"If you like it, buy it."
"Easy for you to say, Mr. Steel."
"I'll buy it for you."
She shook her head. "I appreciate the thought, but no.If I buy it, I buy it for myself."
The look he gave her was one of admiration. "The independent American woman, is it?"
She shrugged, still staring at the confection of silk and glitter in the window. "I'm a victim of my upbringing, Max. It was either be independent or starve and I'm afraid I like eating too much for that."
"You'd look beautiful in it, Kelly."
She glanced at him. "You think so?"
"Definitely."
"Maybe I could just try it on. What could it hurt?"
A half-hour later she found out exactly what it could hurt: her bank balance.
But she didn't care.
How could she when the dress was so obviously meant to be hers? If she'd dreamed up the perfect dress, she couldn't have conjured anything more wonderful than this. Classic Grecian style with a rhinestone clasp at the one shoulder, it drifted to the floor in a flow of cream-colored silk with only a gold cord at the waist to lend shape to it.
Simple. Elegant. Incredibly romantic.
And now all hers!
"Not exactly the thing for Christmas on Tranquility Island, is it?" she asked as they headed back to the airport near Fort Lauderdale.
"Why not?" he countered in his usual anything-is-possible way. "We'll dress for Christmas dinner and New Year's Eve."
"Just the two of us?"
He snapped his fingers. "We'll have the servants go formal, too."
"You're an amazing man, Maximilian Steel. Time doesn't know the half of it."
Amazing Maximilian Steel was still laughing as they took off for Tranquility Island.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Amazing Maximilian Steel stopped laughing once Ryder O'Neal got hold of him later that night.
"What in hell were you trying to prove?" he roared when Max strolled into the office around seven-thirty. "If you're trying to prove how stupid you are, don't bother. It's common knowledge now."
Max sat down behind Ryder's desk and put his feet up. "Go ahead," he said, unable to hide his smile. "Read me the Riot Act. I'm all ears."
O'Neal shoved Max's legs down and looked as if he'd like to shove his fist down Max's throat."What kind of stunt was that, Brody, huh? You into kamikaze flying these days?"
"We took a little trip to Palm. Is that against the law?"
O'Neal's oath was one not usually heard during family hour."Don't give me that. You went hunting for Sean Ryan."
"Guilty." Max crossed his right ankle over his left thigh and leaned back in the desk chair. "You probably already know we didn't find him."
"Smart-mouthed SOB," Ryder snapped. "We also know you rented a Buick, ate lunch at Fredelle's and spent a lot of time in Cartier's."
"Exactly what I figured. You guys had a tail on us every step of the way. So what's the big deal if we went over the wall for a few hours?"
"The big deal is you could have gotten yourselves killed."
"Yeah, right. The big red bogeyman was hiding behind every palm tree."
O'Neal loomed over him, fists clenched at his sides. "So help me, I'd like to--"
Max rose. His friend was tall but he was taller.
And bigger.
"Try it, O'Neal, and your dentist will be able to send his kids to Harvard on you."
He had to hand it to Ryder; the guy didn't back down an inch.
"I'm going to tell you this one last time, Max, and you'd better listen good: don't think. Don't act. If you care anything at all about Kelly Madison, don't do anything you're not told to do between now and New Year's."
O'Neal spelled it out in triplicate but Max figured out the bottom line without any help.
"You get it?" Ryder roared.
"Yeah," Max said, heading for the door. "I got it."
You're nothing, Brody.
Always were, always would be.
Why should this be any different?
#
As soon as they got back from Palm Beach, Kelly went up to the master bedroom to shower and change while Max saw to some business matters.
She only accomplished half of her goals. Still damp, she sat down on the bed for a minute and quickly drifted into a deep sleep, interrupted only by the sound of voices, loud and angry.
She burrowed her face deeper into the pillow. What an unpleasant dream after such an extraordinarily pleasant day.
Be quiet, she told her subconscious. She'd rather dream about Max's beautiful green eyes or the way his hair sparkled in the afternoon sun or...
But the angry voices wouldn't go away.
Not even after she sat up in the bed, awake and listening.
She wasn't dreaming. Somewhere on the second floor two men were arguing.
She couldn't make out the words but she instantly recognized the timbre of Max's voice and the strangely commanding tone of--it couldn't be! Was that the spiky-haired chauffeur yelling at Max?
She'd had her doubts about him right from the start. During her father's periods of affluence he'd often treated himself to a limo cum driver and never once had she encountered a driver with such definite opinions on his employer's actions.
Come to think about it, she'd never met an employer who particularly cared about the driver's opinion on matters weightier than whether it was better to take the Holland or Lincoln Tunnel into Manhattan.
No chauffeur should have that kind of power, she thought, listening to the rumbles of anger seeping through the walls.
And there was no way on earth she believed that was all O'Neal was.
#
"You must be relieved," Alistair Chambers said in his usual understated way.
Not even the fact that it was after midnight and he was technically no longer a part of PAX happenings ruffled his cool demeanor--or his loyalty to his protege.
