Rulers of Deception (3 page)

“I don’t know, Franco must be pretty fucking pissed.”

“You would be too if you’d just lost all that money and drugs.” Wyatt sighed. He shot Jimmy an exasperated look. “You’re a stupid son of a bitch, you know that?”

Jimmy turned to him. “Hey, I just got us a lucrative asset. You know how much we can get for that coke back in the states?”

“You can have the coke. I’m fine with my winnings.”

Jimmy snorted. “When are ya gonna get off your high and mighty horse about drugs, boss? It’s just a little coke.”

Wyatt glared at his friend. “Yeah, and I don’t want a part in dealing, okay? I’m fine gambling my life away, but drugs will get you hard time. I don’t want to spend my best years in prison.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jimmy slid back into his seat and fiddled with the brick of coke, admiring it in the dim light from a nearby apartment window.

“We need to ditch this car. It’s time to get the hell out of Bogotá,” Wyatt decided, opening the door and stepping out. He reached into the backseat through a broken window to grab the envelope full of cash. “You coming?”

Jimmy nodded, climbing out of the car with the coke stashed safely in his waistband. “Where to?”

Wyatt started walking up the alley, a smile curving his lips. “You ever been to Mexico?”

“I got kicked out of Mexico once.” Jimmy caught up with him and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I can probably sneak back in, though. I know a guy who knows a guy.”

“Good. If we move fast, we can catch a flight before Franco beats us to the airport.”

“And then it’s home free to Me-hi-co!” Jimmy chimed in a singsong voice.

Wyatt grinned. “Where a sinner like you and a rebel like me can finally catch a break.”

“Amen to that, boss. Aye-men to that!”

S
ome called it a sin to bed another man’s wife. Marshall Vasser would have normally agreed, but when that woman was Maureen Gossinger, he considered it a privilege.

She was a particularly appealing woman, not just for who
she
was but also for whom she was married to. Pursuing the wife of the most powerful man in New York was turning out to be the ultimate high.

Marshall smiled, lightheaded from the combination of good wine and better sex as his town car carried him home. At forty years old, he considered himself to be in his prime. He knew what he wanted, and knew even better how to get it. His position in high society and the weight behind his family name provided plenty of opportunities.

Maureen was thirty-two and blonde, trim and presentable on the outside and a raging tigress inside. Marshall wondered if she even enjoyed sex with her husband, the governor. For as often as she beckoned Marshall to her bed, she must not.

He couldn’t care less, however. Her husband was of no consequence to him. All he cared about was the thrill of knowing he gave her what her husband couldn’t give.

He justified his behavior because he himself was unmarried. Since he had no intention of ever tying the knot, there was no harm being done to his conscience. If Maureen wanted to have an affair, that was her business, not his. He was just the happy recipient of her affections.

As satisfying as Maureen was, Marshall still desired his own space. He never spent the night with a woman, never cared to. He preferred spreading out in his own bed, alone.

As the car came to a stop in front of his townhouse, he released a sigh. Home at last.

His driver put the car in park and jumped out to hold open the door. As he did so, Marshall smiled.

“Have yourself a good night, Marco. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” His words stumbled over themselves on the way out of his mouth, but he hardly noticed.

Marco nodded politely. “Good night, sir.”

Marshall patted the man on the back before ascending the steps to his front door. He fumbled with the key and let himself inside. The foyer was dark and silent. Humming to himself, he flipped on the light for the living room.

When he saw his father sitting in his favorite leather armchair, he nearly jumped out of his skin. “Dad? What are you doing here?”

Cyrus Vasser toyed with the tumbler of brandy in his hands, running his fingers over the glass. His dark eyes met Marshall’s, cold and mean.

“Do you take me for a fool, boy?”

Marshall blinked, reduced to his ten-year-old self in front of his disappointed father. He ran a hand through his brown hair and over the back of his neck. “Uh, no. Of course not.”

Cyrus’ eyes narrowed, even as the right side of his mouth lifted. “The fact that you thought you could get away with it tells me you didn’t think I’d find out. But I have eyes and ears all over this town. I know it every time you sneeze.”

Marshall grabbed at the loosened tie that hung around his neck, realizing he couldn’t relieve the pressure that was choking the life out of him. His face was pale as he stepped into the living room and took a seat on the sofa across from his father. “Just tell me what it is I did and I’ll put an end to it.”

“You’re fucking the governor’s wife.” Cyrus’ teeth clenched around the last word, as if the term “wife” disgusted him.

Marshall stared down at his hands and tried to think of a way to reason out of the accusation. Unfortunately, the wine sloshing around in his head left no room for ideas. Instead, he’d settle for humility.

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix shit. You know that,” Cyrus grunted, sipping at his brandy. As he savored the rich taste of it, his mouth twisted in a scowl. “I have Gossinger right where I want him. Right where the company needs him to be. You get caught and he’ll have all matter of shit raining down upon our heads.”

