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One Baby, Two Secrets
Barbara Dunlop
They'll do anything for the baby's sake! He came to the United States to find his adversary, not fall for a tempting stranger. Yet millionaire Brody Calder can tell Kate Dunhern needs his help. She's desperate to know her orphaned niece is in a loving home. But baby Annabelle is actually in the hands of Brody's enemy.Though their motives are different, their goal is the same: take down the baby's nefarious father and get Annabelle safely into Kate's arms. It means playing a risky game—one where pretend passions could reveal real feelings both unexpected…and dangerous.


They’ll do anything for the baby’s sake! Only from New York Times bestselling author Barbara Dunlop!
He came to the United States to find his adversary, not fall for a tempting stranger. Yet millionaire Brody Calder can tell Kate Dunhern needs his help. She’s desperate to know her orphaned niece is in a loving home. But baby Annabelle is actually in the hands of Brody’s enemy.
Though their motives are different, their goal is the same: take down the baby’s nefarious father and get Annabelle safely into Kate’s arms. It means playing a risky game—one where pretend passions could reveal real feelings both unexpected...and dangerous.
“How does lying look?”
What was the matter with her? She sounded like a fool, and she didn’t seem to be able to stop it. “I mean to you. How can you tell?”
“Lack of eye contact.” He moved closer. “A tense, closed expression, halting speech, hesitation.”
He certainly didn’t look tense. He looked powerful, in control and way too sexy.
“Take now,” he said, leaning ever so slightly forward. “Your expression is open. You’re not nervous. It’s like you’re inviting me in. Like you want me to see your innermost thoughts,” he continued.
She definitely didn’t want that.
“Like you’re thinking of physical contact...” He brushed her fingers, gently holding the tips of hers with the tips of his. He drew in a deep breath. “Wouldn’t be a bad thing.”
She felt a warmth rise over her wrist, up the inside of her arm and through to her chest. She didn’t want him to let go.
* * *
One Baby, Two Secrets is part of Mills & Boon Desire’s #1 bestselling series, Billionaires and Babies: Powerful men...wrapped around their babies’ little fingers.
One Baby, Two Secrets
Barbara Dunlop


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author BARBARA DUNLOP has written more than forty novels for Mills & Boon, including the acclaimed Chicago Sons series for Mills & Boon. Her sexy, lighthearted stories regularly hit bestseller lists. Barbara is a three-time finalist for the Romance Writers of America’s RITA® award.
To my husband.
Contents
Cover (#u030d8ab5-61f7-54e5-9b1d-0572d30b3652)
Back Cover Text (#u200b1c3f-853a-513d-9ccd-64c771ae3655)
Introduction (#uc6c868c7-8483-5da3-99bf-0be409e211bb)
Title Page (#u1bf4f3c1-8f18-574a-86d2-dd217b880679)
About the Author (#u2959beb1-0176-5011-aad6-6a1541e29a8f)
Dedication (#u52db504c-5a65-5961-b13d-cd25f9b713a4)
One (#u662cd8ff-3fd7-5160-a41f-3ec5067dcc0c)
Two (#u3fba91d5-3c58-5be3-8940-fde26a143e0e)
Three (#u5a0fe3c0-012d-588d-b833-74970efc97a4)
Four (#ub00f2163-b4f8-5be8-a746-378efee3012d)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
One (#u4d6c3089-f71b-5c97-b3cc-587bf71094aa)
Stale cigarette smoke warred with sharp memories as Kate Dunhern stood in the doorway of her mother’s tattered third-floor walk-up in south central Los Angeles.
“Darling,” her mother Chloe cried, pulling her into a bony embrace.
Chloe’s hair was cut spiky short, her tank top crisp with colored sequins, and the scent of Vendi Dark Mist wafted in an invisible cloud around her. The floor seemed to shift momentarily, and Kate was transported back to her childhood.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” Chloe singsonged, rocking Kate back and forth in her arms.
“Of course I came,” Kate said, firming her stance and waiting for the embrace to end.
“It’s been terrible on us all,” Chloe said with a sniff, finally pulling back and giving Kate space to breathe.
“I can’t believe she’s gone.” An image of her sister, Francie, formed in Kate’s mind.
She saw Francie as a teenager, grinning as they dug into a bowl of ice cream with colored sprinkles. The memory was good. But it was followed swiftly by the memory of Francie shouting that she hated Chloe before storming out of the apartment and slamming the door.
Not that Kate blamed Francie for bailing. Chloe had never been a candidate for mother of the year.
She had loved her daughters when the mood struck her and ignored them when it didn’t. She’d criticized them when she was in a bad mood, which was most of the time. She claimed they had cramped her style, ruined her figure and kept her home with their snotty-nosed whining when she’d rather be out with an eligible man. In Chloe’s mind, the only thing between her and happily ever after with some handsome, wealthy Prince Charming had been the anchor of Kate and Francie.
Kate had followed Francie’s lead, leaving for Seattle with her best friend, Nadia Ivanova, as soon as they’d graduated high school. She and Nadia had supported each other through teachers’ college, and she’d never looked back, at least not until now. Not until Francie had been killed in a car accident.
“She was drinking, you know,” Chloe said, closing the apartment door and crossing the worn braided rug on high heels.
“I read the news article.” Kate was the last person to defend Francie’s actions, but she bristled at the critical tone in her mother’s voice.
Chloe lifted a glass of orange juice from the small, chipped dining table. “She should have known better.”
Even if ice cubes hadn’t clinked against the glass as she drank, Kate would have guessed the juice was laced with vodka.
Because of the great example you set for us? The sarcastic question rang silent in Kate’s mind.
“When is her service?” she asked instead.
Chloe waved a dismissive hand. “She didn’t want a service.”
“It doesn’t have to be big or fancy,” Kate said.
They were anything but a close-knit family, but they were Francie’s only family. They needed to say goodbye.
“The body was already cremated.”
“What? When?” Kate’s knees went unexpectedly weak, the finality of her sister’s death suddenly hitting home.
She was never going to see Francie again. Visions of her sister bloomed in earnest now, at eight years old, reading The Jolly Green Frog to Kate on their shared mattress in the back bedroom, the time she’d tried to bake peanut butter cookies and nearly lit the kitchen on fire, the two of them on the floor in front of the television, watching a thoroughly inappropriate late-night crime drama with Chloe passed out on the sofa.
Kate moved now to touch that sofa, that same old burgundy brocade sofa. She lowered herself to the saggy cushion.
“Why would you do that?” she asked her mother, her throat tight.
“It wasn’t me,” Chloe said.
“The hospital decided to cremate her?”
Had Chloe pleaded poverty? Was cremation the default decision for patients who died without the means to pay for a funeral? Chloe should have come to Kate. Kate didn’t have a lot of money, but she could have buried her own sister.
“Quentin decided to cremate her. He said it was what she wanted. He can afford anything he wants without blinking an eye, so I expect he was telling the truth.” Chloe took a large swallow of the orange juice drink.
“Quentin?” Kate prompted.
“Francie’s boyfriend, Annabelle’s father.”
“Who is Annabelle?”
Chloe blinked at Kate for a moment. “Francie’s baby.”
Kate was glad to be sitting down. “Francie...” Her voice failed her before she could finish the sentence. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Francie has a baby?”
“You didn’t know?”
“How would I know?” Kate hadn’t spoken to either her mother or her sister in nearly seven years. “Is the baby all right? Where is she?” Kate found herself glancing around the apartment, wondering if her niece might be sleeping in the bedroom.
Chloe obviously guessed the direction of Kate’s thoughts and drew back in what looked like alarm. “She’s not here. She’s where she belongs, with her father, Quentin Roo.”
* * *
As he had for nearly a month now, Brody Calder pretended to be amused by Quentin Roo’s crude, misogynistic remarks. The man’s current target was swimsuit model Vera Redmond, who was clad in a clingy black sheath of a minidress, sipping a crimson martini across the crowded pool deck of Quentin’s Hollywood Hills mansion.
“Could bounce a quarter off it,” Quentin stated with a low, meaningful chuckle.
“I have,” said Rex Markel, causing Quentin to laugh harder.
Brody smiled at the joke, wishing he was someplace else, quite frankly anywhere else on this Saturday night. But his family had put their faith in him, and that faith had put their fortune at risk. Brody had made a bad calculation, and now it was up to him to set things right.
