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Leaning forward, she checked the light makeup her aunt had applied—just a few touches to her lashes and eyelids, along with lipstick. “And you’re sure I don’t need any other makeup?”
“Not with your complexion.”
Layne collected the matching purse that came with the dress. “Then we’d better get going. I’ll never look as good as you, anyway.”
“Nonsense. You’re lovely.” Her aunt smoothed a hand over her midnight velvet gown. It was high at the neck, with crisscross straps down the back that made it look classily provocative. “I haven’t worn an evening gown in ages.”
“It’s for a good cause.”
They walked out to the car and Layne patted the roof of her classic 1966 Mustang. Much to her parents’ displeasure, her aunt and uncle had given it to her as a high school graduation present. The light turquoise color wasn’t original, but it suited Layne. The Mustang had been Uncle Will’s first car and they’d carefully restored it for her, including the installation of the latest modern seat belts with shoulder straps—they’d been indulgent, not reckless.
She drove downtown to the fancy hotel where the gala was being held. Inside she produced her invitation and they were motioned into the ballroom. Layne wrinkled her nose at the assembly; big, glitzy parties with “the beautiful people” were way out of her comfort zone. Nevertheless, she circulated with Aunt Dee around the room, keeping watch for Matthew Hollister.
It was an hour before they saw him. She nudged Aunt Dee. “There he is.”
“Surrounded by women.”
“Maybe that’s why he never got married. I mean, who’d want to deal with that every day?”
Dee didn’t reply as they maneuvered closer. They’d almost succeeded in getting within speaking distance when Matt noticed Layne and his expression froze. He drifted farther away, and they spent the next twenty minutes trying to get near, while he kept finding ways to shift himself away from them.
She looked at her aunt, expecting to see frustration, but something very different was smoldering in Dee’s eyes. She rarely got angry, but now she was furious. “He really thinks he’s important, doesn’t he?” she muttered.
Layne eyed Matt, tall and elegant in his suit, surrounded by his harem of adoring women. He actually appeared dignified, a major feat for a man who was famous for a bare-chested photo in a hot tub, tipping a champagne flute to the camera.
“I suppose it’s a question of perspective. He’s rich, his mother is from one of the oldest families in Seattle and he’s famous in more ways than one. In his world, he is important.”
“Well, I’ve had enough,” Dee said abruptly, but instead of turning for the exit, she thrust her glass into Layne’s hand and determinedly marched toward Matt Hollister.
Uh-oh. Layne quickly calculated how much wine her aunt had actually consumed, and realized it was quite a lot. Dorothy Hudson did not hold her liquor well.
“Layne, you made it.”
Harried, she realized it was Noah Wilkie. “Yeah. Hi, Noah.” She put the two glasses she held onto a waiter’s passing tray. “Hate to run, but I need to...” She gestured vaguely as she hurried toward her aunt.
“And what are you going to do about it?” Dee was demanding as Layne reached her.
Matt smiled charmingly, though when he saw Layne, his eyes began to glitter. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hudson, I don’t know what you’re talking about. And this is hardly the setting for a business discussion.”
“It’s as good a place as any.”
“Aunt Dee, please. Not here, and not this way,” Layne said a low, urgent tone. While the admiring crowd had faded away at the prospect of an emotional scene, Noah had followed and he was watching the confrontation with a curious expression.
“Aunt Dee?” Matt repeated, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m sorry, I should have told you. I was going to, but then you weren’t...uh....”
“I remember,” he said grimly.
“Peter Davidson is your stepfather and you worked at the company,” Dee announced. “You must be able to tell me more.”
“Aunt Dee, Noah Wilkie is here,” Layne told her urgently. “Remember what I told you about Noah? He works at the—”
“I’m entitled to information, Layne. I’m tired of being put off, with one excuse after another.”
