by J. D. Mason
It was the most natural question to ask in a situation like this. Robin wasn’t surprised by it, but she was surprised by how ill prepared she was to answer it. As an attorney, she had interviewed her share of people for various reasons under various circumstances. There was an art to asking questions in order to gain the most insight from the individual.
“Why is Jordan Gatewood paying your legal fees?”
She’d caught him off guard. That wasn’t the question he was expecting.
“Do you know him?” Ross’s steely gaze locked onto her.
It was her turn to be surprised. “Yes.”
“Then why don’t you ask him?”
His tone and mannerisms made it clear that he wasn’t going to tell her.
“Did you kill Lonnie?”
He shook his head and smiled. Robin’s heart jumped in her chest. No. It wasn’t … no.
“I did not,” he said clearly and with conviction.
“Do you know who did?”
He shook his head slowly. “No.”
“Were she and Jordan lovers?”
Again, Ross gave her a long, lingering, and probing look. “What’d he do to you?”
“What makes you think he did anything to me?” she asked far too defensively.
He huffed. “Oh, he must’ve.” Ross’s gaze slowly traveled the length of her to her shoes and then back up to her eyes. “You look expensive like him.” He squinted slightly. “Let me guess. Girlfriend? Correction,” he said, raising his thick brows. “Ex-girlfriend.”
Robin didn’t give him the benefit of a response. Frank Ross was good. Obviously, spending all that time in the courtroom and around lawyers had taught him the art of deflection.
“You could’ve saved yourself a trip,” he said unemotionally. “I’ve got nothing to say on Gatewood, and I’m sorry for whatever it was he did to you. A word of advice. Let it go and move on. He’s not the one you want to spar with.”
“Did he kill Lonnie?” Robin was startled by her own question.
It had come from a dark and desperate place. Far-reaching, but still, possible. She hadn’t come all the way down here to walk away with nothing.
Frank studied her. “Lonnie Adebayo played a dangerous game with all the wrong people. I don’t know who killed her. I just know that I didn’t.”
“Why is he paying your legal fees?”
“That lawyer of mine don’t come cheap,” he explained. “He’s one of the best from what I hear. Best there is. If anybody can get me off, it’s him.”
“If you truly believe that, then why are you here instead of awaiting trial in Dallas?”
He sighed and closed his eyes. “Because I’m tired. For too long I’ve let myself be pulled into bullshit schemes of other people’s, thinking that I’d find my pot of gold at the end of some dumbass rainbow. And all it did was land me here.”
“I just want to know why he’s paying for your lawyer.”
“And I’m just telling you that you’ve wasted your time coming here. Whatever game you’re playing, lady, against Gatewood, you’re on your own. I got nothing for you.”
He was right. She’d come all the way down here, and he had only answered a single question. He’d said that he hadn’t killed Lonnie. It was the things he didn’t say that made this trip worthwhile. Frank Ross and Jordan Gatewood were related. She didn’t know how, but physically both men shared undeniable similarities: their smiles, the slopes of their foreheads, and even the same heavy brows. That would provide one explanation as to why Jordan was paying for his defense. But the media hadn’t connected Jordan to Ross in any way. And Ross certainly wasn’t going to own up to it. Jordan, of course, never would. Did it matter? The scandal was Ross’s, not Jordan’s, especially if he wasn’t involved. A lump formed in her throat. He was involved.
He and Lonnie were lovers. Frank hadn’t confirmed it, but he didn’t deny it either. Somehow Frank Ross had gotten pulled into Jordan’s mess, standing trial for a murder he said he didn’t commit, defended by a lawyer paid for by Jordan. She knew that Alex Richards commanded a pretty penny for his services. Had Jordan bought Frank’s silence by hiring Alex to keep him off death row? Because Ross was a family member? Because Ross knew that Jordan was somehow involved in Lonnie’s death? Maybe both.
