Rulers of Deception (19 page)

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Is Marshall okay?”

“He’s fine,” Grant stated coldly. He poured her a cup of coffee and sweetened it how she liked before handing it to her.

“Thank you.” She accepted it but didn’t drink. “What’s going on?”

Grant grabbed the envelope, lifted out the photographs and handed them to her. He kept the letter hidden inside, wanting to see if she’d confess first.

She stared at the images blankly for a moment before recognition flashed over her face. “Who took these?”

“You went to a women’s clinic,” Grant supplied, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter.

“Yeah, I did.” Quinn looked up at him in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“You were pregnant.”

Quinn’s lips parted in surprise. She set aside her coffee for fear of dropping it. “How did you find out?”

Pain flickered in his eyes for a brief moment, replaced by a rage colder than ice. He said nothing as he watched the emotions play over her features, the shock, pain, and anxiety. It only seemed to confirm what he desperately wished wasn’t true.

His words suddenly hit home for Quinn. “Wait, what do you mean
were
?”

He reached for the letter then, handing it to her. As she read it she looked suddenly faint. “Oh, my God. Grant, no. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.”

“Did you, or did you not, Quinn? That’s all I need to know,” he growled, straightening. He stared down at her, cold anger hardening his features to stone.

Insult warred with the horror on her face the instant before she slapped him. “How
dare
you?” Her palm collided with his cheek and sent shockwaves down her arm. The letter and photographs fluttered hopelessly to the floor. She blinked back tears as she stared at her hand, realizing only then what she’d done. Looking up at him, she shook her head, numb to the core. “I’m s-sorry.”

Grant only stared at her, unable to speak. Emotion tightened his throat until he could barely breathe.

Tears began to stream down her cheeks as the weight behind his words sunk in. “I can’t believe you thought I would actually get rid of our baby. For God’s sake, Grant, why would I? I was just there to meet Kennedy. She thought
she
might be pregnant. Low and behold, I was the one knocked up.” She threw up her hands and choked on a sob, mortified that he had to find out this way. “I know you don’t want kids, and I’m sorry. But, damnit, the product of our love is inside of me and I’m not going to let it go. If you don’t want the baby, I’ll go back to my parents and you’ll never hear from me again.”

He seemed to snap out of whatever trance he was in, his brow creased with sudden pain. “Of course I want the baby.”

Her heart broke at the look on his face. “You do?”

He nodded, misery darkening his voice as he spoke. “Damnit, Quinn. What do you take me for?”

She hovered in speechless silence for a moment, absorbing his words. Unable to do more, she wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face into his chest as more tears fell.

His arms encircled her and held on tightly, relief at knowing the truth shuddering through him. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, hating himself for ever doubting her.

When she felt she could speak again, Quinn sniffled and released a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry I slapped you.”

“I deserved it,” he admitted. How could he have been fooled so easily? “If I’d given that letter any thought I would’ve known it was a lie.”

She leaned back to meet his eyes. “I would’ve reacted the same way. Whoever sent that letter wanted this to come between us. They wanted you to hate me for something I didn’t even do.”

He brushed her hair from her forehead, his thumb trailing over her skin. “It almost worked. I did hate you for it.”

“You did?” Tears welled in her eyes again, but they weren’t sad. Her lips spread in a slow smile. “So you
do
want to be a father.”

He nodded, accepting it at that very moment. “I never did before….but you changed everything.”

Relief softened her features. “Good, because there’ll be three of us soon. Well, five if you count the dogs.”

A laugh escaped his throat. “And maybe more. One day.”

The threat of tears hit her again. Her hands fluttered over her face as she fought back the urge to cry. “Oh boy. Okay. That’s a little too much excitement for me to handle right now.”

He scooped her up and gently set her on the edge of the counter, his lips finding hers in a quick, tender kiss. “You and me both.”

Her heart filled. “Guess this means I can’t take those wine classes for awhile…”

His hand slid around to cover her still flat stomach, warmth in his eyes at the thought of what was growing inside of her. “I hope he or she has your laugh. And your eyes.”

“And your work ethic,” she added, smiling. Her face tilted to the side playfully. “Your bone structure would be nice, too.”

Talking about their child cemented the idea into his brain, making him nervous. “What if I don’t know how to be a father?”

“Think of it this way. We’re both the oldest in our families and we both tend to take care of our siblings. It’ll be sort of like that, but with a much smaller person.”

“A person that needs constant attention and does nothing but eat and poop all day.” He cringed, images of his immaculate townhome torn to pieces by grubby little hands running through his mind.

“It’s not nice to speak of your brother that way, Grant,” Quinn chided.

He laughed and slid her into his arms, carrying her out of the kitchen. “I interrupted you in bed when I came home,” he said, a teasing smile crossing his face. “It’s only polite to return you.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.”

