Hustler (Masters of Manhattan Book 2) Read online

  But in a larger sense, maybe he was right, and this had been unavoidable. Maybe the universe had been warning me about this reckoning all day.

  Keep it together, Haven. For Pederson’s sake.

  I smiled, and I knew it was a brittle, fake thing, but it was the best I could do in that moment.

  “Oh, the pleasure is all mine, Mr. Warner,” I told him, and I meant it. I’d longed to find him, to bring him to justice, for years.

  “Ethan, Ms. Wright says Max Pederson has information that could be useful to us,” Xavier said, his voice like a blade. I saw him glancing between us with narrowed eyes, reading the currents of tension but not knowing where they originated.

  Tad, or whoever he was pretending to be now, watched me like I was a landmine he’d recently discovered in his living room, ready to explode at any moment and give him away.

  I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the tiny buzz of power that gave me.

  “Ms. Wright,” he said, and only when his grip tightened around my fingers did I realize that he still held my hand. “You look like you could use a drink. Some water. Or tea.”

  “I’m fine, actually.”

  “Nonsense,” he said, smiling to the others as he tried to pull me towards the door. “You look overly warm. I’d be a terrible host if I didn’t get you something cold.”

  Jesus. I was overly warm. Trust this asshole to realize it.

  “No, I…” I protested again, but his grip would not budge, and I realized that I had the choice of being yanked off-balance or maintaining my dignity and going with him.

  How the hell did this man always, always put me in this position?

  “A nice cool glass of water. Anyone else need anything? No?” he answered his own question before anyone could get over their shock quickly enough to respond. “We’ll be back in a flash.”

  “Did she just call him Warner?” I heard Caelan ask as I was yanked from the room. “We never mentioned his last name.”

  And I could swear I heard Walker reply, “Oh, fuck,” which seemed to sum up the situation quite appropriately.

  Tad—Ethan, I corrected myself—pulled me down the hall into a spacious, homey kitchen with a large farmhouse table on one side and a variety of high-end appliances on the other.

  The entire first floor of my parents’ house in Barnstable could fit inside this room, I realized. And still, they couldn’t pay their mortgage without my help every month. All because of this man.

  And that was when my icy calm turned to red-hot rage.

  “Let go of me,” I hissed, pulling back on my arm hard enough to yank him sideways.

  He turned suddenly, grabbed both of my wrists, and pinned me against the refrigerator with my hands above my head. The door handle dug into my back as he plastered his chest to mine.

  I was stunned. In all the months we’d spent together, despite all his caveman protectiveness, he’d never once been rough with me.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” he demanded, and I had the sense that finally, in his temper, I was seeing the real man behind the façade.

  I felt a frisson of excitement flare in my belly before I ruthlessly suppressed it.

  Too bad the real man was an asshole, too.

  “Me? What am I doing here? Are you delusional, as well as a scum-sucking criminal fraud?” I was so angry—about his lies, about the way he made me feel—that I was practically hissing the words. Where, oh where, was professional, competent Haven? I thought for a second of calling the others, seeing if Caelan or Walker would come to my rescue, but I was determined to fight this battle myself. “The better question is what are you doing here? What are you doing breathing free air anywhere after all you’ve done?”

  His nostrils flared for just one instant before he blanked his expression, but I knew that if this guy had a tender spot anywhere inside him, I’d just hit it. One point to Haven.

  “What I mean to say is, what are you planning to do? About us?” He held my wrists tighter, his familiar blue eyes staring down into mine.

  I laughed. “Us? My God, there is no us. There never was. Are you afraid I’m going to tell your new friends that you’re a liar? That you befriended me, slept with me, pretended to fall in love with me, and got my parents to hand over every penny of their savings, then ghosted?”

  “No,” he said. “I’m not afraid you’ll tell them that.” His grip changed, and he rubbed his thumbs over the insides of my wrists. His skin shouldn’t have felt familiar. His warm breath on my cheek shouldn’t have felt so right. My heart sped, and I felt my panties dampen beneath the fabric of my oh-so-professional skirt.

