Shattered Trust (Shattered #2) (13 page)

Chapter 21

Madrigal

The treasure trove we just discovered makes my heart sing. I thought we’d lost my mother’s diaries to the fire, but for some reason my grandfather kept them. “I have to read them.”

“It’s late, Madrigal. If you start reading them, you won’t stop.”

“It’s not
that
late. Only a little after eleven.”

“You remember how the last one upset you.”

“Yes, I do.” I know he’s trying to keep me from suffering more hurt. But after studying all the details surrounding my parents’ murders, I’ve toughened up. I’m not the same woman who went crying to him after I read my mother’s final journal. “I’ll be fine, Steele.”

“How far back do they go?”

“To the time she was a teenager . . . Strange.”

“What?”

“The handwriting looks different than I remember.”

“Stands to reason. Your handwriting changes as you get older.”

This great find calls to me, but he’s right. If I start reading now, I won’t quit until I’m done. Tomorrow will be soon enough. I’ll organize them by year. Read the most recent ones first and then work my way backward. I’ll have to read all of them by myself. No one must know I’ve found them. “We’ll have to keep this a secret.”

“I can help you,” he volunteers.

“Steele?” Has he forgotten about my desire to handle the investigation on my own?

“There are at least twenty of them in there.”

I count them. “Twenty-four.”

“And they’re thick. It’ll take you at least a couple of hours to read each one. You’re supposed to be studying for the bar exam. How far do you think you’ll get if you read your mother’s journals instead?”

I make a face. “Not far.”

“It will go faster if you split the journals between us. I’ll skim them and let you know the important parts so you can zero in on them. Once you have time, you can read them from cover to cover.”

“Fine, but leave the ones surrounding the date of her death to me. Okay?”

“Okay.” He holds out his hand. “Now come back to bed. I’m not done with you yet.”

He doesn’t have to ask me twice, not when he has that spark in his eyes.

At breakfast the next morning, Madison questions our disappearance. “Where did you go last night?”

Wanting to test her reaction, I tell her the truth, or as much of the truth as can be shared in polite company. “Trenton and I went to bed.”

Cristina whoops and then chuckles into her napkin while pink-cheeked Madison struggles against an outburst. It’s touch and go there for a second, but finally all that emerges from my baby sister is “Oh. Okay.”

Steele winks at me, which tells me he approves of how I handled that particular inquiry. Wanting to reward Madison for her newfound maturity, I ask, “Have you heard from Philippe?”

Mouth full of French toast, she takes a moment to respond. “Yes. We’re Skyping in about half an hour.”

The video call should cheer her up. “That’s good. When will he be back?”

She sighs. “Not till August fourth.”

I’ll need to alert Hunter to post someone next to that tree outside Madison’s window. “That’s only a week away. Not that long.”

“It’ll seem like forever. May I be excused? I want to make sure my laptop’s set up for the call.”

“Sure. Say hi to Philippe. I’ll invite him and his parents to dinner when they return.”

Maddy squeals and throws her arms around my neck. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I’ll let him know.” With that long-legged gait of hers, she gallops out of the room.

Hiding a grin, Steele stands up. “Will you excuse me? I have to make some phone calls before we get on with our project.”

“Okay. Find me when you’re done. I’ll be in the evidence room,” I say.

Leaning over, he kisses me. He tastes of syrup and hot, delicious man.

When I manage to get my bearings, I meet Cristina’s gaze. For the first time in all the time I’ve known her, there’s a touch of envy in her eyes. “That man loves you,
querida
.”

“You think so?”

“Uh-huh. And believe me, I know. He looks at you the same way my father looks at my mother.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about that. Even if it were true. I don’t need any more complications in my life. I have more than I can cope with at the moment.”

She props her chin on her hands. “You handle
him
really well.”

I laugh. “I don’t handle Steele at all. I can barely keep my head above water around him. He’s so much . . . more than I am. He’s one of the top criminal lawyers in the country, infinitely more sophisticated than me and, needless to say, way better in bed.”

Grabbing her fork, she twirls it in my direction. “Yeah, but you’ve got something he wants.”