He was standing, while Quentin and Rex lounged in padded rattan chairs on the second level of the multitiered pool deck. Light spilled from the great room, its sliding glass walls wide open in the still August night as guests moved inside and out. Quentin liked to party, and the massive profits from his gaming company, Beast Blue Designs, ensured he had the means.
“Did you catch her baby owl tattoo?” Brody asked Rex, putting on the cocky confidence of the rock concert promoter he was pretending to be.
Rex looked surprised, causing Brody to suspect he hadn’t bounced a quarter off or anywhere near the former Miss Ventura County’s rear end.
Brody had caught a glimpse of the tattoo last Wednesday morning. It seemed Vera liked string bikinis and sunrise swims, while Brody had been the only punctual arrival at breakfast that day. It was all quite innocent, but he wasn’t about to mess with his street cred by explaining the circumstance.
Quentin raised his highball in a toast. “Rock on, Brody.”
“I do my best,” Brody drawled.
“Take a seat,” Quentin invited.
While Rex frowned at him, Brody eased onto another of the rattan chairs. Music from the extensive sound system throbbed around them. A few guests splashed in the pool, while others clustered around the bar and the dessert buffet.
“Well, hello there, gorgeous,” Rex drawled, sitting up straight, prompting Brody to follow the direction of his gaze.
A new woman had appeared on the pool deck, leggy and tanned in sparkly four-inch heels. Her dress was a skintight wrap of hot, shimmering pink. Her short blond hair flowed sleekly around her face, purple highlights framing her thick-lashed, wide blue eyes. She wore sparkling earrings and chunky bangles. And when her bright red lips curved into a sultry smile, Brody felt the impact right down to his bones.
“Who is she?” he asked, before remembering to play it cool.
“Kate Dunhern,” Quentin answered.
“Francie’s sister?” Rex asked with clear surprise.
“It seems that’s the little sister,” said Quentin, a thoughtful thread running through his tone as he perused the woman with obvious curiosity.
“Who’s Francie?” Brody asked, cataloging the women he’d met since striking up his acquaintance with Quentin. He didn’t recall anyone named Francie.
“My baby-mama,” said Quentin.
The revelation surprised Brody. “You have a child?”
“Annabelle.”
Quentin had a daughter. Brody couldn’t imagine how his research had overlooked that fact.
“How old is she?” he asked, looking to fill in the blanks while trying to imagine Quentin as a father.
Quentin glanced to Rex, as if he didn’t know his own daughter’s age.
“Around six months,” Rex answered.
“I had no idea,” Brody said.
“Why would you?” Rex asked, his smirk of superiority clearly intended to remind Brody he was a newcomer to this social circle, while Rex had known Quentin since junior high.
“She died last week,” Quentin said in a matter-of-fact tone.
A sick feeling invaded Brody’s stomach. “Your baby died?”
“Francie died,” said Rex.
Brody was relieved, but then he was immediately sorry for Francie, and he was appalled by Quentin’s apparently callous attitude toward the mother of his child. Not that he should have been surprised. Aside from the extravagant spending, what he knew so far was that Quentin Roo was cold, calculating and self-centered in just about every aspect of his life.
Brody’s attention moved back to the jaw-dropping woman named Kate. He pondered her notice-me appearance. Her sister had died last week? And she was at a party, in a place like this, dressed like that?
Nice.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Brody offered to Quentin.
Quentin gave a shrug. “She was fun, I suppose. But if she hadn’t got knocked up, it would have been over a long time ago.”
Just when Brody thought his opinion of Quentin couldn’t sink any further, it did.
“Did she live here?” It seemed a long shot that Francie was involved in the Beast Blue Designs’ intellectual property theft. But information was information, and Brody was gathering all he could.
“I let her use the gatehouse. Made it easier. I could sometimes see the kid when I had time.”
Between drunken bashes? Brody bit back the sarcastic retort. Quentin’s personal life was none of his business.
“What’s the sister’s story?” asked Rex, ogling Kate from the tips of her purple highlighted hair to the heels of her glittering sandals.
Brody found himself doing the same. He wasn’t proud of the behavior, but he was mesmerized. Even in that gaudy getup, she was a knockout.
“Don’t know,” said Quentin. “Don’t really care.”
“She showed up out of the blue?” asked Rex.
“Apparently she came down from Seattle.”
“Had you met her before?” Although this Kate person had nothing to do with his investigation into Quentin’s gaming technology company, Brody found himself curious.
“Never even knew she existed,” said Quentin.
Suspicion grew thick in Rex’s tone. “So today was the first time you met her?”
“You want me to check her ID?”
“Being Francie’s sister doesn’t entitle her to anything,” Rex said. “You can’t hand out your money to every person who crosses your path.”
“It’s a whole lot easier than fighting them.”
“It’s stupid.”
“Path of least resistance. Besides, the money train’s not about to derail.”
Brody clenched his jaw then downed the remainder of his Shet Select single malt. The taste grounded him, reminding him of his home in the Scottish Highlands, of his parents, his brother and his purpose for being here. Quentin’s money train might still be going, but only because he’d ripped off the Calder family’s technology.
Brody was here to prove Quentin had stolen from his family. And he was determined to send that money train right off the nearest cliff.
“You have better things to spend it on than opportunistic gold diggers,” said Rex.
“Really? Name one.” Quentin then turned his attention back to Vera, Miss Ventura County. “Think I’ll get me a look at that baby owl.”
Brody reminded himself to stay in character. He gave a salacious grin of approval to Quentin. “Go get ’er.”
Quentin smiled in anticipation, polished off his martini and rose to his feet.
Two steps later, Kate Dunhern moved into his path.
“Hello, Quentin,” she said.
Her tone was smooth, cultured, far different than Brody had expected. He thought he detected an underlying trace of nervousness. He wondered why she was nervous. Was she going to make a pitch for a payout right here and now?
“Hello, Kate,” Quentin responded in a level tone. “Good to see you.”
“Thanks for inviting me.”
He gestured expansively around the deck. “It’s a party.”
“I wondered if there was somewhere we could talk?”
Quentin’s gaze flicked back to the sexy Vera. “Depends on...”
While Kate obviously waited for him to finish the sentence, Vera caught his attention and sent a friendly smile his way.
“Maybe tomorrow,” he said to Kate.
Though she tried to hide it, her disappointment was obvious. “Uh, sure. Okay.”
“Catch you later.” He moved past her.
Rex made to rise, but Brody was quicker. He didn’t know what he hoped to gain from talking to the sister of a woman who’d had nothing to do with Beast Blue Designs, but he didn’t want Rex hitting on her. He didn’t know why he felt that way. But it didn’t really matter.
He stepped up in front of her.
“Brody Herrington,” he said, using the last name he’d temporarily adopted from his grandmother.
She took a long moment to focus on him. Then she seemed to study him. While she did that, he detected an unexpected intelligence behind her eyes.
“Kate Dunhern,” she finally responded.
“Can I get you a drink?”
She appeared to be gathering her bearings, even sizing him up. Then her mouth suddenly curved into a bright smile. In a flash, her assessing intellect was replaced by overexuberance and friendliness.
“Love one,” she said. “Champagne?”
He couldn’t help but puzzle at the cause of her transformation. Had she recognized his designer jeans? Had she noted his expensive watch and shoes and decided he was worth chatting up? Whatever it was, now she was behaving the way he’d expected when he first saw her purple-streaked hair and her crystal-studded sandals.
He offered his arm. “This way.”
She took it, her bright pink manicured nails shimmering against his skin.
He did a double take at the distinctly sensual image and felt a spike of lust shoot through him. It was a normal reaction, he told himself. She was a gorgeous woman in an outfit designed to display it. She was likely disappointed at losing Quentin’s attention, but she had the attention of every other red-blooded man here. If it was money she was after, there was plenty of it unattached and at the party.
“You’re a friend of Quentin’s?” she asked in a bright, friendly tone.
“An acquaintance,” said Brody. He shouldn’t, nor did he have any desire to lay claim to more.
“Are you in the video gaming business?”
“The entertainment industry. I’m a concert promoter from Europe.”
“Scotland?” she guessed.