  Under other circumstances, with another, more trustworthy man looming over me, arousal might have been understandable, but right now it was just another thing I blamed Ethan for.

  The fake-tenderness had somehow slipped beneath my defenses, and the knowledge of my own weakness made me want to kick him.

  “Then you definitely are delusional,” I informed him. “Because I have no need to keep your secrets.”

  “I didn’t suppose you would. I’m not worried because they already know.”

  My mouth fell open in shock. There was no way, no way, that kind-eyed Caelan and frat-boy Walker knew what this man had done to me. They’d been open and friendly, and I was positive I would have spotted a deception like that.

  “You lie, which is no surprise. They had no idea who I was.”

  “They don’t know you by name,” he agreed. “But they know who I was then. And they know who I am now.”

  He said it like those were two separate people, and I made a disbelieving noise.

  “Who you are,” I said knowingly. “Right. They know who you’re pretending to be, Tad. Or is it Ethan?”

  He seemed to consider something for a moment—I swear, I could read the thoughts flashing across his eyes as he discarded one story and another, trying to read me, trying to manipulate me, and I could only be glad that I knew better than to believe a word that came out of his mouth.

  “Ethan Warner is my real name,” he said finally. “The name I was born with. My legal name.”

  I squinted my eyes at him. The words had a certain weariness to them that gave them the air of truth, as unbelievable as that was.

  “The other Masters know that I’ve been a salesperson. An unscrupulous one,” he said, and I snorted.

  “The words you’re looking for are scum-sucking criminal fraud. Say it with me.”

  He shook his head, gripping my wrists tighter. “Don’t be a brat. They know that I’ve conned people in the past,” he said instead. “Hell, that’s why I’m on their team. What I want to know is who else you’re going to tell now that you know my identity. Now that you know where I live. Who are you going to tell, Haven?”

  I swallowed. He meant, was I going to tell the police? Was I going to tell the other people he’d defrauded? Was I going to get revenge?

  Oh, but it was tempting.

  And yet, right now Max Pederson was sitting in a jail cell, likely with his back pressed against the wall and fear in his eyes, because there was no safety for him as long as he was in prison. The only people, he’d told me, who had a snowball’s chance in hell of saving him, were Masters’ Security. “They know who I’m dealing with, Ms. Wright,” Max had said. “And they know how to stop them.”

  I’d buried my hurt and anger at Tad Warner for nine long years. I could bury it for a little while longer.

  “I’m not planning on telling anyone,” I told him, adding a silent right now to the end of that sentence. “I’m here to get help for my client.”

  “Promise?” The word was a taunt.

  “Cross my heart.”

  He lifted one eyebrow, but after a pause, he released my hands. “Well, I’ll say this: you’re a better liar than you used to be.”

  “And you’re dumber than you used to be, if you told me your real name,” I shot back, rubbing feeling back into my wrists.

  I pushed my hands aga
inst his chest, and he moved back half a pace, leaving no doubt that he moved because he chose to and not because I’d moved him.

  Everything with Ethan was on his terms. The bastard.

  “Maybe I figured you’d play nicely if you felt like you had a little power,” he said with a smile, and for half a second, I thought he was talking about me pushing him, before I realized he meant that was why he’d given me his real name. Smug, conceited ass, being so overt about his manipulation. “Animals don’t bite unless they’re cornered, right?”

  “They sure as hell do if you make them mad enough,” I retorted. Then I gave in to the impulse that had been riding me since we stepped into the kitchen and kicked his shin. Hard.

  He gave a gasp of surprise, and I enjoyed a single, beautiful moment of gratification… before my poor toes screamed in outrage and I learned another painful lesson courtesy of Ethan Warner. Never, never kick a man’s rock-hard shin with your too-small, pointy-toed, patent leather shoes.

  I blamed Ethan for this, too.

  Tears sprang to my eyes, but I held them back. In fact, I doubled-down, ready to kick him again. But he stepped closer at the last minute and wrapped his leg around mine, forcing my foot off the floor and removing my leverage. He looked down at me, and his expression morphed from anger to concern when he saw the tears in my eyes.

