The Quiet Storm

by RaeAnne Thayne

  She gave the cat one last stroke, then straightened and caught her first full glance at Beau in all his finery—black tuxedo jacket on and his hair combed again. “Wow. You look…beautiful.”

  As soon as the word escaped her mouth, she knew it was the wrong one. Horribly wrong. Mortifyingly wrong. She flinched, but before she could come up with a better one, Beau offered a devastating smile.

  “I think that’s my line, isn’t it? And let me just say, that’s one hell of a dress.”

  Elizabeth felt herself flush pink, more pleased than she should be by the frank approval in his eyes. So her frenzied morning of shopping hadn’t been completely in vain. She had never been one to spend hours shopping but she had started at first light, searching every boutique in Seattle until she finally discovered this deceptively simple long black sheath and off-the-shoulder wrap at a tiny boutique near the market. With it she wore only her mother’s slim diamond chain and matching earrings.

  They stood gazing at each other for a moment, then Beau cleared his throat and held out a diamond stickpin that looked incongruously tiny in his large dark hands. “It’s a great dress but I’m not sure where you’re going to put this. It’s the microphone.”

  Elizabeth jerked her attention away from the splendor of Beau in evening attire. She needed that reminder of her purpose tonight. This wasn’t a date, she reminded herself forcefully. Even if she had spent six hours looking for a dress.

  “I’ll find a place to pin it,” she murmured. There was no way on earth she could let him attach it to her dress—let his fingers graze her skin—without melting all over his hardwood floor.

  She took the pin from him, trying to ignore the snap of electricity when their hands touched. The most convenient spot happened to be right at the vee neck of her dress. It looked discreet and elegant, she thought.

  “Does that work?”

  He nodded. “I’m already wearing the receiver. It’s made up of two parts, an ear piece that’s invisible unless somebody gets real close and personal and a small credit-card-size control unit in my pocket. I’ll go in the other room so we can test it. Just say a few words so I can tell if I need to adjust the volume or anything.”

  After he walked out of the room, she discovered she had no idea what to say. She thought of a Browning poem she’d read in college, about the gray sea and the long black land and the yellow half-moon large and low. She was afraid she would sound corny if she said it so she settled on the highly unoriginal. “Beau? Can you hear me? Testing. Testing.”

  He returned to the room. “Sounds good. Make sure you speak in your normal voice, though. Sometimes you get so quiet I can hardly hear you.”

  That was usually the idea, another bad habit she’d developed in childhood and worked hard to break as an adult. If people couldn’t hear her, they couldn’t mock her. Simple protective mechanism. The downside was, if people couldn’t hear her, she faded to near invisibility.

  “I think I’m ready. Shall we hit the road?”

  She nodded, and Anthony magically produced a second umbrella and had the deviousness to hand it to Beau. With a sly wink to her that she fervently hoped Beau didn’t notice, he walked out into the rainy evening with the other one, arranging things so she and Beau had no choice but to share an umbrella.

  As they walked out of his charming little house, she was intensely aware of him. He smelled incredibly sexy, with the evergreen scent of his cologne accented by the clean, honest smell of the rain.

  She wanted to close her eyes and freeze everything about this moment, imprint it all into her synapses, but she was afraid she would stumble on the rain-slicked bricks of his sidewalk if she did.

  They leaned close, heads together under the umbrella, as they hurried to the limousine. Anthony was waiting with the door open. She glared at him for his dirty trick but he only smiled benignly and helped her slide in. After he closed the door behind Beau and climbed into the driver’s seat, he pulled smoothly back onto the road.

  For several moments the only sound inside the limousine was the low murmur of strings from the Vivaldi concerto playing through the speakers, the steady swish of the windshield wipers and the tires humming along the wet road.

  If she hadn’t already been a bundle of nerves, the protracted silence would have done it. All she could think about were those heavenly moments in Beau’s arms the evening before. The heat and magic and excitement that still echoed through her whenever she thought of it.

