Rulers of Deception (35 page)

The quaint mid-scale
hotel was located in downtown Brooklyn, just far enough away from the city to hide but just close enough to the action. It was important to maintain a low profile, so the room selected was a single king bedroom tucked in the far end of the building on one of the least occupied floors. It afforded little to nothing for a view, but had a huge travertine-tiled shower, a comfortable mattress, and free Wi-Fi.

Veronica couldn’t have asked for better. In fact, she’d personally selected the hotel after an extensive search using a computer at the library. She had to make sure the search didn’t show up on her personal or work computers, or else it might have led the police straight to her. Not that they seemed to have any clue where to start. All they had to go off of was the cartel threat letter, her phone calls to random numbers in Colombia, and the security footage from the parking garage at her work, which was too far away to catch the license plate on the van. Nothing indicated where she had been taken or what had happened to her.

Which was exactly how she wanted it. Creating the fake ID and credit cards had been a cinch. Having a cousin skilled in identity theft gave her a trustworthy source for everything she needed to disappear. Temporarily, anyway. Soon she’d stumble back into reality, armed with an elaborate tale of drug cartel bad guys and their absolute hatred of the Vasser family. Which of course she’d use to fill the pages of the article she’d already been approved to publish. It would not only garner her sympathy and adoration from the public for ousting the family’s secrets, but would also give her long overdue justice.

Lying back on the plush hotel pillows, she lazily flipped through the channels on the television, hunting for late night news. She paused when she saw a glimpse of her own face. A slow smile spread over her lips as she watched the concern in the reporter’s eyes as the woman spoke of Veronica’s unknown fate.

There were no new leads on what happened to her. According to the reporter, the police were attempting to work with authorities in Bogotá, finding nothing but dead ends. Though it wasn’t said, Veronica knew they’d have trouble getting answers out of Colombia. Corruption ran rampant and a distaste for American authority meant no one gave a shit about an American journalist. They had their own troubles to deal with.

All of this made her con that much easier. And the assistance of Wyatt Bailey’s old friend Jimmy had proved extraordinarily useful. It was amazing what some people would do for cold, hard cash. And she’d had plenty of untraceable money to burn.

His insight into how the melodramatic and violent Franco would do things was invaluable. From the threat written in blood on Wyatt’s prized yacht to mimic the one sent by the cartel, to the blacked-out rental van she’d let him borrow to keep Wyatt on his toes. Which then also doubled as her kidnap vehicle, complete with Jimmy dressed head to toe in black, disguised as a cartel member. It was all so perfect she was amazed at herself. Never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined exacting her revenge with such brilliant execution. It was almost like it was meant to be.

Riding on the thrill of victory, Veronica flipped off the television and sat up, stretching her arms over her head. She had the curtains opened, showing her a view of the building across the street, windows glowing despite it being nearly midnight. New York was a city that never sleeps.

She toyed with the idea of taking a shower and calling up a bottle of champagne and dessert for one. A little celebration for a job well done.

Paying cash for the room service would be smart, of course. She slipped from the bed and wandered over to the desk where her extra purse and wallet lay, filled with money and her fake identification.

As she sifted through a stack of cash, she heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway outside her room. Being alone on this end of the hotel meant she hadn’t heard a peep before, so she tiptoed to the door to glance through the peephole. Seeing nothing but the vacant hallway, she went back to her wallet and slipped a few twenties in her pocket to pay for the room service.

A sudden knock jolted her into awareness. Her eyes shot to the door as she froze, unsure what to do. Who the hell would be knocking on her door at this hour? No one was supposed to know she was here.

Curiosity got the better of her, so she went back to the door and peered through the hole again. Outside, she saw a black fedora tipped low over a man’s face.

“Seriously, Jimmy?” She sighed, unlocking the deadbolt and ripping open the door. “What are you doing here?”

The man raised his face and she realized in a panic that it wasn’t Jimmy. It was a stranger she didn’t recognize, with jade Latin eyes and a cruel twist to his mouth.

“
Estás muerto
, Veronica Diaz.”

Before she could scream, he’d reached across the threshold to grab her throat. She felt a gun press into her gut as he dragged her back inside the room, kicking the door shut behind him. She clawed at the thick leather of his glove, unable to pry his hands from around her throat. He eased up the pressure and tossed her down upon the bed, pointing the gun directly at her.

“
Estúpida puta
.” The man spat, dark hair falling over his face as his eyes hardened. “You play with fire, it will burn you.”

“W-what are you talking about?” Veronica squeaked, eyes glazed with terror.

A dangerous smile spread over his lips. “The Vassers are not so stupid. They know you are lying so they tell Franco. He is not pleased to be used in your lies. The Vassers have paid good money for your head, and Franco sends me to collect.”

Veronica’s breath came out in quick, flustered gasps, her heart beating so fast she thought it might stop altogether. There was no way. No way the Vassers had done this to her. How in the hell had they found out about the con? And how had they known where to send the cartel man to kill her?

Jimmy.

Rage lit a fire in her then and had her kicking the man in the stomach. He stumbled, giving her a split second to bolt for the door. She didn’t even grab her purse, had no time for it. In the end, what did it matter? The jig was up. The cartel was out to get her. She had no choice but to run, and to convince the Vassers to call off the hit.

