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.
“Of course.”
She tilted her head to admire it.
“Are you here for Francie’s things?” he asked.
The question surprised Kate. She hadn’t thought of that. But she realized it was a fair assumption. The woman Kate was pretending to be would probably covet anything Quentin might have bought for Francie.
Then again, if by “things” he meant Annabelle, the answer was rapidly turning into a yes.
She put a speculative gleam in her eyes, and a faux coy tone in her voice. “What things?”
Quentin laughed, clearly pleased with himself for having guessed her motive.
Kate was happy to let him think he had her figured out.
“You seem like a generous man,” she said, playing it up even further.
“I just told you I’d never get married and risk alimony,” he responded.
“True,” she conceded. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t like to make women happy.”
Brody’s voice joined the conversation. “I assure you, he does.”
Brody’s gaze was judgmental as he peered at Kate, and her heart fluttered in a nervous reaction. He was going to think the worst of her all over again.
She didn’t care, she told herself one more time. She couldn’t and wouldn’t care.
“Brody’s got me pegged,” said Quentin. “What about you?” he asked Brody. “You willing to risk it all for some woman?”
“Depends on the woman.”
Quentin laughed. “I can’t even picture who that would be.”
Kate found herself waiting for Brody’s answer.
“Tall,” he said. “Large breasts and big hair.”
She involuntarily glanced down at her chest. No, not so much. Plus, she was only five feet five, and her hair was sleek rather than puffy, shorter than it had been three days ago. And he hadn’t mentioned liking a woman’s hair to be purple, so she supposed she was nowhere near his demographic.
“You’ll want to visit Texas,” said Quentin, chuckling.
“I’ll think about it,” said Brody.
She supposed she could wear high shoes and a wig, but she drew the line at cosmetic surgery. Her breasts were staying the size they were.
Not that she wanted to attract Brody. He kissed very well, but she didn’t want it to happen again. Okay, so she did want it to happen again. But that was an emotional reaction, nothing based on reason. It was definitely better all around if it didn’t happen again, not ever. Logic told her that. And she was nothing if not logical.
“I’m saving the jewelry,” Quentin said to Kate.
“Huh?” She wasn’t following him.
“I’m saving Francie’s jewelry for Annabelle.”
Kate told herself to look disappointed. “Oh.”
“That seems fair,” said Brody.
Kate agreed, but she didn’t chime in with her agreement. It was better if Quentin thought she was opportunistic and greedy instead of judging his fitness as a father. She switched to a safer topic, again trying to be Francie-like.
“We’re having eggs Benedict,” she said to Brody. “Because I’m famished.”
He looked bemused by the observation.
Rex, who Kate had learned that first night was Quentin’s right-hand man, made his way down the hallway, his deep frown obviously sending an unspoken message to Quentin.
Quentin took in the expression. “I’ve got a phone call,” he announced to no one in particular. To Kate he said, “Just tell the cook what you want.”
“Something up?” Brody asked Quentin, his tone unconcerned, his body language casual and relaxed.
“Just puttin’ out a fire. Nothing new.”
“Can I help?” Brody asked.
Quentin looked puzzled by the offer, while Rex looked annoyed.
“Most of what messes us up in my organization are international issues,” Brody said.
Quentin looked at Rex. “He does have international connections.”
“Is this a Europe thing?” Brody asked.
“Let’s talk,” Quentin said, giving a nod toward the office.
As the three men moved away, Quentin turned back.
“Check out the gatehouse,” he told Kate.
She didn’t understand and must have looked confused.
“Take a look at Francie’s jewelry. You’re welcome to pick something. There’ll still be plenty left for Annabelle.”
Kate started to shake her head in protest. But she quickly stopped herself.
“That’s very generous,” she called out instead.
Brody smirked.
She knew what he was thinking. She didn’t blame him. And it was what she wanted him to think anyway. She shouldn’t feel so bad that her plan was working.