County fidgeted with the tassels on her long-sleeve white cotton top. “Has he said anything?” she asked.
“More strangeness. He keeps saying he won’t go down alone and that he was set up.”
County laughed. “It’s a little late to use that!”
“I’ll say,” Mick drawled, a tiny frown furrowing her brow. “Anyway, how’d you find out so fast? It just happened.”
“You underestimate how important that piece of news is even all the way out in Chicago,” County said, slapping one hand to the stylishly short pleated navy skirt she sported. “Besides, I’m still investigating the family, remember?”
“So have you found another author to take over the book?” Mick asked, trying to downplay her intense interest.
“We’re still gathering facts and looking for an author,” County informed, slanting her best friend a sly look. “I gotta make sure I choose the right person and someone I can count on not to fall in love with one of the beautiful Ramseys.”
“Well, that should be you, then,” Mick said in a amused tone. “You’ve been around them almost as much as I have and still you’ve managed not to fall under their spell.”
Contessa cleared her throat, failing to prevent the unsettled look from returning to her face.
“Dammit County, what the hell is going on?” Mick demanded, easily spotting her friend’s unease.
County threw up her hands. “I really wish you’d stop asking me that,” she hissed, brushing past Mick to head into the house.
“There she is!” Quest bellowed as he arrived in the foyer. His soft laughter filled the space when he and County shared a hug.
“So tell me about this party?” County asked when she and Quest pulled apart.
Mick was instantly focused on her get-together. “I’m expecting a very nice crowd next weekend,” she predicted, clasping her hands to her chest. “The first night will be the fruit cocktail party,” she shared, her amber stare excitement-filled.
County and Quest exchanged glances.
Mick was undaunted. “If I can’t have a real cocktail, then no one else will.”
“This is your best friend.” Quest told County.
She patted her hand against the front of his Seahawks T-shirt. “This is your wife and baby’s mama,” she retorted.
Quest’s long lashes closed over his gray-black stare. “Help me Lord,” he prayed.
“Dr. Harris White for Houston Ramsey.”
The two security guards scrutinized the tall, thin man who arrived at their station.
“He ain’t sick, buddy,” one of the guards informed Dr. White.
“Oh, he’s sick all right,” the other guard said with a sly grin, “sick his rich ass got caught.”
“I’m Mr. Ramsey’s psychiatrist,” the doctor explained once the chuckling guards quieted. “I’ve been appointed by the family,” he went on, placing official-looking papers on the desk before the two men.
“What’s he need with a psychiatrist?”
Dr. White lost what little patience he had and snatched up the papers. “I’ll be happy to have you both served if you continue to hinder me from visiting my patient.”
“Sorry doc,” one of the guards said as he sobered beneath the man’s steely glare.
“Right this way,” guard number two instructed, holding open a door and waving Harris White toward the visitors area.
“Houston Ramsey is under my care and I’ll need privacy to administer treatment,” the doctor said upon seeing the semicrowded visiting area.
The guards exchanged glances. Their patience for the haughty doctor had grown thin as well.
“I’ll be happy to speak with your supervisors on this matter,” Harris White threatened subtly.
Making silent decisions to give the man what he wanted to accelerate his departure, the guards obliged. They had him wait in a spacious quiet room with cement walls. The light blue paint, two way mirror and long chrome table were the only adornments.
Houston arrived looking hopeful. A frown soon emerged on his face when he spotted the stranger in the room.
“Dr. Harris White.”
“Doctor?” Houston inquired, his frown deepening as he studied the blandly dressed man.
“Psychiatrist,” Dr. White clarified.
Houston’s anger went from simmer to boil in the span of ten seconds. “I don’t need a shrink!” he snapped, pounding his fist to his palm. “What the hell is this?!”
“Easy Houston.”
“Don’t call me Houston. You don’t know me! Who sent you? They’re tryin’ to shut me up, aren’t they?”
“Mr. Ramsey—”
“Aren’t they? Well I’m sick of hiding the truth and looking like the devil of the family!”
