Sucker Bet (18 page)

"Sir?"

"Find out who he is and kill him. The man she was with. I want him dead within seventy-two hours."

No one was going to touch Gwenna. And if she didn't want him, insisted on maintaining this ridiculous divorce, Donatelli would be damned if he'd let another man have her.

Gwenna had sobered up fairly quickly after the phone call that another body had been found. After Nate had flagged her down a cab, she had returned to her suite and headed right to her computer. It seemed really important to focus on finding the real names for the rest of the e-mail addresses on the slayers' loop.

It was the least she could do to help Nate and the investigation. She didn't care about clearing her name, though she knew that she had to actually be on the list of suspects. She had been in both places a body had been found, and she was on the slayers' loop. Plus she had the horrible suspicion that once this latest victim was identified, they were going to determine that he was on the loop, too.

While she had been drinking like a fish at The Impalers concert and having phenomenal sex with Nate on the sidewalk, the slayers' loop had exploded with the news of Buzzdrew's death. Gwenna was following the thread backward, trying to determine who had first posted the news of his death, and deciphering who knew exactly what, when her mobile phone rang.

A glance at it showed it was Roberto. She should just turn off her ringer, but then it would vibrate all night as he left nine hundred voice-mail messages. Better to just get it over with.

"Hello?" she said absently, studying her screen. The news about Buzzdrew didn't seem to originate from any of the principal players on the loop. It was from a lurker, whose e-mail address was [email protected]. Obviously someone brimming with maturity.

"Gwenna, it's Roberto. How are you?"

Her ex-husband's voice was quite polite. No overt and oozing charm. No references to her being his wife or calling her darling, beautiful, gorgeous, or my love.

How odd. "I'm fine, how are you?" No reason to be rude when he was trying so hard.

"I'm quite well, thank you. Just undergoing some last-minute preparations for tomorrow's swearing-in and the ball. Your brother and I had a meeting this afternoon. Did you have a pleasant evening?"

Gwenna frowned. She and Roberto didn't do casual chitchat. He was starting to unnerve her. "I'm glad to hear you and Ethan are setting aside your personal differences for the sake of the Nation."

"We are both in agreement that it would make quite a positive statement to that effect if you consented to accompany me to the ball tomorrow night."

Shit. So that's where this was headed. "Roberto, that's just not a good idea." And she found it difficult to believe that her brother would applaud her spending a whole night with an arm through Roberto's, even if it was a smart political maneuver.

"Why not? Carrick and I both feel that it will show unity between us, and we'll present a strong and solid government to our constituents."

"I think it would just muddy the water with gossip." And be an unbearable and insufferable evening for her. She didn't want to go and make polite conversation as it was, and she couldn't fathom being paraded around by Roberto while everyone whispered about them. "Besides, I'm not an asset to you. I never was. I am a horrific hostess, which you know damn well, considering it was a flaw you constantly pointed out in me during our marriage."

"I did no such thing."

She couldn't prevent a snort from flying out of her mouth. "Oh, come on. Now you're being utterly absurd. You hated the way I was so shy and lousy at commanding the household staff, and overseeing all your many parties and soirees. I distinctly recall the afternoon when you told me to get my fucking nose out of a book and go slap the housekeeper about, as was befitting a lady of my rank, and your wife."

The words still rankled, all these centuries later. Roberto had married her knowing full well what her temperament and personality were and had chosen to ignore that. He had always assumed she was or could be whatever he wanted, despite the truth irrefutably staring him in the face. While he had wanted a woman capable of ordering and commanding his household with an iron fist, she had been the polar opposite, happiest when reading in the privacy of her salon.

"I don't remember saying anything like that." His politeness was chipping away, and he was starting to sound irritated. "I can't believe that you could possibly remember that verbatim either. But then, you were always intent on keeping a list of every misdeed of mine, from saying 'damn' at the dinner table to forgetting your birthday. Once. One lousy time I forgot and I was subjected to your tears for two days. All I ever wanted was for you to enjoy our life together… to take a little pride in yourself and your position, and to not let the staff and the other ladies run riot over you."

Gwenna felt the insult of his disapproval all over again. "You wanted me to get a backbone."

"Yes."

"But not with you. And now that I have, it drives you insane, doesn't it? Well, sorry, Roberto, but after all these years, I've finally found my backbone and it's not going to break anytime soon."

"I don't consider making a fool out of yourself by jumping onstage at a rock concert to be getting a backbone. That's just being a fool."

She gasped. The… the… she couldn't think of a word ugly enough to describe him. "God, I just hate you sometimes, Roberto. You weren't always such a gigantic bastard, were you? I swear I must have been blind and stupid to imagine we could both live in Vegas and coexist, if not as friends, at least in peace."

"I'm not the one starting an argument. I asked you to go to the ball with me! Doesn't that tell you I'd love to be friends?"

"Actually, no, it doesn't. It tells me either that you're using me to make a statement of power to my brother, that you're interested in having the attention tomorrow focused on you and not Ethan, that you heard I went to a rock concert tonight and it infuriated you enough to want to keep me by your side tomorrow so I don't do something you'd consider equally as idiotic, or you're just plain horny. Perhaps it's all of those." She pushed her chair back and stood up. "But I'm absolutely certain it's not because you want to be chums and hang out at the pub together."

"You wouldn't be this angry if you didn't love me."

That was the most ludicrous logic she'd ever heard. "You're impossible. And I need to go now before I try to strangle you through the telephone."

"Be ready at six. I'll swing by and pick you up."

