A Lover's Mask

by Altonya Washington

  “Thanks Kat,” Fernando said as he applied the last signature. Alone in his office, he groaned and shuffled through a few more papers. He’d been at it a little over an hour and nothing had struck him as odd. Not one thing. That could mean only two things: Marcus had covered his tracks very well or there was nothing to find. Fernando was willing to bet it was more of the former.

  In truth, he wasn’t waiting on pins and needles to find something to destroy Marc. After all, the man was his father. But Josephine was his mother and he’d seen Marc wear her down to a shell during the sentence of her marriage to him. Then there was Yohan and Melina and Houston’s murder of Sera Black…

  “Come on, man,” he urged, running all ten fingers through his brown curls and attempting to focus.

  Besides, the box and all its contents had to be returned by the end of the month. He’d scoured his father’s office thoroughly following his banishment from Ramsey Enterprises. The board was now trying to decide whether his absence would be permanent or if there was still a place for him in the family business. Meanwhile, Marc was handling his affairs from either home or the private office he kept in downtown Seattle.

  Idly now, Fernando rifled through more papers until something caught his eye. “What’s this?” he murmured, his long brows drawing close. Then a smile curved his mouth when he discovered the document was an e-mail from his father’s “sent” file.

  “I’ll be damned,” Fernando sighed, leaning back in his desk chair. He recalled a conversation where he’d chided Marc for printing copies and reminded the man that was what a “sent” file was for.

  Marc coolly replied that systems break down and files could be lost or corrupted. A hard copy is forever, he said. Fernando remembered chalking it up to the fact that his dad just didn’t trust anything or anyone. That too, Marc confessed.

  Now, Fernando celebrated his father’s suspicious nature. The page he held appeared quite interesting. It was a request from Marcus to his business attorney Shawn Givens. Marc was asking the man to get the ball rolling on a transfer of ownership for The Wind Rage. Simple enough, but it left Fernando with two questions: What was The Wind Rage and why was his father requesting that its ownership be transferred to him? His first inclination was to dial Shawn Givens, but that wouldn’t be wise, he decided. Then, he had a better thought and dialed a different number.

  His eyes crinkled in their usual manner when he smiled at the sound of his mother’s voice.

  “This is quite a surprise!” Josephine cried, delighted to hear from her middle son.

  “You act like I never call,” Fernando said, actually a little upset by the fact.

  “Oh, you,” Josephine sighed over the line, “you know it’s a rarity for you to call me in the middle of the day like this.”

  Fernando pressed a hand to the middle of his chest. “Are you deliberately tryin’ to make me feel like a low-down son?”

  Josephine laughed. “Not low-down, just one who should call more.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And in light of that, I should ask when we’ll see each other again?”

  “I’ll come over tonight.”

  “Tonight? You mean you aren’t taking another trip?”

  Fernando grinned. “Not tonight, Ma.”

  “That’s right,” Josephine whispered as though she were just realizing, “these trips usually take place over the weekends.”

  “Ma…” Fernando groaned, knowing where her probes were headed.

  “Dare I suggest that these are weekend…getaways?”

  “Would you believe it’s business?”

  “Not in a million years. What’s her name?”

  Fernando debated, stroking his jaw as he hesitated on answering. “Mick’s friend. Contessa Warren,” he revealed finally.

  “Ahh…the publisher.”

  “That’s right and Ma please don’t lecture me, all right?”

  “Lecture you about what? I think the girl has spunk like Mick and Ty…and Mel.”

  Fernando was silent, hearing the sadness in his mother’s voice when she spoke of Yohan’s estranged wife.

  “The family needs more women like them. Not fools who let themselves get run over by conniving bastards.”

  Knowing exactly who his mother meant, Fernando cleared his throat and decided it was the perfect time to introduce the reason for his call. “Ma, what can you tell me about The Wind Rage? You ever hear Pop mention it?”

  “What? His boat?”

  “Boat?”

  Josephine muttered something inaudible. “Excuse me, ship,” she clarified. “Your father always got on me for referring to that thing as a boat.”

