“I don’t believe you, Ambrose.” She sat back down, enjoying the way his gray brow lifted at her use of his first name. “Last night, your Mr. Kimball and three of his goons tried to kill me, simply because I found that list.”
His prominent Adam’s apple moved up and down on a swallow.
“You don’t seem surprised.” She cocked her head to one side. “Why is that?”
“You can’t possibly think I’m involved in something that terrible.” He placed his hand on his chest with manufactured umbrage.
“Thinkyou’re involved? Don’t be silly. Iknowyou’re involved.” She was sick of this game, of his denials. “You wanted me dead because you knew what would happen if that list ended up in the hands of someone like, oh, let’s see”— she tapped her chin as if pondering—“Jeffrey Burke, perhaps. You could lose everything. Your family’s fortune, your reputation.” She pointed to the tipped-over picture of his wife. “Your marriage. And let’s not forget about your freedom—you would definitely lose that.”
“Again, I have no idea why my name is on that list. I would never do any of those terrible things to anyone, let alone a child.” He reached out and nervously adjusted the wooden holder where his fancy pen usually rested, unnecessarily straightened a stack of papers. “And I most certainly had no knowledge of a scheme to murder you.”
“If you’ve never seen the list, and Kimball didn’t give you any details, how did you know what kinds of terrible things were being done to children?” She couldn’t believe he walked himself right to the edge of that metaphorical cliff.
“That’s … I …”
One at a time, Charlotte rattled off all of the other names on the list.
“Every single one of you sexually abused and tortured children repeatedly.” She made no effort to hide her utter contempt and disgust. “Children that this organization was tasked with helping.”
“You … you can’t prove anything.” Sweat beaded on his brow, and his hands clenched on his desk.
“You are so wrong, Ambrose.” His days of freedom were numbered. “The authorities took Helene and Kimball into custody last night, after his failed attempt on my life.” Charlotte glanced at the antique clock on his credenza. “By now, they’ve probably picked up Leonard Everett, too.”
At hearing that news, his narrow shoulders slumped.
“Were you even aware it was Helene who put that list together?” She tsked and gave him a pitying look. “And Kimball, well, that guy has been talking up a blue streak all night.”
“I’m going to lose everything.” He propped his elbows on his desk and held his head in his hands.
“The smart thing to do would be to turn yourself in, sooner rather than later.” Charlotte stood. “Because, if you don’t, the media will get wind of this, and boy, would that be embarrassing for you. Am I right?”
She turned and walked toward his door.
“I’m afraid I cannot let you leave.” A drawer slid shut behind her.
Charlotte swung around and Pennington was pointing a shiny silver revolver at her. It reminded her of the kind gamblers in the Wild West would have stuffed up their sleeve.
“Fuck!” Hawk saw the pistol, grabbed the lanyard, and bolted out of Charlotte’s office. He almost plowed into a woman coming out of the break room.
He’d seen her on the button camera.
“You’re Charlotte’s boyfriend, right? She’s awesome, by the way. I work up on the tenth floor, and she’s the one who told me about the cookies down here.” She held up a giant cookie with a bite out of it.
Like all good office gossip, the news of his relationship with Charlotte spread quickly.
“Yeah, she’s pretty great,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me, I was just on my way to the men’s room.”
“Oh, sure.” She took a bite from the cookie and headed over to one of the cubicles.
“Killing me isn’t going to solve anything, Ambrose.” Charlotte’s voice in Hawk’s earpiece had a slight tremble to it.
“Stop calling me that!” The guy was losing it. “You will refer to me as Mr. Pennington!”
Hang on, Sweets, I’m coming.
Hawk left the office, dashed by the elevators, and banged against the metal bar to open the door to the stairwell. His footsteps echoed through the space as he took the stairs two at a time. He stopped at the door on the tenth floor and checked the narrow window before pushing it open and hurrying over to the glass door. He pressed his back against the wall next to it, snuck a peek, and caught a glimpse of Charlotte.
She was turned to the side, her hands up, and she was standing in the doorway of what he assumed was Pennington’s office.
