Secure Desire Page 35

  “The immediate plan is gut rest. Tuck had good instincts. He ran the test and gave her the Unisom last night. It was a safe choice,” Hunter said, then gave specific dosages of ginger and B6.

  Pete pushed back from the table. “Anything else?”

  “I’ll write the note and make the call. Give her twenty-five milligrams of Unisom now. It might break the cycle. Lil, are you okay?” Hunter asked.

  Her gray eyes crinkled with worry. “Yeah, I have to be, don’t I?”

  Ian walked in. “What’s wrong?”

  His mother laughed. “Ian Chase, why do you always think something is wrong? Cassie is with Stephanie, and we are just finishing up a lovely lunch.”

  “Did she eat?”

  “Sit.” Hunter pulled out a chair. “She’s still throwing up, but we’ll get it under control. I’m gonna run some tests and go from there. Don’t pressure her to eat. Food can’t become a battle between you two.”

  Ian yanked his tie open. “You’re keeping secrets. Seventy-two hours—and I start digging.”

  Cassie lay down after Stephanie left. She felt exhausted and weak. I can’t do this to you, Ian. I won’t be your weak link. It’s my battle to finish.

  Martin slipped into the room. “How ya doing, Gator? Can I get you anything?”

  “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.” She turned teary.

  “No tears. Everything is okay.” Martin pulled the blanket over her. “Try to sleep. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  The sprawling ranch home was set back from the road. Kieran pulled his car up to the front door, surprised at the low-tech security. The doorbell was greeted with the shrill barking of dogs. Cheyenne Whitman opened it with a chain attached. “Mrs. Whitman, I’m Kieran Chase. Is your husband at home?”

  “No. Your brother chased him off.”

  “My brother had nothing to do with your husband’s disappearance. Would you speak to me about the Helping Hearts dinner?”

  Her huge sigh accompanied the drop of the chain. Kieran followed her into the living room where toys were scattered on the floor, and two little white dogs nipped at his ankles. “Can I get you something to drink?” Cheyenne believed in southern hospitality.

  “No, thank you, Mrs. Whitman. I’m just trying to piece together the events at the dinner.”

  Cheyenne lowered herself into a chair. “I assume you’re here because of your brother. I heard about Cassie’s death, but I don’t think I can tell you much. Garett and I left before anything happened.”

  Kieran placed his hands on his knees, leaning forward just enough to enter her personal space. “Tell me, Cheyenne, why did you leave early?”

  “Our little girl needed us.” She looked away.

  Kieran moved just a little closer. “Now, you know that’s not the truth.”

  Cheyenne pushed back in her chair, trying to stand. “I think you need to leave.” Her large belly held her down.

  “Garett get a little too chummy with Cassie?” he questioned.

  Cheyenne’s eyes blazed as her face grew red, and she swung at Kieran, who caught her wrist. “Now, darling, you aren’t mad at me.” He offered a hand to help her stand.

  Bursting into tears, Cheyenne took it. “Garett still loves her. I’m his wife, the mother of his children—and he loves that woman.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “He told me so. On the way home, he told me. He said he loves me, but he still loves her. He said he owes her. For what? She broke their engagement. I am the one his parents approve of. I carried the babies, and I’m carrying the namesake. She’s dead, and he still loves her.”

  “When was the last time you heard from him?”

  “I haven’t seen him since he took me home after Robby Bynum’s funeral.”

  Kieran took her hands in his. “I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve to be treated like this. If you hear from him, would you call me please?” He handed her his business card.

  Cheyenne threw open the door. “I don’t compete with anyone, especially not a ghost. My husband better get that through his head—or he won’t have either one of us.” She slammed the door on Kieran’s back.

  “You saw what I did. It’s there. This is unraveling. You told me it was taken care of,” Betty Bynum screamed at her husband. “I’ve put up with your sickness to achieve this goal—and now you and those other connivers are going to ruin everything.” She threw a vase at him. “Fix this.”

  Senator Bynum dialed a number. “I need to see you—now.”

