Warrior Betrayed: The Sons of the Zodiac 3 (8 page)

And how, in what freaking universe, had his opinion come to mean so much to her?

“Do you believe it?”

His dark brown gaze gave away nothing, nor did the harsh set of those broad shoulders. “I’m simply repeating what I’ve heard, Montana.”

The heavy thud of her pulse intensified further at his lack of denial. “That’s not what I asked you.”

“Can you give me one good reason not to believe it?”

And there was her answer. The night before meant nothing to him beyond a job to be done.

Pain twisted through her as she placed a hand over her stomach. Literal, physical pain at the idea this man thought she was…dirty.

Unclean.

Tainted with the blood of innocents.

For reasons she couldn’t quite name, Quinn’s negative opinion of her hurt deeply. Of course, why did what he thought matter at all?

It shouldn’t. She’d known him less than twenty-four hours. But it
did
matter.

“I have nothing to change your opinion with, other than the truth. I don’t run a bad business.”

The air crackled between them as storm clouds descended into that dark brown gaze. “Come on, Montana. Don’t play the innocent. Your father ran one of the world’s most profitable businesses for forty years. Do you really mean to tell me you think it’s all been aboveboard? You’re sitting on profits that make the Queen of England and the Pope look like paupers.”

She didn’t want to listen to this. Didn’t want to listen to him voice the very same questions she’d been fighting for the past six months.

She couldn’t accept the possibility she’d spent her entire life living a lie. Living with wealth and privilege while others suffered at her father’s hands.

The thought she hadn’t wanted to give voice to—the thought that tore her apart in ribbons from the inside out—rose up and swamped her.

Was that the
real
reason her mother left?

Had she found out the truth?

And had she abandoned her daughter to be raised in that filth?

“I would have known. Sensed—” She broke off, the words simply evaporating from her lips.

“Not to mention, your company’s had wild success in the regions of the world where nothing gets done aboveboard or without a hell of a lot of arm twisting.”

His words echoed her own concerns from earlier. “But that’s different. That much is written into our operating policies as an organization, for heaven’s sake. There are regions of the world where you just have to get things done. It doesn’t mean we’re a corrupt business because we know how to grease a few local palms to get our shipments in and out of port. It’s standard practice and you know it.”

Quinn leaped forward at that, his hands placed flat on the desk as he leaned toward her. Despite the oversized nature of the cherry desk, Quinn’s large body took up all the space between them when he leaned forward, his face inches from hers.

Montana desperately yearned for the familiar press of leather at her back, but wouldn’t back down. Would not lean back in her chair, no matter how hard this man tried to dominate the conversation with his physical strength.

“Grease a few palms? Come on now, heiress. Here’s what I know. It wouldn’t take much to look at those situations and decide you wanted a cut for yourself.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Serious as a heart attack. Here’s how I see it playing out. There are all these evil men you have to bargain with to get things done. Even the most basic things like setting up a legitimate business that brings more than enough commerce into the region takes almost more effort than it’s worth because after you’re done paying them, there’s nothing left. So what do you do?”

“It’s not like that. At all!”

Quinn shrugged those big shoulders, but his gaze never wavered. “Sure it is. Here you are, running a legitimate business and you have all these soulless predators who take the riches off the land—oil, diamonds and whatever else they can get their hands on. So what’s any good businesswoman to do? You decide to get in on the action yourself.”

A dizzying rush replaced the thudding pulse in her head as the paperwork she’d reviewed the night before registered again. South African operation.

Minimal participation in the company as they flew under the radar. Modest profits that satisfied, yet didn’t raise any scrutiny. Maximum lifestyle.

“Oh God. Diamonds?” As in smuggling.

Quinn nodded his head, the heavy tenor of his voice pounding the truth home like a judge’s gavel. “You’ve got shipping manifests running through every port in the world. How hard would it be to stash a bit of cargo in your hold? You do that, you can run whatever you want.”

“But I’m not running anything.”

“Somebody is.”

Realization struck with the speed of an oncoming freight train and then she did lean back in her chair, allowing the soft, buttery leather to cushion her body. “That’s the reason for the attacks.”

“Maybe yes, maybe no. Who’d you piss off?”

