by Maggie Price
“That’s right.”
“What do you do?”
“I scout locations to see if they’d make good investments.” His brow rose. “Dad thinks it’ll build character if I start at ground zero and work my way up.”
“Do you agree?”
“I think my dad should have paid attention to his own character building. He created the mess he’s in. There’s nothing I can do to help him.”
“Your father said you’ve been away from the office a lot.”
“After what he put my mother through, she needs a lot of attention and support. She’s my priority now. He and Uncle Guy can fire me if they want. At this point, I don’t much care.”
“Mind telling me where you were when the McKenzie woman was murdered?”
Bishop smirked. “Hell, yes, I mind. I told the police where I was. I don’t have to tell you.”
Will’s cell phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket. After murmuring a few words, he hung up and met Rafe’s gaze. “I’ve got someone waiting for me inside. Any more questions?”
“That’s it. For now.”
Rafe stayed on the terrace, watching the young man stride away. When he pulled open the door to the ballroom, a tall, curvy redhead wearing a low-cut gown draped herself over his arm and gave him a pouty smile.
After Bishop stepped inside and closed the door, Rafe leaned a hip against the railing. Nothing Will Bishop said had put a blip on Rafe’s radar screen. And his claim that his priority was taking care of his mother was commendable. Still, Bishop didn’t fit the mold of a concerned son. Maybe that was because tonight he hadn’t once looked his mother’s way, much less spoken to her, during the entire time Rafe had spent observing him.
That, and the little twinge at the base of his spine, had him deciding to keep his eye on Will Bishop. And to find out where he’d been at the time of the murder.
Rafe checked his watch. Next on his agenda was to find Ellen Bishop and have a chat with his client’s angry wife.
Striding across the terrace, he scowled when his thoughts returned to Allie. She’d done him a favor adding his name to the guest list. So he would track her down before he left. Thank her. Once that was done, he could head home, conscience clear.
After that, when he was away from her and his lungs were free of her intriguing scent, he would shove all thoughts of the woman out of his head.
But before he could stop himself, he pictured her face, her lush, red mouth. That long length of creamy thigh. He gritted his teeth while need rose inside him like a hot wave.
He was going to need a damn bulldozer to help do that shoving.
Chapter 4
Allie hovered in the hallway just outside the ballroom where the auction items were on display. To her relief, bids had been placed on all paintings, sculptures, trips and antiques. Even the monstrous Art Nouveau lamp that an eccentric matron willed to the foundation had snagged a bid. Not from Rafe Diaz, she noted cynically. And the pièce de résistance—the bejeweled, beaded shoes that had been on display in Silk & Secret’s window for a month—fetched a dollar amount far higher than anticipated.
In all, a great night for the Friends Foundation, Allie thought, smiling. Then there was her annual pledge to match the auction proceeds. Tonight’s receipts would buy several fixer-upper houses. After renovation, each would become a safe haven for a victim of violent crime.
For an instant, she allowed her mind to wander. She imagined if her father were still alive, he would be in attendance tonight. Not to show he was proud of her role in the foundation’s success. As much as he had disliked her, Franklin Fielding had very much liked the accolades and attention of his society friends and business associates. The man, who’d purposely remained disconnected from his only child while going through a succession of wives as though they were water, would pretend a show of support solely for the sake of appearance.
At least he’d have been here, she thought. She couldn’t say the same thing about her mother. At five, Allie had been such a burden to the woman that her mother had walked out and never come back.
When long-buried hurt scratched at her lungs, she eased out a slow breath. It was beyond her why she was wasting time thinking about the two people who’d shown her that no one came out of a relationship happy or unscathed.
Which was why she’d resolved long ago to put all of her time, energy and thoughts into her business. Her designs lasted. The people in her life rarely did.
When guests began streaming out of the ballroom, she flicked a discreet look at her diamond-encrusted watch. Handshakes were traded, air kisses exchanged. Although no major problems had arisen throughout the evening, she decided to hold off on breathing a sigh of relief until the winning bids were paid and all attendees had left the elegant hotel.
