Immortal Games

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Five minutes to seven. Madeline approached the corner of a series of luxurious apartments. She had no idea which one was actually One Hyde Park, nor did she know the exact number of the apartment.

What an i***t! She turned around the corner to the street front, and there he was, standing next to a marble pole at the entrance to a building, smiling at her.

When they closed the distance, Ciaran frowned. Madeline winced. She must look like crap after her crying marathon. A concerned expression crossed Ciaran’s face briefly and then disappeared.

“It was inconsiderate of me not giving you the exact address yesterday. So I thought I should wait for you at the entrance. You look beautiful.”

She loved his accent, but she knew a dig when she heard it. She was in black jeans, a deep gray turtleneck, and a long red leather jacket. Yes, the red leather jacket was respectable, given what she could stuff in her emergency travel bag. But what she wore was in no way compatible with the ten-thousand-dollar-minimum outfit on him.

Jo’s image was still fresh in her mind, and Zen’s voice still echoed in her head. Oh hell! She just realized that she’d forgotten to put her makeup on, and she was still wearing her ponytail.

“Madeline?”

“Huh?”

“What’s the matter?”

“What? Oh . . . I’m sorry. I’m just very tired. . .” Madeline rubbed at her eyes.

She hated herself at the moment. What happened earlier had knocked all the wits out of her.

Ciaran looked at her, his eyes pausing on her face for a second. He was skilled, she thought. Before the gaze became an awkward moment, he reached out, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, protectively and friendly.

“Come on, let’s get some food into you. It always does the trick.”

Ciaran led Madeline through the entrance of a gigantic door, via a long hallway that had thick carpets, marble floors, and several pieces of contemporary artwork and into a so-called ‘apartment.’ Apartment was too humble of a word to describe what she saw, but given her mental state right now, she had to settle for the term.

At the door, Ciaran took his coat off, hanging it in a small cloakroom snugged in the corner. Then he took Madeline’s jacket. There was no sign of anyone else in the apartment. There was only his coat and her jacket, cozily hung on fancy hooks.

Madeline glanced at the living room as the grandeur swept over her. She was in no way dressed for such a place, but she kept her poker face. She had a job to do.

The room opened to the city view via glass walls. A dining table was located in the middle of the room. Leather sofas curved cozily in corner. A long glass cabinet containing expensive wine and spirits sat in another corner.

This isn’t a home, she observed.

Ciaran shifted a chair out for Madeline to sit down. He walked quickly to the counter of the open kitchen. Noticing her gaze, Ciaran turned around, giving her a big grin.

“You needn’t worry. I didn’t cook. The food comes from the best kitchen, however. Delivered just ten minutes ago.”

“This is how you live?” Madeline gestured widely at the apartment. “Eating takeout by yourself? You don’t even have a TV in here. What do you do after work?”

“Pity me!” He smiled again.

The wonderful grin was still on his face when he opened a bottle of red wine. She didn’t want to guess the price tag.

“I’ll let it breathe a bit.”

He turned to the covered plates on the counter and lifted the lids.

“I’m not by myself tonight, am I? You’d make a good companion. I think you’d approve of this excellent menu.” Ciaran paused and pretended to scowl. “You didn’t expect a full-on banquet, did you?”

Madeline laughed. “I’m not very selective when it comes to food, so you’re doing just fine!” She left her chair and helped him to fetch the food and bring it to the table.

They set up the table and started their dinner. The interview began casually. Madeline asked questions that she hated herself for asking because they weren’t good enough for even the weather channels or the morning talk shows.

They nearly finished the dinner. Ciaran sipped his wine and looked at Madeline over the rim of the glass. “So what is it about my family that you really want to know?”

Madeline gave a small pause, then pushed on. “Where do you actually live? And don’t say it’s classified. You’re not an FBI agent.”

Ciaran laughed. “I can see you’ve got your real reporter hat back. I thought you’d turned into a robot when I saw you early tonight.”

Ciaran paused and focused on Madeline’s eyes. “What happened?”

The smile had gone from Ciaran’s face. “You have circles under your eyes, and you look as if you spent the entire day crying.”

Madeline rubbed absently at her eyes. “I asked the question first.” Madeline stared at Ciaran, saying nothing.

Ciaran gave in. “I don’t live here. I don’t live anywhere for a long time. I travel a lot for business.”

Ciaran looked at Madeline for a long moment. This time, he let it grow into an uncomfortable moment. “Now it’s my turn to ask a question. What happened to you today that made you cry?”

“I’m interviewing you—I get to ask the questions. You agreed to it.”

Ciaran calmly stared. “My turf, my rules. I agreed to the interview. I didn’t agree to not ask you questions.”

“I don’t like this. I don’t like the setting. I don’t like your tone. I don’t like your questions. Hell, I don’t even like my questions. Let’s end the interview here. Thank you for your time.” Madeline stood up, heading toward the cloakroom.

Ciaran grabbed her elbow. “Wait.” When she shrugged him off, he immediately released her and raised up his arms apologetically. “I apologize. It was rude of me to ask you that question. It was inappropriate.”

Madeline paused.

“Could we finish the dinner properly, please? I’ll answer your questions in the meantime.”

Madeline hesitated.

“We still have the dessert. Don’t make me eat it by myself.” He lowered his voice. “It’s a cheesecake. Dark, rich Belgium chocolate with a hint of chili, topped with strawberries, and a touch of . . .”

“Okay, okay, we’ll have it!” She swaggered back to her chair. When Ciaran sat down, she shifted, inhaled, exhaled, and started the rant.

“Okay, I’m not interested in your family, your private matters, or your business. A friend of mine developed a computer game with some very special technology. She believes that her program has been hacked by someone using a computer located in your London headquarters. She doesn’t have the evidence. So that’s why I’m here. To help a friend. I have no proof of the game stealing, nor do I have any authority in this matter. I just need the names of your employees who might have used your equipment to hack my friend’s game.”

Madeline breathed heavily after the long speech that she had given without even pausing for punctuation. Lying felt horrible. But she had a job to do. Jo’s life was at stake.

Ciaran looked at Madeline blankly for a second and c****d an eyebrow. “Is that all?”

Madeline nodded.

Ciaran stood up, heading toward the cloakroom. “Then let’s go.”

“Go where? Why now?” Madeline followed obediently without even realizing it.

“I won’t be here tomorrow, so we have to do this now. I can’t reveal the names of my employees who play computer games. Privacy policies. I don’t care if they play games. However, I don’t like my employees using work equipment to play interactive games with outsiders. That could potentially weaken the system and risk us being hacked. I’d like to think that there’s no one playing any games from our operating systems.”

They exited the elevator and walked down a long, shiny hallway from the foyer to approach the parking lot. Large screens were mounted on the walls, the sound muted and subtitles scrolling across the bottoms. Out of the corner of her eye, Madeline saw a familiar image flash on a screen. She stopped and watched.

The breaking news was about the unidentified dead body of a man in his mid-thirties found floating in the river. The image of Peter stared back at Madeline. She stared at the photo of the man who had saved her life a day ago. She didn’t realize it, but a tear rolled down her face.

“Do you know this man?” Ciaran asked.

She shook her head. “Do you?”

Ciaran gazed into Madeline’s eyes. “No,” he answered. Then he wrapped his arm around her waist and led her along the corridor toward the entrance to the lot.

He lied, she mused.