The Butler's Daughter (11 page)

 

M
EETING
J
ULIANA HAD
changed him, corroded the detachment that he wore like armor when he was working on a job. Feeling as if his heart were suspended in midair, Hunter monitored her every movement on the bank of television screens connected to covert video cameras planted inside and outside the cathedral. He took note of everyone who spoke to her or even looked at her. And made sure her bodyguards were doing their job.

Juliana was too precious to Cort to lose. And somehow, in the long dark hours of their wedding night as Hunter had waited for her to wake, she'd become infinitely precious to him.

Though he knew she was frightened about being the target of a killer and worried sick about her father, you'd never know it by looking at her. She had her chin up and was lending Annette moral support.

He was so damn proud of her! Grace under pressure.
Even when she cried, she wiped her eyes with a quiet dignity and carried on. No histrionics.

Disguised in a groundskeeper's uniform, dark glasses and a thick mustache, Hunter attended the interment, which had been limited to Annette and the household staff. As the short ceremony ended, the wind tore savagely through the trees and the swollen clouds above split their gray under-bellies. Rain pounded into the ground as the staff scuttled into limousines that would take them back to the Collingwood estate for the reception. Hunter and Investigator Bradshaw followed behind in an unmarked car.

Upon arriving at the estate and making his way to the command center the troopers had set up, Hunter's tension jackknifed. More covert cameras had been planted in the house to record the reception, but there were many holes in the coverage.

If something happened to Juliana, he'd never forgive himself.

 

M
ELANCHOLY SETTLED
heavily on Juliana's shoulders as she entered the packed drawing room after leaving her coat with a maid. The Collingwood Estate had been built for glorious parties, and today it was a house in mourning—the atmosphere oppressive with the heavy scents of flowers and wet wool and the sounds of muted conversation. She hadn't the heart to ask Hunter what would happen to this magnificent house. Maybe all that would become known once the will was officially read.

Annette was nowhere in sight. Nor were her bodyguards. Yet Juliana knew Annette had arrived at the house before her.

Juliana slipped through the mourners overflowing into the vast center hall that had soaring Palladian windows on
each end, and tried the dining room where a buffet had been set up.

She stopped Stacey Kerr, Lexi's personal secretary. “Have you seen Annette?”

“She said something about needing to lie down, poor thing,” Stacey replied. “I didn't have a chance to ask you at the church, but how's your baby? Did you bring pictures?”

Juliana felt a prickle of apprehension at her nape. “He's getting so big! But I didn't think to bring any photos. I will next time, I promise. Excuse me, I want to check on Annette. She shouldn't be alone.”

She hurried up the gold inlaid staircase to the second floor, replaying Stacey's interest in Cort in her mind. Was the secretary's question as innocuous as it had seemed? Stacey and Kendrick Dwyer had had their heads together at the funeral. But they could have been discussing the eulogy that Kendrick had given. He'd also read a loving tribute Annette had written.

At the top of the stairs Juliana encountered Sable Holden. She stopped the woman. “May I ask what you are doing upstairs?”

“Who the hell are you?” Sable responded with a curl of her crimson lips.

“Part of the staff. I repeat, what are you doing up here? There's a sign at the bottom of the stairs clearly stating this area is off-limits to guests.”

Color slashed Sable's cheeks. “I was looking for a bathroom.” She forcibly tried to brush past Juliana, ramming her with her shoulder.

Knocked off balance, Juliana teetered on her high heels and clutched at the banister to keep from falling down the stairs.

Her bodyguards were on Sable in an instant.

An anger-induced tremor worked its way up Juliana's spine. Had they just nabbed Ross and Lexi's killer? “Please escort this woman to security. Have them check her purse to make sure she hasn't removed anything from the house. I'm sure the police will have a few questions for her, as well.”

“You can't do this,” Sable blustered.

“I can. And I will. Now, please go quietly before you create an unpleasant scene. And, I suggest, in future, you refrain from trespassing.”

“Do you know who I am? I'm on the board of directors of the Collingwood Corporation.”

“I don't care if you're Santa Claus.”

Leaving Sable in the capable hands of her bodyguards, Juliana hurried down the hall, concern for Annette uppermost on her mind. Had Sable followed Annette upstairs? Had she turned back when she'd noticed Annette was well guarded by the troopers?

She tried the guest rooms on the second floor left wing first. But surely if Annette were here Juliana would see bodyguards out in the hallway. Juliana crossed over to the right wing where the family's rooms were. The door to the nursery stood slightly ajar. Juliana grasped the knob and pushed the door open.

