The Proviso (3 page)

He sighed.

“Besides, what about last month?”

He pulled away from her and stared at her warily.
“What about last month?”

Her mouth pursed. “You know what about last month. I
was there, remember? You took one look at that girl and you were a
goner. I don’t know how you planned to work that out with marrying
Leah, considering your excruciating monogamy, but you weren’t
subtle about it.”

“I am not going to discuss that with you right now.
Maybe not ever.”

Giselle watched Knox pace in utter turmoil, but she
had her own guilt to deal with; she could have prevented Leah’s
death if she’d followed her gut.

Honey, thank you, but I don’t need a bodyguard. I’m
the most high-profile woman in the country right now and Fen
wouldn’t dare have me killed. Once I’m married to Knox, Fen won’t
have any reason to try to kill you again.

Leah, I don’t have a good feeling about this.

Giselle! Put that gun away and stop pacing. If you
can’t do that, leave. I’m about to get married in front of five
hundred people. I don’t need your fidgets on top of mine.

But—

Out!

Okay, you know what? I’m going to go get Knox.

You do that.

Leah’s rich south Texas drawl still echoed in her
head, even after two weeks. Giselle had no doubt that Knox loved
the woman in the casket. She also didn’t doubt that his guilt over
her death was now exponentially worse: not only had he taken Leah’s
side of the argument
but
. . .

“Now you’re stuck with the added guilt of falling in
love with a woman you weren’t getting married to and can’t have
anyway.”

He flinched.

“And you want
me
to kiss your wittow owwie
and make it all better.”

“Yes, I do,” he shot back. She found herself pulled
into his arms again, his big hand wrapping around the back of her
thigh, pressing her into his arousal, her skirt gathering over his
wrist as he stroked upward. They kissed with the confidence and
familiarity of thirty years of history.

Knox didn’t do much for her, but she had her doubts
as to the existence of what she really wanted. Thirty-four and at
the breaking point of her quest for celibacy, finally giving in and
making love with the man who’d spent half his life being her
boyfriend would be . . . convenient, an incredibly elegant solution
to every issue that surrounded them.

Temptation rose within her, though only on an
intellectual level. At this point in their lives, their
circumstance, it didn’t much matter that his arousal for her was
conditioned reflex. Why should she expect him to give her what she
couldn’t give him?

“Now, see, that’s the answer to the problem right
there.”

The kiss ended abruptly with that smug pronouncement
from the doorway and Giselle groaned as she turned and walked away
from Knox and the man who had sought them out.

“Fuck you, Sebastian,” Knox snapped.

“No, fuck
her
,” Sebastian drawled. “Marry
her. Knock her up. I don’t care in which order that happens. Start
adoption proceedings. Something.”

Knox sighed. “Dude, I don’t need this right now. I’m
burying my fiancée.”

“Yeah, and we’re going to be burying
you
next
since Giselle won’t actually die when she’s torched and shot.”

That prediction held quite a bit of truth, so
Giselle said nothing. Knox, too, remained silent.

She looked at her cousin out of the corner of her
eye as he stared between her and Knox. Sebastian, at thirty-eight,
was six-foot-two of classic black Irish, his trademark scowl
exuding darkness and danger. His handsome face did nothing to
mitigate his sinister air.

“We’d kill each other before a year was out,” Knox
muttered after a long moment.

Giselle nodded. “That’s true.”

“You two have been together on and off since before
you knew what tongues were for. Lots of people get married with
less than what you have. Fen’s never going to believe you won’t end
up together, so the only way to keep Giselle safe is for you to
marry her. If she’s married to you, he won’t be able to go after
her again without getting the entire KCPD up his ass. You hide
behind the FBI, so let her hide behind you. Everybody’s safe and
happy until the turnover of OKH to you.”

Giselle’s throat clogged and she wrapped her arms
around herself, suddenly chilled to her soul. “Sebastian,” she
murmured over her shoulder, “just for one moment, think about the
child we’d have to have to fulfill the proviso, will you? Leah came
with a daughter, so that was the perfect solution. Marriage I could
live with just to win the game because nothing would keep us from
getting divorced as soon as possible. But a child? No. Whether we
had one or adopted one would make no difference. It would bind us
together for the rest of our lives. I love Knox dearly, but not
that much and not that way.”

