”The cops haven't been able to.” are?” Gillette asked, following Stiles as he headed toward the receptionist. ”The cops haven't been able to.”

As of yesterday afternoon, the New York City Police Department had no leads on who had blown up the limousine, and the New Jersey State Police were still coming up empty on the attack in Hightstown. The car the shooter had been driving in New Jersey-the one that had stopped directly ahead of Gillette's at the traffic light-had been left at the scene, but it was stolen.

”I'm working on it,” Stiles answered. ”Oh, by the way, I've implemented a new policy here at Everest.” He acknowledged another of his men who was standing inside the lobby doorway. ”And the guy waiting in your office won't be very happy about it. Also, from now on, I need to be informed at least thirty minutes in advance any time you plan to change locations. No exceptions. Got it?”

”What if I have to go to the head and I can't wait that long?”

”Christian.”

Gillette held up one hand. ”All right.”

Stiles shook his head. ”You aren't taking this seriously enough. A guy just tried to kill you. I can't believe you-”

”Quentin,” said Gillette firmly, ”I'm taking it said Gillette firmly, ”I'm taking it very very seriously. I'm just trying not to let it get to me.” He patted Stiles on the shoulder. ”And, again, thanks for what you did out there. You say it was reflex, but I don't care. It took a lot of guts.” seriously. I'm just trying not to let it get to me.” He patted Stiles on the shoulder. ”And, again, thanks for what you did out there. You say it was reflex, but I don't care. It took a lot of guts.”

Stiles shrugged. ”I can't have one of my clients killed. Bad for business. Besides, I knew you wouldn't be able to get yourself out of the way in time.”

”Why?”

Stiles grinned. ”You white guys are too slow.”

”Hey, any time you want to race, you let me know, pal,” Gillette retorted, chuckling as he turned toward his office.

”What happened to you?” Debbie asked as Gillette approached.

”What do you mean?”

She was staring at him intently. ”You look like somebody just tried to run you down.”

”Is Tom in my office?”

”Don't avoid my question.”

”Deb.”

She stuck her tongue out. ”Yeah, and he's irritated about something.”

”What?”

She shrugged ”How would I know?”

”That's helpful,” Gillette muttered, reaching for the doork.n.o.b.

”Sorreeee,” she shot back. ”Hey, what is wrong wrong with you?” with you?”

He grimaced. ”Nothing. Sorry.” He motioned toward the office. ”No calls while I'm with Tom. Okay?”

”Okay.”

As Gillette opened the door, he glanced over his shoulder. Stiles was speaking to the man posted at the lobby doorway. ”Except Quentin,” he called to Debbie. ”If he needs me, interrupt immediately.”

”All right.”

”h.e.l.lo, Tom.” Gillette held out his hand as he walked toward the other man.

McGuire was relaxing in one of the chairs in the corner. He stood up as Gillette made it to where he was sitting. ”h.e.l.lo, Christian.”

They shook hands and sat down across from each other, the coffee table between them. Gillette saw instantly what Debbie meant. There was something eating at McGuire. ”What's the problem, Tom?”

McGuire's eyes shot to Gillette's ”What do you mean?”

”You're p.i.s.sed off at something. I can tell. Usually it's like you're in the middle of a poker game. I wouldn't be able to read your expression if my life depended on it.”