Rise of the Notorious (34 page)

“Maybe it’s a sign from God that this is not meant to be,” he grunted, running a hand over the back of his neck. “The world is telling you to stop what you are doing.”

Anger flashed in her eyes. “I won’t, Raoul. I can’t. You know that.”

He shook his head sadly, taking one last puff on his cigarette before dropping it to the concrete and snuffing it out with his foot. He turned to face her, emotions raging over his face. “You are too stubborn to see the danger you are in,
cariño
. Too blind to see what you are up against.”

She sniffed bitterly, blowing smoke into the air. “Oh, I see the danger, darling. What I don’t see is the reason for it.”

“It exists to ruin you.” He scowled, his temper and desperation warring within him.

“Yes, I know that. It doesn’t change anything,” she declared, shooting him a fierce look. “My sister could be dead, my brother’s fiancé almost died, and I’ve been receiving threatening letters and accusations from what seems like numerous sources, including within my own family.”

“You should heed those warnings,” he replied gravely, his face tightening with dread. “There is only so much I can do to help you.”

Before she could respond, he stalked off down the street. She watched him go, startled by his mood and troubled by the fear in his eyes.

What did he know that she didn’t?

With Quinn still
in the hospital, Grant was left to answer his own phone and file his own paperwork.

Not that he minded. It wasn’t like his phone was the one ringing off the hook these days. It seemed Madison was the one to talk to when it came to the family business. He was simply a manager, attempting to maintain some semblance of normalcy at the hotel.

The kidnapping was all over the papers now. The police had at last decided to release at least some of the information to the press, though they purposely left out the demands made in the ransom letter. The last thing the family needed was the drama that would come from it.

If the public believed that Madison’s voluntary resignation and arrest would bring Kennedy home safe, then their outrage would ruin the family. All of the work Madison had put into perfecting her public image and that of the hotels would be destroyed in an instant.

That was just how it worked. The masses could make or break you, as Cyrus had always said. Grant was starting to realize just how true that statement was.

His gaze shot to the portraits that hung on the wall across from his desk, and he studied his grandfather’s image thoughtfully. He wondered how the old man would have handled all of this had he chosen to stay alive. Would he have let Kennedy’s kidnappers get the best of him? Or would he have called them on their bluff?

He had the sickening feeling that his grandfather, acting in one of his crueler moments, would have simply told them to go fuck themselves. In his lifetime, no other man had ever threatened him, either personally or in business. Grant had to wonder if that was because they had all known, as he did now, that Cyrus backed down for no one.

It was this trait that Grant saw in his own sister. He wanted to believe it was a sign of her strength, of her courage. But since she had shown him the letters she had received, the ones she had hidden from him for weeks, he had to wonder if she was just plain clueless.

Did she really value her ambition over her sister’s life? Over his life? Over even her own?

It left a bitter taste in his mouth as he looked from his grandfather’s painting to a photograph of him and his siblings when they were kids.

Madison looked so small beside him, her tiny hand in his, her length of dark hair framing her petite face. Even her eyes seemed innocent, her smile easy as most children’s smiles were.

How had that little girl grown into the woman she was today? The woman who now ran an empire, who faced enormous obstacles and deadly threats with unyielding nerve.

Somewhere along the way, probably thanks to Cyrus, that little girl had gotten it into her head that she was capable of anything. Even if the entire world was against her, she would tirelessly build her fort and man it all on her own, with weapons of her own creation, beating back the enemy until she could no longer fight. And at that point, she would draw her dagger and stab her own heart, just to prevent them from having the satisfaction of killing her themselves.

That was just who she was, and who Cyrus had been. While he admired her for it in many ways, part of him was revolted by it as well.

There was a sudden, brisk knock on his door, startling him from his reverie. His eyes jolted to the door as his brows knit with caution.

“Come in,” he called out, watching as the door swung open and a strange man walked in, dressed in a neatly pressed and expensively tailored suit.

The man smiled cheerfully, his white teeth flashing. “Sorry to just barge on in here, but I see your secretary is out to lunch.”

Grant’s face hardened. “She’s in the hospital, actually.”

“Oh, sorry to hear that,” the stranger apologized in a smooth, southern accent. He shut the door and made his way into the room, hand extended. “My name is Jack Morgan.”

Grant hesitated, recognition hitting him like a brick to the face. He rose to his feet and accepted the man’s hand warily. “What can I do for you, Mr. Morgan?”

Morgan took a seat in one of the chairs across from Grant, crossing one leg over the other as he sat back casually. His head angled to the side as he continued to smile. “I came here to introduce myself, first and foremost, and to offer you my assistance.”

“Why would I need your help?” Grant asked, taking a seat himself.

