Warrior Betrayed: The Sons of the Zodiac 3 (7 page)

Even if he did know about her mother, he’d likely know how to hide it from her.

But still…it just
felt
like he had no idea what she was talking about.

Did she dare mention the other things her mother said? That whole weird bit about the
zodiac
and
Themis
and—oh God, was she seriously considering any of this?—his sign.

Taurus.

On a deep breath, Montana pressed him. “Does this have anything to do with what I asked you last night? About Themis?”

Bingo
.

Quinn Tanner might have a poker face, but that quick flicker at the edge of his eyes—not quite a flinch, more like a slight twitch—suggested the question hit home.

“The Greek goddess you asked me about? If you ask me, it sounds like a code word for something. Something in the European division of Grant Shipping?”

His question was fair, even as Montana knew something hovered just under the surface. She couldn’t define it, but she also couldn’t quite shake the feeling she was being maneuvered.

Yes, that was the exact right word.

Maneuvered
.

Like Quinn held all the cards and was just trying to get her to fold.

Quinn took a deep breath as Montana’s assistant entered the office with coffee service. He endured another one of Jackson’s “don’t fuck with me” glares, oddly satisfied to see the man’s loyalty. He’d run the guy already, looking for any abnormalities, any sudden increases in his financial situation.

The guy was clean.

Other than a nice nest-egg annuity and an annual bonus he used to spend two weeks living the high life in the Bahamas every January, there wasn’t any evidence to suggest he had any accounts socked away there. Or hidden anywhere else for that matter.

And he appeared to be as loyal as they came.

Although Quinn wasn’t ready to rule anyone out—not even the delectable heiress sitting opposite him—he’d done this long enough to have a sense of where the dirt was hidden.

Of course, his senses had been off from the start of this project, especially if Grey’s intelligence had any merit.

And knowing Grey, it had a hell of a lot of merit.

The guy knew his criminals, from the lowest pushers to the heads of every crime family in New York. If something was rotten in Denmark—or anywhere else for that matter—the ram knew about it.

“Thanks, Jackson.”

The guy tossed one more glare for good measure, then left the office as silently as he came in.

“I’d like some answers, Quinn.” Montana stared briefly into her coffee cup, before adding, “No matter how dumb the question may seem.”

“Answer my question first. Do you think this reference to Themis has anything to do with your Greek operation? She’s the goddess of justice. Anyone have a vendetta against the company? Operation Themis could be a code word for ‘justice.’”

He watched her mull over the question—saw it spark briefly as something she should consider—before that crystal-blue gaze swung right back to him.

“It seems too odd. Besides, my mother hasn’t been a part of Grant Shipping. She may have been hiding in the shadows, but there’s no way my father would have ever let her get close to the business. Hell, get close to us, period.”

“Things were bad after she left?”

Instantly intrigued by her no-nonsense professional tone as she laid it out for him, Quinn watched her face for any hint the story she told was a front. “It’s hard for me to say what before was like, since she left when I was three months old. But from the snatches I’ve heard here and there, he loved her. When she left, something in him died.”

And then he saw it. The tiniest crumble in her armor. The spark of blue fire that had flared in her eyes when she’d questioned him earlier dulled. The harsh reality of her parents’ marriage dragging the very life out of her expression. “That must have been hard for you.”

As if catching herself, she glanced up from her coffee, any hint of sadness evaporating from her face. “There are worse fates in life.”

Quinn leaned forward, his gaze riveted on hers. “You don’t believe that. I know you don’t. So why don’t you give me the real version of the story instead of that little sanitized story you gave me last night?”

Those delicately arched eyebrows shot up even as the corners of her mouth turned down, and when she spoke her voice was particularly frosty. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Enough bullshit. I want the truth.”

“Thanks for the Jack Nicholson impression, Mr. Tanner, but I really don’t have anything to tell you.”

“I maintain my first answer.” Quinn crossed his arms. “Bullshit. And the name’s Quinn.”

“What the hell do you want from me?
Quinn
.”

“I want your take on what’s going on. Whether it’s related to what’s happening to you or not, the breakup of your parents’ marriage has done a number on you. What do you know that you’re not saying?”

On a harsh breath, Montana’s face lost all color, the normal, healthy pink of her cheeks fading away. Whatever anger she’d mustered against him faded as well in the face of her words.