He’d wished he could keep it more generic, but his accent gave him away. He could only hope the fake profession and fake name would keep Quentin from making a connection to his father or, more significantly, to his family’s ownership of Quentin’s competitor Shetland Tech Corporation.
“You got me,” he answered.
“I’m guessing it’s not classical music you’re promoting.” Her gaze seemed to take in the party which was growing more raucous by the hour.
Brody knew it was only a matter of time until a fight broke out or someone got tossed into the pool. Breakage was a given. Quentin seemed to have a cleanup crew on perpetual standby to deal with whatever carnage was wrought at the late-night parties.
“Rock ’n roll,” he answered.
“Anyone I might recognize?”
“Confidential, I’m afraid.”
It was his pat answer whenever anyone pressed for details. Luckily, so far nobody had probed further. He had enough money to buy credibility, and he doubted anybody really cared beyond that. He suspected most of the people in Quentin’s circle lied about their background or profession in some way or another.
“Are you in LA for a concert?” she asked.
“I’m on vacation.”
“Amusement parks and surfing?”
“Something like that. What about you?”
A cloud crossed her eyes. “You may have heard my sister was killed.”
“I did.” He wondered if he might have misjudged her. In this moment, her remorse struck him as genuine. “I’m sorry.”
But then she seemed to shake off the melancholy. “We were estranged. I hadn’t seen her in seven years.”
They made it to the bar, and he placed their order—champagne for her and another Shet Select for him.
“Bad blood?” he asked, finding himself curious.
“Different goals and objectives in life.” She accepted the flute of champagne.
“How so?”
She seemed to hesitate. “Hard to put my finger on it now.” Then she grinned, the happy-go-lucky expression coming back into her eyes. “Interesting that she was with Quentin.” The new tone was searching.
“Interesting,” Brody agreed, thinking Quentin was probably right. Kate was here to trade on her sister’s relationship with an enormously wealthy man.
“Quentin said you were down from Seattle,” he continued.
“I live there.”
“That wouldn’t have been my first guess.”
Her eyebrow arched. “Why not?”
“It doesn’t seem like a very exciting town.” His rock ’n roll alter ego jumped in. “And you seem like an exciting girl.”
“Seattle might surprise you.” She flashed a secretive smile, clinked her glass to his and turned to walk from the bar.
He could have let the conversation end there. It would have been the smart move. Kate was a distraction, and he didn’t need any distractions right now. He was here to schmooze Quentin and the Beast Blue Designs team, get inside information on who was who and then pump them for details so he could prove they’d stolen intellectual property from Shetland Tech.
So far, his conversations with Scotland Yard and the LAPD had gotten him nowhere. Both police forces were focused on murders, kidnappings and drug crimes and had little time for possible corporate espionage. Not that he blamed them. They had to prioritize.
His second plan had been to hire a private investigator. But the guy they’d put undercover at Beast Blue Designs had been caught snooping, and the company was a veritable fortress of security and secrecy. He hadn’t found out a single thing.
Running out of time, Brody had taken matters into his own hands. He was trying to gain Quentin’s trust on a personal level to find a route into the company.
He told his feet to walk away from Kate. But they didn’t.
“What do you do in Seattle?” he asked instead.
“This and that,” she answered vaguely.
The answer likely meant she was unemployed, or perhaps embarrassed by her profession. Maybe she was a criminal, or a con artist, or simply a shameless opportunist.
Whatever she was, she was sexy as hell. He should be sprinting away from her and focusing on business. Instead, he eased closer, gazing into her blue eyes, touching his glass to hers a second time.
“To this and that,” he said.
Two (#u4d6c3089-f71b-5c97-b3cc-587bf71094aa)
The party was confirming Kate’s worst fears. It was a rambunctious crowd, fuelled by throbbing techno music and excessive drinking. She was no expert, but she thought she detected the scent of marijuana wafting up from the gardens. And she feared there could be other recreational drugs being passed around Quentin’s mansion.
She couldn’t imagine what her sister had been thinking to bring a baby into an environment like this. On second thought, she supposed she knew exactly what Francie had been thinking: nothing, at least nothing beyond enjoying the next ten minutes of her life. She’d inherited that trait from Chloe.
As recently as this morning, Kate had convinced herself Annabelle would be fine. Chloe had sworn that Annabelle was the luckiest little girl in the world. Chloe had read all about Quentin Roo and was more than impressed with his money and his success.
He was in mourning now, she had said, and not ready to introduce Annabelle to anyone from the family. Impatient to get away from her childhood memories and back home again, Kate had been willing to buy into Chloe’s optimism.
She’d made it as far as the airport, her bags checked, and arrangements made with Nadia to pick her up in Seattle. But while she waited for her flight to board she’d done an internet search and found some news items featuring Quentin. One showed him outside a downtown nightclub a few weeks back. He was clearly intoxicated, a sexy woman on his arm, confronting a police officer over the right to drive his fancy sports car.
Disturbed by the images, Kate had searched further. His social media presence painted a picture of a party animal. She also found clips of his belligerent behavior and descriptions of wild times held at his mansion. He might be rich, but he definitely wasn’t responsible.
Protective instincts had welled up inside her. She’d cancelled her flight and left the airport, determined to confront him, determined to demand access to Annabelle and the right to ensure the baby was safe. But halfway to his mansion, she’d stopped herself, realizing the confrontational approach was almost guaranteed to fail.
She knew she needed a better plan, something more subtle in order to get close to Annabelle without spooking Quentin. The best way she could think of to do that was appear amicable and nonthreatening, to fit seamlessly into his world. She’d decided the best option was to get to Quentin and pretend she was just like Francie.
One crazy makeover later, she did look like Francie. And now she was inside the party. And she’d met Quentin. Even if it was only momentarily, it was still a start.
The man named Brody kept pace with her along the pool deck. Whoops of delight echoed around them. Groups of people talked and laughed, drinks in hands, eyes alight with enthusiasm and exhilaration. The staccato of the bassline pummeled through to her bones.
She kept an eye on Quentin, waiting for the right moment to approach him again. He was engrossed in conversation with a tall blonde woman. She was model-thin, taller than Quentin, with impossibly long limbs and a gorgeous face that would do justice to any magazine cover.
“I’ve never been up north myself,” Brody stated conversationally.
His deep, rolling accent purred over her. Ordinarily, she would have enjoyed that. But chatting up anyone but Quentin wasn’t in her plans tonight, even if the man was distractingly attractive.
And Brody was definitely that. He had a strong chin with just enough beard stubble to be rakish. His eyes were slate gray, his brow quizzical, and he had a sexy dark shock of hair swooping across his forehead. His mouth was firm, slightly stern, some might even say judgmental. Although exactly what someone living in the thick of the rock-and-roll lifestyle would have to be judgmental about was a mystery to her.
“No rock concerts to promote in Washington State?” she asked, telling herself to keep it light and stay in character. Everybody with anything to do with Quentin needed to believe she was just like Francie, a girl looking to enjoy life without worrying too much about the details.
“North America is a secondary market. Here we mostly stick to New York City. I have been to Boston and Chicago, and once to Florida, but that was a vacation.”
“Miami’s a fun town.” She was guessing. She’d only ever seen it on television, but it seemed like a good bet.
She kept watch on Quentin, poised to interrupt as soon as she had a chance. She’d decided to downplay her interest in Annabelle tonight. A party girl wouldn’t be fixated on a baby’s welfare. But she was growing impatient. Quentin was getting rapidly drunk, so who was with the baby?
“The Keys,” Brody said beside her.
“What keys?” she asked.
“The Florida Keys.”
“Oh.” Kate told herself to focus and try to use the conversation productively. She’d track Annabelle down as soon as she could. “How long have you known Quentin?”
“I’ve been in LA for a few weeks,” Brody replied. “But I’ve known of him for quite a bit longer.”
She leaned casually against a rail that overlooked the sweeping lights of the city, keeping Quentin in her peripheral vision while the breeze blew her newly short hair back from her face. “And what do you think of him?”
Brody turned to face her. “In what sense?”
“I’ve seen the news reports, and I wonder how much of it is true.”
He took in her outfit, and she was reminded of her heavy makeup, tight dress and the funky hair. She wasn’t exactly comfortable with the impression she must be making, but she had to see this through.
“He knows how to have a good time,” said Brody.
