was where things would get sticky. How much to tell…and how much to hold back? And as he watched the expressions changing on his father’s face, knew that holding back was impossible. Both of their lives might depend upon his honesty now.
“Because…according to Charlie Sams, he was a plant in Chenault Incorporated. Everything, and I mean everything, that Charlie learned about our business, he funneled back to his boss.”
“Who was his boss?” Paul asked.
“The detective says that Charlie didn’t know. He was contacted by phone and paid by direct bank deposit. He never had a face or a name.”
Paul waved a hand in disgust. “That’s ridiculous! We’re no high-tech corporation with secrets to sell. And we don’t have any underworld ties to be held over our heads. What the hell is the point?”
“Maybe hate…or revenge?”
Paul’s face turned ashen. When Nick gently squeezed his knee as a reminder to temper his emotions, he sighed and leaned back in his chair. After taking a deep breath he sipped the wine Cubby offered.
“Sorry,” Paul said. “It was just a shock.”
“That’s not all,” Nick said. “According to Charlie Sams, someone doesn’t want to just ruin us. Someone wants me dead. Who, Dad? Who do you know that could hold a grudge like that?”
Paul Chenault blanched again. Only this time, thewineglass he was holding slipped from his fingers and shattered on the flagstone, scattering the wine like red tears.
“My God! You can’t be serious!”
Nick grimaced. A shaft of panic centered in his belly as he watched his father pale.
“Dad…calm down. It’s okay. We’ve been warned. We can stop this. But I can’t do this alone. I need you to think. I need you to remember. Is there someone…anyone from the past who would hold a grudge like that?”
At first Paul shook his head vehemently. And then Nick saw the indecision sweep over his father’s face as memories surfaced. When Paul buried his face in his hands, Nick knew he would have an answer. Finally the man got control of his emotions enough to speak.
“In my lifetime, I only knew one man who would hate on that level. But I thought he was dead.” He shuddered, and a firmness seared his lips. “No! I’m sure he’s dead. It can’t be him. Besides, if he’d wanted revenge, he would have done it years ago when we had the falling out. Not now. Not when I’m too old to care whether I live or—”
“It’s not you he wants dead, Dad. It’s me. Would this man hate you enough to want to kill me?”
“When he was young, he killed a man. I know that for a fact. That he could hate me enough to kill someone I loved…” His chin quivered. “Oh, yes.”
“Then I want a name.”
Paul looked away, unwilling for some reason to impart that information.
Cubby scurried to pick up the broken wineglass whileShari, their maid, came bustling out with a pan of soapy water and a cloth.
Nick took his father’s chair and wheeled him back into the house. “Look, Dad, whatever happens will never be your fault. Together we can lick this, but I need you to be strong. Don’t panic. Plan.”
Paul closed his eyes and swallowed a lump of fear. Nick was right. They needed a plan.
“His name was…Dieter. Dieter Marx. Once, he was one of my best friends.”
An angry string of Spanish oaths drifted from the open door of the hacienda on the outskirts of Ciudad Rio . Servants crossed themselves and scurried away, their heads ducked, as they fled from their master’s wrath. Someone, somewhere, had angered El Gato . They didn’t want to be in his path and be made to pay.
Palm trees nodded in the market-day breeze of the old Colombian town as coffee merchants argued on the warehouse docks while their merchandise was being loaded onto trucks. The going price for coffee beans was down and they didn’t like it. Their loud voices rang out, determined that someone, other than they, should suffer the loss.
Back in the hacienda, El Gato had
“Because…according to Charlie Sams, he was a plant in Chenault Incorporated. Everything, and I mean everything, that Charlie learned about our business, he funneled back to his boss.”
“Who was his boss?” Paul asked.
“The detective says that Charlie didn’t know. He was contacted by phone and paid by direct bank deposit. He never had a face or a name.”
Paul waved a hand in disgust. “That’s ridiculous! We’re no high-tech corporation with secrets to sell. And we don’t have any underworld ties to be held over our heads. What the hell is the point?”
“Maybe hate…or revenge?”
Paul’s face turned ashen. When Nick gently squeezed his knee as a reminder to temper his emotions, he sighed and leaned back in his chair. After taking a deep breath he sipped the wine Cubby offered.
“Sorry,” Paul said. “It was just a shock.”
“That’s not all,” Nick said. “According to Charlie Sams, someone doesn’t want to just ruin us. Someone wants me dead. Who, Dad? Who do you know that could hold a grudge like that?”
Paul Chenault blanched again. Only this time, thewineglass he was holding slipped from his fingers and shattered on the flagstone, scattering the wine like red tears.
“My God! You can’t be serious!”
Nick grimaced. A shaft of panic centered in his belly as he watched his father pale.
“Dad…calm down. It’s okay. We’ve been warned. We can stop this. But I can’t do this alone. I need you to think. I need you to remember. Is there someone…anyone from the past who would hold a grudge like that?”
At first Paul shook his head vehemently. And then Nick saw the indecision sweep over his father’s face as memories surfaced. When Paul buried his face in his hands, Nick knew he would have an answer. Finally the man got control of his emotions enough to speak.
“In my lifetime, I only knew one man who would hate on that level. But I thought he was dead.” He shuddered, and a firmness seared his lips. “No! I’m sure he’s dead. It can’t be him. Besides, if he’d wanted revenge, he would have done it years ago when we had the falling out. Not now. Not when I’m too old to care whether I live or—”
“It’s not you he wants dead, Dad. It’s me. Would this man hate you enough to want to kill me?”
“When he was young, he killed a man. I know that for a fact. That he could hate me enough to kill someone I loved…” His chin quivered. “Oh, yes.”
“Then I want a name.”
Paul looked away, unwilling for some reason to impart that information.
Cubby scurried to pick up the broken wineglass whileShari, their maid, came bustling out with a pan of soapy water and a cloth.
Nick took his father’s chair and wheeled him back into the house. “Look, Dad, whatever happens will never be your fault. Together we can lick this, but I need you to be strong. Don’t panic. Plan.”
Paul closed his eyes and swallowed a lump of fear. Nick was right. They needed a plan.
“His name was…Dieter. Dieter Marx. Once, he was one of my best friends.”
An angry string of Spanish oaths drifted from the open door of the hacienda on the outskirts of Ciudad Rio . Servants crossed themselves and scurried away, their heads ducked, as they fled from their master’s wrath. Someone, somewhere, had angered El Gato . They didn’t want to be in his path and be made to pay.
Palm trees nodded in the market-day breeze of the old Colombian town as coffee merchants argued on the warehouse docks while their merchandise was being loaded onto trucks. The going price for coffee beans was down and they didn’t like it. Their loud voices rang out, determined that someone, other than they, should suffer the loss.
Back in the hacienda, El Gato had
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