  “Well, um, what sort of ship is it?” he asked, his brows drawn close in expectation.

  “I don’t really know, baby. I always thought it was some cargo ship for Ramsey. I’d never seen it, only heard about it.”

  “When did Pop buy it?”

  “About seven years after we were married,” Josephine said, a twinge of disgust coloring her words, “he didn’t own it outright, just went in with about four friends. Sweetie, why are you so interested in this?”

  “Because it’s mine,” Fernando shared without hesitation.

  “Yours?” Josephine gasped.

  “Mmm,” Fernando confirmed, a smirk souring his handsome features. “For the life of me, I can’t see why he’d hand somethin’ like that over to me.”

  “Must be going bankrupt because that’s the only reason that fool would give anything away. What’d he’d say when he gave it to you?”

  Fernando shook his head. “He didn’t tell me about it. I found out on my own.”

  “Honey what’s going on?”

  Reaching for the e-mail, Fernando’s translucent brown gaze held no trace of its usual warmth. “I don’t know Ma, but I’m damn well gonna find out.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were stopping by?” Mick laughed, while pulling her mother-in-law into a hug. “I would’ve started lunch if I’d known.”

  “Please,” Catrina said with a wave, “you know I wouldn’t hear of it. I’ve been meaning to stop by and check on you for a while now.”

  “Well, I’m fine,” Mick said as they strolled out of the foyer, arms linked around one another’s waists. “What’ll you have?” she called, once they entered the living room and she headed toward the bar.

  “That looks good,” Catrina noted, referring to the tall glass of apple juice Mick was preparing. “Make it two,” she requested.

  “You got it,” Mick said.

  “So…is everything really all right?” Catrina asked, after watching her daughter-in-law for a while.

  Mick crossed the room, carrying the apple juice and wearing a knowing smile on her round, dark face. “Did Quest ask you to come over here?”

  “Quest?” Catrina parroted from her relaxed position on the sofa. “I told you I’d been planning to visit for quite some time.”

  “Mmm…” Mick replied, sipping her juice and fixing Catrina with a stern look.

  The woman broke finally. “He’s very concerned, honey.”

  “You can tell your son that I’m fine,” Mick requested in a pouting manner.

  “You can tell him that,” Catrina decided, watching the juice swirl amidst the ice cubes inside her glass. “I want you to tell me the truth.”

  “Catrina—”

  “The truth,” she insisted, setting the glass aside and leaning forward. “Whatever it is, it stays between the two of us.”

  Setting aside her glass as well, Mick braced her elbows to her knees. “I want this baby so much,” she swore, pushing back her unruly curls with her fingers. “I want to be a great mother, a great role model.”

  A frown tugged at Catrina’s arched brows. “Sweetie of course you’ll be those things.”

  “Then why am I scared to death that I won’t be?” Mick blurted, allowing the fear to shine in her amber gaze.

  “Oh…” Catrina soothed, moving close to hold Mick as she
cried. “It’s all right, it’s all right…” she chanted, knowing the younger woman’s cry was long overdue.

  “Please don’t tell Quest,” Mick begged once her tears were spent. “He’s so on edge because of me. He jumps every time I stand up.”

  Catrina laughed. “Sweetie, he’s just a nervous, expectant father.”

  “Which is why he sent you,” Mick noted, searching Catrina’s eyes for any trace of denial. “All right then,” she sighed, slapping her hands to the cotton fabric of her sky blue sweats, “lay it on me. Tell me I’m overreacting, that this is all expectant mother stuff.”

  Catrina smiled and made a little room between herself and Mick. “Your fears are perfectly understandable,” she acknowledged, stoking Mick’s curls in a reassuring way. “Baby, your life hasn’t been easy. The things you’ve been through…of course, you’d feel this way.”

  “Then how will I know what’s best for it? How will I know what to do?” she asked, swallowing down more sobs.

