Page 36 of Circle of Death
Dache slides off the bench and helps me to my feet. “Lamont didn’t kill anyone. He just saw it through the killer’s eyes.”
I pull away from Dache. “I’ll go back! If I can see it from one of the victims’ point of view, I can ID the killer.”
“Overmydead body,” says Margo. “The only place your brain is going is inside to rest.”
Maddy is standing with arms folded over her chest. I know a sulking pose when I see one. She’s angry at being kept in the dark about a case this important. And I guess she has a right to be. Was I just keeping her away to protect her—or to show her who’s boss?
Dache steps up to distract her.
“Madeline,” he says. “It’s time for your training. You need to…”
Margo puts a hand up to stop him. “Forget it,” she says. “You’ve done enough damage for one day.” She puts her arm around my shoulder and leads me toward the house. Maddy turns toward Dache with fire in her eyes. I can tell she’s about to give him a piece of her mind, too.
But before she can say a word, Dache is gone.
All that’s left is a gently fluttering butterfly.
CHAPTER 43
BY THE NEXT morning, I feel pretty much back to normal. Maybebetterthan normal—the way you feel when you’ve lived through something that could have wrecked you. For a while after, all the regular activities of life seem more significant and meaningful.
Like picking out the right suit and tie.
“Lamont, for God’s sake, slow down!” Margo is sitting up in bed, watching me get dressed. I can tell she half expects me to topple over.
“We need to go,” I tell her. “The speech is at ten, remember?”
I’m switching gears again. I have no choice. Because along with trying to find the World’s Fair killer, we also need to deal with the Command. And to do that, we need to keep the president of the Americas alive. He’s scheduled to speak before the general assembly at United Nations Headquarters this morning, and Burbank picked up some chatter that somebody might try to kill him there. Big stage. Big opportunity. The chatter might be bogus, but I can’t take that chance.
“Lamont, the man has his own security. So does the UN, I’m pretty sure.”
“Not enough. We can’t trust anybody else.”
“Then talk Diaz out of speaking. He sought you out. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”
“Not on this he won’t.”
Most world leaders—good and bad—have an unquenchable need to show their faces in person. It feeds their ego and demonstrates their power. It lets people know who’s in charge. It makes a statement. And makes them juicy targets. If somebody wants to kill one of the few decent leaders left on the planet, the United Nations would make a pretty historic setting.
“Margo, he asked for our help.”
“Yes. By figuring out how to disarm the Command. Not by becoming his personal bodyguards.”
I slip into my jacket and press an extra dimple into my pocket square. “I promise, he’ll never even know we’re there.” I picked the dark gray pinstripe suit with the European cut. Like any cookie-cutter diplomat. “How do I look?”
Margo gives me a once-over. “Like you’re ready to settle a border dispute.”
I tap my watch.
Grumbling, Margo throws back the bedcovers, then straightens her nightgown over her long legs and shuffles to her dressing table mirror. To me, Margo is never anything less than beautiful—even now, when her face is a little puffy and her hair is matted on one side of her head. She leans toward the mirror and rubs her eyes.
“Give me ten minutes,” she says. “I can’t save the world looking like this.”
CHAPTER 44
EXACTLY TEN MINUTES later, we’re sitting in the back of the limo, headed toward UN Headquarters on the East River. Margo is sitting next to me, with only her beautiful blue eyes showing through a silk chiffon niqab—her idea for blending in.
As Moe drives, Jericho’s head pops around the passenger seat headrest. “Feeling better, boss?”
