Guilty As Sin (Sin Trilogy#2)

The gate swings open, and shockingly, the reporters don’t dart inside. They must be veterans, or at least well-versed in the consequences of trespassing.

The Escalade rolls to a stop beside me and the back window rolls down.

Commodore.



“I don’t want to know why you’re here, but get in.”

I’m officially caught between a rock and a hard place. Story of my life. Who would I rather face? Lincoln or the patriarch of his family?

I remember that night when he helped me up out of the dirt at the cabin and drove me home. Commodore wasn’t cruel like I’d expected him to be. I decide to take my chances with him.

It’s the only way I can salvage my pride and escape the press.

I round the SUV and enter the back seat from the other side. Reporters shout questions at me, but I tune them out—a skill I’ve honed over the last decade but didn’t know I’d need again so soon.

When I shut the door, it’s blissfully quiet inside.

“Martin, take us home.”

I jerk my head sideways to look at the old man. “I’m not going to your house.”

He raises a snowy white eyebrow. “You’re in my car. You go where I take you, Ms. Gable.”

I open my mouth to argue, but he continues.

“Do you really think the press hasn’t figured out where your aunt lives? No one will dare set foot on my property. I’d shoot them myself.”

He has a point, even though I don’t want to admit it. I offer up another solution.

“Drop me off at Magnus’s. No one will bother me there or he’ll shoot them.”

Commodore studies me. “Fine.”

As Martin drives through the gate, I keep my face pointed straight ahead, unwilling to look at them, even though they can’t see me through the tinted windows.

“Would you care to tell me what the hell is going on?” Commodore asks. “Because we have quite the mess on our hands this morning, and it’s all because of your late husband’s estate.”

“I saw the headline.”

“And?”

I turn to look at the cagey old man. “At this point, I’m guessing you know more than I do. I’m not the executor of Ricky’s estate.”

He narrows his eyes. “Then who is?”

I’m somewhat surprised he doesn’t already know. I thought Commodore Riscoff knew everything.

“Ricky’s mom.”





5





LINCOLN





“FUCK!” I slap my hand against the back of the door Whitney walked out of, not knowing what the hell to think. She wouldn’t defend herself, and to me, that implies guilt.

But I don’t want to believe that. I can’t believe that.

Then again, who the hell else could have done this? She was married to Ricky Rango. She has to be in charge of his estate. Right?

I head for the bedroom, throw on some clothes, and snag my keys from the counter in the kitchen.

Last time I sent her running, I was young and stupid, and I waited too long to go after her. This time, I’m not making the same mistake.

Five minutes from the time Whitney slammed the door, I’m in my Range Rover, hauling ass down my driveway . . . just in time to see my gate close behind a familiar black Escalade as it cuts through a throng of reporters.

Whitney is nowhere to be seen, but I can’t miss the press camped out at my gate.

Shit. Fuck. Goddammit.

I call Commodore. No answer.

“Come on, old man.”

I try his driver, but Martin doesn’t answer either.

Fucking hell. I could strangle the meddling old man right now, but that’s not an option. He already made it clear that he doesn’t want me having anything to do with Whitney, and with this news breaking . . . he’s likely to take her as far away from me as he can get. Or to someone who wants me with her even less.

Like her aunt Jackie. Whose house is probably already swarming with reporters too, if they’ve done any research at all.

My phone rings, and I glance at the display in my car. McKinley. My first thought is that something happened with my mother.

“Is she okay?”

“Who?” my sister asks.

“Mother.”

“I haven’t talked to her yet today. I’m at work. I wanted to know if you’ve laid the groundwork for me to get Jackie Gable back, or if you’re still working on pulling your head out of your ass.”

McKinley hasn’t heard, which means she’s a sitting duck.

“You need to double the security at the resort right now.”

“What? Why?”

“Ricky Rango’s estate filed a request for a paternity test to be performed to prove he was Dad’s biological son.”

My sister sucks in a sharp breath. “Are you serious? Is that why Whitney came back?”

“I don’t know what the hell is going on, if you want to know the absolute truth. But I’m working on pulling my head out of my ass, so I need a favor from you and I don’t want to pull rank.”

“I’m listening.” Her response is hesitant.

“I made a mistake this morning, and I need to fix it.”

“Does this mistake have to do with Whitney Gable again?”

I don’t know when my sister became so perceptive, but she is. “I need two suites on the VIP level of the resort to put her and her family in. The press is already swarming at my house, and I want to keep the Gables out of the line of fire.”

McKinley’s quiet for several moments before answering. “As long as Jackie Gable comes back to work for me, you can have whatever rooms you need. We only have a couple VIPs coming in this week, anyway.”

“Thank you. I owe you, Mac.”

“Don’t call me that. And whatever you do, don’t let Mother find out until you have a better explanation to give her than you did me. I’ll tell the household staff to hide the newspapers, kill the cable and internet, misplace her cell phone, and tell her the cars are all in for repair, but that’ll only work for so long.”

A proud smile makes my lips twitch as she runs down the list of all the ways she’s going to cut our mother off from the outside world. It’s shockingly thorough. McKinley has learned well from Commodore on how to manipulate people.

“I like your plan. I’ll work on finding out what the hell is going on.”

“You do that. And, Lincoln?”

“Yes?”

“I would like for Mother not to have another episode if we can avoid it. None of us wants or needs that right now.”

“Agreed. I’ll do whatever I can to resolve this as quickly as possible.”

“Is there . . . is there a chance that Ricky Rango could’ve really been our half brother?”

I answer with complete honesty. “I don’t know yet. I’m trying not to jump to any more conclusions.”

“Good. Because you can’t see clearly when Whitney Gable’s involved with anything. Pulling your head out of your ass should help.”

The most unlikely of smiles tugs at the corner of my mouth again at my sister’s advice. She grew up into a formidable woman when I wasn’t paying attention.

“Duly noted.” I hang up the call and roll toward the gate. It’s time to run the gauntlet . . . and I’m not referring to the press.

I need to find Whitney, apologize, and get her to agree to stay at The Gables before the press destroys us all.





6





WHITNEY





The past

MY BIG BROTHER’S strong arms rocked me from side to side. His hug was the first thing to shake me loose from the fog I’d been lost in for the last forty-eight hours.

Ricky had been here nearly twenty hours a day, and would probably never leave, but Aunt Jackie had kicked him out at night and insisted that I sleep. But it was impossible to sleep. Maybe that was why I felt like a walking zombie.

“I’m so sorry.” I said it to Asa over and over, but I wasn’t sure what I was apologizing for anymore—the loss of our parents, or being with Lincoln when it happened. Except . . . Asa didn’t know about Lincoln and me since he’d only just walked in the door.

My brother released me and stared down at my face. “Do we have any idea what the hell Mom was doing with Riscoff?”

I looked away, not wanting to acknowledge the obvious, but Asa was no idiot.

“She couldn’t have been screwing around with him,” he said, answering his own question. “They’ve treated us like shit for years. She wouldn’t.”