The look her mother shot her was one of resentment and anger.
“How do we handle losing the contract if we can’t say anything?” Hansel asked then, confused, wary. “What do we do, Gypsy?”
“They can’t afford to take that contract,” her mother burst out then, her expression becoming calculating, conniving. “There’s more to this than merely helping us because of her.” She flung a hand in Gypsy’s direction. “She’s lying and we all know it.”
Guilt, anger and grief had destroyed her mother, Gypsy thought sadly, wondering if there was any way to repair the damage Jason Harte had inflicted when he betrayed his best friend.
Hansel McQuade ignored his wife’s declaration but continued to stare back at Gypsy.
“Jonas will discuss everything with you before you’re released,” she promised, tired, drained by the knowledge that nothing could ever convince her mother that there had been no way to save her only son once his best friend had learned his secrets.
“Gypsy,” her father sighed, the regret, the desperation in his gaze breaking her heart.
She shook her head at whatever he would have said.
“I need to know who she was working with, Dad.” She didn’t bother asking her mother. There was far too much anger there. And she needed to hear it. She needed to hear his name.
“He doesn’t know,” her mother bit out then, furious. “I never told him. And I won’t tell you.”
“You’ve already lost a son,” Gypsy stated, the chill building inside her unrelenting now. “Dad will be convicted beside you. He’ll die with you. Is that what you really want?”
Greta’s eyes widened as tears began to fall once again, sobs shaking her shoulders. “If you had just stayed home,” her mother cried brokenly. “Mark called Jason that night. He told him he had to find you. You didn’t even tell Mark you were leaving as you were supposed to. Jason told us all about it, Gypsy.” Greta’s strangled scream was accompanied by an accusing finger pointing to her with shaky determination. “Jason told us how you were responsible.”
Gypsy shook her head, fury building, tearing at her.
“Mark knew where I was going,” she snapped back at her mother, furious now. “I would have never left without telling him, Mother. Never. He knew of the only party in the desert that night, and he knew I had wanted to go. Just as he knew that if he yelled at me and ordered me not to go without discussing it with me, I would sneak out and go anyway.” Gypsy had to swallow past the hatred burning inside her now. The need to kill. To destroy Jason as she had been destroyed. “Mark knew me. He raised me. Just as Jason knew you.” She couldn’t hold back the contempt in her voice now. “Knew you so well that he knew he could lie to you and you’d never even face me with it,” Gypsy cried out. “You couldn’t even face me with his lies. You let me rip myself apart day after day for nine years and never told me . . .”
She turned away, fighting to breathe, to find that place in her heart where she would always remember, they were her parents!
“I have to go,” she finally whispered, the realization that Jason had destroyed more than he probably ever knew burning through her mind.
“Gypsy, I’m so sorry,” her father whispered, and the sorrow he felt filled his eyes, his expression. “Tell Mr. Wyatt we’ll do whatever he needs.” He glanced at her mother before turning back to her. “We’ll tell him everything he needs to know.”
He watched her with such resignation and regret that her heart broke for him.
“I wish . . .” Her voice broke, taking precious moments to find her control once again. “I wish I could have stopped this from happening.”
“You can’t stop what you’re unaware of, sweetheart. The blame doesn’t lie with you, it lies with me.” His voice was heavy with regret, with pain and a resignation born of the knowledge that some things could never be fixed.
She nodded shortly, turned and moved to the door.
“Gypsy?” Her mother’s voice had her pausing, her fingers on the doorknob, though she didn’t turn back. “Stay away from Kandy, don’t destroy her too.”
“God, Greta.” Shock filled her father’s voice now.
She didn’t wait to hear more. Pulling the door open, she stepped out, closed it behind her, then stood as still as stone to pull in a ragged breath.
“Mark adored you, Whisper.”
Her head jerked up, her gaze meeting the emerald depths of Dane Vanderale’s quiet, compassionate one as he leaned against the far wall, his arms crossed over his broad chest negligently.
“I know he did.” She nodded before glancing around, realizing that the Breed guarding the door had quietly disappeared.
“I have in my possession a video taken from your home the night your brother died,” he told her as she blinked back at him. “He was actually on the phone with me that night as I ordered forces to his location. As Jonas told you, the Breeds were unaware of his location. Until he learned you were in danger. He called me just before you left the house and told me how he intended to get you to Lobo Reever’s ranch by speaking so cruelly to you. I advised him to take you and run instead, but he was far too certain he would be unable to protect you long enough for my forces to reach you.”
One shock after another, Gypsy thought. Would she be able to bear many more surprises?
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked him, unaware that the words were even a thought. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
Breathing in deeply, he lowered his head for long moments, the tension she’d never seen around this man shimmering in the air for but a moment before he once again became the lazy slouch he pretended to be.
“Would it have made a difference?” His gaze lifted to hers quickly, no doubt catching her answer before she was aware of it herself.
“He was my brother . . .”
“He told me once he was the father he’d always imagined he would be,” he broke in, his tone soft, gentle as a reminiscent smile tugged at his lips. “He told me of the young girl he’d taken as a babe, bathed and powdered her, comforted and held her when he was but a child himself. Ten, I believe.”
She nodded. “He was ten when I was born.”
“And he took one look at the tiny scrap you were and cherished you from that first look,” he told her. “We talked many times. I may not have known where he was, or who he was exactly, but I knew many things about him.”
“Did you know who had betrayed him?”
Had this man allowed Jason to live after Mark had died?
A flame lit in his eyes then, only to disappear a second later. But she saw it, the rage that flared for that briefest moment.
“Had I known who betrayed Mark McQuade, I promise you that I, Dog, and Cullen Maverick would have torn him apart, piece by bloody piece.” The South African accent deepened, thickened with the fury he didn’t bother to hide now. “There would have been no hole, no crevice he could have hidden within, Gypsy. I swear this to you.”
She nodded.
“Tell me who it was.”
She almost answered. At the last second, the words locked in her throat as determination tightened inside her, overwhelming her.
“He’s mine,” she swore flatly. “He owes me far more than he owes you.”
Dane’s eyes narrowed on her, the green flickering eerily as she stared back at him, her fingers curling at her sides as she fought to rein in the pulsing fury, the lancing pain . . .
Suddenly, the sweeping emotions threatening her control calmed, eased, and she felt Rule.
God, she felt him. Right there in her heart, wrapping himself around her, somehow aware of the struggle playing out within her soul.
Dane’s lips twitched as though aware of what was occurring. Could he know, she wondered? “He won’t let you go alone. You know that, don’t you, Gypsy? Vengeance will be diluted by a mate who will refuse to allow you to kill. One who will push you back and shed that blood himself.”