Rulers of Deception (26 page)

Wyatt slammed his
cell phone down upon the granite kitchen counter, fuming. She still wasn’t answering her phone. It’d been six hours since she took off and left him, and no one had seen or heard from her. Not the hotel, her brothers, or even her goddamn mother. He was at his wit’s end over what to do.

Where the hell was his wife?

Thinking of Franco had his anxiety pumping into violent overdrive. What if the cartel had found her? What if they’d already killed her?

He paced the floor of the kitchen, pulling at his hair and barely holding back a scream of anguish. Imagining her lifeless and bloody body lying crumpled in a sewer somewhere tore at his insides and set them on fire. He couldn’t bear that. He’d slaughter every last person in sight until he got to her killers if he had to.

Realizing there was nothing more he could do at home but wait, he made the impulse decision to go looking for her. It was a city of eight million people but surely he could trace her likely steps. She couldn’t have gone that far. And if he saw any sign of the cartel, then he would hunt them down and kill them.

Grabbing his keys, he tore out of the house and scrambled down to the street where he’d parked his Porsche. Hopping in the driver’s seat, he took off into the heart of Manhattan. He weaved in and out of light traffic, going twice the legal limit and not giving a damn what happened to him.

He passed by the hotel first, just to see if there was any sign of her. The building looked quiet and ordinary as he’d expected. Driving on, he rolled down the window and stared out at the few people walking the streets, hoping to see her. It was possible she’d gone for a long walk to be alone.

Heading toward Central Park, he kept scouring the pedestrians and cars, searching. He drove along the edge of the park as the panic within him reached a boiling point.

When headlights flashed bright in his rearview mirror, he looked up. Irritated, he changed lanes and sped off. But as he came to another stoplight the same vehicle approached him once again, headlights shining right into the back of his car.

Turning around, he noticed the car was a big black van, just like the one he’d seen outside his home weeks earlier. Realizing it must be the cartel, he shoved out of the car as the light turned green and ran up to the driver’s side window of the van. The tinted glass kept him from seeing who was inside, but he banged on it with his fists and screamed.

“
Where is she?
”

The van pulled out of the lane, nearly clipping him, and took off down the road. He stared after it for a second, surprised that they fled. Why the hell did they run?

Horns went off around him as impatient drivers honked. He hopped back into his car and gunned it, knowing he could easily catch the van. He twisted in and out of traffic, seeing the black van just ahead. It ran a red light at East 72
^nd
Street, prompting him to speed through it himself. Tires squealed all around him as cars dodged out of his way, allowing him to squeeze by and continue off down Fifth Avenue.

The van picked up speed as traffic lightened and he inched closer, getting within a few car lengths of his target. Instinct had him reaching for the .38 special he’d bought a few days earlier in the glove compartment, wanting nothing more than to use it on those sick sons of bitches.

His foot jammed into the gas to propel him within a few inches of the van’s bumper. He tapped it with his own, a dark grin twisting his features. “Come on, you bastards. Pull the fuck over.”

When the van suddenly twisted to the left down a side street, Wyatt spun the wheel and whirled around to follow. He cut off a few cars that nearly clipped him, and accepted their angry horns as he continued the chase. A few pedestrians leapt out of the path of the speeding van up ahead, only to gape at Wyatt as he sped by. Even if he hit someone, he didn’t think he’d stop. Not now.

Flipping off the safety on his revolver, he held it in his left hand and leaned his arm out of the car. Aiming at the back tires of the van, he fired off a few shots. They sparked and ricocheted off the bumper, but didn’t make contact with the tires. Gritting his teeth, he tried again, using up the last of his six rounds. He brought his arm back into the car and tossed the gun onto the passenger seat. There was more ammo hidden beneath the driver’s seat, but if he reached for it he’d crash. He would have to reload once he could stop again.

Focusing on catching the van, he followed it as it went right and then a quick left, then another left heading straight for the Vasser Hotel. He imagined Madison inside, tied up and frightened, and let the rage fuel him and chase away his fear.

Suddenly, his car sputtered and weakened, losing power. His eyes fell upon the gas gauge, realizing with horror that he was out of gas. “Shit.”

He had no choice but to ease the Porsche to the side of the road. As he parked, he watched the black van escape up the street and out of sight.

Mortified, Wyatt slammed his forehead against the steering wheel and cursed the world. He hadn’t been able to catch them, hadn’t been able to save her. If she wound up dead it was all his fault. It had always been his fault.

Glancing up, he realized he was within a block of the Vasser Hotel. Having no other option, he left his car sitting on the side of the street and wandered up to the hotel.

As he walked, he tried to run through the events in his mind. Firstly, the van had sought him out. So clearly the cartel wanted to spook him. But when he’d attempted to talk to them, they’d run. That was the part he couldn’t work over in his head. Why would they turn tail and leave after confronting him?

The only explanation he could think of was that they’d expected
him
to run, and when he didn’t it caught them off guard. That meant his foe wasn’t nearly as intimidating as he was led to believe. It also meant he could win this fight, if he could just track them down again.

But first things first, he had to find Madison. Until she was safely home, he’d be able to think of nothing else.

