Gerard certainly had crucial business to attend to today.

Brodsik was late. The man was almost as scattered as Clarisse, and twice as thick. Add a healthy dose of greed to that combination, and it was the recipe for volatility. He hated when he had to put even a small amount of trust in men such as Brodsik and Stern. Stern, he’d already disposed of soon after the criminal partners arrived in England. Brodsik, he needed. Brodsik had been the one Francesca saw in Chicago, after all. His was the face that Ian and she equated to threat. Stern, on the other hand, was a walking, talking loose end with absolutely no purpose whatsoever to Gerard. He’d had to go early on.

Gerard had been forced against his better judgment to hire the two men after Francesca had blocked his plans to financially gain control of Noble Enterprises in a hostile takeover. Once that had occurred, he’d known he had to find a way to bring Ian out of hiding, and what would galvanize his noble cousin more than a potential threat to his abandoned lover? True, it’d been a risk. Ian had left his fiancée, after all. Perhaps he wouldn’t care if Francesca were threatened? But no, Gerard had been correct. The moment Francesca had been in danger, he’d flown onto the scene, ready to play the role of tragic knight in shining armor.

He read Ian as effortlessly as a cheap novel.

It’d worked perfectly. The time to strike was now. He couldn’t very well get Ian in his sights if he remained mysteriously invisible. Ian was vulnerable. No one would be utterly shocked when he finally went over the edge and took Francesca with him.

He checked his watch and scowled. In the distance, he could hear the muted sound of Ian speaking in the microphone. The press conference had begun. His cousin was busy rallying the troops, showing the world the face of a confident, brilliant leader.

But Gerard knew the truth. The password he’d deciphered from the surveillance video had worked. He’d copied Ian’s files yesterday. All of them. He’d had the opportunity to begin to go through them last night—after he’d listened in on Ian and Francesca’s rousing lovemaking, that is. Damn Ian for continually fucking in places Gerard couldn’t determine beforehand, however. He’d repositioned one of the two cameras in Ian’s suite, no longer needing the one aimed on the desk and computer. He’d positioned the surveillance camera in a spot where he’d thought Ian had sported with Francesca last night. But as in all things, Ian had refused to cooperate with Gerard’s plans. He’d been forced to only listen as Francesca was paddled. Afterward, he’d masturbated as he’d eagerly listened to the sounds of her being sodomized. His climax had been so explosive after that, he hadn’t bothered to spy on the couple’s sexual activities any more. Instead, he’d plunged into Ian’s computer files.

That’s how he knew that Ian Noble was nowhere near to being the coolly aloof, in-control genius billionaire he pretended to be right now in front of those reporters’ cameras. He was, in fact, a man on the edge of madness, teetering after his mother’s death and the truth he’d discovered about the identity of his biological father.

Ian Noble, the son of a condemned rapist.

After Gerard had perused some of the volatile contents on Ian’s computer, he’d calmly altered his plans.

The mark of true brilliance, after all, was the ability to glean a person’s weakness and then add just the appropriate amount of pressure on that spot, so that the resulting break seemed inevitable in retrospect.

He’d learned that skill particularly well for the first time with his parents. He’d inadvertently learned that the make of car his parents drove had a weakness in the braking system. A school friend from Oxford who belonged to an influential family had let the industry secret out to another schoolmate, and Gerard had overheard. The news had not yet gone public. Once he’d had that information, all it had required was just a small mechanical nudge on Gerard’s part—not difficult as he’d often tinkered and worked with cars and motorcycles since he was a boy—and voila. His parents were dead. Not only was their fortune and property his to do with as he pleased, but he’d been primed for a very lucrative lawsuit against the car company. It had been almost laughably easy, but Gerard knew that patience had been required in waiting for that perfect opportunity to arise.

Patience was his forte.

Apply just the right amount of pressure in just the right spot: that was his motto. Never overdo it. Certainly Francesca and Ian were the weak points in this scenario, but Francesca had proved to be too independent and meddlesome, thwarting his plans both for seduction and with the Tyake acquisition. She’d blocked his subtle efforts to finally gain control of Noble Enterprises along with that infuriatingly smug Lucien, one of many wild cards for which Gerard hadn’t been able to entirely plan.

But again, Gerard was nothing if not flexible. One had to roll with the tide, not fight it. He felt like he’d been rewarded with a major boon, understanding just how vulnerable Ian was. Of course, he’d known his cousin had been weakened after his mother died and he’d disappeared. Gerard had moved quickly to take advantage of Ian’s wounded and absent state. When the opportunity arose with Tyake, Gerard had been ready to strike at that rare weak spot that would have given him an inside hold on Ian’s company. He needed Francesca’s cooperation for that, however, and he’d quickly learned that with Lucien around to coach her, she wasn’t quite as malleable as he’d hoped.

Now he had the ammunition he needed to set off an explosion, and if he was very lucky, he could include the annoying Lucien in that conflagration. Aurore Manor, the place where Ian had been holing up and surely descending into madness, would be the perfect location for him to die. When the story broke about what he’d been doing there, few would doubt that Ian Noble was a walking time bomb. They wouldn’t be surprised at his self-destruction.

With his alternative plans, Gerard no longer wanted Ian at Belford, so it was now necessary to eliminate the apparent threat of Brodsik and clean up some ragged ends in the process.

He glanced up calmly at the sound of the door at the back of the room opening. He’d instructed Brodsik on how to enter, telling him to arrive early and stay concealed in the billiard room until Gerard could conveniently meet with him at a designated time.