The bright room Lexi had lovingly prepared with a Noah's ark theme was empty.

She moved farther down the hall to the room Lexi's parents had shared when they'd moved into the mansion after Riana's abduction. That door, too, was ajar. Juliana saw an imprint on the bed as if someone had lain down for a while. Who, Sable?

She tried Lexi's suite next. Relief expanded in her chest when she pushed the door open and was immediately halted by two troopers. She told them about her encounter with
Sable Holden on the stairs. One of the troopers radioed Investigator Bradshaw while Juliana continued to the bedroom to check on Annette.

She knocked softly on the door and entered the room.

Annette sat on Lexi's bed with some of Lexi's clothes spread out around her.

“She's really gone, isn't she?”

Juliana slipped her purse off her shoulder and joined Annette on the bed. Compassion welled in her as she gently stroked Annette's back. Tension bunched in the petite woman's body like stones tightly packed in a jar. “I'm afraid so.”

“It didn't seem real until I came in here. They're all gone.” Suddenly, Annette gripped Juliana's knee. “But not Cort, right?”

Juliana cast an anxious glance toward the door and lowered her voice. “Annette, I assure you he's safe and sound.”

A frustrated cry broke from Annette's throat and twisted her features. “I need to see him. He's the only family I have left. Tell me where he is. Or better yet, take me to him.”

“I wish I could, but I can't.”

“Don't tell me you can't. I'm ordering you to tell me where my nephew is.”

Juliana looked at her sharply. “I don't take orders from you.”

“It's him, isn't it? That damn Guardian! He can't do this! He won't even tell me who has custody of the baby!” Annette jumped off the bed and swung her arm at a collection of crystal figurines—birthday gifts from Lexi's parents—displayed on a mirrored table. Several pieces crashed to the floor.

Juliana leaped up to prevent Annette from wreaking
more damage as the bedroom door flew open. Both troopers filled the doorway, weapons drawn.

“It's all right,” Juliana told them. “She's just upset. Annette, you must calm down. Losing control will achieve nothing.”

The troopers withdrew, closing the door.

“I just realized—you probably have custody of Cort! The Guardian is working for you.” Annette dragged a shaking hand across her brow, her green eyes blazing with anguish. “Oh, my God, I can't believe my own sister chose the butler's daughter to raise her baby over her own flesh and blood. And to think that I postponed my wedding so that Lexi could marry Ross first because she was pregnant!”

“You are so wrong. I don't have custody of Cort, either. I wish I did.”

Annette advanced toward her. “But you know who does.”

Juliana's back stiffened. “I'm not going to jeopardize Cort's safety—or yours—by discussing this any further. There are enough people dead. I haven't even been allowed to visit my father at the hospital! I'm sure a safe meeting will be arranged for you and the baby as soon as possible. Now, come downstairs. I'll get you something to eat and a nice cup of tea.”

It took some doing, but she finally coaxed Annette downstairs. Lexi's sister had been in isolation since the bombing. It would do her good to be surrounded by people and feel their support.

She settled Annette on a sofa in the drawing room with Stacey Kerr and brought her a plate of food from the buffet and a cup of tea. Then Juliana dispatched a maid to clean up the broken crystal in Lexi's room while she circulated through the house to talk with each member of the staff.
To offer comfort and be comforted. The staff was solidly divided in opinions about the cook's disappearance. Half firmly believed she was doing something odd like meditating on her past lives. The other half was convinced she was working her magic in someone else's kitchen.

No one seemed unduly interested in her movements. Juliana found herself praying that Sable Holden was confessing.

At least Annette had pulled herself together and was moving from one group to another thanking people for coming.

Juliana took a moment to dodge into the ladies' room. When she came out into the lounge to wash her hands, Sarah Younge was seated on one of the upholstered stools in front of the mirror replenishing her lipstick with a sienna color that matched her dark-auburn hair.

“I'm glad to have caught you alone, Juliana. I thought you might know if the search will still continue for Riana.”

Juliana lathered her hands with scented soap. Had Sarah followed her in here on purpose? Gina, her female bodyguard, had ostensibly engaged the powder room maid in conversation.

“I'm sure the search will continue. I don't think any of us, especially now, have given up hope that she'll be found.”

