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.
Two
The party was confirming Kate’s worst fears. It was a rambunctious crowd, fuelled by throbbing techno music and excessive drinking. She was no expert, but she thought she detected the scent of marijuana wafting up from the gardens. And she feared there could be other recreational drugs being passed around Quentin’s mansion.
She couldn’t imagine what her sister had been thinking to bring a baby into an environment like this. On second thought, she supposed she knew exactly what Francie had been thinking: nothing, at least nothing beyond enjoying the next ten minutes of her life. She’d inherited that trait from Chloe.
As recently as this morning, Kate had convinced herself Annabelle would be fine. Chloe had sworn that Annabelle was the luckiest little girl i
n the world. Chloe had read all about Quentin Roo and was more than impressed with his money and his success.
He was in mourning now, she had said, and not ready to introduce Annabelle to anyone from the family. Impatient to get away from her childhood memories and back home again, Kate had been willing to buy into Chloe’s optimism.
She’d made it as far as the airport, her bags checked, and arrangements made with Nadia to pick her up in Seattle. But while she waited for her flight to board she’d done an internet search and found some news items featuring Quentin. One showed him outside a downtown nightclub a few weeks back. He was clearly intoxicated, a sexy woman on his arm, confronting a police officer over the right to drive his fancy sports car.
Disturbed by the images, Kate had searched further. His social media presence painted a picture of a party animal. She also found clips of his belligerent behavior and descriptions of wild times held at his mansion. He might be rich, but he definitely wasn’t responsible.
Protective instincts had welled up inside her. She’d cancelled her flight and left the airport, determined to confront him, determined to demand access to Annabelle and the right to ensure the baby was safe. But halfway to his mansion, she’d stopped herself, realizing the confrontational approach was almost guaranteed to fail.
She knew she needed a better plan, something more subtle in order to get close to Annabelle without spooking Quentin. The best way she could think of to do that was appear amicable and nonthreatening, to fit seamlessly into his world. She’d decided the best option was to get to Quentin and pretend she was just like Francie.
One crazy makeover later, she did look like Francie. And now she was inside the party. And she’d met Quentin. Even if it was only momentarily, it was still a start.
The man named Brody kept pace with her along the pool deck. Whoops of delight echoed around them. Groups of people talked and laughed, drinks in hands, eyes alight with enthusiasm and exhilaration. The staccato of the bassline pummeled through to her bones.
She kept an eye on Quentin, waiting for the right moment to approach him again. He was engrossed in conversation with a tall blonde woman. She was model-thin, taller than Quentin, with impossibly long limbs and a gorgeous face that would do justice to any magazine cover.
“I’ve never been up north myself,” Brody stated conversationally.
His deep, rolling accent purred over her. Ordinarily, she would have enjoyed that. But chatting up anyone but Quentin wasn’t in her plans tonight, even if the man was distractingly attractive.
And Brody was definitely that. He had a strong chin with just enough beard stubble to be rakish. His eyes were slate gray, his brow quizzical, and he had a sexy dark shock of hair swooping across his forehead. His mouth was firm, slightly stern, some might even say judgmental. Although exactly what someone living in the thick of the rock-and-roll lifestyle would have to be judgmental about was a mystery to her.
“No rock concerts to promote in Washington State?” she asked, telling herself to keep it light and stay in character. Everybody with anything to do with Quentin needed to believe she was just like Francie, a girl looking to enjoy life without worrying too much about the details.
“North America is a secondary market. Here we mostly stick to New York City. I have been to Boston and Chicago, and once to Florida, but that was a vacation.”
“Miami’s a fun town.” She was guessing. She’d only ever seen it on television, but it seemed like a good bet.
She kept watch on Quentin, poised to interrupt as soon as she had a chance. She’d decided to downplay her interest in Annabelle tonight. A party girl wouldn’t be fixated on a baby’s welfare. But she was growing impatient. Quentin was getting rapidly drunk, so who was with the baby?
“The Keys,” Brody said beside her.
“What keys?” she asked.
“The Florida Keys.”
“Oh.” Kate told herself to focus and try to use the conversation productively. She’d track Annabelle down as soon as she could. “How long have you known Quentin?”
“I’ve been in LA for a few weeks,” Brody replied. “But I’ve known of him for quite a bit longer.”
She leaned casually against a rail that overlooked the sweeping lights of the city, keeping Quentin in her peripheral vision while the breeze blew her newly short hair back from her face. “And what do you think of him?”
Brody turned to face her. “In what sense?”
“I’ve seen the news reports, and I wonder how much of it is true.”
