A Lover's Mask (11 page)

Quay's eyes narrowed almost to the point of closing. “Reaching?” he parroted.

“Hell, yeah, you just want someone to take out your anger on because you can't get your hands on Houston.”

“Dammit Q, can you blame us! Hell, it's because of Houston that I lost all that time with Ty and that shit makes me mad enough to kill.”

Quest folded his arms across his chest and studied his brother closely. He knew Quay's words were no idle threat. His temper was well earned and well feared. “Let it go Quay,” he urged softly. “Focus on what you have now instead of what you lost back then.”

Quest was right, as usual. Quay thought. “I just don't trust myself to see the man,” he confided.

“I hope you're not just saying this to get out of coming to the party,” Quest probed, his narrowing gray eyes twinkling with sudden humor.

Quay couldn't help but chuckle. “Mick won't have it, huh?”

“Not a chance in hell.”

“You know Q, if
you
talked to her—”

“
Hell
no. I swear that girl's gotten stronger since she's been pregnant. One wrong word from me and she's liable to hit me hard enough to loosen some teeth,” Quest predicted, joining his brother in hearty laughter. “Seriously though, man,” he said when they sobered, “just take it easy. Marc knows how everyone feels about him. With any luck, he won't even show up.”

 

“All right. Tomorrow? Sounds good,” Fernando said as he arranged the meeting with one of the club's other managers. “Was there any other information?” he asked.

Contessa walked into the kitchen then, wearing a lavender T-shirt that scarcely covered her bottom. Fernando's attention was wholly focused on her as she went to study the contents of her cabinets. His call ended shortly and then he tossed aside the phone.

County smiled when she felt him behind her, massaging her hips before his hands curved around her thighs. He pulled her snug against his semi-hard arousal and for a time, they savored the embrace.

“Everything okay?” she asked after a while.

“Mmm-hmm,” he murmured against her hair. “You hungry?”

“Starving,” County admitted, nudging his chest with the back of her head, “that sandwich didn't hold out against our earlier activities.”

“Well then,” he said, squeezing her hips before setting her aside, “I should fix you something better. I don't want you giving out on me later.”

“And what's later?” County teased, her vibrant browns widening when he turned to tower over her.

“You know what's later,” the bass of his voice rumbled.

County's eyes lingered on his lips for a suggestively long time and soon after, she was crushed against Fernando's chest. His tongue thrust harshly inside her mouth and she groaned, loving the pressure.

Fernando frowned, knowing he had to let her go before his hormones got the better of him.

“Get away from me,” he ordered, putting at least five feet of space between them.

County obeyed and chose a spot on one of the bar stools lining the counter. The easy look she wore seemed to fade after a while and she appeared serious. Deciding then, that the time for stalling was over, she began to speak, telling Fernando all she'd discovered.

As she spoke, his movements slowed. By the time she was done, he'd turned away from the stove and simply watched her. County cleared her throat, dragging her eyes away from the slow steady rise and fall of his bare chest. “You know, I
am
investigating your family for this book so I have every right to be looking into things like this,” she rambled, not caring for the set look on his face.

Suddenly, Fernando smiled, easing his hands into the deep pockets of the sleep pants he'd taken to leaving at Contessa's house and which were presently slung low on his hips. “My guys are slow,” he acknowledged softly, “I only got the call about the girls working on the ship while we were in the car.”

“Wait, you—you didn't know?” County asked, blinking steadily.

Fernando shrugged. “I've known about the girls working on the ship for about four hours. It's why I'm meeting with my managers. I discovered I owned the ship a couple of days ago.” He explained and turned back to the stove. “Why'd you tell me this?” he asked, selecting the temperature for the oven.

County propped her chin against her fist. “Because a woman shouldn't keep such things from the man she loves.”

Silence held the kitchen captive for the longest time. At last, Fernando turned.

Contessa already knew what words waited on his breath. “I felt this way long before you told me,” she admitted.

