Love By Association

She wasn’t there for him to prove anything to her. He pulled her closer. She wondered if he was as good in bed as it felt like he would be.

“You’re shivering.”

“I’m not overheated anymore, that’s for sure,” she lied. A chance meeting with the commissioner might have been better than the balcony she’d traded it for.

“Colin?” The female voice behind them had Chantel spinning guiltily around.

What was she doing?

She had to get back inside and mingle. Clearly spending time with Colin Fairbanks wasn’t going to be the “in” she’d hoped. Because “in bed” wasn’t her goal.

“Leslie?” He turned, too, greeting the other woman with a warm tone. Chantel would have left, except that he didn’t let go of her.

“I thought that I saw you out here,” the other woman said. She was as beautiful as expected with a perfect figure and auburn hair that did all the right things, including tapering down to perfectly molded breasts. Probably due to inserts. “I’ve been looking for you.” Her moist lips moved, but the smile didn’t leave her face.

As she came closer in the dim lighting, Chantel got a better look at her.

She was a good ten years older than Chantel. And probably Colin, as well, if she’d been right in assuming him to be about her age.

“Leslie Morrison, this is Chantel Johnson. She’s new to town, and you’re one of the people I wanted her to meet.”

She reached out a hand, grappling with the twisted means of fate. Leslie Morrison. Her sexy, distracting, dangerous companion had just given her the means to speak with the woman Chantel was there to save.

Her meeting with Colin hadn’t been a mistake or foolishness on her part. It had been preordained.

Chantel was going to use it for everything it had.

CHAPTER FOUR

“CHANTEL’S WRITING A BOOK.” Colin spoke with bragging rights he couldn’t possibly have earned in the space of an hour. He heard himself and stood there grinning, anyway.

He’d been the first to find her.

So he was staking his claim.

They were still with Leslie but had moved inside and had new drinks in their hands. They’d been joined by others, in ones and twos, who’d moved on in the same fashion.

Couldn’t have high society looking like groupies. Or lose that slightly bored look in spite of the new flesh among them.

“A book?” Leslie’s head dipped slightly, showing that she was impressed. In Leslie’s case, Colin understood the gesture to be more than a show. While Leslie Morrison had grown up among the rich in Southern California and was considered old money, she also was one of the most genuine among them.

Which, along with the fact that the Morrisons and Fairbankses had been doing business together for almost a millennium, was probably why Julie felt so comfortable with the older woman.

With a bit of humility Chantel nodded a little shyly. He wondered what she hid behind the sip of wine she took.

Amusement?

Or real embarrassment.

He wanted to believe the latter but had ceased expecting the best from people—especially the people in his crowd—a long time ago.

“What kind of book are you writing?” Leslie asked.

Another bit of a pause from Chantel was followed by, “Women’s fiction police procedural.” She took another sip, and added, “It’s a woman-in-jeopardy story told from the point of view of a female cop.”

Not very ladylike material, which might explain her slight discomfort. But then she probably hadn’t been in California long enough to know that she’d fit right in.

Leslie’s eyes widened. “Oh, Colin.” She reached out as though to touch his wrist and then pulled back. “You have to get her to help us with the library project,” she said before turning to Chantel. “If you have time, that is...”

“Of course I have time,” Chantel said. “My calendar is empty at the moment. What’s the library project?” She looked at them, her gaze lingering a tad bit longer on Colin.

Pretty sure he wasn’t imagining her interest, he took a step closer to her, intending to give her the short version, when Leslie said, “Colin, the two of you would be perfect for the lead roles!”

He’d agreed to help out—partially because his firm was handling the estate and resultant legal details, and partially because he wanted Julie to have more exposure in the book world—but his assistance was to have been only behind-the-scenes.

“What lead roles?” Chantel gave her head a little shake, but she was smiling through her confusion.

“Oh, we’re hosting a decadent murder mystery dinner—at a thousand dollars a plate—to help purchase books for our own full-service library in Santa Raquel.”

He’d hoped Julie would be a part of it, but so far, she’d refused to commit to anything other than helping Leslie with behind-the-scenes paperwork, guest lists and contacting people she knew with personal rare-book libraries who might be willing to donate a copy or two.

“Katie Estrada, a childless widow, willed her family’s mansion to Santa Raquel with the caveat that it be used as a library,” Colin said. “A trust was set up with money left in her estate to fund the salary of one librarian and to cover basic operating expenses for the first ten years,” he added.

