Rulers of Deception (30 page)

Three days had passed and Linc was still awaiting a phone call from McAllister. He had a lot to get off his chest about how the man let his son run amok and ruin his business relationships. Not that he had to remind him, of course.

Then there was the issue with Greg and Veronica. He’d taken a few days to chew on it, not sure what to do. With Daniel getting arrested, he hadn’t found the time to talk to either Grant or Madison about it, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to mention it at all. If he did, they might insist on shutting her out. And there was no saying what shit she could pull if they pissed her off like that.

It put him between a rock and a very, very hard place. The only option he had was to wait it out and see where things landed. Hopefully they fell in all the right places for once.

A knock on his door had him turning to see Veronica standing there. Her mouth curved in a catlike grin as she waltzed in, her eyes intent on his. Rock music still blasted out of his radio, making it impossible for him to say anything to her. She took advantage of the situation and pushed him up against the wall, her lips finding his for a passionate kiss.

Shocked, he pushed her off of him. He mouthed, “What the hell?” before reaching over to shut off the radio. When the music cut off and silence filled the room, he threw up his hands angrily. “I don’t even know how to respond to that.”

Veronica blushed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” She crossed her arms over herself and looked him in the eye. “You know how attracted I am to you. I’ve made that very clear. I guess I’d hoped you felt the same.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Linc managed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re dating my best friend. Or you were, anyway. And I’m married for God’s sake.”

“I never loved Greg,” Veronica admitted, straightening as she regained her confidence. She stepped closer and reached up to touch his face, her fingers caressing his cheek. “He’s a poor substitute for you.”

“Christ.” Linc backed away, hands raised. “I think you should leave.”

Veronica’s shoulder lifted in a careless shrug. “I’m just being honest, Linc. I thought men valued a straightforward woman.”

“Right.” Flustered, he started for the door, figuring if she wasn’t going to leave then he would. He just needed to get away from her.

“It’s too bad you’re married,” Veronica mused, sauntering after him. She met him at the door, her dark eyes sultry as she stared up at him. “Though I heard she’s got quite the crush on her boss. If you ever decide to leave her, you have my number.”

Linc frowned. “Excuse me?”

“I hope this doesn’t make things awkward between us. I’m almost done with the article and I can’t wait to show you what I’ve added.” She winked before stepping out into the hallway, leaving him speechless and confused.

He shut the door and locked it, wondering what the hell just happened. She’d come in like some whirlwind of lust and Latin curves and turned him into a flustered mess. Then again, she’d let slip a tiny piece of information he was sure she’d meant to keep to herself. How exactly did she know about Lynette and Simon?

Before he could run with the thought, his phone rang. He answered it with a dispassionate grunt.

“
I found out something about your reporter, son,
” Shaw said, hopping right to the point.

“You and me both, Senator,” Linc said, settling down into his chair. “Hit me.”

“
Apparently she’s been acting strange at work these last couple weeks. Her co-workers are worried about her. They’ve traced a few of her phone calls to Colombia. I don’t know what that has to do with anything, but it’s certainly odd.
”

Linc froze. “Colombia?”

“
Yeah. They said she’s been looking skittish, like she’s afraid someone’s after her. Does this have anything to do with y’all?
”

“No,” Linc answered instinctively, knowing it was a partial lie. But he couldn’t tell Shaw about Wyatt and the Costa Norte Cártel. Not without opening up more cans of worms. “Look, thanks for telling me. If you hear anything else, give me a call.”

As he hung up the phone, Linc sat at his desk, feeling numb. Good God, what the hell was Veronica getting herself into?

Veronica took the
stairs, pausing a moment to dig out a Xanax from her purse. She popped it into her mouth gratefully, urging back the roar of anxiety that flooded over her. Toying with Linc had been easy. Her next move was much more risky and so much more important.

She continued up the stairs and emerged onto the second level. She spotted Grant in the hallway just outside his office and greeted him with a generous smile. “Hello there, Grant.”

Grant didn’t return her smile. “Ms. Diaz.”

He started to push past her, but she stepped in front of him and reached up to toy with his tie, fluttering her lashes as she looked into his eyes. “Always so trim and professional. I admire that in a man.”

Unwilling to humor her with a response, Grant simply sidestepped out of her grasp. He nodded curtly and continued down the hallway as if she’d said nothing.

“I’ll get your family out of this mess, Grant. I promise you. I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to the Vassers. You’ll see,” she called out to him as he disappeared into an elevator.

Delighted by his coldness and discomfort, she headed toward Madison’s office, pausing by her secretary. “Is the boss in?”

Carrie nodded and began to page Madison, only to hesitate as Veronica forced her way into the office uninvited. As she did so, she shifted gears and brought a carefully practiced look of panic to her face.

Madison looked up from the paperwork on her desk, irritated at the intrusion. “Yes?”