  Catrina fixed her with a sympathetic albeit amused smile. “Sweetie, I hate to tell you this. But, the sad truth is that you won’t really know a damn thing.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Now, now,” Catrina soothed, patting Mick’s damp cheek, “it’s the same with every parent regardless of their upbringing. But there is one thing you can count on and if you put your trust in that, the rest will fall into place.”

  “What?” Mick blurted, her eyes widening with hope and expectation. “Catrina, what?” she cried, clasping her hands to her chest.

  “What’s in here,” Catrina asked, pressing Michaela’s hands closer to her chest. “Trust in the love you feel for this tiny man or woman. Love your child. Trust your instincts,” she said, tapping Mick’s chin with her index finger. “You’ve got wonderful instincts and ethics and they’re all yours, not your mother’s. So stop being so hard on yourself, all right?”

  Mick’s shoulders slumped as though she’d been relieved of some tremendous weight. Love her child? She did—so much and she hadn’t even met him or her yet. Trust her instincts? She knew she’d give her life to protect its own.

  “That really is all I need to know,” she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief.

  Catrina laughed. “Well, what are you doing now?” she called, watching Mick race to the phone and begin dialing furiously.

  “I’m calling Quest! We’ve got a doctor’s appointment to keep!”

  “Pay dirt!” Spivey announced when he burst into Contessa’s office late that afternoon.

  “Aw Spivey, can’t it wait?” Contessa whined, massaging her tired eyes as she spoke. “It’s been a very long day.”

  “Not a chance. I found out where the dancers are working.”

  County rolled her eyes. “I thought we knew that already? This travel agency.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Spivey confirmed, perching on the edge of his boss’s desk. “The agency hired the girls as hostesses for a cruise ship.”

  Slightly intrigued, County remained silent and waited for her editor to continue.

  “My contact got this on good authority from one of the secretarys at the agency.”

  “Are you sure you can trust this guy?”

  A grin broke on Spivey’s handsome vanilla-toned face. “For the money I’m payin’ him, I’m sure of it.”

  “Hmph.” County shrugged, relief filling her at the discovery that there wasn’t more to the story. “Well, I’m sorry you hit a dead end, but we’ve spent long enough on this and we’ve got more than enough to move on.”

  “But County wait. I haven’t reached a dead end.” Spivey corrected, waving his hand as he rounded the desk. “This isn’t just some fun in the sun cruise ship. It’s some sort of gentlemen-only thing.”

  The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach warned Contessa that she wouldn’t care for the rest of Spivey’s report. “Why would it—uh—need to be a gentlmen-only ship?” she inquired cautiously.

  Spivey’s expression was one of sheer cunning. “Baby if we knew the answer to that, I believe we could blow some big names out of the water. All we have so far, is that gambling’s involved. Beyond that, no idea,” he said, clasping his hands while he shrugged beneath his green pin-striped suit.

  “Beyond that…” County sighed, massaging the sudden tension tightening her neck. “Gambling and possibly prostitution on the high seas? What more could a guy want?”

  “How ’bout the name of one of the ship’s owners?” Spivey announced, watching County’s eyes narrow. “Fernando Ramsey,” he said.

  Chapter 8

  His voice brought on that familiar shiver down her spine and an instant later she was fluffing her hair. She made sure her lipstick was perfect. Standing was best, she decided, and chose to pretend to scan a file instead of sitting primly behind her desk.

  Fernando’s voice lowered and Sheila pouted, knowing he’d stopped to take a few extra moments to speak with someone. Then, she heard him biding them farewell and her heart pounded wildly in anticipation of seeing him.

  “What’s goin’ on Sheila? You doin’ all right?” Fernando greeted, having no idea of the effect of his entrancing smile and deliciously deep voice.

  “Morning! Morning Fernando,” she spoke softer that time.

  Fernando, of course, had no idea his partner’s secretary felt anything other than respect and friendliness toward him. He’d be a shabby businessman if he allowed the adoration of every woman who worked for Dark Squires to go to his head.

  “Stef in?” Fernando asked, pausing just past Sheila’s desk.