She knew more now than she did before she’d gotten on the plane to come to Laredo. Robin was smart enough to fill in some very convincing blanks. Her version of what happened could make life very uncomfortable for Jordan. The deal of a lifetime hung in the balance, and a scandal like the one reeling in her head could absolutely derail it. Or it could force him to have to confess to his sins in order to manipulate the truth to suit his needs.
If there was no happily ever after for her, then he sure as hell wouldn’t get one either.
Before boarding the plane, Robin sent one last text to Liza’s investigator.
I need her address.
Come with Me
DAVE MORRIS, JORDAN’S DIRECTOR of federal acquisitions, had put a meeting on the executive staff’s calendars for nine Friday morning. The rumor was that the feds had finally awarded that contract and would be making the formal and public announcement next week. All the key players were in attendance—Jordan, Vince, and Mike. Robin was the only one missing. She hadn’t turned in her resignation yet, but Jordan assumed that it was inevitable.
Gatewood Industries had a snowball’s chance in hell of getting this contract. When he’d first discovered the opportunity, Jordan had weighed it heavily, mostly alone, going round and round in his head how he could make something like this work. It was an endeavor involving the creation of an entirely new division of GII, with a new facility, engineering, and operational staff. The division would be all R&D, offering a wholly different kind of challenge from what he was used to, and he looked forward to it.
“They contacted all the candidates late yesterday,” Dave said with a heavy tone, looking at each one of them. “It did not come down to cost. They didn’t award to the lowest bidder, which, as you know with government, is everything.”
Heads dropped, sighs filled the room, and disappointment started to weigh heavily. It was as if everyone knew where this was going.
Jordan leaned back and nodded slowly. “It’s our first shot,” he began calmly. “And we made it a lot further than anyone expected us to this first go-round. There’ll be other opportunities, gentlemen,” he said confidently. “We’ll just keep at it until something pans out.”
“It’s already panned out, Jordan,” Dave said with a sly smile.
Jordan stared at him.
“We won the contract.” Dave’s voice cracked.
“You’re shitting me,” Jordan said in disbelief.
Dave shook his head. “I shit you not, boss!”
Dave laughed. Whoops and hollers filled the room. Some selective curse words flew overhead. Jordan pounded his fist on the table.
“Yes!”
Everyone stood up and started shaking hands across the table, everyone except for Jordan. This was bigger than anything he could’ve dreamed, but Jordan did dare to dream it, and it happened. Jordan was so caught up in his own disbelief that he didn’t notice everyone standing around the table staring at him. He looked up and then slowly stood up, too, and grinned from ear to ear.
“I guess we’re in the aerospace industry. We did it.”
“You did it, Jordan,” Vince, his COO, said, reaching out to shake his hand.
Everyone else in the room nodded and then applauded.
Jordan raised a hand to quiet them. “All right. All this man love is nauseating,” he joked.
They all laughed.
“Now the real work begins.” He looked at each of them. “We’ve got a new division to stand up and an engine to develop.”
* * *
The day had been filled with meeting after meeting. Jordan hadn’t made the announcement to the rest of the corporation, and he wouldn’t until it was formally announced by the govern
ment. He’d had so many incredible and amazing accomplishments since he’d taken over the business after his father’s death. The first decade had been a bitch. Jordan made too many mistakes, and he’d watched it gradually start to crumble away from him piece by piece, painstakingly destroying Julian’s legacy. At the end of those first ten years, there was hardly anything left of it except for a company car, a dilapidated building, and a receptionist. That was an exaggeration, of course, but not by much.
For forty years, Gatewood Industries had been nothing but oil and gas. Winning this contract now ushered the business into a whole new realm of possibilities. The contract had been awarded to him under the guise of “best value,” meaning the government believed that he could deliver the best product despite the fact that he couldn’t deliver it as cheaply as the other candidates. But he would own up to that promise. Jordan’s pride, his reputation, depended on it.
* * *
“Hey, handsome,” Abby said, answering the phone.
It was just after seven in the evening when he called.
“I received some good news today, and I’d like to celebrate.”
