"The important thing is not to let your father know that there's a problem, right?" Gil said. "No need in getting him all upset when everything will work out in the end."
"As long as you're sure…"
"When he calls you into his office, just tell him that the paperwork will be here shortly. Dr. Lloyd is sending it by special messenger."
Mac heard footsteps then. They were taking the outside stairs to the lower level. As the voices faded, she focused her eyes on the bright silk cloth. This time it wasn't the thoughts spinning around in her head or even the height of the deck that was making her dizzy. It was the fear blooming inside her. If Gil Stafford had something she wanted, it must mean that he had Sophie – and he knew it was her.
Just then the silk rippled. And this time she saw what was causing it. One of the baskets had swayed, tipping one way and then righting itself.
Moving quickly to the telescope, she focused it on the balloon. Someone had to be in it, making it move. Then she caught a glimpse of a head with blond hair. Sophie?
Whirling, she made her way to the stairs. Two flights. The moment she glanced down, the panic slammed into her and stopped her short. Closing her eyes, she gripped the railing and took a steadying breath. But it didn't seem to help.
There was a sliding glass door behind her. She could go back into the house and find Tracker. But that would take time. And Sophie – if it had been Sophie that she'd seen – needed her help now.
I've been promised a balloon ride. The words slipped into her mind as clearly as if Sophie had spoken them aloud. She'd said them the first time she'd called from the spa. Except she'd been here in California.
Keeping her eyes closed, Mac took another deep breath and let it out. This time she wasn't going to let the fear stop her. All she had to do was take the stairs one step at a time. Gripping the railing, she placed her foot on the first one.
Chapter 19
«
Lucas could hear the ticking of the clock on Vincent Falcone's desk as he read the letter for the second time.
My dear Ham,
If you are reading this, it means that my friend Vince is calling in an old debt. Since I owe him my life, I hope you will find it possible to grant him his request.
All my love,
Green Eggs
The words hadn't changed since the first time he'd read them. As always his grandfather had been brief. Lucas Wainright believed that brevity was one of the cardinal virtues. But the conciseness of the letter wasn't the only detail convincing him that it was authentic. The signature, too, was his grandfather's. Of course, Falcone was resourceful enough to hire an excellent forger. But as far as Lucas knew, no one else had ever known the secret code name his grandfather and he had used whenever they had gone on one of their private vacations to the cabin.
So this had been the source of the slow, sinking certainty in his gut he'd been experiencing ever since Falcone had walked out of his office that day – the one that always told him when his opponent had something up his sleeve. At least it was good to know that his instincts weren't failing him.
Raising his eyes from the letter, Lucas looked at the older man. He was standing at the drawn curtain, gazing at the group of people he'd gathered together to celebrate the fifth anniversary of the vineyard. The ruler surveying his happy subjects. That was what he should have looked like in his moment of triumph. But to Lucas, Vincent Falcone suddenly seemed older and more frail. He was reminded of the way his grandfather had looked shortly before he'd died.
Shaking the impression off, he said. "My grandfather owed you his life."
Falcone threw back his head and laughed, and a sound of genuine amusement filled the room as he turned to face Lucas. "You are so very much like him. You accept the facts and cut right to the heart of the matter. No quibbling. Your father would have argued forever, questioning the authenticity of the letter, arguing that he wasn't bound by it."
Lucas shrugged. "I'm pretty certain my grandfather wrote it."
Falcone moved toward him and took the seat behind his desk. The negotiations were about to begin, Lucas thought.
"I could give you some time. If you check, you'll find his prints on both the note and the envelope, along with your own. I've always used gloves when I've touched it. And the handwriting will also check out."
When Lucas said nothing, the older man said, "And, yes, I did save your grandfather's life. We fought in the same unit in France. We were very young, barely eighteen. I have no proof of that, by the way. Only the two of us knew about it."
Lucas's eyes narrowed. "What happened?"
