hair. “And…Claire and I had a falling-out over her relationship with my father. They had hidden it for months, and…well, it was hard to accept. So I feel terrible that she’s gone and things hadn’t been right between us.”
Renee nodded, her royal-blue eyes conveying empathy.
“Anyway,” Madison said, waving a hand, “the Pruitts are nothing if not tough. It’s just going to be rough going for a little while.”
Renee pursed her lips and clasped her hands together. She gave a nearly imperceptible nod and one of her staff wheeled in a tea cart with a beautiful bone china tea set on it. Madison was always amazed at how Renee’s crew forgot nothing. There were two hundred members of the Gotham Roses, but Maddie assumed the staff kept a catalog of each member’s likes and dislikes, because without asking, she got a cup of Earl Grey tea with lemon, no sugar, no cream—exactly as she liked it. The woman also handed her a plate with two scones on it, and raspberry jam as opposed to strawberry—also her preference.
After the woman had served Renee, she retreated from the sunroom, shutting the French doors behind her.
“Madison, perhaps you’re wondering why I’ve brought you here in the midst of your crisis.”
Madison nodded, ready for the worst.
“Well, the police are making vague references to ‘persons of interest.’ Of course, your father heads that list.”
“I know,” Madison said softly.
“Well…I consider myself an excellent judge of character. If I wasn’t, I couldn’t have created this charitable organization. In the year you’ve been a Gotham Rose, you’ve always struck me as a bit aloof, a shrewd negotiator. Cautious, perhaps, in your personal life. You stay out of the headlines—except when you think it counts, namely well-executed business deals. You are absolutely driven, the kind of person who thrives on putting in a hundred and fifty percent and the thrill of the deal.”
“I think that’s a fair assessment.”
“And my guess is being the by-product of the most famous divorce in New York history is part of that. At twelve, your life was an open book, wasn’t it? That’s why you guard your privacy.”
Maddie sighed. “They fought over every detail. My mother had to have a private chef shuttle between my father’s household and mine so that she could control what I ate—macrobiotic. When I got to college, I had my first taste of caffeine and loved it.” She smiled at the memory, but then shook her head. “I had matching wardrobes at her apartment and his. My father was required to send me on vacations tallying no less than twenty-five thousand dollars a year. I had to have two nannies at each home—a morning nanny, who also got me from school and oversaw homework—and a night nanny. It was insane. I was branded the Poor Little Rich Girl. They used to snap pictures of me getting out of my limo at school, with the headline Hundred-Million-Dollar Baby.”
Renee nodded. “Then there was that brilliant IQ of yours. Skipping grades. Private tutors to challenge you. Fluent in three languages. And finally, there are the things no one knows…like your training.”
Maddie looked at Renee, puzzled. “My training?”
Renee smiled enigmatically. “You can fire a .44 better than an FBI sharpshooter. And I believe you know the correct technique to break a man’s nose—or even kill him—with just the right palm-to-face blow.”
“I don’t understand…that stuff isn’t anything I would ever discuss with anyone. No one knows outside my father and the men he had train me.”
“I know. And why did he train you?”
“Well,” Maddie said coolly, “you seem to know so much about me, why don’t you tell me?”
“Trust me in that this all will make sense in a few minutes. From what I understand, your father and his brother Bing were actually two of three brothers. And the middle brother, William, was kidnapped and died in a botched rescue attempt. Though that was covered up by the family so that their failed security wouldn’t seem like an invitation to every kidnapper in the world back then to try again.”
Maddie stared incredulously. “Yes, though I’m…I don’t know what to say. Yes, that’s true. Understandably, my father has a security obsession. He wanted me to be safe, but then he knew that even a personal-security detail could have failings—namely, traitors. So he wanted me to be able to defend myself. It might seem a bit extreme, but I was trained by former Black Ops. Two of them who own a private security firm…Look, Renee, what is all this about?”
“It’s about me wanting to know what makes Madison Taylor-Pruitt tick. Madison, do you believe your father had nothing to do with Claire’s death?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then why was she shot at a property your father was negotiating for?”
“I don’t know. What I do know is I want the killer or killers brought to justice soon, because she was my friend, and because this kind of publicity Pruitt & Pruitt can do without.”
“What if I was to say I can offer you the chance to do just that?”
“Just what?”
“Find the killer. Would the Madison Taylor-Pruitt I think I know—nerves of steel and a resolve unlike anyone else’s—would she take me up on the offer?”
“Yes. Though I don’t know how you can offer that, so it’s a hypothetical, Renee.” Madison lifted her teacup and sipped, and then took a bite of her scone.
“Madison, the Gotham Roses was an idea close to my heart. In my wilder youth, I was in the Peace Corps—that’s where Olivia and I met, you know—and I saw firsthand what good people with high ideals can do. But after I married Preston, I also saw what ruthless people with low ideals can do. The Sinclair family, his own flesh and blood, took advantage of his honesty and decency, and they framed him, made him a scapegoat. It nearly destroyed me. Until I received my own unusual offer—similar to the one I am making you today.”
“An offer?”
Renee nodded. “An offer to go undercover.”
“What? You mean, like for the police?”
“That’s exactly what I mean. It would provide you with a chance to clear your father’s name—and find Claire’s killer.”
“I’d do it.”
“Don’t say yes quite so fast.”
“I’m used to making split-second decisions based on my gut.”
“This is a bit more elaborate. You’d be working for a cover agency—not the police per se. You’d have to decide for sure that you’d be willing to dedicate yourself to catching the real killer, and sign an oath of allegiance that, if broken, would be just as serious as breaking an oath to the FBI or CIA. So think about it carefully.”
“If I can commit a hundred million dollars to a new waterfront high-rise and steam ahead with it in the face of every obstacle a large-scale building project can have, I can commit to this, Renee.”
“I knew I could count on you. And frankly,