As his words registered—and the evidence he didn’t believe her—she leaped up, the movement dislodging her chair so it went flying behind her. “I told you, I’m not involved in this.”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you
are
involved in this, Montana. To the very red bottoms of those designer shoes you’re wearing.”

His gaze never wavered from her as his words filled the space up between them. The urge to lean over and press her lips to his roared up, a living, breathing need pulsing with desperate heat.

What was wrong with her?

This man was the only thing who stood between her and a crazy stalker with homicidal tendencies. He thought she was a diamond smuggler and God knew what else.
And
he’d appeared in her life without reason and, despite her best efforts, she hadn’t managed to get any explanations out of him.

So why was it she believed, to the very marrow of her bones, that Quinn Tanner was the only bet worth risking her life on?

The game was up. She was showing her cards and folding.

Who gave a shit if her father was rolling in his grave? Black Jack Grant had gotten her into this mess. Now it was up to her to get herself out.

“I know you don’t believe me. I know it. But I need your help.”

“I already gave you my help.”

“Yeah, but now I need you to actually believe me, too.”

Quinn was saved from answering by a knock on the door. With an impatient glance, Montana uttered a “come in.” Jackson walked in with an armful of folders and laid three stapled documents out on the desk in a neat row. “I’m sorry to bother you with this now, but I need you to sign these so I can get them out tonight. The others can keep until morning.”

“The shipping manifests for the new port?”

“Yep.” Jackson nodded as he reached for his own BlackBerry clipped at his waist. “If I don’t get these in the overnight, they won’t make it to the Tokyo office on time and legal still needs to see them as well.”

“It’s already tomorrow,” Quinn offered with a small smile, bemused despite himself at the efficient symphony playing out before him. “Where you’re sending those.”

Montana’s furrowed brow smoothed out lightly at his interruption as she glanced up from the paperwork. “No matter how often I travel, that will never make sense to me.”

“The space-time continuum?” Quinn offered.

“I guess you could call it that. All I know is that there’s something distinctly odd about arriving somewhere that I lose an entire day of my life. It’s unnerving.”

If she thought
that
was unnerving, Quinn wondered how she’d handle a teleport through space. An image filled his mind’s eye of the two of them hand-delivering those papers she signed to the Tokyo office in the flash of a moment.

The thought was followed by another…that he’d actually
like
to take her on a port.

Montana handed the signed documents to Jackson, then shot the man a quick, adoring look. “What would I do without you?”

“Likely spend far more time here than you already do. Now get back to your meeting. I’m sorry for the interruption. And”—he cut her off as she opened her mouth to speak—“I’ll drop the last of the paperwork for your review at your place on my way home tonight.”

“Truly. You’re amazing.”

“I know.”

Quinn watched Jackson leave the office, fascinated by the man’s byplay with Montana. “You and Jackson have a rhythm.”

“He’s wonderful. Always has been. And he’s a good friend to boot.”

Quinn gazed at the perfection that was Montana Grant—long, sleek red hair, porcelain skin, a lithe body that held the most fascinating, feminine curves.

To the outside world, her life looked perfect.

She
looked perfect.

“You don’t have many of those, do you?”

The delightful blue of Montana’s eyes narrowed as she directed the full force of her gaze on him. “That’s a lovely thing to say.”

“Sarcasm noted. However, I didn’t mean it as anything other than a statement of fact. You’re wealthy and you run a multibillion-dollar conglomerate. Your company’s budget is larger than most small countries. Must be hard to make friends.”

The harsh set of her shoulders drooped ever so slightly and some of the sharp icicles left her frost-blue gaze. “No, you’re right. There aren’t all that many inside the inner sanctum. Jackson is one of them.”

“Why him?” He kept the question casual, but Quinn often knew it was the simplest answers that said the most about a person.

“Because he sees me.”

Bingo.

“I see you.”

“No, you see a woman who you believe runs diamonds, drugs and God knows what manner of other things. You see me as an object to be dealt with. Jackson sees me as his friend.”

“But you’re his boss.”

“And if he left tomorrow—and I’ve offered him money countless times to do just that and start his own company—he’d still be my friend. In the meantime, he stays here. He says he likes it. And frankly, I like his company far too much to send him away.”

