Warrior Betrayed Page 6

  Grey took the stool across the raised table from him. “You look like hell, Quinn. Which is the only reason I’m not going to share with you the nickname the women have adopted for you at home.”

  “The fact that we even have women at home is still a mystery to me.”

  Grey’s eyebrows rose at that one. “And what’s Callie been all these years?”

  “You know what I mean. Women in the house who are actively having sex with the men in the house.”

  Grey’s brows waggled at that one. “There’s sex to be had inside the four walls of our brownstone?”

  Quinn let out an unnaturally loud harrumph. “Do you know I actually saw a bra hanging on the door-knob in the laundry room the other day?”

  Grey drew his hands up to his chest in a mock impression of Scarlett O’Hara. “Oh, the horror.”

  “Asshole.” Quinn couldn’t stop the slight grin that edged the corner of his mouth.

  “Probably. That said, it looks like I need to spend more time in the laundry room.” Grey’s smile ratcheted up to a full-on wolfish grin. “At least tell me it had lace on it.”

  Now Quinn did smile, unable to stay completely somber in the face of such enthusiasm—or the image of lacy underwear. “You know what I mean. Things have changed.”

  “For the better, I’d say, if the shitty grins perpetually spread across Brody’s and Kane’s faces are any indication.”

  When Quinn didn’t add anything, Grey reached for his glass and gestured for him to continue. “That’s clearly not the only thing that has you in a foul-ass mood. Spill.”

  “What do you know about Grant Shipping?”

  Eyes darkening, any lingering hint of humor fled from the hard planes of Grey’s face, replaced by the look of the lethal killer Quinn knew him to be. “The public face suggests a multinational corporation with a successful track record for so long the Grant family makes the Rockefellers look like peasants.”

  “And the private face?”

  “Ah, yes. The private face of the company.” Grey gave his drink a swirl, the amber color of the scotch undiluted by any ice or water. His role as information gatherer for the Warriors ensured if there was a whiff of scandal he’d have already smelled it—and would know exactly whose dirty laundry it wafted from. “Sticky fingers in way too many illegal pies. A supposed ‘side business’ in drug trafficking and the skin trade. Complete dominance in the waters off the coast of Africa that makes the pirates who like to swim there look like choir boys.”

  “Africa? Is Grant into diamond running, too?”

  “Yep.”

  “Man, you do keep your ears open.”

  Grey took a sip of his drink. “There are very few criminals in New York who aren’t touched in some way by the grand empire that is Grant Shipping.”

  “No one’s ever run them down? Government hasn’t ever tried to go after them?”

  “Nope. Between the politicians in their pockets and the layers of cover the legitimate business is able to hide, they’re untouchable. Shipping’s big money and their legitimate business is a behemoth. Jack Grant built a huge organization from scratch and knew exactly how to hide all his secrets.”

  Quinn eyed his now-empty glass, then shifted his gaze to Grey. “Montana Grant knows about Themis.”

  Grey’s near-unflappable demeanor dropped as his eyes went wide. “Fuck me.”

  “Yep.”

  “What does she know?”

  “I can’t tell. All I do know is that I saved her from a Destroyer attack tonight. Two separate attacks, actually.”

  “Destroyers? Where?”

  Quinn quickly caught Grey up, glad to have someone to confide in. Someone to work through the details and see if anything popped. “Then, in the limo ride after the dinner, between the attacks, she asks me about Themis. Oh, and she also dropped the bomb that her long-lost mother has returned.”

  Quinn swirled his glass, knocking the ice together before swallowing down what was left at the bottom. “You think she’s as dirty as her old man?”

  Grey cocked his head, considering. “She’s only been head of the company since last spring when her father died. But still, you don’t live that close to the stench of filth and not get some on your designer clothes.”

  “I didn’t get that vibe off her.”

  “What vibe? The whole ‘I stomp the downtrodden underneath my Pradas’ vibe?”

