Promise Not to Tell
Page 31
“Huh,” Max said. “Some kind of twisted view of the supposed superiority of his personal gene pool?”
“Hard to say exactly how he’ll rationalize it,” Jack said. “But if he’s out there, I think he will be looking for a way to prove to us and to himself that he really is the smartest, most powerful guy in the room.”
“To do that, he’ll have to destroy us,” Max said.
“Yes,” Jack said. “What’s more, he’ll try to do it with fire.”
Cabot remembered Virginia’s words.
“It’s Zane’s signature,” he said.
CHAPTER 74
It was time to go home.
The man who had once been Quinton Zane stood on the pristine white sand beach and contemplated the foaming waves of the turquoise-blue sea. By any measure his new life was perfect, but in the past few years he had been forced to accept the bitter truth—perfection inevitably induced boredom.
Twenty-two years ago he had pulled off the perfect escape. Officially he had been lost at sea in a fire that had consumed the stolen yacht.
Back at the start he had naïvely assumed that he would soon be able to return to the States under a new identity. After all, the fire at the compound had been investigated by a small-town police chief with few resources. He had failed to anticipate that Anson Salinas would not accept the lost-at-sea verdict.
It had come as a shock to discover that Salinas had quietly kept the case open. Still, there was little that Salinas could do under the circumstances. He was, after all, just a small-town cop—not exactly the FBI.
Salinas had never been a serious threat, Zane thought. And the press had soon grown tired of the story of a crazed cult leader who had torched his own compound and died in a fire at sea.
After a few years had passed, he had judged it safe to slip back into the country. He had been careful, sticking to the East Coast. There was so much money sloshing around New York.
He had set up a very successful hedge fund operation that was basically a pyramid scheme before drawing the attention of the SEC. He had not been overly concerned at first. He could have handled the feds. But there was the uncomfortable possibility that a serious investigation might lead to questions about his past. He could not risk being exposed as Quinton Zane.
He had been forced to slip out of the country one step ahead of the SEC. He had reinvented himself again in Europe.
It wasn’t as if he did not have a very nice life as an expat. He had made a lot of money running various operations in Europe and Asia. The explosion of the Internet had brought with it unlimited financial opportunities.
He had a pied-à-terre on the Amalfi Coast, an apartment in Paris and a town house in London. His clothes were bespoke and his wines were the best. He slept with very expensive, very beautiful women. Currently his headquarters were the exclusive private island where he now stood contemplating his utterly predictable, utterly boring life.
He had expected to be able to return to the U.S. again long before now. The SEC threat had faded but, as the years passed, it had become crystal clear that he had a new problem—three of them to be exact. The boys who Salinas had fostered after their mothers died in the compound fire had come of age, and it was soon obvious that they did not believe the yacht-fire story, either.
What was far more worrisome was that all three had pursued careers linked to law enforcement. At first he assumed it was because they had been raised by an old-school lawman and had followed in Salinas’s footsteps because they lacked the imagination to do anything else.
But each of the three had started searching for him online before they even graduated from high school. They had continued to watch for him even as they took up their careers. He had been forced to acknowledge the truth. None of them would let the past stay buried.
For years he had told himself that it did not matter that he could not return to the United States. He had been occupied with building a fortune abroad and living his glittering dream life. But all the while the rage and the frustration had burned deep within him.
He needed a strategy. He also required some pawns who could be sacrificed. That was the easy part. He had a talent for manipulating people, a gift for playing to their fantasies. The hard part was controlling them in such a way that he did not put himself at risk.
He turned away from the postcard-perfect view and walked back to the elegant white villa. He crossed the tiled floor, went into the room he used as his office and fired up the computer.
The latest news from Seattle was disappointing. He had watched the entire project from his secure island hideaway with the detached curiosity of a lab researcher observing the outcome of an experiment.
He had to admit that he had expected different results. After all, the twins had inherited his DNA. But instead of proving the superiority of his genes, the pair had gone down like a brother-and-sister version of Bonnie and Clyde.
Very disappointing.
But, then, Abigail had contributed her share of genes to the twins, and she had been a weak, pathetic creature. Even after all these years, he still found it astounding that she and the other women had not only worked up the nerve to defy him, they had managed to steal what, at the time, had amounted to a small fortune.
He had gone on to make vastly more money in the years following the destruction of the cult, but he had never been able to forget the past.
