by Ginna Gray
She sauntered toward the door. As she passed Troy she gave his cheek a sharp little pat. "Careful, sugar-lump. I may just set my sights on you."
And with that she made her grand exit.
When the door closed behind her Elizabeth turned to Troy. "Mr. Ellerbee, you are entitled to your opinions, but when you're in my home, keep them to yourself. I will not tolerate you dishing out insults to my guests, particularly not to my best friend. Do I make myself clear?"
"Perfectly. Now, if you're finished with your 'lady of the manor' reprimand, I came to see Max."
"He must not be expecting you. He's out on the property somewhere." She motioned toward the parlor. "Have a seat and I'll send Truman to find him."
Without waiting to see if he followed her suggestion, Elizabeth marched down the wide central hallway, through the kitchen and mudroom and out onto the back porch. As she suspected, her farm manager was just coming around the side of the house. She stopped him and told him to tell Max that Troy was there to see him, then went back inside.
Aunt Talitha sat at the kitchen table in her nightgown and robe, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper, which was her daily morning ritual.
Halfway across the room Elizabeth paused and looked longingly at the backstairs, which opened into the kitchen. She was tempted to use them to go up to her room and leave the obnoxious man on his own, twiddling his thumbs, but a lifetime of ingrained good manners would not allow that.
Muttering to herself, slamming doors and banging china, she began to put together a tray of coffee and cookies.
Aunt Talitha lowered one corner of her newspaper and looked at her niece over the top of her reading glasses.
"Can I help you, Miss Elizabeth?" Martha asked.
"No, thank you, Martha. I can handle it."
The housekeeper looked at Talitha, who silently shook her head. Martha retreated into the utility room and busied herself sorting laundry.
When Elizabeth carried the tray into the parlor, Troy at least had the manners to stand.
"Truman is looking for Max. He should be here soon." She sat down on the sofa and Troy resumed his seat in one of the chairs opposite her. "How do you like your coffee?" she asked.
"Black. And you didn't need to bother making coffee."
"I know that." Elizabeth handed him the cup, then poured one for herself.
After a few moments of silence during which they tried not to look at each other, Elizabeth could keep quiet no longer. "You don't like me, do you, Troy?"
"No," he replied with no hesitation, no evasion, no attempt at diplomacy.
"Mmm." Elizabeth took a sip of coffee. "Why is that? I mean, you barely know me. What is it about me that you find so objectionable?"
"To start with, you married Max for his money. He deserves better than that."
"I see." Elizabeth pursed her lips and ran the tip of her forefinger around the rim of her coffee cup as she pondered that. "I'm sure you're right. But let me remind you, this marriage was Max's idea. And that he married me for my social contacts." She didn't mention the sex part. Some things were best kept to yourself. "And trust me, whether you believe it or not, I deserve better than that."
"Maybe. But you also take up too much of Max's time. I mean take now, for instance. He's probably out there mucking around in a barn. A barn, for God's sake! When he should be at his desk in Houston or meeting with investors somewhere. Until he married you, I doubt that Max had ever been in a barn before."
Elizabeth started to reply, but they heard footsteps coming down the hall, and a moment later Max walked in. His face was ruddy from the cold wind and there was an air of vitality and happiness about him. "Troy. This is a surprise. What brings you here?"
"I brought some papers for you to sign, and there are one or two things I need to go over with you."
"Fine. Let me grab a cup of coffee and we'll talk in the study." He poured himself a cup from the carafe on the coffee table and motioned for Troy to follow him. At the door he paused and looked back at Elizabeth. "One of the hands was using Truman's dog to herd the cattle into another pasture. It was quite a show. You ought to go out and watch."
Elizabeth had seen the dog work cattle hundreds of times, but she smiled at his enthusiasm. "I will."
For the better part of the morning the two men holed up in the study. Now and then Elizabeth and her aunt heard raised voices on the other side of the door, but it was impossible to understand what they were saying. When Troy and Max emerged, his assistant looked grim.