Kate gave her head a little toss and tried to look like a woman who was very much interested in having a good time. She glanced pointedly around the party, the pretty people, the exotic clothes, the expensive food and liquor. “This is definitely a good time.”
There was an unfathomable expression in his eyes that could have been sarcasm or resignation. “Isn’t it just.”
The odd reaction made her curious. “You must be used to parties in your line of work.”
“I’ve been to parties of all kinds.”
“Wild ones?” she asked, striving to look intrigued and excited at the possibility.
“Some.” He gave her a warm smile.
“Sounds terrific.” She half expected him to toss out an invitation, at least a generic one: maybe I’ll take you sometime, baby...
She’d refuse of course, politely. She wasn’t here looking for dates. She was here for Annabelle and nothing else. But he didn’t ask, and she found herself wondering if the purple highlights weren’t working for her.
Just then Quentin left his conversation partner, and she spotted her opening. She made a quick move toward him, but her heel caught on a concrete seam, and she stumbled, sloshing her champagne.
Brody grasped her elbow, stabilizing her.
“Sorry.” She quickly apologized for her clumsiness, hoping she hadn’t splashed anything on his clothes.
“You all right?” he asked, still holding on to her.
“I tripped.”
“You were in a pretty big hurry.”
“I was—” She hesitated over her words. “I’m hoping to catch Quentin.”
Brody glanced past her. “Someone beat you to him.”
She turned to see two new women laughing with him. She cursed under her breath.
“He was just with your sister.” There was censure in Brody’s tone, and she looked up to see his gaze had hardened.
“It’s not that.” It was clear from his frown that he didn’t believe her. “I’m not here to make a play for Quentin.”
“You nearly injured yourself trying to get over there to chat him up.”
“Not for that.”
“Listen, it’s not really any of my business.”
“You’re right. It’s not. But I’m going to tell you anyway. I’m not romantically interested in Quentin.”
She couldn’t imagine any circumstance where she’d be romantically interested in a man like Quentin Roo.
Brody’s gaze took a leisurely tour of her outfit. “Good news, Kate. Romance is not at all what you’re projecting.”
Despite the fact that she’d done so on purpose, she was offended by his implication that she’d dressed provocatively. “I’m not after Quentin in any way, shape or form.”
“Of course you’re not.”
She didn’t care what this Brody person thought. At least she shouldn’t care about his opinion. But for some stupid reason, she did care.
It was on the tip of her tongue to explain that this was all about her niece. She was playacting here, making sure Annabelle was going to be okay. But she stopped herself just in time. Instead, she looked up at him and gave her highlighted hair another defiant toss. “I’m here for a good time.”
His eyes reminded her of flints. “Aren’t we all.”
* * *
Brody watched the fleet of tiny electronic spaceships blast their way through an asteroid field on the wall-mounted wide screen. The ships changed colors, using different weapons, all jockeying for position while trying to avoid being annihilated by other players.
“See that? Right there,” said Will Finlay, the head programmer from Shetland Tech. “The organics on the planet surface.”
“All I see are a bunch of things exploding.”
“It’s the way they’re exploding,” said Will. “Or rather, the way they’ve changed the way they’re exploding.”
“If you say so.” Brody wasn’t a software engineer, and he wouldn’t pretend to come close to Will’s technical understanding.
“This is the best evidence yet. I’ve checked with a few contacts at MIT, and they agree Shetland Tech has been ripped off.”
“Can we prove it with this?” Brody asked.
Will had managed to get his hands on a prototype of the Beast Blue Designs’ new game, “Blue Strata Combat.”
“Not without the source code,” Will said. “We can prove they’re using advanced algorithms that trigger object evolution within an AI environment, but we can’t prove they stole it from Shetland.”
“But they did,” said Brody.
“They did.”
“If we move now?”
“I’m told that if we make a move based on the evidence we have right now we’ll be tied up in litigation for a few decades. And after that we’ll probably lose.”
Brody sat back in the burgundy leather armchair that was positioned in the living area of his hotel suite at the Diamond Pier Towers. He’d been away from home for over a month now, and he was growing impatient.
Back in Scotland, his brother Blane had too much to worry about already. Suffering from the neuromuscular disease Newis Bar Syndrome, Blane tired more easily than most people. But as eldest son, the Viscount and the future Earl of Calder, the responsibilities for the family seat fell to him. Brody had to at least take the money trouble out of the equation.
“We need to get inside their facility,” Will said. “Proving our case still hinges on accessing their resident servers and finding our proprietary code.”
“We already tried that.”
The attempt had been a dismal failure. The technical security was impenetrable, and the server room was on lockdown twenty-four hours a day. The private detective they’d hired to go undercover as a technician was caught trying to gain unauthorized access and was summarily fired.
“Do you think Quentin might confess something?” Will asked.
“To me?”
“To anybody.”
Brody found his thoughts moving to Kate. If he looked like Kate he might be able to get Quentin to spill his darkest secrets. But he didn’t look like Kate, and so far Quentin didn’t want to talk business with outsiders.
“I need to find an opportunity to search his house,” Brody said. “If we can’t get into their corporate headquarters, Quentin’s house is the next best bet.”
“You get caught snooping around? Well, I have to say, those security guys he’s hired seem very serious.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“They have Russian accents.”
“I know.”
Brody had heard rumors about Quentin’s financial backers, that they had shady backgrounds and even shadier connections to overseas criminal organizations.
“I don’t see we have any choice,” he said.
“There’s always a choice,” Will said.
“You mean I can make the decision to bankrupt my family?”
“It’s better than being shot.”
“Marginally,” Brody said.
Quite frankly, he’d rather take a bullet than be responsible for losing the Calder estate. The earldom had been in his family for twenty-two generations. They’d had ups and downs over the years. The land had been mortgaged before, but the family had always made it back to better times.
Five years ago, their financial position had become particularly precarious, and Brody knew they needed to modernize. His brother Blane, the viscount and eldest son of the earl, wanted to develop tourism infrastructure on the estate, starting with a hotel. But Brody worried about the high investment and slow rate of return that were part of Blane’s plan. He knew they needed something faster, so he’d convinced his father to buy Will’s start-up company and go into high-end gaming technology.
At first, it had worked brilliantly. They’d paid down their debt and were looking forward to moving into the tourism sector. But then Brody got overconfident. He’d borrowed again, borrowed more, and plowed the money into expanding Shetland Tech, creating a new game that he and Will were sure would revolutionize the industry.
Their logic was solid. So was their research. It should have been a success. It would have been a success. But then Beast Blue Designs had stolen their code and stood a frightening chance of beating them to market.
If Beast Blue succeeded, it would be impossible to recoup Shetland Tech’s sunk costs, and the company would most certainly go bankrupt. The Calder estate and the castle on the banks of the River Tay would be lost to the family forever.
“I’m serious,” Will said, setting down the controller. “You can’t mess with those guys.”
“They already messed with me.”
Will uttered an exclamation of disgust. “You’re going to get all macho about it?”
“I’m not getting macho. What I’m getting is smart. If we can’t infiltrate the company, then we’ll come at it from another angle, through Quentin. The man drinks and parties to excess. He’s not as sharp as he should be, and I’ve succeeded in becoming his new pal.”
“That’s because you’re pretending to be exciting and likable.”
“I like to think I’m generally both,” Brody said with a straight face.
Will flashed a grin. “Right. Sure. Let’s call you that. But you can’t expect to meet Quentin Roo’s standards.”
“I’m definitely not the life of some parties,” Brody said. He had absolutely no desire to be the life of Quentin’s parties.
His phone buzzed on the low table in front of him.
Will stayed silent while he picked it up.
“Blane,” he answered warmly. He didn’t have any good news for his brother, but he was still glad to hear from him.
Blane coughed into the phone. “Hi, Brody.”
Brody was immediately concerned. “What’s wrong? Are you ill?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re sure?”
Blane coughed again. “It’s nothing. Mother has me steaming in the bathroom.”
Brody relaxed a little, since he knew that at the first sign of a problem their mother would hover over Blane. He glanced at his watch. “It’s late there.”
“Have you signed up to be my nanny?”
“If you’re sick—”
“A tickle in my chest is not sick. I’m humoring her. I don’t need to humor you.”
“Okay.”
“Oliver Masterson came by today.”