Quinn thought of his own friends. Although they were brothers in arms, they were friends first. From different backgrounds, different histories, different walks of life. But they all had one thing in common.

A fierce loyalty to one another and a willingness to watch one another’s back. Until, of course, your friend made a decision you didn’t agree with and you fucked him over.

Damn it, no matter how many times he thought about it—his refusal to aid his friend—Quinn couldn’t escape the wickedly sharp needles of guilt that wouldn’t leave him.

Friendship, Quinn mused, was a pain in the ass.

Montana stared at the closed door of her office a long time after Quinn left, replaying each and every moment of their conversation.

Could he possibly be right about her mother?

Was there something—some reason—that had forced Eirene Grant away all those years ago? Something so horrible that leaving her husband and baby behind was preferable to dealing with it.

And what was with those weird questions about Jackson? Even as she thought it, she dismissed it pretty quickly. Quinn, no doubt, had Jackson at the top of his alternate-suspect list if she turned out to be innocent in his mind’s eye.

But damn it, she
was
innocent.

Of course, the man was clearly someone who had to come to his own conclusions, so let him think what he wanted. He’d figure it out eventually.

She was innocent of whatever wrongdoing he suspected.

And based on his suspicions—the ones he voiced—she was hell-bent on getting to the bottom of whatever else might be going on in her company.

Like a never-ending kaleidoscope of unanswerable questions, Montana shifted her thoughts back to her mother. She knew she shouldered far too much of the perceived blame for her mother’s choices and she had years in therapy to show for it. Even now, as the idea of Eirene’s abandonment tumbled through her mind with Quinn’s added perspective, Montana wavered between opposing sides of the argument that had haunted her throughout her life.

Every rational thought in her head assured her an infant could have absolutely no fault in the choice of an adult.

But that motherless child that lived inside of her had always felt differently on the matter.

She wasn’t good enough.

She wasn’t worth keeping.

She wasn’t worth loving.

And speaking of Quinn, why did he change the subject every time she tried to bring up Themis? Oh, he was subtle about it, but he was clearly deft at moving past that topic.

Why?

“You ready for lunch?” Jackson poked his head through her office door.

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“What did the man candy want?”

Montana threw him a glance as she reached for her purse. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, don’t play coy with me. You know I’m referring to the Adonis you spent half the morning with in here. Men like that don’t come along every day, honey. Believe you me.”

She couldn’t stop the light giggle that rumbled up at Jackson’s affronted tone. Affecting a more serious air as she walked around the desk, Montana added, “Based on the death glare you shot him every ten seconds, I’m surprised you’re the one now singing his praises. And, besides, isn’t that objectifying him if we call him man candy?”

“Just because I was worried about you didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate the fine specimen that he is. And man candy isn’t derogatory when used as a term of respectful awe. Which, I might add, is how I’m using it.”

They rode the elevator silently and it wasn’t until they neared the exit in the main lobby that Montana slowed her pace and turned toward Jackson, forcing him to slow, too. “Worried about me? Why?”

“The man’s the head of one of the city’s most well-respected private security firms. And it’s not like we don’t have a shitload of security in this place.”

“Yes? So what?”

Jackson kept them moving outside, away from the prying eyes of any staff members moving through the lobby on their lunch hour. “So it was a pretty easy leap to ask myself what the man’s doing with my best girl.”

“Did anyone ever tell you you have way too huge a sense of entitlement for a personal assistant?”

Jackson flagged down a cab hurtling in their direction from a half a block away. “And did anyone ever tell
you
you have no idea how to manage a personal assistant? Seriously? It was your idea to take me to the Oak Room. Are you trying to give me a big head, taking me to lunch at the Plaza?”

Montana laughed, enjoying the first real easing of the tension riding her shoulders all morning. “Cheeky.”

Jackson leaned in and bussed her cheek for a quick kiss as the cabdriver’s launch from the curb threw them both back against the seat. “Count on it.”

She was still smiling ten minutes later as they walked into the restaurant. Jackson never failed to cheer her up and his animated chatter about the curve of Quinn Tanner’s ass for the duration of the cab ride was—she had to admit—right on the money.