Out of politeness Elizabeth invited Troy to stay for lunch, but to her vast relief he refused.
Elizabeth and Max remained at Mimosa Landing for nine days, until the first Saturday in December when they left to return to Houston and attend the Van Cleaves's party.
Aunt Talitha had been invited, also, but she declined to attend, or to go to Houston for a few days. At eighty her energy level was not what it once had been, and she limited her socializing to only a few events each year.
"I'm not in the mood to stir these old bones. I'll stay here with Martha. We'll be just fine," she said when Elizabeth tried to persuade Talitha to go with her and Max. "Besides, I never could abide the Van Cleaves."
As Max drove down the half-mile drive, Elizabeth kept looking back over her shoulder.
"Are you worried about leaving her here alone?" he asked. "Or are you just going to miss her?"
"A bit of both, I guess," Elizabeth admitted, settling back in her seat. "Most of the time, when I'm going to be gone for more than a day or two, she comes with me."
"Relax. She'll be okay. I made certain that Martha and Truman had all our phone numbers. If something does happen, they'll call."
"I know. You're right. It's just that she means so much to me. And she's getting frail as she gets up in years."
Max chuckled. "I wouldn't let her hear you say that if I were you."
She responded with a laugh, and a comfortable silence stretched out between them.
"Are you feeling safer now?" Max asked after a while, casting her a sidelong look. "We left New York ten days ago and there've been no more attempts to harm you."
"To tell you the truth, I haven't given the matter a thought since our first day at the farm. Now that you mention it, though, it is beginning to look as though Detective Gertski was right about it being a matter of mistaken identity."
Max nodded. "Yeah, so it appears."
"I just feel bad that somewhere in New York City there is some poor woman who resembles me who is in mortal danger, and she probably doesn't know it."
"Mmm. Maybe."
The drive from Mimosa Landing to the River Oaks house took a little over an hour. They were going through the little town of Hempstead, to the west of Houston, when the chirping of a cell phone interrupted their conversation.
"Is that mine or yours?" Max asked, casting her a quick look.
"I think it's mine." She dug into her purse, flipped open the phone and punched the talk button. "Yes?"
"Hi, sugar," Mimi said. "I don't mean to bother you, but I've got some news that couldn't wait until you got home."
It's Mimi, Elizabeth mouthed to Max. "Oh? What's that?"
"I just returned from having lunch with Bethany. Brace yourself, sugar. She told me that Natalie is back."
Elizabeth tensed. "What? Are you sure?"
"I'm afraid so, sugar. Bethany saw her in the flesh yesterday."
"Is she alone?"
"Yes. Seems that she and Edward have split. I thought I should warn you that Natalie is going to be at the Van Cleaves's shindig tonight. Just in case you changed your mind about attending."
"No. No, we'll be there."
"That's my girl," Mimi praised. "You walk in there tonight with your head high, on the arm of that sexy husband of yours, and act like she means no more to you than a cockroach."
Elizabeth laughed at the image. "I'll see you tonight."
"What was that about?" Max asked the instant she put her phon
e back into her bag.
"Mimi wanted to warn me. It seems that Natalie is back. Without Edward."
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Max's head whip around, his brows knit with a frown. She could feel his gaze boring into her. "Look, if you're not up to confronting her, we can turn around right now and go back to Mimosa Landing. My business can wait."
"No. No, we'll go. It's inevitable that our paths will cross at some time. Anyway, I'll be damned if I'm going to allow that woman to dictate my life," she said. Turning her head, she gazed out the window and tried to still the turmoil that raged inside her.
"Okay," Max said after a while. "It's your call."
Eight hours later at the Houston house Max walked out of the dressing room into the bedroom, muttering under his breath. "Damn. I never did like these freaking tuxedo ties."
Elizabeth looked in the mirror and saw that he had made a mess of tying the black tie. She stabbed another hairpin into her intricate, upswept hairdo and rose. "Here, let me help you," she volunteered.
