Читать книгу One Baby, Two Secrets - Barbara Dunlop - Страница 9

One

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.