Madison hung up
the phone and rubbed her temple wearily. The conversation with her sister and the earlier talk with her brother had done little to ease her stress. She was pleased, of course, to learn that Quinn had in fact
not
done what the strange letter insinuated. Though knowing the truth now only made the lies that much more troubling.

After scolding Kennedy for putting Quinn in that position, Madison didn’t feel any better. Usually letting out her anger verbally helped. This time, though, the sound of Kennedy’s tears and the restless relief in Grant’s voice hung over her like an ominous cloud. Just what did it all mean? Who had sent the letter, and why?

And better yet, who was following Quinn around
looking
for anything that could be used against the family? Were they following the rest of them, too?

A shiver ran through her that had little to do with the temperature in her townhouse. She went into the kitchen, eager for a glass of something stronger than wine to warm her system. As she poured some of her grandfather’s favorite brandy into a tumbler, the stack of mail on the counter caught her eye. A letter rested on top with no return address. Wyatt’s name was scrawled in hurried writing over the front. Earlier she’d been so distracted she hadn’t even noticed it. Now as a jolt of horror hit her she wondered how she’d let it slip by unnoticed.

Grabbing the envelope, she tore it open with no regard to Wyatt’s privacy. What did it matter at this point? She couldn’t wait for him to come home. If it was anything like the letter Grant received, it was best she view it first anyway.

Inside was a single piece of paper, folded carelessly. In big, bold letters the words
estás muerto
were written in ink the color of dried blood. Or, given the disturbing translation of the words, Madison realized it probably was blood.

You’re dead.

Rage chased away all fear within her as she tossed the letter aside. In a move that was both feral and righteous, she hurled the glass of brandy into the wall and gleefully watched it shatter to pieces. Shards of glass and golden brandy covered the floor and she glared at it, fighting to control her breathing.

Wyatt entered the room, having come in the front door just as the crash exploded from the kitchen. He stared at her and down at the destroyed glass, confused.

“If this is because I’m late, give me a second to think up a good excuse,” he joked, though there was little humor in his voice. The cold chaos of emotions raging over her face scared the shit out of him. “Is that Cyrus’ brandy?”

Madison slowly straightened, regaining her senses. Without a word, she handed him the letter. Carefully watching his expression as he read the threat had the anger in her system boiling over once again.

Wyatt’s eyes lit with a deadly fire. “Who sent this to you?”

“It was addressed to you,” she replied coldly. When he paled and didn’t look up at her, she realized he knew where it came from. “Do you know who sent it?”

With a laugh, he tossed the letter aside and went to her, his hands finding her shoulders for a comforting squeeze. “No, sweetheart. It’s probably just a practical joke. Is this what pissed you off?”

Madison’s eyes narrowed. “Grant received an anonymous letter and some photographs today slandering Quinn with a flat-out lie. I have to wonder if this is from the same source, different as it is.”

“Look, there’s no need to get upset about it. You get hate mail from time to time.” Despite everything, Wyatt felt relieved. At least she could run with that and be distracted from what he knew was the truth. There was only one reason he’d receive a letter like this, in Spanish, from an anonymous source. It meant there was some truth to what Jimmy had warned of. The cartel really was after him. He pushed the terror of that knowledge to the back of his mind, unable to process it just yet.

Madison stared over his shoulder at the spilled brandy, irritated. “I need to know who the hell is trying to slander my family again.”

“Probably some jackass with nothing better to do,” Wyatt mused, lifting her chin up for a quick kiss. “Now why don’t I pour you a fresh glass of brandy and clean up this mess for you?”

She looked at him strangely. “Are you keeping something from me?”

“No. Why?”

Cursing his innate skill of concealing his thoughts, Madison decided to give in. For now. A soft smile teased her lips. “Never mind. I’m going to take a bath. Bring me that brandy when you get a chance.”

As she walked away, Wyatt breathed a sigh of relief. Then his eyes fell upon the letter and the fear he’d forced back moments before rose up to claim him.

A
s night drew its shade over the city, Wyatt stood on the steps of his front porch and sulked. A cigarette hung from his lips, the tip glowing amber in the dying light. Cars and people passed by in the upscale neighborhood, paying no attention to him. He preferred it that way.

With his fedora dipped low over his face, he breathed in smoke and released it in a weary cloud, wishing his troubles could be carried away with it. While the age-old tradition soothed some of the frayed edges, the core of his problems remained.

Two days earlier, the cartel had sent him a direct threat. They knew where he lived, likely knew who his famous wife was, her family. Franco would never waste an opportunity this perfect. No, he was likely drooling at the idea of exacting revenge in the most painful, horrific way possible. Imagining the nightmare looming in the near future had Wyatt’s stomach turning.