Rulers of Deception (31 page)

“Then Cyrus probably did it. What difference does it make? Marshall has to pay the price!” Gossinger erupted, tossing his shaky hands up in the air. “I don’t care what it takes. I’m going to get justice.”

“Blaming my family for what
you
did will only find you caught in a very dangerous net. Like my grandfather, I’m not one to give mercy to those who don’t deserve it.”

“I don’t need your goddamn mercy,” Gossinger spat. “What I need is to let the world know what kind of a bastard Marshall is.”

“But he didn’t kill Maureen,” Madison repeated slowly, preparing to execute the fatal blow. It was only a hunch she had, but she knew it was a good one. “You did.”

Gossinger blanched at her accusation. “Excuse me?”

“She told you about the affair but wouldn’t say who it was with, and you killed her in a fit of rage. Then you tried to cover it up as a robbery since you had no one else to pin it on.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Gossinger stammered, wiping a hand over his face as he began to tremble. “You have no proof.”

“I don’t need any,” she mused, reaching into her purse for the file folder. She lifted it out and waved it casually. “Do you realize all the little things I know about you, Harold?”

His eyes locked on the folder as he blinked furiously. “What are you talking about?”

She laid the folder in her lap and lifted out a piece of paper, reading from it. “I know about the campaign donations you received from that real estate company that in turn bought a law you passed, granting them the ability to build that housing development, making all of you several million dollars richer. And that time you were caught flirting with the former President’s wife, only it wasn’t just flirting, was it? You took her out back and screwed her brains out.” She paused, her eyes lifting to meet his as a devilish grin spread over her face. “And my personal favorite, the time you avoided a sexual harassment lawsuit from one of your interns by having her husband killed in a tragic shooting in Central Park. How very cruel of you, Harold.”

Gossinger looked faint as he fell back against his chair. “Good Lord, woman.”

Madison replaced the paper within the folder. “There’s more where this came from.”

Gossinger glared at her as a shiver passed through his old body. “Cyrus once threatened me with that exact same information to get what he wanted.”

She only smiled. “If you tell anyone else the lie that Marshall killed your wife, I will send this little file to the press. It won’t be long until your good name is trash and the quiet peace you enjoy here destroyed.”

He sunk into his chair, defeated. “Goddamnit.” He rubbed his face with his hands, then eyed her strangely. “You know, I kept hearing people around town saying that old Cyrus hadn’t actually died. I didn’t know what they meant at first, but I do now. He found some way to live that wretched life of his through you.”

Madison glanced down briefly at the tattoo on her wrist, pleased by the notion that she’d done her grandfather proud. “They aren’t wrong, Harold. And in many ways I’m a hell of a lot worse.”

“Clearly.” Gossinger sighed bitterly. “Well, you might as well get the hell out of my house.”

“I have one more thing to discuss with you,” Madison said.

“What now?”

She tilted her head with a knowing smile. “Tell me about that reporter you’ve been talking to.”

Veronica tidied up
her desk at work, the office winding down as the day came to a close. She was always one of the last to leave, usually glued to her computer hammering out copy until the janitorial staff begged her to go.

Tonight was no different, though part of her was eager to get home. She was craving a hot bath and a glass of wine, a sort of mini celebration for completing the last part of the Vasser piece. Soon she’d be able to publish the ins and outs of the family that had become something of an obsession for her.

Shutting down her computer in her quaint, windowless office, she polished off her fifth cup of coffee for the day and gathered up her oversized purse. Loaded down with file folders and her laptop, she waved goodbye to the janitor and headed for the elevator.

As she rode down the ten flights to the underground parking garage, she stared at her reflection in the mirrored doors and smiled. Never had a project been as alluring or exhilarating as the piece on the Vassers. Not just for the eye candy, but for the drama that swelled like an ominous cloud over the prestigious family. They dripped scandal like blood from a broken piece of glass, one person mortally wounded and another wielding the weapon. What wasn’t to love about a family like that?

Lost in her own musings, she walked from the elevator and went in search of her car. It was quiet in the garage and nearly empty save for a few leftovers from some of the other businesses that shared her building. Twirling her keys around her index finger, she zigzagged through the vehicles, aimed for her scarlet red Lexus sedan. Tapping the unlock button, she started rummaging in her purse to check for her bottle of pills, hoping she hadn’t left it upstairs. In the distance, she heard the squealing of tires on the cement floor of the garage.

Locating the bottle, she breathed a sigh of relief and opened the rear side door of her car to toss in her purse. As she shut the door, she spotted a large black van approaching. Panic froze her in place, her keys still in one hand and her phone in the other.

