CHAPTER TWENTY
Matthew Madden sat rock still in the back of the moving limo. The newspaper resting on his lap hid the tension in his tightly clasped hands. Rare November sunshine shone through the back window and reflected off his dark hair, creating a halo above him. The Second sat in the seat across from him, squinting into the glare of sunlight.
“What do you mean, you don’t have it?” His voice was cool, not allowing a twitch of his lip or a tic near his eye mar the cool façade hiding the seething rage inside him.
Under Madden’s intense stare, The Second cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “I’m sorry, sir. There were unforeseen circumstances behind our control.” He kept his gaze focused on Madden’s chest, clearly unwilling to look him in the eye.
At least he recognized the deep shit he was in. The Second only called him “sir” when delivering news he knew could cost him his life.
“Circumstances?” Madden gripped the newspaper and unfurled it with a snap. “Four strangers, dressed in black like a band of cartoon characters, and their little dog, take down an armed drug dealer holding his family hostage—your distraction, I presume—then rush to stop two simultaneous bank robberies.” He flung the paper at The Second, sending pages flying in all directions.
The Second caught the front page and smoothed the paper over his leg.
“Superheroes Walk Among Us” screamed the headline, along with a photo of one of the so-called superheroes. Despite the dark glasses worn by the man in the picture, the lower half of his face was an exact replica of Madden’s.
“Is it true? Does my son have some special ability to move objects with his mind?” The words came out clipped with an edge. Madden made it a priority to keep up with the exploits of his brilliant and reclusive son. If the story was true, he should have been informed of this phenomenon the moment it was suspected.
The Second neatly folded the paper and set it on the seat next to him. “According to witnesses, yes.”
Madden drew a sharp breath through his clenched teeth. “Were you aware?”
“No, sir.” Was that a pause before he answered?
“And the others? Who is he working with?”
“We don’t know. From what we can tell, they all cohabitate on his mountain. They use code names and are able to maintain anonymity, even with the minimal disguises. No one knows where his hideout is. There are no hidden roads or secret entrances. Infrared picks up nothing. It’s as if they vanish into the mist. I don’t know how he does it.”
“He’s a genius, remember? That does not mean his cohorts are. One is bound to make a mistake and reveal their whereabouts.”
“But we still need to identify one of them in order to track them.”
Madden raised one dark brow. “Make. It. So.”
The Second bowed his head. “Yes, sir.”
The limo turned into a tunnel that ran under the sprawling complex of the county jail. A guard stopped them at the gate before conferring with the driver and waving them through.
Sheriff Lancaster waited for them by the back entrance into the jail. The hard chill of his expression matched the seemingly subzero temperature of their surroundings. His frown deepened when Madden’s bodyguard climbed out of the front seat to open the back door.
Madden slipped out of the car while The Second remained inside, hidden in the shadows. He resettled his cashmere coat across his shoulders and affixed his best politician smile. “Sheriff Lancaster, thank you for allowing me here today.”
Lancaster’s lips tightened with a small grunt. “You can thank Senator Cassini. I don’t like this, not one bit. If he hadn’t gotten the governor involved, I would have told you to kiss off.”
The sheriff’s less than hospitable manner didn’t faze him. “My brother-in-law understands why I need to be here. When thugs attack my business, my customers, I take it personally. I deserve answers straight from the source.”
“Just because you have money doesn’t make you above the law. You’ll get your answers. I’m working with the Canadian government right now to retrieve evidence detailing the exact plans of not only the job at Madden Bank, but also the Bank of America. These men will be put away for a long time.”
Exact plans? What did those fools leave to be found? “What evidence? Did you get the leader to talk?”
Lancaster settled back on his heels, his hands resting on his belt. “I have my ways.”
Madden didn’t like the knowing look in the younger man’s eyes. Did the little worm The Second hired break under the pressure and reveal too much? Or was Max and his band of misfits more involved than he expected? The boy apparently had telekinetic powers. What else was he capable of?
Their gazes remained locked in a silent battle that made Madden want to laugh in the sheriff’s face. Did the little pissant think he would look away first? Whatever Lancaster suspected about him would get snuffed out before the idea caught flame. No one got the best of Matthew Maxwell Madden II.
