“We need to call Jason,” her mother said then. “He’ll have to make some decisions regarding the company. Perhaps Kandy can handle the Breed account . . .”
“Mother, you know that account is gone now,” Gypsy sighed as she fought to push back the fury at the sound of Jason’s name. “The contract you signed became null and void the second you brought that first device into Jonas’s suite. Surely you realize that?”
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 d