Guilty As Sin (Sin Trilogy#2)

“Proof before trust. Even with your own blood.”

He goes quiet as we approach Magnus’s driveway, but my brain is caught on what he just said. This is the man who groomed Lincoln to assume control of an empire from the day he was born. That sentiment has probably been drilled into him over and over.

I thought Lincoln didn’t trust me because I’m a Gable. But maybe it’s not personal. Lincoln probably doesn’t trust anyone. Even his own family.

It’s sad . . . but enlightening.

Martin shifts the SUV into park at the end of Magnus’s driveway. Thankfully, there are no reporters waiting here.

I reach for the door handle and pause to look at Commodore. “Thank you for the ride.”

“I would prefer not to have to rescue you a third time, Ms. Gable.”

“I can see why. White knight isn’t exactly your normal role, despite your hair and beard.”

One corner of his mouth quirks up.

“Be careful, old man. You almost smiled.”

“Good luck, Whitney Gable.” Any lightness fades from his expression. “And what you told me—you tell no one else.”

I give him a short nod as I climb out of the SUV and shut the door.





8





LINCOLN





“IS CRICKET WITH YOU?” I ask Hunter, the next person on my list to call.

“Yeah, why?”

“I need your help getting her family to the resort with enough clothes to stay for a few days while things die down, and I need her to pack for Whitney.”



My friend goes quiet. “While what things die down?”

“Ricky Rango’s estate is claiming he was not only a Riscoff, but also would have been the rightful heir.”

“Fuck,” Hunter whispers. “His estate? Does that mean Whitney has something to do with it?”

“People keep asking me that, and I have no answer for you because she stormed out of my house after I asked her one simple question.”

Hunter groans. “Please don’t tell me she’s trying to leave town again. You gotta quit fucking up with this girl, man. You’re killing me here.”

He’s right, but it’s not like I’m doing it on purpose. When it comes to Whitney Gable, fucking everything up seems to be what I do best.

But that’s going to change.

“I’m doing everything I can to stop that from happening, which is why I need you to bring all of her family to the resort and have Cricket pack Whitney’s bags. I’m on my way to Jackie’s to find her, and I’m guessing the press will be staking it out soon if they aren’t already. They were outside my gate this morning, and I’m doing what I can to keep the Gables out of the line of fire. Putting them up somewhere I can protect them is the best solution I can offer while we figure this mess out.”

“Is this going to fuck up my wedding and make Cricket unhappy?”

“Not if I can help it.”

He groans. “That motherfucker Rango. I know I shouldn’t ask, but do you think it’s possible? Could your dad have—”

It’s one question I haven’t wanted to think about, but knowing my father . . . “Anything’s possible at this point.”

“And you have no idea if Whitney was in on all of this?”

I shake my head, but Hunter can’t see it. “No.”

“And you’re going to protect her family anyway.”

“Yes.”

“Maybe you’re finally getting your shit straight then.” He pauses before continuing. “I’ll talk to Cricket about her family. She’ll stay with me until this goes away. I don’t know how we’re going to convince her mom to move into The Gables, though.”

“Tell her about her promotion and raise. McKinley’s ready to meet with her whenever she’s ready.”

“All right,” Hunter says. “I’ll see what I can do. I make no promises, though.”

“One more thing . . .”

“Do I really want to hear it?” he asks with a healthy dose of skepticism underlying his tone.

“Your wedding at The Gables?”



“Yeah?”

“No charge. Not for a goddamned thing.”

“You can’t—”

“Don’t argue. It’s done.”

As soon as I hang up with Hunter, I head for Jackie Gable’s house. It’s time to fix what I fucked up this morning.





9





WHITNEY





I KNOCK and wait for the sound of the shotgun cocking. Magnus doesn’t disappoint.

“Who’s there? If you’re trying to buy my land for that prick next door, you can walk your ass right back to his car.”

“Uncle Magnus? It’s Whitney.”

The floorboards creak as he shifts to look through the window. “You playing Benedict Arnold now?”

“He gave me a ride. I . . . I got caught without one this morning.”

“Walk of shame? Thought you were old enough to know better, girl.”

I release a long breath and try to ignore the embarrassment that goes with it. “Can I please come in? Or do you want me to walk my Benedict Arnold-Scarlett Letter ass back down the driveway where the press might see me and descend on you too?”

He opens the door. “What press? What the hell is going on now?”

“Can I come in?”

Magnus eyes me up and down like he’s afraid I’m carrying Riscoff cooties. Which, of course, I am. I mentally add a shower to my list of things I need so I’ll feel less like an idiot.

He glances over my shoulder as if looking for the reporters I mentioned. “Get yourself inside.”

I come in and head straight for his percolator to help myself to some coffee. Magnus watches as I take the first sip and release a sigh of relief. Coffee is life, and I’m hoping it’s going to miraculously turn this day into less of a shit show. It’s a long shot, but I’m willing to try.

“You gonna tell me what kind of situation we got now that involves those news vultures?”

I take a few more sips of coffee before I tell him what little I know about the news article Lincoln shoved at me on his phone. Being mindful of Commodore’s warning, I stick to the basics, including the fact that I’m not the executor of Ricky’s estate.

“Sounds like someone got a little greedy and wants a piece of the Riscoff pie. Can’t say I blame them.” He holds out his coffee mug for a refresh, and I oblige. As he sips, he eyes me. “So, whatcha gonna do?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“The timing seems awful coincidental. I don’t remember much about your mother-in-law. She the type to try to make you look bad?”

Renee Rango is the last person I want to think about right now, because all I want to do is run her over with Commodore’s Escalade for creating this shit storm.

“You could say that she and I never really bonded.” It’s the politest understatement I can make.

“Single mom with an only child?”

I nod.

“She probably wouldn’t have liked anyone he picked.”

I laugh. “Ricky was her little prince. He could do no wrong. But none of that matters now. I need to talk to her because she has a hell of a lot to answer for.”

“You think you could trust her word? Don’t know that I would.”

He has a good point, and it reminds me of what Commodore said about trust. Namely, that I do it too easily.

Magnus keeps talking. “If I were that asshole Riscoff, I’d make her pony up evidence before I’d give her the time of day.”

I don’t want to wait for Renee to dig up evidence. I just want it all to go away.

“I can’t help but wonder if she’s doing this for more than just the money.”

“What do you mean?” Magnus asks.

“Maybe she’d back off if I slipped out of town and disappeared.”

He leans back and crosses his legs at the ankles. “You gonna keep letting other people decide how your life goes? Or are you going to figure out what it is that you want?”

Again, the old man’s question reminds me eerily of the man he claims to hate. Maybe they’re both right. Maybe I’ve been letting people push me around for so long that I don’t know how to stop.

Magnus apparently thinks I’m taking too long to answer his question. “It sounds to me like all you want to do is keep running from your problems and hoping they won’t follow you. Let me be the bearer of bad news, kid—that ain’t gonna work.”