The information gave Brody pause. Oliver Masterson was the head architect on the family’s hotel development project. Oliver shouldn’t have much to do at the moment, because it was a long-term plan, with nothing substantive happening for years down the road. Brody thought they were all clear on the timing.
He spoke to his brother in a cautious tone. “We’re only looking for preliminary drawings right now.”
“We were. We are,” said Blane. “He only wanted to see the site. He likes the view of the lake.”
“Who wouldn’t?”
The east meadow was one of Brody’s favorite spots on the entire three-hundred-acre estate. If he’d had his way, they’d have built a house there and turned the castle into a hotel. But his mother wouldn’t hear of moving from the family’s traditional home.
“He wants the building to go higher,” said Blane.
“Higher than three stories?”
“I know that puts us into a whole new category of construction. But we need to think of the long term, our children’s children and beyond. The high-end market provides the best return on investment.”
“You’ve been talking to the town council again.” A large, five-star hotel on the Calder lands would have spin-off effects to any number of local businesses.
Blane coughed again. “You know they’re right.”
“I understand where you’re coming from, Blane.”
“And you agree with me.”
Brody did agree. Like their ancestors before them, they had an obligation to support the surrounding community. He agreed there was growth potential in luxury tourism. The only problem he had was cash flow. They needed significant cash to flow in order to underwrite his brother’s dream. Right now, they didn’t have it.
“Don’t sign anything today,” he said.
“I won’t. Are you close?” Blane knew only the broad strokes of the problem with Beast Blue Designs. He didn’t know how precarious their financial situation had become.
“Getting closer,” said Brody, knowing he was going to have to make something happen soon or confess to his family the full extent of their problems.
“Let me know how it goes.” Blane’s coughing started again.
“I will. Get better.”
Blane wheezed out a laugh. “I’m in good hands.”
Brody couldn’t help but smile as he set down the phone. Their mother the countess was a force of nature.
“Problem?” asked Will.
“They want to make the hotel bigger.”
“Let me guess. They accomplish that by spending more money.”
“I knew you weren’t just a pretty face.” Brody suddenly felt tired and momentarily defeated. “It’s always about more money. We need to win this thing, Will. And we need to do it soon.”
“Okay,” said Will, squaring his shoulders. “Let’s hope Quentin is the kind of guy who brings his work home with him. If you can get in front of his home computer, I can tell you what to look for. But don’t get caught, and whatever you do don’t get shot by the Russian bodyguards.”
Brody frowned. “I have no intention of getting shot.”
“Nobody plans to get shot,” said Will. “It happens all of a sudden and usually at the most inconvenient time.”
Three (#u4d6c3089-f71b-5c97-b3cc-587bf71094aa)
Kate had wrangled an invitation back to Quentin’s Sunday night. She had been hoping to talk to him alone and maybe even meet Annabelle. But she’d been disappointed on both fronts.
Annabelle had been put to bed by the nanny before Kate arrived, and Quentin didn’t even show his face. His friends didn’t seem to care, though, guzzling liquor, dancing on the furniture and frolicking in the pool to music from a live band in the gazebo.
She’d had no desire to party, but she was more determined than ever to meet Annabelle. So when she saw a woman passed out on a sofa, she’d come up with an idea. As the party wore down, she found a quiet corner and pretended to do the same.
There was no way she was dozing off amidst intoxicated strangers. So she lay there awake until 4:00 a.m. when the last guests had stumbled away.
Chilled and exhausted, she’d finally closed her eyes.
At five, the cleaners showed up and began straightening the furniture and clearing up the debris—empty bottles, broken glass, garbage and cigarette butts discarded everywhere. At six, they turned on vacuum cleaners and began to filter the pool water.
Giving up on the idea of sleeping, Kate found a bathroom. She gazed at her smudged makeup, mussed hair and the dark circles under her eyes. Lack of sleep made her look exactly like a woman who’d partied too hard two nights in a row. It was depressing, but there was no denying it would help her disguise. She ran a comb through her hair and wiped away the worst of the mascara smudges, then her thoughts turned to coffee.
As she moved down the hallway, she heard a woman’s voice chirping happily about it being a beautiful day and how she was warming a bottle that would be delicious. Kate guessed it had to be the nanny talking to Annabelle. Her chest swelled with anticipation, and she picked up her pace, following the voice.
“You look so pretty this morning,” the nanny singsonged. “Such a smiley girl.”
Kate moved through the archway into a bright, airy kitchen, to see a young woman in blue jeans and an orange T-shirt, holding a baby against one shoulder and a bottle in the opposite hand.
“Are you hungry?” the young woman asked Annabelle in a gentle voice, and then she spotted Kate.
“Oh,” she said, her expression sobering. “Hello. I didn’t realize anyone was here.”
“Leftover from last night,” Kate offered in an apologetic tone, smoothing a hand over her messy hair.
“Can I help you with something?” the woman asked, her voice and manner becoming reserved.
Kate couldn’t keep her gaze from Annabelle. The baby girl had blond hair and big blue eyes in a sweet, delicate-looking face. Her pink mouth was perfect, and she was dressed in a white romper dotted with colored hearts.
“I’m...” Kate struggled for words. “I was hoping to meet Annabelle.”
The woman’s gaze narrowed, and she drew almost imperceptibly back.
Kate was reminded of how she looked and of the impression she must be giving.
“I’m Kate Dunhern,” she quickly put in. “Francie’s sister.”
When the woman didn’t immediately respond, it occurred to Kate that she might be new on the job.
“Did you know Francie?” Kate asked.
“I didn’t know she had a sister.” The woman was still obviously cautious.
“We weren’t close.”
“She never mentioned you.”
Kate kept her voice calm and mild. She didn’t mind that the nanny was protective. “I can answer some questions about Francie. Or I can show you some identification.”
The offers seemed to dispel the woman’s fears. “That won’t be necessary. I’m Christina Alder, Annabelle’s nanny.”
“I guessed that,” said Kate, taking a step forward. “She’s adorable.”
Christina smiled fondly at Annabelle. “Isn’t she? She’s a sweetheart, good as gold.”
“Have you been taking care of her long?” Kate moved closer still, taking it slow, smiling at Annabelle, trying not to startle the baby.
“From the day she was born,” said Christina.
Kate reached out and touched Annabelle’s little hand with her finger.
“Baa,” said Annabelle.
“Baa, yourself.” Kate smiled. “I’m your auntie Kate.”
Annabelle wiggled, and Christina shifted her hold.
“You’re a friend of Quentin’s?” asked Christina.
Kate shook her head. “I only just met him on Saturday. I came home for...” She paused. “Well, I was disappointed they didn’t have a service for Francie. And then I learned about Annabelle.”
Annabelle wrapped her fist around Kate’s index finger, and a shaft of warmth shot straight to Kate’s heart.
“She misses her mommy,” said Christina. But there was something off in her tone, as if she was being polite rather than sincere.
“It’s good that she has you.”
“Yes,” said Christina, sounding more sincere. “It helps.”
“And there’s Quentin,” said Kate, opening the door for a comment about Quentin’s abilities as a father.
“There are a lot of demands on his schedule.” Christina’s tone was neutral.
“He seems very busy.”
“He is very busy.” Christina paused. “He loves his daughter, though.”
“I’m sure he does.”
Annabelle started to squirm, and her face twisted into a frown.
“She’s hungry,” said Christina.
“I’m sorry I interrupted.”
“Not at all. I just need to sit down to feed her.”
Kate stepped back to give them some room. She wasn’t sure if she should leave, but she desperately wanted to stay.
Christina climbed into a padded chair at the breakfast bar and adjusted Annabelle across one forearm, popping the bottle into the baby’s mouth. Annabelle began to suck and her eyes fluttered closed.
“She’s very patient,” said Christina. “Most babies cry from the time you get them up to the time they get their bottles.”
“Have you cared for a lot of babies?”
“I’ve had my diploma for four years. I did a lot of fill-in work for the first two, and my last posting was newborn twins.” Christina smiled. “They were a handful.” She smoothed a lock of hair across Annabelle’s forehead.
“Boys or girls?” asked Kate, easing her way onto one of the other chairs.
“Boys. We got them into a routine at about four months. Mom took them on by herself when they hit six months. She still sends me email updates.”
“They’re doing well?” Kate continued to watch Annabelle.
