Rulers of Deception (33 page)

Before he could finish the sentence, Raoul pinned him violently against the wall of the stairwell, face flushed with fury. His fists gripped Wyatt’s T-shirt, a vein pulsing in his forehead. “I am not you,
cabrón
. I do not play with the devil.”

Wyatt tried to shove him off, but found his strength equally matched. Instead he let out a dark laugh, letting his arms fall to his sides. “All right, fine. You’re not the only one packing heat these days.” He lifted his shirt, showing the pistol tucked into his waistband.

Raoul slowly backed off, his temper subsiding. His eyes flicked from the gun back up to Wyatt’s face and hardened. “You brought this onto her just as I knew you would. You are lucky she’s willing to clean up your messes.”

Wyatt frowned as Raoul continued up the stairs, leaving him to consider the Spaniard’s words in silence. Frustrated, he dug into his pocket for his phone and hastily dialed the last number Jimmy had contacted him from. He needed to know if his old friend had heard anything more about Franco’s plans. He could clean up his own messes, damnit. And he would.

It rang three times before going to voicemail. Wyatt was about to hang up, but paused as Jimmy’s voice came through the phone.

“
You’ve reached Jimmy. If I don’t know you, then fuck off. If I do know you, then listen up. I’m takin’ a permanent siesta somewhere sunny and far away. If you never hear from me again, that’s probably because I didn’t like you. Sayonara!”

The beep sounded and Wyatt ended the call, even more confused than before. Jimmy had left the city? What happened to his cartel contact that he’d been shacking up with? And where had he gotten enough money to get out of the country?

A heavy lump settled in Wyatt’s gut. The key question, he realized, was who’d bought off Jimmy? And another, more troubling question…what had he traded for the cash?

“I didn’t bail
Daniel out.” McAllister took a sip of the brandy Grant offered him, looking worse for wear. “He needs to learn his lesson. I’m not one of those wealthy fathers who lets his son run wild. He’ll be in jail until his trial.”

Grant watched him quietly from his desk, not touching his own drink. He needed a clear head for this conversation. “We’re willing to move past this, but we request that Daniel not take part in our business from here on out.”

McAllister sniffed derisively, shooting Grant an irritated look. “What makes you think I’m willing to continue this business? That reporter is missing. I have shareholders I have to answer to. They want out.”

“Give us time, Reed.” Grant rarely used first names in business, but this more than warranted it. “This will turn around in our favor and then we can continue on as though this never happened.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible,” McAllister lamented. He took another sip of brandy and sighed. “I don’t know what it is about your family, Grant. And it’s no offense to you, but really. Why do these things keep happening? When will it ever end?”

Grant gazed at the images of his family that lined the walls of his office, wishing he knew the answer. His eyes settled on the painting of Cyrus and he realized he and his siblings would
never
escape the scandal. Cyrus and his influence over the family would never die.

“These scandals would ruin other families,” Grant said calmly, turning his attention back to McAllister. A hint of pride filled his voice. “But they haven’t ruined us. Not before and not now.”

McAllister looked thoughtful as he polished off the last of his drink. “Your tenacity is inspiring, I gotta tell you.”

“Then trust me.”

“I want to, I really do.” McAllister rose to his feet, extending his hand to shake Grant’s. “I’ll hold off on making any knee-jerk decisions for now.”

Grant stood and accepted the handshake. “Thank you.”

“And given my
son’s
actions, I know I’m not in the position to place much judgment.” McAllister ran a hand over the back of his neck awkwardly. “Obviously my family is not perfect, either.”

“Before you go, I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Grant began, opening one of his desk drawers and lifting out the photographs they’d received of Quinn, Lynette, and Madison. He handed them to McAllister. “We received these photographs from an anonymous source. The first two won’t make sense to you, but the one with Daniel is the one that concerns me. He claims he didn’t realize he was being photographed. Can you think of anyone who he’s been in contact with who might have taken these?”

McAllister flipped through the images, concern darkening his eyes. “No, I don’t. It looks to me like these images are supposed to be some form of blackmail.”

“It looks that way,” Grant agreed, accepting the photographs back from McAllister. “And the letters that accompanied them did, too. But I believe they are actually being used to turn us on each other.”

“To destroy the family from the inside.” McAllister rubbed at his chin, considering. “You have an enemy I don’t know about?”

“Likely an enemy none of us know about,” Grant replied stiffly.

“I’ll talk to Daniel, see if he’ll tell me what he knows.” McAllister paused, his eyes tightening. “There was a woman he said he was seeing. Maybe she had something to do with this. At least the pictures of Daniel, anyway.”

“Let me know if he says anything to you.”

“I will.” McAllister nodded curtly. “Take care of yourself, Grant. And give my apologies to Madison, for what it’s worth.”

Grant watched him leave. He then settled into his chair, the gears of his mind turning. Who was this woman Daniel had been seeing? And what, if anything, did she have to do with his family?

