Rise of the Notorious (3 page)

Yet they had demanded it. Who was he to deny the whims of a force he had no hope of defeating?

His earlier smile faded as sweat began to bead on his forehead. He wiped it away nervously with the handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit jacket, his nearly colorless blue eyes darting to the door of his office. Any minute now that wench would walk in, primed for their scheduled appointment. What he wouldn’t give to throttle her for what she was making him do...what he had no
choice
but to do.

Lazy afternoon sunlight poured in from the window at his back and highlighted the auburn of his neatly combed hair. It pierced through the half-open blinds so that slats of light shone golden on the white wall across from him. Decorating the wall were his awards, achievements, and family photographs. He turned his eyes away from the photograph of his father, feeling sick to his stomach.

If he got caught then it was all over. Everything. He was a doomed man if this ever,
ever
came back to him. He just had to pray with everything he had that the Vassers had the situation on their end under control. If that man ever killed again…Paul shuddered to even think of it.

Blood was going to be on his hands now. Blood of men he had never met, distant relatives of the wife he should have never married. Damn the Vasser name for carrying its prestige and allure. Damn them all for forcing his hand on this godforsaken cover-up!

A sharp, brisk knock on his office door startled him. Struggling for words, he attempted to clear the sudden lump that rose in his throat. He’d be damned if he let that Vasser woman know he feared her…

“Come in.” Paul watched as the door slid open and
she
entered...all long, slender legs and vivid red silk. Golden hair was perfectly styled to curl around her soft, angular face that held a coldly detached and ruthless expression. It was like the devil himself had just ascended from Hell disguised as an angel, ready to collect his due.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Morgan. So nice to finally meet you,” Stella Vasser purred, a cat-like grin brightening her face as she shut the door, her dark coat draped over her arm. “I appreciate you agreeing to see me to discuss the matter at hand. My family will be eager to learn what the status is on the investigation.”

“Don’t play coy with me,” Paul growled, slamming his fist down upon his metal desk in a wave of sudden fury. “I know why you’re really here.”

Stella’s grin remained, but her expression notably hardened. Her eyes of rich cobalt examined him as a spider would a fly trapped in its web. And, what a web she had weaved. Until she had this particular little fly snared and secured, her husband and her family faced terrible consequences for what had been done. For what Cyrus had done…

“I know you do. However, all pretenses must be carefully maintained.” She sauntered forward on sharp heels and took a seat gracefully in one of the armchairs facing his desk. Folding her hands primly in her lap over her coat and purse, she eyed him once more. “My husband anxiously awaits his flight back from France.”

“He should have died there,” Paul spat viciously.

Stella’s stunning red lips curled into an angry snarl. “How dare you say such a vile thing!”

“How dare he commit such vile acts!” Paul cried out, the urge to jump to his feet and leave her and the whole mess behind exploding through him.

“His reasons are none of your concern,” she replied through gritted teeth, eyes flashing dangerously. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

Paul forced himself to be calm, sucking in deep breaths through his nose in an attempt to quell the uneasiness and anger coursing through his veins. The nerve of these people…

“What exactly would you like me to do?” he finally asked, avoiding her cold eyes. He had never met the husband, but he had to be a crazy bastard to marry a woman like this. It irked him that despite everything else about her, he couldn’t deny that she was one of the most beautiful creatures he had ever seen.

And when she gazed at him with that ruthless power in her eyes, it made him feel a foot tall.

“I want you to bury it.”

He laughed, a dark, forced cackle that was borderline hysterical. “You think it’s just that easy?”

“Of course it is. You’re in charge, are you not?”

“Damnit, woman, this is the Army!” He threw his hands up into the air, exasperated as he glared at her again. “Incidents of this magnitude do not just get brushed aside!”

“Sure they do.” Stella stared him down with all of the conviction she could muster. She had to hold strong, had to protect her husband. She was his only shot. “This is war, Mr. Morgan. Men die. Record the deaths as casualties of war and we will be done with this.”

“And what of the evidence, Mrs. Vasser? It is already a matter of record, as are the witness statements and the commander’s report.” Paul reached for a manila folder at his side, thrusting it across the desk. It landed before her and she eyed it with amusement.

“It is your word that determines the fate of my husband, not the evidence nor the witness statements. If you choose not to pursue this investigation, then it will be filed away, never to be looked upon again. That is all I ask of you.”

“And what happens when it is discovered that I covered up one of the most atrocious war crimes committed against fellow American soldiers in the history of the Army?” he asked, the heat in his voice mixing with a bitterness he couldn’t shake. “Will my wife’s family somehow protect me when it’s my head on the chopping block?”