  “Would you like something to drink?” she finally managed to squeak out. “I believe there’s champagne and a nice wine selection.”

  “No. Not when I’m on duty.”

  “How about bottled water or a soda?”

  “I’m good. Thanks.”

  The silence lengthened like twilight shadows and she tried once more. “I hope the evening is not too…unbearable for you.”

  Beau’s shoulders stretched the black silk of his jacket. “I’ve been on worse assignments, believe me. At least they should have some fancy food tonight. I once spent two weeks in a surveillance van with nothing but convenience store hotdogs and stale corn chips.”

  She had nothing to say to that—what in her life experience possibly compared to stakeouts?—so she just nodded and fell silent again.

  After another awkward pause, he tilted his head and studied her. “You sure you’re up to talking to the judge?”

  She caught herself before she could chew all her lipstick off again. She knew she had to confront Andrew with that letter, but she was dreading the moment when she actually had to do it.

  “I’ll speak to him but I don’t know…I don’t know what we’ll find out. I still can’t believe Andrew might be capable of killing Tina.”

  “Right now he’s all we’ve got. We’ll shake his tree tonight first and see what else might fall out.”

  She felt sick just thinking about it. She wanted to find Tina’s killer but, oh, she didn’t want it to be Andrew.

  “I’m going to be sticking close to you throughout the evening,” Beau said after a moment. “You sure you can deal with that?”

  She thought it would be both heaven and hell to have him close to her for an entire evening. “Yes. I think so.”

  “Good. Even if we get separated, I’ll still be watching you. You don’t have to worry.”

  She stared at him. “You say that as if I might be in some sort of danger. Surely I’m not.”

  “We don’t know that. Even if he didn’t kill her, I doubt Sheffield will be real thrilled when he finds out you know about the kid’s paternity.”

  “He would never hurt me. Never!”

  “If he killed your friend—the mother of his son—to keep her mouth shut, you really think he would balk at giving you similar treatment?”

  She drew in a sharp breath as the butterflies in her stomach started fluttering harder.

  “I don’t mean to scare you, but you’re going to have to be careful.”

  “I will be,” she murmured. She was always careful, except when it came to green-eyed detectives.

  “An alert investigator is always on the lookout for opportunities,” he went on. “Find an excuse to pull Sheffield aside and talk to him. I’ll be watching, and as soon as I see you leave together I’ll try to follow. Remember, all you’re going to do is show him the copy of the letter we found and ask him about it. That’s it. Don’t do anything crazy, okay?”

  She nodded, nerves scrambling.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you, Elizabeth. I may not be much for high-society formal shindigs but I’m a damn good cop. I’ll be watching, I promise.”

  The concern in his eyes warmed her more than she cared to admit, even when it came tempered by a reserve that hadn’t been there the day before, after she had pushed him away.

  Chapter 12

  He had to be out of his ever-loving mind.

  At the Sheffield mansion—he couldn’t call such a grand, imposing structure anything but that—Beau helped Elizabeth out
of the limousine, trying like hell not to goggle at the endless length of sleek, shapely leg revealed by the slit in her dress.

  She was beautiful, elegant and cool and sleek, and he felt like a peasant farmer in medieval England somewhere, yanked out of his fields to escort a princess to the ball.

  This had to be the most lamebrain thing he’d ever done. He should have ignored his worries over the Benelli case and just hauled the judge to the precinct for questioning. It would have been far easier than this.

  He didn’t even want to be in the same room with Elizabeth. Not after the night before, not when he still craved her like a kid running after the ice cream truck on a hot summer’s day.

  Beau wasn’t sure exactly what he expected Elizabeth to accomplish. Even a trained detective probably wouldn’t be able to get much useful information out of a suspect in the middle of a dinner party. Besides, even if Sheffield was overcome by some guilt-induced fit and confessed all to her, not a single damn word would hold up in court.

  He ought to just call the whole thing off, just tell Elizabeth not to say anything to the judge yet until he had more of a chance to build a case against him.