“They just had their first birthday. They’re finally both sleeping through the night.” Christina sobered. “I’m very sorry about your sister.”
“Me, too,” said Kate. “I hadn’t seen her in a long time. Well, I guess you would know that since I haven’t been to see Annabelle. I didn’t even know Francie was pregnant.”
Christina didn’t respond to that. Kate supposed there wasn’t a whole lot more to say on the subject.
“I’m glad she had Annabelle and Quentin in her life,” said Kate.
Christina’s brow furrowed ever so slightly “You know we lived in the gatehouse, right?”
Kate wasn’t sure what that meant. “The gatehouse?”
“Quentin and Francie, they weren’t... They weren’t together as a couple. He said he liked having Annabelle close by, but I understood his relationship with Francie was short-lived.” Christina glanced away, as if she was aware that she’d shared too much.
“Thanks for telling me that. I didn’t know.”
Cristina didn’t answer, instead adjusting the bottle at Annabelle’s mouth.
“It was nice that Francie could live here,” said Kate, glancing around at the huge, ultramodern kitchen.
From where she sat, she could see the estate grounds and the city beyond. The great room was behind her with its expensive furniture and art, the plush carpeting and a massive stone fireplace across one entire wall. If the gatehouse was any comparison to the main house, Francie had lived in the lap of luxury.
“She did enjoy the lifestyle,” said Christina.
Kate could well imagine, at least from what she remembered of her sister. “Quentin seems to throw her kind of parties.”
“He does,” said Christina, removing the bottle from Annabelle’s mouth and holding the baby against her chest to pat Annabelle’s back. “She definitely liked the nightlife better than the mornings.”
“I remember that about her.”
“But she had me. So she didn’t need to worry about the mornings.”
A male voice interrupted their conversation. “Sorry to barge in.”
Kate stood, turning to see the man she’d met Saturday night.
Brody Herrington looked a whole lot fresher than she felt in her crumpled cocktail dress. He’d topped a pair of well-worn jeans with a crisp charcoal dress shirt.
“I wouldn’t have taken you for an early riser,” he said to Kate.
She stuck to her story. “The vacuuming woke me up.”
“I’ll get out of your way,” said Christina, her demeanor immediately changing to deference as she rose with Annabelle.
Kate wanted to tell her not to leave, to ask her to please stay and talk some more. She wanted to learn about her sister and Annabelle’s life here with Quentin. But she couldn’t risk tipping her hand. If Quentin knew she was here to judge his fitness as a parent, he would send her packing.
“It was nice to meet you,” she said instead.
Christina gave her a brief nod and left the room.
“You crashed here last night?” Brody asked.
“One too many martinis,” Kate lied, pushing past her embarrassment to stay in character.
What must he think of a woman who passed out at a party? Then she told herself he probably didn’t think anything. He likely met that kind of woman all the time.
“I may have left my watch behind last night,” he said, holding up his bare wrist as evidence. Then he seemed to spy a coffeepot. He smiled and crossed to it.
“Want some?” he asked.
“Kill for some.”
He retrieved a pair of mugs from a glassed-in cupboard. “I was going to take a look around and see if I could find it.”
“It must be expensive,” she observed.
He looked puzzled. “Expensive?”
“You’re here at six in the morning. I assume you were worried about it.”
“Oh. Yes. Well, it is a nice watch. It was a gift. From my mother on my twenty-first birthday. It’s engraved.”
“So, sentimental value.”
“Sentimental value,” he agreed as he poured the coffee.
The revelation surprised Kate. Brody didn’t seem like the sentimental type.
“You need anything in it?” he asked.
“Black is fine.”
He held out one of the mugs, and she moved to take it. In addition to a movie-star-handsome face, he had the most extraordinary eyes. They were dark and deep, slate gray in some lights, shot with silver in others. Right now they seemed to shimmer with contemplation. For a second she worried he saw right through her disguise.
“Want some help?” she asked, more to break the silence than anything else.
“Help?”
“To find your watch.”
“Oh. Sure. It has a black face and a platinum band.”
She couldn’t help but grin at that. “To help me distinguish it from all the other watches lying around the mansion?”
“It was a great party.”
“Yes, it was,” she lied.
She simply couldn’t understand the appeal of such a rowdy event. It was impossible to carry on a conversation over the loud music, music that grated in her ears. The guests were all drunk or high and only interested in gossip and fashion and bragging about their money or their connections.
“You don’t say that with a lot of conviction,” Brody observed.
She covered her expression with a swallow of the coffee. It tasted fantastic. “I guess I’m still recovering from the fun.”
“You do look a little rough around the edges.”
“Aren’t you suave.”
“You want me to lie?”
“Sure. Why not?”
His dark eyes warmed with humor. “You look fantastic this morning.”
“Lukewarm delivery. But I’ll take it.”
His gaze moved downward, noting her one-shouldered, jeweled, sea-foam cocktail dress. It was tight and stiff and terrible to sleep in.
“I like the dress,” he said.
“It’s too late for you to try to flirt with me.”
“I disagree.”
“Then it’s too early for you to flirt with me.” She took another satisfying swallow of the coffee. “Chat me up later, when my brain is fully functional.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Kate knew flirting with Brody was a mistake. She needed to keep him and everyone else at arm’s length.
“Where did you last see it?” she asked him.
“See what?”
“Your watch.”
“Oh, right.” He glanced around. “I don’t know. I’m not sure. I was going to start with the great room.”
She polished off her coffee. “Lead on.”
Kate decided that looking for Brody’s watch was a plausible reason to hang around the mansion a while longer. She might get another chance to see Annabelle or a chance to talk to Quentin. Thus far, she hadn’t managed to get the man to stand still long enough to have more than a ten-second conversation.
Brody pulled up the sofa cushions, checking behind each one. Kate took the opposite end of the room, scanning the floor, the tabletops, the windowsills, eventually making her way into the dining room and hunting around its corners. The cleaners were still working and nodded politely to her as they passed. They seemed used to encountering leftover party guests.
It occurred to her they would assume she’d had a companion last night. After all, that was the most common reason for a woman to be dressed in a cocktail dress in the early hours of the morning. She told herself not to care. But then she found herself wondering if Brody thought the same thing.
Had he believed her when she said she’d fallen asleep? Did he think she’d had a one-night stand? He might even think she spent the night with Quentin.
She shuddered at the very idea.
She told herself again not to care what Brody thought. What Brody thought of her was completely irrelevant. Still she found herself retreating to the great room to set the record straight.
He wasn’t there.
She listened, but she didn’t hear anything. So she headed down the hall, toward the main staircase, glancing into the rooms with open doors. She found Brody in an office, standing behind a desk plunking the keys of a computer.
“Find anything?” she asked.
He looked guiltily up, and she couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing.
“Nothing,” he answered.
She waited to see if he’d elaborate.
“I was taking a quick check of my emails.” He hit a couple more keys. “We’ve got a big tour in the works.”
“Sounds exciting.”
He shrugged. “Fairly routine. But you know rock stars.”
“Big egos?” she guessed.
“Big everything. They need a lot of TLC.” He moved from behind the desk.
She struggled for an opening to broach the subject, but there was no way to nonchalantly work it in. She decided to tackle it head-on. “I did fall asleep last night.”
“Huh?”
“What I said earlier. That was how it happened. I had a few too many drinks and accidentally fell asleep on a sofa.”
His gaze narrowed, and he looked intrigued.
“I was telling you the truth,” she said.
“Okay.”
“Was that sarcasm?” She couldn’t tell if he believed her or not.
“That was. It’s none of my business.”
“I wasn’t with Quentin.”
Brody looked so genuinely surprised that she felt foolish.
She tried to backpedal. “I was remembering what you said Saturday night. You seemed to...well, allude to me possibly being after Quentin in an unsavory way.”
“You said you weren’t.”
“I’m not.”
“I believed you.” He seemed sincere.
Now she really felt foolish. “Good. That’s good.” She told herself to stop talking, but for some reason she kept on. “Why?”
He flexed an amused grin, brushing his fingers along the top of the wooden desk as he moved toward her. “You didn’t look like you were lying.”
“How does lying look?” What was the matter with her? She sounded silly, and she didn’t seem to be able to quit. “I mean to you. How can you tell?”
“I don’t know. How does anyone tell?” He stopped in front of her.
