Chapter 1
Hate leaves ugly scars, love leaves beautiful ones.
Mignon McLaughlin, The Second Neurotic’s Notebook, 1966
She stared at the last three seconds of her life.
A red double-decker full of passengers was racing straight at her, and she couldn’t do anything but stare at it.
Like the traffic and everything else surrounding it, the bus seemed to move in slow motion, but Madeline was more than certain that it was zooming in full speed in reality.
The bus was going to crush her the same way the kidnap and ransom ordeal had cut short Jo’s life.
Jo was like her sister. They had grown up together, but they might not grow old together.
Madeline kept staring at the bus. It was real. It was enormous. And her psychic ability didn’t seem to help at all—if she did have such ability.
Five seconds ago, Madeline had seen it—the haunting blue dot hovering in the air, giving her guidance. She couldn’t believe her eyes. She was a psychic after all. The blue dot glared at her and blinked. That’s unusual, she had thought. It had been three days that she’d stalked this place, and now her psychic ability had finally decided to kick in. About damn time!
She could save Jo now, and her life would be back to the way it was. Not that her life had been spectacular, but it was much better than her current situation.
The second blue dot appeared, blinking at her. She gazed at the dots, and then they were no longer blinking. They weren’t blue, either, but a bright yellow.
And they came with sound.
Honking.
Shouting.
She blinked. They weren’t her psychic blue dots but the headlights of a double-decker racing at her in full speed.
She glanced around. In a blur of motion, she realized she had just stepped out in front of ongoing traffic in the middle of a busy road in the center of London.
She now stood in her reality and froze.
Chapter 2
Someone grabbed Madeline’s arm and pulled her back onto the sidewalk. The double-decker zoomed past, and the other cars kept moving. If it had been New York, she would have stirred up a hideous bout of road rage. Madeline was still dazed. She turned around and looked at the man who had just saved her life.
“Are you okay?”
“Thank you,” she automatically said and immediately realized that those words she kept in her vocabulary inventory didn’t exactly answer the man’s question.
Then Madeline shook her head. Focus. Stay strong. You’re Jo’s only hope, she scolded herself. She turned toward the man, who was still looking at her with concern.
“I’m fine. Thank you. I’m sorry. The jetlag is killing me. And apparently, I was looking the wrong way.” She gestured toward the traffic and smiled. “Madeline. I’m from New York.” She reached her hand out for a handshake.
“Peter. I’m from . . . here . . . apparently.” He fumbled with his briefcase, swapping it to his left hand so that he could respond to Madeline’s greeting.
Madeline pointed at the building across the road. “I’m looking for LeBlanc Pharmaceuticals. But I think I’ve got the wrong address. That building looks more like military barracks than business headquarters.”
Peter arched an eyebrow, looking Madeline up and down.
“I’m a journalist. I’m writing a business column about one of their new products. Is there a problem?” Madeline asked.
“Oh, no. No problem at all. Nobody has any problem with the LeBlancs.”
Madeline smiled and waited for the next part of Peter’s speech, but it never came. Instead, he shrugged. “Well, to be honest, even the locals know almost nothing about them. I’m sorry I can’t help you. But I can certainly show you around if it does any good. The cafe around the corner is one of London’s hot spots. I’m sure it will help cure your jet lag.”
Madeline smiled but cursed on the inside. Peter was a decent-looking man. She hadn’t been in a serious relationship for a while—not that no one was interested in her, but her situation was too complicated to let anyone into her life. Still, it was nice to be hit on occasionally.
She was tall, slim, and attractive enough, but Madeline didn’t consider herself pretty. She had a slightly long, oval face, big brown eyes, a generous mouth with full lips, and a dimple on her left cheek. A sea of brunette curls wrapped around her shoulders.
A hot cup of coffee was tempting, but now was not a good time. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to get this done, or my boss will be very unhappy. Thanks for the offer, Peter. Maybe next time.” Madeline waved her gloveless hand goodbye and scurried away, shivering in the winter chill.
She glanced at the reflection on the shop window and saw that the smile on Peter’s face had been replaced by a strange look.
She wouldn’t be mistaken. She had seen that look several times. It was the look of a predator who had just lost his prey.
Instead of going straight home, she turned to the opposite direction and headed toward a crowded shopping center.
Chapter 3
Hours later, throwing her light backpack over her shoulders, Madeline headed toward a small apartment on a back street in Knightsbridge. Rows of terrace houses that curved along a tree-lined street looked invitingly at her. The black gothic-styled light poles and street fences accentuated the beautiful blend of modern and classic London.