Morgan grinned, his blue eyes lit with charisma and spunk. “Well, I hear we have a common enemy.”

Grant’s eyes narrowed. “Who would that be?”

“Senator Warren Shaw,” Morgan replied, an almost imperceptible hint of anger to his voice. “He is the current holder of the senate seat I hope to win in next year’s election.”

“I know who he is.” Grant frowned, eyeing the man coldly. “I also know about your father and his connection to my family.”

Morgan’s eyes glittered. “I see…you know, that connection makes us distant relatives.”

“Right,” Grant said flatly, irritated by the notion that they were in any way related. “So what is it that you want from me?”

“Oh, nothing.” Morgan grinned. “I’m only here to offer you my support in counterbalancing the lies Shaw has spread about your family.”

“He’s shut up for now; I’m not really worried about him.”

“Yes, for now. But what about when he goes public with this little secret of mine that you and I both know is coming…you don’t think he’ll throw as much mud in your faces as he can? It’s dirty politics at its best, and you, my friend, are caught in the crossfire.”

“So you want to do what, exactly?”

Morgan rolled his shoulders, his eyes taking in the office around him as he continued to grin. “I want to become your new best friend, Grant. I’m going to throw my full weight behind your family so they are portrayed exactly the right way in the press. That way, when Shaw starts running his mouth again, we can denounce his claim together. He will be made a fool of, son. And you and I will come out on top, just where we belong.”

Grant said nothing for a long moment, digesting the man’s—
the politician’s
—words. He certainly did not trust him, yet he could not see a downside to his plan. Shaw had wronged them, time and again, and although Lynette had tried to make a case for him, Grant just didn’t buy it. Shaw didn’t care if the Vasser reputation was damaged further by these claims. All he wanted was to win his re-election.

But Morgan was an entirely different animal. Grant could sense the cruel ambition in this man, the ruthlessness required to do whatever it took to win. While Shaw still had some redeeming qualities, this man was an unknown. Just what good was there to Jack Morgan? If anything?

So the real question here was should he stick to the devil he knew and stand with Shaw, or should he make a deal with the new devil sporting the fancy suit and sweet promises?

Grant disliked very much having to make that decision.

“Mr. Morgan—”

“Please, call me Jack,” Morgan said genially. “Why be so formal?”

One of Grant’s eyebrows rose as he continued, “Don’t you think Shaw’s claim will be difficult to deny given the Army’s own documented case file?”

“That’s been taken care of,” Morgan assured him easily. “The only people out there who know the truth are Shaw and your family.”

Grant frowned. Clearly Morgan was unaware that Marshall had secured a copy of the case file only days before it was destroyed. That crucial little fact suddenly made the whole situation a lot more interesting.

“So let me get this straight…Jack,” Grant began, letting out a slow exhale as he met the man’s eyes directly. “You intend to speak favorably about my family to combat Shaw’s accusations, and when Shaw goes to the press with your secret, you intend to deny it and want us to deny the claim as well.”

“You’re right on the money.” Morgan’s lips spread in a toothy smile. “It’s a win-win for us both. You can’t escape that fact.”

Grant nodded, conceding that point. It would be best for his family not to be dragged through a messy political battle, and by using denial they may be able to snuff it out before it got started. It was more than he could have hoped for when Shaw had first told him about his plans…

He rose to his feet and offered his hand. “I accept your terms, Mr. Morgan.”

Morgan stood up as they shook hands, his expression both relieved and jovial. It was a mix that Grant recognized immediately as faked and wondered what Morgan’s real feelings were at that moment.

“You made the right choice,” Morgan said, his handshake bold and as earnest as any politician could make it. He reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a business card, handing it to Grant. “Here’s my office number. If you need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to reach out to me. We’re on the same team now.”

He nodded and left, shutting the office door behind him.

Grant stared down at the business card, praying to God he’d just made the right decision.

Then again, what was the worst that could happen? He hadn’t destroyed any files, hadn’t tampered with any evidence. The police didn’t even know he knew about Morgan’s connection to his family.

So what could go wrong in trusting Morgan?

Of course, Grant reminded himself sternly, he knew very little about Jack Morgan. For all he knew, the man ate puppies for breakfast and worshipped the Devil before bed each evening.

Though he found that highly unlikely.

The streets of
New York City in the spring were bustling with activity. The sun was shining, melting away the last lingering chills of winter.

Madison turned her own face toward the sun, her eyes shielded by large, dark sunglasses and her hair pulled back in a sleek tail. She smiled, the warmth of the rays soothing her skin.

As much as she hated the sun when it was scorching hot out, she couldn’t help but enjoy it when there was a fresh breeze in the air, spring in full swing all around her. Even she couldn’t deny the pleasantness of it, and she was eager to let it chase away just one second of the gloominess from her life.