  After cuddling with Cassie until her stomach settled once more, Ian ducked out of the house under the pretense of heading to the office. Whitman, Tyler, and Bates, LLC, occupied a modern building on the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal. The building was part of historic Georgetown; cafés and art galleries dotted the blocks around it. He took the elevator up from the underground garage to the third floor. Standing at the glass and chrome reception desk, he said, “Ian Chase to see Bradford Whitman.”

  The buxom, made-up blonde looked him up and down. “Do you have an appointment, Mr. Chase?”

  “No. Tell him it’s about Cassie Ellis. He’ll see me.”

  The woman lifted her phone without taking her eyes off him. “He’ll be with you in a moment. Please make yourself comfortable. May I get you coffee, tea, juice, or water?”

  “No, thank you.” Ian sat in the modern reception area. Zach was right about their security.

  Bradford Whitman, dressed in a tailored Tom Ford suit, entered the waiting area. “Mr. Chase.” The older man’s handshake was solid and strong. “Come this way. I’m surprised to see you today.”

  “There’s not much at home for me.”

  Family pictures adorned his office, unlike the impersonal waiting area. Ian noticed one small unframed photo stuck in the corner of the impressive oak bookcases. It was a picture of Cassie wearing the dress he first saw her in. He faked a trip and retrieved it.

  His eyes were also drawn to a pair of pen and ink drawings of black roses. “My wife gave them to me when I first started out. They’re favorites of mine. What can I do for you, Mr. Chase? My receptionist said it was about Cassiopeia. Beautiful service. Such a tragic loss.” Bradford sat behind his impressive desk, the Young Woman in Pink hanging behind him.

  “I’ll get right to the point. Other than at the banquet, when was the last time you saw Cassie?”

  A flicker of heat flashed through Bradford's eyes. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Cassie was special to me. I promised her I would find out what happened to her.”

  Bradford blew out a breath. “I thought Ames stabbed her. Pretty open and shut. It was like six years ago. Such a shame she got herself in trouble again…poor thing.”

  “I don’t think getting stabbed was her fault, Mr. Whitman.”

  “Let me tell you something, Mr. Chase: Cassiopeia was a lovely girl, but she required a firm hand. She was too independent. My son couldn’t deal with such a headstrong woman.”

  “Mr. Whitman, tell me about your relationship with Sebastian Ames and Robert Bynum Jr.”

  “Again, Mr. Chase, why are you here asking questions?”

  “It appears Mr. Ames and Mr. Bynum Jr. were involved in the attack on Cassie six years ago. Considering your relationship with the Bynum family, I’m wondering how much you knew.”

  “That’s terrible. I knew Robby was an addict, but he and Sebastian hurt Cassie? I would have said something.”

  “Again, when was the last time you saw Cassie? Her last clear memory was arriving at your house the night she was attacked. I’m trying to fill in the details. Cassie brought you the Young Woman in Pink? Why did you choose that painting?”

  Bradford turned. “Look at it, Mr. Chase. The ivory skin, the curve of her breasts. Exquisite, like Cassiopeia. A gift for my son. Cassiopeia brought me the prospectus from a small gallery in Moscow. Adrienne and I felt obligated to purchase something. And this painting was an easy choi
ce.”

  Ian tamped down his disgust. “Mr. Whitman, have you ever met David Sucov?”

  Whitman flinched. “The name doesn’t ring a bell. Should I know him?”

  “He represented the Moscow gallery that brokered the painting.”

  “We didn’t deal with the gallery. Cassiopeia did. Mr. Chase, you said Detective Blake has evidence Robby was her attacker?”

  I never mentioned the police—much less Andy Blake. “Yes.”

  “Do Betty and Robert know? My god. I’ve known Robby since he and Garett were babies. Garett will be devastated. Did she know before she died? That should’ve given Cassiopeia some comfort.”

  “No, and I wouldn’t call that news comfort. The police are still investigating based on some new evidence.”

  Ian saw Bradford close and release his fist. Cassie was right, much more happened that night. Ian stood up, placing the tiny picture of Cassie in front of him. “Please tell me about the night Cassie was attacked.”

