CHAPTER TWO
“Here you go, Max.” Noel Dietrich, lawyer extraordinaire of the rich and powerful, pushed a thick accordion file across the tabletop. “Everything that belonged to Anthony is now yours.”
“Great,” Max replied in a whisper. He rested his hand on the dark red file. The crimson color was fitting, since the contents held the life’s blood of Anthony DeMateo.
Was this really happening? Was he actually sitting in the middle of your average, run-of-the-mill coffee house, holding all that remained of the man who had given him his first video game? Who had sent him care packages when he started college at the tender age of twelve, and stood by his side as they lowered his mother’s casket into the ground? Three inches of paper and a couple of metal brads. That was all that was left.
Around them the murmurs of conversation and the roar of an espresso machine faded as the realization that he was truly alone in the world seeped into his bones. The horrors of the week before ran on a constant loop, robbing him of sleep and leaving him numb. Carnage. There had been so much carnage, the memory alone forced forcing him to take a deep breath to still the rioting that had yet to subside in his gut.
Did he regret the actions he took in the effort to save his and Anthony’s hides? No. He just wished he could have been more effective. One, in saving’s Anthony’s life, and two, being able to find at least one of the assailants to interrogate. On both counts he failed.
With the house engulfed in flames, it had been impossible to search for any survivors. And even Max knew that to wait around for the fire department would only place him in trouble. The fact that the fire was only a ten-second blip on the evening news and a three-paragraph story buried on the third page of the newspaper hinted that there wasn’t going to be a deeper investigation beyond the theory that it had been a gas leak that had caused the explosion. And now that almost a week had gone by without any further development, Max was certain of it.
It didn’t take much of a stretch for Max to reason why there was so little being reported on the grisly death of one of Madden Financial’s executives. From what Max had read in Anthony’s notes, Madden had his fingers in so many pots, it was a wonder how he managed his busy scandal sheet–fodder social life.
God, what a mess.
And now he was not only responsible for stopping his father, he was also in charge of Anthony’s estate. At least the decision Max had made about how he was going to manage that task had been an easy one to make, and fitting for the man he had loved as a father.
He slid the file back toward Dietrich as his eyes stung with tears. “Give it away,” he said, his voice catching.
Dietrich paused, a cup of espresso hovering at his lips. “Excuse me?”
Max pulled a sheaf of papers from his inside jacket pocket and laid it on the table between them. The leather of his coat bore the battle scars from that hellish night but gave him fortitude of what had to be done. “Sell it all and divide the proceeds between these charities.”
The older man let loose with raucous laughter that turned into a hearty chuckle before dying a slow death as Max continued to stare at him with unwavering determination. “Are you shitting me?” the man shouted.
“Excuse me?” gasped one of the mothers at a nearby table, one of whom covered her toddler’s ears with her hands. “Watch your language.”
“Shut it, lady,” Dietrich snapped with a raised hand. “This is important. Give it away?” he repeated, but in a lower voice. “Are you serious? Do you have any idea how much money we’re talking about?”
“I have enough money.”
“There is no such thing as enough money.” Dietrich drew a deep breath and smoothed a hand down his tie. He shot a scowl at the mothers who continued to watch them with disapproving frowns. “I know you’re joking. You and Anthony were tight. I know you want something of his to remember him by.”
Max raised an unamused brow. Oh, Anthony had left him plenty to be remembered by.
“Jesus, you’re serious, aren’t you?” Dietrich shook his head. “It’s hard to believe you’re Matthew Madden’s kid.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Look, Max, I know that Anthony’s death is a shock and you’re grieving, but I can’t help but feel some…moral obligation to beseech you to think about what you’re asking me to do.”
Think? Think? As if his brain had been able to shut down for one millisecond since he had watched his best friend go up in a fireball.
Over the years Max had dreamt of various ways to end his father’s life. One of his favorite fantasies involved shoving hundred-dollar bills down the bastard’s throat until his eyes bulged and he lost control of his bowels. But never once had he thought about going through with it.
Until now.
Now the urge to kill made his fingers twitch and his muscles tense to track down his father. Max liked to think that he was a badass and would be able to kill without remorse, but did he have it in him to be a cold-blooded murderer? It was one thing to kill in self-defense and another to hunt a man down and stare him right in the eyes as the life drained from their body.
Max stifled a shudder as he recalled the screams of the men he killed with his powers. He could have sworn he still carried the stench of gunpowder and blood in his nose. It was an odor he thought he would never have to relive again, and it brought back horrors he spent years trying to run away from.
And if he did find the fortitude to kill his father, then what? Say he was able to plot the perfect murder and get away scot-free, what happened next?
No wonder Anthony felt Max was the only one to stop Madden’s plan. The intel on the flash drive Anthony had given him suggested that Madden’s reach ran far and deep with law enforcement, politicians, and military personnel all on his payroll. As it was, the general populace already treated Madden as its financial savior, despite his rather salacious social life.
