Rise of the Notorious (16 page)

He couldn’t blame her, but it left him high and dry as the only Vasser capable of answering the media’s questions. Other than Duke, of course, who had burst into his office earlier that day to elect himself as the new family spokesperson. Grant had not so gently repudiated his cousin’s attempt to interfere, citing that it would only cause more confusion.

There were enough members of the Vasser family in the spotlight as it was.

But now that the day was over and he had done all he could, Grant was just glad to be home. Coming home from work this way, with the intoxicating scent of delicious food cooking in the kitchen, the sound of Stevie Wonder’s
Signed, Sealed, Delivered
echoing throughout the town house accompanied by Quinn’s own voice joyfully singing along, and the sight of her dancing with a bright red apron tied around her waist, gave him hope. It gave him a sense of relief, of contentment. One that only she could provide.

She was singing into a wooden spoon as she suddenly turned around and saw him. She jumped, only to burst into embarrassed laughter.

“Hey! I didn’t know when you’d be home.” She grinned, clutching the wooden spoon in her hands and feeling foolish. Realizing the music was probably too loud, she reached over to turn off the radio sitting on the counter before facing him again. “How was your day?”

Grant sighed, his smile fading as he leaned against the doorway to the kitchen and stared at the floor. “Life goes on.”

Sensing the weight of the stress he carried, she set aside the spoon and went to him, wrapping her arms around him securely. “Life does go on, Grant. We will get through this.”

“It’s not your battle,” he said softly, running a hand through her hair as the other roamed over her back.

She bit back the hurt she felt from his words, realizing he still wanted to maintain some sort of distance between them. It was as though he was afraid if he brought her in, she would be put in harm’s way, in the spotlight glaring down at his family. But the truth was, there was no place she’d rather be than publicly by his side instead of secretly his lover.

“I would do anything for you,” she reminded him, tilting her head back to look him in the eye. “If this is war, I'll fight beside you.”

Irritation flashed over his face. “This isn’t war, Quinn. It’s just politics and bad press.”

“It’s your livelihood and your family that they’re attacking. Of course it’s war,” Quinn argued, eyebrows raised. “Shaw and Jorja and all the others, they’re trying to ruin you.”

“We won’t be ruined by threats and lies.” He backed away from her, needing distance. The wounded look she was giving him was making him uneasy. “We’re working to pull the company together, to prepare ourselves for the changes that must be made. Linc’s putting together a new marketing plan, Mads is working with the lawyers, and I’m trying to keep my head on straight. This isn’t as bad as you seem to think it is.”

“Lynette’s father went public with the news that Madison might be responsible for your father’s suicide. How is that not bad?” Quinn charged, hands on her hips as she stared at him disbelievingly. “My mother is calling me every other day to confirm the slander she’s hearing about you and your family in the paper, on television, online…it’s gotten to the point where I’ve had to tell her that none of what she hears is true. But she’s worried, Grant. She’s worried about you, about me, about everything.”

He let out a long exhale, unable to look at her. “It will take time to fix the damage that’s been done. That’s just the reality of it.”

“I understand that. But don’t push me away when I tell you I want to help.” She threw up her hands, frustrated. “Even Kennedy comes to me for comfort before you do. Just earlier today she cried in my arms while she and Madison were arguing.”

Grant eyed her darkly, coldly, for a long moment before he spoke. “You’re just making yourself right at home, aren’t you?”

The moment he said it, he regretted the words. It brought a startling flash of pain to her eyes, and he silently cursed himself for it. But the truth was, he was uncomfortable with her settling in among his family. He couldn’t say exactly why that was, but something about it bothered him.

Perhaps he just wanted her all to himself. She was his, not theirs to take and use and drain dry. His family was not a friendly, easygoing group. Quinn was leagues above all of them, a better person by far than anyone else he knew.

If his family got to her and tarnished her spirit with their drama, he would never forgive himself for letting it happen.

Quinn blinked back a few angry tears that formed behind her eyes, wondering just what to say to his callous remark. Surely he wasn’t
angry
that she was trying to be friendly with his sisters and with his mother, even though the latter was cruelly opposed to her. It still begged the question: did he really want her in his life at all?

“What am I supposed to do, then? Just hide in the corner, out of sight, until it suits you?” she asked, her voice cracking as her heart ached. “I told you once that I will give you everything I have, everything I am. I was under the impression that you
wanted
that of me.”

“I don’t know what I want,” he admitted, rubbing his face with his hands jadedly before facing her again. “You make me a better person, I can’t deny that. But the drama within my family, the scandal…I don’t want to put you through what I’ve been facing each and every day.”

She noticeably softened, though her eyes were still wet with unshed tears. With a heavy, burdened sigh, she reached out for one of his hands. When he accepted, she squeezed it tightly in her own and attempted a small smile.