Despite his abundance of confidence, the compulsion to find out exactly what happened the night before stretched his patience thin. His lungs tightened with each measured breath, but he refused to buckle.
That’s right, you filthy commoner. Madden let loose with the tiniest of triumphant sighs as Lancaster blinked first and turned to open the door. Patience always prevailed.
The catacombs of the jail were usually reserved for the transportation of criminals to and from the courthouse. It also bypassed prying eyes and the contingent of press waiting outside on the sidewalk. Rumors abounded throughout the city over what had happened at the bank, but those who had been on duty had been ordered to keep their mouths shut. However, there had been hundreds of witnesses in front of Eggers’s house, and those lips were flapping to anyone willing to listen. The public wanted answers to the incredible sight they had beheld. So did Madden.
Madden’s Ferragamos clicked with a staccato beat in time with Lancaster’s heavy step. A deputy stood sentry outside a nondescript door. Beside him, a distinguished-looking gentleman looked up expectantly upon their approach. His Brooks Brothers suit emphasized his fit build and accentuated the aristocratic carriage of his bearing.
“Mr. Madden.” Lancaster gestured. “This is Marcus Boudreaux, the court-appointed attorney for Mr. Tseng.”
“I’m very honored to meet you, Mr. Madden.” His handshake was firm, confident, a gesture of strength.
“Mr. Boudreaux. I realize this is unusual, but I’m sure you can understand why I would want to be present when you talk to your client about last night and his options.”
“I have to admit, Mr. Madden, I’m not comfortable having you anywhere near my client. But on Senator Cassini’s…request, I will allow you to be present. However, you will not be allowed to ask any questions. You will be there in an observational capacity only.”
“Of course. I understand how you wish to not have your client incriminate himself any further. But I also wish to prevent any future attacks on my bank.” He smiled and gestured to the door. “Shall we begin?”
A series of beeps emitted from the sheriff’s radio. “Lancaster,” he barked into the receiver.
“Sheriff, you’re needed out front. The press is getting restless, and the street is becoming congested with civilians.”
His eyes narrowed at Madden with suspicion. “I’m in the middle of something right now. It will have to wait.”
“Sir, they’re blocking street traffic. We’re bordering on riot-like conditions.”
Lancaster spun away with a curse on his lips. He quickly returned and replied, “Give me a minute.” He gestured with an agitated hand. “Deputy Arnold, watch them like a hawk. No one goes in, no one comes out, until I get back. Especially him.” He pointed at Madden’s bodyguard.
Arnold snapped to attention. “Yes, sir.”
With a frustrated grunt, he stalked down the hall.
The bodyguard caught Madden’s nod and took position to the right of the door as the deputy turned the knob. “This way, gentlemen.”
Boudreaux motioned for Madden to precede him into the interrogation room.
“M-Mr. Madden,” Big Tim stuttered. He swiped at the sweat that had popped out across his brow the moment Madden walked into the room. “I-I didn’t—I thought The Second would be coming.”
Big Tim sat alone at the battered card table. Residue of blue paint was caked into the flare of his nostrils and along his hairline. Straight black strands of hair stuck out in all directions from the top of his head.
The grimy beige walls held the stench of cigarettes, piss, and fear, lending a metallic bite to the recycled air. A large rectangular mirror reflected the uncomfortable environment back at them. No doubt Deputy Arnold was taking his place on the other side right now to monitor the proceedings. The Second had made arrangements before their arrival to disable the surveillance equipment. When Madden arched an inquisitive brow, Boudreaux nodded his confirmation that the men were allowed to speak freely.
Madden sat gingerly on the rickety slat-backed chair. “I wanted to be here personally.”
“Oh, I—oh—”
“Tell me about these so-called superheroes,” he commanded. The last night’s events took a backseat to the hunger to learn more about his son.
Big Tim swallowed. “It was like they came out of thin air. One minute it’s just Bobby and me ready to blow the safe, the next, these two dudes and a chick are standing there, watching us. One of the guys is huge, and naked, then all a sudden, he changes into a tiger.”
“Wait.” Madden held up a hand, not recognizing what might have been a slang term. “A tiger? What does that mean?”
“A tiger. Means he turned into a tiger. Like Siegfried and Roy, poof, tiger.”
“He turned into a tiger,” Madden repeated slowly.