“Is it what I think it is?” she asked hesistantly.
“I need to see you.”
Abby held the phone away, screamed, and then composed herself. “Well, okay, then.”
He laughed. “I can pick you up, and we can go to the ranch.”
“Nope,” she said quickly.
Jordan was almost disappointed.
“I can meet you at the ranch,” she added. “Say, by nine?”
“I’ll see you at nine, sugah.”
Shortly before nine, Jordan stood outside the door of his ranch home as Abby pulled up in her truck and climbed out wearing cutoff jean shorts, a Superman T-shirt, an oversized cardigan, and cowboy boots, carrying a bottle of champagne. She’d pulled her mane of curls into a puff on top of her head. Jordan smiled at the sight of her. Abby raised up off her toes to kiss him.
“Brought you something,” she said, handing him the champagne bottle. “It’s probably cheaper than you’re used to but it’s good.”
Jordan slipped her overnight bag off her shoulder and onto his. “You brought me you,” he said, ushering her inside. “That’s all that matters.”
Jordan wasted no time once inside, hoisting Abby up over his shoulder and carrying her upstairs to the bedroom.
The sex was hot and sticky. Abby was pliable, unhinged, and loose. She trusted him with her, and he honored that trust. Jordan wanted to make love all night. He moved slowly, deliberately, with long and even strokes, relishing the cream of her covering his shaft. Inhaling and committing her scent to memory so that he could take it with him when she wasn’t with him. Full and bountiful breasts filled his palms, his mouth. She dug her nails into his arms and back, at times begging him to stop, then changing her mind and begging him not to.
Jordan was determined to make her his, his pussy, his woman. He would leave an indelible mark on her so deep, so profound that the thought of another man touching her would repulse her. Sweet Abby Rhodes, charming and funny, kind. Pretty woman. She had no idea of the effect she was having on him. Abby changed him, brought him back to life, gave him a new sense of desire and purpose that had nothing to do with Gatewood Industries or money or power.
“Jordan,” she said breathlessly, grabbing handfuls of sheets as he pounded into her from behind. “Oh, Jordan, I’m coming. I’m coming, baby.”
Yes! He licked his lips and grabbed hold of her small waist and pushed deep enough into her for her to cry out—in pain? Pleasure? Both.
He cried out, too. Abby’s inner walls wrapped around his dick so perfectly that in this moment, they weren’t two separate people.
“Oh! Oh, Jord—”
“Fuck—Abby!” he closed his eyes, reared back his head, and growled like an animal as he released.
“Ahhhh!”
This was spiritual and cosmic. He fucking exploded inside this woman, coming so hard that it took every bit of his strength to remain standing. And she came with him, pulsing against him, massaging him, and siphoning all his energy and will from him, until all he wanted was to be hers.
“Shit! Shit!” Jordan repeated, the room spinning and Abby convulsing underneath him.
He couldn’t help himself. Jordan lowered himself on top of her, pinning her underneath him, passionately kissing her shoulders and the back of her neck. He slid off her just enough to keep from crushing her, but he wasn’t going to let her go. No. He’d been searching for her his whole life. And he’d found her. And he was never letting go.
* * *
“I’m so happy,” she said lazily, lying on top of him. “I mean, happy that you got that contract.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I’m happy, too. And that contract is a bonus.”
Keeping Us Afloat
“DAMMIT, JOE. YOU TOLD ME that this part of the yard was clear.”
Abby was livid. The city engineer had surveyed the backyard of the Perry house for gas lines and anything else that might be hidden that could cause problems, ensuring Abby that her team was cleared to dig up ground to start grading the ground to install a new swimming pool. Ten minutes after breaking ground, one of her employees, Isaac, who was operating the excavator, hit a water main, and water rushed out and flooded the whole backyard.
“This ain’t in the plans, Abby,” Joe argued, turning the brim of his ball cap to the back of his head, shoving his computer tablet in her face.