Noah had obviously perked up his ears and Layne grimaced. Terrific. Aunt Dee was running her mouth off in front of the biggest gossip in Seattle. Even if he didn’t write about the incident, he was bound to mention it to someone at the magazine. It was part of the reason she’d wanted to attend the gala with her aunt, instead of Noah.
“Layne, Aunt Dorothy, I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” exclaimed a familiar voice.
It was Layne’s sister, Jeannette, looking flawless from the top of her blond head to the tip of her Prada shoes. Her gown wasn’t a recycled bridesmaid’s dress; it was probably a designer outfit that had cost a fortune. She could afford it as a fast-rising pharmaceutical executive. As for the shoes, Layne only knew they were Prada because Jeannette never wore anything else.
“Hi, Jeannette. I didn’t know you were coming, either.” She should have guessed, though. It was the sort of high-toned party Jeannie attended all the time.
“Oh, yes, the mayor invited me. My company is a major contributor to his favorite charity.” Jeannette turned and gave Matt a dazzling smile. “Matthew Hollister, right? I’m Jeannette McGraw, senior vice president of the Wilcox Pharmaceutical research division. It’s so nice to meet you.”
Layne glanced at Matt Hollister, seeing without surprise that he no longer appeared annoyed. Men were usually overwhelmed when they met one of her older sisters—Jeannette and Stephanie were extraordinarily beautiful and successful. So maybe it was a good thing Jeannie had shown up and provided a distraction. Aunt Dee was looking puzzled, but calmer, while Noah appeared starstruck at the sight of so much womanly perfection.
“Would you like to have a drink with me, Mr. Hollister?” Jeannie asked.
“Delighted, but call me Matt.”
“And I’m Jeannette. I’m very interested in the business model you want to apply to the research on finding a cure for ALS. I’ve never heard of a nonprofit using that approach.” All at once she looked at Layne and Dee apologetically. “But how rude of me. You were speaking with my sister and aunt. We can have that drink later.”
Matt gave them a cool glance. “No need to wait—we’re done.”
Their voices faded as they walked away and Layne nudged a dazed Noah with her elbow. “You’re married, remember?”
He dragged his attention away from Jeannie’s shapely backside. “What...that’s ridiculous. I’m crazy about my wife.”
“Good. Jeannie has broken more hearts than I can count. All she needs to do is smile and they shatter.”
“Is she really your sister? You don’t look at all alike.”
“Yeah, she really is.” Layne was resigned to the question. She took after her father’s maternal grandmother. If she hadn’t looked so much like Great-Grandmother Harriet, she might have suspected she was adopted, or that she’d been sent home from the hospital with the wrong family. There was no justice to being the little sister in more ways than one—both Jeannette and Stephanie topped her by at least five inches. Her mom, too.
Oh, well.
She mentally shrugged; it could have been worse—she could have looked like Great Grandmother Petra.
“Come on, Aunt Dee,” she said. “Let’s go home and have hot chocolate and some of the biscotti you baked yesterday.”
Dee spared a single glance in the direction Matt had disappeared with her other niece. She looked deflated and embarrassed. “All right.”
Layne hurried her out, hoping Noah would be so consumed with the memory of Jeannie’s flawless femininity, he wouldn’t remember the interesting bit of dialogue that had come his way. After all, even though Matt Hollister didn’t seem bothered by press coverage, she knew the rest of the Eisley family abhorred being in the news for anything except ribbon cuttings and Eisley Foundation success stories.
CHAPTER FOUR
MATT CHATTED WITH Jeannette McGraw at the bar as they waited for their drinks. She was tall, articulate, intelligent and had a stunning smile. Basically, the type of woman who had always attracted him, yet he kept picturing Layne McGraw in his mind.
Jeannette’s pint-sized sister was irritating, but she had a quiet freshness that was appealing at the same time. Not that it mattered. Things had just gone from a headache to a major problem. What were Layne and her aunt after, and did Jeannette have anything to do with it?