  He started to do just that, but the words died in his throat. This was important to Elizabeth. She deserved to know the truth about Alex’s paternity, at least.

  Besides, they had made it this far. Might as well play it out. He’d already gone to all the trouble to get dressed in the monkey suit. Might as well escort Princess Elizabeth inside.

  The place was bedecked with millions of little lights sparkling throughout the elaborate landscaping and strung along the walkway, and he could hear a string quartet playing somewhere inside, along with tinkling glasses and muted laughter.

  He wanted to go inside about as badly as he wanted his eyebrows singed off. But he had to.

  Remembering all those blasted etiquette lessons forced on him by Marie when he was too young to object too loudly, he took Elizabeth’s hand, intending to tuck it into the crook of his arm. He was surprised to find her fingers ice-cold.

  He clasped her hand tightly and took a good, hard look at her fine-boned features under the fairy lights. Her delicate skin looked pale in contrast to her black dress, and her eyes were wide and slightly unfocused.

  She looked terrified, suddenly. Scared out of her wits.

  “Elizabeth, we don’t have to do this. We can leave right now.”

  She’d pulled most of her hair into an upstyle-type thing, but a few loose strands brushed the diamonds around her neck as she shook her head. “No. I’m okay. I’m not leaving.”

  What had her so scared? Did she think he wouldn’t be able to protect her if Sheffield turned nasty? The thought hurt more than it should. Yeah, she was right, they were from different worlds. But his world was tough, mean. Ugly. He’d handled much worse than anything they were likely to encounter at a dinner party.

  “I’m ready. Let’s go inside,” she murmured, pinning a polite smile on those elegant features. She tilted her chin defiantly, exposing that long, slender neck he still ached to kiss, damn his hide.

  If she could put on a good show of enjoying herself, he sure as hell could, too. He wrapped his other hand around her fingers resting on his arm and escorted her inside.

  The party was in full swing, he noted, and immediately started casing the scene. Men in black tie and women in designer party wear mingled through numerous rooms of the house amid what he was sure were priceless antiques and furniture most people probably couldn’t even afford to look at.

  Waiters in black bow ties and cummerbunds moved smoothly through the crowd with platters of gleaming champagne flutes and canapés. A towering birthday cake stood on a little table in the corner that looked like a twin to his grandmother’s prized Duncan Phyfe.

  Several prominent Seattle personalities circulated among the guests. He picked out the mayor, a couple of congressional representatives, a consulate general or two. Quite a guest list.

  They had only been in the door for a minute or two when a woman about Elizabeth’s age with hennaed hair, a barely there emerald gown and matching gems approached them. Her green-eyed gaze narrowed as she caught sight of them.

  “Elizabeth Quinn! The recluse herself. This is certainly a surprise.”

  And not a pleasant one, Beau thought, if the thinly veiled dislike in the redhead’s eyes was anything to go by.

  “I phoned a few days ago to RSVP and spoke with Mrs. Wong. I apologize for the…the late notice.”

  “No doubt it slipped your mind.”

  Beau formed an instant dislike to the woman for that subtly derisive look in her cat eyes.

  “Not at all,” Elizabeth said coolly. “I would never forget Andrew’s birthday. I simply wasn’t sure of my plans for the evening until the last moment.”

  “Well, how lovely to see you. You must try the champagne. It’s guaranteed to loosen the tongue.”

  Now why would that make Elizabeth flush so pink? he wondered. A strange, powerful undercurrent ebbed and flowed around the two women like the riptides in the Rosario Strait. Like any sane man, it made him want to pack up for higher, safer ground. Before he could lead Elizabeth away, the redhead turned her attention to him.

  “And who is your friend?”

  “I’m sorry. Beau, this is Leigh Sheffield. Judge Sheffield’s daughter. Leigh, this is my very good friend Beau Riley.”

