A Lover's Mask (8 page)

“I'm getting used to it,” he teased, feigning discomfort when she smacked his forehead. “Tell me,” he urged while leading her to one of the ladder-backed bar stools in the den.

“I'm afraid to know,” she blurted, unable to resist the persuasive power of his gray black stare.

“Why?” he whispered, rubbing the sides of her thighs.

Mick squeezed her eyes closed and buried her face in her hands. “I've been so worried that I wouldn't do right by it. Referring to the baby as ‘it' somehow makes it easier to handle than saying him or her.” She met her husband's gaze. “I'm bringing another person into the world, Quest. One who's gonna depend on me for everything. It's gonna be so helpless—how will I know if I'm doing right where it's concerned?”

“Baby,” he soothed, pressing a kiss to the middle of her curls. “Hell yeah, you're gonna do right by it.”

“How can you be so sure?” Mick challenged, searching his face as though the answer may be forthcoming. “A person usually does what they know. All I know is hurt and loss.”

“Don't do this to yourself,” he soothed, kissing her cheeks and forehead.

Mick smiled and stroked the curve of his jaw. “You're so sweet and I'll be fine. I promise,” she whispered and leaned in to hug him. The lost expression still clouded her face as Quest's face harbored the same look.

 

“Hey man, Sheila said you wanted to see me when I got back,” Fernando called out to his partner.

Stef looked up, grinning when he saw the man standing in his office doorway. “Good weekend?” he inquired.

“Damn good.”

“Where the hell you runnin' off to every Friday, man?” Stef inquired as he stood.

“People to see,” Fernando replied coolly, punctuating the remark with a lazy shrug. “So what's up? Why'd you want to see me?”

“Damn man, what's the hurry?”

“You mean besides all the work on my desk?” Fernando challenged sarcastically. In truth, his thoughts were only focused on a particular box of files which he'd avoided going through since acquiring it two months earlier.

“Well, I'll get right to it then,” Stef sighed, coming to perch on the edge of his desk. “You got any new ideas for the Contessa House deal?”

Frowning now, Fernando strolled past the doorway. “What do you mean, new ideas?”

Stef's look was innocent. “Clearly the owner's tough on the subject of selling. It's gonna take a lot to convince her. The deal is a very good one and she's still holding out. Perhaps we can come up with a few, um, creative ways to be more
persuasive?
” he suggested, knowing Fernando was not pleased by his insinuation. Still, he had to know just how against the deal he was.

“I want all negotiations ceased against that House,” Fernando simply and firmly instructed.

“Whoa, Fern now maybe you've forgotten how lucrative—”

“I mean it Stef. Let it go.”

“What made you change your mind all of a sudden?”

Fernando's caramel-toned face was rigid in the wake of a rising temper. “I changed my mind a long time ago,” he shared.

Stef stroked his jaw and asked why.

“She doesn't want to sell,” Fernando told his partner, sounding as though the fact was apparent.

Stefan was not convinced. “And?” he retorted, focusing on a spot at the end of his silk cobalt tie. “Never stopped you before.”

“That was before.”

“Fern—”

“Stef, drop it.”

Observing his partner and conceding the unspoken fact that Fernando's word was final, Stef decided to let it go. For the time. “So then tell me about this trip, man.”

“It was a trip, man,” Fernando whispered, his tone signifying more details would not be included.

Stef's brows rose and he decided to let the subject slide as well. “So what about your schedule for today or is that off-limits, too?”

The question took Fernando's thoughts back to the box that sat waiting for him in his office. “I got some digging around to do. It's about my father.”

Stef was heading back behind his desk. “Helping him out?” he figured.

“Investigating him.”

“What?” Stef asked, his eyes locking with Fernando's. “Investigating your own father? Since when? Why?”

Fernando rubbed his fingers through his crop of brown curls and shook his head. “I can't believe it either, but it has to be done.”

“Why man?” Stef asked again, bracing both hands upon his desktop as he leaned forward.

“You know about my uncle Houston?” he asked, watching his friend nod. “Well, the fact that we only suspect my pops of helping to keep him out of sight is only the tip of the iceberg. We think he's done much worse. Somethin' has to be done to get him away from the family—before anything more comes out,” he added, easing one hand into the pocket of his blackberry trousers as he watched the view past the windows.

“You sure there's more?” Stef asked, fixing Fernando with a wary stare.

“I'm sure of it,” he answered without hesitation. “I just hope I'm about to get some answers.”

Stef waited a moment, and then walked over and clapped Fernando's shoulder. “You're a brave man, kid. I wouldn't have the nerve to dig into my father's business.”

Fernando acknowledged silently that he didn't have the nerve, either. Unfortunately, this had waited for too long.

“H
ow long do you think you'll be able to hide him?” Cufi Muhammad asked his friend.

Marc groaned and massaged his eyes. “I don't think it can play out much longer and having him out there with you was my best idea.”

“Maybe it's time for you to let your brother go. Know what I mean?”