“Voters passed a one-time tax levy to fund the minimal renovations necessary to convert the first floor into usable library space,” Leslie popped in. “But a similar levy to purchase books failed in November. Colin came up with the idea of the fundraiser. We’re hosting it on-site, opening up the mansion for those on the guest list to have access to the upper floors and rooms, as well. The evening is based loosely on the children’s game Clue, with built-in characters who will be seen in different rooms in the house and on the grounds. Attendees will be expected to speak with as many of those characters as possible throughout the evening and to ask fellow guests if they’ve seen or spoken to the characters, like investigators would question witnesses.”

Chantel was following every word, grinning and nodding.

“My firm handles the trust and all estate matters.” Colin explained his involvement.

“The idea is wonderful,” Chantel told him. “And certainly not something they taught you in law school.”

“It allows guests to feel some affinity with the home, to make a memory there.” Leslie stole Chantel’s gaze from him.

“The point of the format is to bring guests together in a feeling of mutual support, rather than in suspecting one another of ‘murder,’” he added, not sure why he was promoting the event so heavily to this woman.

Because he wanted her to be his leading lady?

He wasn’t even planning to play a part. Let alone a lead role.

Her approving nod gave him his answer. He was trying to impress her. Might as well be honest with himself about that.

“We’re hoping, of course, that attendees will pledge continued monetary support,” Leslie added. “We’d like to be able to have the library open by summer. Colin and his sister, along with the rest of the committee, already have more than a hundred people confirmed for the event.”

“I’d be happy to help in any way I can.” Chantel didn’t miss a beat. “I’ve been involved with library funding work in the past.”

Of course she had. Her family was in publishing. He should have thought of inviting her to the event; he was sure he’d have gotten around to thinking of it.

Just as soon as he got his head out of his pants. Chantel Johnson was a beautiful woman and new to town. But she was also a person who’d piqued his interest.

He didn’t just want to take her to bed—though there was no denying he wanted to do that—he also wanted to do it more than once.

Maybe even over a long period of time—if things continued as well as they’d started.

He’d been with her over an hour and she hadn’t raised his defenses or said a single thing he’d found boring. Everything about her was unique. And everything about him was interested.

* * *

OH, BOY. She was in over her head.

Thanks to the family that had largely left her to tread water in her formative years, Chantel was a good swimmer. Leslie leaned in, closing off their threesome from interruption from the rest of the room. “We have a basic script,” she said. “But it’s just that—basic. With the price we’re charging, I’ve been a bit nervous that the evening would turn out to be too much of a been-there-done-that with this crowd.”

Colin shifted. His arm brushed her bare shoulder again, but she was ready for the heat this time. She maintained the contact, her visible attention on the woman she’d hoped to meet that night.

But meeting Leslie Morrison wasn’t even close to getting the job done. Chantel needed a lot more time in the woman’s circle if she hoped to get the necessary evidence to save her life.

Or to gain her confidence enough to get her to press charges against her husband.

At the moment, Colin Fairbanks seemed like a fairly obvious godsend. He was her ticket to the circle—one that would not raise suspicion in anyone who might get nervous about Leslie suddenly having a new “friend.”

Her job, she suddenly understood, was to make certain that she kept him interested enough to keep her around.

Leslie was still talking. “But if we can give attendees an evening to remember, something that’s not easy to do with this bunch, we’ll get donations commensurate with their enjoyment. Some of us out here on the West Coast might be hard to truly entertain, but probably because of that, we’re very generous with our money when we do find ourselves having a good time.”

She was speaking freely because she thought Chantel was “one of them.” Chantel got that. It was up to her to keep Leslie and her crowd under that impression.

“So I’m thinking, with your writing skills...you could take the basic story and add twists and turns that will give them something they’ve never seen before, something unique.”

Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive. Her mother’s voice, of all things, popped into her mind from many years before.

“I’d be happy to have a go at it,” she said aloud, wondering how much it would cost the police department to hire a ghostwriter on short notice. One thing was for sure, her limited undercover budget wasn’t going to cover it.

Her mother’s brother’s wife, whose family, the Johnsons, were in publishing in New York, had a small nonfiction publishing company. Her aunt and uncle had been at her high school graduation, and Chantel hadn’t seen them since.

That contact probably wasn’t going to be much help...here.

A couple passed behind Colin. He shifted, placing a hand at her back as he stepped closer. He left the hand there.

