Death's Door

by Meryl Sawyer

  She wondered if these pieces had been in Wyatt Holbrook’s wife’s family. She’d studied his profile on the Internet and had learned he was a self-made man, but his wife had come from a wealthy family who had lived in the area before the First World War, when Mizner had been hired to design the first of the megamansions in South Florida.

  “Just sparkling water for me,” she told the bartender when they reached the bar. She wanted to have all her wits about her when she met Wyatt Holbrook.

  “Scotch rocks,” Paul said as the bartender handed Madison her drink.

  She wondered why she’d agreed to meet the man who obviously had everything he desired—except a healthy liver. She’d told Paul that it was curiosity, but her inquisitive nature was only part of the reason she was here. Rob’s reaction had convinced her to at least meet Wyatt Holbrook.

  Still—she knew in her heart of hearts—Zach Connelly was her biological father. Her gut instinct rarely failed her, especially when it was this intense. Something else was going on here besides the search for donor-conceived children.

  Once she met Wyatt, she felt certain she would be able to figure out what was happening. It could be as simple as an honest mistake. Her mother could have visited the clinic and somehow the records had been mixed up. It wasn’t as if New Horizons was the most ethical clinic in the country. Anything was possible.

  “Let’s get something to eat,” Paul said when he had his Scotch. “I’m starving.”

  Madison was too keyed up to eat but she allowed him to take her through the open doors leading from the enormous room to the oceanfront terrace. Music drifted over the crowd that seemed to be standing around talking to one another like old friends. She didn’t know anyone in Palm Beach, but she’d heard about the exclusive enclave’s reputation for snobbery.

  She didn’t care. Even if she made millions, Madison would never want a home here. There were better, more meaningful things to do with money than spend it on a lavish mansion built early in the last century when rich people had scads of servants to maintain homes the size of hotels.

  She thought of how Erin had come into a windfall of money yet didn’t plan to use it selfishly. She was supporting a worthy cause in Save the Chimps. Madison had investigated them on the Internet and knew the nonprofit group helped chimpanzees that had been used in scientific experiments. Often they had been alone for years, confined to a cage and subjected to horrors she could only imagine. Save the Chimps brought them to a parklike setting where they could live together and roam the grounds in freedom after years of abuse.

  It was a much better use of money, she decided. As soon as Erin’s murder was solved and Madison had control of the money, it was going to help the chimps. It was what Erin would have wanted.

  “Looks like they’re carving roast beef over there,” Paul said. “Sound good?”

  Paul escorted her through the crowd showing off their diamonds and designer clothes to one of several food stations where handsome young men in chef’s hats were serving food.

  “I think I would rather have the shrimp,” Madison said, although she still didn’t feel like eating anything. “Let’s get your roast beef first.”

  She waited at his side while the chef carved Paul a generous portion of rare roast beef. Interesting, she thought, she’d expected him to order a well-done portion. Why, she couldn’t say. There was something straight-arrow yet wildly unconventional about Paul Tanner.

  When he’d shown up tonight, it was all she could do not to drool. He was a striking man who oozed enough testosterone for a dozen guys—under normal circumstances. But when dressed in a tuxedo, there was something overwhelmingly attractive about him. It was a rough-hewn masculinity that stood out in sharp contrast to the other men present tonight. They all seemed slightly effeminate, as if they couldn’t hold their own in a fight.

  Not Paul Tanner.

  She’d watched out of the corner of her eye as they’d waited in the reception line, then made their way outside. Women tracked Paul as he passed and the men looked up and took notice. She wasn’t much at reading lips, but she’d caught several gorgeous women whispering: Who is he?

  “Let’s get you some shrimp and find a table,” Paul said after he’d been served.

  They moved a few feet over to where an ice sculpture of a humongous clamshell showcased a mound of jumbo shrimp. The chef handed her three huge shrimp artfully arranged in a martini glass filled with cocktail sauce.

  “Looks good,” Paul commented as they moved away.