S
he felt the pain pounding in her right temple first. It drew her out of a dark and restless sleep, pulling her from the shadows of solace and into the vibrant, blooming ache.

Her throat was parched. When she fought to open her eyes, the first thing she noticed was a glass of water sitting on the nightstand. Grateful, she tried to sit up and instantly regretted her decision. Her entire world pounded and shuddered, sending shockwaves of nausea and pain throughout her body. Wincing, she grabbed the water and sipped at it, worried if she drank too much she might throw it back up again.

She looked around the room, not recognizing where she was. The bed was foreign to her, as was the sleek white furniture and flat-screen television mounted to the wall. A glance at the digital clock on the nightstand informed her it was just after nine o’clock in the morning.

Unable to process what had happened or why, she slipped from the bed and made her way into what she discovered was a bathroom. Turning on the light, she went to splash water on her face only to see a note sitting on the counter.

As she read it, the events of the night before came roaring back to her.

Dearest Madison,

Thanks for a great time last night. Sorry I had to leave before you woke up, but I have a meeting this morning. Hope we can do this again soon.

Cheers,

Daniel

Her hand trembled as she read the letter over and over again, realizing she had no memory of coming to his home, much less to his bed. The last thing she remembered was being at the bar.

Disgust filled her as she realized she must have slept with him. Somehow she’d let herself lose control and she’d been taken advantage of. Never before in her life had she felt so violated and careless.

A sob escaped her throat as she thought of Wyatt. He couldn’t find out. If he did, she knew she’d lose him forever.

With an enraged cry, she tore the letter to pieces and tossed them in the toilet and flushed, needing to erase all evidence. Then she stormed back into the bedroom, mind still reeling from the aftereffects of alcohol, and grabbed her clothes and purse. Dressing herself, she fixed her hair and makeup as best she could and left the room. She took a second to study Daniel’s apartment, finding it tidy and meticulously clean. He preferred white on everything, which only blinded her and made her head hurt more.

Fighting to maintain some semblance of control, she slipped out the front door and down the elevator. Once out on the street, she hailed a cab to take her home. She prayed to God that Wyatt wasn’t there. She needed some time to collect herself and desperately needed a shower to wash away any trace of that horrific night.

When she arrived at her townhome, Wyatt was nowhere to be found. Grateful, she threw off her clothes and tossed them in the fireplace, then hurriedly took a shower. She scrubbed at her skin, tears leaking from her eyes despite her concentration on cleansing herself. She had to get rid of him, had to forget what she’d done. It was the first time in her life she felt true regret. The effect it had on her was damning.

By the time she finished getting ready it was after ten. She was over an hour late for work and struggled to find some sort of excuse for her disappearance. There would be questions and she had to have some sort of explanation.

Her mind was still turning when she arrived at the hotel and walked up to her office, not willing to wait for the elevator. She avoided Grant’s office and went straight into her own, ignoring Carrie completely even as the other woman tried to speak to her.

It wasn’t until she stepped into her office that she realized why Carrie sought to warn her. Wyatt sat in her desk chair, leaning back casually with a cold, hardened look on his face. At the sight of him she felt a small part of her resolve waver. God, what had she done?

“And to think I thought you were lying dead in a gutter somewhere,” Wyatt drawled, eyes flashing dangerously.

She shut the door behind her, facing him without emotion. “I needed some time alone so I spent the night at the Hilton.”

He managed a half laugh and scowled at her. “I thought we weren’t supposed to lie to each other, Madison?”

His use of her first name shamed her in ways she didn’t even know existed. Her only choice was to combat it with anger. It was a matter of survival. “Even if I was lying, it would be justified given the way you’ve been acting.”

His brows rose curiously. “Oh? You mean acting like this?”

He tossed a series of photographs onto the desk. She stared at them in horror, unable to speak. There were images of her with Daniel at the bar, drinks in hand. One showed Daniel leaning in for a kiss, his hand trailing low over her thigh. Another image showed her whispering in his ear while he loosened his tie. The last image showed the two of them leaving, hanging onto each other as they slipped into a cab.

“They arrived this morning, packaged in the same way the pictures of Quinn and Lynette were. But somehow I don’t think this is as innocent,” Wyatt said, studying her coldly.

Madison’s heart burst with a glory of horror and pain. The bloodied wreck it left behind echoed hollowly within her chest. It took all she had to not break down at that very moment. This was by far worse than anything she had ever endured.

She met her husband’s eyes, seeing the pain she’d caused him. He let it out for her to see, exposing the royal mess she’d left of his own heart, and it only destroyed her further.

“What the fuck, Madison?” Wyatt murmured, hands clenching and unclenching as he struggled to control himself.

Knees weak, she settled into one of the chairs opposite him and took a deep breath. With all the strength she had left, she faced him and offered the only thing she could. “I’m sorry. I won’t deny what you see in these pictures. I can’t.”

He saw the horror in her eyes, the disbelief. Though she tried so hard to conceal her emotions, he knew where to look. The strange crease between her brows showed the pain she felt. The lack of fire in those amber eyes meant she was weakened. The slight quiver of her lips signaled a desperate need to cry. She was pale as death and looked like she’d been to hell and back. In all his life, he’d never seen a woman, much less his Madison, look so defeated.