However, one did not accumulate that much power without help. His father had to have a committee or some kind of executive team helping him. And if Max did find the guts to kill his father, it stood to reason that there was another who was able to take over Madden’s cause. A person didn’t invest the amount of years it must have taken to amass that much firepower to have the movement die with its leader.
So while Max’s personal vendetta might be satisfied, his father’s work would continue. Perhaps making him a martyr for the cause. Sons of bitches. And Anthony would have died for nothing.
No. No matter how much Max wanted to charge into his father’s office and smash and destroy, for once he needed to be more like Madden Sr. Patient, methodical. Especially since Max hadn’t voluntarily spoken to the man since the death of his mother ten long years prior. If he suddenly turned up and started asking questions, Madden would know something was up. Besides, who knew how many of Anthony’s attackers had survived the explosion and reported Max’s involvement? So far, he hadn’t seen any suspicious activity on his property or evidence of anyone trying to break through his firewall, but circumstances could change in a nanosecond.
Patient and methodical. Play Madden like a game of Jenga and topple the entire infrastructure with the removal of one vital piece at the right time without any detection. That was the plan.
The sheer size of the impending mission engulfed Max in a powerful grip that tightened around his chest. Not even the soothing ambiance of the coffee shop’s cream-colored walls and the aroma of warm cinnamon rolls could temper the edge of nervous energy that made his skin itch.
His gaze drifted to the women in the corner enjoying their lattes while their toddlers drank from sippy cups full of chocolate milk.
One of the mothers reached out to idly sift her fingers through her daughter’s curls while she continued her conversation. The little girl sighed and leaned against her mother’s side, both blissfully secure in the knowledge that all was right in their world.
Drink it up, kiddies, he thought with grim realization. I’m the only thing standing between you and a totalitarian existence.
He turned away as his throat grew tight and achy. Even with the decision made to go after his father, emotions he had buried under thick layers of fuck-all bubbled through the cracks of his control. He reached up and grabbed a fistful of his hair, desperate to ease the pressure off his brain. Protecting innocents, like these children, was Anthony’s last wish. It didn’t matter how Max felt about the world and his place in it. Anthony died because he dared to care. Max could do no less than to honor the only request his friend had ever asked of him.
The sound of husky female laughter went right to his ears and skittered down his spine like a low-level electrocution.
For the first time in a week he felt something…pleasant. Almost familiar. For so long he had felt nothing but pain and anger. The unexpected balmy heat of awareness seemed to thaw the layer of ice that encased his battered heart. The sensual notes formed a tether around his head and dragged his gaze to the woman who had paused in the doorway between the kitchen and the customers.
Long hair snaked down her back in waves of red and brown. The tie of the apron around her waist rested above the full flare of her backside, enticingly encased in denim. His attention fully captured, he waited with bated breath for her to turn around, hoping that her front looked as good as her behind.
When she finally turned his way, his breath sucked in with a hiss as every muscle in his body grew tight. Even in his depressed state, he couldn’t help to notice her beauty.
Beautiful, hell. Mouthwatering, that’s what she was.
Holy shit. What am I doing?
He wrenched his attention away from the magnetic valley of her cleavage and their gazes met, his world shifting on its axis.
Her eye color changed from green to brown as they widened in surprise and she stumbled. After another halting step, she straightened and a bland smile settled on her features.
That brief flare of recognition triggered his internal alarm system. His vision sharpened as the hairs on his arms stood on end like receptors reading the air.
“Ah,” Dietrich drawled out with a knowing chuckle. “Now you see why I hold most of my meetings here instead of my office across the street.”
Max turned back to Dietrich in time to see him smooth the thinning hair off his forehead. “Who is she?”
“The vision I jack off to in the shower. Crystal, honey,” he called out and held up his cup. “Can you get me another Americano? Hot and strong, just like I like it.”
Her eye color flashed back to green, and she eyed Max with a long considering gaze before nodding. “Certainly, Mr. Dietrich.”
Max turned away from the delightful way her back arched as she reached for a bag of beans from the shelf above her head. He pulled on his bangs again and took a deep breath. He was overstressed. That’s what it was. Eyes do not change color, not like that.
Wait. What the fuck had he been thinking about?
Avenge his friend, save the world. Right. Important stuff.
“Here you go. One Americano.” Crystal placed a ceramic cup and saucer in front of Dietrich.
“Thank you, sweetie.” He ran his fingertip down her bare arm. The sight of the man’s yellowish nail on her perfect skin had Max biting back a growl of warning. “When are you going to leave this no-end job and come work for me? I can offer you a better position that’s more suited to your talents.”
She pursed her lips and blew a short, high-pitched whistle that brought Dietrich’s gaze from her breasts to her face. “As I keep telling you, I’m happy here.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s not my job to convince you.” She set a chocolate chip muffin on a plate before Max. “For you, sir.”
Max blinked in bewilderment at the pastry. “I didn’t order this.”
A secret smile curled the corner of her lip. “I saw the way you looked at my muffins and thought you might like a taste.”
