Zero Separation (12 page)

“She signed it for me,” Montero said, standing directly behind him. “I met her at a bookstore when I was still in school. She was my hero. I practically worshiped her. I followed everything she ever did. I religiously watched her television shows. I bet I've read everything ever printed about her—and by default—you. What was she really like? Was she as amazing as she seemed?”

“No, she wasn't as amazing as her public persona—no one is.” Donovan did his best to bury his emotions and change the subject. “What was the point of stopping at the gun shop? Some kind of test? And just to double-check, you do know Ricky wasn't telling you everything he knew—right?”

“Of course, which is why he'll be even more terrified next time
I show up. I took you there because I needed to see if you'd cooperate and do what I ask you to do. If you decided to get ugly, Ricky's worthless in a fight, but he keeps a loaded gun close and there are about six cameras in the shop. I'd have plenty of deniability as well as a witness if I had to defend myself against you. You also had a chance to change your mind and bolt. But you didn't do any of those things.”

Donovan had guessed as much. She was trying to measure him as well as manipulate him. He also got the impression that she might be a little intimidated by him as well—something to keep in mind.

“I'm still having a hard time believing you're not dead. Do you ever think about her?”

Donovan snapped the book shut, closing off the memories, then slid it back on the shelf. “It was a long time ago,” Donovan said. He waited until Montero moved away and sat on the sofa. He then chose the chair opposite her. He couldn't help but notice the holstered pistol still attached to her belt.

“To answer your obvious question, no, I don't usually wear a gun in the house.”

“Why are we here? What exactly do you want from me?”

“Right to the point—I like that,” Montero replied. “I brought you here for several reasons. It's the one place we can talk freely, and if you try to harm me, I'll shoot you. I understand I've made myself a threat to you. I won't underestimate the gravity of that threat—or what you may try to do about it. After all, I'm more aware than most, that from a certain historical perspective, you've already orchestrated at least one murder in the past.”

“I had nothing to do with Meredith's death.”

“There are those who would disagree with you. You know as well as I do that most of the world firmly believes you had a hand in killing Meredith Barnes. If it became known that you'd faked your own death, I'm certain the vote would be unanimous. You would be viewed as the billionaire who got away with murder, then gathered up his toys and left. I know what the press did to you back then, and I'm positive that they'd go absolutely bat-shit now.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Donovan's world began to wobble on its axis. Montero knew exactly what she was talking about. If nothing else, she represented a microcosm of public opinion.

“All I want from you is your help, so let's cut through the crap. You and I need to reach some sort of common ground. If you had the chance to find the people who murdered Meredith, what would you let stand in your way?”

Donovan inwardly recoiled, it was surreal to be having this conversation, to hear Meredith's name spoken aloud by a stranger, in this context.

“We're alike, you and I,” Montero said. “Someone I cared about was murdered, and the people around me believe I had a hand in his death. I need to find out the truth. Then, like you, I desperately want to make those responsible pay for what they did.”

“I never hunted down the people who killed Meredith.” Donovan didn't bother to add that he'd wanted nothing but vengeance, but he'd been in no condition to do anything about it until it was too late. The private investigators he hired later turned up nothing. “If you remember your history, the Costa Rican police arrested the man they believed was responsible.”

“They also killed him. He was a patsy—a sacrificial lamb designed to wrap up the investigation. You never really believed all that shit, did you? In my case, the people who did it escaped, no one was ever arrested or even questioned. They're in the wind.”

Donovan saw the pain in her eyes. Her facade was breaking down and the vulnerability he'd seen earlier had returned. It wasn't an act; it was something very real.

“Explain.”

If what she'd said was true, he understood all too well the kind of pain and guilt she was feeling. It was something tangible that never left. His own guilt surrounding Meredith was going on twenty years. If he could get her to talk about it, maybe he could find something to use to his advantage.

“You don't really want to hear about my problems. What you should care about is the one common denominator we share. I'm
certain that the people who killed Alec, my partner, are the same people who tried to kill Michael Ross—twice.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“The man I killed today was somehow involved with the case Alec and I were working on. Your friend is shot and then they send this guy to finish the job. I promise you that's not a coincidence.”

“If you say so.” Donovan wondered what the proof was, if any, and why Montero was so certain of the connection. Was she trying to sell him on the concept so that he'd be more willing to join forces? Donovan processed her abrupt shift in methodology. The vulnerability of a few moments ago was gone. She'd shut down and then issued him a challenge and made him a promise. He wondered if she was that unstable, or was she shifting tactics to try and manipulate him? He understood that at many levels he was dealing with a dangerous, emotionally charged woman in a great deal of pain—someone who right this moment wasn't unlike himself. The one detail that hadn't escaped his attention was the fact that she didn't seem to want any money beyond what she'd used earlier to bribe Ricky. Or would that come later?

“There's no other explanation. I know I'm right.”

“What is it you think you and I can do that the FBI and local police can't? In fact, you know I'm not some sort of field operative. I'm just the opposite. I'm a businessman.”

“You're wrong. Your life as Robert Huntington is well documented. You're a calculated thinker, someone who's not afraid to take action or risks. That's exactly what I need. I did a background search of Donovan Nash, though now I'm not at all clear what parts are true and which parts were fabricated.”

“That's not important.”

“I can only assume you parachuted out of the plane the night you supposedly died. What did you do after your—death? Where did you go?”

“Europe.”

“For the surgeries?” Montero leaned forward to study his face. “They did a nice job and you've aged well. It's strange, you're still
handsome like him, but at the same time you look very little like you did before, except for the eyes. I can see how you went all these years without anyone recognizing you.”