Max watched her walk toward him, wearing a long form-fitting evening gown of midnight-blue silk crepe, and he caught his breath. The long skirt had a slit up one side that reached to mid-thigh and revealed the enticing curve of her leg with each step she took. Wide bands of material crisscrossed over her breasts, defining her tiny waist and the beautiful fullness of her bosom.
She stopped in front of him and undid the mess he'd made of the tie and started over. Max's big hands closed on each of her hip bones.
"Damn, but you look good," he murmured, gazing down at her as she nimbly knotted the tie. Her features were exquisite—her nose slender and ever so slightly tipped up on the end, those magnificent blue-green eyes fringed with dark lashes, high cheekbones and a delicate but firm jawline and chin. Her beauty was so elegant and classic, she took his breath away.
"Thank you," Elizabeth replied, not looking up.
"And you smell great, too." As always, her hair smelled of wildflowers. Added to that were the underlying clean scents of soap, toothpaste and the tight, flowery perfume she always wore, which suited her so perfectly. He had yet to find out the name of the scent, he realized, and he made a mental note to himself to do so.
Her nearness pulled at him like some kind of powerful magnet that he couldn't resist. That he didn't want to resist. He bent and kissed the tender skin just behind her ear. "You know, we could skip the party and stay home," he murmured against her skin. "And have a little party of our own."
"Oh, no you don't. We're going to that party." She straightened the ends of the tie and adjusted his collar just so. When done, she looked up at him and admonished, "There are going to be several people there that you need to meet, so just get that amorous look off your face and behave yourself."
"Damn. I thought you'd say that. When we get back remind me where we left off."
Elizabeth walked back to her dressing table to finish her makeup and hair. Behind her, Max tipped his head to one side, his fascinated gaze fixed on her tight little rear end and the enticing flex of muscle beneath the blue silk. "Are you wearing underwear?" he asked.
"Max, for heaven's sake. What a thing to ask. Of course I am."
"It doesn't look like you are." Frowning, he looked closer. "Damn. Are you wearing a thong?"
Pink flooded Elizabeth's face, but she gamely tilted her chin at him. "With a clinging gown like this it's the only way to avoid having a visible panty line."
"I knew it! Let me see." Closing the space between them, Max reached out to pull up the gown, but she slapped his hands away.
"No. Stop that. Max, for heaven's sake. Now is no time to get sidetracked. We're running late already. Anyway, it's just underwear. You'll see it when we get home."
Max groaned. "How in hell am I supposed to discuss business? All I'm going to be able to think about all evening is that beneath that dress you've got on a thong."
Elizabeth sat down at her dressing table again and met his gaze in the mirror. "Poor baby. I'm sure you'll manage. Anyway, you're not going to be talking business tonight."
"What do you mean? I thought that was the reason we're attending this party."
"No. Tonight we're going to dangle the bait." She sensed that his mood had changed instantly from playful and sexy to something bordering on anger. "I thought we had a bargain?"
"We do." Elizabeth turned around on her dressing-table stool and looked him square in the eye. "Do you want my help in winning over these people?"
"You know I do, but—"
"Then you're going to have to trust me. I know that the object is to find investors for your Dallas project, but we have to do it in the right way, or it won't work. Believe me, I know these people.
"Tonight we need to stick together and circulate among the guests. As we do I'll drop some hints and make a few intriguing statements to people who are key players. I might even invite one or two couples to dinner, say … Tuesday evening. But tonight it's all about tantalizing them. Okay?"
"If you say so," Max conceded, though he still looked doubtful.
"Max, the main thing you have to realize is that these people don't take to hard sell," Elizabeth attempted to explain. "Try that on them and they'll respond with smiling Texas charm as they slam the door in your face."
A rueful grimace twisted his mouth. "Yeah, that's the treatment I've been getting for about a year now."
"For the most part, these people are the descendants of pioneering stock. Whether or not any of them has the business acumen or work ethic of their ancestors who accumulated their wealth is debatable, but, to a man, they like to think they do. Just as they like to think that any investment they make is their idea. And that it was a brilliant one, to boot."