“We take care of our own,” Stella replied easily. “At least those who serve our purpose.”

A cold chill settled in his gut at her words, sending a shiver down his spine. He didn’t need to ask what was done with those, even inside the family, who did
not
serve their purpose. There were three dead bodies being shipped back from France who would be a testament to
that
violent truth.

“Then consider it done.” He settled back against his chair, dejected. There was nothing he could do; he couldn’t refuse her request. If the Vasser family fell under the weight of this horror, his wife and consequently he would fall with them. It was a connection he despised, and yet could not ignore.

Because he was now a part of the Vasser family, he had unwittingly become a player in this elaborate cover-up staged by Cyrus Vasser and his cunning wife, Stella. She had assured him the rest of the family knew nothing, which made the truth that much easier to hide. He wondered briefly how Cyrus Vasser’s parents would react if they ever found out he murdered his own brothers in cold blood, just to gain control of the family empire. He silently prayed that day would never come.

Stella rose to her feet, extending her hand to his. “Thank you, Mr. Morgan. I will inform my in-laws that the deaths have been ruled an accidental consequence of war. You have our sincerest appreciation. We will not forget this.”

He stared at her hand blankly for a moment before accepting it and rising from his seat.

“Have a safe trip back to New York, Mrs. Vasser,” he said dully, watching as she turned and swept from the room, the scent of her sultry perfume lingering in the air. He shuddered once as he sank back into his chair.

He was right when he realized this moment would haunt him for the rest of his life. What he didn’t know was that it would also haunt, and even attempt to destroy, the life of his unborn son.

If he had known, perhaps he would have crashed and burned with the truth instead of covering it up. It would have been the noble thing to do.

W
hen he pushed through the doors of the conference room and discovered it empty, Grant Vasser let out an impatient sigh. It was typical he was the first to arrive for a meeting but that didn’t make it any less irritating.

He continued into the room, carrying his briefcase filled with legal documents, financial statements, reservation statistics, and a small roll of Tums, wondering if he should sit at his usual spot at the head of the table or if he should sit elsewhere. He wasn’t sure what this meeting would entail, given the unique events that had sparked it. All he knew was his sister was now in charge of the family and she would want the head spot.

Part of him was eager to let her have it.

Deciding upon the chair directly to the right of the head seat, he set his briefcase down on the table and began to open it, only to pause, his hands hovering over the latches.

He didn’t even know what was going to be discussed. He had just brought as much information as he could to be prepared. As general manager, it was his responsibility to be privy to all manner of information about the hotel. But part of him had a feeling that this meeting was not just going to be about sales figures and tanking reservation numbers.

No, he had a feeling that Madison had something important to say. And it was likely to be earth shattering.

With a heavy and tired sigh, he left his briefcase sitting on the table and wandered toward the wide, expansive windows that opened to the view of the city outside. Mid-morning sunlight cascaded down between the buildings of New York, glittering against the glass and steel. It calmed him to take in the beauty of the city he loved, and know that, despite everything, the Vassers still had a place there.

They were going to make it; he had to believe that. The moment he stopped believing in his family was the moment he himself would be destroyed.

It pained him to think of the turmoil they had faced in the last few months, of the chaos that had brought them to their very knees. The scandal that had rocked the solid foundation he had believed in still threatened to bring to ruin everything he, and they, had worked for.

Then again, when something like murder rears its ugly head, what else could be expected? Even when the murder, or rather
murders
, were decades in the past—buried under years of lies and deception, cover-ups and flat out denial.

His grandfather Cyrus had been a killer, the truth resurfacing only when the letters of a dead woman named Rosalie and the eye-witness account of Grant’s father, Win, came to light and upended the entire Vasser family. The situation had corroded even further when Cyrus confessed to everything and then committed suicide, leaving Madison in charge and the rest of them in shock and bitter disbelief.

What could be done other than accept the disturbing truth and move on? There was nothing he could do to change the past, but he vowed to make sure he influenced the future. The greatness of the family had to be restored.

It was a legacy several generations old, one that deserved better than to crash and burn in murderous flames. He had no intention of letting it fail, and knew Linc and Madison didn’t either. Together, he had to believe that they would succeed.

“You always look so stoic and lonely standing in front of a window like that.”

Grant turned and watched as Madison strolled into the room, her dark hair pulled back into a sleek tail and her expression warm. She approached him, a stack of folders in her arms.

He smiled. “Not lonely. And only sometimes stoic.”

“Mmm…yes, that secretary of yours has chased the loneliness from your eyes,” Madison observed, pleased at the notable difference she could see in her brother’s expression. He still looked tired, but any trace of the coldness he had always possessed had vanished.