She normally adored and admired the architecture. But right now, Madeline was cursing the amount of money she had to pay to stay in Knightsbridge on such short notice.
There—she saw those blue dots again.
It had been a secret she’d only told Jo, and Jo called it her psychic ability. After the incident in the bush that both Madeline and Jo didn’t want to remember, Madeline had appeared to be able to see people’s minds—or at least she thought that’s what it was.
Sometimes it came from those she had been in contact with. That was how Jo speculated she was able to track down a missing person. Sometimes it randomly came from a stranger when they directed their thoughts at her. Other times, she had absolutely no explanation of where the dots came from. She wasn’t a mind reader—she didn’t know what the thoughts were about. She just saw them as the blue dots.
Ironically, her randomly found ability only worked when she didn’t need it, like when it had led her in front of a fast approaching bus.
The dots hovered in front of her and then moved toward the alley leading to Hyde Park. After the near-fatal encounter with the bus, Madeline didn’t think it was wise to follow the psychic specks anymore. She ignored them and headed home.
* * *
Her cell phone buzzed as soon as she entered her apartment. She picked up the phone and kicked the door closed.
“Madeline,” she answered while searching for the light switch on the wall.
At the other end of the line, a male voice croaked, “I miss you. It’s been a few days. What have you got for me?”
“Zen, I almost got hit by a bus trying to get to the door of LeBlanc Pharmaceuticals. Their premises are guarded like a military barracks. Seriously, I’d have a better chance of running through the gates of Buckingham Palace to the Queen’s private chamber than breaking into the front yard of that building.”
“That’s why I sent you there, honey. We can’t compete with the LeBlancs using weapons, money, or manpower. Your little gift is just what we need.”
Madeline finally found the light switch. She flicked it on and strode toward the fireplace. Her teeth were never going to stop chattering if she didn’t get a fire going.
“I don’t have any gift, Zen. You know I can barely operate a computer let alone hunt down a computer geek and ask him questions about an avatar.”
“I saw the games you played with Jo, Madeline. Don’t bluff with me.”
Madeline closed her eyes. Damn. Jo made her play guessing games just to prove that Madeline’s psychic ability was real. Jo believed in it more than she did. Since Jo was doing research on a new simulation game, Madeline thought it would be fun to help out. Now those games were biting her in the backside.
“Look, Zen, it’s been days, and I haven’t been able to get inside. You have to give me more information than just ‘look for a White Knight.’”
“But that’s all I have!” Zen screamed though the phone. She could hear his heavy breathing and his swallow to suppress his anger.
She lowered her voice. “If you let me talk to Jo, we could figure something out.”
“You want to talk to her? Okay.” Zen turned on the video phone. He grabbed Jo’s hair and smashed her face onto the screen of the phone. “Do you see her now? Talk away. You girls can figure things out, right?”
Madeline caught a glimpse of Zen’s face, which was burning red with fury. Jo’s eyes were dazed, and her forehead was bruised. Jo bit her lips and looked into the screen. Madeline knew Jo wouldn’t cry.
“You hurt her, you bastard. You told me you wouldn’t hurt her if I found your stupid avatar!” Madeline roared.
“But you found nothing!” Zen screamed.
Chapter 4
“He didn’t hurt me, Madeline. I tried to run and fell down the stairs. Should have taken my stupid heels off.” Jo smiled weakly.
Jo was barely five foot two, and she always wore those impossibly high heels. Madeline couldn’t understand why she was so conscious about her height. Jo was gorgeous. She was a brilliant computer game designer, but no one could peg her as a nerd.
“You sure you’re okay, Jo?”
“I’m fine. You take care of yourself, Madeline.”
“I can’t get the blue dots to work, Jo. Can you tell me what the game is about? What am I looking for?”
Jo was about to say something, but Zen yanked her off the phone. “All you have to do is to find out who plays with Jo using the name White Knight. You’ve seen the game—and the player. You should be able to tell who the guy is in real life. I told you he works for the LeBlancs and has been playing from that building. You don’t have to go in. Just wait him out.”
“Do you understand that LeBlanc Pharmaceuticals is a global company that employs millions of people?”
“But I gave you the precise location!”
“I told you, it’s like a military barrack. I used my journalist credentials to ask for an interview with their PR department . . .”
“And?”
“The waiting list is a month.”
“I don’t have a month. I give you three days.”
“It’s not possible . . .”