The van came to a stop beside her, blocking her car. For a long moment, nothing happened. She braced herself to run just as a man covered head to toe in black ripped open the side door of the van and leapt out to grab her. Her keys and phone fell from her hands as she tried to fight back. A useless scream exploded from her throat as he wrestled her into the vehicle, the ice cold steel of a gun suddenly pressed against her lower spine.

As the door slammed shut and the van squealed off with her locked inside, the security cameras rolled, catching the entire thing.

Quinn walked down
the hallway toward Grant’s office, a basket in her arms filled with a couple of cold cut sandwiches, apple slices, and sparkling water. As she passed by his secretary, she smiled brightly.

“Hey! Is he busy?” Quinn asked, only to smack her forehead and laugh. “Wait, don’t answer that. Of course he’s busy, he always is. I’ll just let myself in.”

The secretary returned her smile. “It’s been quiet today, anyway.”

“Good.” With a wink, Quinn knocked on the door to his office and pushed it open. Peeking inside, she spotted him sitting at his desk buried in paperwork. “I have a delivery for you.”

Grant looked up from his desk, his face softening when he saw her. “Come in.”

She entered and closed the door at her back. “If you can spare a few minutes, I thought we could eat lunch together.” She approached him with a sunny smile. “For old time’s sake.”

He eyed the basket gratefully when she set it on his desk. “What are we having?”

“Your favorite,” she beamed, pulling out the sandwiches. “Cold cuts and fruit. Do I know my man or what?”

His lips quirked in an amused smile as he met her eyes. “Sounds delicious.”

They sat down together on his sofa, the sandwiches and apples balanced on paper plates. Quinn took a bite and groaned. “God, I’m hungry.”

“You’re eating for three now,” Grant reminded her.

“These little guys are ravenous,” she joked, nudging him with her elbow. “They take after their father.”

Grant’s brows rose. “I’d say any love of food they have comes from you, not me.”

“Are you saying I’m fat?” Her eyes narrowed, but when he looked taken aback she smiled playfully. “I’m kidding, Grant. Though God knows I will be fat before this is over.”

“I think you’re beautiful,” he told her, completely serious.

It brought laughter to her eyes. “Thank you. I hope you still say that when I’m tearing your face off during labor and blaming you for putting these little monsters into me.”

He winced. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

She leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder, adoring him. “I love you.”

“I know.” He set aside his plate as one of his arms came around her shoulders and held her close. Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, he breathed her in gratefully.

The hardest part about getting Daniel to confess had been slandering Quinn. He hadn’t even listened to that part of the recording before handing it to the police for fear he’d hate himself for saying those things.

Quinn sighed, seeming to know where his mind had wandered. “I’m glad Madison is okay.”

“So am I,” he murmured, holding her closer. “She still feels violated, but at least it wasn’t as bad as we all thought.”

“Thank God.” Quinn pulled away to look into his eyes. “Does Daniel know who took the pictures?”

“No,” Grant replied. “Though I think he’s lying.”

Quinn shook her head sadly. “Who could have done it?”

Grant said nothing, not knowing how to comfort her or how to make sense of what was happening to them. There were still so many questions left unanswered.

A knock on the door interrupted them. Grant’s secretary entered with a small white envelope. “This just came to the front desk. It’s not addressed to anyone in particular, so they sent it up here.”

Grant rose to his feet and accepted the letter from her. “Thank you.”

As she left, he inspected the envelope suspiciously. It had no return address and was addressed only to
La Familia Vasser
.

“What is it?” Quinn asked.

“I’m not sure.” He went to his desk and grabbed his letter opener, slicing open the envelope. Inside he found a folded piece of paper, a single paragraph typewritten in black ink upon its surface.

We have Veronica Diaz. A copy of this letter was sent to the police. She will be the first victim to pay for Wyatt Bailey’s crimes. You will be the others. Do not try to run, there is no place to hide. I will find you.

Scrawled below the message was the signature of Franco Luis Escobar in reddish brown ink that appeared to be blood. Grant stared at the name in frozen silence, realizing this must be the leader of the Costa Norte Cártel.

Quinn came up behind him and quietly read the letter. When she was finished her hands came up to cover her mouth in horror.

Grant folded up the letter and replaced it in the envelope. He met Quinn’s eyes and tried not to let her know how troubled he was. “I need to give this to Madison.”

Quinn nodded, eyes wide with fear. “What can I do to help?”

“Get Wyatt and Lynette over here,” Grant replied, chilled with dread. “I don’t want anyone alone right now.”