  “Enough,” he said. “Jesus, Haven. Enough. You hurt yourself, didn’t you? I won’t let you hurt yourself, even to hurt me.”

  I struggled against his hold. “That’s not for you to decide, Ethan!” Not now. Not ever again.

  He grabbed my chin roughly, forcing me to look at him. His red-brown hair had fallen down over his forehead in our tussle, and some stupid, stupid part of me wanted to push it back.

  Christ, I was an idiot.

  “You have no reason to trust me, I get it. I’m an asshole, I get that too. And I hurt you. I’ve known that for a long time, but I’m not the man I used to be, and I...” He shook his head. “You know what? I’m not even going to say I’m sorry. Because that would be worthless to you right now, and I know it. But I’ll make it up to you. I will. I’ll give your parents back every penny they lost and then some.”

  “Every penny you took,” I corrected him. “They didn’t lose it, Ethan. You took it.” And he’d taken even more than that—my trust, my faith, my innocence—things that could never be redeemed.

  “I did. Yes, God, I know I did. And I don’t expect you to believe that I’ve changed. But work with me on this. Work with the Masters. And when this is done…” He looked me in the eye. “When this is done, I will apologize to you, I will make restitution to everyone I stole from… and then if it still means nothing to you, you can turn me in.”

  I huffed out a laugh and wrenched my chin from his grip. I didn’t believe for a single second that he’d do any of the things he said, but I’d already decided I’d go along with the Masters, for Max’s sake. And I would decide when I was ready to turn him in.

  “Fine,” I lied. “I agree to your terms.” After all, I told myself, animals are less inclined to bite when they’re not cornered.

  He inhaled sharply, stepping away from me. “We should probably come up with a story,” he said. “The others are going to get that we have a history.”

  I shook my head in disgust. “You tell them whatever you want to tell them. You’re the expert liar, after all.”

  He nodded once, and we made our way back to the library. I refused to let him help me, even though every step was painful.

  The others were all stationed exactly as we had left them, and all eyes turned our way when we walked in the room. It seemed like most of the glances my way were curious, while those aimed at Ethan were decidedly annoyed. They wanted to know the connection between us, of course.

  Good. He could spin them whatever tale he wanted, but I wouldn’t help him.

  “You’re all… refreshed?” Walker asked as I took my seat. There was real concern in his dark eyes, partially obscured by the swath of hair that fell on his brow.

  “Oh, yeah. I’m doing just peachy,” I said with a smile. I had no idea who any of these guys were, really, or why they’d associate with a man like Ethan, but I appreciated Walker’s kindness.

  My eyes strayed up to where Ethan had perched on the arm of the sofa next to Walker, arms folded over his chest. He wasn’t bothering with his friendly, innocent act anymore, and he positively glowered at me and, weirdly, down at Walker.

  That honest, unscripted emotion sent a thrill through me, and I thought back to the way he’d pinned me against the refrigerator.

  “You were about to tell us what you know about Max Pederson,” Xavier reminded me solicitously, his eyes sharply moving from me to Ethan. He called the shots here, it seemed.

  “Right. Of course.”

  Jesus, Haven, smarten up. Ethan Warner is your enemy.

  I cleared my throat and channeled my lingering anger into a cogent recitation. “I’ll tell you everything he’s authorized me to tell you. You probably know from the media that Emma Pederson was found shot to death in the Pedersons’ apartment just over a month ago. It was their housekeeper, Gwendolyn’s, evening off, and according to Mr. Pederson, his wife was supposed to be having a spa night with some of her friends. He returned home from a late business dinner around ten o’clock, and went directly to his office, where he drank whiskey and watched videos, as he did every night. He didn’t wonder where his wife was since they weren’t on speaking terms at that time. He fell asleep on the couch in his office, which he says was not unusual for him, and didn’t wake up until early the next morning, when he heard Gwendolyn screaming for someone to get an ambulance.”

  Xavier frowned. “But Emma Pederson was already dead then.”