  It was an interesting way of serving shrimp, but her mind wasn’t on food. “When do we see Wyatt Holbrook?”

  “Tobias Pennington, his personal assistant, will come for us.” Paul found a tall round table at the edge of the crowd and placed his plate and drink on it.

  Madison set her two glasses beside his. The table came to just above her waist but it was much lower for Paul. Since the tabletop was so small, she had to stand closer to him than she would have liked. “I hope he doesn’t make us wait too long.”

  “Why not? We could dance.”

  A three-piece group was playing soft rock and a few people were dancing near the pool on a small dance floor that had been put down for the party. Normally, she liked to dance, but she didn’t want to find herself in Paul’s arms. Something about him kept her on edge. He was far too hot for his own good and kept looking at her in a way that made her uncomfortable. She needed to meet Wyatt Holbrook and leave. What she’d do then, she wasn’t sure.

  Instead of answering Paul, she picked up a piece of shrimp and nibbled on it. It was delicious. Many people overcooked shrimp, her father often had told her, making it tough. Not this shrimp. It was tender and had just the right amount of cocktail sauce on it from being placed tail up in the martini glass. Her father would have approved and she reminded herself to try this at home, just as soon as she found a new place to live.

  “How’s the beef?” she asked because Paul was watching her, his square jaw working as he chewed.

  “Great.” He glanced over her shoulder. “Here comes Garrison.”

  “He doesn’t know why I’m here, does he?”

  “From his reaction at the door, I’d say no.”

  “Don’t tell him. I’d like to get in and out of here with as little fuss as possible.”

  “You don’t know Garrison. He’s every bit as smart as his father. Maybe smarter. He’ll put two and two together and figure out why you’re here.”

  “Getting enough to eat?” Garrison asked as he came up to them, a crystal highball glass in one hand. It appeared to contain vodka on the rocks with a twist of lime.

  “Yes, thanks,” Paul replied for them.

  Garrison turned to Madison. “I didn’t get a chance to ask you if you were considering donating to my father’s foundation. It’s a very worthy cause, you know.”

  Madison shook her head. “No, I’m here to interview him for a blog, HighKinkz.”

  Garrison shot her with the old tried-and-true finger pistol as he chuckled. “Good one. Real good.” Smiling, he stared at her for a moment, then said, “You must be one of my father’s…ah…offspring.”

  She noticed he hadn’t used the term “half sister” and realized this was his way of distancing himself. It hit her that this mansion, and the money involved, must make Wyatt Holbrook’s heirs feel protective. A half sibling might threaten them somehow.

  “I’m certain I’m not one of—”

  “Forgive me. Offspring sounds so…silly. The idea of having brothers and sisters I never knew existed takes some mental adjustment. It’s great. I mean it. My father isn’t just any man. He’s extraordinary. Saving his life is really important.”

  There was no mistaking the sincerity in Garrison’s voice. His vibrant green eyes radiated heartfelt anxiety. Madison didn’t blame him. She would have given everything she had or ever hoped to have to save her own father.

  “I understand.” All the anger she’d been harboring vanished.

  �
�You must be from the Boston area,” Garrison told her.

  Madison knew he believed this because his father had used clinics there while he’d been in medical school. She wasn’t sure how much she should say. For reasons she didn’t have time to evaluate, she didn’t want these people to know too much about her, but she couldn’t lie. “No. I live right here in Florida.”

  “Really?” Garrison’s gaze shifted to Paul.

  “I found a few files in another location. They led me to Madison.”

  Garrison’s brow creased, but instead of asking Paul for details, he turned to Madison. “What do you do?”

  “I work at an online game,” she replied, deliberately underplaying her role in the company.

  “Interesting,” he replied, but, despite his smile, she doubted he gave one whit about online games.

  “What do you do?” she asked.

