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Layla? Could it be? Could she want her father to be president that badly? Or was this something else, anger over being ousted from her role as the one and only Rush girl?
“She’s rich, too,” Gracie said. “And Victor says she has millions of Twitter followers.”
“No one easier to manipulate than someone with a bit of hero worship,” Dusty said.
As soon as the idea was out there, they began to build on it, on how Porter and Layla had conspired. The ease with which they tossed out different hypotheses drove home the fact that the group had grown comfortable with each other in the last hour, if not certain of each other.
In the end, Gracie’s head was swimming. “So we have some theories here, but not anything concrete. If Layla did set fire to the club in order to get information, she made a big mistake. The servers dump anything incriminating automatically when 911 is called. But I’ll take a closer look at Layla. And if it’s her, I’ll find her weakness, a point of attack.”
If Layla thought she could out-hack her, she was dead wrong. Emphasis on dead.
Leland, who’d taken out his iPad and was typing madly on it, said, “Evidence that she doctored those videos would come in handy.”
So would a confession. Sheesh. “Is it possible for me to use the computers down in internal security?”
Leland eyed Dusty, shook his head. “No. Much too risky right now. Not only because of the FBI investigation, but we have reason to believe the NSA is directing satellites toward the house. We can do nothing that will send a signal from that area.”
That made it harder. “Fine. I’ll head back to the club tonight—”
“Tonight?” Momma said. “But what of dinner?”
“Tomorrow then. The upstairs wasn’t damaged and my computers will more than do the job.”
“And since they’re eager for the work, I’ll assign someone from internal to do a thorough investigation of the other Rush children just so we are certain.”
“I’m going to take a closer look at John and El,” Dusty said. “Something is definitely not right there. Too many coincidences.”
And like that, the group had their marching orders. Find proof of who was after them and stop them. Hard.
And now that she was focused on it, and not on keeping secrets from Dusty and Momma, now that she had a team, she knew everything would fall quickly into place. As long as whoever was after her, betting money still on Layla and Porter, didn’t have anything else up their sleeves.
Chapter 49
Wearing a borrowed suit from what Leland called “stock,” Dusty took in the immense dining room. It was dominated by a giant table long enough to bowl on. Above, gnarled wood beams crossed the fifty-foot high vaulted ceilings, graced with a shiny row of assorted chandeliers.
The table was set with blue crystal goblets, gleaming blue plates, and vases of blue roses running down the center.
Swanky didn’t cover it. The same little girl he’d seen earlier ran past him and into the dining room, shouting, “Gracie’s here!”
His heart echoed her shout as he spun to greet her.
Good Lord, that wasn’t fair.
Blood exploded through his body like a hot, painful grenade.
Grace. Had dressed up.
She wore an off-the shoulder sapphire dress that swathed around her hips like a second skin. Her hair was down, kissing those bare shoulders. The swing of her stride, in heels that showed off every sleek muscle, set his heart racing and dried his tongue.
She came to a stop before him. Her eyes traveled down his body. “You look handsome all dressed up.”
This was the point where he knew language should come out of his mouth, something spectacular that let her know exactly how positively gorgeous she looked—and how he’d worship every inch of her later tonight. And every single night thereafter.
All he could manage was a restraining hand to his chest, because she’d shot him dead center.
Her face warmed with heat. “You like?”
He liked. If only he knew sign language, he’d tell her just how much he liked.
Aw, hell. He put his hands on her waist and pulled her so close the heat of contact drew a hiss from his mouth. And then he kissed her, a slow torture that spoke every phrase he really wished he could say.
He drew back, and she, as if she’d heard every word, whispered to him, “I hope that’s a promise.”
He found his voice. “It’s the start of a promise.” A bit rough, but he’d found it. “You get the rest later. So eat up now. You’ll need nourishment.”
She blushed a heart-revving red, and they turned to find seats at the table—the giant dining table where every eye was now turned on them.
Including her mother’s and Leland’s.
Aw, damn, he’d forgotten where he was.
Completely unfair.
* * *
After giving him the sibling tour, Gracie led him to the head of the table where they sat near Leland and Mukta. Much to his surprise, Leland and Mukta spent dinner acting like regular parents. Talking with kids. Telling others to take a seat. Keeping people in line. Helping Bella, the little Russian kid, cut her steak.
Bella had made a good choice with the steak. His was damn good. The whole night, so far, had been damn good.
And although Dusty had been around two other Parish kids, being with a whole bunch of them was a totally different experience. The thing he noticed most, besides the sense of unity and inside jokes, was the swearing.
Though Momma had reprimanded a few people close to the head of the table for swearing at dinner, in general it was allowed. He supposed raising kids from shit situations all over the world, getting them to heal, feel trust, was probably higher on the agenda than etiquette. Not to mention raising proper ladies was probably at odds with raising vigilantes. So he had to know.
Swallowing a sip of water—seemed a sin to wash down even the memory of that steak—he leaned over and whispered to Gracie, “Seems like your whole family cusses.” He nodded toward Bella. “Pretty sure I heard that five-year-old swear in Russian. So what giv
es, why don’t you ever cuss?”
She scooped up a forkful of potatoes. “Growing up, I was a multilingual curser.” She lowered her voice. “Except for the b-word, of course.”
Did she mean bitch? Wasn’t that the girl word? They all used it. “Help me understand that ‘of course.’”
She swallowed the potatoes. “That word…it’s like, I guess, a trigger. A lot of my sisters came from situations where that word labeled them. It described their femaleness as lesser. A wrongness. It’s taboo. Hurtful.”
He looked around the room at the kids eating and laughing. Decided right there and then he’d never use that word again. “So you used to cuss, but not that word.”
“Yep. Until I had a baby. John hated my cursing. He wouldn’t let a damn pass without comment. And really, he was right. I mean, who curses around a baby, even if it is in another language?”
Practically every adult he’d ever met. “So I get why you stopped, but you still don’t swear.”
She looked down at her nearly finished plate. “Yeah. Well, it’s my way of still being a mom. And my penance for letting Tyler go.”
She meant her way of never forgiving herself. Damn. Hurt his heart. “Remember that story I told you about me getting sick and my uncle coming into my dad’s ministry to get me out?”
She put down her fork. “Yeah.”
“My mom called him. She called him to come get me and take me out, even though she knew if she’d tried to go with me, my dad never would’ve let me go.”
Her eyes widened.
“Yep. She gave me up, so my life would be better. That’s what you did for Ty. Given the choice, you sacrificed yourself to keep someone you love safe.”
A tear slid down her face. She let it sit there, exposed and raw. He brushed it away for her. “I know you wish you could take back that time you weren’t there,” he said. “But you have to realize you did what you did out of love.”
More tears. This time, she wiped them aside. Then tipped up her head and kissed him on the lips.
Dusty jolted. Not just from the kiss. At the pinch. He adjusted himself and looked down at Bella. The corners of her dark eyes squinted in anger. “Don’t make Gracie cry.”
