“How long ago did this happen?”
“About four weeks.”
I suddenly felt sick. “Around the time Breanne raided Matt’s PDA and sent wedding announcements to his old flames.”
Javier registered surprise. “I never made the connection, but you are right. Matt would have had Adelina’s address and phone number in his files.” He lowered his voice. “Matteo was intimate with Hector’s daughter, Ms. Cosi. You understand my meaning?”
Oh God. “Javier, listen to me. I think Hector’s daughter killed herself over losing Matt. She must have been unbalanced already, and that stupid wedding announcement sent her over the edge.”
“You believe Hector is trying to kill Breanne for this?”
“Not for sending the announcement. He couldn’t have known she was behind that. No, I think Hector is trying to exact some kind of twisted justice. He wants to show Matt the pain of losing a woman he loves.” I clutched Javier’s arm. “Have you seen Hector today?”
“Yes.” Now Javier looked sick, too. “I just saw him. He brought a gift with him, so he was delayed by security. But Hector should be inside the museum by now. I will look for him—”
“No!” I pushed Javier back against the wall. “You’re my only witness to the batrachotoxin connection, and I want you to stay right here. I’ll go up to the roof and talk to the police. Right now the authorities are looking for you, not Hector. Until I straighten that out, you could be arrested.”
He frowned but nodded. “I will do as you ask.”
Dozens of guests were now wandering into the Sculpture Court. Like Javier, they’d opted out of the wedding ceremony and come only for the reception. I dodged the small crowd and moved toward the exit. On my way, I scanned the area near the table of wedding gifts, but there was no sign of Hector there.
When I reached the elevators, I discovered they were out of service. Security was holding the cars on the roof until the end of the ceremony! I cursed and searched for another way up. I followed a long, empty corridor before I finally found the steel doors to the stairwell, right beside a glass emergency exit that opened onto Central Park.
I entered the gloomy stairwell and nearly fell on my face. My feet had become entangled in torn wrapping paper and a length of scattered ribbon. As I freed myself, I spied a gift box on the ground, packing tissue scattered around it. Leaning against the wall, I saw the metallic gleam of a silver bowl and large brass candleholders.
I heard footsteps above me and looked up.
Hector Pena stood at the top of the stairs, staring down at me. He wore a black tuxedo and gripped a small gun.
In a flash I knew how he’d managed it: the wrapped gift. The metal bowl and candleholders might have shielded the entire shape of the gun in the X-ray machine. Or he could have simply broken the gun down into pieces and reassembled the weapon here in the stairwell.
I gasped as our gazes met. Hector’s flesh was more sallow than I remembered, and the circles under his eyes seemed more prominent, too. In the shadows his face seemed skeletal, like a death’s head. In a blink, he saw recognition in my expression, understanding, too.
He knows that I know.
Hector lifted his weapon as he raced down the stairs, two at a time. I whirled and threw open the door. The corridor was still deserted. If I tried running back to the Sculpture Court, Hector could shoot me in the back. Someone might hear the shot. Or they might not. Either way, I wouldn’t be around to worry about it. I’d be dead.
I heard Hector opening the heavy stairwell door behind me. With no other way to escape, I pushed through the glass fire exit and staggered outside the museum, onto the soft grass of Central Park. The door closed behind me. Hector crashed into it a split second later. I thought he was going to shoot me through the clear pane, but he smiled triumphantly instead.
I heard a muffled burst of applause from inside the museum and realized the wedding party had finally come down from the roof! Hector realized it, too. He tucked the gun inside his black evening jacket and turned around. As soon as he was out of sight, I ran back to the door. It was locked! Hector knew I was stuck outside, and he didn’t care. Which meant he was on his way to kill Breanne—and maybe Matt, too—right now! He was gambling I wouldn’t have time to warn them!
No!
I stumbled across the lawn, my low heels sticking in the still-damp ground; then I reached the sidewalk and took off at a dead run. The Metropolitan Museum covered five city blocks, and I had to travel at least half of that distance to reach the front entrance.
Panting, I cleared the modern art wing and blew past a bronze statue of three bears nestled among a circle of benches. Fifth Avenue and Eightieth Street were just ahead. I wended my way through a mass of exiting tourists, sprinted the long flight of stone steps, and burst into the museum’s lobby. Breathlessly I stumbled up to a tall African American man in a guard uniform and flashed my events pass.
“Help, please... there’s a man... he’s armed... in the Sculpture Court...”
The guard tensed. “The wedding?”
I nodded. Clearly, he’d been briefed. He grabbed my arm and spoke into the radio headset he was wearing. As we ran toward the back of the museum, I told him everything I knew. He related the information over the radio to the NYPD.
Two minutes later, we were entering the European Sculpture and Decorative Arts wing, and the guard visibly relaxed. “They have him in custody, ma’am,” he told me, tapping his earphones. “He tried to approach the wedding party, and they grabbed him.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” I gasped, the tension flowing out of me.
Although the pubic was still milling around the museum, the European Sculpture Court was closed for our private party. I saw its atrium ahead, the waning sunlight glinting off its marble figures. Tired as I felt, I increased my pace.
Entering the court, I spotted a flurry of motion near the table of wedding gifts. Sully and Lori Soles had a tuxedo-clad man in handcuffs. As the detectives turned him around, I saw his face.
“You’ve got the wrong man!” Javier Lozado cried. “Listen to me! Why won’t you listen?”
There was no time left. I raced forward, toward the coffee and dessert station. Matt and Breanne stood there alone, framed against Nunzio’s star-crossed fountain. The guests were at least ten feet back, clearing the area for the photographers to snap away. Madame was stepping up to the couple, her sterling silver gift tray in her hands, two freshly pulled shots ready to be served.
That’s when I spotted Hector, hiding behind a cameraman. He was reaching into his evening jacket! I was too far away to do anything more than shout at the top of my lungs, “Matt! It’s Hector! Hector’s got the gun!”
Matt turned at the sound of my voice, but the photo flashes had limited his vision. He couldn’t see Hector in the crowd! Breanne froze with stark fear, but she didn’t know where to look, and her bodyguard had stepped far back from the couple so he wouldn’t be in their wedding photos!
Madame was right beside them now, and she knew what Hector looked like. Spotting him, she lurched forward as he raised his weapon and aimed for Breanne. The gunshot boomed, the sound echoing inside the massive space. Breanne, Matt, and Madame all went down in a tangle. The silver tray clanged against the floor; dark liquid seeped across the white marble. Screams and shouts lifted up, echoing off the pitched roof, drowning out the mannered music. The crowd shrank back, and I rushed forward.
A scuffle broke out: Rocky Friar wrestled with Hector Pena. The Colombian refused to release his small-caliber weapon, even as the muscle-bound detective squeezed his wrist.