  Bradford swirled his finger over it, and Ian tried not to swing. “She was such a pretty girl. Again, nothing much to tell. She showed up to bring me the painting.”

  Ian’s jaw locked. “Do you remember what she was wearing?”

  The door to the office flew open, and Adrienne Whitman walked in. Her crisp Cardin suit exuded power and control. “Darling, I heard Mr. Chase was here. I am so sorry for your loss. She had such a hard life.”

  Ian rose to greet her.

  “Ade, Mr. Chase has brought me most disturbing news.”

  “Oh my, more tragedy?” Adrienne placed a hand on her chest.

  “I was asking your husband about the attack six years ago.”

  She sat in the plush chair in front of her husband’s desk.

  “It appears Sebastian and Robby were her attackers. Can you believe it? I was just telling Mr. Chase about that night. Where were we? Yes, I remember. What she was wearing. Do you remember, Ade?”

  She shook her head, but Ian caught her glance at the picture on the desk.

  “She insisted we share a bottle of champagne. As usual, she was scatterbrained and thought Garett was home instead of waiting for her at the restaurant,” Bradford said.

  Adrienne clucked, “Typical Cassiopeia. She ended up leaving our house very late, and they had words. The rest is history.”

  “When was the last time you spoke with your son?”

  “We saw him at Robby’s funeral, but you would know since you were the last person to see him.” Adrienne sounded snide.

  “I’ll be in touch. The police are investigating other theories. Your story isn’t holding water anymore.” Ian stood.

  “Story? Mr. Chase, we take offense at that. Why would we tell a story?” Bradford asked.

  “You tell me. Your son loved her. In fact, according to Cheyenne, he still does. Mrs. Whitman, do you know David Sucov?” Adrienne Whitman blinked. “And the five-million-dollar contribution?”

  Adrienne’s pupils dilated. “It was the least Garett could do, considering…”

  “Considering what?”

  Adrienne turned to face him. “Isn’t it obvious? Garett told her he couldn’t marry her because she was no longer pure. And she didn’t need any money.”

  “How could he do that to her? She was brutalized—and then he destroyed her.”

  A perverse smile touched her lips. “He had to rip the Band-Aid off. It was better that way. A Whitman heir must marry pure.”

  “A Band-Aid? Is that how you saw it? She was drugged and raped—and all of you thought it was better to tell her it was her fault. I don’t understand. Tell your son to go home to his wife and children. Stop hiding. I will find him.”

  Ian picked up Cassie’s picture and left, closing the door without a sound. He drove back home to take a hot shower. He had felt cleaner after crawling through mud pits in Central America.

  Cassie spent the remainder of the day in the master suite after asking Martin for privacy. Locking the bedroom door, she turned on classical music and the shower. Using the sounds as cover, she pulled out the tablet from Ian’s office and rifled through the large medic bag her team left in the room. Using the tweezers from a suture removal kit, Cassie opened the tablet, removed the SIM card, and replaced it with one she found in the tablet in the med bag. She connected to the portable hot spot. Given Ian’s security, forty-five seconds was the maximum time before the signal would be picked up in the house. She hoped that was all she would need.

  She felt immense guilt for her multiple deceptions. I hope you all will forgive me.

  Cassie was curled up in bed when Ian came into their room for the night. He spent the evening observing Noah question Sucov, to no avail. Not even the threat to deport him to Moscow broke him down.

  “Hi, sweetheart, I missed you today. How are you feeling?” He tamped down his frustration.

  Cassie gave him a huge smile. “You saw me after lunch. Your mom gave me some medicine, and I feel much better. I missed you too.” She opened her arms and pulled him to her. “How was your meeting? Did you finish what you needed to do?” She placed a sweet kiss on his cheek.

  “Everything I need is right here.” Ian plundered her mouth, letting the stress go.

  Cassie rolled on top of him and took a moment to cherish the feel of his hard body beneath her. His eyes warmed, and he nuzzled her cheek. “Did I tell you how much I love you today?”

  Tears formed in her eyes. “Please forgive me, Ian.” Her hand reached beneath the pillow.