“It’s me. She left because of me.”

Montana thought her mother abandoned them because of her? An innocent infant, based on the time line of the story. Whatever Quinn expected her to say, that wasn’t it.

“But you were a baby. A welcomed one, at that, if the headlines at the time of your birth are any indication.”

“She didn’t want me and she left rather than stay and raise me. I’d hardly call that an overwhelming motherly instinct.”

Quinn shook his head, searching for the words that might help her understand. “The logic just doesn’t work for me.”

He saw the questions that filled her gaze, layered over the pain of abandonment that clearly lived under her skin. “What?”

“Your father was one of the wealthiest men in the world. And was at the time of your birth as well.”

“Yes?”

“So what would have kept your mother from simply allowing you to be raised by the help?”

The grief that had settled around her like a shawl receded slightly. He could see it in the shape of her body as she leaned forward. The set of her shoulders as she sat staring at him expectantly. “What do you mean?”

An image of her from the previous evening swamped his senses and the urge to reach forward and recapture a loose lock of hair had him lifting his hand from where he gripped the chair. Quinn stopped the impulse just in time, instead laying a hand on the edge of her desk as he leaned forward.

“Think about it. You weren’t exactly born into a family that has to suffer with things they don’t like. If—and I think it’s a seriously big if, based on her recent behavior—your mother didn’t want to be a mother, what reason would she have to leave? All she needed to do was hire a nanny, pat you on the head from time to time and go on with her life. But she didn’t do that. She ran.”

Montana nodded, those lush red curls he couldn’t keep his eyes off resettling around her shoulders. “Yes.”

“And now your father’s dead and she’s back.”

“You really think they’re tied together?”

“I think it’s an awfully large coincidence that deserves some additional investigation. In the meantime, I need you to start thinking more objectively.”

“About what?”

“Your mother. Stop thinking like her child and start thinking like a woman who’s been targeted.”

“It’s not that easy, Quinn.”

“At least acknowledge there might be something else going on. Something related to her.”

At her nod, he kept on going before the emotional land mine he’d just uncovered could slow them down. “Now tell me about that large board meeting you have in a week?”

“My board of directors meeting?”

“It’s a big deal. You’re taking the company public. Looking at all this through a new lens, maybe someone doesn’t want to see that happen?”

Whatever lingering emotion had cloaked her vanished at the potential for problems his words implied. And with that implication, the wounded child became the competent CEO. “A public offering stands to make many people very wealthy. Inside and outside the company. It’s good for business.”

“Not if some of your internal people have a few side businesses of their own.” Quinn decided to go for broke. It was the only way to divert her. The only way to keep her off the subject she kept returning to with unerring precision.

Before she could reply, he pressed on. “Much of the business community thinks Grant Shipping is running some dirty business on the side. You go public and the people doing that are going to have a much harder time hiding it.”

Quinn saw the moment his words penetrated, shifting her thoughts firmly away from Themis. “You think I’m dirty? Is that why you’ve taken a sudden interest in me?”

“You have to admit, the timing is awfully strange.”

“Strange? For what? You sit there, blithely insulting me to the very core and you have the nerve to chalk it up to fucking timing?”

A lovely pink glow suffused her from her cheeks to the generous swell of her neckline. Quinn willfully tamped on the urge to look at the beautiful arch of her breasts, instead focusing on what he had to do: find a way to figure out if she really was as dirty as her old man.

Was it really possible? This woman was light and innocence personified and what he mentally accused her of was the worldwide equivalent of kicking puppies for a living.

Fuck. He needed to get his traitorous dick out of this and focus on the facts.

She helmed the largest shipping company in the world.

Said shipping company was up to its eyeballs in corrupt dealings.

And she was clearly messed up with some nasty—and powerful—people since she’d been targeted for several attempts on her life by supernatural beings.

“Isn’t everything in life about timing?”

She shook her head, confusion now warring with anger. “Now we’re having a philosophical discussion? Well, let me give you a bit of philosophy to chew on. I’m not, nor have I ever been, interested in raping the world of its gifts. I run a legitimate business with legitimate interests and I make legitimate profits. Anything else you’ve heard is bullshit.”