It was too close for comfort, but she didn’t move.
“Lack of eye contact,” he continued. “A tense, closed expression, halting speech, hesitation.”
He certainly didn’t look tense. He looked relaxed. He looked powerful, in control, and too, too sexy. She should look away and break the spell. She didn’t.
“Take now,” he said, leaning ever so slightly forward. “Your expression is open. You’re not nervous. You’re looking straight at me. It’s like you’re inviting me in.”
Uh-oh.
“Like you want me to see your innermost thoughts,” he continued.
She definitely didn’t want that. Her innermost thoughts were her business and hers alone.
“Like you’re thinking physical contact...” He brushed her fingers, gently holding the tips of hers with the tips of his. He drew in a deep breath. “Wouldn’t be a bad thing.”
She felt a warmth rise over her wrist, up the inside of her arm and through to her chest. She didn’t want him to let go.
He eased in, his intention clear. His hand wrapped itself fully around hers, intensifying the sensations. She lost track of time and place, forgot about everything but Brody as he drew her close.
His lips touched hers. The kiss was gentle. She hadn’t expected that. His free hand came to rest at her waist, again the lightest of touches. If he’d kissed her hard or pulled her fast and tight, she might have had the presence of mind to break away. But he was stealthy in his approach, slipping past her defenses, his actions so soothing that she didn’t realize her mistake.
The kiss deepened.
It felt good. It felt great.
She stepped forward, bringing her body against his, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. His hand moved along the small of her back, splaying warm and smooth against her spine.
Her lips parted, and he groaned, pulling back, breaking the kiss.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She felt her face heat in embarrassment. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—”
Then she remembered the part she was supposed to be playing. Girls like Francie didn’t get rattled by a kiss. So instead of apologizing, she gave him a sultry smile and walked her fingers down his chest before dropping her hand to her side. “No problem. Just so we’re clear on Quentin.”
Brody looked confused for a moment. Then he seemed to give himself a little shake. “Glad we got that out of the way.”
She wanted to ask him if it was the question of Quentin that was now out of the way, or if their kiss was the thing that was out of the way. Had he been curious about kissing her? Had he been disappointed? Was he moving on?
A dozen questions bloomed in her mind, but she couldn’t ask any of them. The kiss was definitely out of the way. It was done. She was moving past it, past Brody, and back on to Annabelle.
Four (#u4d6c3089-f71b-5c97-b3cc-587bf71094aa)
Brody heard deep voices in the mansion hallway and kicked himself for getting distracted by Kate. She was gorgeous and sexy, and who could blame him for kissing her. But he’d let his guard down. Quentin’s computer was still on, and somebody was approaching.
It sounded like two of them. Their voices were guttural, speaking in Russian, Quentin’s security guards for sure.
He grasped Kate’s arm and drew her out of sight.
“What?” she started to ask.
“Shhh,” he cautioned.
She looked puzzled but stopped talking. For that, he was grateful.
The voices rose. The footsteps paused by the door. He pressed himself and Kate flat against the wall, ready to kiss her again if the men came into the room. He assumed a clandestine sexual encounter would be something they’d understand and accept.
Luckily, instead of looking in, they resumed walking and talking.
Kate whispered, “Are we doing something wrong?”
“No,” he lied.
He was definitely doing something wrong. She thought she was searching for his lost watch.
“I didn’t want to embarrass you,” he lied again.
“Embarrass me how?”
He made a show of taking in her outfit from last night.
“Oh.” She wrapped her arms around her front, covering her cleavage and bare shoulders. “They’d think I spent the night with you.”
“They would.”
“Thanks, then.”
“No problem.”
A split second later, she gave a little shrug, dropping her hands to her sides. “But what would I care?”
It was a good question. He wasn’t sure why he thought she’d care about the opinions of strangers. He did know pretending to be chivalrous was a whole lot better than explaining to her that he’d been checking out Quentin’s computer.
“Who are they?” she asked, still keeping her voice low.
“Security guards. Quentin has a lot of them. Every one brawny, ill-humored and uncommunicative.”
“What did they mean that Quentin had better be persuaded?”
The question surprised Brody. No, not surprised. It shocked the heck out of him. “You speak Russian?”
“No. But they were speaking Ukrainian.”
That was another surprise. All along, he’d thought the guys were Russian.
He gave her a beat to elaborate.
She didn’t.
“Same question,” he prompted.
“Only a little. I understand it better than I speak it.” She moved away from the wall, peeping out the open door.
“And?” he asked, struggling to keep the impatience from his tone. “That’s because?”
“Oh. My best friend Nadia is Ukrainian. She grew up with her grandmother who lived across the hall from our apartment. Mrs. Ivanova was a crotchety old thing, and she didn’t speak much English. She wore baggy stockings and embroidered cloth shoes, but I liked her because she baked incredible honey cookies and Kiev cake.”
“And she taught you Ukrainian?”
Kate seemed to have a peculiar way of getting around to a point.
“Nadia and I tried to teach her English,” said Kate. “Turns out, we weren’t very good teachers.”
“But you were a good student?”
She made a tipping motion with her hand. “I was okay. Nadia’s fluent. I dabble.”
“You understood those two.”
“Only part of it.”
“What else?” Brody didn’t want to drag an unsuspecting Kate into his web of intrigue. But what she’d overheard could be important.
There were rumors Quentin had originally been financed by an Eastern European criminal organization. Assuming the rumors were true, Brody had wondered if the bodyguards might be connected to the financier. If they were, maybe they were into other kinds of crime, like corporate espionage.
One thing was sure: given the snippet of conversation Kate had interpreted, there was a real chance those men were more than just bodyguards.
“I didn’t understand most of it,” she said. “And I might be getting it wrong.”
He tried not to sound too earnest. “What exactly did you hear?”
“That Quentin could be or maybe had to be persuaded. Something about him accepting or maybe embracing Ceci.”
“Ceci?”
“That’s what I heard.”
Who was Ceci? “Did they mention a last name?”
“No.”
“Accepting her as what?”
“A girlfriend, maybe?”
“They said that?”
“I’m tossing out random guesses,” she said.
“What about the context?”
“I’m not that good.”
“But—”
“Brody, it was a tiny snippet of conversation in a foreign language from a distance. What do you want from me?”
He immediately regretted grilling her. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Why do you care so much?”
“I don’t.” He ordered himself to take a beat and relax. “You had me curious is all. I’ve listened to those guys talk amongst themselves for weeks now and never knew what they were saying.”
She peered at him for a moment, seeming to assess his expression. Once again, she appeared smarter than he would have guessed. But then she blinked, and the expression was gone.
“Maybe that’s why he broke up with Francie,” she speculated aloud. “To be with this Ceci person.”
“I’ve never seen him with a steady girlfriend.” Then again, Brody hadn’t ever come across Francie, either. There could be any number of people in Quentin’s life that Brody didn’t know about.
“Do you suppose he has another child?” asked Kate. “Maybe those guys want him to marry Ceci because they have a baby.”
That seemed like a long shot to Brody, and not at all helpful to his investigation. He wanted the bodyguards and the mysterious Ceci to be clues to Beast Blue Designs’ theft from Shetland. Though he acknowledged that was a long shot, as well.
The thought did remind him of why he was here and what he was doing. He needed to get back at it.
“No sign of my watch in here,” he said to Kate. “Did you happen to check the dining room?”
She nodded. “I did.”
“What about the kitchen?” He wanted to get her out of the office so that he could turn off Quentin’s computer.
“Would you like me to check there?”
“That would help. I was in there a few times last night.”
“I’m surprised I didn’t see you at the party.”
“I spent most of the evening in the garden.” Lying was becoming easier and easier for him. He wasn’t sure how he should feel about that.
He hadn’t even been at last night’s party, never mind lost his watch. It was a ruse he’d concocted as an excuse to snoop around the mansion. It wasn’t the most complicated plan in the world, but he’d decided simpler was better.
She seemed to expect him to elaborate on his statement.
“With a woman,” he lied again. “Somebody I just met.”
A bit of the friendliness vanished from her expression. “Right.”
He wanted to tell her he was lying. He wasn’t like Quentin and the rest of the partiers. He didn’t have sex in the garden with random women. But telling her the truth was dangerous. Like everybody else in this world, she needed to believe he was Brody Herrington, a freewheeling concert promoter living the rock-and-roll lifestyle.