Dietrich choked on his coffee as a series of inarticulate sounds stuttered from Max’s lips. “I-I didn’t—”
“When you first came in.” She gestured at the display case. “I have never seen a man look at a chocolate chip muffin the way you did. Nor have I seen one look so sad when the last one was bought before you had your chance to try it. This one’s fresh from the oven.”
Flames of heat raced across his cheeks and singed the tips of his ears. “Oh, well. Thank you.”
She smiled a little lopsided smile that brought out the dimple in one cheek and moved on to wait on another customer.
He stared at the muffin and waited for the hidden agenda to burst out of the golden-brown top with both barrels blazing. In his lifetime, people didn’t do nice things for him out of the goodness of their heart. A muffin was never just a muffin. Angles, slants, and schemes always accompanied the tiniest of gestures, and the sweeter the act, the greater amount of flesh the bearer demanded of him.
“Max, let me float an idea past you.”
Case in point.
“I can understand if you don’t want to deal with the responsibilities that come with maintaining property. Let me sell the assets, but instead of donating the proceeds to charity—” here Dietrich barely kept the sneer out of his voice—“why don’t you let me make a few well-chosen investments for you. I know of a startup tech firm that is ready to revolutionize the satellite industry, beyond what you’ve already been able to accomplish, of course, but with your name and money attached, they can literally launch into another orbit.”
Max pointed to the papers before them. “Sell everything and donate the money to those charities.”
“What are you trying to prove, Max? Besides Gates and Carnegie, you are from one of the most philanthropic families in the world. Leave the do-gooding to your grandmother, and let’s make some serious money.”
“Give. The money. Away,” Max snarled. “Or I find another attorney to make it happen. How much are you charging an hour again?”
“Okay, okay.” Dietrich held up his hands. “How about this. We donate some of the money, if that’s what you really want, and we invest the rest. Anthony would want you to.”
Max tuned out the litany of excuses Dietrich launched into why a faceless corporation was more deserving than a women’s shelter and narrowed his gaze onto the cup in Dietrich’s hand. The dark liquid began to bubble and hiss with each passing second, until the ceramic cracked, bursting into tiny shards. Dietrich jumped with a shout as hot coffee splashed into his lap.
“Ooo, Noel, what a shame.” Max handed over a wad of paper napkins. “I hope that doesn’t stain.”
Dietrich dabbed at the wet dark blue silk. White flecks of paper lint added a snowflake pattern to the mess. “Damnedest thing. I better get back to the office and clean up before my next appointment.”
“Yes, you better.” Max held up the folder and list. “I want a progress report on the sale and on the distribution of funds once a week until everything is gone.”
“Max—”
“Follow my wishes to the letter, Noel.” His voice dropped an octave. His low, badass voice used when he wanted to impose his will was the only thing that he was grateful to have in common with his father. “I may not be a money-hungry asshole like my father, but I’m still a Madden, and I get what I want. If I don’t hear from you in one week, I will find out what you’ve been doing. In every facet of your life.”
Dietrich paled with the implied threat, for he was well aware of Max’s ability to retrieve any piece of information, no matter how deeply buried. He reached for the file. “Sure. Once a week.”
Max tightened his grip, drilling Dietrich with his icy gaze before letting go of the folder. With a lingering glance over his shoulder, Dietrich beat a quick path out of the café.
Crystal appeared with a rag in hand and began to wipe down the table and chair. “That was a very impressive display.”
“Sorry about the mess.”
“Noel Dietrich is a lecherous ass and had it coming. But if I had your powers, I would have levitated the fork and stabbed his puffy hands a few times.”
“Powers?” Her laughing eyes came into sharp focus as the rest of the room blurred and the blood rushed in his ears. “Nah, it was just a freak accident.”
She rested her hand on her hip. “Right. You don’t have to hide with me, Max. I know all about your special abilities.”
He felt sweat gather over his lip as he muttered, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do.” She lifted her hand and waved her fingers across the air as if they were floating.
What. The. Fuck?
The chimes on the door jingled as a man entered the shop. He wore a rumpled gray suit with the knot of his tie pulled down a few inches. When his gaze landed on Crystal, he paused and settled his hands on his hips. The movement pulled back the bottom of his jacket, revealing the police badge attached to his belt.
“Detective Sanchez,” Crystal greeted the newcomer before Max had the chance to grow nervous about the arrival of a police officer on the premises. “I wasn’t expecting you until later this afternoon.”
For some reason the officer didn’t care for her pleasant welcome, because his brows lowered and his nostrils flared. He pointed his finger at her then at the beaded curtain hanging in the doorway at the back of the shop.
“It’s time for a chat, Evans,” he said in a gruff voice. “Now.”
Crystal’s sunny smile faltered and her lashes fluttered. “Sure. Uh, if you need anything, Max, just call for another server and they’ll help you out.”
Max stared after her as she went through the bead-curtained doorway. His heart beat so fast he could feel the pressure in his ears.
Okay. He was officially intrigued. Getting a visit by the police and hinting that she knew about his powers?
There was no way she could know. The only other person who knew anything about his telekinetic ability was Anthony, and he learned about them just before he died.
Who the hell was this woman?