He looked at the beautiful blonde and saw nothing but a prowling female looking back at him. It seemed improbable that she knew anything about her sister’s activities, or she wouldn’t have interrupted.
“What was that again?” he said, realizing Jeannette had posed a question.
“I, uh, asked if you knew of any other nonprofit organizations applying a business model to medical research?”
“There’s at least one, and they’ve had encouraging results. I read about it a couple of years ago and thought the concept was intriguing.” Matt didn’t add that it was when he’d been laid up with his broken tibia. He’d gone out with a high fever and racking cough to a slope nicknamed the Devil’s Widow Maker; he was lucky he hadn’t broken his fool neck instead of his leg.
He glanced across the large ballroom. Had Layne and her aunt gone home, or were they lingering, hopeful he would relent and give them what they wanted? It had only taken him a second to recognize Dorothy Hudson—she wasn’t the kind of woman you forgot. With her classic beauty she could have stepped from a delicate hand-carved cameo.
“So, how do you know my sister?” Jeannette asked. She laughed lightly. “I was surprised to see her here—this sort of party isn’t her scene. She’s a backyard barbecue sort of gal. Probably complete with tofu burgers. Not that she cooks, but she has vegan friends who do.”
“I’m barely acquainted with Layne.”
“That’s good to know. I wouldn’t want to step on her toes...if you understand what I mean?” She was obviously trying to be delicate, but there was a distinct invitation in her eyes.
Matt was tempted, despite her connection to the Hudson scandal, yet the subtle slap at her sister had put his teeth on edge. He was tired of predatory games. Honestly, he’d heard women stick a verbal knife in one another—some would do anything to get ahead—but between sisters it was particularly distasteful.
“I understand. Do you plan to stay in pharmaceuticals or go elsewhere?” he queried, deliberately moving the subject away from flirtatious topics. Few women could match Jeannette McGraw, but at the moment, he simply wasn’t interested.
Though disappointment flickered in her expression, she began describing her work. Ironically, that was when she seemed most genuine. Her polish and sophistication weren’t unique, but her apparent commitment to developing new antibiotics was admirable.
“So both of your parents are doctors,” he mused after a several minutes. “I imagine that influenced your career choice.”
“Yes.” The playful invitation had vanished entirely from her eyes, which told him she was smart enough to get the message without him needing to be blunt. Whether she knew why he’d lost interest was another question.
Matt swirled the golden liquid in his brandy snifter, then set it on a tray. “It was very nice meeting you, Jeannette, but I have a check to write for the mayor’s favorite charity.”
“I hope we’ll run into each other another time.”
“Certainly.”
Matt quickly made his charitable contribution and headed out to the parking garage, hoping to see Peter before he went to bed. He also wanted to speak with Connor, though the Eisley security chief rarely seemed to sleep in Matt’s experience, so getting there early enough wasn’t an issue.
The city streets were still teeming with people as he drove to his grandfather’s estate. His stepfather and mother lived in a wing of the mansion, while his grandparents lived in another. It wasn’t an ideal arrangement, at least for Peter, but he’d agreed because it was what Katrina had wanted. At the security gate Matt stopped and nodded as the guard stepped forward.
“Good evening, Mr. Hollister. We didn’t expect you tonight.”
“It wasn’t planned, but I have some business to discuss with my stepfather.”
“I believe Mr. Davidson is taking his evening stroll. He passed by a few minutes ago, headed toward the water.” The guard gestured to the southwest.
“Thanks, I’ll see if I can catch up.”
Matt parked and hurried down the moonlit path. Growing up he’d roamed every inch of the grounds and could find his way blindfolded. There were acres on the estate, with fine gardens surrounding the house, and the rest in natural woodland crossed by a meandering creek, yet it had seemed like a prison when he was a boy. Nobody would admit it, but his mother had been virtually agoraphobic back then. And she’d tried to keep him confined to the estate as well. It was his grandparents who’d insisted he go to boarding school.