“I don’t give a shit. If I don’t get this done in time, I’ll be dead. But I’m not going down alone. I can guarantee you that. I’ll send you more info as soon as I have it. But three days is all the time you’ve got.”
Zen hung up.
Madeline slid down to the floor and curled up next to the sofa. She let the tears fall freely. She could fall apart right here, right now. Nobody knew, and nobody cared.
What happened to Jo was her fault. She made a mistake, and Jo shouldn’t be paying for it.
Jo was her family—the only family Madeline had ever known. She had taken her in and had shared her family with Madeline unconditionally. Jo’s parents had never once asked Madeline about her own family—they knew she didn’t have one. Otherwise, she would’ve had to tell them that she had come in a basket, abandoned on the front porch of some random house.
Her teeth chattered, and her body shook with the chill. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten or slept.
At the corner of the room, the fireplace stood cold and empty. She had forgotten to start the fire.
A shadow hovered at the window and tripped over the potted plant at the front door, but Madeline had drifted to sleep and heard nothing.
A piece of paper slid under her door.
A crash woke Madeline. She jumped up to her feet, panting.
Then she let out a sigh of relief. She had kicked the side table in her sleep, and the vase on top of the table had crashed to the floor.
Madeline checked the clock. She must have passed out for the night. It was just past five in the morning. She glanced out the window without any hope of seeing the winter sun at this hour. Madeline went to the kitchen to make herself a strong mug of coffee and to find something with which to clean up the broken vase.
A short moment later, she settled in front of her computer and stared at the mountain of documentation she had researched about LeBlanc Pharmaceuticals.
Secrets.
That was the conclusion she had drawn. Not that she couldn’t find any information. On the contrary, there was too much information. Ten years of experience in journalism had taught her that the information about the LeBlancs was only a facade. Even the underground information revealed nothing about the company that they didn’t want the public to know.
The LeBlanc family was filthy rich—and extremely private.
Madeline had to congratulate herself after hours of searching. She found one picture of the current head of the family, Ciaran LeBlanc. One lousy picture. The picture must have come from a very keen stalker. It was taken from a distance, and the scene it showed was reflected on a traffic monitoring mirror in a car park.
Judging by the proportion of the cars and guards around him, Madeline speculated that Ciaran was tall and well-built, but on the slender side.
Young, she mused, and maybe long hair. The picture was so distorted that Madeline wasn’t sure she would have recognized Ciaran if she met him in the flesh.
She drew imaginary lines with her finger around Ciaran’s face, trying to make out the part that the poor quality image didn’t catch.
Then she glanced at the corner of the door, on the floor, and saw the note.
Madeline picked the note up.
It read, “Hyde Park.”
Chapter 5
Madeline stretched for her morning run and winced at how stiff her body felt after slacking off for a week. Hyde Park was just around the corner from her place. Had Zen wanted to tip her off as to where the LeBlancs lived? She doubted that.
There were residential areas in Hyde Park, but she couldn’t imagine the LeBlancs in these apartments, regardless of how exclusive they were. Madeline speculated that members of the LeBlanc family lived in castles in secret highlands.
She jiggled a container of self-defense spray in her pocket to ensure it was secured and within easy reach, then headed to the park.
The fog was as thick as clouds. Madeline could hardly see more than ten feet in front of her. She kept to the left, but then by habit drifted over to the right. Suddenly right in front of her, a man emerged from the fog like a warrior. Late thirties. Tall. At least six foot three, she would guess, with a slender build and well-toned muscles covered attractively in fair English skin. His thick, black hair almost touched his shoulders. His strong face, the face of a dark angel, looked straight ahead before it registered the coming motion. His eyes . . . Madeline was sure that it was his eyes that caused such an electrifying reaction in her body. Dark, smoky gray eyes. Intense, captivating, and striking.
Because Madeline had spent so much time evaluating the beauty of the human being in front of her, she didn’t have any time to adjust her speed or steer herself away from the imminent collision. She would have been knocked off her feet and landed on her backside if he hadn’t grabbed her.
“Goddamn it, don’t you look when you run, Ciaran?”
The words were out before she could edit them. She had called his name, which meant she had to think with lightning speed right now to explain herself—to explain that she was not a stalker. Her thoughts ran rampant. She could tell him it wasn’t him she was after, she wanted his company. No. She didn’t want his company, she needed the guy who worked in his company. Hmm . . . but that wouldn’t explain how she knew his name. Maybe she should tell him she’s a psychic? No again. That would be a lie, and it wouldn’t go down well. Her thoughts tangled in a mushy mess, and she felt as if her face was on fire.