“What?” I’m not asking for vanity’s sake. I’m truly curious. Maybe if I knew, I could deal better with him.

“That’s something only you can determine. You fill a need in him, that much is clear.” She folds her napkin and lays it on the table. “And as far as Madison is concerned, I don’t think you need to worry. She’s fine.”

I’d shared my worry about Madison with her, so I appreciate her take on my sister. “You think so?”

“Yes. I did volunteer work at a mental health clinic while in high school, so I’ve seen firsthand people suffering from mental illness. She’s nothing like them. She’s spirited, yes, but I think she was mainly frustrated by the restraints your grandfather imposed on her. With you as her guardian, she’ll blossom.”

I rise from my seat and hug her. “Thanks, Cristina. I’m so glad you dropped by.”

“Anytime,
querida
. I’ll head back to the evidence room. I want to go over those testimonies again.” Among other things, Detective Collins had sent us his notes on Helga’s testimony and the other witnesses in the case. His summary is the closest thing we have to the actual trial transcript, which we can’t obtain because the court files are sealed. I probably have Gramps to thank for that. No doubt he argued that the gruesome details of the case should not be made public. Stuff leaked out, of course, but the evidence never did. If it hadn’t been for Charlie White’s contacts and Detective Collins’s file, we would be nowhere. So I’m thankful for the evidence we have, even if it’s not complete.

Finished with breakfast, I head to the foyer where Hunter Stone’s on duty. Does the man ever sleep? Yesterday he spent the entire day with us from ten to six. “On duty already?” I ask.

“I just checked in. I wanted to go over the details from last night with John.” John Thompson’s one of his operatives.

“Anything to report?”

“A fence was torn down.”

“Where?”

“About fifty yards south of the stable. I told Hartley. He sent out a repair crew.”

Hartley not only functions as our barn manager and horse trainer but also makes sure the fences in and around the property are in good repair. The last thing he’d want is for one of his horses to escape through a break.

“The cameras didn’t catch it?”

“No.” His tech guy had installed security cameras in and around the estate, but of course they couldn’t capture everything, especially late at night. “With your permission, I’ll post extra guards tonight.”

“Thank you, Hunter.” In gratitude, I pat his arm—just as Steele strides toward us.

His face pinches for a second, but then the expression vanishes. He’s jealous of Hunter Stone. That much is clear. He shouldn’t be. Our head of security may be gorgeous, but he does nothing for me.

“Done with your phone calls?” I ask him.

“Yes.”

“Should we head up then?” Before coming down for breakfast, we’d locked the journals in the filing cabinet in my bedroom.

“Go on up. I’ll meet you in five.”

The air vibrates from the tension between the two men. I don’t know what Steele is going to do, but I’m pretty sure I won’t like it. “Steele?”

“It’s fine, Madrigal. Go on.”

Not much I can do except what he wants. He’s hell-bent on his purpose, whatever it may be. I hope no blood’s spilled. The Aubusson rug they’re standing on dates back to the eighteenth century. I’d hate to see it ruined.

Chapter 22

Trenton

“Stone,” I say, narrowing my gaze. He’s rubbed me the wrong way since day one. Something about him sets off alarms. He’s hiding something. I can feel it deep in my gut.

The son of a bitch smirks. “That would be Mister Stone to you.”

I mirror his expression. Two can play at this game. “But Hunter to Madrigal?” I ask, gritting my teeth.

“She’s my boss and can call me whatever she damn well pleases.” The sexual undertone to that statement is hard to miss.

I’d love to tear the bastard limb from limb. But I have to keep my temper under control if I’m to have any hope of getting information from him. “Who are you?”

He snorts. “I believe we just established that.”

“That’s who you say you are, but that’s not your real name, is it?”

All I get is a raised brow.

“I checked you out. You didn’t exist before 1999. You popped up in the system when you joined the Navy SEALs. Before that? Nada.”

His right shoulder hitches. “Maybe your research missed something.”

“My research is the best there is.” This time I bare my teeth.

