Shattered Trust (Shattered #2)

by Magda Alexander

  “May there be many more.” We clink, spilling a little of the champagne. Just as we do, the doorbell buzzes. “Maybe it’s another client.”

  But it’s not. It’s Madrigal.

  “Hi. Glad you stopped by.” I buss her on the cheek and then point to my valuable assistant. “You remember Rayne?”

  “Yes, of course.” They shake hands.

  “I stopped at Pietro’s and got a couple of dishes to celebrate your new office. I’m sure we can stretch it to three servings.” Her tight smile tells me she’d rather not.

  “Oh, no.” Rayne waves her hands. “I have to go. Got a . . . thing tonight.” Her hesitation tells me she has no plans. But she’s doing the right thing by leaving us alone. Madrigal does not appear too happy about her being here.

  After Rayne leaves, we set out the food in the kitchen.

  “So, your furniture arrived.”

  “Yes. They even delivered the water cooler.” I point to the contraption in the corner.

  “And you asked Rayne to help?”

  “No. She just showed up. Took half a day off. Nice of her to stop by. Don’t know what I would have done without her.”

  Her lips twist. “You could have called me. I would have loved to help.”

  “You have enough going on, Madrigal. How’s the bar studying going? That’s next week.”

  “Don’t.” She spears me with her glance.

  “Don’t what?” I ask, all innocent.

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “We have a subject?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.

  She folds her arms across her chest. “Don’t get cute, Steele. It doesn’t suit you.”

  “You’re upset.”

  “Yes.”

  “About Rayne.”

  “What clued you in?”

  “The smoke coming out of your ears and that little green monster sitting right there.” I brush my hand across her right shoulder.

  She bops me on my shoulder.

  I pull her into my lap. “You got nothing to worry about. She doesn’t do a thing for me.”

  She pushes back. “Stop paraphrasing my words.”

  “Seriously? You’re jealous?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? She’s gorgeous, smart, and infinitely more stylish than me. Just look at that gorgeous dress she was wearing. And here I am in blue jeans and a shirt.”

  “I like you in blue jeans and a shirt. I like you even more out of them.” Pulling on her shirt, I inch it out of her jeans.

  She stands up. “We’re not going to screw here, Steele.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because. Now eat your dinner like a good boy and then show me around.”

  “I’ve never been a good boy.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I think you’re pretty good at some things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Lawyering.”

  “And?”

  “I’ll tell you after you show me around,” she says, dancing out of reach with a smile.

  Chapter 29

  Madrigal

  I’ve spent the weekend studying for the bar, and now Steele is taking me out to a hot new restaurant in Leesburg as a welcome distraction. But just as I’m getting dressed, Cristina calls. In tears. “What happened?” I ask.

  “That son of a bitch.”

  “Who?”

  “Scott. Did you catch the news?”

  “No. I’ve had my nose buried in study guides the entire weekend.”

  “He’s been screwing his boss this whole time,” she says through a sob. “All those weekends he’s been campaigning were spent under the sheets. The scandal just broke. It’s all over the news. She’s a married woman, for heaven’s sake.”

  Well, there goes her career. And his.

  “You want me to come over?” As much as I hate to break my date with Steele, I have to be there for my friend.

  “No. I don’t want to inflict my misery on you. And now I’ve got to find a new place to live. I moved in with everything I owned. And since I subleased my place in Georgetown, I don’t have anywhere to go. Damn him.”

  “You can stay here with us until you find a new place. Steele lives in Scott’s building. We’re coming over to help you pack.”

  As soon as I hang up, I turn to Steele. “Change of plans.”

  “What?”

  “Cristina’s boyfriend, Scott McCarthy? He’s been cheating on her with his boss. Apparently, it’s all over the news.” I fire up my laptop that I’d purposely turned off so I wouldn’t be tempted to surf the web. It takes no time to find the gossip item, with pictures to boot. The two of them doing the nasty in some hotel room. Yeah, the senator’s not making a comeback from this. And she’s a Republican too. “You’d think they’d know to draw the curtains.”

  Steele taps the screen. “Look at the angle. Those pictures were taken from inside the room. Probably somebody hiding in a closet.”

  “Ugh. Who would do such a thing?”

  “Lots of private investigators. My guess is the husband probably suspected she was two-timing him and hired someone to prove it.”

  “That cheating bastard. Cristina’s a mess, and she’s got no place to go since she subleased her place. I told her she could crash here.” I glance up at him to gauge his mood. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  He shrugs. “Why should I mind? It’s your home.”

  “I know, but it’s yet another person in the house.”

  “It’s a big house.” He captures my hips and grinds against me. “And we can be private in here.”

  Who would have thought my grandfather’s bedroom would become our refuge? “We have to go help her move her things.”

  “Um, about that. I have a better plan. Why don’t we ask Hunter to go with us? After she’s packed, he can drive her here and we”—he kisses the tip of my nose—“can enjoy dinner at Pietro’s and spend the night in my apartment.”

  “Are we going to fuck or make love?”

  He grins crookedly at me. “Lady’s choice.”

