Rulers of Deception (14 page)

Later that evening
Quinn busied herself in the kitchen at home, needing to do something with her hands to keep from dwelling on the conversation she knew was coming. She chopped up rosemary and potatoes to add to the seasoned quail already placed in the roasting pan, sprinkling sea salt and freshly ground pepper over everything before covering it. After popping it in the oven, she glanced around and desperately tried to find something else to do.

She cleaned up her mess and started preparing a salad to go with the roasted quail, wishing she could have a glass of wine to soothe her nerves. No wine for the next six and a half months, she realized, her hand coming to rest on her flat stomach. It was going to be worth it, though. It had to be. Dizziness swept over her and she had to brace herself against the counter for a moment, her vision blurring with tears. God, please let it be okay. Please let him understand.

When she heard the click of the deadbolt in the front door, panic rose up from her belly like a frosty white wave. Her eyes shot to the door and she tried to hide the tears that threatened to fall.

The door opened and to her surprise, a hyper ball of fur raced in and went straight for her. The fluffy black dog jumped up on its hind legs and pawed at her knees, bright pink tongue hanging out in a loving smile. She gasped and reached for him, unable to do more as she stared at Grant.

“What’s this?” she managed, blinking back the shock.

“A gift for you.” Grant hung his coat and approached her, a sheepish smile lighting his face. “The woman at the pound said his name was Mickey, but you can call him whatever you want.”

Quinn stared down at the dog, excited and ashamed and miserable all at once. “I don’t know what to say.”

Grant frowned, her reaction not what he’d been expecting. “Do you not like him? We can get a purebred if you want—”

“No.” Her hand shot up to cover her mouth, her throat tight with emotion. “He’s great. Oh God, excuse me.”

She ran off to the bedroom and slammed the door shut, leaving him standing in the kitchen, dumbfounded. He stared down at the dog, who quirked his head curiously.

“Looks like Marshall doesn’t know women as well as he thinks,” Grant murmured, shaking his head. He went to the liquor cabinet and poured himself two fingers of whiskey and knocked them back, lost and broken.

Minutes later, Quinn emerged from the bedroom and saw him standing before the living room windows, his eyes on the street below. Mickey sat stoically beside him, ears twitching when he heard her approaching. In the corner, Miles lay sleeping, oblivious to the tension in the air.

Quinn wrapped her arms around Grant’s waist, pressing her face into his back. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.”

He sighed. “I don’t know either.”

More tears fell from her eyes. “I love Mickey. He’s perfect.”

Grant nodded, then turned to face her. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing,” she lied impulsively, not knowing why. For some reason she couldn’t tell him yet. She attempted a smile. “I’ve just been stressed.”

“Is Raoul bothering you?” Grant tilted her chin to force her to look at him.

“No, of course not.” She hugged him, resting her head against his chest. “I promise not to flip out on you anymore.”

He held her close, unsure what to say to her. Mickey danced around at their feet happily, prompting Quinn to kneel down and rub his scruffy black fur. “Hey buddy! Did dad think to get you some dinner?” She glanced up at Grant with a wink. “C’mon, let’s go eat.”

Grant watched her wander into the kitchen with her new dog, wanting to believe her excuses but finding it impossible. He liked to think he knew her well enough to know how she acted under stress and it certainly wasn’t like this. So what was wrong with her?

Figuring that she’d tell him eventually, he followed her into the kitchen and tried to put it out of his mind.

L
inc kept the secret about Greg dating Veronica to himself, wanting to ask her about it before he let it slip. Somehow Lynette had convinced him that maybe it was just a coincidence, though his gut instinct told him it wasn’t. Until he knew for sure, however, he wanted to get all the facts.

Madison, Grant, and Marshall were busy chatting at the conference table, leaving Linc hovering near the door awaiting Veronica’s arrival. He eyed his family, listening to them argue over the amount of information they wanted to share with her. Most of it was already public knowledge, but it was important to clarify what they were willing to discuss and what they weren’t.

Footsteps in the hallway had him turning to see Veronica approaching. He ducked out to greet her, hoping for a quick word before the others saw her. “Can I have a second?”

Veronica smiled, looking vibrant in a red blouse and trim black slacks. “Of course.”

He steered her back down the hallway toward the waiting area, then turned to face her. “Word on the street is you’re dating my friend Greg. I need to know why.”

Surprise flashed over her face. “Oh. I didn’t realize you knew.”

“He confessed.” Linc crossed his arms and scowled. “Don’t tell me you didn’t realize he was my best friend.”

“No, I knew that,” she admitted, smiling now. “I know how this looks, Linc, and I apologize for giving you the wrong impression. Would you like to hear the truth?”

“I’m not out here to chat about the weather,” he replied sarcastically.

She tilted her head with a light laugh, reaching up to fix the collar of his shirt. “Well, here it is anyway. When I met Greg, I had no inclination to interview your family. In fact, I was busy working on another project that was absorbing most of my time. But after hearing the way Greg talks about you guys, I realized that no one in the press was really doing you justice. You’re so much more extraordinary than any of them realize. I decided then that I wanted to do a piece on you, to give back to the family that Greg adores so much. In a way, I’m doing this as much for him as for you.”

