Rulers of Deception (17 page)

Jimmy’s teeth flashed in a quick grin, his right eye twitching with the movement. “How you doin’, sweet cheeks?”

One of Veronica’s brows slid up as she evaluated him. “Let’s not tiptoe around. You said over the phone you had information for me.”

“Boy, do I.” Jimmy laughed, the sound just a tinge hysterical. His eyes fell on her beer. “What’s that, a Guinness?”

“Yes.” Veronica cradled the glass between her hands and pursed her lips. “Why don’t you go get one? This is an Irish pub, after all.”

“Nah.” Jimmy waved off her comment and reached into the pocket of the jean jacket he wore, lifting out a tiny silver flask. He glanced around to see if the bartender was watching and then snuck a sip of warm Jack Daniels. As he tucked the flask away, he smiled. “So you’re doin’ a story on the Vassers, huh?”

“Yes…though I still don’t know how you found that out.” Veronica slipped a hand into her pocket, discreetly turning on the recorder. “How did you know to call me?”

“I’ve been casing the joint, keeping an eye on things. I saw you coming and going. Asked a few questions of the staff and found out who you were. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.”

“What if I’d just been a guest of the hotel?”

“You live in the city, why stay at the hotel?” Jimmy shook his head as though the idea were ridiculous. “Besides, if I’d been wrong then so what? No harm, no foul. But as you confirmed over the phone, I was right.”

Veronica frowned. “So how exactly are you connected to the family?”

Jimmy propped his elbow on the table and toyed with his generous mustache, twirling the end between his fingertips. “I’m an old friend of Wyatt Bailey’s. We go way back.”

“I take it you’re no longer friends, otherwise you wouldn’t have asked me to meet you.”

Jimmy shrugged, his eyes drifting to the walls and water-stained ceiling of the pub. “It ain’t all black and white, Miz Diaz. I went to him with what I know and he turned me away. Didn’t want to face the hard truth of it. But you see, there’s something big about him you don’t know. Nobody knows, but me. Well, and the guy that’s out to kill us, of course.”

Veronica paused while taking a sip of her beer, eyes widening. “What?”

Jimmy grinned toothily. “How much’re ya gonna give me for this info? You didn’t think this would be free, did you?”

Curiosity dragged at Veronica’s gut, the urge to know the scoop too great to resist. But she had to play hardball first. “How do I even know that what you’re going to tell me is true? You could be making this all up to get money.”

“That’s true, I could be,” Jimmy agreed with a wink. “Or I could be offering you journalistic gold.”

“Whatever you tell me I probably won’t publish,” Veronica told him.

Jimmy reached for his flask again and snuck another sip. “Doesn’t matter to me what you do with the info. All I want is what it’s worth.”

“What makes you think I’m willing to pay for it? If it’s so awful, I may not want to know.”

“Oh, but you do.” Jimmy chuckled gleefully. “I can see it in your eyes. You reporter types are all the same. You scent blood and can’t help but hunt.”

Veronica said nothing for a moment, weighing the options in her head. After deciding more information is always better than less, she held out a hand to shake his. “Five hundred dollars. Cash. Right here, right now for what you know.”

“Make it a grand and we got a deal.” Jimmy’s eye twitched with excitement. He reached for her hand but hovered just above hers, his long fingers barely caressing her skin. “Whatcha say, Miz Diaz?”

“Seven hundred.”

“Eight-fifty.”

“Eight.”

“Done.” Jimmy beamed and grasped her hand, the deal struck. “You better go get yourself another beer. This is gonna take awhile.”

“All right. Before I go, give me a hint so I can chew on it for a few minutes before we talk.” Veronica smiled for the first time, eager to hear what he had to say and even more pleased it was all getting recorded.

Jimmy leaned back in his chair, resting one leg on the other knee. He tipped down his fedora as he folded his arms, his lips spread in a sly smile. “It all began in Bogotá, Miz Diaz. With the Costa Norte Cártel.”

C
entral Park teemed with laughter and life as the sun shone across the expansive lawns and reflected in The Lake’s calm waters. A warm breeze rustled by, bringing with it the scent of freshly cut grass and the mossy aroma of the pond. Across the way, the city skyline rose above the densely packed trees. Lynette glanced up through the branches and fluttering leaves of the towering maple behind her, catching a glimpse of the cloudless blue sky.

“Impeccable weather today,” Simon commented cheerily, crunching into a peppered cracker topped with a slice of brie. They sat together on a white linen blanket, a picnic lunch packed in a wicker basket at their feet.

“I know, I love it.” Lynette smiled and let her gaze fall to his. “Thank you for this. It’s been nice to relax for once.”

“If anyone deserves a break it’s you, my dear.” Simon lifted his bottle of sparkling water in a toast, his lips curving. “I shudder to think of what drama you have to put up with at home.”

Lynette shot him a dry look. “It’s not as bad as it once was, Simon. Though Marshall’s heart attack has made everyone uneasy.”

“I worry about you,” Simon admitted, reaching for her hand. “A delicate swan swimming with bloodthirsty sharks.”

Lynette pulled her hand away. “They aren’t as bad as you think.”