  He felt the stick from the needle, and his eyes locked on hers. “Why, Cassie?”

  “It’s my fight, Ian. No one else needs to get hurt because of me. You don’t deserve this. I need to finish this.” She pressed her fingers against both sides of his neck. He tried to move, but the drugs and the diminished blood supply to his brain took over.

  Once she was sure Ian was out cold but safe, she kissed him and said, “I love you.”

  Cassie opened the tablet. With a few strokes of the keys, her plan went into motion. Dressing in black pants, a black shirt, and black boots, with a black bag across her body, she grabbed Ian’s wallet and key card. She swiped away tears before leaving a letter for him on his bedside table.

  The upstairs hallway was empty. Careful to stay flush to the walls, Cassie moved with grace through the house. She hoped the thirty-second video of the in-house surveillance playing in an endless loop was working.

  Earlier, she overheard Martin talking to Julian: “Ian had Mia bring in some guys from California. They have the night watch on Sucov. He gave us nothing. Interpol is due to pick him up tomorrow afternoon.” That made things a lot easier for her. She hoped they were working on a need-to-know basis. She did not need to be known.

  The anteroom to the interrogation area was dimly lit. Two men stood and pointed weapons at her when she entered. “Stand down. I’m here to speak to the prisoner.”

  A tall, lanky man in his thirties lowered his weapon. “Ma’am, we don’t have the authorization to let anybody speak to Mr. Sucov.”

  Cassie shook her head. “Ian never forgets these kinds of details, but he’s been so distracted. He wanted me to speak to the prisoner before he shipped out.”

  The man looked at a clipboard. “Ma’am, I don’t have any orders.”

  Cassie sighed. “Well, you’re more than welcome to give Mr. Chase a call, but I doubt he will be happy to be awakened at this hour in the morning, in light of three days with no sleep,” she purred, picking up the phone on the desk.

  The other man whispered something in his ear. “I guess if I went in with you, it wouldn’t be a problem. As you know, ma’am, no arms in there.”

  Sucov’s eyes lit up when she entered. Secured to a metal chair, he greeted her in Russian. “I see the rumors of your death are exaggerated, my little whore. It’s been a long time.”

  Neither guard budged, so she was sure they didn’t understand the language. “Six years—and that’s why I’m here. I have some questions for you. Who
sent you?”

  “Why should I tell you?” Sucov raised an eyebrow.

  Cassie leaned toward him. “Because I asked nicely.” Her breath was warm against his neck.

  He laughed. “Your friends are quite civilized about their techniques. I have no worries.”

  Cassie placed her booted foot between Sucov’s legs, blocking the other guard’s view. “I’m a whore, remember? I’m not civilized.” In spite of the pain in her legs and chest, she leaned forward, her mouth an inch from his. She flashed a boning knife from her cuff. “I remember you were quite proud when you raped me. I will be more than happy to cut it off in pieces and feed it to you for breakfast.” Cassie dragged a finger over the length of his fly.

  “Sabitov sent us. You were trouble then—and you are still trouble now.”

  Cassie laughed. “Trouble? Why am I trouble to such strong men? Who hired him?”

  Sucov chuckled. “No, little whore. He is in charge. You were too smart, but even drugged, you wouldn’t cooperate. The baby was part of the deal. You broke the contract.”

  Cassie swallowed back her nausea. “What contract? Why me?”

  His lips curved. “You still don’t know, Dr. Ellis?” Her name sounded dirty on his tongue. “You were chosen the minute your face appeared in the newspaper at sixteen years old. You were called ‘the little survivor.’ Heir to the most significant art procurement house in the country. Your marriage was prearranged.”

  “Prearranged by whom?”

  “The three families and Mr. Sabitov.”

  “What families?”

  “The Whitmans, the Marshalls, and the senator and his wife. All was fine—everyone was winning—until the moron fell for you. He told you he couldn’t have an heir on his own. You knowing that was unacceptable to his parents. Your child was to be a payment for the sins of the fathers. It was reparations. That child was never to be yours to keep. You were the vessel. In the end, you knew too much. You sealed your own fate.”