Terrence “Terry” Jackson had been Matt’s only friend. As the son of the head groundskeeper, Terry had come to work with his father during the summer. They’d spent every minute together, discovering ways to beat the security system, goofing off and having fun.
Matt’s mouth tightened.
Damn it, Terry had children and was a dedicated teacher. A new ALS research project to discover a cure, however well funded, was just a shot in the dark. They both knew it was unlikely to yield results in time to help him.
“Peter, it’s me,” Matt called, seeing his stepfather’s silhouette near the high, tree-lined bluff overlooking the Puget Sound. The moon hung above the horizon, painting everything in silver light and shadow.
“Matt, you’re the last person I expected to see tonight. Didn’t you go to the mayor’s gala?”
“Actually, that’s why I’m here. Dorothy Hudson was there as well, asking questions about the embezzlement case. And her niece Layne came to my office yesterday about it.”
He heard Peter’s sharp intake of breath. “What did you tell them?”
It seemed an odd inquiry, but it was an odd situation. How many people had a business partner who’d embezzled several million dollars?
“Very little. They want details about how the thefts occurred, and probably some other information. Apparently the police and the Carrollton D.A.’s office won’t speak to them, so they’re going elsewhere for the answers.”
“I’ve tried to protect Dorothy from as much of the ugliness as possible,” Peter said irritably. “You’d think she’d appreciate what I’ve done instead of reopening the wounds. William stuck a damned knife in my back and took the coward’s way out when he got caught. It’s as simple as that.”
“His suicide must make his death harder for her to deal with,” Matt murmured.
“That isn’t my problem.”
The harsh response made Matt uncomfortable, but he tried to put himself in Peter’s shoes. His stepfather felt betrayed and angry and wanted to put it behind him. And he was struggling to make his marriage work, which was no picnic considering Katrina’s problems. Matt adored his mother and would do anything for her, but he wasn’t blind. She hated to have her name in the press, and she didn’t leave the Eisley estate except for a few exclusive social gatherings.
“I appreciate your telling me about this, son,” said his stepfather. “I recently told Dorothy I want to sell the company, so perhaps it’s just a momentary aberration on her part. She’s a nice woman, but she operates largely on emotion, rather than logic. Her artistic temperament, I suppose.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll see you sometime next week.”
They shook hands, yet Matt was more unsettled than ever as he headed for the small house where Connor O’Brian resided on the estate.
Connor’s choice of residence was another puzzle. Matt understood why his grandfather would want his security chief living close by; he just wasn’t sure why Connor had accepted the arrangement. Yet as he stepped to the rise and looked down at the place, nestled against the dark outline of forest behind it, he wondered if the small stone house reminded Connor of Ireland. It had been built by Gaelic craftsmen, along with the mansion and high limestone walls surrounding the estate.
He didn’t have a chance to knock on the door since Connor opened it as he approached. “Do you have an early warning system when people arrive?” he asked the older man.
“Dog. Beats electronics any day.”
“Oh. Do you ever sleep?”
“Only on alternate days. Come in, Matt.”
Like the carriage house exterior, the interior probably looked little different from when it was built. There were white plaster walls, natural wood beams exposed in the ceiling, and the broad planked wood floors were polished smooth by over a hundred years of use. The furniture was basic and solid with no decoration. Matt’s own penthouse apartment was stark, but Connor’s living room gave the word new meaning.
“Hey, Finnster,” he called to the rottweiler lying on the floor. The dog raised his head, let out a faint woof of greeting and settled back again. “This place is pretty bare, Connor. You’ve lived here, what, fourteen years?”
“I like being able to leave at a moment’s notice. Helps if you don’t have a lot of nonsense weighing you down.”
Matt had few physical possessions himself, having moved around on the party circuit for so many years, but he had a sneaking suspicion it wouldn’t take Connor more than a minute to do a fast fade out the back door.
“Do you expect to pick up and leave any time soon?”