Ciaran released Madeline after a swivel to balance the running momentum so that they both regained their footing. “Excuse me!” he said.
“Sorry, it was my fault. I should have kept right—no, I mean left.”
“Is that an offense to run on a wrong side of a pedestrian path in a public park in New York?”
She wanted to swoon with the sexy accent, but her suspicion had gotten a better judgment of her. Madeline narrowed her eyes. “How do you know I’m from New York?”
“Your accent gave it away. I have a lot of business dealings in New York. I can tell.” Ciaran grinned.
Her heart skipped a beat when she saw that grin. For pity’s sake, you’re thirty-three, not a teenager, Madeline. Focus.
Ciaran drank from his bottle water and sat down on the bench. “I don’t think my name is written on my forehead.”
“Talk to your PR department. I’m the reporter who’s been bugging them for the past few days to get an interview. Of course I know your name.” That was lame, she thought. Ciaran didn’t have a public profile, and she couldn’t even get a decent picture of him. But she couldn’t think of anything else, so she settled with the statement.
Ciaran nodded politely, and waited.
“Oh, I’m Madeline Roux, from The Trumpet.” Madeline reached her hand out for a handshake.
“The Trumpet?”
She didn’t need to look at Ciaran’s face to see his expression. “Oh, we’re certainly not the New York Times or anything . . .”
“I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to offend . . .” He stood up quickly from the bench to return the handshake before she withdrew her hand.
Madeline laughed. “You have to do a lot better than that to offend me. We’re young, small, and not a mainstream magazine. Of course you’ve never heard of us.”
Ciaran smiled. “How off-stream are you?”
“Well, let’s say we’re just a bit quirky in our approach to serious issues.”
Ciaran murmured, “Ah, interesting! So you don’t just blow the whistle, you blow the whole magnificent trumpet to the glory!”
Madeline laughed. “You’ve got it, Ciaran!”
She suddenly realized that she hadn’t laughed for days. It felt good. But it was much too friendly. Madeline tilted her head to look behind Ciaran. He turned, looking in the same direction.
“What are you looking for?”
“Bodyguards.”
Ciaran looked at Madeline blankly. Then he just laughed.
“You think I’d have bodyguards with me when I go running? Who do you think I am? A prince?”
“Practically,” Madeline muttered.
“I beg your pardon?” His smile faded.
“What do you expect people to think? Your family isn’t media friendly. Your company has more security than the military. Nobody knows anything about your family. It is more difficult to approach you than it is to make an appointment to see the Queen!”
“Well, that’s because the Queen has to answer to her people. We don’t have to answer to anyone.”
“Or you’d have everyone answer to you?”
Ciaran lowered his voice. “We have money. But we don’t bribe or bully anyone. I don’t care for my family being judged because we want our privacy.” Ciaran jammed his hands in his pockets, waiting for Madeline’s response.
She cursed herself. “I’m sorry. It’s just been very hard to get in touch with you. I mean with your PR department. It’s almost impossible, and my boss isn’t happy at all about my progress.”
Ciaran nodded. “What did The Trumpet want to talk to our PR department about? You came all the way from New York—it couldn’t be a minor issue.”
“Nothing serious, really. I suggested the topic. LeBlanc Pharmaceuticals is a very successful business. I’m sure the media has made the most of what they could. But for me, behind that business success is always the people. I always find your family . . . intriguing.”
Ciaran smiled. “You think we have something to hide?”
“No, I think you have a lot to show. I’d like to have a bit of what you’re willing to show.”
Ciaran paused for a brief moment then nodded. “So is it my family or my family’s business that you’re interested in?”
She looked into Ciaran’s eyes. They were intense now, deep gray and mysteriously serious.
“Both.”
He shook his head. “You have only one option.”
“Your family.”
A slight smile crossed Ciaran’s face. “Then you can interview me. I will represent my family. Would tomorrow night be convenient? Over dinner?”
“What? Of course! Dinner?”
“That’s the only time I can manage.”
Madeline nodded.
Ciaran smiled. “Seven p.m. at One Hyde Park. I’m looking forward to it. Goodbye for now, Madeline.” Ciaran nodded a goodbye and turned to walk away.
“Why? Your family has never talked to the media before.”
Ciaran turned around, sending Madeline a look that made her stomach quiver. “Simply because I’d like to see more of you!” he said.
Then he walked away and disappeared into the fog.