The Butler's Daughter (5 page)

“I am?”

“Yes, and you're going to keep your eyes and your ears open, especially to what's being said in the servant's quarters.”

Her eyes narrowed on him, glassy as marbles. “The servant's quarters? Are you suggesting that someone on the Collingwood staff was involved in this?”

He shrugged and glanced down the hallway to ensure their conversation was not being overheard by the servants. “It's a possibility we can't afford to overlook. Think about it. How did someone find out the details of the reunion in Severance? You said your father made the arrangements himself. So someone either overheard him make the booking by phone or searched his quarters and found the information. Reason suggests someone in the house may have been involved.”

Cort let out a discontented squawk, reminding them he was hungry. Juliana rocked him against her hip, her body swaying with gentle motion. “Maybe the house was bugged,” she argued. “An estate that size requires constant upkeep. Maintenance people coming and going fairly frequently, deliveries being made. My father would know if—” She broke off, biting her lip. Tears swam in her eyes. “I really should call the hospital. See if he's regained con
sciousness. Maybe he saw or heard something that will help.”

The determination that seemed to glow from her skin with translucent fire melted one more barrier in Hunter's resistance. She'd had a lot to deal with in the last ten hours and he wasn't making it easier. If she gave him the same loyalty she devoted to Cort, he'd at least have a wife who was more loyal to him than his mother had ever been to his father. “Give me this little man,” he said more gently. “He's about ready to swallow his hand. I'll have Valentina prepare him a bottle while you call the hospital. You can use the telephone in your bedroom. Marquise will bring you the number.”

The scent of her hair and the delicate softness of her hands impacted his senses as she transferred the baby back into his arms.

“You're in good hands, pumpkin.” The soft wool of her sweater grazed Hunter's side as she rose on tiptoes to kiss Cort's cheek, reminding Hunter of visits his mother had made to the nursery when he was a boy. He remembered his mother's fragrance—as exotic and elusive as the flowers she'd tended in her private greenhouse—and her light kisses that felt like a feather against his cheek.

He remembered the sting of her betrayal.

His throat tightened. “Juliana, if you do manage to get through to your father, be careful what you say. His life and our lives may depend on it.”

 

“P
LEASE, LET HIM BE OKAY
.” Juliana's stomach bunched in a tight lump as her call was transferred to the ICU. A nurse told her that her father was heavily sedated and hadn't regained consciousness from the surgery. But he was breathing on his own.

Helplessness and fear welled in Juliana, torn by divided loyalties to her father and Cort.

“Could you hold the phone up to his ear, please?”

“Hold on.” There was a brief pause. Then a distant, “Go ahead, ma'am.”

Juliana heard the steady
beep-beep
of a heart monitor and her throat swelled with gratitude. He was alive. “Papa, please get better. I wish I could be with you. I love you.”

She hung up the phone, her body trembling. She hadn't told her father she loved him in over two years—not since the day he'd hugged her when she'd returned home to the estate to help after Riana's abduction.

The direct line to the administrative household manager's office as well as the main line to the Collingwood estate were constantly busy. Lexi's private line was picked up by her voice mail. The sound of her vibrant voice moved Juliana to more tears. She kept speed-dialing the manager's office as she applied her makeup and pulled a hairbrush through her hair.

Finally the line rang through, but it was Stacey Kerr, Lexi's personal secretary who answered, rather than Gord Nevins, who examined and supervised all expenditures on the estate.

Stacey's genteel Southern composure broke as soon as she recognized Juliana's voice. “I can't believe they're gone!” she said, bursting into tears. “Those two beautiful people—and after what they went through with their poor baby's abduction. Then Lexi losing her mother and her father. Tell me, how is your father doing? Gord told us that he'd been seriously injured, but we didn't know which hospital to call to check on him.”

“He's doing as well as can be expected,” Juliana said, reaching for a tissue and struggling to keep her voice steady as she updated Stacey on her father's condition.

“We'll be praying for him. It's terrible what they're saying on the news. The police are here asking questions of the staff. Is it true it was a bomb?”

“I'm not sure,” Juliana hedged, remembering Hunter's warning that someone on the staff might be a mole. “I've been so worried about my father that I haven't spoken to them directly.”