The smile abruptly vanished as a series of stares greeted her inside the restaurant. Just as it had the night before at the gala, the feeling of being on display chaffed.

Get a grip, girlfriend. You’ve lived with this your entire life. What’s suddenly changed?

Montana rubbed her stomach and took a deep breath, unable to understand why she suddenly felt so exposed.

And vulnerable.

“You okay, sweetie? You’re pure white,” Jackson whispered so no one heard his comments as they followed the maître d’ to their table.

“I’m fine.” Montana gritted her teeth as they were led straight to a table smack dab in the center of the room.

Seriously?

Why today of all days?

With a resigned sigh, Montana took the seat the maître d’ held out for her and offered him a polite smile.

Jackson’s eyebrows practically touched his hairline as he shot her a castigating look while settling his napkin on his lap. “You want to try honesty this time?”

“It’s true. I am fine.”

“Okay. I’ll rephrase my question. What happened with Tanner this morning?”

“Jackson. Come on. It’s nothing.”

“I’m giving you three more seconds and then I’m calling him myself.”

Montana weighed the wisdom of pulling Jackson into any of this. Although he knew about her mother, he would freak if he knew about the attack the night before. Of course, an extra pair of eyes watching her back couldn’t exactly hurt, either. She weighed her options a few more beats as Jackson’s dark green eyes bored into hers.

“Okay. Fine. I’ll tell you. But let’s order first so we’re not interrupted or possibly overheard.”

Jackson nodded once, flipped quickly through his menu, then laid it on the edge of the table. Their waiter took their orders and left them alone, obviously used to the business lunch crowd.

Leaning forward, Montana closed her eyes and whispered on a rush, “What do you know about astrology?”

“Not much past what I read in the
Post
every morning on the subway.”

“And what about Greek mythology?”

“You mean like gods and goddesses and stuff?”

Montana nodded, surprised when the words continued to spill out of their own accord. “I mean exactly like gods and goddesses. I think they’re trying to kill me.”

“Kill you?” Jackson’s voice was an urgent whisper as his hands clenched into fists on top of the table. “You can’t possibly be serious.”

“Sadly, I am.”

“Even if we assume for a moment I believe any of what you’re telling me—and I always believe you—what does this have to do with astrology?”

“Potentially a lot. Maybe nothing.”

Jackson held up a hand. “Do I need a drink for this?”

“Probably.”

With a quick wave to their waiter, Jackson flagged him back to the table. “Two vodka tonics. Double the vodka.”

“Yes, sir.”

Montana watched as a series of reactions flitted across her friend’s face. Disbelief. Shock. Anger. One morphed into the next as Jackson struggled to find words. “Okay. What the hell is this all about?”

“You’re going to think I need serious help.”

“I already think that. Now spill.”

Montana wanted to be offended at Jackson’s frank assessment, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t summon much annoyance. “That’s not a nice thing to say.”

“We threw nice out the window my second day on the job. Would you quit stalling and tell me?”

“I’ve told you about my mother.” At Jackson’s nod, Montana updated him on Eirene’s delusions, culminating with all the things she said on her last visit. “She can’t stop talking about Greek gods and goddesses. I don’t know if it’s code for something, or if they’ve somehow taken on some role in her mind. All I know is the latest is that she’s insisting that someone’s been sent to protect me.”

“Protect you from what?”

“She won’t define the what exactly. Just that I need protecting. And then there was the attack last night. And Quinn was there to save me.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What attack?”

Montana rounded out her story with the details of the previous evening. “So the man candy came in handy, just in the nick of time.”

“You could say that.”

Although he’d peppered her with a stream of questions throughout the telling of the previous evening’s events, Jackson’s eyes were hard emeralds, focused on her face as he took in every bit of her story. “I’m going to allow for the fact you had virtually no sleep and an early-morning visitor as the reason you didn’t tell me any of this first thing.”

Adding in a long-suffering sigh for good measure, Jackson continued. “What would your mother know of Quinn? And do you think she’s responsible for any of this?”

“She can’t be.”