“That about sums it up for me, too,” Knox added.

“Oh, that explains the groping.”

“Let me put it this way,” Giselle said, her patience
strained, “I
refuse
to have or adopt a child on such
mercenary terms. It’s immoral and it would make both of us whores,
so there really is no point to getting married at all.”

Sebastian said nothing for a moment, then, “Well.
Now that you put it that way.”

“You know what?” Knox said. “Forget OKH. I don’t
want it.”

“What do you mean, you don’t want it?” Sebastian
asked slowly.

“I have no interest in it and it’s not worth the
price.”

Giselle turned to gape at Knox.

“Uh, Knox,” Sebastian said after a moment of stunned
silence, “you’ve spent your entire life preparing to take over that
company when you turn forty. When, exactly, did you have this
change of heart?”

“The minute I became the Chouteau County
prosecutor,” he snapped. “I can’t manage shit. I put people in jail
and I teach. That’s all I’m good at.”

“That was eight years ago. Could you not have told
us this sooner?”

He groaned. “I didn’t know how much I dreaded it
until I was waiting for the wedding to start. I never got cold feet
about getting married. I had cold feet about having to take a job
I’m not suited for and don’t know how to do. Now I have to take it
because Fen’s killed two people to get it and keep it.”

Giselle raised her hand. “Uh, hello?”

“Suck it up, princess. You’re still alive.”

Sebastian’s mouth tightened. “There are exactly two
immediate solutions to the problem, neither of which you—or
Giselle—are willing to carry out. So, of course it’s up to me to
bail your ass out.”

“Nobody asked you to, so don’t act like you’re the
martyr of the piece.”

“Well, I’ll be damned if I sit back and let him
continue to walk all over you two like he did Oliver and Leah
without consequence.”

“Sebastian,” Giselle said, impatient. “None of this
is Knox’s fault. I don’t understand why you’re taking it out on
him
. And he
did
try.”

Sebastian grunted. “Well, that’s true. Knox, I’m
sorry this is happening to you. However, since it is happening to
you, you now have two options: Cut and run or stay and fight.
Staying and doing nothing isn’t an option because he will not trust
that you don’t want OKH anymore. How you fight is up to you, but
what you’re doing hasn’t worked, so think of something else.”
Giselle leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. “Either kill
the bastard or let Giselle do it. She’s earned the right to it at
this point.”

She’d certainly fantasized about it often
enough.

“Whatever gets done to him, I have to do it,” Knox
muttered.

“But you’re not doing anything,” Sebastian returned.
“That’s my point.”

Neither Knox nor Sebastian said anything for the
longest time, which was uncharacteristic. Giselle opened her eyes
and looked from one stubbornly set face to the other. Knox finally
opened his mouth but when nothing came out, he closed it with a
snap. Giselle watched him speculatively, wondering if he would tell
Sebastian he’d fallen in love with another woman just a month
before.

Knox caught her look and glared at her in warning.
Sebastian witnessed the exchange and awaited an explanation, but
neither she nor Knox felt like enlightening him. Yet.

Giselle huffed. “You,” she said, pointing at Knox,
“go back to your crooked little outfit up there in Chouteau County
and act like the corrupt bastard that you are. Whether you want
your inheritance or not, the only way you’re going to get out of it
is by being dead. You,” she said, pointing at Sebastian, “business
as usual. Any which way this turns out, you win, so I don’t
understand why you’re bitching and moaning over a smattering of
extra paperwork that Jack’s taking care of anyway. You would’ve
done this a long time ago if Knox had come to his epiphany
earlier.”

“Congress.”

“Don’t use that as an excuse. There’s not enough
brawn back there to string you up, much less brains. I daresay if
you do get called up, you’ll find the whole thing a lark.” She
pushed herself off the wall. “I’m going home. I’m tired.” Giselle
strode toward the door, expecting that Sebastian would move out of
her way. He did, but he raised an eyebrow in a futile attempt to
intimidate her.

“And what are you going to do, my lovely?”