Sarah's lips wobbled into a smile and her gray eyes grew misty. “Well, I'd like to continue to help. If you need a spokesperson, I'd consider it a privilege. Ross and Lexi were so good to us—especially recently. Ross called David into his office last week and told him to take some time off. We've—our son David Jr.'s been having some problems at school. Getting into serious trouble. Ross told David that there was nothing more important in life than your children and—” Sarah broke off with a choked cry, press
ing her hand to her mouth. “David finally decided to take Ross's advice.”

Juliana used a fresh towel to dry her hands and dab at the new spring of tears welling in her eyes. Sarah's explanation accounted for the tension in David Younge's life and the private meetings with Ross. She'd have to tell Hunter. “I'll pass your offer along, Sarah. Thank you.”

“It's the least I can do.”

Juliana took a moment to compose herself after Sarah left. Her reflection in the mirror told of the day's emotional drain. Her eyes were red and swollen, her lipstick had worn off and her hair needed combing. She reached for her purse to repair the damage, only to discover it wasn't on her shoulder or the vanity counter. Had she left it in the stall in the bathroom?

She hurried to check.

There was no sign of it.

Fortunately she didn't have any identification or anything of value in the purse—except her cell phone. What if the hospital had called with an update about her father's condition?

She tried to think when she'd had it last and couldn't remember. Had she forgotten it in the limo after the interment?

Left it upstairs in Lexi's room? Or accidentally set it down someplace when she'd brought Annette some refreshments?

Juliana alerted one of her bodyguards who radioed a message to The Guardian in the security command center. Maybe it was nothing, but still…

A quiet search was begun by the staff. The guests were discreetly informed that Annette was overtired and perhaps they should take their leave.

Juliana stood sentry in the foyer keeping a sharp eye out for the missing purse as the guests departed. Try as she might, she couldn't dispel the disquieting fear that someone had deliberately taken her purse.

When Stacey Kerr found the purse underneath the buffet table forty-five minutes later, Juliana snapped it open to check the contents, then clutched it to her chest in relief. Her cell phone was there. Everything seemed to be in order.

She must have accidentally dropped it when she'd filled a plate for Annette and it had been kicked under the buffet table.

The day had been rife with too much tension. She was relieved when one of her bodyguards informed her that her car was waiting outside. Her stomach muscles clenched tightly in the fervent hope that Hunter would be in the car waiting for her.

She needed the reassurance that only being with him, feeling the safety of his arms around her, could give.

She wanted him to take her home to his apartment where she could hug Cort and check on her father's condition.

She said her goodbyes to the staff—and to Annette who'd be staying on at the estate for several days helping the staff deal with the Collingwoods' personal effects. Then they collected their coats.

To her keen disappointment, Investigator Bradshaw occupied the front passenger seat of the luxury car. Not Hunter. He extended his hand to her as she slid into the
back seat, wedged between her bodyguards. She noticed he was wearing latex gloves.

“I'd like to examine your purse, if I may.”

“Of course.”

The investigator raised his brows at her bodyguards. “Did she touch anything inside the purse once it was recovered?”

“No, sir.”

“No, I did not,” Juliana said, offended that her word was not considered good enough. “Nothing's missing. It was a false alarm. I'm sure I mislaid it. I didn't have any ID in it.”

“Hmm…we'll check it for latent fingerprints just to be sure. The killer could have searched it looking for a clue to your whereabouts.” The car lurched forward down the long drive. “Anyone else in the house touch it?”

“Only Stacey Kerr,” she admitted reluctantly. “She found it under the buffet table in the dining room.”

She watched Bradshaw's face furrow in concentration as he carefully removed and examined her tube of lipstick, her comb and, finally, her cell phone.

“What was the last number you dialed on your cell phone?”

“The hospi—”

“Damn it. Stop the car,” Investigator Bradshaw barked in a low urgent tone, cutting her off.

“What is it?” Juliana gripped the back of the front seat, trying to scoot forward to see.

“There are scratch marks on the phone. Someone's tampered with it.”

The investigator shoved open his door and jumped out of the car, moving at a brisk walk toward the center of the wide sweeping lawn.

“Get her out of here,” he ordered over his shoulder. “And seal off the area. I want a bomb squad here ASAP.”

 

I
T WAS THE LONGEST WAIT
in Hunter's life.

His insides quivered as he counted out the minutes until Juliana's car would arrive at the rendezvous point for the transfer. His clenched fist pounded on his thigh. Where the hell was she?

Bradshaw's tense voice on the phone informing him that Juliana's cell phone had been tampered with looped through his brain, replaying itself over and over.