  I nodded. “For several hours. But Gwendolyn didn’t know that.”

  “What evidence do they have against Mr. Pederson?” Caelan asked, leaning forward. I noticed his empty tea cup had been placed neatly on the table—on a coaster, no less—and there was something so sweet about that, I couldn’t help but give him a friendly smile.

  “I won’t lie,” I said. “They’ve got a lot. The Pedersons’ security shows no one leaving or entering the apartment from the time Max came home until Gwendolyn got back from an overnight visit to her sister on Long Island. Anyone else would have had to be inside the house with Emma Pederson before her husband came home. The investigators think that’s highly unlikely. So Max is the only suspect with opportunity. And as for motive, Max had recently found out his wife was having an affair with a criminal named Robby Fletcher.”

  Several looks were exchanged around the room, and no one seemed surprised.

  “Go on,” Ethan prompted. “Who else have they looked at?”

  “No one. Well, Fletcher might have been a suspect, but he was sent to jail on Federal weapons charges just a week before Mrs. Pederson’s death, so we know he wasn’t involved. And, to make matters worse, Mr. Pederson had also spoken to many friends about having consulted his attorney to move forward with divorce proceedings against her.”

  “Yeah, but if he was divorcing her, why would he have killed her? He’d known about the affair for a while,” Sabrina said, widening her eyes significantly. “This was no crime of passion.”

  “Money,” I told her simply. “The fact is, Mr. Pederson did begin divorce proceedings in a fit of anger after learning about the affair. But their prenup agreement didn’t have a cheating clause.”

  “That was stupid,” Ethan remarked, and I had to agree.

  “More like criminally irresponsible, given that he was a lawyer, himself. But then, we’re all fools for love, aren’t we?” I asked sweetly.

  Ethan held my glance for a moment, before I collected myself and continued.

  “Unfortunately for Mr. Pederson, he’d made some long-term investments over the past year. It would have been extremely difficult—not impossible, mind you, but difficult—for him to liquidate his assets and get cash together quickly. I
t might have required selling off his business.”

  Caelan whistled through his teeth. “That’s a heck of a motive.”

  “It is. If I were prosecuting this case, I’d have opened a bottle of champagne already,” I said glumly. And then I told them the kicker. “When he ran out of his office that morning at Gwendolyn’s scream, his hands were covered in blood. His wife’s blood. And his prints were found on the murder weapon.”

  “What?” Sabrina’s eyes were wide, and she looked to Anson for confirmation. “His prints? Were on the gun?”

  Anson wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder, but he turned to me. “So, what the hell makes you think he didn’t do it? I hate to think it about the guy, but the physical evidence, the motive, they all point to him.”

  “They do,” I sighed. “But I believe he’s telling the truth. And you can trust me when I tell you, I’m pretty hard to fool these days.”

  I didn’t glance at Ethan, but I hoped he knew my words were directed at him.

  Xavier studied me for a second, like he was assessing the truth of my statement, but I didn’t flinch. I got the sense that he would be nearly impossible to manipulate, himself. Finally, he nodded.

  “I believe that you believe that,” he said. “But…”

  “But it’s not enough to go on,” I said. “I know. There’s more. Do you believe in conspiracies?”

  Once again, they all exchanged looks, and a frisson of awareness passed through the group, but Walker was the one to break the silence.

  “Oh, Haven. Honey. You have no idea,” he said. “Spill the tea.”

  I blinked, then arched one eyebrow. Walker’s the kind of guy my mom would call a rascal—cute and devious, sexy and sweet, all at the same time. I found myself warming to him even more. “The tea? Did you hear that term in the dark realm?”

  Anson hooted appreciatively, and Caelan grinned. Walker’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and his eyes lit with genuine humor as he admitted, “Nah. YouTube.”

  I found myself laughing, despite the seriousness of the topic, then I sighed as I caught Ethan’s scowl. Did he not like me laughing with his friends? Did he feel left out, since he’d missed the joke? Too damn bad. The laughs in my life were few and far between these days.