“Surely you didn’t ask Charlie? He vouched for me.”

“I have sources other than Charlie. He’s not the only one I depend on to get to the truth.”

“Don’t know what I can tell you, then. Obviously, somebody missed something.”

“No, they didn’t.” I step forward right into his personal space. “I’m going to find out who you are if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Doubt it.” The corners of his lips curl up, triggering a memory, one hidden deep in time. Son of a bitch. A glimmer of an idea shimmers to the surface. Something that can’t possibly be. But it would explain a lot.

Well, there’s only one way to find out. I thump his chest. “Stay away from Madrigal, you hear me?”

He slaps my hand away. “Hard to do. She’s my boss, after all.”

“You make any move toward her, and I’ll slice off your nuts,
tu pezzo di merda
.” You piece of shit.

“Vaffanculo.”
Go fuck yourself.

Hiding a smile, I turn and trot up the stairs. I’ve gotten what I need to know. I just have to prove it. And that is something I’m very, very good at.

I enter Madrigal’s bedroom to find her frowning at the pile of books on her bed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Four of the journals are missing. Last night there were twenty-four. Now there are only twenty.”

I glance between her and the place where she’d tucked the diaries. “But you locked the file cabinet.”

“Yes, but I left the key in my desk drawer. Anyone could have gotten it. That was so stupid of me.”

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up.” I rub my hands up and down her arms. “Who knew where you kept the key?”

“Madison, for one. But even if she knew about them, she wouldn’t take them without asking. She knows how important these journals are to the investigation. But honestly, anyone could have taken the key. All they had to do was search my desk.”

“It had to be while we were at breakfast. Maybe we could dust for fingerprints? Charlie has a kit.”

“It wouldn’t do any good. The maids dust every day. Madison loves to snoop.” Her bottom lip trembles. She’s trying hard to be brave, to hide what the loss of the journals means to her.

I drop a kiss on her head and tuck her against me. “Maybe you should ask Hunter to investigate. He’s got cameras throughout the house. Maybe one of them caught somebody going into your room.”

“That’s a good idea,” she says, wrapping her arms around my waist. “I should have been more careful. Locked them up in that safe downstairs.”

“What safe?”

“The one in Gramps’s study.”

“I didn’t notice a safe.”

“It’s behind that hunting scene painting on the wall. I’m surprised you didn’t find it.”

“Guess I must have missed it. We’ll need to open it and see what’s inside.”

“Yes.” She wipes a tear from her cheek, and then a thought occurs to her. “Oh my God. What about the evidence room? Somebody could get into it.”

“You have the only key to the door. But you should change the lock. I’ll get Stone to do it.”

She shakes her head as if she can’t quite believe what I just said. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned him. You buddies now?”

“Not exactly. We talked. I know where he’s coming from now, so I understand him better.”

“Good.” She strokes my chest. “Honestly, Steele, you have nothing to worry about. I barely have time for you. I wouldn’t dream of adding another man to the mix. Ménage à trois
is not my thing.”

I could tell her she’s missing out on something special. But I won’t. She’d be shocked to her very core if I did. Besides, no way I’d share her with another man. I’d cut off his dick first. I curl my hand around her nape and bend down to kiss her soft lips. “Thank you for saying that,
mia bella donna
.” My beautiful lady.

Her cheeks bloom pink. “Oh, I like that.”

“I’ll use it more often, then.” I turn over her hand and kiss her palm before I let go. “So how do you want to handle the journals?”

Over the next three hours we go over the diaries, starting with the most recent ones and working our way back. When I get to the one from 1997, I make a rude discovery. A January entry details Marlena’s growing unhappiness with her husband.