“You bitch!”
The voice coming from just behind her was so shrill it turned the heads of nearby guests and made Allie’s throat go dry. She turned and felt her pulse bump when she saw the vicious anger in Ellen Bishop’s face.
The woman was a trim and carefully turned-out forty-something with short, softly waved hair of dark brown around a sharp-featured face. Her mouth, wide and full, was painted coral. Her flowing emerald crepe pants and a silk blouse matched eyes that glinted with fury.
The smell of good scotch hovered around her like expensive perfume.
Considering that the woman’s husband had been arrested for murdering his mistress—and word of the affair was the talk of the Bishops’ social circle—Allie understood why Ellen had gone overboard on the scotch. But the reason for the seething anger aimed her way escaped Allie.
“Ellen,” she said. “Perhaps we need to speak in private—”
“A little late for that. Everyone knows how you’ve made a fool of me.”
Allie kept her expression benign, while willing her voice to remain steady. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play innocent with me!” Gripping a half-full tumbler of whiskey in one hand and a crystal-encrusted evening bag in the other, the woman advanced forward two unsteady steps. “Are you even sorry about how you’ve treated me?” she demanded, her slurred voice turning venomous. “Do you feel any guilt at all?”
“Guilt?” Allie asked carefully. It didn’t take an expert in human behavior to see that Ellen Bishop was as hot and high-pressured as a volcano ready to blow. The booze had apparently fueled the already-blazing fire, transforming it into an inferno. “What is it you think I should feel guilt over?”
“Like you don’t know.” With sarcasm dripping like acid from her voice, Ellen gestured with the tumbler, sending light flashing off her diamond bracelet. “You sold your sleazy goods to me while you did business with my husband’s whore. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Allie raised a cautious hand. “Miss McKenzie didn’t share personal information with me. I had no idea who she was seeing.”
“You must have had a laugh, racking up sales to the wife and mistress of the same man,” Ellen raged as if Allie hadn’t spoken. “Did you design matching lingerie for both of us?”
Oh, God! Allie thought. The woman already looked like she wanted to cut out her heart—no way was she getting into a discussion of the lingerie preferences between the two women who’d been sleeping with Hank Bishop.
Allie flicked her gaze past Ellen’s shoulder. The hallway was now crowded with guests who’d stopped to watch the woman’s drunken tirade. At the center stood a bank president’s trophy wife, best known for her insatiable love of gossip. It was surprising she didn’t already have her cell phone plastered to one ear to give friends not in attendance the latest scoop. The woman reminded Allie of her fourth—and fifth—stepmothers.
“Answer me!” Ellen demanded with a drunk’s bull-headed determination. “Did you design the same lingerie for both of us?”
Allie knew that when she sobered up, Ellen would no doubt be mortified over her behavior. But that was hours away and she needed to end the scene now.
> Leaning in, she lowered her voice. “Ellen, the auction is over. It’s time to go home. Let me find your son—”
Allie’s words ended in a gasp when Ellen flicked her wrist and sent a river of scotch splashing across her face and chest.
“You have no shame!” Ellen railed. Fury throbbed redly in her face as she raised her hand clutching the evening bag. “You even sold me one of the purses that whore designed. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll see that you pay for making a fool of me.”
“You’re making a fool of yourself all on your own.” The words ground between Allie’s teeth as she used the back of her hand to blot scotch off her cheek. “You need to go home, Ellen. Sleep it off.”
“Don’t tell me what to do!” With the precise form of a major-league pitcher, the woman lobbed the crystal-encrusted bag in a line drive aimed at Allie’s nose.
Swallowing a shriek, she ducked just as a hand swept in front of her face and caught the bag midair.
“Mrs. Bishop.” Rafe positioned himself between Allie and the frothing woman. “I’m Rafe Diaz, a private investigator. I’d like to speak with you, if you have a free moment.”
“Diaz.” Ellen spat out his name as if it left a bad taste in her mouth. “You’re the loser ex-con Hank hired to find some innocent person to blame the murder on.”