“Houston, you’re overreacting,” Dr. White acknowledged in a manner that was frightfully calm. “You need something to relax you,” he explained while strolling closer.
Before Houston could react, Dr. White had closed the distance between them and injected a needle into his arm.
“What—what’d you give me?” Houston barely had time to ask before he stumbled and slumped against the table.
The doctor caught Houston’s chin and tilted his head back to peer into his eyes. Nodding with satisfaction, he replaced the hypodermic needle inside his beige suit coat pocket.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he promised his woozy patient before turning for the door. “Guard!” he called.
Fernando was in a foul mood by the end of the meeting with his managers. The group had no more evidence on what the girls were doing aboard The Wind Rage, owned and operated, by yours truly, he drily noted. His managers wanted to know when he’d be heading back to Seattle, nodding solemnly when he told them within a couple of hours. They realized how difficult the situation was with his family—his uncle Houston more specifically. Fernando could only hope the drama was nearing its end. He thanked the group for their concern, and then waited until they’d exited his office before making his call.
“Hey Mr. J,” he greeted in a tone that was both hearty and humble. “This is Fernando Ramsey.”
Jeff Carnes’s chuckle came as a low rumble when he recognized the name. “This is quite a surprise, young man. How’ve you been?”
“Pretty good,” Fernando said, reclining in his desk chair and fanning his cobalt polo tee away from his chest.
“Mmm…now tell me the truth.”
“Damn Mr. J. How do you do that?” Fernando marveled, his brown eyes narrowed in wonder.
“I’m a lawyer. More importantly I’m a father and that alone gives me a wealth of insight. Now talk,” the man ordered.
“It’s about my father.”
“I see.”
“Actually it’s about his boat. The Wind Rage. You’re his lawyer and I hoped you could tell me a little about it.”
“The Wind Rage…” Jeff sighed, his cheerful voice dropping an octave as a tightness set in. “I haven’t heard that name in a long time.”
“But you have heard it?”
“Oh. yes.”
Fernando sat straight. “Mr. J, I know you work for my dad—”
“No son. Not for many years.”
“Not for many years?” Fernando parroted, stunned amazement filling his voice. “Pop never mentioned it.”
“I’m sure he didn’t,” Jeff confirmed with a humorless grunt. “I quit shortly after our disagreement.”
“Do you mind my asking about that disagreement?”
“Not at all. It was over that damned boat or maybe over the fact that he wanted to put it in your name.”
Fernando massaged his eyes. “I just found out about it.”
Jeff was momentarily speechless. “I can’t believe Marc even told you,” he marveled, tugging at the tie that was growing tight around his neck.
“He didn’t. I discovered it on my own, so to speak.”
“What’s going on here Fernando?” Jeff asked, his intuition peaked.
“Mr. Ca
rnes, you have to know what’s happening with the family?”
“Hell, son, it’s impossible to live in Seattle and not know.”
“My father tried to help Houston cover up what he did. He succeeded for many years.”
“I guess all this has you wondering what else your father is capable of?” Jeff asked.
“I want him gone, Mr. Carnes,” Fernando spoke without hesitation, “I want him gone legally and if that ship is what I think it is, then I may be able to do just that.”
“What do you think is going on?”
“Gambling, prostitution maybe.”
“Mmm…”
“Mr. J? Can you confirm any of this? Will you?”
“Boy, are you sure you want to get into this?”
Fernando stroked his beard and grimaced. “I know too much to stop being curious about the entire story.”
“I understand how you feel Fern, but sometimes it’s best to remain ignorant about all the ugly details,” Jeff cautioned.
“But if I want peace in my family, Mr. J, then I’m afraid I need to hear every ugly detail.”
Jeff’s heavy sigh carried over the line for more than a few seconds. “All right Fernando,” he conceded, “all right.”
“Maybe you’ll tell me about him if we go out for dinner.”
“Will you please let it go?” County insisted, rolling her eyes toward her best friend.
