“Oh, really? Let me take a shot. Born to wealthy parents who can trace their roots back to the Mayflower, you attended the finest schools, graduated from a private prep academy and had a society début in the same year.” He continued his rant, his head dipping low. “You attended one the most prominent Ivy League colleges in the country, never had to worry how to pay for it and spent your summers in Palm Beach and winters skiing in Europe. How am I doing?”
Rage filled her. “How dare you.”
“Am I wrong? Tell me what part isn’t true?”
Cassandra opened her mouth, but she couldn’t argue with anything Reilly said. It was true, all of it, right up until her father died and her world shattered.
Turning blindly, she started to walk away. Reilly joined her, his hand burning on her skin as took her by the elbow and escorted her out into the hallway. They stopped in the shadows of a large fern. Cassandra tugged free, rubbing at the spot where he’d held her, trying to wipe the heat from her skin.
“Tell me what’s going on.”
Startled by his command, she could only stare at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Come on, Cassandra. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize something isn’t right in your neat and perfect world.”
“My world is far from perfect.”
“Exactly. You work for a living, fine. A lot of rich people do or how else do they stay rich? But with you, there’s almost a sense of desperation connected with your job.” He leaned in closer. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you don’t have a big fat trust fund to fall back on. I’d swear you’re counting every penny as if it was your last.”
How could he know that? He’d only been in her life a little over a week and already this man was closer to discovering the truth about her than any of the people here tonight, many of whom she’d known since childhood. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Reilly advanced, forcing her back until she encountered a column. Planting one hand next to her head, he trapped her between the cool marble and his body. “You’ve had one too many so-called accidents over the last month or so, but you’re more worried about who is paying the bill for my services—”
“And that surprises you?” Cassandra shot back. “I don’t know where or how my mother found you. You show up in my shop, announce you’re my bodyguard and expect me to go along? How do I know you aren’t the one behind my ‘so-called accidents’ so you can milk my family out of a large sum of money?”
“You think I give a damn about your money?”
“At this moment, I don’t really care what you give a damn about, Mr. Murdock. Now, if you will excuse me, I think I need another drink.”
Cassandra ducked underneath his arm. She had only walked a few steps when an elderly gentleman stepped in front of her.
“Good evening, Cassandra.”
Politeness demanded Cassandra respond. “Hello, Senator Janning. How are you?”
“I’m right as rain, young lady,” the man responded with a slight bow. “Ah, this must be your mystery escort. I heard you’d brought a guest. I hope I didn’t intrude on a private moment.”
Displaying calmness she didn’t feel, Cassandra moved a few steps away when Reilly came up beside her. “Senator Janning, I’d like for you to meet Reilly Murdock. Reilly, this is our esteemed, third term Senator for the state of New York. Senator Janning is currently serving as chairman of the Committee on Energy and Natural Resources.”
Reilly held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”
The eyes of the older gentleman gleamed in deliberation as he looked at Reilly while returning his handshake. “The same here, son. Any friend of the Van Winters is a friend of mine. Murdock, Murdock…have we met before, young man?”
“Oh, I don’t think so, Senator,” Cassandra offered. “Reilly is a visitor to our city. He is originally from Texas.”
“Dallas, Texas?”
“Ah, yes sir,” Reilly said. “But it’s been a few years—”
“Any connection in the oil business?” the Senator persisted.
“Well, I did spend a summer draining crank cases in a gas station as a kid.”
“Please excuse me,” Cassandra said. “I’m a bit thirsty and I see the bartender has opened a fresh bottle of champagne.”
“You don’t mind if I keep your escort a moment longer, do you, dear?”
“He’s all yours, Senator.”
“Cassie darling, would you bring me back a drink too?” Reilly drawled, reaching to give her fingers a quick squeeze. “You know what my favorite is.”
“Hmmm, yes, indeed I do.” Cassandra tugged her hand free. Turning away, she forced her steps to remain unhurried as she disappeared into the crowd.
Arsenic. On the rocks.
She wasn’t coming back.
Unable to tear his gaze from the rigid line of Cassandra’s retreating back, Reilly watched her until he could no longer see her in the crowd.
“She is hard to take your eyes off, isn’t she?”
Reilly turned back to the Senator. “Yes, sir, she is.”
“A spitting image of her mother at that age. Both of them are very beautiful women. Smart too. Beauty and brains, quite a combination.”
“Again I would have to agree with you, sir.”
“Mr. Murdock, you can stop ‘siring’ me. I’m just a kid from Brooklyn who, thanks to the GI bill, attended a good college. Then I was smart enough to marry the right woman, God rest her soul, and discover I was good at blowing a lot of hot air.”
“I think you’re much more than that, Senator Janning.”
“Why do I have a feeling I can say the same thing about you?” The old man’s stare was intent. “I do know you from somewhere. It will probably come to me next week while I’m in the middle of a meeting in the chamber.”
Reilly knew exactly where the Senator thought he knew him from. His half brother, Rann.