Big Tim threw his hands up. “That’s what I said. He turned into a tiger.”
Impossible. Madden sat back in disbelief. The concept was completely improbable, but after hearing about Max, he couldn’t discount the possibility.
To his right, he noticed that Boudreaux appeared more thoughtful at the revelation than surprised. His dark eyes darted back and forth, his mind working on something.
“Continue,” Madden prompted, salivating with the need for more information.
Big Tim leaned forward in his chair, eager to regale them with the tale. “So this tiger jumps at Bobby and rips his fucking arm off. He’s screaming and bleeding all over the place when the second guy, the one they call Maestro, comes at me. First, I strike him with a ha—” He mimed throwing his fist in a quick punch. “Then a who-ha. Then I pull my gun. He does this—” he waves—“and the gun goes flying out of my hand. Whoosh. We start to throw punches. I get in more good hits, then he does that hand trick again and I’m out, I cannot move. It was like he put me in invisible ropes or something. And Zero is fighting the girl, and he shoots at her. This Maestro jumps in front of her and caught the bullets. He actually caught them in his hand like they were fucking marbles. That’s when the tiger tackled Zero and tore out his throat.”
“I knew there was something unnatural about those people,” Boudreaux muttered.
Madden turned to him in surprise. “You know of them?”
He shook his head. “We’ve volunteered for the same search and rescue missions the last few months. Supposedly they’re a private security firm. Somehow, some way, they always seem to find the target with uncanny accuracy. The last time out, they conveniently missed being trapped by an avalanche. No one has that kind of luck.”
“And you are sure it is these same three people?”
“Maestro and Prism?” Boudreaux replied. “Yes. Although he’s also called Garan. But there are more of them. There’s a doctor, and a kid. They also have a dog. Perhaps that’s the man who can change shape?”
The blood quickened through Madden’s veins. More of them? A group of mutants. And his son was their leader? “Prism. Is that the woman? What about her?”
Boudreaux shrugged. “She’s a luscious piece of ass. Sassy too. Beyond that, I don’t know.”
Big Tim’s sudden silence and intense observation of the cracks in the tile floor drew Madden’s attention. “What do you know, Victor?”
“What? Oh. Yeah, what Mr. Boudreaux said. She’s hot.” His tittering laugh sputtered off under Madden’s quelling stare. He swallowed hard, then admitted, “When she touches you, she can read your mind.”
“Read—your—mind?” he repeated every syllable.
The little man nodded, a cagey twitch began near his left eye.
“And what did she see in your mind?”
He pulled at the collar of his button-down shirt. “My house in BC where I kept the plans for last night’s job.”
Madden drew a deep breath through his nose and gritted his teeth before he lost his legendary control. He slowly exhaled and focused on relaxing every muscle that had tightened with alarm. That must be the evidence the sheriff was working on retrieving from the Canadian government.
A tap at the mirror served as a warning. Lancaster was approaching.
“Thank you for the information.” He rose to his feet and used his reflection in the two-way mirror to straighten his perfect appearance.
“Hey. When you get me out of here?” Big Tim asked.
“Soon.”
The door opened and Lancaster strode in, his sharp gaze searching for anything out of place.
“Ah, good timing, Sheriff.” Madden smiled. “We just finished.”
Lancaster looked to Boudreaux, who stood to button his own jacket and faced him with a pleasant grin. Big Tim remained seated, looking appropriately put out.
He turned back to Madden, distrust clouding his laser-like stare. “Was it worth your time, Mr. Madden?”
“Yes. It was a very enlightening conversation. Thank you for your indulgence.”
He snorted and beckoned Madden to exit the room. “I’ll take you back to your car.”
Madden turned to Boudreaux and extended his hand. “Thank you, counselor, for allowing me to be present. You have a tough job, but I am positive you have the skill to see it through to the end.”
Boudreaux tightened his grasp with understanding before pulling away. “You’re welcome.”
With a final nod, Madden walked through the doorway, his gaze briefly holding Deputy Arnold’s, receiving the two-blink signal. His bodyguard followed with Lancaster close behind.
A handful of steps later, chaos erupted.
“What are you doing?” Boudreaux shouted from the interrogation room. “A knife! He has a knife!” A crash echoed down the cement halls.
“Drop the weapon,” Arnold barked. “Drop it.”