“You’re late,” he said, remaining seated in the chair behind James’s large desk.

“I had to be careful. This place is crawling with security,” Brodsik said, walking toward him.

Gerard shrugged. “All due to the press conference. Ian is the god of the Western world of business, after all,” he said sardonically. “Well? Are you ready to get down to business? I’ll instruct you on how to get into Noble’s suite from here. You’ll remain hidden there until he arrives, then take him by surprise. I’ve already described how to get away cleanly afterward.”

“Where’s the money?” Brodsik asked roughly. Gerard threw a contemptuous glance at his hulking form. He pointed at a backpack that sat on the desk in front of him.

“It’s all there. Your fee for the work, more than enough money to disappear and . . .”

“My incentive to keep quiet about my ‘work,’” Brodsik said. He grinned, eyeing the backpack hungrily. Gerard had never seen him smile before. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Something seemed to occur to Brodsik and his grin turned to a menacing scowl. “And if I should find out anything happened to Shell, I’m gonna hold you responsible. That’ll mean more money,” he said, referring to Shell Stern, his partner.

Gerard snarled, hatred and anger flaring in him fast and hot. “How dare you threaten me with more blackmail.”

Brodsik looked a little taken aback by his sudden, intense fury. “Something happened to him. Shell’s not the type to stay quiet for two minutes, let alone go missing for days. I’m not saying it was you who did something to him, but—”

“It certainly sounded that way to me,” Gerard grated out.

Brodsik seemed to regret bringing up the topic as he continued to eye the backpack.

“Let’s just get this show on the road,” Brodsik mumbled, stepping toward the desk, his hand stretched toward the backpack.

Gerard made a halting gesture. “I’ll open it for you in a moment. First, let me see the gun. I have a right to assure myself that you’re prepared.”

Brodsik looked like he was going to argue, his gaze glued covetously to the backpack. He eventually shrugged his linebackerlike shoulders and reached into a deep pocket of his parka, extracting an automatic firearm.

“It worked just like you said. The guy in London asked no questions,” Brodsik said.

“So you needed to tell no lies,” Gerard replied, his gaze running over the familiar gun with satisfaction. He’d used the very same weapon to kill Shell Stern less than a week ago. “Jago Teague is nothing if not discreet. He has to be, in his line of work . . . or lines of work, I should say. Well, let’s get this over with, shall we? The sooner Noble is out of my life, the better. He’s been in it for twenty years too long.”

He unzipped the backpack. It contained no money whatsoever—he would never be bribed by anyone, let alone an idiot such as this—but did contain several of his work files. And something else.

He withdrew James’s handgun and aimed it at Brodsik. Brodsik didn’t have the opportunity to look surprised. Gerard fired point-blank at his head without blinking.

Brodsik’s hulking body hit the floor with a jarring thud. Gerard calmly pulled back the right-hand drawer of James’s desk. The red leather box where James always stored his private firearm was already open.

He gripped the gun tightly in his hand and schooled his face into an expression of blank shock.

* * *

Anne had referred them to the library for a place to do the computerized rendering without interruption. Francesca sat next to the computer artist, a woman named Violet, at a desk, both of them peering at the screen of Violet’s laptop as the man’s face took shape from Francesca’s description. Francesca heard a distant sound like a firecracker going off. The sound itself didn’t alarm her, but the way Lucien leapt up did. He’d been sitting in an armchair and perusing the business section of a French newspaper while Francesca worked with Violet. Now the newspaper lay on the Oriental carpet, forgotten.

“Lucien?” she asked in amazement when she saw his tense expression. A prickle of wariness went down her neck and coursed along her arms when he rapidly strode to the heavy doors and pressed his ear against them, listening.

“Come with me,” he said, turning. “Both of you,” he added, giving Violet a pointed glance. When Francesca stood, but Violet just stared at him in amazement, Lucien added, “Now.”

Lucien pointed to a rear exit and nodded at Francesca, obviously expecting her to walk in front of him.

“Lucien, you don’t think that sound was a gunshot, do you?” Francesca asked.

“I’m almost certain it was.”

Her heart squeezed tight. “But . . . Ian.”

“Is not going to thank either one of us for running out there if there’s a gunman on the loose. Please, Francesca,” he said less harshly. “Do as I say. There are some policemen stationed at the back door in the kitchens. With their communication equipment, they’ll know from the police at the press conference what happened up here quicker than we can find out ourselves. The security and police will need to secure the area anyway. They’ll have enough on their mind.”

It felt entirely against all that was natural to walk in the opposite direction of where Ian was when a gunshot had just been fired, but Francesca forced herself to do it. The rear door led to a dim corridor. She was starting to learn that many of the great rooms had a family entrance and a staff entrance, the staff entrance with access to the basements, kitchens, and servant’s dining area. Lucien had been right. One officer was racing up a flight of stairs she’d never before used. They weren’t the ones that led from the dining room.

“Get downstairs. Officer Inez is down there with the kitchen staff,” the officer said.

“What’s happened?” Lucien demanded.

“Someone’s been shot. An intruder, we think. Things appear to be secure, but we’re still not sure. Go on down with Inez, please.”

He raced past them. The officer’s terse, vague explanation seemed to leave more questions than answers, mounting Francesca’s anxiety. Nevertheless, she mechanically followed Violet down the stairs, Lucien bringing up the rear, her calm actions belying a mind buzzing with fear.