One of Simon’s dark, sculpted brows lifted. Strands of his salt and pepper hair fell over his forehead in the breeze. “I see the toll being among the Vassers takes on you. That’s enough to set off warning signals in my brain.”

Lynette sighed, toying with the skirt of the canary yellow sundress she wore. She brushed away bits of dry grass, avoiding his eyes. “I know I’ve been more distracted since I met Linc, but I’ll always come through for you. I won’t let you or the ballet company down.”

“I know you won’t, my dear.” He attempted a smile and patted her knee, urging her to look at him. “That’s not what I’m afraid of.”

Defensive anger tightened her eyes. “I know you don’t approve of Linc. You never have.” An impatient huff of breath escaped her throat, her fingers clenching over the fabric of her skirt. “I swear, between you and my father I’ve fought so damn hard to be with him.”

He laughed, lighthearted despite her irritation. “I just want my Lynnie to be happy. You’ve made it clear this fellow does just that, so I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

Temper deflated, she glanced down at the diamond ring on her finger, twisting it around. “I know what I married into, Simon. I do.” Her eyes shot up to meet his, a defiant spark in them. “He’s worth all of it.”

“Then you’re exactly where you should be,” he conceded, taking another sip of his water. “I would just hate to see my lovely swan swallowed whole by the beasts.”

“I’ll be fine.” She tried not to let his words trouble her. Instead, she looked to her right across the expanse of lawn, watching a group of children kick around a soccer ball in the distance. The sounds of their laughter carried on the air, bringing an odd sort of longing to her heart. She thought of Quinn’s pregnancy, and realized part of her was green with envy. Even though having a baby would mean the end of her dancing career, she still desired it. How odd that she had never wanted kids until she imagined Linc as a father.

Simon glanced down at his watch. “I’m afraid I must go.”

Lynette nodded, accepting his hand as he rose to his feet. She helped him pack up the basket and fold the blanket, which he tucked under his arm. Before they parted ways, he leaned in to place a friendly kiss on her cheek. Her hand rose to his shoulder, sliding down his arm affectionately as he pulled away.

Her lips spread in a warm smile. “Thanks again for this.”

“No need to thank me. I got to eat lunch with the second most beautiful woman I know.” He winked and gave her a playful pat on the shoulder. “See you tomorrow for rehearsal?”

“Of course.” She waved as he left, eager to get back to the hotel and see Linc. All this talk about the Vassers had her missing him. As she headed down the grassy slope to the walkway, she saw a man standing just across the pond on Bow Bridge, a camera in his hands aimed directly at her. She couldn’t make out his features as they were hidden by sunglasses and a baseball cap, but seeing him bothered her. More paparazzi? Or was he simply taking photographs of the park?

Then again, if it was paparazzi they would get closer. They had no shame. This person was attempting to photograph her without her knowledge.

Irritated, she picked up her pace and left the park as quickly as she could. A sense of unease followed her as she grabbed a cab and headed to the hotel.

Grant shuffled through
a stack of paperwork on his desk, distracted with thoughts of Marshall. He couldn’t get the whole thing off his mind, especially with his uncle leaving the hospital that day.

He didn’t have a chance to bother Marshall with the topic of Maureen Gossinger again, not since Charlene got wind of their interrogation and closed off all communication. She was determined to shield him from all the horrors of the world while he was on the mend, even if that meant inconveniencing her children. In this scenario and in her mind, Marshall came first.

Although Grant wanted to believe that no news was good news, he still couldn’t shake the dread he felt. The story had yet to go public, which could mean several things. Either the tabloid didn’t see the profit in the story, they couldn’t back it up with factual evidence, or Veronica’s contact had been mistaken. As long as he didn’t wake up to see his uncle’s face plastered across the tabloids with the word “murder” above it, he figured it’d be okay. It was the last thing they needed and the only thing he had no control over.

Frustrated, he shoved the paperwork aside and rose to his feet. He walked to the windows of his office and rested his head against the cool glass, desperate for relief. His focus was lost and it was driving him mad to not be able to work. What he needed was to talk to Quinn. She always knew how to make things right.

He heard a soft knock on his door and turned to see Madison and Linc enter.

“Let me guess, you can’t think straight either?” his sister asked dryly as she approached him.

Grant sighed. “Am I the only one who has a bad feeling about this?”

“Nope.” Linc grunted as he shut the door. Anger hardened his features as he paced around the room. “Mom won’t let me talk to Marshall. I called Veronica, she hasn’t heard anything new. So we sit and we fucking wait. Just like always.”

“At the mercy of the press,” Madison added, rubbing her temples tiredly. “I just know this was our grandfather’s doing. We need to prepare ourselves for that reality.”

“Well that’s better than Marshall being guilty. I’ve grown used to having one killer in the family. I can’t handle two,” Linc said, collapsing down on the sofa and covering his face in his hands. “Just wake me up when this is all over.”

Madison turned to Grant. “I saw Reed yesterday. He doesn’t know the details yet. I don’t plan on saying anything unless I’m forced to.”

“Good. No one else needs to know.” Grant crossed his arms. “This stays within the family circle for the time being.”

Linc snorted. “Greg knows, the bastard. But then again, he’s sleeping with the source.”