“I love you, and you love me. That's as good a start as we can both ask for right now. The rest we'll just have to improvise as we go,” she decided, eyeing him a bit defiantly. “But if you get fussy again over me taking care of your family when you’re not around, I will use my mother’s famous, nasty Sicilian threat on you.”

“What’s that?” he asked, unable to help himself.

She tilted her head up proudly. “I’ll take that pan off the stove with your dinner in it and dump it all over your head, then hit you with it for good measure.”

A laugh managed to escape his throat as he knelt down before her, impulsively pulling her in so he could rest his head against her stomach. She welcomed him in, her fingers winding through his dark hair, silently stunned by his surrender.

“I'll take care of you, Quinn,” he told her quietly, firmly. “Just as I'll take care of my family.”

Her eyes closed as she sank to her knees before him, letting him envelop her and hold her close. “Just remember that we're in this together. I'll never leave your side.”

The letter lay
on her black granite kitchen counter, unopened. Madison leaned against the cabinets a few feet away, sipping a glass of mellow red wine as she considered her next course of action.

She knew what it was, had known it the moment it had shown up in her stack of daily mail. A white envelope, no return address, her own name and address in plain, black font.

Within an hour of receiving it, she had tucked it inside her purse and left the hotel as discreetly as possible. Grant had been trying to reach her all day, but she just wasn’t in the mood to discuss Shaw. Especially not now, not when she had a fresh threat sitting before her, eager to be read.

Part of her seriously considered tossing it in the red hot flames of her fireplace. The contents couldn’t hurt her then, couldn’t anger her. But her shameless curiosity and morbid nature wouldn’t give her the nerve to destroy the letter. No, she was going to read it.

It was just a matter of when.

She continued to stare at it, letting the wine smooth out some of her anger and anxiety. The first letter had thus far turned into nothing, so there was no reason to believe this one would be any more destructive.

Just do it, she ordered herself, setting her wine aside and grabbing the envelope. She tore it open hastily, unearthing the paper within and unfolding it.

She shut her eyes for a brief, careful moment, then opened them to read.

When the Queen’s courage blinds her, she does not notice the blood at her feet.

Her breath held frozen in her lungs as she processed the words, yet again typewritten in simple, black font. The fear skittering beneath the surface of her skin annoyed her, but she couldn’t avoid it. This letter was decidedly more threatening than the last had been.

Perhaps not to her, but certainly to those whose blood this person suggested would pool at her feet.

Did they mean her family? Her brothers?

The thought sickened her, a coldness settling over her entire body until she shuddered from it. Setting the letter aside, she lifted her glass of wine to her lips and attempted to quell the nausea now swimming in her stomach.

Who was this person, and just what were they trying to do? Scare her?

If they were, then she wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of a surrender. It was still a faceless, nameless threat. If this person was cowardly enough to send nothing but letters, then what danger could they really pose to her?

But the uncertainty of it terrified her. She couldn’t ignore the letters anymore than she could address them. Both would be foolish acts, and both could provoke further threats, or even an attack.

For now, it would be best to keep the letters a secret and pray that they were nothing more than wasted paper.

Her cell phone suddenly began to ring.

Here comes the rain again…

She checked the caller ID out of habit, and as she did so she instinctively began to ignore the call. But something stopped her, some urgent, driving need that she couldn’t shake. It had her accepting the call and numbly lifting the phone to her ear.

“Hello, darling.” She tried to put some measure of confidence into her voice, but knew she failed miserably. Her fear failed her, and she could tell by his initial silence that he noticed it.

“
What’s wrong?
” Wyatt asked sharply. She heard him shuffle around, probably rising from where he had been laying in bed.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she answered, even as her eyes automatically shot to the letter, still lying open on the counter. As she took a sip of her wine, her hand trembled once.

“
I’m coming over
.”

“Don’t,” she ordered, though she was suddenly overcome by an intense, conflicting desire to see him. Damn him for opening her up to this urgency again, this reliance that was ridiculously unhealthy for her sanity. She said the next words more as a confirmation for herself than for him. “I don’t need you.”

“
I never said you needed me, sweetheart
,” Wyatt shot back. “
I know you’re more than capable of handling yourself. However, you sound upset, something I’m not used to hearing so I would really like to come over and see for myself that you are okay
.”

“I was just going to bed.”

“
Liar
,” he replied, though she could hear the affection in his voice. “
I called you to see if you wanted to get dinner with me tomorrow
.”

“I’m very busy,” she said without thinking, her response mechanical, without feeling. But when she heard him laugh, as though he had completely expected that answer, she inhaled deeply and tried again. “You can pick me up at eight.”

Before he could reply, she hung up and held her cell phone to her lips, her eyes fluttering closed as she let out a long, troubled breath.

“I still love you, you bastard,” she whispered, her heart exploding to bloody pieces within her chest as she felt tears spring into her eyes. Tossing the phone aside, she grabbed her wine and fled her kitchen.

Tomorrow was a new day.