Last month, thanks to RannCarr Oil’s ongoing battles with this Senator’s committee, the front page of the Dallas Morning News had carried a picture of Ranndolph Carrington, III, named after his father and Reilly’s stepfather, and who was currently the CEO of RannCarr Oil.
It had surprised Reilly how much he and his half brother looked alike with their matching tall frames, dark hair and eyes. They shared the same look as their mother instead of taking after their respective fathers.
It was another five minutes before Reilly was able to get away from the Senator and head for the bar. Using his height to his advantage, he scanned the crowd for those upswept red curls and flashing green eyes.
He’d hurt her.
She didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of his anger. He couldn’t blame it on the booze since he’d been drinking nothing but water all night. Hell, except for that shot of whiskey at her mother’s, he hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since he’d been in the city. He didn’t want another bottle of tequila.
He wanted her.
Maybe it was the music, or how it felt to hold her in his arms, her body pressed so close to his. Maybe it was the way she tried to look into his eyes while they talked. He’d spent years cutting off his feelings and keeping his past locked deep inside. He wasn’t used to having someone care enough about him to really listen when he spoke, to try and see past the bravado to the man underneath.
Cassandra had a way, with just a look from those amazing eyes, of making him want to talk. How could he tell her his mother, a cocktail waitress with a seven-year-old kid, had married Ranndolph Carrington II, one of the richest oilmen in the country?
When she tried to offer sympathy, to reassure him of his stepfather’s feelings, he’d spat her own perfect childhood back at her like a jealous child who wanted a toy he couldn’t have.
Dragging himself out of the past, Reilly returned his focus to finding Cassandra. He’d no idea what he was going to say when he found her. “I’ll start with ‘I was a jerk’ and go downhill from there,” he muttered
under his breath.
Moving through the crowd, stopping to speak with many of the people he’d been introduced to tonight, Reilly inquired if anyone had seen Cassandra in the last few minutes. Growing uneasy with the negative responses he was getting, he moved back into the ballroom. The disquiet, now firmly planted in his gut, told him something was wrong.
Terribly wrong.
“Mr. Murdock, I believe you owe me a dance.”
Reilly turned to find his hostess for the evening latching onto his arm. “I’m sorry Mrs. Bancroft, I’m—”
“Elizabeth, please. I thought we’d agreed you’d call me Elizabeth.”
Peeling her fingers away from his forearm, Reilly gave them a quick squeeze. “Elizabeth, it seems I’ve lost my date for the evening. Have you seen Cassandra?”
“We spoke earlier and she complained of it being too warm in here, though heavens, I must say I don’t agree. Between you and me, I think it was the glass of champagne she swallowed in one gulp. I didn’t say anything—”
“Do you know where she is?”
“Well, the poor child looked upset, so I suggested a stroll in the gardens might cool her off—”
“The gardens,” Reilly repeated. “Thank you, Elizabeth.”
Racing through the ballroom, Reilly re-entered the hall. Quickly weaving in and out of the crowd, he knocked a glass from someone’s hand, but offered no apology. He had reached the first set of the double French doors and grabbed the handle when a scream filled the air.
Chapter Seven
Cassandra.
Panic filled his chest. Hard and heavy, it choked the breath from his throat. Bolting out the door and onto the flagstone terrace, Reilly pushed past the fools who just stood there, and jumped over a waist high, ornate stone wall. Razor-edged pain shot through his knee as he landed. He ignored it and moved across the lawn.
His eyes scanned the area as he advanced on the rows of bushes and flowerbeds lining the outer edges of the property. He reached for the concealed holster at his waist. A flash of white caught his eye.
Cassandra stumbled around the corner of a boxed hedge, her hands clutching at the dense leaves. His eyes locked with her saucer-eyed stare. He saw her mouth his name just as her knees buckled.
Forgetting about everything except the fierce need to get to her, Reilly raced across the grass. Wrapping his arms around her, he caught her before she hit the ground. “I’ve got you, baby.”
He guided her to a nearby marble bench. Her thin frame shook violently as he held her close. Her skin was cool from the night air and he rubbed his hands along her bare arms. She wound them tightly around his middle, making it almost impossible for him to remain focused on the sights and sounds coming from the surrounding gardens.
“Cass, what happened to you?”
Was someone out there? His need to canvass the area, to find out who or what had caused Cassandra to scream, battled with his desire to comfort the woman shaking in his arms.
Desire won.
“Cassandra darling, was it you who screamed?” Elizabeth asked, stepping forward from the large crowd of partygoers who now surrounded them. “My goodness, what happened?”
“I-I don’t know. Someone, someone tried…I n-needed to get s-some air, needed to think.” Cassandra moved out of Reilly’s embrace and he pushed away the fierce ache to hold on to her. He instead slid his hands down her arms, watching as she struggled to compose herself. She tugged to free one hand. He let her go.
Her fingers shook as she pushed back curls fallen loose from her elaborate hairstyle and offered a weak smile. “It’s a b-beautiful night and the gardens looked so inviting…”
“Well, thank you, dear. That was the intention—”
“‘Inviting’?” Reilly grabbed at Cassandra’s hands again, forcing her to face him. “What the hell happened out here? Why did you scream—”
The sight of crimson colored welts on her skin stopped his words. They ran diagonally across her chest from the necklace still resting against her collarbone to the torn strap of gauzy material hanging from the bodice of her dress. The trio matched the glowing red stones and both stood out in contrast against her pale skin.