Marshall nodded. As much as he wanted to deny the cold, hard facts, he couldn’t. “I’ll end the affair.”

Cyrus set the glass of brandy aside on an oak end table and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His fingertips came up to steeple by his mouth, eyes hard as iron focused on his oldest son. “I know you get some kind of sick pleasure out of this little game of yours, but one day it’s going to ruin you. Ruin us.”

Marshall stiffened, staring into his father’s gaze. “I won’t let it ruin us.”

A gruff laugh flew from Cyrus’ throat. “You couldn’t stop it even if you wanted to. You play your games but this is business, boy. I expected this from Win but not from you.”

Surprise flashed in Marshall’s eyes. Before he could think of what to say in response, Cyrus continued. “I gave you the New York hotel so you could do something with it, not philander around with the wife of one of our guests.” Disgust flavored his words. “You will have to earn back my trust.”

Instead of throwing fire the way he wanted to, Marshall swallowed his pride and backed down. He knew any fight he picked with his father would end in blood. His blood. “Okay, I will.”

“Good.” Cyrus rose to his feet, unfolding his long frame from the leather armchair. When Marshall looked up at him, Cyrus spoke again. “I don’t care what it takes, you end this. Immediately. And get rid of your driver. He knows too much.”

He left, the faint scent of brandy and the cigar he must have enjoyed on the way over lingering in the air. Marshall heard the front door open and then click shut, leaving him in silence.

Maureen, he knew, was going to be furious. She would never understand. A woman like that, a woman prone to throwing caution to the wind and damning all consequences would not accept the excuse that his family came first. That she was just too dangerous for him.

If anything that would only excite her more. He had to find some other way to spin it, something that she would have no choice but to accept. Then he had to pray she kept the affair a secret and not mention it to her husband out of spite.

And Marco, his driver, the only person other than Cyrus and Maureen who knew of the affair, would have to go. As much as he liked the guy, Cyrus’ orders were clear.

Feeling sick to his stomach, Marshall buried his face in his hands. It can wait till tomorrow, he thought tiredly. When he could think clearly and not still have the scent of Maureen’s jasmine perfume on his skin.

Resigned to exhaustion, he got up and dragged himself into bed.

Two days later, every paper in the city announced the shocking news:
Governor’s Wife Found Murdered
.

T
he ceiling fan lazily stirred the southern air, fighting against the impending heat of summer. Linc stretched out on the bed with Lynette curled up beside him, his hand brushing through her length of copper hair. Their clothes lay abandoned on the hardwood floor, the French doors wide open to let what passed as a breeze in the South to filter in. Residual glow from the sun lit up the yellow walls, bright and cheerful.

He glanced over at the old-fashioned alarm clock on his nightstand and saw it was nearly noon. “Christ, we’ve wasted the whole day.”

Lynette lifted her head to give him a devilish smile. “Wasted?”

A quick grin lit his face. “Okay, not wasted. Though I did want to take you fishing this morning.”

“Oops.”

His eyes narrowed. “You planned that, didn’t you? You used sex to get out of fishing. Great sex, by the way. But I have the worms in the fridge ready to go and everything.”

“Why, Linc, that would be downright mean of me.” Her lashes fluttered, her southern lilt dripping innocence. “I would never think of keeping you from drowning those poor worms at the crack of dawn.”

“Oh, you’re gonna get it.” He rolled over to pin her beneath him, his hands finding her wrists. She tried to fight him off but failed when he kissed her, laughter bubbling from her throat.

“What? This is punishment, Lynette. It’s no laughing matter.”

“It’s less punishment than wading out into a mosquito-ridden pond at six in the morning to pierce a dirty worm on a hook to catch a slimy fish.”

“Sometimes I forget that I’m the Yankee and you’re Dixie. Didn’t your dad ever teach you to fish?”

She snorted. “I may be from the South but I am still a lady. Ladies do not fish.”

“I’ve seen what you do in bed with that mouth of yours. You’re no lady.”

One of her eyebrows rose. “What can I say? You bring out the bad in me.”

“Good to know. I like a little devil in my angel.” He lowered his head to kiss her again, only to pause at the look on her face. “What?”

She bit her lower lip. “It’s foolish. You’ll laugh.”

“I probably will. Now tell me anyway.”

She hesitated a moment. “I just feel so…lucky.”

“Is that right?” He did laugh as he released her wrists and trailed his hands down her body, over the smooth hollow of her waist and the subtle curve of her hips. She shivered beneath his touch, adding arousal to his amusement. “Go on.”

Her eyes rolled but she continued to smile. “It’s quite…daunting. Being a Vasser. But I think I like it.”

“You’re a politician’s daughter, you know what you’re getting into. It’s Quinn who needs to worry.”

“This is true. Though she’s not as lucky as I am.”

“Why’s that?”

Lynette slid her hands over his chest and up to his shoulders. “She doesn’t have you.”