came to work for him.
She had been the game changer. He could never have solved the cases he’d solved later without her. She was a royal pain in the ass to deal with, but she was his royal pain.
He stopped at a steak house on his way home and ate an early dinner. By the time he got back to his apartment, he felt better. Today had been productive and his belly was full of beef. It was enough.
* * *
Cyrus Parks was still battling the media’s curiosity. By his not giving any kind of interview, or making any public statement, the media was creating their own version of the truth, using various photos of him taken throughout his life, and writing stories with vague hints of who he was, and what Universal Theorem was about, and assumptions of his wealth.
He was pissed, and some of the shadow figures in his organization had backed off from him, because they did not want to be dragged into the publicity of his existence.
And, if that wasn’t bad enough, two agents from the FBI showed up at his home. He was horrified to find out that his name had been mentioned as the man who’d put out the hit on Wyrick, and they were investigating him in a possible connection to Darrell Boyingon’s murder.
“Gentlemen, I can assure you, I have no connection to some hit man’s demise,” Cyrus said.
“But you have a connection to Jade Wyrick. She used to work for Universal Theorem.”
“Well, yes, I know her. But she was let go after she became ill from cancer. She hasn’t worked for UT for years. I have no idea where she’s even at.”
“Well, we know that’s not true, because during the statement she gave when she filed charges against Boyington for stalking her, she mentioned the names of a couple of private investigators in Dallas who you had hired in the past to keep tabs on her. We have spoken to them, and they corroborated her statement.”
Cyrus’s chin came up. “Do I need to call my lawyer? Am I under arrest for something?”
“No, sir, but we may have further questions.”
“Not without my lawyer present we won’t. We’re through here,” he said, and rang for his housekeeper. “Ruthie, these gentlemen are leaving now. Will you please see them out?”
“Yes, sir,” she said. “This way, please.”
As soon as they were gone, Cyrus called his lawyer. His life was spinning out of control and he didn’t know how to stop it. Mistakes had been made. Big ones. There had to be a way to rein this in.
* * *
Wyrick hadn’t heard a thing or sensed even the slightest disturbance from Cyrus Parks since she’d dropped her bombshell on him. But she knew he was likely being inundated by the media from the number of times he was showing up in the tabloids.
She didn’t care how uncomfortable she’d made him. It was nothing compared to what he’d done to her, and she had more important things upon which to focus, like her friend who was upstairs, dying.
Even though Merlin had given her carte blanche to move up into the main house whenever she wanted and do whatever she wanted to do to it, she wasn’t about to disturb him. She wanted him to see what was his, in the places that he wanted it, for all the days he had left.
The cleaning service kept it spotless, and the nurses who came and went kept Merlin as comfortable as possible.
As for her, she spent evenings with him after his dinner. And on the days that he felt like it, playing cards in his bedroom—usually poker—and beating him every time because she could.
Merlin loved it.
“Wow. No pity for a dying man here,” he said when she laid down a royal flush.
Her eyes narrowed as she leaned across the table to rake in the chips.
“Money won’t get you into heaven, so don’t expect me to feel sorry for you. If you hadn’t been watching that nurse’s backside as she walked out of the room, you wouldn’t have lost count of the cards.”
Ignoring the fact that she’d alluded to his sexual interest in a woman’s backside, he rubbed a hand over his rapidly thinning hair.
“Are you insinuating that I count cards?” he asked.
“I insinuate nothing, Arthur Merlin, and you know it.”
Merlin threw back his head and laughed, then stopped and thumped his chest when he started to wheeze.
“Ah, God, don’t make me laugh. I can’t breathe and laugh at the same