  “More. There’s a real fear in her. She was spooked tonight.” Quinn caught himself clinking the ice in the empty glass and laid it back on the table. “Something’s gotten to her. There’s a level of fear there that doesn’t suggest she’s sitting on a company full of the world’s nastiest thugs and criminals. Or that she is one, for that matter.”

  “She was trained by the best, Quinn. I’m sure Black Jack Grant ensured the heir to his empire knew how to toe the company line. Besides, maybe she’s in over her head and has suddenly realized it. That’ll scare the shit out of anyone.”

  “Black Jack?” As the nickname rolled off Quinn’s tongue, he couldn’t bite back the subtle wave of distaste it conjured. Could someone guilty of the crimes Grey outlined have a daughter as fresh and intriguing as Montana?

  “Yep. Her old man’s reputation is legendary.”

  Quinn’s thoughts reverted back to those moments on the couch, her long, slender body wrapped in his arms. No matter how hard he tried to ignore the memory of their meeting—or the undoubted truth of Grey’s words—Montana Grant had left a very powerful impression. She had a fresh appeal that couldn’t be hidden, even under the haze of fear that had colored their meeting. “You ever hear anything about her?”

  “Come to think of it, no, not really. She had a broken engagement a few years back and recently she’s been making headlines.”

  Quinn glanced up from the mesmerizing sheen of ice in the bottom of his glass and ignored the matched shot of cold that filled his belly at the mention of a broken engagement. “That weird peace talk she facilitated?”

  “Exactly. Somehow she managed to insert herself in the middle of a political nightmare and come out the victor—for her business and for the two countries involved.”

  Yet again, Grey’s vast knowledge was an awesome thing to behold. “Is there anyone in New York you don’t keep tabs on?”

  “Not really. No one escapes my notice.” Grey flashed a Cheshire cat grin before draining his glass.

  “Well, then, it looks like I just landed a new client.”

  “Be careful, Quinn. There’s no way she’s as innocent as she looks. The woman’s got some teeth.”

  Quinn flashed a grin of his own—his first true smile in way too long. “Sounds like fun.”

  Montana filled her coffee cup with one hand, while the other held her schedule for the day. The ever-efficient Jackson had even scheduled in small windows for coffee breaks, but—if the sleepless night she spent and the low-level headache she sported were any indication—even ten coffee breaks weren’t going to make a difference today.

  Her visit with her mother had sucked her emotions dry and it was going to take a few days to right herself.

  How had Eirene ended up like this? And how could her father have allowed it? He’d loved the woman. Once. Even if every drop of that was gone, he should have helped her.

  Unless he didn’t know.

  The edges of Montana’s stomach rolled over and she absently pressed the hand holding her schedule against the buttons of her suit jacket. The little girl inside of her wanted to believe her father had more noble motives when it came to the subject of her long-lost mother, but the practical woman had her doubts.

  Serious doubts.

  Couple that with the increasing discomfort she felt as she learned the ins and outs of Grant Shipping and her estimation of Black Jack Grant was sorely slipping.

  Oh, Daddy. What have you done?

  Montana was smart enough to know a company the size of Grant Shipping—especially one with interests across the globe—was often forced to
work with countries that practiced a loosely moraled style of commerce. Hell, she’d even learned that lesson in business school. You greased a few palms here and there to get permits through. Understood certain payments to local government officials needed to be made to move something along. The world wasn’t black and white, and international commerce had more gray areas than most industries.

  But none of it was an excuse to practice out-and-out criminal behavior.

  And the deeper she got into things, the more she worried her father had done just that over the last forty years.

  “Darlin’?”

  Jackson hovered in the doorway, his brisk efficiency an immediate bolster to her lagging thoughts. Even if the rest of her life was going to hell, at least she had the world’s most amazing personal assistant to keep her on track. Upon hearing his sweet Southern drawl she couldn’t keep the ready smile from her lips. “Yep?”

