Rise of the Notorious (2 page)

She had never loved any man the way she loved Wyatt, with a fiery passion and a crushing need that consumed her every waking moment until she couldn’t stand it unless she was at his side. He was intense and fiercely obsessed with her, emotions she knew only too well as she possessed them herself. They were similar creatures and that was why it was easy to fall in love with him. It barely took more than a touch to become mesmerized with each other, which was exactly how she always hoped love would be.

Smiling again, she swept through the service entrance and into the restaurant’s kitchen, her eyes catching sight of Raoul, one of the cooks at the hotel. He was busy whipping up eggs in a large, stainless steel bowl at a furious speed, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he worked.

She and Raoul became fast friends the moment she began working for her Uncle Duke because, like herself, she recognized in him an ambitious and restless spirit. He craved status, power, and the finer things in life as much as she did. Once she had her way, she would see to it they both got what they wanted in this life. Success.

“Darling, I hope that quiche is not for Grant and Erin.” Madison smiled as she came up beside him, one hand sliding over his shoulder companionably. “You know she’s lactose intolerant.”

Raoul stopped whisking and glared down at her, his mouth set in a firm line. “
Sí
, but your brother likes it, no? I will make something else for his woman.”

She leaned in to kiss his cheek, coaxing a small smile out of him as she did so. “I can always count on you.”

“It’s nothing.” He brushed her off, reaching for the bowl again to pour the egg into a shallow glass dish layered with pastry dough. “You should go prepare for your brother,
cariño
.”

She glanced at the slim, gold watch on her left wrist. “I have a few hours till they fly in. Enough time to have a glass of wine and take a hot bath.”

He chuckled and shook his head, sprinkling cheese over the quiche. “There is a nice Moscato in the fridge.”

“Fantastic idea.” Madison swept over to the kitchen’s large wine fridge, opening the glass door and reaching for the Moscato. She checked the date on it and smiled. “Excellent. Wyatt enjoys a good white.”

Raoul said nothing as she shut the door and wandered back to him, bottle in hand. “I’ll be down in a couple of hours to help you finish with dinner.”

“
Hasta siempre
,” he murmured without looking at her, his eyes focused instead on the quiche as he finished preparing it.

She paused, her eyes softening as she watched him. It was only when he was feeling emotional that he used that phrase of endearment with her. Just what was bothering him now, she didn’t know. But whatever the reason, she would be there for him when he needed her, just as he was always there for her. Loyalty was everything.

“Until forever, darling.” She briefly squeezed his shoulder before leaving the kitchen, her focus shifting to her lover, who was waiting upstairs.

Since she began working at the hotel she had lived in one of the suites. Because the arrangement wasn’t meant to be permanent, she figured it was best to be close to the action of the hotel instead of living elsewhere in the city. Besides, it didn’t get any more luxurious than a suite at the Vasser Hotel.

Wine in hand, she made her way toward the hotel’s elevators, her head held high and a smooth confidence to her step. The world was hers for the taking, and she absolutely intended to take. Only what she deserved, of course, but she was going to make her grandfather proud. After all, he had entrusted
her
with his most lucrative secrets, trained
her
to be everything he needed her to be. If it wasn’t for him, she would be nothing.

She would never, ever let herself forget that.

The elevator she boarded rose slowly toward the upper floors and she gazed at herself in the mirrored gold doors as she waited. Her long, dark brown hair was meticulously straight, its length falling to nearly her mid-back. Eyes of vibrant amber beneath heavy lids stared back at her, sultry and intense. She was proud of the heritage evident in her appearance, proud that she so greatly resembled the man who she respected above all else. It was all a part of who she was, and who she was becoming.

She was a Vasser, and she would go to the grave defending her family and the empire that was her birthright.

When the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid smoothly open, Madison swept out and strolled down the long hallway, her heeled footsteps muffled by the ornate gold and sapphire carpet. She reached into the small handbag she carried and pulled out her key card just as she came up to the door of her suite.

She slid the card neatly into the slot and pushed the door open, her smile still in place as she entered the room.

“I brought some wine up, darling. I figured we could have some fun before Grant flies in.”

She paused, taken aback as she noticed the empty living area and the neatly cleaned bedroom beyond. Frowning, she stalked through the bedroom and into the adjoining bathroom, expecting him to be there.

When she found it empty, her heart began to race in her chest as frustration and anger surged through her. Where the hell was he?

She tore back into the bedroom, headed straight for the dresser and ripped out the drawers. When she noticed his clothes were missing, her breathing became shallow and forced, her chest constricting painfully.

No, it couldn’t be. He wouldn’t do this.

She stormed into the living room, her hand clenching violently around the wine bottle, her vision hazing with red. That was when she spotted the note, written on the hotel’s white and gold stationary, sitting atop the coffee table. Beside it lay the key to the Mercedes she had given him.