Veronica hurriedly shut the door and perched on the edge of one of the chairs facing Madison. “I have news about Gossinger. I had to tell you in person. You never know who’s listening on the phone.”

Madison’s brows rose as she eyed Veronica. The woman looked frantic and upset in a way she’d never seen before. “What is it?”

“He’s prepared to go public with the accusation about Marshall. Apparently, he’s willing to provide evidence that Marshall is the shooter.”

Madison sat back in her chair, absorbing the information. “What evidence does he have?”

“I’m not sure.” Veronica shook her head, looking distraught. “I met with him and tried to convince him not to, but he’s very upset. He wants justice.”

“Did you find out who’s been feeding him the lies about Marshall?”

“No, he wouldn’t tell me.” Veronica shifted in her seat, uneasy under Madison’s cold stare. “I did my best, but there’s not much more I can do. You have to prepare a statement of your own to combat Gossinger’s accusation.”

“I’ll decide what step to take next, darling,” Madison replied dryly. “None of this concerns you.”

“But it does,” Veronica countered, wringing her hands together in her lap. “If I publish my piece right as this scandal hits the press, I’ll look like a fool for not having uncovered it myself and for standing up for you when there’s yet another murder on your hands. Don’t you see? I have a reputation to uphold.”

“I don’t give a damn about your reputation,” Madison shot back. When Veronica looked too stunned to speak, Madison tilted her chin, ruthless and proud. “We’re done here.”

Veronica shakily got to her feet. Without a word, she left the room.

Madison stared at the door, considering what she’d just learned. If Gossinger was planning to go public with the accusation, then she would need to stop him. Immediately.

Reaching for the phone, she dialed a number she knew by heart and let it ring. When it picked up, a subtle smile hardened her face. “I need to know everything we have on Harold Gossinger.”

H
arold Gossinger lived in an illustrious villa overlooking the Long Island sound. His rambling, Spanish style home stood out from the rest of the local real estate, but reflected his love of Spain and his vast amount of accumulated wealth.

Not all from being Governor, though he still received a healthy pension from that. The rest he’d earned through investments and business ventures, especially during the boom of the late eighties. He’d been married three times. His current wife was serving her second term as a state senator. The second wife had been a throwaway marriage to some bimbo heiress, and the first had been to the late and lovely Maureen.

Madison learned all of this and more while digging into the dark holes of Gossinger’s past. It wasn’t hard to get information if one knew where to look. She’d learned how to scrounge up dirt from the best.

She pulled into Gossinger’s driveway and gazed up at the white stucco house with its Spanish tiled roof and exotic landscaping. Getting out of the car, she walked up the long brick sidewalk that led to the front door, a file of secrets tucked discreetly in her purse.

Removing her sunglasses to reveal her face, she rang the doorbell and waited. A maid answered, every bit as Spanish as the house she cared for.

“Yes?”

“I need to see Mr. Gossinger,” Madison told her with a polite smile.

“Is he expecting you?”

“No, but he’ll want to speak to me. My name is Madison Vasser.”

“Come inside, please. I will tell Mr. Gossinger you are here.” The maid welcomed her in and closed the door, then took off down the hallway and disappeared.

While Madison waited, she took in the elaborate furnishings of Gossinger’s home. Red tile on the floors, spotted with hand-painted ceramic accents. Elaborate wrought-iron railing on the staircase, with Spanish plaster on the walls that showed exposed bits of brick. He had impeccable taste, she had to admit. But her compliments of him ended there.

A vibrant painting stood on the wall in the entryway showcasing a furious bull and the matador that dared to tame him. She likened herself to the brave man risking everything to slay the beast, and imagined Gossinger as the ill-fated bull. The comparison brought a wicked smile to her face.

Moments later Gossinger appeared, his mouth set in a hard line and an angry crease on his forehead. He leaned on a cane as he walked, his short, stout frame hunched with age. A shock of combed white hair rested above a flushed, mean-looking face. He glared at her through pale, red-rimmed eyes. “What the hell do you want?”

One of Madison’s brows rose at his hostility. “You know exactly what I want.”

With an indignant grunt, Gossinger motioned for her to follow him into his study, away from the prying eyes of his maid. It was a contrast to the rest of his home, with dark paneled walls covered with colorful tapestries and antique furniture in the Spanish Gothic style. As he beckoned her inside and shut the door, Madison invited herself into one of the ornate high-back chairs opposite his oversized desk.

“Make yourself at home,” he sneered, settling into the chair across from her. He folded his hands together over the desk and leaned forward. “Now, let me guess? You found out what I plan to tell the police.”

Madison’s lips curved. “You and I both know that’s a bad decision, Harold.”

He flushed, bitterness in his tone. “Your bastard of an uncle killed my wife.”

“We both know that’s not true.” Madison crossed her legs and rested her hands on her knee, calm and composed. “He had an affair with her, but he didn’t kill her.”