  We drive to Crystal City in separate cars. Steele and me in his Jag, Hunter in his Grand Cherokee. After Cristina lets us in, she takes one look at Hunter and wails. “Why did you bring him?”

  Too late I realize I should have warned her. “He’s here to help you move. Just how much stuff do you have?”

  She points to several boxes, plus oodles of clothes and shoes draped over the couch and chairs. Knowing Cristina’s penchant for fashion, I’d brought two huge suitcases. In no time at all, we’ve got everything packed.

  “Is that it?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  Hunter picks up several boxes while Steele drags the suitcases toward the door.

  “Wait.” She fishes a key card from her purse and hands it to Steele. “You’ll need it for the elevator.” The key cards only work for specific floors, so we couldn’t use Steele’s to gain access to Scott’s apartment. When we arrived, she had to buzz us in.

  After Hunter and Steele head out with her things, she bursts into tears. I wrap my arms around her.

  “You shouldn’t have brought Hunter. I don’t want him to see me like this. Mascara running, sniveling nose. I look like hell.” She dabs at her face while more tears course down her cheeks.

  She’s making it worse, so I take a wipe from my purse and gently repair the damage. “You didn’t really love Scott, did you?” I ask once I remove most of the heartbreak evidence.

  “No. But I hate that men seem to think it’s all right to do this to me. I really do. I’m never dating again.”

  Yeah, sure. That will last until the next gorgeous man catches her eye. Come to think of it. One already has. And he’s helping her move. “Okay. I think that’s for the best.”

  She laughs and wipes the tears from her face. “I ruined your evening, didn’t I?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Look at you.” She gestures at me. “You never get dressed up.”

  “We’re going
out to dinner. At Pietro’s. Hunter’s driving you home.”

  She juts out her chin. “I don’t need him driving me. I have my own car.”

  “You’re upset. You shouldn’t be driving. He’ll come back and get your car in the morning. Now wash your face and brush your hair.”

  She takes but a couple of minutes to fix her face. When she comes back, she looks more like her usual self.

  “I’ll need to return Scott’s key card to him.”

  “Mail it to the bastard so you don’t have to see him again.”

  “Okay.”

  The doorbell rings, and I open the door to find Steele and Hunter on the other side. Standing next to each other, their resemblance strikes me. They have the same build and coloring, except where Steele’s eyes are slate gray, Stone’s are midnight blue.

  “Is that all?” Hunter asks. “Or is there more?”

  Cristina takes a look around. “Just those two boxes.”

  Stone picks them up and heads toward the door.

  I hug her again. “I’ll stop by your room when we get home tonight, okay?”

  “Don’t. I’ll probably be asleep by then. But I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Yeah.” I kiss her. “Hunter will take good care of you.”

  “Right.”

  “Shall we?” Steele nods to the door.

  We say good-bye in the lobby. We’ll walk to the restaurant, which is just around the corner, while they take the elevator down to the parking lot.

  “Have a great time,” she says.

  “We will.” I hate to see her so sad. She’s such a good person. But she has the worst luck in men I’ve ever seen. As I stroll down the sidewalk, happy to be holding hands with Steele, I have no way of knowing how the events of that night will come back to haunt us in the months ahead.

  Chapter 30

  Cristina

  “Have you had anything to eat?” Hunter asks after we slip into his mucho macho SUV. So many men drive big cars to make up for their sexual inadequacies. Doubt Hunter Stone has any problems in the bedroom department, though. Everything about him is big. His hands, his arms. I can imagine what else.

  “Dinner, you mean? No.”

  “Want to stop somewhere? I know a place.”

  “I’m not dressed—”

  “It’s a diner. Nothing fancy.”

  “Okay.”

  The place, next to a budget motel, is close to a dive. But going by the crowded parking lot, it must serve great food.

  It takes us a few minutes to be seated. The waiting area’s so tiny, people jostle us as they scoot to the front to give the hostess their names. And I end up being thrust against Hunter. God. He’s hard all over and smells of some yummy cologne.

  “So are you taking the Virginia bar or the DC one?” He’d heard Madrigal talking in the evidence room, so no surprise he knows about it.

  “Neither. I’m taking the Florida bar. I’m flying to Tampa tomorrow to take the test on Tuesday and Wednesday. Afterward, I’ll head to Miami to spend a couple of days with my family before coming back.”

  “Why aren’t you taking the DC bar? You’re working for the Justice Department.”

  “It’s just a summer internship. At the end of the summer, I may be offered a permanent position or not. So I’m keeping my options open. This way I can work in DC or Florida.”

  His name is called, and we follow the hostess to a booth. As soon as we’re seated, a harried waitress rushes over with our menus.

  “Anything to drink?” she asks, pen poised over her pad.

  He orders coffee and water; I ask for iced tea to combat the heat and humidity of the summer night.

  “So how does that work?” he asks once she leaves.

  With my mind occupied by the train wreck of my life, I’ve lost track of the conversation. “How does what work?”

  “How does taking the bar in Florida keep your options open?” He leans back, spreading a massive arm over the top of the booth.

  I gulp at the sight of his bulging bicep just as the waitress arrives with our drinks.

  “What would you like to eat?” she asks.