"We were the last two left in a bunker. Everyone else in our unit had been shot or had made a run for it. The shelling was heavy and the hits were getting closer." Vincent Falcone leaned back in his chair, a half smile of remembrance on his face. "I knew we were just sitting ducks and I wanted to get out. Your grandfather felt it was safer to stay. We had a fight. Luckily, I knocked him out, then carried him with me to safety. The bunker was leveled about ten minutes after we cleared out."
Lucas nodded. His grandfather had told him the story more than once – about the man who hadn't been afraid to take a risk. He'd credited the man, not only with saving his life, but with showing him how to live it.
And that man was Vincent Falcone, a man he'd viewed as an enemy for the past five years. "Did my father receive one of the letters too? Is that how he came to get mixed up with you?"
Falcone shook his head. "Your grandfather wrote only one letter. He sent it to me shortly before he died. It wasn't long after that your father came to me and asked for money."
"Which you were only too happy to lend him."
"It served my interests well. I won't mince words. Your father was a weak man." He turned a hand over, palm upward. "The strong will always take advantage of the weak."
Lucas folded his grandfather's letter and put it back into the envelope. "What do you want?"
Falcone's lips curved. "You might as well be your grandfather's clone."
"Then you know that I will not let you back into Wainright Enterprises." He placed the envelope between them on the desk. "My grandfather would not have asked me to do that."
"No, he wouldn't."
"So?" Lucas asked. "Play your hole card."
For a moment, Falcone studied him, eyes narrowing. Then once again, Lucas thought he caught a glimpse of frailty. Finally, the older man said, "I have a favor I want to ask you. No, it's a favor I want to collect from you. My doctors tell me that I am going to die within the year."
Lucas managed to keep his astonishment masked. Whatever he'd expected to hear when he'd followed Falcone into the office, it hadn't been this. What kind of game was the old man playing?
"I've been making certain preparations. One step is that I've sold off all my business interests that are not what you might refer to as legitimate."
Lucas said nothing.
"Your grandfather and I never associated publicly after we came home from the war, but we kept in touch over the years. I took a few vacations with him on that island of his. He used to talk about how he was disappointed in his son, your father. He said that the future of Wainright Enterprises would depend on you. I have come to accept that the future of the Falcone fortunes will depend on my grandchild."
Lucas's eyes narrowed. "Sonny is…?"
The older man rose from his desk and moved toward the one-way glass. "No, my grandchild hasn't been conceived yet. I won't live to see him. Or her. I had hopes that perhaps Sonny and your sister would hit it off. He's a nice enough looking young man."
Lucas followed the direction of Falcone's gaze and saw that Sonny had joined the gathering in the other room.
"He didn't have any more luck with her than he seems to be having at Lansing Biotech. I thought for a while he was on the right track there. He hired a research scientist as a consultant. It's what I would have done. That's him, the tall blond man right there next to my son. According to Sonny, they're very close to getting exclusive rights to some very important research."
"What kind of research?" Lucas asked. But it was beginning to take some effort to remain patient and play the dupe.
Falcone waved a hand. "Something on slowing down the aging process. I had it checked into, and the research was indeed legitimate and very promising. It's also on the up-and-up to have these scientists sign these contracts. Lansing Biotech finances some of the cost of the research in return for exclusive rights to manufacture any results in the future. Sonny was supposed to have all the papers signed so that I could make the announcement today."
"But he doesn't."
"We wouldn't be having this conversation if he did."
"What exactly is it that you want me to do?" Lucas asked.
Vincent Falcone met his eyes, and there was no trace of the frailty he'd glimpsed earlier. "I want you to take Sonny under your wing and make sure that my two remaining businesses prosper until one of my grandchildren can take over. Sonny swore he'd prove to me that he was capable of running both business's, but he's made a mess of it. I advanced him some money – told him to show me what he could do with it to increase profits here at the vineyard. He bought hot-air balloons."
"Balloons?" Lucas asked.
"My reaction exactly. He could have used the money for research, he could have imported some old vines from France or Italy. Instead, he bought hot-air balloons so that he could offer the tourists who stop by an aerial tour of the valley." Falcone sighed. "But that's not the worst of it. To be perfectly honest, he's gotten himself into a bit of a scrape."