“You don’t need to know.”

* * * * *

“Don’t move.”

The distinguished silver-haired gentleman halted at
the cold round pressure at the back of his head. He stiffened when
Giselle wrapped her delicate hand around his throat, thumb and
middle finger pressed just deeply enough into his carotids to keep
him still.

She leaned forward so that her mouth brushed his
ear.

“You are alive by the grace of Knox Hilliard, who
has requested in good faith that I not kill you,” she whispered
conversationally. “If you try to have me killed again, if you
attempt to kill Knox at all, if you pull any more stunts like
killing any future brides, I’ll consider that a breach of good
faith on your part. I should blow your head off for murdering
Leah.

“Consider: I didn’t die in the fire your goons set.
I didn’t die when your goons shot me. I’m alive and both of your
goons are dead and barbecued—and the prosecutor was happy I did him
the favor of cleaning up after him. So instead of being in the
ground, I’m here. With you. Your security hasn’t a clue and the
only thing keeping me from putting a bullet in your head right now
is Knox. Have you learned nothing about me over the last thirty
years? Do you really think you can take me on and win?”

She felt his gulp against her fingertips.

“I didn’t think so. Good day to you, Fen. Oh, I
almost forgot. Mom said to tell you Thanksgiving dinner’ll be at
her house this year, two o’clock sharp, as usual.”

* * * * *

3:
READY-MIXED CONCRETE COMPANY, 1935

“Bryce, are you okay?”

Bryce sat in his leather chair looking out over the
city. High up in One KC Place, corner office, all glass, he could
see for miles—so very apropos for a pit bull of a trial lawyer.

He pursed his lips as he held his fingers steepled
under his chin, feeling more like a teenaged boy with his first
crush than a thirty-eight-year-old mover and shaker.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, answering his assistant’s
question without turning. He didn’t mind Arlene’s nosiness. It was
nice to have a woman care about him, fuss over him, even if he did
pay her to do it. His housekeeper did that, too. Her daily
harangues about his need for a wife always made him smile and shake
his head. This morning, however, he found no amusement in it
whatsoever.

Lilith.

He’d spent the last two nights googling that damned
painting, studying it, re-reading its history and provenance and
myth, comparing it to the woman who’d made him fantasize about
things he hadn’t bothered to fantasize about in five years. It was
part of the permanent collection in a gallery in England; he knew
he had no hope of buying it, but he’d sent an email of inquiry
anyway. Just in case. No one had responded.

Giselle.

Arlene snorted. “Fine, my ass.” Normally that
would’ve pulled a grin out of him. Today . . . no.

Knox Hilliard’s lover.

“Here’s your
Wall Street Journal
. Leah’s all
over it.”

Bryce spun around and snatched it out of her hand,
then snapped it open.

*

OKHE BRIDE MURDERED, GROOM SUSPECTED

*

He skimmed the first couple of paragraphs until his
attention caught:

*

Fen Hilliard, current CEO of OKH Enterprises, was
questioned in the matter of Wincott’s death, but released after
several hours. No evidence has been found to connect either Fen
Hilliard or Knox Hilliard to her murder, but investigations of both
continue in light of Knox Hilliard’s questionable reputation in his
community and Fen Hilliard’s apparent motive.

*

“I think Knox did it,” Arlene offered.

Bryce grunted. “He had no reason to,” he murmured,
“but Fen sure as hell did.”

“Fen Hilliard would
never
do something like
that,” Arlene said, low, her voice so full of anger it shocked
Bryce. He looked up at her, puzzled. She went on. “Fen Hilliard
signs the paychecks of half my family. He rescued OKH when we
thought it was going to go under and he saved us. He’s a good man,
a generous man.”

Ah, yes. Kansas City’s knight in shining armor. Fen
had taken the rattletrap die cut and metal machining company his
brother Oliver, Knox’s father, had built, saved it from failure,
and turned it into a billion-dollar success. He’d also married
Knox’s mother after a not-so-respectable mourning period, which
always made Bryce’s eyebrow rise. The entire metro saw Fen Hilliard
as a kind and caring man, and adored him for his generosity to his
employees and the community—