  I haven’t bothered to look at the menu, but like every other diner in the free world, it has to have one thing. “I’ll take a cheeseburger, medium well, and fries.”

  Hunter orders the same but with bacon.

  Enthralled by his powerful hand, I watch, mesmerized, as he pours cream and sugar into the coffee and stirs slowly.

  “Options?” he asks, bringing me back to our conversation.

  “Your test scores from another jurisdiction can qualify you to practice law in the District of Columbia. But the reverse is not true.”

  “Really?”

  “Think about it. How would knowledge of DC law help someone practice in Florida? State-based lawyers usually handle wills, domestic relations, or other issues particular to that jurisdiction. Most of the attorneys working in DC deal with federal agencies, such as the IRS, the Department of Justice, the Securities and Exchange Commission, Congress.”

  “Makes sense. But do you want to stay in DC?”

  “I did before”—I slash the air—“this happened. Now I don’t know.” I gaze into my tea as if the answer is to be found there to keep him from seeing my tears. I hate it when I cry, especially over a good-for-nothing bastard.

  “Hey.” He reaches across the table and wipes the moisture from my cheeks. “Are you really going to let one man’s betrayal drive you away from a career you love?”

  I toss back my head. “No.”

  The waitress arrives with our food, which gives me time to get myself together. When we pass the ketchup and mustard back and forth, our hands inadvertently brush against each other. Something zings through me—lust. I gaze at him as a wild thought pops into my head.

  “It’s good,” he says of his bacon cheeseburger after he’s chomped down half of it. “How’s yours?”

  “Same.”

  He smiles. “How would you know? You haven’t taken a bite.” He pushes the plate closer to me. “Eat. Carbs are good for a broken heart.”

  “My heart’s not broken. It’s pissed off,” I say, chewing on my burger.

  “Good to know.” He swallows, and I’m fascinated by the bob of his Adam’s apple.

  Angry with myself, with Scott, with the predicament I find myself in, I snap at him, “Stop being so damn agreeable.”

  Although he doesn’t say a word, his raised brow speaks volumes.

  And I’m instantly contrite. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be yelling at you. It’s just you’re so—” I bite my tongue before I blurt out something I shouldn’t.

  “So?”

  “So male, okay?”

  He laughs. “And that’s bad?”

  “No. Of course not. It’s just. Here you sit a foot away. Gorgeous, stacked, and I imagine well hung.”

  He sputters, coughs.

  “Are you okay?”

  He holds up a finger while he gets his breathing under control. Once he does, he takes a sip of his coffee. Planting both elbows on the table and folding his hands, he stares at me, not in anger but in wonderment. “Do you always blurt out every thought in your head?”

  “If I’m upset or excited, yes, I do.”

  “At work as well?”

  “No, strangely enough. When it comes to the legal stuff, I’m very logical and unemotional. But then I’m a Gemini, which explains the dual sides of me.”

  He picks up a French fry and swirls it in the mound of ketchup he built.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  He takes the time to chew before he answers. “No. Too busy with my business, plus I travel quite a bit. And I have absolutely no desire to settle down.”

  We spend the next few minutes finishing our food. When the waitress shows up to clear our plates, I ask for a slice of lemon meringue pie for dessert. He goes for the apple pie à la mode.

  While we wait, I glance at him over my glass of iced tea. “You s
ee that motel over there?” I point my chin toward the budget inn on the other side of the parking lot.

  His head swivels between the motel and me. “Yes. Planning on spending the night there?” he asks, all scrunched brow.

  “No. Not the night. Just a couple of hours.”

  His left brow arches as his gaze roams over me. I may look like hell, but the spark in his eyes tells me he’s interested.

  The waitress interrupts with our desserts, but as soon as she leaves, he says, “Are you asking what I think you’re asking?”

  “If you think I’m asking for a hookup, you’re right.”

  He jams a forkful of the apple pie into his mouth. “Is this revenge sex? He screws his boss. You fuck another man?”

  I should be offended by his crude language, but I’m not. Tonight, such words seem entirely appropriate. “Yes. And no. I’ve been attracted to you since the moment I first saw you.”

  “Yeah,” he says, finishing up the last piece of his dessert, “especially my ass.”

  “You noticed?”

  “Of course. It’s my job to notice things.”

  “That’s not the only thing I like about you.”

  “Oh?” He leans his elbows once more on the table and folds his hands. A lopsided smile quirks his lips. “So tell me, Ms. Sanchez, what else do you like about me?”

  He’s challenging me. He thinks I won’t tell him. Well, he’s got another think coming. “You’re smart, polite, dedicated to your job. You know how to issue orders.”

  “You like that, do you? When a man bosses you around?”

  “Depends on the man and what he’s asking. You also know when to take direction, even when it comes from a woman.”

  “Ms. Berkeley is my boss. She pays me to obey her orders. Anything else?”

  “You’re strong, kind, patient.”

  “I’m a veritable saint.”

  “You’re very good at hiding your emotions, but every once in a while your temper slips through.”

  “How did you figure that out?”

  “A raised brow, a clenched fist.”

  “You’re good at reading body language.”

  I give him my most sexy pout. “Aha. Took a whole semester of it in college.”