“Montana.” His tone gentled. “You know nothing about her. And here she is, suddenly a part of your life, telling you things are going to happen and then they do. And mythology? What better cover for making you think she’s nuts?”

And just like that, every insecurity she’d tried to tamp down on earlier came rumbling back to life with the strength and speed of a herd of bulls. “It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it? Your father’s gone six months and then your mother shows up a few weeks before you take the company public?”

The truth of his words were like sharp, stinging icicles against her skin. “It’s not like that. It doesn’t feel like it.”

“Come on, honey. You’ve had more than your fair share of heartache. Now you’re dealing with this. What else could it possibly feel like?”

Montana heard the edge in her voice—that not-so-subtle desperation that ground against her vocal chords. “But she’s not threatening. And neither is Quinn.”

“If they are a couple of operators, that’s exactly what they want you to think. Besides, that man’s hot enough to scramble a few brain cells.”

“But it’s not like that.”

Wasn’t it?

The steady sound of Quinn’s heartbeat rushed through her ears as she remembered their previous evening on the couch. A flood of warmth filled her, skittering along her nerve endings in the exact place where his large arms had wrapped around her body.

“And you’re not even supposed to be noticing those things.”

Jackson leaned forward. “Hey. I’m single and un-attached. That’s what happens when you have a slave driver for a boss. Surely, said boss wouldn’t deny me a little bit of fun.”

Montana dabbed neatly at her lips with her napkin, her spirits already rising. “And there just went that raise I was getting ready to put through to HR for you.”

“A
bitchy
slave driver,” Jackson added for good measure. Switching gears, her dog-with-a-bone personal assistant veered straight back to their conversation, preinterruption. “So tell me more about this astrology stuff.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing ten minutes ago.”

Montana thought about Jackson’s quick dismissal of anything related to the supernatural. Sadly, he was probably right. “Yeah, but it’s nothing now. I was just being silly.”

“I didn’t mean that, Montana.”

“I know you didn’t. But it is silly. It’s just my mother. Her being back—and me trying to come to grips with the person she is—it’s got me thinking in circles.”

“It takes a toll, honey. Add to that all the stress and pressure of work. A few odd thoughts here and there are to be expected.”

Montana accepted his comments for what they were—a dear friend trying to calm her with logic and reason. But somewhere deep inside—in that place that not only recognized the truth, but believed it—she knew she was right.

On a groan, Jackson shifted his attention to the vibrating BlackBerry sitting on the table. With a quick head shake at the screen, he shot a longing glance at his half-eaten lunch. “The contracts department. I left one of the backup pages for the manifests on my desk by mistake and they can’t finish the contracts without them.”

“Can someone help you?”

“It’s confidential information on that large shipment for one of the big electronics manufacturers. No one else needs to see it. I’m going to have to excuse myself and get back. Will you be okay?”

“Of course. I’ll grab a cab.”

“With all that’s going on, are you sure you should be by yourself? I can have car service over here before you’re ready to leave.”

Montana waved it off, even as she was touched by his concern. “I’m fine. We’re dining in the middle of one of the city’s oldest hotels. Cabs line up around the block—I won’t even have to wait.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. I’m a tough broad.”

Jackson gave her a big smile as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Yes, you are.”

As she watched his retreating back, Montana wondered why she was having such a hard time believing it.

Quinn stood at the curb and waited for Montana to leave the Plaza. It galled him to stand outside and wait for her, like a pet dog left tied up outside a store while his master did as she pleased, but it wasn’t to be helped. He wanted to keep an eye on her and intruding on her lunch would have gotten her back up.

Especially because she was only going to get her back up even further when he informed her he was attending her scheduled function this evening as her date.

Quinn did bless his overdeveloped eyesight—and her willingness to keep her schedule in a neat plastic cover on the corner of her desk—for the location of her lunch and the information for the evening.

Yet another black-tie charity affair would benefit from her patronage. At least this time she was attending as a guest and not as the focal point of the evening.

The only question left in Quinn’s mind was whether or not she was planning on taking a date. For some reason he wasn’t comfortable defining, the thought of Montana on a date left a raw, acid-filled path of fire from the bitter taste on his tongue clear to the pit of his stomach.