“Well, you stay with your father. He needs you. We're managing here, though it is difficult. Cook is missing—she took the week off when the Collingwoods told her she wouldn't be needed on their getaway and we haven't been able to reach her. She hasn't called in either. The sous-chef is helping Gord plan the menu for the reception after the funeral.”

Juliana frowned. Should she mention the cook's disappearance to Hunter? It was probably nothing. Maybe Cook hadn't turned on a TV or seen the morning paper yet. “Do you know when the funeral is scheduled?”

“Wednesday or Thursday, we're told. Gord received a fax with instructions for the funeral from Mr. Collingwood's lawyer. We haven't seen hide nor hair of Lexi's sister. Apparently, as a security precaution, she's under guard. Poor thing. We've had too many funerals in this family in the last few years. With the Collingwoods gone, I imagine the staff will soon be looking for employment elsewhere.”

Including her father, Juliana thought despondently. The household staff was a gregarious family with a hierarchy all its own. They had their conflicts and their slights, but they also pulled together when the need arose. She couldn't imagine one of them voluntarily being involved in a murder plot. “I'll keep you posted on my father. He'll appreciate your good wishes.”

Juliana brooded over the phone call as she transferred
the gun from its hiding place in the bathroom to her purse, then hurried downstairs to give Cort his morning dose of antibiotics.

The kitchen smelled deliciously of sausages and French-roast coffee. Valentina reluctantly surrendered Cort to Juliana, reassuring Juliana that he'd drunk a full bottle. Valentina returned her attention to slicing fresh fruit into crystal bowls, but Juliana felt the housekeeper's attentive eye on her as she squeezed a syringeful of bubble-gum-flavored medicine into Cort's mouth. Cort fussed, his lips scrunched into a cupid's bow of distaste.

She gave him an indulgent smile as she stored his medicine in the refrigerator. “The coffee smells divine. Where is breakfast usually served, Valentina?”

“In the breakfast room, madam. Straight through that door.” She gestured with her paring knife. “Marquise found a high chair for the little one.”

Juliana carried Cort into the breakfast room, which looked out onto a terrace garden. The walls were a burnished gold that reminded her of the summer days she'd spent in Provence visiting her mother's family when she was a girl. Her mother, Juliette, had been the social secretary to the wife of the American ambassador to France. Her father had met her mother below stairs when Ross's parents were guests of the American embassy in Paris.

Juliana was settling Cort in the soft high chair clipped onto the table when Hunter joined them, his hair still damp from the shower. He was wearing black slacks and a charcoal sweater. The scents of soap and money still clung tantalizingly to his skin as he nuzzled her neck in greeting, his fingers dropping lightly onto her shoulders.

She froze for a fraction of a second, goose bumps tingling her skin despite the fact she knew this was all for the servants' benefit. She slid her hand up to his smooth-shaven
cheek. How could a man's face feel so incredibly appealing? She tilted her head back, awareness rising in her as she bravely dipped her gaze into the azure ocean of his eyes. “Can I expect that every morning?”

“That, and then some,” he retorted with a teasing grin.

They broke apart as Marquise entered, carrying the coffeepot.

Juliana gratefully accepted the steaming cup of fragrant coffee and tried to get her mind to settle on the notion that this would be her everyday life. Having breakfast with her husband and son, though she noticed Hunter's appetite was as meager as her own. Fortunately, Cort's babbling eliminated the need for meaningful conversation. After picking at his meal for a few minutes, Hunter excused himself and leaned over to whisper in her ear, “Duty calls. Annette is expecting me, and I have a private meeting with the senior management of Ross's company. Will you be all right here with Cort? The building is secure.”

“Of course.” She was armed. Without thinking, she smoothed the deep lines bracketing his mouth with her fingers. Her heartbeat stumbled as his eyes met hers. His eyes glowed with pure amusement. Knowing that he was amused by her feeble attempts at playing his loving wife made her fingers tremble. “I have a wedding to plan, remember? And shopping arrangements to make. We'll be fine.”