Lancaster spun on his heel and raced toward the commotion.
“What the fuck?” Big Tim yelled. “No! Don’t—”
A single gunshot rang out.
Madden watched with utter calm as Lancaster skidded to a stop at the door. He knew what the sheriff saw: Big Tim dead on the floor with a box cutter near his hand. The deputy seeing to Boudreaux who was probably bleeding from a cut somewhere on his person. An unfortunate end to a beautiful suit.
“Jesus Christ,” Lancaster bellowed, his accusatory glare swung to Madden. “Tseng’s dead.”
He forced his features into a shocked expression. “Why would he do something so stupid?”
“I don’t know,” the sheriff snarled. “But I’m going to find out.” He pulled up his receiver and called into the switchboard. “Jones, I have a 10-36. I need a medic sent to room B immediately. And I want all video from this room for the last twenty-four hours in my office now.”
“10-4 on the medic, sir. But room B doesn’t have any surveillance. I have it marked as out of order due to electrical problems until tomorrow when maintenance is supposed to come and fix the wiring.”
His lips curled over his teeth as he glared at Madden. “Are you shitting me?”
Her surprised gasp squawked over the speaker. “Excuse me, Sheriff?”
“Never mind,” he growled.
“How unfortunate.” Madden tsked and shook his head. “I can see that you’ll have your hands full. I’ll let myself out.” He didn’t wait for a response.
His smooth stride ate up the tile floor. In his stomach, a rising tide of turmoil threatened to overwhelm him. His lungs tightened as sweat broke out over his skin. The news from the afternoon did not bode well. Not well at all.
As if sensing the shift in Madden’s world, the bodyguard scampered ahead and opened the door to the limo so that Madden could slide onto the creamy leather seat without losing momentum.
The Second watched him with concern. The longer Madden remained silent, the tighter his features pinched.
The unfamiliar sensation of panic rolled through his body in the most unpleasant way. Desperate to break free of the constricting hysteria, he focused on The Second. “Max has gathered together a small band of mutants. There are others who appear to have powers of their own”
“He’s what?” The Second blinked with confusion.
“The others who were with him also possess superpowers, including a shapeshifter and a woman who can read minds.”
“That’s impossible. How can that be?”
“It’s Max. He’s a master of the unexplainable.” The starched collar around his throat began to irritate him. “We may have been compromised. The mind reader pulled information from Big Tim’s mind. I want his house in BC destroyed. I’ve taken care of the man myself.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Just as important, I am still in need of those identities. Our comrades require them to bring their people into our country. Without them, we cannot proceed.”
“It will be done. You have my word.”
“Your word means shit to these people,” he spat. The flinch in the other man’s eyes appeased him somewhat.
“It will be done.”
“If not, it will all come down on you. We are in it too deep to fail on any level now. If it wasn’t for all of the ass kissing I have to do in Washington to ensure those imbeciles continue to slit their own throats, I would see to it myself.”
“I understand.”
“You have until the party, tonight. Our investors will be there waiting. This is the night I have been building toward for years. I expect success and a gesture of good will for last night’s fuckup.”
“Yes, sir.” The bite in The Second’s tone had the muscles in Madden’s jaw tensing.
Why was his world being threatened? And now? Hadn’t he forged through every painful step to fulfill his destiny? Planned down to the most minuscule detail? He would reign supreme. And there was no way in hell he was going to let that be jeopardized by a group of…others. Fate was still his to dictate.
Superheroes.
He leaned his head back against the seat.
What he could do if he had control over their powers? A shapeshifter. A woman who could read minds. The possibilities were endless. As were the ways they could destroy him.
This anxiety filling his chest was unnatural. His cock swelled, ached with the need to control, to enforce his dominance. He was still Matthew fucking Madden, ruler of the world.
Something out the window caught his eye. “Stop the car. Pull over now.”
He turned around to look out the back window to eye a woman sitting at a table at an outdoor café. Her dark hair fell in a thick sheet to frame large breasts created by man, for man.
Yes, he rubbed his erection through his slacks, she would do nicely.
“What do you want me to do about these mutants?” The Second asked. Disapproval compressed his mouth into a tight line.
“Find them. I want them to work for us.”
“And if they refuse?”
“They die,” he replied without hesitation. “Even Max.”