  “I have a laboratory.” He pronounced it “la-bore-atory,” as if he were British. Her initial impression had been favorable. He seemed like a nice man who was terribly worried about his father’s health. Now she wondered if he deserved the snobby reputation that was associated with Palm Beach. “I’m developing biologic drugs.”

  “Ah,” she replied, to show him she wasn’t an airhead gamer, “drugs made from living organisms.”

  “Yes,” he said, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Most people don’t know much about it.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know a lot. But I do know that drugs made from living organisms—the new frontier apparently—aren’t subject to patent laws like drugs made in the lab by man. Those patents expire, then they become affordable generic drugs.”

  “True, but biologics are harder to develop than drugs created in a lab. I specialize in using organisms from the sea. The largest predator that ever lived is still alive—”

  “The sperm whale,” she interjected before she could stop herself. “It’s fifty tons or more and roamed the sea back in the days of dinosaurs.”

  For an instant his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, then he quirked an eyebrow and winked at her. “Correct. Man came from the sea. The most powerful forces in nature, like tsunamis and volcanoes, are in the sea. Answers to health problems in the new millennium will come from—”

  “Garrison, here you are,” Savannah said as she swanned up to them in the lime-green sheath that fit her like a tattoo, Nathan Cassidy in tow. “We need—”

  “You met Madison Connelly. She’s here to see if she can help Father.”

  “Oh?” The beautiful redhead stared at Madison as if she’d spotted a deadly snake coiled to strike. “I—I thought we were having trouble locating—”

  “Very few records in Boston led to contacts,” Garrison informed his sister.

  “I found Madison’s records here,” Paul said.

  “Really?” Nathan Cassidy said. “I’m surprised. I thought the records that were located didn’t show—”

  “There’s some question about their authenticity,” Madison felt compelled to say.

  “Who told you that?” Garrison asked just as an elderly couple approached the group.

  “Let’s dance.” Paul nudged her toward the dance floor.

  “Thanks,” whispered Madison after they’d moved away from the group. “I don’t want to give Wyatt’s children false hope.”

  Paul didn’t respond; he had his own theory about the Holbrook children.

  “Savannah seems a little…ah…hostile, I guess. Do you think she sees me as a threat?”

  Paul swung her into his arms as the quartet began to play a slow tune from the Big Band era. He didn’t know its name, but judging by the herd of moon-eyed octogenarians on the dance floor, it was a sentimental favorite. It was almost impossible to move with so many people around. Well, hell, whatever it took. He just wanted to hold Madison. “What do you mean, a threat?” he said into her ear in a low voice.

  She cocked her head to one side and gazed up at him. His heart lurched painfully, skipping a beat before settling into its normal rhythm. Honest to God, the woman hadn’t a clue how appealing she was. She flexed her leg slightly between his as she moved to the beat. He put his hand on her soft, bare back and a throbbing current of arousal spiraled through him, pooling in his groin.

  “Savannah’s a true beauty. I’m know I’m not a threat in that way, but I was wondering if she might think Wyatt might…I don’t know exactly.”

  “He might monetarily reward a newfound—what term did Garrison use?”

  “Offspring. Could his children—” she stood up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear “—not want him to live?”

  “It’s a possibility,” he admitted. “What makes you ask?”

  It took a minute with them moving to the music for her to respond. “Erin. The police made a point of telling me that money is one of the primary causes of murder. I knew it, of course, but until someone you love is killed, it doesn’t hit home.”

  “I don’t know,” he told her. “The rich are different. Maybe Garrison and Savannah want more than their trust funds.”

  “It won’t matter in my case,” she informed him in a low but authoritative voice. “I’m not going to be able to help their father, but someone else might.”

  Aw, come off it, he wanted to say, but he resisted the urge. Instead, he drew Madison closer, savoring the softness of her body against his, the way her breasts molded against his torso. Rocking to the beat, he skimmed her bare back with his open palm, then lightly stroked the intriguing groove of her spine with his fingertips. His hand reached her neck where a loose tendril curled against the warm flesh. He flicked it aside and traced the curve of her neck with his thumb.