"Hmm. I see your point." He thought for a moment, then nodded. "Okay, we'll try it your way."
Elizabeth turned back to the mirror and powdered her nose. She tucked in a stray curl, then rummaged through her jewelry box. "I don't know what I'm going to wear with this gown. I've sold all my good jewelry."
"Hold on a minute," Max said, and he disappeared into the dressing room. In a few seconds he returned with a flat box.
"I was going to give you these for Christmas, but I think you need them tonight."
"What is it?"
"Close your eyes."
She did as he asked, and Max looped the necklace around her neck. "Okay."
Elizabeth opened her eyes and sucked in a sharp breath, her jaw dropping. "Oh, my word. The Stanton diamonds!" she exclaimed in a breathless whisper. "Oh. Max, how … when…?"
"I put my man on finding the set the day you told me you'd had to sell them."
"They must have cost you a fortune to buy back."
He shrugged. "The important thing is, now they're back where they should be."
"Oh, Max." Tears welled in her eyes until his image in the mirror was a blur. Bounding up off the vanity stool, she flung her arms around his neck. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you so much. You don't know what this means to me."
"Hey, don't cry. C'mon, cut it out. You'll mess up your makeup, and we've got a party to go to."
* * *
Twelve
« ^ »
Angelo Delvechio sat with his back to the wall at a table in the rear of the small neighborhood bar. He nursed a club soda, his icy stare fixed on the door.
He hadn't budged from his seat or uttered a word since he walked in and gave his drink order more than an hour ago, but everyone in the place gave him a wide berth. New Yorkers, especially ones in this borough, knew trouble when they saw it.
His cohorts and those who knew who he was called Angelo the Angel of Death. His size alone was enough to intimidate most people. At six foot three and over three hundred pounds, he was a mountain of a man. Blunt features, close-set "piggy" eyes and a face devoid of emotion combined to give him a menacing look that terrified most people.
Angelo had grown up in the neighborhood, and all of his life he'd been a bully and a
troublemaker. No one had been surprised when he'd become an enforcer for the Voltura crime family.
Angelo glanced at the clock behind the bar. Dammit, where was Tony Minelli? His source had sworn to him that the man sneaked into this bar every night to pick up a fifth of whiskey.
A chilling half smile curved Angelo's mouth. Tony had never been much of a drinker before, but word on the street was he was hitting the juice hard these days. No doubt he'd heard about the contract out on him and was running scared. From what Angelo had heard, his target had gone to ground over a week ago, shortly after Angelo took out his running buddy, Lucky Lorenzo. Angelo's lips quirked again. Lucky's luck had run out.
Angelo's eyes narrowed, and the man at the next table picked up his drink and shuffled away. Dammit, he thought, gritting his teeth. It had taken him all this time and some persuasion to get a lead on Tony. He would make the little weasel pay for putting him to so much trouble.
The cold smile flickered again. Tony's other best pal, Leo Vittoli, had given him up. Funny how friendship faded when you had the barrel of a 9 mm Glock stuck in your mouth.
Angelo's gaze flickered to the clock again, then back to the entrance, just as his target slunk into the bar. He almost didn't recognize the man. Tony had always been a flashy dresser with a cocky attitude, but now his hair was long and scraggly, he had a week's worth of beard stubble and his clothes were filthy and looked as though he'd slept in them.
The scruffy-looking man hesitated just inside the doorway, his gaze darting around the room. Like one of those damned little ferrets, Angelo thought with disgust. Pretending to pay no attention to his surroundings, he bent over his drink as though he was soused, but he surreptitiously watched his target.
Casting fearful glances all around, Tony sidled up to the bar and signaled the bartender. Without speaking a word, the man took Tony's money and handed over a bottle. Clutching the brown bag to his chest, Minelli scurried out.
The instant the door closed behind the target, Angelo stood up and tossed some bills on the table. The other bar patrons fell silent. Most stared into their drinks or at the TV mounted behind the bar. Some covertly made the sign of the cross, but no one dared to look at the beefy, cold-eyed man making his way out of the bar.