If one surprisingly interesting woman thought he was some kind of a player, then that was the price he’d pay.
“I’ll check the kitchen,” she said, turning away.
“Kate?”
She stopped without turning back. “Yes?”
He knew he was selfish to ask for her cooperation, but his family was at stake. “Don’t let on.”
She twisted her head to look at him.
“Don’t let on that you understand Ukrainian.”
Her brow furrowed in puzzlement.
“I don’t trust those guys.” That much was definitely true. “It’s probably better if you just listen.” He wished he could ask her to report back to him on what she heard, but he didn’t dare go that far.
“I wasn’t planning to let on,” she said.
“Good.”
“I’ll go check for your watch.”
“Thanks.”
“Maybe if you kept your clothes on,” she muttered under her breath. “You might not lose things.”
He watched her walk away, her hair slightly mussed, her shoulders bare, her legs long and shapely beneath the tight, short dress. It struck him as odd that she’d criticize his behavior. But a split second later, she only struck him as gorgeous, and he forgot about anything else.
* * *
Kate took a quick look through the kitchen, and then decided Brody could find his own watch. It was probably in the garden, falling off when he’d stripped down for a quickie.
It had annoyed her to learn he’d spent the evening hooking up. She acknowledged the reaction was absurd, since it had absolutely nothing to do with her. With his job, he probably had one-night stands all over the world—him and all the other single, wealthy men hanging out with celebrities and groupies.
But for some reason she wanted him to be better than the rest. Maybe it was because she’d kissed him. Or more important because she’d enjoyed kissing him. She should have better taste than to enjoy kissing a man who was into one-night stands. What was the matter with her?
She made her way back into the main hallway, focusing on Annabelle again, and wondering how long she dared hang around. She didn’t want anyone to get suspicious, but she also didn’t want to squander this opportunity.
Time was ticking. Banking on Quentin being a late sleeper, she decided to have a look upstairs before she left.
She guessed Annabelle’s nursery would be on the second floor and hoped Christina and Annabelle had gone back there when they left the kitchen. If anyone questioned her, she could always use the excuse of Brody’s lost watch.
At the top of the stairs, she heard the gentle pings of a lullaby. She walked toward them, coming to an open bedroom door.
Annabelle was lying in a white crib, cooing softly, her hands and bare feet wiggling in the air as she watched colorful cloth jungle animals circle above her.
The rest of the big room was a jumble, containing a change table, two armchairs, a rocking chair. Through an open doorway to a connected room, she saw a single bed and a dresser. Everything was covered in cardboard boxes. Some were open, some taped shut. Plush toys were strewn around the nursery, and the walk-in closet was wide-open, revealing empty shelves and more packing boxes.
“Wow,” said Kate. “You’ve got some work on your hands.”
Christina looked surprised by the sound of Kate’s voice.
Kate knew she was being unforgivably brazen barging in on them. She squelched her discomfort. “Do you want some help?”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I’m happy to do it.” Kate forced herself to ignore Christina’s obvious lack of welcome, moving to one of the open boxes of baby clothes to look inside. “Shall I put these in the closet?”
“No, really.” Christina started toward her.
Annabelle let out a cry.
“I’ll get her,” Kate impulsively announced.
“No,” Christina said sharply.
Their gazes met.
Kate realized she couldn’t pull it off. Maybe in the midst of a party she could pretend to be self-centered and oblivious to the needs of others. But she couldn’t do that to Christina.
“I’m sorry,” she said. She took a step back. “I don’t mean to put you in an awkward position.” She took another step back, steadying herself on the doorjamb. “I wanted to see Annabelle is all. I’ll leave the two of you in peace.”
Disappointment running through her, Kate turned for the door.
“Wait,” said Christina.
Kate paused and turned back.
Christina took a deep breath. “I’m not trying to be suspicious. It’s just that most of Quentin’s friends are...”
“Untrustworthy?” Kate guessed.
“I try to keep Annabelle out of their paths. They think she’s a toy, and they’re not always...”
“Sober?”
Christina looked stricken. “I shouldn’t be saying these things.”
“I’m not like them.” Kate realized she was ready to come clean with Christina.
“Not like who?” Quentin appeared in Kate’s peripheral vision.
For a second, her heart lodged in her throat. How much had he overheard? She scrambled for a plausible response.
“Not like those uptight people who hate mess and noise.” She gave a brilliant smile.
Christina looked confused.
“You mean the Vernons?” asked Quentin.
“Who are the Vernons?”
“The people next door. Did they complain about the music again?”
“I loved the music,” said Kate. “But, I fell asleep on the sofa. Too many martinis. My bad.” She gave a giggle.
“There’s no such thing as too many martinis,” said Quentin.
Annabelle let out another cry, and Quentin winced at the sound.
“Now that kind of noise will make a man nuts.”
Christina moved quickly to shush the baby.
Kate bit back a reproach. He shouldn’t blame a baby for crying.
“Do you have parties every weekend?” she asked instead.
He gave a shrug. “People tend to drop by.”
She wanted to ask how that was going to work with Annabelle living in the main house, but she held back.
One of the bodyguards appeared beside Quentin, holding out a cell phone. “Mr. Kozak for you.”
Quentin clenched his jaw. Mr. Kozak was obviously not someone Quentin was pleased to hear from.
The bodyguard met Quentin’s annoyed expression with a level stare.
“Not now,” said Quentin.
The bodyguard stayed silent. He waited, obviously expecting Quentin to change his mind.
Kate could feel the tension in the air.
“Tell him I’ll call him back,” said Quentin.
After a long moment, the bodyguard turned abruptly, raising the phone to his ear. He spoke in Ukrainian as he walked away, but it was too fast. Kate couldn’t make out any of the words.
Christina had moved to the far side of the room, jiggling Annabelle in her arms and cooing softly in her ear.
Annoyance was radiating from Quentin.
Kate’s stomach clenched, and her instincts told her to leave, to get out of the room, even out of the house. She didn’t know what was going on here, but Quentin clearly had a temper. She had no desire to be in his line of fire. But she didn’t want to leave Annabelle and Christina alone with him.
“I, uh...” She scrambled to think what Francie would do.
After only a second, she came up with a plausible solution. Francie would have been completely oblivious to the undercurrents. She’d be thinking solely of herself. What was Francie feeling? What did Francie want?
Kate was exhausted, and she was hungry. She went with it.
“Any way to get some breakfast around here?” she asked him coyly.
Quentin looked taken aback. But his surprised expression didn’t last long. He seemed willing to be distracted.
“You’re hungry?” he asked.
“Famished. I usually have blueberry muffins for breakfast,” she rattled off. “Except on Sundays. On Sundays I go to this little bistro on Backwater Street. It’s about a block from the ocean, and they have the best eggs Benedict I have ever eaten.” She grinned invitingly. “With a mimosa. To die for, really.”
Quentin’s expression had relaxed.
She couldn’t help thinking it was easy being Francie. There was no need to worry about empathy or propriety or even good manners. You just led with your emotions and lived in the moment.
“Eggs Benedict it is,” he said. He gestured to the nursery doorway.
Kate was disappointed to leave Annabelle. But in the short term, getting into Quentin’s good graces was the most important thing. If she played her cards right, she’d have time to see Annabelle again later.
“You have a really gorgeous house,” she told him as they walked down the hallway. She ran her fingertips along the white panel molding.
“I bought it from Deke Hamilton,” he said.
“The movie star?” She put what she hoped was the right amount of awe and admiration into the question.
“He had it custom built,” said Quentin. “Cost ten million, but I got it for nine.”
“Nice.”
“The divorce.”
Kate wished she could remember something about Deke Hamilton’s love life, but she couldn’t.
“You always lose money on a divorce,” she said.
“True that,” said Quentin. “I’ll sure never fall for it.”
“Marriage?” she guessed.
“Marriage, common-law, palimony. Whatever.”
It occurred to her that was probably why Francie and Annabelle had lived in the gatehouse. Quentin didn’t want to risk a lawsuit. She couldn’t help but think he had to have plenty of money to spare.
As they descended the stairs, she pointed to a huge, dramatic crystal chandelier. “Swarovski?” she asked, dredging up the only famous name she knew.

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