  “The head of Emerald Security is here to see you. Qu—”

  “Quinn? Tanner?”

  At her widened eyes, Jackson’s tone turned teasing. “If you mean six feet four inches of solid gorgeous, then yes, that would be Quinn Tanner.”

  “He doesn’t have an appointment.”

  “I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him, but if you’re insistent on turning him away maybe I’ll meet with him. Figure out what he wants. Take one for the team, as it were.”

  “Real smooth, Jackson.”

  “I’m just saying.” Jackson held up his hands, his eyes wide with mock innocence. “Besides, darling, my loyalties are only to you.”

  “Yes, well, I can take this one for the team all by myself.” Montana headed for the outer rim of her office, intent on…what was she intent on?

  Asking him again if he knew anything about mythological goddesses? Or firing a series of idiotic questions at him courtesy of her not-all-the-way-there mother and her mumbled warnings about danger and the saving power of the zodiac? Ooh, or maybe she’d go for broke and ask Quinn about his starring role as the Taurus?

  Or maybe she could ask him a real doozy, like whether he was single or not.

  Her ping-ponging thoughts were the exact reason she shouldn’t take a meeting with Quinn Tanner right now.

  And what about that weird stuff her mother said? Taurus Warriors?

  She stopped just short of the waiting area of her office and Jackson nearly plowed into her from behind. Smoothing her skirt, she didn’t miss the whisper from behind her. “Okay, girlfriend, I get the hint. I’m not touching him.”

  She shot Jackson a glance over her shoulder, then moved into the outer office.

  “Mr. Tanner.”

  “I thought we established last night you needed to call me Quinn.” His broad shoulders caught her attention, just as they had the evening before, even though they were covered in a much more sedate button-down shirt as opposed to the sexy tuxedo. White cotton shouldn’t be this sexy, but the crisp, pressed material drew her attention and Montana fought the rush of warmth that zinged down her spine. Damn him, this man was lethal.

  Her assistant’s whisper dropped even lower, so only she could hear. “Clearly, nothing I could do would make a lick of difference anyway. That man’s eyes are firmly planted on you.”

  She tossed Jackson another pointed stare that promised the dire retribution of some hideous torture like instant coffee in the break room before crossing the outer office to Quinn. “Jackson, please hold my calls.”

  Despite the fact Quinn had almost a foot on him, Jackson sized him up before nodding. If she could have heard his thoughts, Montana suspected they ran along the lines of touch her and die, maggot. What he voiced, however, was a much more sedate, “Of course,” before standing aside and allowing Quinn to pass through the outer office.

  Montana mentally shook her head at men and their odd, territorial markings before leading Quinn toward her office at the far end of the hall.

  “What can I help you with today, Quinn?”

  “I wanted to see if you were okay.”

  Her breath came out in a rush as she worried the Band-Aid she’d placed on her thumb that morning after nicking herself in the shower. It was shocking just how not okay her life was.

  Long-lost mother with possible mental illness and delusions. Check.

  Crazed killer on the loose with a clear target in mind. Check.

  Oversized, overbearing man capable of causing a hormone explosion from twenty paces. Check. Check.

  Tearing her attention away from her thumb, she put on as bright a smile as she could manage. “None the worse for wear, apparently. And while I appreciate the concern, why are you here? Did you file that report with the police?”

  “Of course. Besides, I told you I was interested in helping you.”

  Montana moved around her desk as Quinn took a seat opposite her, using the few extra seconds to collect her thoughts and slow her racing pulse. “While I appreciate your involvement, especially after last night’s events, would you care to enlighten me on what’s changed your mind?”

  “Let’s say I have my reasons.”

  “Since they involve me, I’d like to know what they are.”

  “Ms. Grant. I can provide you references as well as an extensive background check on my company if you’re concerned about me or the quality of my work. That said, one doesn’t work in the security industry without catching wind of things from time to time.”