Anger burned hot in the pit of his stomach. Someone had gotten close enough to Cassandra to lay a hand on her. He’d let someone get close enough. “Who did this to you?”
Cassandra’s stare was hollow.
“Elizabeth, can you get your guests to go back to the party?” Reilly filled the silence. “I think Cassandra needs a few minutes to pull herself together and you should call the police.”
“No!”
Cassandra’s outburst caused Reilly to look at her as their hostess did as he asked. “We need to call the police,” he repeated.
“No, please, Reilly, don’t do that.”
“I agree.” Elizabeth turned back as the crowd began to drift toward the house. “It would only cause embarrassment.”
“To who? Someone attacked Cassandra in a private home with over a hundred people present—”
“Surely you don’t think it was someone from the party?” Elizabeth interrupted.
“No, I’ll bet it was a guy off the street who happened to be scaling the ten-foot walls you’ve got surrounding this place.”
“Well, there is a stretch of gate on the north side we haven’t had the chance to replace yet,” Elizabeth said. “We’ve had problems with teenagers squeezing through the bars.”
“Reilly, please, no police,” Cassandra pleaded. “I don’t know if there was a person. Maybe it was my own imagination or a shadow scared me—”
“Cassandra, the bastard got close enough to leave his mark on you.” Reilly brushed his fingers over the raised area. “At least let me take you to the hospital.”
Cassandra winced at his touch and pulled away. “Hospital? I don’t think I need—”
“Dr. Wilkes is a guest,” Elizabeth offered. “Why don’t you two go into the library and I’ll send him to check you out.”
“Thank you, Elizabeth, but I only need a few moments to catch my breath. Then I’d like to go home.” Cassandra rose from the bench.
Reilly followed, noticing the wince of pain crossing her features. “Not until we get you checked out. We’ll be right in, Elizabeth. Have the doctor meet us.”
Elizabeth nodded and headed back for the house. Reilly turned to Cassandra in time to see a violent shiver course through her body. Stripping off his jacket, he placed it around her shoulders. “What is it?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Cassandra.”
“I-it’s my ankle. I must have twisted it when I ran.”
“Away from the shadow? Sit down.”
Not waiting for her to obey, Reilly dropped to his knees. Touching the foot she was obviously favoring, he heard the catch in her breath as she dropped back to the bench. He lifted her foot, undid the strappy high-heeled shoe and pulled it off. Pressing gently with his fingers over the silk-covered skin, he found the area around her ankle was already beginning to swell. “I think you might have sprained it, if nothing else. Come on, let’s get you inside.”
Rising, Reilly placed one arm behind her knees and the other at her waist, easily lifting her off the bench and into his arms.
“Reilly, put me down!” Cassandra clutched at his jacket as it started to slide from her shoulders. “I just want to go home.”
“And you will, after the doctor checks you out.” He saw she was going to protest again. “It’s either this or I take you to the hospital, Miss Van Winter. Take your pick.”
He forced his eyes to return her stare instead of traveling to where her breasts pressed into his chest. He still wondered why he’d given in and not called the police. There was no way he was going to let her get out of being looked at by a doctor.
“This is crazy! It’s my foot and I know how it feels.”
Reilly started across the lawn. “Okay, the hospital it is.”
“Wait! Please put me down!”
“Did anyone ever tell you that you swear a lot?”
“Three.”
“Of all the Neanderthal behaviors, you really think—”
“Two.”
“Go to the far right end of the house.” She went limp with surrender. “The library is the last set of double glass doors.”
Reilly switched directions. It took a few moments before they reached the doors and were greeted by a maid who led them into the dimly lit room. He lowered Cassandra into one of the wingback chairs flanking the fireplace. “Please bring me some ice for Miss Van Winter’s ankle.”
“Yes, sir.”
Reilly again dropped to one knee, clenching his jaw hard against the blistering pain still radiating deep inside the joint. He tossed Cassandra’s shoe in her lap next to her handbag before pushing aside the frothy folds of her dress. He lifted her hurt ankle, propping it on a footstool. “Where’s the damn maid?”
“Oh, knock off the caveman routine, you just scared the poor girl out of here. And I don’t need any ice, I don’t need to see the doctor and I don’t need you playing the rescuing hero.”
“You wanna know what you need? A good, swift—” Reilly broke off when he heard the door open. He took the bowl of ice, plastic bags and hand towels from the maid and set about making a cold compress.
“Mrs. Bancroft gave me your shawl, ma’am,” the maid said. “I’ll leave it for you here on the table. She also said the doctor went to his car to get his bag and will be right here.”
The luxurious plush of the hand towels itched against Reilly’s fingers as he worked. He could feel the cold of the ice seeping through the compress. His fingers tightened and the ice cracked under the pressure. Dammit! How had this happened? And why was Cassandra being so stubborn about accepting his, or anyone’s, help?
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