  To his surprise Elizabeth smiled up at him with more warmth than she had shown him all evening and leaned against his arm as if they’d been longtime lovers, her blue eyes bright. Ah. So that’s the way she wanted to play it. He could do lovesick.

  Just as long as he wasn’t tempted to forget he was only pretending.

  He easily manufactured a private smile for Elizabeth before he turned to the other woman.

  “Pleased to meet you,” he lied smoothly. “You and your father have a beautiful home.”

  She touched his arm with long red-tipped nails. “Thank you. I’d be thrilled to death to give you a private tour. Just grab me anytime tonight and I’ll be happy to show you all kinds of secret little nooks and crannies.”

  I’ll just bet you will, Beau thought. Under other circumstances, he might have been flattered by the blatant invitation in her eyes—she was a beautiful woman, after all, and he was, well, a man. But he had a funny feeling she wouldn’t have given him a second glance if he had come to the party with anyone else.

  Before he could respond, one of the servers stopped near Leigh and murmured something to her about a problem in the kitchen. Annoyance tightened her expression, then Leigh smiled at them. To be precise, she smiled at him. Elizabeth, she ignored.

  “Will you excuse me? I’ve got to go deal with an incompetent caterer. I’m sure I’ll run into you later.”

  Not if he could help it. Beau waited until she’d hurried away, heels clicking on the polished marble floor, before he turned his attention back to Elizabeth.

  “You want to tell me about all that animosity?”

  Elizabeth blinked and offered up another one of those long pauses of hers. “I don’t know what you mean,” she finally said.

  “You and Ms. Sheffield. It was colder than a meat locker in here.”

  “You’re imagining things, I’m sure. Leigh and I have known each other all our lives.”

  He noticed her choice of words and had a feeling it was intentional. She didn’t say they’d been friends, just that they knew each other. He wanted to push her about the relationship but she cut him off before he could.

  “There’s Andrew,” she said quietly, gazing through a doorway into an adjoining room.

  The judge stood out from the half dozen people surrounding him, not only because he towered about half a foot higher than everyone else around him but because of his shock of pure-white hair.

  He was an imposing figure of a man, tall and commanding. A man Beau had always respected prior to this investigation.

  He studied the group around him, picking out a few fam
iliar faces, then his gaze narrowed at the man hovering just outside their circle, watching the room just as alertly as Beau was doing. Something about him—maybe the hard glint in his eyes or the unsmiling mouth—looked out of place among the lighthearted chatter.

  “Who’s that with him?”

  Elizabeth craned her neck. “Oh, that’s sweet Mrs. Partridge. Her family owns a dry-cleaning chain based in Tacoma.”

  “No. The other one. The guy who looks like a hired gun in a rented tux.”

  Her gaze narrowed as she tried to identify the object of his scrutiny. “That’s Andrew’s bodyguard, Mikhail something or other. I think he’s from one of the Baltic states.”

  “Why does Sheffield need a bodyguard at a party like this in his own home, with a hand-selected guest list?”

  She frowned. “I don’t know. Andrew doesn’t go anywhere without him, I can tell you that. A year or so ago Andrew received several death threats because of a case he presided over with ties to Asian gangs. I assume Mikhail’s presence has something to do with that. He’s very loyal and protective of Andrew.”

  Loyal and protective enough to take care of a nuisance like Tina Hidalgo if she threatened his boss’s nice, secure, comfortable life? The man sure looked like trouble on toast.

  Beau made a mental note to check into the man’s background. It shouldn’t be too tough to find out a last name and have Griff run a check through the various criminal databanks available, to see if anything popped up.

  He didn’t find it so hard to envision Sheffield having someone else do his dirty work. And who better than a bodyguard with hard eyes, who looked like he might be capable of anything?

  This wasn’t so terrible.

  Elizabeth smiled at Barre Wellington and asked another question about the older woman’s favorite topic, her small stable of Thoroughbreds.

  Barre immediately launched into a soliloquy about her newest purchase, a yearling out of a previous Belmont Stakes winner fated to follow in his sire’s grand footsteps.