  Montana had been trained at the knee of one of the last century’s most revered businessmen. Shrewd and sharp, her father’s poker face had been flawless but even Black Jack Grant had nothing on Quinn Tanner. His dark eyes remained impassive and his posture gave away nothing.

  Absolutely nothing.

  She was reluctantly impressed, even as the niggling sense of doubt that pressed on the edge of her senses rattled a few nerve endings. “And you think you’ve caught something about me?”

  “Let’s just say I take an interest in situations that I think bear closer scrutiny.”

  “And you think my…situation”—she waved a hand—“is one of those?”

  “I don’t think. I know.”

  Her mother’s rock-solid beliefs picked that odd moment to come back to her. “Quinn Tanner, the Taurus Warrior. He’ll save you. I know it.”

  Suspicion clawed at her with razor-sharp talons. “Does this have anything to do with my mother?”

  “No.”

  A quick, solid, matter-of-fact response. Hmmm. Curious.

  “She knows your name.”

  Quinn’s dark eyes narrowed at that. “I’ve never met your mother, Montana. Besides, I thought your mother hasn’t been a part of your life?”

  “I believe I mentioned last night that she’s recently come back into it.”

  “I can assure you, that has nothing to do with me.”

  Damn it, what was she missing? Although she gave the man credit for giving nothing away, he looked as if he genuinely had no idea what she was talking about.

  Of course, what the hell did she know, anyway? The man worked in the security trade. His firm was responsible for the protection of the world’s wealthy, from royalty to high-ranking government officials to the rich and famous who wanted to feel protected from any number of things.

  Even if he did know about her mother, he’d likely know how to hide it from her.

  But still…it just felt like he had no idea what she was talking about.

  Did she dare mention the other things her mother said? That whole weird bit about the zodiac and Themis and—oh God, was she seriously considering any of this?—his sign.

  Taurus.

  On a deep breath, Montana pressed him. “Does this have anything to do with what I asked you last night? About Themis?”

  Bingo.

  Quinn Tanner might have a poker face, but that quick flicker at the edge of his eyes—not quite a flinch, more like a slight twitch—suggested the question hit home.

  “The Greek goddess you asked me about? If you ask me, it sounds li
ke a code word for something. Something in the European division of Grant Shipping?”

  His question was fair, even as Montana knew something hovered just under the surface. She couldn’t define it, but she also couldn’t quite shake the feeling she was being maneuvered.

  Yes, that was the exact right word.

  Maneuvered.

  Like Quinn held all the cards and was just trying to get her to fold.

  Chapter Five

  Quinn took a deep breath as Montana’s assistant entered the office with coffee service. He endured another one of Jackson’s “don’t fuck with me” glares, oddly satisfied to see the man’s loyalty. He’d run the guy already, looking for any abnormalities, any sudden increases in his financial situation.

  The guy was clean.

  Other than a nice nest-egg annuity and an annual bonus he used to spend two weeks living the high life in the Bahamas every January, there wasn’t any evidence to suggest he had any accounts socked away there. Or hidden anywhere else for that matter.

  And he appeared to be as loyal as they came.

  Although Quinn wasn’t ready to rule anyone out—not even the delectable heiress sitting opposite him—he’d done this long enough to have a sense of where the dirt was hidden.

  Of course, his senses had been off from the start of this project, especially if Grey’s intelligence had any merit.

  And knowing Grey, it had a hell of a lot of merit.

  The guy knew his criminals, from the lowest pushers to the heads of every crime family in New York. If something was rotten in Denmark—or anywhere else for that matter—the ram knew about it.

  “Thanks, Jackson.”

  The guy tossed one more glare for good measure, then left the office as silently as he came in.

  “I’d like some answers, Quinn.” Montana stared briefly into her coffee cup, before adding, “No matter how dumb the question may seem.”

  “Answer my question first. Do you think this reference to Themis has anything to do with your Greek operation? She’s the goddess of justice. Anyone have a vendetta against the company? Operation Themis could be a code word for ‘justice.’”