He took in her outfit, and she was reminded of her heavy makeup, tight dress and the funky hair. She wasn’t exactly comfortable with the impression she must be making, but she had to see this through.
“He knows how to have a good time,” said Brody.
Kate gave her head a little toss and tried to look like a woman who was very much interested in having a good time. She glanced pointedly around the party, the pretty people, the exotic clothes, the expensive food and liquor. “This is definitely a good time.”
There was an unfathomable expression in his eyes that could have been sarcasm or resignation. “Isn’t it just.”
The odd reaction made her curious. “You must be used to parties in your line of work.”
“I’ve been to parties of all kinds.”
“Wild ones?” she asked, striving to look intrigued and excited at the possibility.
“Some.” He gave her a warm smile.
“Sounds terrific.” She half expected him to toss out an invitation, at least a generic one: maybe I’ll take you sometime, baby...
She’d refuse of course, politely. She wasn’t here looking for dates. She was here for Annabelle and nothing else. But he didn’t ask, and she found herself wondering if the purple highlights weren’t working for her.
Just then Quentin left his conversation partner, and she spotted her opening. She made a quick move toward him, but her heel caught on a concrete seam, and she stumbled, sloshing her champagne.
Brody grasped her elbow, stabilizing her.
“Sorry.” She quickly apologized for her clumsiness, hoping she hadn’t splashed anything on his clothes.
“You all right?” he asked, still holding on to her.
“I tripped.”
“You were in a pretty big hurry.”
“I was—” She hesitated over her words. “I’m hoping to catch Quentin.”
Brody glanced past her. “Someone beat you to him.”
She turned to see two new women laughing with him. She cursed under her breath.
“He was just with your sister.” There was censure in Brody’s tone, and she looked up to see his gaze had hardened.
“It’s not that.” It was clear from his frown that he didn’t believe her. “I’m not here to make a play for Quentin.”
“You nearly injured yourself trying to get over there to chat him up.”
“Not for that.”
“Listen, it’s not really any of my business.”
“You’re right. It’s not. But I’m going to tell you anyway. I’m not romantically interested in Quentin.”
She couldn’t imagine any circumstance where she’d be romantically interested in a man like Quentin Roo.
Brody’s gaze took a leisurely tour of her outfit. “Good news, Kate. Romance is not at all what you’re projecting.”
Despite the fact that she’d done so on purpose, she was offended by his implication that she’d dressed provocatively. “I’m not after Quentin in any way, shape or form.”
“Of course you’re not.”
She didn’t care what this Brody person thought. At least she shouldn’t care about his opinion. But for some stupid reason, she did care.
It was on the tip of her tongue to explain that this was all about her niece. She w
as playacting here, making sure Annabelle was going to be okay. But she stopped herself just in time. Instead, she looked up at him and gave her highlighted hair another defiant toss. “I’m here for a good time.”
His eyes reminded her of flints. “Aren’t we all.”
* * *
Brody watched the fleet of tiny electronic spaceships blast their way through an asteroid field on the wall-mounted wide screen. The ships changed colors, using different weapons, all jockeying for position while trying to avoid being annihilated by other players.
“See that? Right there,” said Will Finlay, the head programmer from Shetland Tech. “The organics on the planet surface.”
“All I see are a bunch of things exploding.”
“It’s the way they’re exploding,” said Will. “Or rather, the way they’ve changed the way they’re exploding.”
“If you say so.” Brody wasn’t a software engineer, and he wouldn’t pretend to come close to Will’s technical understanding.
“This is the best evidence yet. I’ve checked with a few contacts at MIT, and they agree Shetland Tech has been ripped off.”
“Can we prove it with this?” Brody asked.
Will had managed to get his hands on a prototype of the Beast Blue Designs’ new game, “Blue Strata Combat.”
“Not without the source code,” Will said. “We can prove they’re using advanced algorithms that trigger object evolution within an AI environment, but we can’t prove they stole it from Shetland.”
“But they did,” said Brody.
“They did.”
“If we move now?”
“I’m told that if we make a move based on the evidence we have right now we’ll be tied up in litigation for a few decades. And after that we’ll probably lose.”
Brody sat back in the burgundy leather armchair that was positioned in the living area of his hotel suite at the Diamond Pier Towers. He’d been away from home for over a month now, and he was growing impatient.
Back in Scotland, his brother Blane had too much to worry about already. Suffering from the neuromuscular disease Newis Bar Syndrome, Blane tired more easily than most people. But as eldest son, the Viscount and the future Earl of Calder, the responsibilities for the family seat fell to him. Brody had to at least take the money trouble out of the equation.
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