“Why didn't you say anything?” he asked in whisper.

“Pride wouldn't let me,” she lowered her gaze to the counter. “I couldn't risk not hearing you say it back to me because at first I thought I was just floating on a cloud of lust and infatuation. Now, I believe it's more than that.” She looked at him. “I feel I can go a little longer without my mask when I'm with you.”

Fernando stroked the side of his beard. “A
little
longer? You feel you still need to wear it?”

“I've worn it so long,” she sighed, “Mick's been the only one who could see the real me, but even then…”

“What?” he prodded, taking a stool next to her.

Raking all ten fingers through jet black locks, County grimaced. “I think I've let that mask slip into place around my dearest friend. Mick's got the wrong idea about me on so many things and honestly, Ramsey, I've done my best to give her those ideas. For so long I've told myself I don't want or need love. Physical satisfaction would do on occasion because I had more important things to contend with. Hmph, I guess I've even been wearing that mask for myself.”

“We all do,” Fernando said, nudging her shoulder with his own. “When there are things we can't admit to ourselves
about
ourselves.”

County's fingers toyed with his while she marveled at the manner in which his hand practically engulfed her own. “I only know that I wanted to be honest with you. I want you to know everything about me and that's dangerous.”

“Why dangerous?”

“The people who know the most about you can hurt you the most because they have more to hurt you with.”

Fernando watched as she lowered her eyes to shield the pain he knew dwelled there. “You believe I'd hurt you?”

“I don't know and in spite of that I still can't pull away from you,” she squeezed his hand. “
That
scares me.”

Fernando pressed a kiss to the top of her head. This time, it was his turn to debate. It didn't take him long to decide that the time had come for him to tell her he was part owner in the company trying to take Contessa House. He was opening his mouth to voice the confession when the sound of his cell phone pierced the air.

County amused herself tracing the patterns imbedded within the countertop. She froze when she heard him whisper—“What?” into the phone. With effort, he managed to thank the person on the line and then end the call. She waited, wondering if he'd tell her. She didn't have long to wait.

“Houston's in jail,” he said.

M
ichaela's plump, dark brown face glowed more than usual as she watched the limo rounding the horseshoe drive. She screamed when County finally emerged from the back of the car sent to fetch her from the airport courtesy of Ramsey Group. The two met on the steps of the massive front porch and hugged for the longest time. They stood talking about everything and nothing—trying to catch up in the span of ten seconds.

“This tummy of yours,” County sighed when they pulled out of another hug. “Are you sure there're no twins in there?”

“Hush,” Mick chastised, smacking Contessa's shoulder, “and what's going on with you? I thought only us pregnant ladies glowed like that.”

“What?” County asked, her voice still colored by laughter.

“You look beautiful.”

County shrugged. “I always look beautiful.”

Mick rolled her eyes. “Well, this time someone other than
you
can see it,” she jibed, shrieking playfully when County tugged on one of her curls. “Seriously though, you look radiant—even if you're not smiling.”

“I guess the plane ride was surprisingly good. Not to mention riding in luxury from the airport,” County excused with a flip wave.

Mick folded her arms such that they rested atop her belly. “It's more than that…who is he?”

“Jeez Mick, just 'cause you're all goo-goo over love doesn't mean the rest of us are,” County blurted, averting her gaze to hide her nerves.

Mick was far from convinced. “I guess I'll just have to wait until you're ready to share.”

“Anyway,” County groaned, finding a place to slip her sunglasses into her bag, “so tell me about Houston,” she asked, desperate for a subject change.

“Girl, it's been all the talk,” Mick said, easing both hands into the pockets of her pink linen capris.

“Details?”

“It's strange,” Mick admitted, her amber gaze narrowing suddenly, “he eluded capture all those months and then gets himself picked up at a restaurant. He was just sitting out in the clear blue like everything's everything.”

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. Carnes, 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.”