Her handbag fell to the floor as she grabbed the note and hastily read the words, gripping it so tightly that she nearly tore it to shreds.

It read simply:
I’m sorry, sweetheart.

“You godforsaken
bastard
,” she snarled, her hand shaking as she crumbled the note into her fist. In a fit of glorious rage, she hurled the wine bottle against the wall, her heart panging at the resounding crash as glass and wine spilled hideously onto the floor.

As the realization that he had left her exploded through her system, she did the only thing that would satisfy the blood lust coursing through her at that very moment. She tore the room to pieces, cursing his name over and over until her throat was dry and her eyes were bright with tears. The fury she unleashed ripped through the suite like a tsunami; its wake leaving chairs upturned, tables pushed over, vases shattered and draperies ripped from windows. Anything she could grab she did, and as she ruined her pretty possessions she vowed to hunt him down and make him pay.

“Stop it,
cariño
.” Raoul’s voice shot out from the doorway, causing her to falter for the briefest of moments, her chest heaving. In her hands was a priceless Baroque statue, the weapon she intended to use to shatter an equally priceless antique mirror to pieces.

She looked up to meet his dark eyes, and in that instant felt her knees crumble beneath her. Within seconds he was with her, gathering her close, pressing her face into his chest.

“Don’t you dare waste tears on him,” he grunted, glaring around at the destruction she had made, an odd, prideful gleam in his eyes. Although he knew she was normally cool-headed, when provoked she became a vindictive devil capable of catastrophe. “He is not worth it.”

As hard as she tried, her fury could only carry her so far. Her emotions were boiling up to overtake her, cloaking her in misery and abject humiliation. Because that’s exactly what this was. Wyatt Bailey had used her, led her to believe he loved her, and then left. For as long as she lived, she’d damn him to the darkest depths of Hell for scorning her.

“How dare he leave me,” she spat, despising the crack in her voice as the words sank in and enveloped her in despair. When she spoke again, it was more of a whisper and she hated herself for feeling this awful weakness. “How dare he.”

Clutching at Raoul’s white dress shirt, she gave in to her emotions and let them drain her dry, her tears painful and horrific.

Never again. Never again would she trust a man with her heart only to have him trample on it this way. She thought of the night only three weeks earlier when she and Wyatt had impulsively gone to a chapel downtown and tied the knot, completely in secret. No one in her family had any idea. Now, it appeared, they never would.

Raoul held her, seeking to comfort even as a satisfied smile came over his face.

Finalmente.
At last. Wyatt Bailey was gone.

W
hile the world destroyed itself with war thousands of miles away, Paul Morgan sat back comfortably in his desk chair and smiled. He had, thanks to his well-connected father, avoided the overseas conflict. It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle the violence of war or that he was anything less than a true patriot, he just felt his unique skill set was better suited on the home front. And with war crimes on the rise, how could anyone say that he was anything less than necessary?

For him, his job was a simple one. He was a military man who brought other military men to justice.

One thing he knew without a shadow of a doubt was that war was hell. Regardless of this fact, America still expected her men of arms to maintain civility. It was his job to take the cases that were forwarded on from the commanders overseas and see to it that the soldiers who committed war crimes be dealt with accordingly.

It was a job his training as a New York City police officer had primed him for prior to enlisting in the Army to help fight the war. Only, after boot camp, his father had insisted on his removal from the general ranks and his placement in the CID as a warrant officer. It wasn’t the position he had been looking for, but now that he was here he couldn’t be happier.

While the friends he had made in basic training died bloody deaths upon foreign soil, he rested comfortably in Quantico, ready to investigate them if they made a mistake. Sure, it gave him some sleepless nights, but it would be foolish of him to regret his good fortune.

Not that he didn’t have other regrets, of course. In fact, it was becoming much too difficult to not regret one, nagging little thing in particular.

It was the inconvenient string that came attached to the woman he decided to marry three years earlier. Not that he had known at the time that this string would be a burden; he had married her in part for this important string.

His wife was affluent…
very affluent
. Her great uncle had created an American empire, one that had grown into a flourishing, world-renowned business. One that shined like a beacon on the hill for all to admire and envy, eager to feel even some small part of its glory.

It was an empire that was not only monumental, but magnificent and respected.

It was an empire of hotels. The Vasser Hotels.

When he had married her, she had carried the prestigious name Vasser. Now, it appeared that name was going to haunt him until the day he died.

The phone call came unexpectedly days ago; an unwarranted intrusion of the quiet peace in his work environment. It had shattered his resolve, weakened his confidence, and shaken him to the core. How could they ask this of him? How dare they even assume he would play a willing role in the cover-up of something so undeniably heinous?