"Relieved?" Ryder groaned and stared at the telephone as if it were the man himself. "I wanted to kill him."
"What I mean, dear boy, is you must be relieved he came back of his own volition. It saved you some rather nasty footwork."
"What it saved him was a black eye," Ryder said. "I'm not altogether sure I'm glad about that."
"So what will you do to prevent this from happening again?"
"First thing in the morning I'm snapping the wings off that plane."
"Good move. Of course, you'll up security around Tranquility, will you not?"
"Already done. What I'd like to do is handcuff Max to the bedpost until we leave for Rio."
"Madison might get suspicious, I daresay."
"Madison would probably be in there with him."
"So that's the way the wind blows."
"Why do you think he went over the wall? I told you it was serious."
Why Max, a loner for thirty-six years, chose this particular time to fall in love and acquire a sense of responsibility was beyond Ryder but there it was.
It was seventeen years since that evening in the Mekong Delta and not once in all those years had Max shown anything exceptional beyond his talent for underachievement.
All of a sudden, love reared its ugly head and he was stealing planes and flying off toward the horizon like some airborne cowboy or pirate or whatever the hell kind of superhero was currently in vogue.
PAX had toyed with the idea of whisking the Tranquility-based operation down to Rio now but Ryder had pointed out that that move was the obvious one.
Better to send out some disinformation and stay put until the day after Christmas then slip down to Rio with as little fanfare as possible.
"I do have one news item that may restore your sunny disposition," Chambers said. "Sean Ryan accepted the invitation. He and a 'guest' will be at the New Year's Eve party in Rio."
"And the guest...?"
"Viktor Maksymenko."
"Aw-right!" Ryder smiled for the first time in the past twenty-four hours
. "I think it's gonna work, Chambers. I think this time we're gonna do it."
If he could just keep a leash on Brody, the end was finally in sight.
#
The next morning Max seemed tense and irritable and Kelly found herself not enjoying their work together the way she usually did. "It's attitude adjustment I'm talking about," she said as he glared at her from the lectern. "The audience isn't your enemy; it's your ally. If you remember nothing else I've told you, remember that."
He looked down at his notes scattered atop the ledge of the lectern and began to read: "Welcome ladies and gentlemen to the first annual gathering of corporate executives of the--"
She groaned out loud. "Max. Max. Max. Haven't you heard a word I've said? Those notes are there for you to glance at, not cling to."
"You don't expect me to memorize my speech, do you?"
"I expect you to be thoroughly familiar with it."
"Are you this demanding of all your clients?"
"Definitely." She stretched lazily in the sun. "How do you think I became a success?"
That incongruous American grin flashed. "I can think of--"
"Don't you dare, Steel," she said, lowering her voice in a mock threat. "I'll plant your first audience with hecklers. Now let's try it again."
"Once more with feeling?"
"I'll settle for once more with eye contact. Glance at your notes every few sentences but keep your gaze sweeping the audience. If you don't connect with them on that level, you'll never connect with them on a business level. You have a lot of speeches ahead of you, Max. I want you to be ready for them."
His expression softened. "You could travel with me and remind me from time to time."
She looked down, busying herself with her own notes. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Max."
She heard his footsteps cross the makeshift stage and as approached her.
"What's wrong, Kelly?" His hand lightly rested atop her head.
"I don't know." She forced herself to look up and meet his eyes. "You tell me."
"I had a bad night," he said. "I don't think I slept at all."
"An audience wouldn't buy that excuse, Max. When you make a presentation you owe them your best."
He took her hand and drew her to her feet.
"I owe you the same consideration, Kelly." His lips brushed her forehead, her cheeks, her mouth. "This problem has nothing to do with you."
"I know." She took a deep breath then plunged ahead. "I heard you arguing with the--"
"--chauffeur," he finished for her. "I apologize if we kept you up." Max's expression became guarded and apprehension prickled behind her neck.
She waited but he said nothing more.
"Have you fired him?" she asked.
His expression grew even more guarded; her apprehension escalated another degree.
"No, I haven't."
"Max! He called you a--"
"I know what he called me. He's an excellent employee. I've chosen to overlook his lapse."
"Lapse! Max, the last time I heard anyone called a--" She cleared her throat. "The last time I heard anyone use that kind of language was when I did a seminar at the Riker's Island prison."
"His vocabulary is colorful."
"Colorful? How can you let him get away with insulting you like that?" What happened to the strong, independent man I've fallen in love with?
"O'Neal has a contract," Max continued. "He has a wife. I'm willing to see the contract through."
"You could buy him out of it, Max. I'd never allow anyone to treat me like that."
An angry red stain flooded his throat and cheeks. "Tend to your business, Ms. Madison, and I'll tend to mine." He turned to leave but she grabbed his wrist.
"There's more, Max." A flood of images rushed in at her. "I've seen him watching us. I--" She hesitated, knowing she was pushing him close to the breaking point. "I think he tapes my phone calls to Natalie."
His dark brows rushed together in a ferocious scowl. "You think what?"