What if a bomb had been planted in her cell phone? She could have been killed. Cort, too.

His mouth firmed into a taut line, his heart pounding like a driven nail into his chest at the thought of never seeing her barge into his study without knocking or holding Cort against her breast with the glow of fierce determination in her eyes. Never hearing her laugh or smelling the apple blossoms in her hair.

Never being able to expect the unexpected from her again.

He'd promised to protect her and he'd come perilously close to losing her. Thank God he and Investigator Bradshaw were cautious by nature.

She'd done her part for the investigation at the funeral today—even nabbing Sable Holden wandering the house where she didn't belong. Now, after a brief stop at the hospital, he was going to whisk Juliana and Cort home to FairIsle. Marquise was already en route with Cort. The helicopter would pick them up in twenty minutes.

He could keep them safe at FairIsle.

When the car carrying Juliana finally entered the parking garage, it was all Hunter could do to remain in the limo. Endless seconds passed as the one car door opened and a
bodyguard, followed by Juliana, emerged. The door beside him opened.

Bringing the faint scent of apple blossoms with her, Juliana bolted straight into his arms.

 

T
HE KILLER WAS FRUSTRATED
. The tracking device hadn't fit in the damn phone as it should. It was too large. Or the damn phone was too small, and there hadn't been enough time.

Pushing the redial button had only resulted in reaching the hospital where the butler was recovering from his injuries. Information the killer already had.

But the engraved monogram on the designer purse from an exclusive Madison Avenue shop was quite distinctive.

The killer slipped into the household manager's office and looked up the phone number for the shop.

“Good afternoon,” the killer said in an uppity voice. “I'm calling from the Collingwood estate. Yes, those Collingwoods. As I'm sure you're aware, the funeral took place earlier today. Unfortunately, one of the guests left behind a purse at the reception. It's one of your designs. No, there was no ID inside, but there is a monogram—BES. Does that ring any bells?” The killer described the black leather handbag.

“What was the name again? Thank you. You've no idea how happy you've just made me. I'm sure the owner will be very grateful.”

With a smug smile, the killer hung up the phone.

Who the hell was Brook Everett Sinclair? And what was Juliana doing with her purse?

 

S
HE STILL DIDN'T WANT
anything to do with him.

Darren stood outside the gates to the Collingwood estate barred from his love by iron bars and security guards. The
steady stream of departing Mercedes-Benzes, BMWs and Jaguars told him the reception was over.

He told himself she was distraught. She'd lost both her parents and now her sister and brother-in-law. She wasn't thinking straight.

He'd give her more time. Maybe send her a card telling her he was thinking about her. Then after the media circus had died down he could call her up at the office, ask her out to dinner.

They could linger over coffee and talk into the late hours of the night about art and pop culture and whether or not universal health care would ever happen in the U.S. Just like in the old days.

It had been almost three years since she'd called off their engagement. He'd patiently waited all this time for her to realize that what they'd had was once-in-a-lifetime. What was a few more months?

 

“W
E'RE GOING WHERE
?”

“To the hospital to see your father,” Hunter explained patiently.

Juliana scooted away from him to the far side of the limo's wide back seat and crossed her arms. “No. I'm not going. We'll go directly to FairIsle.”

He narrowed his gaze on the determined set of her chin, trying to figure out what was going on in his wife's mind. He'd thought she'd leap at the chance to visit her father.

“The window of opportunity is here. We should take it. No one would expect you to be able to get from Long Island to the hospital in the Adirondacks so quickly. It lowers the element of risk to an acceptable level. Cort won't come to the hospital with us. I have a team of men who'll stay with him.”

“No.”

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He wanted so much to touch her, feel her melt against him again and reassure her that they would survive this together. “I know the incident with your purse was frightening, but don't let it deter you from seeing your father.”

“This has nothing to do with that.”

“Then what, Juliana? Please explain it to me. I spoke with the doctor. Your father could die, and I think you'll regret not seeing him.” He slid his arm along the rim of the seat back and brushed her shoulder with his thumb. “After all you've been asked to do, I can't ask you to make this sacrifice, too.”

She looked at him, her eyes tormented pools in her pale face. “Don't you think I
want
to see him? He's my father. I love him! But it would only make him angry.”

Hunter frowned, confused by her logic. “Why would he be angry?”

She clamped her lips shut.

He rubbed his thumb against her shoulder in tiny circles, and felt the slightest weakening in the bow-tight arc of her back. “Tell me, please. Trust me.”