She sprinted out of the hotel room without looking back. She didn’t even know if he followed her. Taking the stairs, she stumbled her way down the three flights and emerged out an emergency exit that led to an alleyway. Streetlights illuminated the way as she ran down the alley and onto the sidewalk, eyes searching desperately for a cab.

One rolled by and she waved her arms frantically, racing for the door the second the car stopped. She hurled herself inside and barked at the driver to take her to Manhattan.

When they finally arrived at her work building, she dug out the twenties in her back pocket and tossed them at the driver without asking if it was enough or too much. It didn’t matter to her. All she cared about was getting to her desk and erasing every last piece of data from her computer about the Vasser family. Then and only then could she go to them and raise the white flag.

The late night security guard inside the building gasped when he saw her, sweaty and harried. She only shook her head and begged him to take her upstairs and unlock her office so she could get some things. When he started to phone the police, she ordered him to stop.

“Please don’t. Not yet. They’re after me.”

“Who’s after you, Ms. Diaz? The cartel?” the man asked as he took her up in the elevator.

She nodded, saying nothing. When they reached the right floor she rushed off without him, heading for her office. Since she’d gone missing, the staff had unlocked the door so the police could look through her belongings. She thanked her lucky stars for it as she barged through the door and hastily turned on her computer.

She collapsed into her desk chair and set about copying everything she had on the Vassers onto a thumb drive. Every last piece of dirt she’d been stockpiling was under a file folder named
Dad’s Birthday.
There was another folder tucked within the collection of family photos that she kept the files in. The images Daniel had taken of Quinn leaving the clinic and of Lynette in the park with her ballet master. The shots she’d gotten of Madison kissing Daniel. A detailed account from Jimmy detailing what had gone down in Bogotá with Wyatt and the cartel. The information she’d goaded out of Gossinger about Marshall’s affair with Maureen and his likely guilt in her murder. All of it had been meticulously collected in preparation for a blowout piece on the family that would once and for all ruin them. Everything that had come the year before, the scandals with Cyrus and Win, had been useful but clearly not damning enough. She’d had to push the envelope even further and create the ultimate smear campaign.

If she’d been able to publish it, the Vasser family would have been done for. It wasn’t possible for them to counter such a collection of sins. Their fate would be sealed and they’d have no choice but to fall. And she would be heralded as the brilliant reporter who managed to uncover scandals no one else even thought of.

But not now. Being killed by the cartel had never been part of the plan. She had no choice but to abort the mission and limp away to lick her wounds, hopefully alive to plot and plan another day.

Copying all the files, she transferred them to the thumb drive and then deleted them from her computer. A few more steps and the files were gone from the hard drive completely. She’d already seen to it that Daniel deleted his copies of the photographs, so that left every last copy solely on the thumb drive.

Removing it from the computer, she stared at it in the palm of her hand and let out a long, winded breath. Her fingers curled over the tiny piece of plastic, knowing her life counted on the information contained within it.

Her eyes welled with sudden tears, the fear and hopelessness rushing back into her system now that the task was completed. Unable to hold it back, she broke down and crawled from her chair, finding her way into the corner of her tiny office. Folding her legs up to her chest, she let her forehead fall onto her knees as she wept. She craved the soothing hit of the drug that had become her crutch, but without her purse she was out of luck. Without it, the weight of anxiety bore down on her like a swarm of locusts, vibrating with toxic energy and darkness.

She had failed. All the years of planning, the gut wrenching hunger for justice, the sweet tastes of triumph…all of it meant nothing now. Thanks to Jimmy, her entire con was ruined.

The threat of the cartel didn’t change the reason behind her hatred of the Vassers. No, that still lay buried deep within her heart, a gut-wrenching wound from long ago that had never healed. She would keep fighting them, no matter what it took. The truth had to come out, and she needed justice.

For now, though, she resigned herself to failure. Soon she’d go to the Vassers and turn over all the information she had in return for them calling off the hit. Then she’d disappear for a while, taking a leave of absence from work. And someday she’d try again.

D
aniel was being kept in a jail cell awaiting trial. Since his father refused to bail him out, he had no choice but to stay inside and think about his actions.

There wasn’t much to think about. He didn’t regret what he’d done, only that he hadn’t been able to execute the plan in its entirety. In retrospect, it was better he hadn’t. His lawyer assured him that the lesser charge for attempted rape was, if proven, enough to land him on a sex offender list and get him up to a year in prison. But since he planned to fight the charge, he knew he’d be out soon.

There was no way the police could prove he’d drugged Madison. All they could prove was that he’d gone out with her, gotten drunk with her, and took her back to his home where she fell asleep. No harm, no foul. It really was a shame that nothing more than an accusation could land a man in jail, but he was eager to make his case and get out scot-free.

His father hadn’t shown his face after hounding Daniel for information on the photographs taken of Madison. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise him if he was disowned after this little debacle. But it wouldn’t be hard to patch things up once the Vassers proved to be as despicable as he’d been saying for months. After Veronica succeeded in her plan, his father would have no choice but to cut all ties with the Vassers and run back to his son with his tail between his legs. And then he could step in and take control of his legacy once and for all.