Linc’s eyes narrowed even as his temper deflated. “So you’re not just dating him to get dirt on us?”

“Absolutely not.” Veronica lifted her hand as if by oath. “I swear to it on my honor.”

“Reporters have no honor,” Linc mused, though he felt monumentally better. “Or souls, for that matter.”

“This one does.” She hooked her arm in his, eyes twinkling. “Now, can we do our interview?”

“I guess.” He led her back to the conference room, catching his siblings’ eyes as he entered. “Look who I ran into in the hallway.”

Veronica shifted her purse on her shoulder before she shook hands with Grant and Madison. When she turned to Marshall, she brightened. “You must be Marshall.”

“The one and only.” He accepted her handshake, taking her in with his eyes for a moment before releasing her. “I’ve heard so much about you, my dear.”

“Likewise.” Veronica took a seat between Linc and Madison’s place at the head of the table, pulling a notepad and voice recorder from her purse. “Again, I appreciate you all taking the time to talk with me. I promise this feature in our magazine will be great publicity.”

“We hope it will be,” Madison said coolly, folding her hands on the table. “We’re counting on you to keep your word.”

Veronica’s dimples flashed as she smiled. “Of course.” She flipped on the recorder and placed it in the center of the table, then eyed each person excitedly. “First off, let’s go back to the beginning. Tell me about your great-great-grandfather, Alton Vasser.”

Grant cleared his throat, automatically volunteering to tell the story. “He grew up here in New York, but spent many years of his life without a penny to his name. His parents were French immigrants who started a small bakery in Brooklyn, where he worked every hour he wasn’t in school. In his twenties he got a job doing maintenance work in the Grand Hotel on Broadway, and that was when he realized his dream to open his own hotel.”

“It took quite a bit of effort to get it, though,” Marshall interrupted. “It took nearly twenty years of smart financial planning to raise enough money to buy the old coat factory and fix it up into what you see here today.”

“Fascinating.” Veronica tapped her pen against the notepad, eager to hear more. “So he managed to get the hotel constructed and running, and his only son Winston took over from there?”

“My great-grandfather didn’t take the reins until about ten years after the hotel was built,” Grant continued. “And when he did, he expanded the company and bought other hotels around the country. Over the years the company became incredibly successful. He’s the reason we’re a household name.”

“And then he died…” Veronica trailed off, gauging their reactions. Tension immediately sparked in the air like crackling fire.

Grant frowned. “Yes. He died in 1957 and Cyrus took over.”

“Now, everyone knows that Cyrus killed his father—”

Marshall shifted in his seat, uncomfortable by the turn in the conversation. “He had his reasons though, of course. We know the details of that, too.”

“Winston’s mistress, Rosalie Owens,” Veronica supplied with a nod. “She was set to take everything. The hotels, the money, the power…”

“My father couldn’t let some outsider take what was rightfully his,” Marshall huffed. Anger darkened his tone. “I know it wasn’t right, but I can’t blame the man entirely.”

“Of course,” Veronica replied. “But there was a reason Winston didn’t want his youngest son to have the company.”

“I told you before, I will not have my grandfather slandered,” Madison cut in, a fierce look in her eyes. “I do not want any mention of the scandal we just spent a year trying to get past.”

Veronica looked at her sheepishly. “I understand. It’s all so fascinating, though. Cyrus killing his older brothers in the war to fast-track himself to the top. He was quite the ruthless man.”

“He was also a cunning and clever businessman whose vision for this company we are enacting even after his death.” Madison’s chin lifted, pride in her voice. “The world knows his sins, Ms. Diaz. I would like to introduce them to his virtues.”

“I agree.” Veronica reached over and shut off the recorder. “Before we go into the topic of Cyrus, I want to tell you about something I found out recently that I think you should know.”

Linc bristled. “What is it?”

Veronica met eyes with Marshall. “Does the name Maureen Gossinger mean anything to you?”

All color left Marshall’s face as his mouth fell open. He struggled to find words to say as his family eyed him strangely.

“Who’s that?” Linc asked, turning back to Veronica.

“She’s the late wife of the former governor of New York, Harold Gossinger,” Veronica answered.

Sweat appeared on Marshall’s forehead. He wiped it away as he found his voice. “I knew her a very long time ago…”

“I don’t understand. What does she have to do with us?” Linc pressed. His eyes darted back and forth between his uncle and Veronica.

Marshall swallowed a lump in his throat. “She’s been dead for over thirty years.”

Veronica looked directly at him. “Rumor has it that you killed her.”

“Excuse me?” His eyes widened in horror.

Linc glared at Veronica. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I got wind from a contact of mine at one of the tabloids that they received an anonymous tip that Marshall may have been involved in Maureen’s mysterious death back in 1980.”