Quinn saw the sincerity in the cold blue of her gaze and in the firm set of her shoulders. Felt it in the bite of conviction that laced her words.

So why did every bit of intelligence he’d managed to source suggest otherwise?

“Come now, Ms. Grant. You can’t honestly tell me you believe that.”

Arturo Veron stepped out of the shower and admired his wet physique in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror in his hotel suite. Long, lean ropes of muscle corded his arms and legs, while eight thick, perfectly formed barrels rode his midsection, from just beneath his rock-hard pecs to the lower portion of his stomach.

But, as always, it was the power that rested just beneath that caught his attention. With deft fingers, he reached below the swath of hair to the long, hard length of his penis, his arousal claiming him instantly at the touch of his hand. He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, imagining the two women he’d shared the previous evening, their moans like a remembered symphony in his head.

And then the image changed. Morphed into the one face he’d never seen writhe in pleasure, save for the rare evenings when he dreamed.

Long, lush red hair that cascaded around her shoulders in waves. Tight, high breasts, their nipples proudly pointed forward. Endlessly long legs that he imagined wrapped around his waist as he plunged himself into her.

The strength of his arousal diminished as he reached for a towel. He no longer took pleasure imagining her. Refused to accept—would
never
accept—that she’d not chosen him. Instead, he returned to his second-most-favorite fantasy—world domination.

With the towel slung low on his waist, he padded to the sink and rummaged through the items he traveled with. His BlackBerry message light winked red and he scrolled through the fifteen messages that had come in during his brief shower.

With another glance at the mirrors that surrounded him, replicating his form from all angles, repeating into infinity, he laid the device back on the counter and smiled. He took great pleasure in the idea that most of the businessmen who stayed in this suite were paunchy, their bodies going to shit as they sought to take over their little corner of the world.

Day after day they subsisted on high-fat diets rich in butter, churned out in the world’s great restaurants over business lunches. Night after night, they drank their livers into oblivion with too many martinis.

He, on the other hand, was taking over the world and looking damn fine while doing it. Butter had no effect on his body and the liquor offered a pleasant diversion, especially when drunk in proper moderation while doing business.

His BlackBerry buzzed again and he glanced at the readout, answering when he saw his personal assistant’s name backlit on the screen. “Veron.”

“I moved your meetings as you requested. Your schedule is fully clear to deal with Grant Shipping for the next week.”

“Good. Good. And the arrangements I requested in Florida?”

“All taken care of, Mr. Veron.”

“Excellent.” Even better would be the mind wipe he’d do on her in the morning, so the details of said trip were nowhere to be found in the vast wasteland of her memories.

“I’ll see you later today, then, Lina.”

“Of course, Mr. Veron.”

As he laid the BlackBerry back onto the counter, Arturo caught sight of the towel where it tented in front of him. His arousal was back, harder than before. Although he’d always loved violence, he had never known—never realized—just how sweet vengeance could be.

How gloriously fan-fucking-tastic it felt. Better than the two women who’d warmed his bed until the wee hours of the morning, truth be told.

His plans spun out before him like the mental equivalent of a chess board. He’d already made his first move, with the next scheduled for tonight.

As Arturo threw the towel on the far corner of the bathroom floor, he couldn’t resist one last look at himself in the mirror as he strode toward the bedroom. His gaze caught on an image of his back, where the bull that rode high on his shoulder flicked its tail as its front paw made a stamping motion on the ground.

The beast was as excited as he was.

Thick, syrupy waves of panic lurched through Montana’s stomach, an odd counterpoint to the heavy, throbbing base drum of her pulse as it thudded in her ears.

Her head spun from the rapid-fire questions and the wildly veering speculation Quinn Tanner had thrown at her. From her mother to her business to her own personal integrity, the man hadn’t left a single stone unturned.

He was following her because he thought her business was dirty? Thought she was responsible for any number of horrors in the race for the almighty dollar?

An image of them last night filled her senses, the warm, safe feel of his body as he held her along with the steady thump of his heartbeat where her ear lay pressed against his chest. All that time, while she felt safe, secure and protected, he thought she was a criminal out for personal gain.

Could those moments have meant nothing to him? She reached up and brushed a lock of hair—that lock
he’d
touched with such gentle fingers—and swept it behind her ear.