  Paul detected Madison’s sharp intake of breath and what could only be a sigh. He looked down at her eyes, which were veiled by a golden fringe of lashes. She was staring at the back of a stoop-shouldered elderly man dancing nearby. Okay, so she wouldn’t look him in the eye. At least she hadn’t pulled away. Maybe, just maybe, he had a chance with her.

  The dance ended and the throng around them clapped. Paul refused to release Madison. She made no move to pull away, either. The strains of another waltz began, forcing them to dance again. They swayed to the lilting notes, unable to do much else with so many people trying to dance at once. He held her close and wished to hell that he could think of something clever to say.

  Why ruin it? Obviously, they communicated better without words. He leisurely moved his hand up and down her back. They were barely moving now, only rotating their hips, pretending to dance. Another couple bumped into them and muttered an apology. Madison glanced up at him and her arms unexpectedly circled his neck.

  What was she thinking?

  All right, so he wasn’t an ace at figuring out women, but he had enough experience to realize he’d been wrong. This woman wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  “What are we doing?” she asked in a husky voice.

  “I’m positive Adam asked the same thing in the Garden of Eden.”

  “Really?” A smile alluringly curved her mouth. “What did Eve say?”

  “It’ll be all right.” He squeezed her. “Then she offered him the apple.”

  She laughed, the first genuine laugh he’d heard from her. “And Adam was dumb enough to fall for it.”

  Paul chuckled, taken by surprise, another heated rush of desire coursing through him. She had a great sense of humor to go along with a killer bod and a pretty face. Why did he have to meet her on an assignment?

  Hell. You couldn’t time these things. Sometimes you just had to go for it. Now was one of those times, he assured himself. Madison was different from most women he knew. She was definitely worth the risk of appearing unprofessional. Definitely.

  Ignoring the crowd around them, Paul lowered his lips to Madison’s soft mouth. Her thick lashes fluttered closed as he eased his hand down from her back to the curve of her buttocks and pressed her against his erection. His tongue invaded her mouth, symbolic of another possession he had on his mind.
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  Suddenly, he was aware of someone clutching his shoulder. Pissed as hell, he broke the kiss and turned to face the intruder.

  “Mr. Holbrook will see you now,” Tobias Pennington informed them.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  What is DNA?

  MADISON STEELED HERSELF, not sure what to expect as she walked into the massive library. She was still shaken by what had happened on the dance floor. What had she been thinking? Obviously, Paul suffered from testosterone surges that caused him to grab anything in panties.

  Well, forget these panties.

  But that wasn’t the message she’d sent, was it? She’d wantonly slung her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his like some hot-to-trot teenager. Then when he’d kissed her, Madison hadn’t pulled away. No. She’d kissed him back. Right there in the middle of the dance floor.

  Why had she acted that way? Maybe some part of her brain had responded to him. God knows, it had been ages since she’d been held, been kissed. Her relationship with Aiden had faltered, then they’d separated. She’d dated a few times but refused to get involved with anyone. She didn’t know what had happened tonight, but she vowed not to repeat the mistake.

  Madison steadied herself and forced her mind to focus on meeting Wyatt Holbrook in the library of his mansion. She had the vague impression of a vaulted ceiling and wood-paneled walls lined with books that had the mellow glow of antique leather. The jarring thumps of her heart blocked other details.

  At the rear of the room stood a walnut desk large enough to be a ping-pong table. In front of the desk stood a tall man with a patrician profile. Laser-blue eyes tracked her approach with the same keen intelligence she’d noted in Garrison’s eyes. But instead of having rich mahogany-colored hair, Wyatt had sandy hair that must once have been a glistening blond but was now mostly silver.

  Nothing about Wyatt Holbrook struck a familiar chord with Madison. She already knew this man wasn’t her father and seeing him confirmed her feelings. But Madison couldn’t deny there was something impressive about Wyatt Holbrook. Even without speaking, he radiated authority and power.