  “Just stepped out Fernando. Sorry,” she whispered, though her eyes continued to sparkle. “Could I take a message?” she added hastily, realizing she’d been staring.

  Fernando grimaced. “I really wanted to speak with him today,” he said, casting an impatient glance toward Stefan’s door at the end of the hall. “Any idea when he’ll be back?”

  “I have no idea,” Sheila said, her tone soft and apologetic as she rounded her desk, “is anything wrong?”

  “Nah, I’m on my way out of town.”

  It was clear to see that Fernando was quite pleased over the fact and Sheila felt her confidence dwindle a little. “Off to Chicago again?” she guessed.

  “That’s right,” he shared, the grin on his face practically shouted that this trip had nothing to do with business. “Look, just tell Stef I’ll call,” he said and leaned over to press a quick kiss to Sheila’s cheek. “Thanks.”

  Sheila stood there next to her desk, her eyes following Fernando as he made his way down the hallway. “Anytime.” She almost swooned and brushed her fingers across her cheek where he’d kissed her.

  Standing quietly in a hidden corner of the hallway, Stef took in the sweet scene. A deadly look darkened his face as he studied Sheila’s reaction to his partner.

  Tykira leaned over the black tiled counter and browsed one of the cookbooks she’d discovered in the kitchen.

  Quay strolled in and appreciated the lovely scene greeting him. After satisfying himself by admiring the picture she made from behind, he slowly closed the distance between them.

  Ty expressed a tiny shriek when she felt her husband’s hands beneath the snug T-shirt she wore. The other disappeared below the waistband of the boy shorts she sported. “I’m trying to decide on dinner,” she sang, clearing her throat when his fingers grazed the sensitive bud of her femininity.

  “Forget dinner. I’ll have you,” Quay decided.

  Tykira’s laughter perched atop another gasp when his fingers found their destination. Her head fell forward as overwhelming sensation threaded throughout her body. She began to thrust madly against his fingers before turning in his arms. “Why do you need all these cookbooks when you never cook?” she asked as they shared a heated kiss.

  “I bought them when you were here recovering, when you’d broken your ankle,” Quay explained, his mouth now clinging to the line of her neck. “I thought I’d give it a try.”

  T
y pulled back a little to stare into his gorgeous dark face. “I thought you were just teasing when you told me you’d cook.”

  Quay pressed his forehead to hers. “Don’t you know by now I’d do anything for you?”

  Another kiss was in order, this one sweet and unhurried. Yet it lacked none of the fire. Quay cupped Ty’s thighs and placed her neatly atop the counter, never breaking the kiss. The sound of a ringing phone was smothered amidst moans and words of desire. The couple had no intention of answering, knowing the machine would pick up by the fourth ring.

  The fourth ring never sounded. The phone stopped ringing only to start up again seconds later. The pattern continued two more times, before Quay lost his patience and snatched the wall phone from its holder.

  “Yeah?” he practically growled.

  “Calm down,” Michaela ordered, not at all affected by her brother-in-law’s tone. “Why aren’t you and Ty answering the phone?”

  “One guess.”

  “Nasty.”

  “Look who’s talkin’,” Quay teased, chuckling softly when he heard Mick’s haughty sniff.

  “Listen, I promise not to hold you long. I’m just calling to remind you of the shower.”

  Quay bristled and stood. “This a family thing?” he asked.

  “Of course it’s a family thing.”

  “I’m out.”

  “No. You have to be there.”

  “Dammit Mick,” Quay rolled his eyes. “I can’t make it, that’s all there is to it.”

  “Why can’t you?” Mick snapped.

  “Work,” he tried.

  “You’re the boss,” she countered.

  “I’m a newlywed.”

  “And your wife’s one of my hostesses, so she’ll be at my house and not there for you to tie to the bed,” Mick threw back, hearing the weary sigh he uttered. “Oh, honey, don’t you want to know whether it’ll be a little niece or nephew you’ll have to spoil?”

  “Quest’ll tell me.”

  “I’ll see to it that he doesn’t.”

  Again, Quay groaned. “Damn you,” he said after another minute or two.