He sat back in the chair and looked out at the sparkling sand and the jeweled ocean. The old rage welled up, threatening to choke him. He beat it back with the power of his will. He could not think clearly when he was in the grip of such a strong emotion—one of the few he actually experienced in full measure. And he needed to think clearly.
He needed more than a good strategy and a few pawns. He needed people he could trust. That meant he needed people who had secrets—dangerous secrets that they would do anything to keep.
After a while he took his phone out of his pocket and called a number.
The voice that answered was male, midthirties. It was infused with the cold arrogance that was the natural result of the combined forces of money and power.
“Who are you and how did you get this number?”
“Is that any way to greet your long-lost older brother?”
When you needed people you could count on, you turned to family.
CHAPTER 75
It did not rain on the day of the wedding.
Virginia looked out the window of her old upstairs bedroom and concluded that her grandmother’s garden had never looked more beautiful.
A white canopy framed with flowers stood at the ready. There were only a few rows of white folding chairs set up on the lawn, but they were all filled. Those on the groom’s side were occupied by Max Cutler’s new bride, Charlotte, and Charlotte’s stepsister, Jocelyn Pruett, as well as some friends and business colleagues. Reed Stephens was seated on that side of the aisle. The surprise guests were Xavier and his mother.
The bride’s side was full, too, with friends and acquaintances from the art world.
Octavia and Jessica fussed with the simple veil and the skirts of Virginia’s ankle-length white gown one last time and then stood back to admire their handiwork.
“You look so beautiful,” Octavia said. “And so happy—no, I take that back. You look as if you are overflowing with joy.”
Virginia blinked back the moisture that had somehow collected in her eyes.
“So do you,” she said.
“I am.” Octavia leaned forward briefly to brush her lips against Virginia’s cheek. “Anson was right. Happiness is overrated, but joy is a lasting gift.”
“You look spectacular,” Jessica said. She waved a cosmetic brush in triumph. “Don’t you dare cry and ruin all my hard work.”
“Time to go,” Octavia announced.
The three of them made their way downstairs and sto
pped in the doorway of the sunroom. Octavia and Jessica moved outside. The musicians struck a chord. Octavia and Jessica made their way along the carpet to the canopy.
Virginia’s pulse was dancing, but she was very certain she was not having an anxiety attack. She should know, she reminded herself. She was an expert on the subject. Octavia was right; the sensation she was experiencing today was joy.
Anson appeared in the doorway. He smiled at the sight of her and offered her his arm.
“You look beautiful,” he said. “Ready to do this?”
Virginia smiled. “Oh, yes.”
Together they went out into the sunshine and stopped at the top of the petal-strewn carpet. The musicians struck another chord. The guests rose. Virginia saw Cabot waiting for her. His foster brothers stood with him.
“Welcome to the family,” Anson said to Virginia.
She tucked her hand under his arm and walked with him down the aisle and into her future.
Promise Not to Tell
Jayne Ann Krentz
Readers Guide
Questions for Discussion
Trusting your gut instinct plays a major part in the book, whether it’s when Cabot Sutter trusts his investigator instincts, or when Virginia decides not to ignore her instincts that something seems off with Hannah’s “suicide.” Has there been a time when you knew that trusting your gut was the right thing to do? Were you ever wrong to do so?
Red herrings are used in mystery and suspense novels to throw the reader off the track of the real suspect. What were some of your favorite red herrings used in this book? Who did you think was really behind all of it?
Seattle comes alive as a character in the book, and not just the setting. Have you ever been to Seattle? How does Seattle play a role in defining the characters, and how appropriate is it that they are living in Seattle?
The book ends on a huge cliffhanger in terms of the real person at the heart of the novel. Who do you think Quinton Zane really is? What do you think he is planning to do?
Cabot and Virginia have a traumatic past in common, which brings them together. Do you think their shared past is also the main reason for their romantic interest in each other? Why or why not?
The theme of family is explored throughout the novel. Discuss the ways in which family is important to the various characters.
Cults have existed in society throughout human history. What do you think is the appeal of a cult, and why are people drawn to them? Do you know anyone who has had an experience with a cult? Was it a positive or negative experience?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jayne Ann Krentz is the author of more than fifty New York Times bestsellers. She has written contemporary romantic suspense novels under that name, as well as futuristic and historical romance novels under the pseudonyms Jayne Castle and Amanda Quick, respectively. There are more than 35 million copies of her books in print. She lives in Seattle.
Connect with her online at jayneannkrentz.com, facebook.com/JayneAnnKrentz and twitter.com/JayneAnnKrentz.
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