He considered the secrets Madison divulged to him the day before and wondered how they played into this. Was it all connected?

Before he could give it much thought, there was a knock on his door. Quinn stepped in, smiling at him. “Hey.”

“Hi.” He returned her smile, relieved to see her. “How are you feeling?”

She shrugged as she approached his desk. “The morning sickness comes and goes. It’s not too bad.”

“That’s good.” He rose and went to her, wrapping her in his arms. Holding her close, he shut his eyes and exhaled in relief.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, wondering what had gotten into him. “Did they find Veronica?”

“No.” He pulled away to look at her, his face softening. “I don’t want you to stress yourself.”

“That’s a little difficult with everything that’s going on right now,” Quinn replied, eyebrows raised. “Do you know something I don’t know?”

“Of course not.” The corner of his mouth quirked, a tell tale sign he was messing with her.

“You do know something, don’t you?” Quinn realized, eyeing him curiously. “Let me guess, you can’t tell me what it is?”

He shook his head, his hand cradling her cheek as he leaned in to kiss her forehead. “Just know everything will be all right.”

“Okay.” She believed him without being told why. It didn’t matter, all that did was that he said it was so. That was enough for her. “You should come downstairs. I just finished making some fresh cannolis that have your name written all over them.”

He accepted her hand when she reached for his. “My favorite.”

Marshall picked at
the food on his plate as he sat in
Cherir
, too distraught to eat. Instead he drank gratefully from the fresh glass of wine the waitress brought over, needing to numb the pain of regret that flooded his heart.

Charlene was seated across from him, filled to the brim with worry. She was having a hard time eating as well, but couldn’t bring herself to drink, either. All she could think of was finding some way to bring comfort to Marshall and shelter to her children.

“I know you didn’t kill that Maureen woman, Marshall,” Charlene said quietly, blue eyes dimmed with concern. “You can’t blame yourself this way.”

“I’m still responsible.” Marshall released an indignant huff, despising himself. “And the worst of it is I spent thirty years trying not to think of what happened to her. I didn’t have the strength to face it. But now here it is, being flung like mud into the faces of my family. It’s all my fault.”

“Stop it,” Charlene ordered, reaching for his hand over the table and giving it a tight squeeze. “Self-pity is not going to help my children. Standing up for what’s right will.”

Marshall looked her in the eye. “I don’t know what’s right anymore. A man should take responsibility for his actions, Charlene. And that’s what I’m trying to do.”

“All you did was have an affair; who hasn’t done that?” Charlene sniffed, rolling her eyes. “You didn’t pull the trigger. Someone else did. A robber, or whoever the police said it was.”

“It wasn’t a damn robbery,” Marshall glowered, shaking his head slowly. “It was murder.”

“So then who did it? Cyrus?” It seemed a logical answer to her, though she regretted saying it the moment it came out.

Marshall pulled his hand from hers and downed the last of his wine. Slamming the glass down upon the table, he shot her a cold look. “My father never wanted her dead. It’d be too messy. He only wanted me to cut off all ties, and so I did.”

“But she wound up dead anyway,” Charlene pushed, fingers tightening over the napkin in her lap. “So if you didn’t do it, and neither did Cyrus, than who?”

“I always had a hunch it was Gossinger, but I couldn’t prove it.” Marshall sighed heavily, gazing into space as he lost himself in the past. “But he never came after me, so I assumed he didn’t know about the affair.”

“Or perhaps he just didn’t know it was
you
she had the affair with,” Charlene theorized. “He just knew there was some kind of affair and so he killed her. There probably wasn’t much thought behind it.”

“Not everyone is as cold as you,” Marshall replied, thinking of his poor brother Win.

Charlene pursed her lips in anger. “What’s done is done, Marshall. I’m still a part of this family.”

“Only because you had somewhat noble intentions when you killed your husband.”

“He killed himself,” Charlene retorted. “I had very little to do with it.”

Marshall nodded, easing back in his chair as the wine began to go to his head. He reached for the bottle the waitress had dropped off and refilled his glass. “That’s neither here nor there, Charlene. Now it seems I’m in the hot seat.”

“No one assumes you are guilty. And until the accusation goes public, which it may not, then no one has to know about this. You can forget about this Maureen once again.”

Marshall chuckled darkly, gazing at the deep red wine in his glass. “She’s a hard woman to forget.”

Jealousy raced through Charlene’s system, but she said nothing. Marshall would never, ever look at her the way he did other women. Not only because she’d once been married to his youngest brother, but because she’d been instrumental in seeing him take his last breath. They were both deeds she wasn’t proud of, but she’d be damned if anyone tried to tell her she wasn’t useful.

“So who do you suppose mentioned your name to Gossinger in the first place? Clearly that’s where this all originated,” Charlene asked. “Someone put it in his head that you could be blamed for her death.”