Читать книгу The Butler's Daughter - Joyce Sullivan - Страница 14

“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.”