The scene was complete and utter chaos with the residents shadowing Abby and Joe, cursing at them, Abby’s crew trying to get that heavy equipment out of the yard before the ground became so saturated that it all started to sink. The water company crew showed up demanding that everybody get out of their way, including the panicked and angry Perrys.
“Who’s gonna pay for this, Abby?” Dirk Perry kept asking. “We shouldn’t have to pay for this.”
“Jake and Carla,” Lisa Perry said, calling out to her kids splashing around in the muddy yard. “Get over here! Now!”
“I wouldn’t have opened up the ground without your okay, Joe,” Abby angrily retorted. “You said we were clear to dig.”
“And you know how these old houses are. People did shit all the time without going through the city for permitting.”
“What are you accusing me of, Joe?” Dirk asked belligerently.
“I’m not accusing you of nothing,” Joe shot back, then waved him off and turned back to Abby.
“I’m not paying for this,” Dirk said over and over again as he walked back over to his wife. “We’re not paying for this.”
Abby was sick to her stomach. The customer wasn’t always right, but in this case, he wasn’t wrong. She was going to have to pay the cost on this one. She knew it, but she sure as hell didn’t want to admit it out loud. Joe owed her, though. He owed her big, and he knew that, just by looking in her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Abby.”
She shook her head, turned, and walked over to the Perrys. “Don’t worry. We’ll take care of it,” she said dismally before heading back to the front of the house to her truck. Abby desperately needed a shower and a cup of tea.
* * *
Two hours later, Abby sat stretched out on the sofa in her living room, talking to Isaac, who had been quoted a cost of $600 from the city for repairs of that water main.
“So, we eatin’ this one?” Isaac said in that unemotional drawl of his.
She sighed. “We are. How long before we can start digging again?”
“I give it a week or two as long as it don’t rain.” He chuckled, and even that was indifferent.
Abby’s doorbell rang. “I’ve got to go, Isaac.”
“Am I off the rest of the day?”
“You wish.” She smiled. “Doug is over at Mrs. Phillip’s house on Blake Street working on that porch. Why don’t you go over and see if he needs help?”
“Yeah.”
* * *
; The woman standing at Abby’s door looked like she’d stepped right out of the pages of a Vogue fashion shoot. She was stunning, towering over Abby by nearly a foot, wearing designer jeans, stiletto pumps, a silver silk blouse, and what looked like a Chanel jacket, dark gray. The only reason Abby had any clue about Chanel jackets was because Skye loved them and was saving up her money to buy an authentic one someday.
Bone straight, burgundy-colored hair, parted on one side, fell gracefully over her shoulders. And her makeup was impeccable, with perfectly arched and manicured brows, eye shadow so succinctly applied that it looked like it was just her skin, and a lip color that seemed to have been custom made for this woman.
“Can I help you?” Abby asked cautiously.
It was obvious that she wasn’t from around here.
“Ms. Rhodes?” she asked, sounding as polished and pristine as she looked.
“Yes?”
“May I come in?”
“Who are you?” Abby asked, not that she was afraid of the tall, slender woman, but she didn’t just let anybody come into her house.
“My name is Robin Sinclair,” she said eloquently.
Hell, even her name was classy.
“We have a mutual friend in Jordan Gatewood.”
And just like that, all kinds of alarms were set off inside Abby. She reluctantly pushed open the door and stepped back to allow the woman inside. Her perfume wafted through the air, permeating Abby’s living room. She wanted to hate it, but didn’t. A knot the size of a fist swelled in Abby’s stomach as the woman turned in a slow circle, surveying the room until she finally stopped and stared at Abby.
For a moment, the two of them stood there without saying a word, each of them, no doubt, assessing the other in relation to Jordan. The woman was an amazon, tall, gorgeous, and classic, like him. She was the epitome of who and what a man like Jordan Gatewood represented.
“I think we both know where this conversation is going to go,” Robin Sinclair eventually said, locking those dramatic eyes onto Abby’s.
Abby made a mental note to maintain her composure and dignity at all costs. After the day she’d had, this was the last thing she needed.