His firm lips formed a sardonic smile beneath her fingertips. “Ah, yes, the shopping. Don't let it be said that the Sinclair family hasn't made a meaningful contribution to the economy.”

Her voice lowered as she placed a lover's kiss on his cheek. “Be careful. We need you.”

He drew back. The amusement was gone from his eyes, replaced by an intensity that awakened a slow warmth curling through her belly. “You can reach me on my cell
phone.” He grabbed one of Cort's hands and blew a raspberry into his tiny palm. Cort chortled.

As Hunter left the room, Juliana's smile faded, chased away by misgivings. If someone knew she'd been caring for Cort, did that person also know The Guardian's identity?

“Is the team in place?” Hunter demanded into his cell phone as the limousine whisked him through the fleet of cabs zigzagging the city's streets. Saturday morning shoppers were out in full force. Though it was nearing noon, the overcast sky visible between the high corridors of the buildings made it seem even later.

“Yes, sir. We'll be invisible,” Del Lanham, the commander of The Guardian's elite security force, assured him. “She won't even know we're there.”

“Good. I don't want to alarm her any more than necessary. If anyone so much as looks at her the wrong way, I want details, right down to the names of their second cousins. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. They're in good hands.”

“I'm counting on it.” Hunter disconnected the call, still debating whether or not he should have told Juliana about the team he'd assigned to secure the apartment building and watch over her and the baby. Del was assigning their best team to this detail, handpicked ex-military and police officers, even a former Secret Service agent. Until Hunter knew who'd murdered Ross and Lexi, he wasn't taking any chances. He couldn't ignore the fact that only a handful of people knew of Cort's birth.

Hunter arrived at his family's flagship hotel via a rear entrance reserved for celebrities. He met briefly with the head of Clairmont's security to ensure that the special measures he'd requested to protect Lexi's sister were being carried out to the letter. Then he was escorted up to Annette's suite.

A security officer was stationed outside her suite. A butler opened the door and showed him inside.

Annette York was almost lost in the ornate grandness of the suite. Hunter found her burrowed in the corner of the plush sofa, a silver tea tray resting on the coffee table in front of her. Attractive in an elfin sort of way, her short frosted hair framed features that were thin and expressive, and swollen from crying. Beside the tea tray, her leather satchel lay open, piles of typewritten pages and her agenda visible. Hunter remembered she worked as a copy editor for a women's magazine. She eyed him warily, her brows arching when he dismissed the butler.

“Are you The Guardian?” she demanded.

“Yes, I am,” he acknowledged. “We spoke several hours ago by phone. Again, my deepest condolences for your loss.”

Annette sandwiched her hands into the brocade cushions surrounding her. Hunter had the impression she was fortifying herself for an emotional onslaught. “Is it really necessary for me to be kept here like this? I have obligations. Mr. Nevins has questions about the funeral arrangements. I should be at the estate.”

Hunter had no intention of telling her that no one would be allowed at the estate other than the staff until the police had finished sweeping it for hidden listening devices. “You should be here, where you are safe and can be protected. Mr. Nevins is extremely competent. This will be a difficult period, Ms. York, I ask for your forbearance.”

“You don't intend to keep me from attending the funeral?”

“No.”

“Good.” Annette drooped, some of the tension leaving her petite body. “I would still like to see my nephew, reassure myself that he's okay.”

Hunter refused to be moved. “He's safe and well cared for.”

Her lips set in obvious irritation at his response. Her green eyes snapped with fire. “And you still refuse to tell me who Ross and Lexi appointed to take care of him?”

“I'm afraid so.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I know you and Lexi were close and that you were a frequent guest at the estate, particularly when your sister and her husband were entertaining. I was hoping I could pick your brain about some of the senior executives in Ross's company and members of the board of directors.”

Annette made a face. “Egotistical jackasses, most of them. Don't know why Lexi thought I might ever hook up with one of them. But then, marrying a billionaire was her idea of happiness, not mine.” Her tone grew edgy. “Do the police really think someone from within the company is involved?”

“It's a possibility that must be considered seriously,” Hunter explained patiently. “Your impressions could be important. Ross was the president, CEO and the chairman of the board of directors. What do you know about Kendrick Dwyer? As the senior vice president and chief financial officer, he'll be stepping into Ross's shoes, taking over as CEO and reassuring the shareholders that the company will remain stable.”