“Trust you? Ha!” She jabbed a finger toward the privacy screen. “I've done nothing but give you my absolute trust and you trust the limo driver—who's probably some cop—more than you trust me!”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. There was some truth to her accusation, but he wasn't about to admit it.

“Tell me a deep dark secret, Hunter,” she prodded him. “And maybe, I'll tell you mine.”

Hunter stared at her, coldly furious, as if she'd drop-kicked him into another dimension without his permission. Words bottled in his throat. But he wasn't sure what upset him more—her impertinence or the reckless temptation to
answer her question with frank unvarnished honesty to see what it would garner him.

Recklessness won out.

He was a damn fool, but he wanted, oh, God, he wanted to trust Juliana more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life!

He held her gaze. “How about this, then? My mother had an unfortunate habit of sleeping with my father's friends. She was neither wise, nor discreet. My father learned about my mother's indiscretions from a blackmailer who sought to profit from her lapses in judgment. My father refused to meet the blackmailer's demands because he was convinced my mother would never betray him. He'd fallen in love with a woman his family didn't approve of, a file clerk at the Clairmont Hotel. The blackmailer released photos of her indiscretions to the press. My father filed for divorce. When my mother realized he was determined to prevent her from having any contact with my sister and me, she committed suicide.”

His tone hardened. “I'm not sure which was harder on my father, discovering that my mother had betrayed him and had probably only married him for his money—or being made such a fool of in public.”

Hunter stopped short of telling her that the family butler had orchestrated the blackmail scheme, believing that he was helping his master by opening his eyes to the truth of his marriage.

Flecks of gold and burnt umber shifted in Juliana's eyes like molten metals. Her back remained taut as a wind-filled sail.

“How old were you?” she asked.

“Nine. FairIsle had been our summer home, but after my mother's suicide, my father retreated to the island and we lived there year-round.”

Only nine. He'd never trust her completely, Juliana thought, seeing the shuttered set of his face and the white marks on his knuckles where his free hand unconsciously clenched and unclenched on his thigh. There was too much hurt buried there.

She knew without having to ask that he'd never been married before. He'd never planned to risk his heart the way his father had. And even when his cold calculating mind had urged him into marriage to protect a helpless baby, he'd protected his heart by making it clear from the outset that the marriage would be in name only. He'd be a father to Cort, but he wouldn't make himself vulnerable by fathering children of his own. It also explained why he'd so readily agreed to share joint custody of Cort should their marriage end in divorce. He wouldn't put a child through a messy custody hearing.

Suddenly it made perfect sense to her how and why he'd become The Guardian. Somehow he'd hoped to save others from the ugliness of his own childhood.

Juliana closed her eyes, feeling hot tears scald her eyelids. If anyone needed love, deserved love, it was Hunter.

“I can't see my father because I promised him I'd take care of Cort,” she began in a thready voice. “If I went to see him, he'd think I was disobeying him—neglecting my duty to Cort—and he'd never forgive me.”

Hunter's fingers closed over her shoulder, dipping into the hollow above her collarbone. “Your father would never forgive you? Never is a long time.”

She opened her eyes and looked into the azure blue sea of Hunter's concerned gaze. “You have no idea. Never, so far, has lasted nineteen years and two months.”

“What are you talking about?”

“When I was six my father asked me to watch my little brother Michael. Michael was three. We'd seen Ross slid
ing down the banister of the grand staircase when no one was looking and we wanted to do it, too. We'd been told many times, not to, but we were children. Michael was a little monkey. He climbed up on the railing and before I could stop him he was sliding down like a rocket. About halfway down he lost his balance and fell onto the stairs—and started rolling down. The fall killed him.”

A great emptiness opened inside her, stretching down to the bottom of her soul. “My father has hugged me only once since that day—and that was the day that I returned to the estate to be with Lexi after Riana was kidnapped.”

Rage shredded Hunter's heart that she should be made to feel guilty for her brother's death. “Michael's death wasn't your fault. You were a child yourself—much too young to have the responsibility of a three-year-old. You should have been supervised by an adult.”

He leaned down and kissed her temple, wishing there were some way he could heal the hurt of her father's rejection. But knowing from his own life that hurts such as those left permanent scars. “I'm sorry about your brother. But I'm still taking you to see your father.” At the flash of protest in her eyes, he laid a finger on her lips.

“I'll tell him you had no choice but to follow The Guardian's orders. And after, we're going home with Cort. Which reminds me…”