Allie winced as a murmur swept through the crowd. She had to hold herself back from blurting out that Rafe had been a victim of a terrible injustice. That it was one she’d had a hand in squeezed at her heart.
“No,” Rafe said while weighing the small purse in his palm. “Your husband hired me to prove he didn’t kill Mercedes McKenzie.”
“Go to hell!” Ellen’s belligerent gaze jumped from Rafe to Allie. “Both of you. Take my bastard husband with you!”
Whirling around, Ellen expelled a hiccupping sob, then jerked a cell phone out of the pocket on her flowing crepe pants. Stabbing at buttons, she wove her way down the hallway.
Rafe shifted toward Allie, his dark gaze skimming down her, then up. “You all right?”
“I will be.” Her hands were shaking so badly she curled them into fists. Taking a deep breath, she forced her mouth to curve upward, then turned toward the guests crowded into the hallway like sardines in a tin.
“When I promised the evening would be memorable, I didn’t realize how true those words would turn out to be,” she commented. While a few emotion-diffusing chuckles sounded, she accepted a fresh napkin from a waiter. “I want to thank each of you for supporting the Friends Foundation so generously,” she added.
With the majority of the guests now heading toward the hotel’s exits, Allie blotted the white linen napkin against the bodice of her whiskey-spattered gown.
“How about you?” she asked. “Are you okay?”
Rafe met her gaze, his compelling, olive-skinned face as calm as carved stone. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Ellen’s ‘ex-con’ remark.”
“I am an ex-con.”
“It was a mistake.” Allie’s fingers clenched against the napkin. “You were innocent.”
“So what?” His mouth thinned. “That doesn’t wipe out the fact I spent time locked in a cage like an animal.”
Although they weren’t touching, she could feel the tension in him, a live wire dancing with dangerous electricity. Allie searched for some words of comfort that might blunt the vicious memories, but she knew there were none.
So she changed the subject. “Did you walk up in time to hear Ellen accuse me of designing matching lingerie for her and Mercedes?”
Rafe nodded. “After viewing pictures of Mercedes and seeing Ellen in the flesh, I imagine they had different tastes in more than just clothing.”
“Good call. But if your client bought Ellen the bracelet with the heart-shaped diamonds she’s wearing tonight, he didn’t let their diverse taste stop him from giving them identical jewelry.”
Rafe raised a dark brow. “Mercedes had the same bracelet?”
“Yes.” Allie closed her eyes, remembering. “She had it on when I found her. I had to nudge it aside to check her pulse.”
Just then, a man’s voice boomed from the far end of the hallway. Allie turned and spotted Ellen Bishop’s brother-in-law rushing toward them.
“I just heard what Ellen did.” Guy Jones took in Allie’s damp gown, mortification filling his eyes. “I apologize on Ellen’s behalf.”
“It’s okay, Guy.” Allie dabbed the napkin against her damp throat. “I’m sure Ellen is under an enormous amount of stress.”
“Yeah.” Jones shoved a hand through his thinning dark hair. “Ellen’s not alone. I’ve got a daughter who’s dieted herself down to a toothpick so she won’t look fat for her wedding. My wife’s going crazy planning the shindig. My brother-in-law and business partner is charged with murder, his wife has gone off the deep end and his son—my nephew—now hates him. To top things off, Will’s ticked at me because he thinks I knew his dad was having the affair and I didn’t do anything to stop it.”
“Did you?” Rafe asked.
Guy’s attention snapped to Rafe. “I wish to hell I had. Maybe then I could have talked some sense into Hank.” Guy ground an oath between his teeth. “Diaz, tell me you’re making progress on getting him off the hook on the murder charge. There’s no way he killed that McKenzie woman. No way.”
“I’m working on it.” Rafe offered the crystal-covered clutch to Guy. “Your sister-in-law has one hell of a powerful throwing arm. She may look for this after she sobers up.”
Guy’s dark brows shot up. “Ellen threw this at you?”