A frown inched across Annette's brow. “He's been with the company for ages—at least twenty-five years. Ross's
father trusted him, and so did Ross. If Kendrick had any ill feelings toward the family, you'd think it would have surfaced earlier when Ross took over as CEO after his father's death.”

“What about the company's three vice presidents—they'd have the most to gain after Kendrick Dwyer.”

“Well, Simon Findlay's the ultimate brownnoser and heads up human resources and corporate relations. He did whatever Ross told him, but his most charming quality is his ability to hire people with IQs vastly beyond his own so that he can take the credit for their brilliant work.” She rolled her eyes. “Other than that, I'm sure he's a decent human being. His mother probably loves him. And I'm sure his new fiancée loves his salary. He, no doubt, loves her implants.”

Hunter hid a smile. Annette shared her sister's expressiveness, but with a caustic edge that Lexi hadn't possessed. “What about Paulo Tardioli and David Younge?”

“Not that either of them ever considered me worthy of anything more than a polite hello, but Tardioli's the general counsel. He's a player. Competitive. Gutsy. A don't-get-in-my-way attitude. He doesn't acknowledge you unless there's something in it for him.”

“And Younge?”

“Younge's the controller. He's quiet and intense. He's got a family, five kids. His wife, Sarah, is into causes. She's an interesting dinner companion, at least, even if she only eats organically grown vegetables. Lexi told me David has ulcers, though she never mentioned if they were caused by the pressures of his position or raising five kids. One of them got suspended recently—for threatening a teacher or going on a hunger strike. I can't remember which.”

Hunter digested the information, adding it to what he already knew about the senior executives in Ross's com
pany. “What about the board of directors? Anyone leap out who might have a grudge against Ross?”

Annette hesitated. “Well, I don't know them all personally, but I do know that Lexi used to take special pains to seat Sable Holden and Phillip Ballard as far away from Ross as possible. They secured their board positions as part of the hostile takeovers of their companies. Phillip Ballard is a maverick, doesn't like the corporate game playing. Sable is a total bitch. Amusing, but a bitch. Lexi thought Sable was hot for Ross, but she wasn't seriously worried about it. I mean, how could she be? Lexi was so per—” She paused and swallowed hard, pain haunting her green eyes. Her hands fluttered in front of her as she struggled for control. “Well, Lexi was Lexi,” she finished softly, curling into a defensive ball against the cushions. “Now, if you don't mind, I'd really like to be alone.” Her eyes shuttered closed, dismissing him.

Hunter excused himself and left her to her grief.

 

T
HE HEAD OFFICE
of the Collingwood Corporation in lower Manhattan reflected the solemnity of the day. A portrait of Ross had been placed on an easel in the reception area and draped with black bunting. An employee carefully arranged a bank of floral deliveries around the foot of the easel.

The artist had captured Ross's bold personality down to the golden aura that seemed to shimmer around him to the candor lodged in his blue eyes. The candor that won him friends and enemies.

Who did this to you, my friend?

“Are you here for the press conference?” the receptionist at the desk asked him, drawing him away from the painting. “It's scheduled for three o'clock.”

“No, Mr. Dwyer is expecting me. I'm William Holmes.”

“Yes, of course. Please follow me.”

She ushered him down a wide hallway displaying pieces from Ross's extensive art collection. When he saw the empty leather chair before the plate glass window that looked over New York's financial district, the extent of Ross's loss hit Hunter like an oar to the gut.

At his entrance, the four men occupying the office halted their conversation in midsentence. Hunter surveyed the men. A slightly stooped, silver-haired man with a drink in his hand came forward and introduced himself as Kendrick Dwyer.

Simon Findlay, slick as an otter in a shiny pewter-gray suit, his light-brown hair and sideburns touched with po-made, rose and offered a limp handshake. The brownnoser Annette had described. “Good of you to come. We're all at a loss, but unanimous in the belief that Ross would want us to carry on his legacy.”