He had to be ingesting drugs. "I'm not going to the ball with you!"

"Wear blue, please. You always look stunning in blue."

"I'm not going."

"See you then. Good-bye, love."

Gwenna hit the end button and tossed the phone across her desk. The man had the thickest head imaginable. He was as stubborn as ten bulls and she was always waving the red cape without meaning to. Okay, to be completely honest, sometimes she meant to, because he was infuriating.

But while she felt intense anger and frustration with him, the most overwhelming emotion she felt at the moment was resignation. Roberto would never go away. Ever. He would follow her through eternity, harassing and hounding her, until she retreated, back to York, or to somewhere else far away, where he would leave her alone for a century or two.

What had seemed so promising, so possible—a new life, independence, a career, some sort of relationship with Nate—now all seemed hopelessly naive and optimistic. Whatever she tried to do, whoever she would like to date, wherever she might travel, Roberto would be there, in person, or with someone to watch her, and he would remind her of the simple, sweet girl she'd been, who had loved unconditionally, and who had lost it all. She would try to forge ahead into the future, and he would always drag her back into the past, and that was immensely depressing.

Gwenna tucked her hair behind her ears, stood in the middle of the room, and stared blankly at her computer screen. So she was still paying for her mistake in marrying Roberto. Hell, for losing her virginity to him when she was a sheltered eighteen-year-old.

Roberto was going to plague her no matter what she did. She might as well take what she could out of life and enjoy herself along the way, doing her best to ignore him. Maybe eventually he would get tired of her lack of reaction, or find that she was no longer what he even wanted if she was too outspoken, too much of a modern woman. The point was, she couldn't let him dictate her future. She just refused to allow that.

Returning to her computer, Gwenna clicked on Dumb Fuck's e-mail.

Hey, did you all hear? Buzzdrew from the loop is dead…got whacked in Vegas and word is he was drained of his blood. Can you believe that? Man, it sucks to be Buzz… DF

His sensitivity was touching. It was also absolutely lacking in any facts or any hint of how he might have known about Buzz. Considering the police hadn't even identified Andrew until earlier that day, that was amazingly early for DF to have caught wind of it. Gwenna imagined it would be in the Saturday paper, but that wouldn't be out for another eight hours, and when she did a search on the news channels' web pages, they only listed the story as a murder in the train station, the victim a white male. No name. Certainly no mention of the slayers' loop. And no one else seemed to profess any prior knowledge of Buzz's death before DF's post.

Which made her very suspicious of Dumb Fuck.

FoxyKyle expressed concern in her post, and she was either an excellent liar or she was truly upset. She repeatedly said how awful it was, and how funny and witty Buzzdrew was. She even suggested sending flowers to the funeral, which was either a lovely gesture, or the sign of a very calculating and manipulative woman.

Slash's response was along the lines of DF's. Sort of a wow, that's awful, but life goes on. Nothing to indicate he realized the crime had occurred where he had intended to meet Queenie. And no mention that he and Queenie had been talking privately, or that he was actually in Vegas, where the murder had taken place.

Methodically, Gwenna created a list of who posted in what order, who expressed distress, and who showed callous disinterest, and e-mailed it to Nate. Then she posted her own message about Buzz, expressing her sadness and disgust and her hope the killer would be caught, which was all very much legitimate. She did feel absolutely horrific that Andrew's life had been cut off at such a young age. As Queenie, she also offered to contribute to the flower fund. Then at the very bottom, she added, "Does anyone think it had something to do with this loop??"

That would get people talking.

Nate stared at his mother and prayed he wouldn't call her a complete insensitive bitch at his sister's wake. He just bit his tongue and listened to her litany of complaints.

"I can't believe you chose this funeral home. It's in such a rough part of town. I swear I saw graffiti on the building across the street. I was afraid to leave my Mercedes in the parking lot."

He had chosen that particular place because it was close to his house and the police station, and no other reason. In his mind, funeral homes were all the same, and it wasn't exactly a crime-ridden neighborhood. It just wasn't plunked down in the middle of two-million-dollar homes, which was what his mother would have preferred.

"This isn't really a lot of flowers either. And I can't say I care for the arrangement of lilies with baby's breath. This isn't prom."

Nate felt a dull pounding behind his eyes and an overwhelming stabbing pain in his chest. He had no explanation for how this woman had given birth to a person as amazing as Kyra had been, or how his mother could show so little grief at losing her daughter. She truly was more concerned with appearances than the fact that Kyra was gone forever. They would never hear her laugh, never see her get married, never have the joy of watching her raise her own children. She was gone. Dead.

And yet his mother still walked the earth, serving no purpose that he could tell other than to irritate the hell out of him. It was an injustice he didn't understand and was having a damn hard time swallowing.

As they greeted guests, accepted countless condolences, and stood for hours and hours, his mother sniped and pecked and clawed at him every chance she got, griping and complaining and criticizing, her sharp words scraping at his raw nerves until he thought he was either going to demand she shut the fuck up, or he was going to do the unthinkable and walk straight out of his sister's wake. He held on, pulling every ounce of patience to keep it together until he thought he absolutely couldn't stand another second.

That's when he looked up and saw Gwenna Carrick enter the room. She was wearing a simple black dress, her hair pulled back into a smooth knot, her gaze moving around the room. When she spotted him, she looked at him with such sympathy, such understanding, that he cleared his throat to get rid of the lump that was suddenly lodged there.

She walked straight over to him and took both of his hands and kissed his cheek. "How are you holding up?" she murmured.