“Just confirm that I’m right,” Mick pleaded, pulling a pillow before her as she kneeled in the center of the queen-sized bed. “Come on, there is someone,” she prodded.
“Mick…”
“Oh, come on County, that’s the least you can do after the way you hounded me about Quest.”
“That was different,” County replied, idly focusing more on unpacking her clothes. “You and Quest had a future. Anyone could see that.”
“So may I take that as a yes?”
Confused at first, Contessa turned to fix Mick with a frown. Then, she rolled her eyes and nodded. “Yes, there is someone,” she admitted finally.
Mick’s squeal pierced the room. “Details, details. Come on, spill it!”
“You said you only wanted confirmation.”
Mick waved her hands about her head. “Reporters lie, you know that.”
County turned back to her unpacking. “You ain’t a reporter no more, Miss Mama-To-Be.”
“That’s right,” Mick agreed with a finger poised in the air. “I’m a mama-to-be and now nosiness is in my blood. So how’d you two meet?”
“He’s the reason I left before the balloons fell at James Aston’s New Year’s party.”
“Oooooh! Ooooh! You scandalous hussy!” Mick bellowed, her amber gaze wide as she covered her mouth and wriggled on the bed.
County stiffened, her expression growing somber as her head bowed.
“I’m sorry County,” Mick apologized, realizing that her friend’s new relationship had a lot to do with her sensitive mood. “Honey, is everything okay?” she asked, uncertain if she should question.
Contessa left the closet, and then joined Mick on the bed. “It’s just so complicated.”
Mick bit her lip, fidgeting with the decorative edges of the hunter green and silver pillowcase as she debated. “Is he married?” she asked finally.
“Mick!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. That’s usually what complicated means,” she explained quickly.
County raked her fingers through her cropped cut before smoothing both hands across her skirt. “No Mick, he’s very much unattached.”
“Well, then, what’s the problem?” Mick demanded, her concerns clearly evident in her expression.
“He’s wonderful,” County admitted, her face aglow as Fernando Ramsey came to her mind. “He’s beyond wonderful. He’s gorgeous and attentive and sexy and big—”
“Big. Big as in…”
“Big. In every way.”
Mick reclined on her bed, keeping the pillow in front of her stomach. “I thought you hated really big men—too overpowering.”
Contessa smiled with a shrug. “I guess I’ve had a change of heart. The man’s incredible and he treats me like Heaven.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Ah, Mick, where do I begin?” County sighed, flopping back on the bed. “There’re just so many obstacles. For starters, I’ve got my suspicions about certain aspects of his business.”
Mick rested her head on the pillow. “Illegal suspicions?” she probed.
“Mmm. Then, there’s his family and before you say it—” she started upon seeing Mick’s mouth open. “This is completely different from what you and Quest went through. His father is nothing like Damon.”
“But you’re Contessa Warren,” Mick boasted, nudging County’s side with her big toe.
“That’s right and my life is just fine without all that drama.”
“But you’re in love.”
County’s smile froze. “I didn’t pick up on it nearly that fast.”
“It’s a mama-to-be-thing.” Mick shrugged. “Besides, I’ve never seen you look so radiant or talk this way before. You’re clearly in love with this man.”
Grunting tiredly, County left the bed and returned to unpacking.
“So who is he?” Mick asked after watching County rifle through her suitcase for close to a minute.
“Why?” County snapped and then cleared her throat.
“Don’t you dare stand there and act like you’re not gonna tell me who he is,” Mick chastised, propping her elbow on the pillow. “At least tell me if I know him,” she bartered.
County shook her head. “You know him,” she confirmed.
“Thanks,” Michaela chirped and relaxed upon the bed again, “now all I have to do is go through all the men we know in Chicago.”
“All right,” County smiled, not bothering to tell her friend that she wasn’t even in the correct area code.
“What’s goin’ on, man?” Quest bellowed, pleased to find his first cousin on his front doorstep. He and Fernando shared handshakes and hugs, and then it was inside for drinks in the den.