Where were her golden rules on effective speechmaking when she needed them?
"I think he eavesdrops, and I think he takes notes on everything we say and do. Max, did you ever think he might be selling stories about you to the tabloids?"
A series of expressions flickered across Max's face at machine-gun speed but she couldn't read a single one of them.
"He wouldn't," Max said after a long moment. "You can be certain about that. He's arrogant, I grant you, but he can be trusted."
He wrapped his arms around her and drew her close.
"I don't know," she managed over the honeyed weakness invading her limbs and eroding her willpower. "I'm only worried that--"
He kissed her into silence. "I'll handle him." His hands slid over her hips and belly then cupped her breasts. "We have last night to make up for."
She gestured toward the lectern. "Your speech, Max. We really should--"
"Later." He swept her up into his arms. "We'll work later."
He strode toward the bedroom with her in his arms.
Definitely later.
Chapter Twenty-Four
For the next few days Ryder did his best to steer clear of Kelly Madison.
Max let him know that Kelly was asking some difficult questions about the chauffeur with the attitude problem and it seemed the better part of valor to lie low until her curiosity waned.
Unfortunately, her curiosity didn't.
Since this operation was number one on the PAX hit parade, the powers that be decided the best thing for Ryder to do was fly out to New York and on the morning of the twenty-fourth and spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with Joanna.
He wasn't about to argue with logic like that.
A trip like that would seem normal to her and improve Max's standing in her eyes--if that was possible. As it was, she seemed to think Max hung the moon and the stars.
She certainly wouldn't miss Ryder and it seemed things could run just fine without him.
The island was so tightly monitored that he doubted a sand crab could slip back into the ocean without setting off alarms in major cities across three continents.
He'd drummed into Max's thick skull the importance of keeping Kelly safe and, although it took a few gruesome snapshots of victims who hadn't been quite so lucky, Ryder thought he finally got through to him.
He could go back to New York for forty-eight hours with a clear conscience.
This separation, the longest of their marriage, was taking its toll on both Ryder and Joanna and the thought of spending the holiday apart was too lousy to contemplate.
The thought of bringing her down to Tranquility and sitting around the Christmas tree with Kelly and Max en famille was even lousier.
If she thought he was an obnoxious chauffeur now, that would definitely tear it.
On the afternoon of the twenty-third, he was directing some PAX operatives in the newsmaking task of setting up a twelve foot blue spruce in the main drawing room when he grew aware of the fact that someone was watching him.
He didn't have to turn around.
"Can I help you with something, Ms. Madison?"
"How did you know I was here?"
"Man's intuition," he said, dismissing the workers who had just secured the tree. "What can I do for you?"
He turned to face her and, if the matter hadn't been so grave, he might have laughed at the look of fierce anger on her beautiful face. Max was a very lucky man..
She dispensed with preambles. "I want you to stop spying on your boss."
"You what?"
"You heard me. I want you to stop spying on Max." She stepped forward, blue eyes flashing with righteous fury. "I know what you're up to, Mr. O'Neal, and it had better stop. He deserves better."
"What exactly do you think I'm up to, Ms. Madison?"
"Eavesdropping. Mail tampering. Who knows what else."
"Pretty impressive list of crimes."
"You think you're pretty clever but I'm t
elling you I won't let you get away with it. If you think you're going to sell Max's secrets to the Enquirer or one of those other rags, I'll--"
He couldn't help it. The laugh he thought himself able to control burst out full-force, shocking her.
"Believe me, I'm not selling Mr. Steel's secrets to anybody."
"Then why do you eavesdrop?"
"I don't eavesdrop." Not exactly.
"I don't believe you."
"Have you told Mr. Steel about your suspicions?"
"Yes, I have. Unfortunately he seems to hold you in high regard."
"Mr. Steel is a wise man."
She took yet another step forward and waggled her index finger right under his nose in a manner so tough, so like his Joanna's, that he understood then and there everything Max must be feeling for her.
"I'm on to you, Mr. O'Neal, and if you do anything to hurt Max, so help me, you'll have me to contend with. Do I make myself clear?"
"Very." He waited a moment. "Is that it?"
"That's it."
She wheeled and strode out of the room, all fire and grace and boundless loyalty, and at that moment he decided Max Brody's luck had finally changed for the better.
He also decided he'd better double the security on Tranquility Island.
#
Even in the best of times Sean Ryan was given to bouts of melancholia.
These were definitely not the best of times and the melancholia that had him in its clutches was fullblown.
How could it be otherwise?
He was battered and bruised, still recovering from a broken wrist, and holed up God-knew-where in upstate New York with the infamous Viktor and his nefarious friends. Was it any wonder his thoughts ran along the dark paths so familiar to the Irish?
For all he knew it could be Christmas Day. How could he ever tell when these heathens had no tree, no carols, and showed no indication that they recognized this as the season of joy and goodwill.
The least they could have done was substitute rum-laced eggnog for the supply of Stoli they'd so kindly kept flowing through him.
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