“My face was her actual target,” Allie answered. “Luckily, Rafe caught it. It’s one of the evening bags in the line that Mercedes McKenzie designed. I sell them in my shop.”
Guy stared down at the jeweled clutch nestled in his palm. “She made purses for you?”
“Designed them,” Allie corrected. “Considering the circumstances, Ellen wasn’t pleased to know she owned a Mercedes McKenzie creation.”
“No wonder that set her off.” Guy slipped the small bag into the pocket of his tux, then blew out a breath. “My wife and I need to get Ellen home. I’m sure that’ll be just one more pleasant experience to top off the night.”
Rafe pushed back the flap of his jacket and slid a hand in the pocket of his slacks. “I was under the impression her son is taking care of her.”
“That’d be hard for Will to do right now, seeing how he’s made himself scarce with some redhead.”
Allie patted the man’s arm. “I know you’re dealing with a lot right now. I appreciate your supporting the foundation.”
“It’s all for a good cause.” He forced a smile. “Not to mention a great tax write-off.”
“There is that,” Allie agreed.
She watched him turn. The way his shoulders hunched made his brawny body look as if he were supporting the weight of the world. Under the circumstances, she was sure that’s how he felt.
She glanced up at Rafe. “I don’t know about you, but hearing all that makes me very glad I’m not a member of the Bishop/Jones clan.”
“Same here.”
Rafe watched her blot the napkin against the elegant arch of her throat and tried not to think about all that damp, creamy skin. Or her hot, stirring scent that seemed almost erotic combined with the smell of expensive scotch.
Inside, his system rioted. Outside he felt rigid enough to break. It wasn’t Ellen Bishop calling him an ex-con that had gotten to him, but the way Allie’s blue eyes had glistened in anger for him. He didn’t need her to jump to his defense. Nothing could change what had happened in the past.
Setting his jaw, he forced himself to focus on the vicious intent he’d seen spark in Ellen Bishop’s eyes that had put his instincts on red alert.
He gestured toward the hallway the woman had disappeared into. “Is she capable of making good on her threat?” He heard the clipped hardness that had settled in his voice, but he couldn’t help it. Al
lie was too damn distracting. Too damn…everything.
His tone sent a flicker of emotion through her blue eyes, but it disappeared before he could read it.
“Maybe. People still talk about the time at the country club when she hit the tennis pro with her racquet because he was late for their lesson. He had to get stitches.”
Rafe nodded. A discreet check he’d run on his client’s spouse had revealed she’d inherited a tidy trust fund. Having her own money would enable Ellen to hire someone to carry out her threats if she decided not to personally deliver payback. If she’d found out about her husband’s affair, it was more than possible she’d directed her wrath Mercedes McKenzie’s way.
Rafe gazed down at Allie and felt a sense of protectiveness that seemed almost foreign. He would have sworn that particular emotion had been scoured out of him in prison, where he’d learned to look out only for himself. That he felt concern for the safety of a woman who had helped turn his life into a nightmare was beyond ironic.
But felt it, he did. And he couldn’t bring himself to ignore it.
“How many live-in servants do you have?” he asked. “And security people?”
“My housekeeper comes in during the day. The only security is an alarm system.”
His brow furrowed. “Don’t you live in your family’s mansion?”
“No. After my father died, I donated it to the art league. It’s now a museum. Why?”
“Where do you live?”
She arched a perfectly shaped blond brow. “In one of the Victorian boathouses on the Oklahoma River.”
He had seen the neighborhood. Located on the section of river that sliced through the city’s center, the gabled houses acted as a backdrop to the rowing clubs that sculled the water in shells and conducted colorful regattas. The residences were upscale and elegant, but definitely not mansions with the requisite high fences and security enhancements.
“Is there someone around who can protect you?”
“If you’re asking if there’s a man in my life who acts as backup to my alarm system, the answer is no.” She went still, as a shadow of worry formed behind her eyes. “Wait a minute. Are you thinking it was more than just the scotch talking when Ellen made that threat?”