Rulers of Deception (11 page)

With a heavy sigh, Wyatt tilted Madison’s face back so he could lean in and kiss her.

This was real. She was his life now, not Jimmy or Franco or the cartel. All of that was long over. Even if Jimmy was telling the truth, which Wyatt knew was always a crapshoot, then he’d deal with it when it came.

Until then, he was only doing himself a disservice by letting it get to him.

“You know, I’m not even really that hungry,” he murmured against her lips, savoring the taste of her.

“Me neither.” She spun her chair around and grabbed him by the shirt, dragging him down to her. Their mouths met in a fast and impatient kiss, his hands bracing on the arms of her chair. In a move that was both restless and feral, he scooped her out of the seat and laid her on the floor. He watched the surprise and dark delight flash in her eyes as her hair splayed over the carpet, accompanied by that seductively wicked smile he’d never grow tired of.

Seeing it both tore his insides apart and threw them back together again, a convoluted mess of regret and hope and rage. She was everything. Everything.

He dove into that wild chaos headfirst and let it consume him until there was nothing left but her. No Jimmy, no Franco, no cartel…he couldn’t allow any of it to exist. Wouldn’t allow it to touch the one person he loved more than himself. The one person he’d lay down his life to protect.

Raoul may have
only heard the tail end of the conversation, but he knew enough of the dirt in Wyatt Bailey’s past to put the pieces together. What he’d heard greatly worried him.

If the scrawny Italian was right and Franco Luis Escobar was after Wyatt, then Madison was in direct danger. Raoul had heard rumors of what Franco was capable of, what sick, twisted routes he preferred to take when exacting his revenge. If he had at last found Wyatt after ten years of searching, then there was no doubt he would be plotting to take his enemy down. Which, consequently, put the Vassers directly in the line of fire.

Raoul scowled, the urge to throw something heavy for that satisfying loud crash rushing through him. Rage flooded his system with red-hot flame and he cursed his inability to keep Madison from letting Wyatt back into her life. If only she had listened…

He knew better than to confront her with it now. He was lucky she’d forgiven him for the kidnapping and let him stay on at the hotel, still as her friend despite it all. But her trust in him was greatly tarnished and may never be repaired. Trying to warn her of the target on her husband’s back may only destroy it further.

The best he could do was keep an eye on things and above all else, keep Madison safe if the cartel made a move. He had to hope that between his efforts and whatever Wyatt Bailey attempted to do that the Vassers would be safe from harm.

Forcing back the fierce bite of temper, he grabbed the bag of flour he’d gone into the storage area for and headed back into the kitchen where Quinn was busy kneading dough for the dinner rolls. He avoided her eyes and set the flour down in front of her.

“You get lost back there?” Quinn joked, smiling sweetly. It didn’t take long to notice something was bothering him. “You okay?”

She reached out to touch his arm, startling him. His dark eyes seared into hers for a blazing second, then softened and cooled. “We are out of ginger.”

Quinn went back to kneading the dough, keeping her eyes on his. “Want me to go get some more? I don’t mind.”

“No.” He released a slow, calming breath, practicing the anger-management techniques he’d learned from the class Madison made him attend twice a month. “I will go later. Finish those rolls, then help me prepare the
Foie gras
.”

“Okay.” She watched as he wandered over to the walk-in fridge, wishing he trusted her enough to confide in her. As much as their relationship had improved over the last year, Raoul still kept a frustrating professional distance. He was the only person she got to talk to for most hours out of the day, so the least he could do was open up about some things.

She finished kneading the dough and set it in a bowl lined with olive oil, then covered it and set it aside to rise. Wiping her hands clean on a kitchen towel, she began sorting through the ingredients Raoul had pulled from the fridge.

The duck liver was carefully wrapped in plastic, which she removed and tossed aside. She’d made
Foie gras
with Raoul dozens of times before, but something about the sight of the liver sent her stomach rolling uneasily.

“Oh.” Her hand shot to her stomach as she winced, confused by the flash of nausea that swept over her.

Raoul noticed her discomfort as he shut the fridge. “The liver is bad?”

“No, no I don’t think so.” She leaned in to sniff it, only to feel even worse. “Okay, wow. I’ll be right back.”

She left the liver on the counter and raced out to the employee bathroom just off the kitchen, rushing to one of the toilet stalls. Seconds later her stomach emptied itself, and she crumpled dizzyingly onto the cool tiles beside the toilet.

As the nausea passed she fought to catch her breath, embarrassed and confused. She winced as she flushed the toilet, realizing that the tuna salad she’d had for lunch must have turned.

Before she could get up to wash her hands, her cell phone went off in her pocket. When she saw that it was Kennedy, she tried to force some cheer into her voice.

“Hey, sweetie. How are ya?” All she heard was sobbing on the other line, shooting a shockwave of fear down her spine. “Kennedy? What’s wrong?”

“
I need help
,” Kennedy cried, sniffling in between sobs.