Marc's grin was humorless. “I know exactly what you mean and don't think I haven't thought of that very thing.”

“But?”

“As my oldest friend, you know better than anyone why I can't do that.”

“Do you think Houston has the nerve to bring you down with him?” Cufi asked in an incredulous tone.

“Hell, I've helped him to elude the police going on three months! Among other things…”

“Among other things…” Cufi repeated the phrase as though he were contemplating.

Marc's brows drew close. “Care to share what you're thinkin' man?”

“Do you think anyone would believe Houston if he decided to tell what he knows, my friend?”

“My family would, that's for damn sure,” Marc acknowledged with a weary smile. “Hell, if I don't have my own family on my side, how can I expect anyone else would stand there?”

“It may be possible if no one took Houston's ravings as fact,” Cufi said after several moments of silence.

“Ravings?” Marc repeated.

“Mmm. Given the nature of his crime—a crime that has occurred more than once unbeknownst to the authorities at this time. Not to mention the man's penchant for flying off the handle.”

“Hold it Cufi,” Marc urged, sitting straighter in his desk chair, “are you suggesting we try to prove he's crazy?”

“I think it'd be rather easy.”

“He's my brother,” Marc noted, swallowing down unexpected emotion.

Cufi's chuckle harbored no humor. “Look at it from a humane perspective, friend. Houston was only wanted for questioning, but he ran. That in itself gives the hard impression of guilt. The physical evidence proves he was with Sera that night. She was a minor at the time. Clearly he's going down, but with an insanity defense the time he serves may not be so hard.”

“That's absurd!” Marc blurted, bursting into laughter as he did so. “Besides, pleading insanity is the one defense black folks don't have a chance in hell of proving.”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, we're not white.”

Cufi laughed. “A minor detail when all others are in place.”

“Such as?”

“Extreme wealth, power, notoriety. Your family can trace its roots back to the motherland and in America—to the Georgia plantation you worked as slaves. Besides,” Cufi added as though he were sharing a closely guarded secret, “you know the black community doesn't call attention to mental deficiencies as quickly as other races—it's something we do our best to ignore. All these things could play in your favor, my friend.”

Marc was silent, contemplating Cufi's points for a while. At last, he began to nod slowly. “So how exactly would we go about making this happen?”

 

“What'cha got?” County asked Spivey and Jenean as she reclined in her desk chair.

“My contact at the club is on his game,” Spivey commended, when Jenean waved for him to begin, “it turns out that the girls are working for a local travel agency.”

Folding her arms across her scoop-necked mauve top, County fixed Jenean with a pointed look. “What's so odd about that?”

“As hostesses.”

“That
is
odd,” Jenean noted.

“Indeed,” County confirmed, one because these were former strippers. Though it wasn't always the case, stripping and prostitution went hand in hand. Therefore, “hostess” was a job title with many connotations.

“What would a travel agency need with hostesses?” County mused.

“You want us to stay on it?” Spivey asked, after they'd sat in silence a little over two minutes.

County, however, was in another world. Her gaze was steady and determined, but clearly she was focused on something or someone else.

“County? Contessa…?”

“I'm sorry?” County blinked, focusing on Spivey and Jenean. Clearing her throat, she nodded. “Stay on it,” she instructed, offering a wavering smile when they stood and left her office.

Alone, County chewed her thumbnail and debated. She could only think of Fernando and their weekend together—all their weekends together. Their time had been so sweet. Now she questioned the intelligence of digging into his business. What if this—she and Fernando—was something to last? Would her actions come back to haunt her? She was falling for him.
Falling?
Ha! She'd
fallen
—hard, fast and quite willingly. He was absolutely the last kind of man she ever envisioned losing her heart to. He was far from a pushover, not in the least intimidated by her strength or accomplishments; he wouldn't let her push him away with some weak reason. In essence, he was her equal and she was his. Now she was betraying him…

“Dammit!” she hissed, with a shake of her head. She was making too much of this. She decided then that there was no harm in digging a little deeper, if for no other reason than to satisfy her own curiosity.
All right County, if that helps you sleep tonight.

The phone buzzed and she welcomed the interruption. “Yeah Monica?”

“Stefan Lyons for you County.”

“Lyons?” she parroted, not recognizing the name her assistant gave.

“Of Dark Squires Communications,” Monica added.

“Ahh…” County sighed, scratching the arch of her brow as realization set in. “Send him through Mon,” she said, finding herself eager to hear what this next pitch would entail.

“Ms. Warren, Stefan Lyons, co-founder of Dark Squires.”

“Mr. Lyons, I'm both pleased and flattered to be speaking with the top man.”

Stefan chuckled on his end. “I always consider it a necessity to speak with potential clients who break down my best salesmen.”

“Mmm, again I'm flattered. And you have wonderful salesmen, but I have no desire or intention to sell my House.”

“Clearly,” Stef replied, his voice losing a trace of its lightness. “Still, I'm hoping to work this out. Surely there must be some improvements we could make to the deal that would be more encouraging to you?”