“Did I interrupt anything?” Fernando asked after they’d chatted idly for a few moments.
A sly smile tilted the corners of Quest’s mouth. “Unfortunately not,” he shared, knowing what his cousin was asking. “County just got in so she and Michaela will probably go out and then be up all night talkin’.”
“Contessa’s here?” Fernando asked, his eyes narrowing to brown, deep-set slits.
“Yeah she—Fern?” Quest called, fixing his cousin with an uncertain stare. “Don’t tell me?” he inquired softly, grinning at the look Fernando sent him. “Damn,” Quest drawled thoroughly shocked as he folded his arms across the front of his North Carolina A& T sweatshirt. “Why the hell haven’t you told anybody?” he went on to ask.
Fernando stroked his beard and went to refreshen his gin. “She wants to keep it quiet…for obvious reasons. I did tell Ma, though.”
“I know she still has plans for a book on the family,” Quest noted, stroking the fine hair at his temple, “how do you feel about that?”
“I don’t give a damn about that book. I only want her.”
Quest nodded, impressed yet surprised, in spite of the fact that he’d virtually fell in love with Michaela Sellars the first time he saw her. “I gotta admit it, man. I never thought you’d fall like this.”
Fernando set his drink down and rolled up the sleeves of the maple shirt he wore, “I don’t know, Q. She’s done somethin’ to me and you may think I’m full of crap for saying this, but it goes way deeper than sexual.”
Quest nodded, his gray-black gaze sparkling with understanding. “So is Dark Squires still interested in her publishing house? I recall your saying something about it a while back.”
“I talked about it with Stef,” Fernando said, the easiness in his face fading just a little, “I convinced him to drop it.”
Quest’s sleek brows rose. “I
can’t believe he didn’t put up more of a fight. Your partner’s a damn maniac when it comes to adding on to that company,” he noted.
“Well it wasn’t easy,” Fernando admitted, taking his drink and strolling back to the armchair he’d occupied. “I think we’re on the same page, though.”
“Have you told her you own part of the company?”
Fernando buried his face in his hands. “Q, man,” he groaned, his deep voice effectively muffled. “I tried, but the time is never right.”
“And it’s not something you’re looking forward to?” Quest finished.
Fernando looked up. “Bingo.”
“Tell her now, man,” Quest warned, even though he sympathized with his cousin’s reluctance, “it’s all too easy for something like that to come out.”
“You’re right. You’re right, but I’ll have to handle it when I come back.” Fernando explained, downing a bit of his drink.
“Back?” Quest inquired.
“Let’s just say Uncle Houston’s about to have some company in jail.”
“Can’t we just drive around and stop somewhere?” County asked, massaging her eyes.
Mick grimaced. “Not if we want something good. Besides we need to call and get a table so we can eat right after the show.” She patted her belly through the pastel blue tee she wore. “You got a pregnant lady here, remember?”
“Well, girl, this is your town. Tell me something.”
“Just keep checking the D’s,” Mick instructed hastily. “Darens, Darons, I can’t remember the name of that place where me and Ty had dinner a few weeks ago.”
“Well, I’m not having any luck here,” County complained and expressed a weary smile.
Mick tilted her head. “You’ve got the white pages, lemme see if I can go find a yellow book. I’ve been tryin’ to get Ty on the phone, but I can’t get through on her cell or at home. Probably laid up in bed with Quay—the freaks,” she muttered.
County grinned, but didn’t look away from the phone book. “And look who’s talkin’ Miss Can’t Stay Away From Quest Ramsey For An Hour.”
Michaela shushed her friend, then left the room to hunt down the yellow pages. Contessa browsed absently, until her search through the D’s turned up something unexpected. Listed clear as day between Darjels Nails and Braids and Dark and Tantalizing Gentleman’s Club was Dark Squires Communications. They’re right here in Seattle—the bastards, County thought, drily replaying her conversation with Stefan Lyons.
A Lover's Mask Page 12