“Cut the bull, Simon,” said a well-heeled man in a black suit, shirt and tie who had the body of a prize fighter and a Roman nose that had never taken the battering end of a fist. “Ross would want justice and the bastard who did this strapped into the electric chair.” His black eyes pegged Hunter. “Paulo Tardioli. General counsel.”

“Down boy,” said the remaining gentleman, a heron-thin male in his late forties with a pinched expression about his lips. Hunter had the impression the liquid in his glass was spring water. “David Younge, controller. Do the state police have any viable leads?”

“None that they're currently sharing. The investigation is only beginning. It may be some time before a suspect or suspects emerge.”

“What about you?” Tardioli quipped, his black eyes reminding Hunter of a vulture planning to pick a bone clean. “Who do
you
think did it?”

Hunter eyed him steadily until he could feel Tardioli
back down. “I'm more interested in your opinions. The four of you had intimate knowledge of Ross's business dealings. It shouldn't be difficult for you to give me a list of people who bore an animosity toward him.”

“And you intend to include us on the list, I presume?” Tardioli asked, taking a sip from his drink.

“Naturally. And you can bet your life that the police are working the same angle. You four stand the most to gain from Ross's death, so be prepared for some hard questions. I want a complete accounting of your time on Thursday and Friday. Where you were, who you spoke to, who saw you.”

Kendrick Dwyer's face reddened. “You've got nerve to come in here and throw accusations around—”

“Sir,” Hunter coldly interrupted him. “Whoever killed the Collingwoods had the arrogance to think they could get away with this—and perhaps implicate one or all of you in their murders. I'm putting you on notice. You're either with me in this investigation or I'll consider your lack of cooperation an indication of your possible involvement. Is that understood?”

Paulo Tardioli broke the stunned silence created by Hunter's threat. “Gentlemen, I suggest we cooperate fully with The Guardian's request. We'll have enough difficulties in the days ahead convincing the shareholders that the company is stable. It's only to our benefit to find out whether there's a Judas amongst us.”

Hunter nodded. “Excellent advice, Counselor. Someone will be by at four o'clock to pick up your schedules. Do feel free to list anyone you feel may warrant further investigation and your reasons for concern.” He laid four business cards on the coffee table. “Here's a number where I can be reached 24/7. Good day, gentlemen.”

He'd have paid a million dollars to be a fly on the wall in Ross's office after he left the room.

 

“G
OOD GOD
!”

Darren Black's finger froze on the remote control as he flipped through the channels, hoping he could catch the last quarter of the football game. Ross and Lexi Collingwood had been killed in an explosion?

When the hell had that happened?

He'd spent the morning and most of the afternoon in meetings with his Ph.D. students, disproving their wild mathematical ideas on algebraic topology. Not one of them was showing signs of potential. Yet.

Darren upped the volume on the TV set, his heart twisting with bleak hope. Would this change anything between him and Annette?

He still wore the engagement ring she'd given back to him suspended from a chain around his neck. Some day she was going to see how wrong she'd been to break off their engagement. See how much he could offer her. He wasn't a billionaire, but he was well on his way to becoming a hotshot in his field with his plum new teaching position at Cornell.

Maybe that day had finally come.

Darren turned off the set when the news brief ended and tossed the remote onto the coffee table littered with empty soft drink cans, the collection of wooden puzzles Annette had given him and the mechanical pencils and discarded doodling of math research.

He needed to see Annette.

The least he could do was offer his condolences to the woman he loved with all his heart.

 

J
ULIANA TACKLED
the shopping with the cell phone glued to her ear, requesting hourly updates on her father's con
dition and driving Valentina crazy, phoning the apartment every twenty minutes to check on Cort. Leaving him in Valentina's care for a few hours made her far more anxious than she cared to admit. But time was of the essence and she couldn't very well drag Cort through the Madison Avenue shops, especially after the last two rough nights he'd spent.

Thanks to the efficiency of the personal shoppers whom Marquise had lined up, she was able to make a sizable dent in her list of necessities in record time. Once the limousine's trunk was filled with clothes, diapers, toys, formula, a car seat and a stroller for Cort, she'd focused on clothes for herself and preparations for the wedding.