“There are no improvements, Mr. Lyons. My mind is made up, my decision is final.”

“You don't seem to understand what Dark Squires can offer.”

“And you don't seem to understand that you're wasting your time.”

“You're a small house, we can make you bigger
and
better.”

“Bigger, perhaps,” County conceded with a smirk. “Better, I seriously doubt.”

Finally, Stef expelled a muttered curse. “You're a fool.”

“Excuse me—”

“Excuse me,” Stef countered, “what I should've said is ‘you're a woman'.”

“You—”

“Clearly, you're ruled by your emotions. A sentimental need to hold on to your
baby.
A real businessman would want his baby to grow and become a challenge in this industry.”

County's lashes fluttered, she was so riled. “
Clearly,
business is your strong suit, Mr. Lyons. I'm willing to bet you've got no real experience in publishing. Creative thinking, passion
and
emotion are just as important. If not, more so.”

“You're letting a once in a lifetime opportunity slip right through your fingers.”

“I truly doubt that,” County sneered, sitting on the corner of her desk and enjoying the chance to run down the pompous business
man
on the other end of the line.

“You huge conglomerates are a dime a dozen. Another will be sniffing 'round my doorstep before the close of business today. You bastards zero in and swoop down on independents like vultures. Still, in defense of the others, I'm sure they don't resort to bullying and name calling when the owners are content on not selling.”

“Ms. Warren—”

“Call me again with this bull, write me a letter or dammit send me an e-mail that even
hints
about selling and you'll find the
good
name of Dark Squires Communications looking like it just took a good roll in the mud. And I don't threaten. I guarantee.”

Stef actually jumped when the phone slammed down in his ear. His jaw was clenched tight in anger and he could do no more than ball his fists and pray for calm.

 

“Finally getting around to that box, eh?” Kathy Hughes teased her boss when she came to get his signature on a few documents.

Fernando laughed. “I couldn't stand it taking up space in that corner for another week,” he admitted, casting a forlorn look toward that area of his office.

“Well, I'll leave you to your fun once I get you to sign these requisitions.”

“Thanks Kat,” Fernando said as he applied the last signature. Alone in his office, he groaned and shuffled through a few more papers. He'd been at it a little over an hour and nothing had struck him as odd. Not one thing. That could mean only
two
things: Marcus had covered his tracks very well or there was nothing to find. Fernando was willing to bet it was more of the former.

In truth, he wasn't waiting on pins and needles to find something to destroy Marc. After all, the man was his father. But Josephine was his mother and he'd seen Marc wear her down to a shell during the sentence of her marriage to him. Then there was Yohan and Melina and Houston's murder of Sera Black…

“Come on, man,” he urged, running all ten fingers through his brown curls and attempting to focus.

Besides, the box and all its contents had to be returned by the end of the month. He'd scoured his father's office thoroughly following his banishment from Ramsey Enterprises. The board was now trying to decide whether his absence would be permanent or if there was still a place for him in the family business. Meanwhile, Marc was handling his affairs from either home or the private office he kept in downtown Seattle.

Idly now, Fernando rifled through more papers until something caught his eye. “What's this?” he murmured, his long brows drawing close. Then a smile curved his mouth when he discovered the document was an e-mail from his father's “sent” file.

“I'll be damned,” Fernando sighed, leaning back in his desk chair. He recalled a conversation where he'd chided Marc for printing copies and reminded the man that was what a “sent” file was for.

Marc coolly replied that systems break down and files could be lost or corrupted.
A hard copy is forever,
he said. Fernando remembered chalking it up to the fact that his dad just didn't trust anything or anyone.
That too,
Marc confessed.

Now, Fernando celebrated his father's suspicious nature. The page he held appeared quite interesting. It was a request from Marcus to his business attorney Shawn Givens. Marc was asking the man to get the ball rolling on a transfer of ownership for
The Wind Rage
. Simple enough, but it left Fernando with two questions: What was
The Wind Rage
and why was his father requesting that its ownership be transferred to him? His first inclination was to dial Shawn Givens, but that wouldn't be wise, he decided. Then, he had a better thought and dialed a different number.

His eyes crinkled in their usual manner when he smiled at the sound of his mother's voice.

“This is quite a surprise!” Josephine cried, delighted to hear from her middle son.

“You act like I never call,” Fernando said, actually a little upset by the fact.

“Oh, you,” Josephine sighed over the line, “you know it's a rarity for you to call me in the middle of the day like this.”

Fernando pressed a hand to the middle of his chest. “Are you deliberately tryin' to make me feel like a low-down son?”

Josephine laughed. “Not low-down, just one who should call more.”

“Thanks.”

“And in light of that, I should ask when we'll see each other again?”

“I'll come over tonight.”

“Tonight? You mean you aren't taking another trip?”

Fernando grinned. “Not tonight, Ma.”

“That's right,” Josephine whispered as though she were just realizing, “these trips usually take place over the weekends.”

“Ma…” Fernando groaned, knowing where her probes were headed.

“Dare I suggest that these are weekend…getaways?”