January 14, 1997

He thinks I don’t know, but I’m fully aware he’s having an affair with his secretary. How cliché. The way they carried on at the holiday party sickened me—furtive brushes when they passed each other, longing glances across the room. What I hated most of all were the pitying looks from the staff at his lobbying firm. They all seem to know and feel sorry for me. I never loved him. I see that now. But what choice did I have but to marry him? I was pregnant with Madrigal, after all. Father would never have allowed me to have a child out of wedlock. He would have demanded an abortion. And I would never do that. No. I made the right choice. Even if my life is a living hell. I need to talk to someone, though, before I explode. It can’t be any of my society friends, not as much as they love to gossip. No. It will need to be someone I can trust not to talk. Mitch Brooks. We’ve been friends since high school, more than friends actually. At one time, I’d imagined myself in love with him. He works for Father’s law firm. I think I’ll give him a call.

An entry several days later fills me with even more concern.

January 28, 1997

I met Mitch at a bar hotel. Bad idea as it turned out. After a couple of drinks, I broke down. Mitch being the perfect gentleman suggested we take our discussion somewhere private. Not wanting anyone to notice my misery, I agreed. He rented a room, and one thing led to another. God. It was so wrong. I’ve never cheated on Tom. And I don’t intend to do it again. But it felt so good. I realize now Mitch’s the man I’ve always loved. He’s always been there for me. It’s him I should have married. But it’s too late now. I’ve made my bed and I must lie in it. When we said good-bye, I knew it’d be the last time I’d confide in him.

Had that tryst yielded consequences? Madison had been born almost nine months to the date. She resembles Mitch. How could I not have caught that? Their eyes are the same shade of brown, and they’re both blond, although Madison’s hair is closer to amber and Mitch’s a whiter shade of gold. Madison’s hair color could have been inherited from her grandfather. In his younger days, Holden’s hair shone gold. Tom’s eyes must have been brown, because as far as I know, he wasn’t suspicious of Madison’s coloring. Or maybe he found out, and that’s why he abused Marlena.

“What’s wrong?” Madrigal asks.

“Nothing.” I rise, stretch. “I’m gonna get something to drink. Do you need anything?”

“A glass of water.”

“Okay.” She’s so caught up in the journal she’s reading, she doesn’t bother to look up. Employing a sleight of hand I learned during my youth, I hide the journal in my jacket. I trot down the stairs and head for the private room she assigned to me. With my trusty penknife I cleanly cut the two pages from the journal. Her mother wrote sporadically, not following a set schedule, sometimes going as long as three weeks without making an entry. As long as she doesn’t refer to her rendezvous with Mitch again, it’ll be okay.

After stopping in the kitchen to grab the water, I trot back upstairs to her room. Not five minutes later, the house fire alarm goes off. We run into the hallway, where we’re joined by Madison. All three of us dash down the stairs toward the source of the smoke. The kitchen. Half the staff’s in there already, along with Cristina and Hunter Stone.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

Hunter’s retrieving a burning pan from the oven using a pair of long-handled tongs.

“Did Helga forget something in there?” Madison asks, a crestfallen expression on her face. “Hope it wasn’t dinner.”

Helga rushes in from the back of the room and snaps her hands to her cheeks. “Ach, my oven!”

Stone places the burning pan on top of the stove. “Where’s the fire extinguisher?”

“Beneath the sink,” Hans exclaims. “I’ll get it.” He fetches it and lets it loose on the pan. Before long, the fire’s out.

What remains of the funeral pyre is clearly not food but books.

“My mother’s journals.” Madrigal turns a tearful face to me.

“Can they be saved, Stone?” I ask.

“Doubt it.” He’s right. They’re too far gone. Nothing legible will emerge from them.

“Who could have done it?” Madrigal asks, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“I don’t know. Did you see anyone, Stone?” The expression on the bodyguard’s face mirrors his name. He’s furious, although he hides it well.

“No,” he says. “And the security camera won’t help us. Somebody covered it up.” He points to the equipment in the corner. A kitchen towel is draped over the lens.

The staff glance suspiciously at one other. Can’t blame them. Someone in this room is the culprit. Someone who broke into Madrigal’s filing cabinet and stole the journals. Whoever did it took quite a risk. If he’d been caught, at the very least, he’d be fired. “Mr. Stone and I will look into this. Won’t we?”

“Yes, Mr. Steele, we certainly will.” The look he sends me is cryptic. There’s something he knows, but clearly he’s not talking.