“Okay, what do you need help with?” Quinn left the stall and went to the counter, resting her hip against it to steady her weak knees. “Is your mother okay?”

“
She can’t find out! If she does, I’m dead. I’m dead
.”

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

Quinn heard Kennedy blow her nose. When she spoke again, her voice was a bit steadier. “
Remember I told you about that guy? Well, I think I might be…um, pregnant
.”

Quinn’s mouth fell open in surprise, momentarily speechless. “Oh, sweetie…have you taken a test?”

“
No
.” Kennedy sniffled again. “
But I didn’t get my period and I’m not on birth control.
”

Relief replaced the surprise. “Well, go take a test and see what it says before you get too upset.”

“
I can’t. If I buy a test my mom will see it on my credit card statement and ask me about it. I need your help, Quinn, please
.”

Quinn sighed, hating to be put in between her mother-in-law and sister-in-law. “All right. Instead of just getting you a test, why don’t we go to the clinic so you can get some birth control, too? That way in case you’re not pregnant we don’t have to have this dilemma again.”

“
Can we go tomorrow?
”

“I’ll meet you at the clinic on my lunch break.” Quinn rubbed at her heart, saying a quick prayer that everything go smoothly. If Kennedy was indeed pregnant, she hoped Charlene and the others welcomed the baby with open arms. “Everything’s gonna be okay, sweetie.”

“
Thanks. Oh, and please don’t tell Grant…he’d be so mad at me.
”

“I won’t. Bye.”

Quinn hung up the phone and set it aside on the counter, turning to face her own reflection in the mirror. She shook her head, worry creasing her brow and darkening the jade of her eyes.

If this had happened to one of her own sisters, she’d know better how to handle it. But with Kennedy it meant keeping secrets from both her mother-in-law and her husband. And Lord, she hated keeping things from Grant.

Hopefully this was all just a big misunderstanding and she’d never have to tell him. If it wasn’t, and if she did, she wasn’t exactly sure what he’d say. Would he even care enough to show more than disapproval at his little sister’s mistake? She certainly hoped so. Though if his reaction three days earlier was any indication, he wouldn’t be pleased.

She’d forgiven him that night after her anger faded, still unsure why it had upset her so badly. It wasn’t like her to get mad at him, not over something so trivial. So where had the anger come from?

Stress, probably. She sighed and pocketed her cell phone, shaking her head. And now Kennedy’s problems were being added to the top of her pile. She was happy to help but worried over the situation all the same.

Her hand fell to her stomach, the nausea returning. She fought it back, determined not to let it get to her.

Lynette exited a
sleek black town car in front of the Vasser Hotel. She smiled politely at the driver who opened the door, then turned when she spotted a man with a camera on the street taking photographs of her.

She pursed her lips, irritated but not unused to the invasion of privacy. Being a Vasser came with many perks and also many disadvantages.

Shrugging off the annoyance, she made her way into the hotel and to the front desk, where Walter was busy fidgeting with an unruly stapler.

“Having trouble?” she asked, the question sweet with sarcasm.

His head shot up, startled. “What? Oh. No. Just trying to replace the staples. You know how it goes.”

Lynette leaned over the counter and grabbed the stapler out of his hand, wrenching it open with ease. “There. It just needed the magic touch.”

“Uh huh,” Walter said as she handed the stapler back to him. He nodded to the door behind him. “Linc’s back there. In a mood.”

“Oh.” Concern erased the humor from her face. “What happened?”

Walter shrugged. “I dunno. He doesn’t tell me everything. Though this stapler thing is his fault. He threw it at the wall and that’s how it got stuck.”

Lynette blinked in surprise. “That’s not like him.”

“I know.” Walter sighed, tossing aside the stapler and meeting her gaze. “Go cheer him up so I can ask to leave early. I’ve got a date tonight.”

She managed a smile. “I’ll do my best.”

As she skirted the desk and opened the door to head back to Linc’s office, she could hear the sound of something thudding repeatedly against the wall. Her heart fell when she approached the doorway and saw Linc leaning back in his desk chair, throwing a racquetball at the wall and catching it, then throwing it again.

“Honey, what’d that poor little ball ever do to you?”

Linc grimaced at the sound of her voice, not bothering to stop throwing the ball. “I’m imagining the wall is Greg’s face.”

“Greg?” She stepped into the room and stood beside his desk.

“Yeah. The bastard is dating Veronica Diaz.”

“The journalist you said was going to write about your family?” Lynette’s brows furrowed as she thought back to the brief conversation they’d had about the woman. “The one who flirted with you?”

“That’s the one.” Linc clenched his teeth and chucked the ball again, this time sending it flying back at him so fast he had to duck. It crashed into a stack of papers behind him and sent debris flying, then rolled under the desk. He grunted and rubbed his hands over his face, anger still a potent fire in his blood. “He called me up and came clean about it an hour ago. Said he felt bad for not telling me, that it has nothing to do with her story on us, that it’s all coincidental.”