Donovan hated this—found it massively uncomfortable. His past was something he'd buried, gone to extraordinary lengths to get away from, and to have her sift through it uninvited was almost more than he could stand.

“So where do the paths merge? Eco-Watch looks legitimate. It all looked very real, you know—from a law enforcement standpoint. That explains the last ten years. What about the decade before that? Did you really work in Africa and Asia, flying relief flights in support of the World Health Organization and Doctors Without Borders?”

“Yeah, with the help of others. What you discovered about me for the last twenty years is what you were supposed to find. It's real.”

“I remember those pictures, airplanes unloading supplies in places no one else would go. Amazing. Then you felt safe enough to come back to the States and start Eco-Watch?”

“I got tired of filling planes with supplies and flying to the latest disaster. I had the idea that perhaps I could use my resources to learn more about the science behind these calamities and try to help people instead of rescue them.”

“How very philanthropic of you,” Montero said. “So, Eco-Watch is funded by Huntington Oil money. How ironic.”

“No irony at all,” Donovan replied. “I started Eco-Watch with my own money, but now it's substantially funded by outside entities. I only use my money to fill in the gaps.”

“Out of guilt for Meredith's death?”

Donovan leveled a lethal stare at her. A silent warning that she'd crossed a line.

Montero cleared her throat. “The reason I believe you can help me is that back in the day, despite your playboy image, you were a wunderkind in the business world. You were this potent combination of JFK Jr. meets Bill Gates. Looks, money, and intelligence,
easily one of the shrewdest CEOs in the country. I mean, who else before or since has had their picture on the cover of business magazines at the same time they were on the cover of Hollywood gossip magazines. Before Meredith, you were always photographed with some A-list movie starlet on your arm.”

“Your point being?”

“All I'm saying is you had some serious game back then. That confidence and experience, coupled with what you've done since, makes you a very capable operative.”

Donovan said nothing.

“Plus, you have the motivation—like I've said, we're after the same people. You also have a jet and unlimited resources. I am however, without my support system. If we don't move fast, these people will drift away, and we'll never find them.”

“I'm not interested.” Donovan shrugged without emotion, as if none of what she said meant anything to him. What was important was to test her resolve. “Go to the press. My family and I will be the ones who vanish into the wind. Oh, and before you can sell your story, I'll give the
Washington Post
an exclusive interview. You'll be left here in Florida working for the FBI. Though your continued employment might depend on exactly how the
Washington Post
spins the whole federal agent, blackmail angle.”

“Bullshit,” Montero said, quietly, unfazed by the threat. “If you didn't care, you'd have blown me off and boarded that jet with your wife and daughter and gone home. You care a great deal, and you'll never convince me otherwise. Most people I interview plead, even demand, that I catch the people responsible for whatever crime has been committed. But the first time we spoke, the one thing that immediately struck me about you was there was nothing on your mind except retribution. You didn't need me to deliver justice. In fact, I was nothing but a conduit for you to start your own investigation. You're not running away. You have every intention of going after these people and you always did.”

“Are you finished?”

“I thought you of all people would understand.” Montero
seemed to deflate, her voice tailed off to almost a whisper. “All I want from you is your help. I need to find these people—or I will be finished, in every sense of the word. I have to live with myself—look into the eyes of my peers who openly believe I killed Alec—and I may have. Alec is dead and maybe it's my fault. I live with that doubt, that guilt. I don't have the luxury of arranging my own death and taking my millions and running off to Europe to hide.”

Donovan studied her. She was right, he did understand. He knew what she was going through; the same survivor's guilt had played itself out far too many times in his own life. As manipulative as she might be, her anguish was real, as was her intent. For the first time since he'd met her, he found a small measure of something—empathy maybe—perhaps even a little respect. His pain spanned decades, Montero's emotional wounds were fresh. It took a distinctive personality not to curl up in the fetal position and beg the gods not to be left behind.

“I do understand,” Donovan said, softly, without a trace of hostility. “I can also tell you retribution is a dangerous road to travel. I think I know enough to recognize that you won't be talked out of anything. But can I make a suggestion?”

“Go ahead.”

“You shouldn't be the one going on this quest. Trust me when I say you're too emotionally involved. You killed a man this morning. How do you feel about that? How are you going to feel when you try and go to sleep tonight?”

“I don't have a problem with what happened today. Diego was on the list of people tied to Alec's death. This wasn't the first time I've killed someone—or my last. Ramone's next.”

Donovan wished he could accurately judge what he was hearing. He wanted to know how much of her attitude was false bravado and how much was her being dead serious.

“It would take me about thirty minutes on the phone to set up something that I think would serve you far better than the path you're on right now. We could establish an offshore numbered account, and I could deposit, say, five million dollars. You'd have the
resources to hire your own army of investigators to help you find these guys, plus have enough left over to live on for the rest of your life.”

Montero's expression never changed.

“Ten million.”

“I want the truth. I want the people who killed Alec to pay. I'm a good agent and I've played by the rules. I bend them once in a while, every cop does, but I've stayed in bounds.”

“This is exactly what I'm talking about. Take the money. You're supposed to be grieving your loss, not planning a counterstrike.”

“Oh, you are going to throw some of your money around—just not at me. We're going to bribe more people. Then if that doesn't work, we're going to threaten them. Even though I'm on leave, I still have to follow a few rules, but you don't. With your natural arrogance and your bank account, you'll be the perfect partner. Plus, you have a jet. I don't need to hire an army—I already have an Army and an Air Force. I like the name Roberto, don't you? It fits.”