“You’ll get a look at the lead parts, then,” Leslie said. The slightly sly grin she gave Colin made it obvious she was working him. “Seriously, I think you two would be perfect for them.”

“I’m not an actor.” Colin’s reminder was firm, but kind.

It would have stopped Chantel.

“Of course you are, my dear,” Leslie said. “We all are. It’s the only way to survive living among us all!” She chuckled.

And Chantel was chilled by the tragic truth she was certain she heard underneath the woman’s polish.

“I’m not sure I understand why you think Colin and I would be perfect for the parts,” Chantel said, an investigator, a high-society beauty and a writer all wrapped into one. While playing a part in the library’s mystery-event evening could very well provide her with access to Leslie as well as giving her the excuse she needed to stick close to Colin, to use him as her cover as she attended functions over the next weeks, she didn’t want him to have reason to avoid her.

Which he very well could if he didn’t want to play the part.

She also didn’t want to appear too eager. Was she adopting enough of the blasé attitude she’d observed on so many of the videos of the rich and famous she’d watched over the past week?

His hand caressed her back. Whatever she was doing, she had to keep doing it. She seemed to have piqued his interest.

“The story is based on a couple who are newly married and just moving into the mansion. They’ve inherited it and a couple of staff from his uncle. The day they move in, a couple of his uncle’s close friends stop by. They continue to check in. The couple has only been there a few of days when they discover a dead body that’s been dragged behind a hidden door in the upstairs hall. The two staff members, and everyone else who’d dropped by, are suspects.”

“But neither member of the lead couple is?”

“No.” Leslie shook her head. “You see, that’s why you and Colin fit the parts so well...” She had a little smile on her face, her eyes alight. And no matter her age, she was really quite beautiful.

“Leslie.” The one word was softly spoken, coming from just behind Leslie. A man had approached.

Chantel watched as Leslie’s face became instantly devoid of emotion and a split second later was smiling again. “James.” Leslie turned, taking the man’s hand and pulling him forward.

“James, good to see you.” Colin reached to shake the other man’s hand. She didn’t detect even a hint of stiffening in the other man’s presence.

Did he have any idea what James Morrison did to his wife behind closed doors?

God forbid, could Colin be part of the good-old-boy mentality that would cover up any hint of abuse with justification of one kind or another?

Or was the High Risk team wrong in their assessment of the situation?

“You’re monopolizing Colin’s time, my love,” James said to his wife, a tender look on his face as he wrapped his arm around her lower back. “The auction is about to start.”

Chantel zeroed in on the hand James had on his wife’s hip. She was pretty sure, in spite of the room’s elegantly soft lighting, that those fingertips had whitened with the application of pressure.

“No, I’m monopolizing her,” Colin quickly asserted. He glanced at his watch. “We’re making plans for the library. We’ve got another fifteen minutes or so before things get going. I promise to release her to you before then.”

His easy tone matched his expression. James hesitated, but only for a second, before kissing his wife’s cheek and telling her he’d meet her at their table.

“As I was saying...” Leslie was still with them, but the glow had gone from her eyes. “You and Colin just met—like the couple in our mystery just married. Embarking on the new, so to speak.”

Colin lifted a hand to cover his mouth as he half coughed. “I don’t know...”

“It’s perfect because Colin is in charge of all the legal, technical aspects of the evening, and you’ll be our creative administrator. You’ll both need to be there, owners of the mansion for the evening.”

Leslie smiled, and Chantel was fairly certain she saw a note of uncertainty on the other woman’s face now. Maybe she was imagining it all—James’s too-forceful squeezing of his wife’s hip, her loss of positive energy.

And maybe she wasn’t.

Maybe the woman’s husband had just sucked the life out of her with his reminder of the harsh realities in her life.

“I’d be happy to play the lead female role,” she burst out. And then glanced at Colin. In time to see his look of surprise.

An expression he quickly cloaked, leaving her with the brief thought to challenge him to a game of poker sometime.

“Then I accept, as well,” he told Leslie. “I can’t leave this lovely lady stranded without a hero in her first Santa Raquel story.”

His words reminded Chantel that she was going to be expected to write that story, or at least appear as though she’d done so.

She’d feel more confident bursting into a bar, gun drawn, to break up a brawl. At least it was something she’d done before.

Accepting Colin’s invitation to loop her arm through his and accompany him to the rows of seats up front to watch the auction, she promised herself a bowl of chocolate ice cream for breakfast.

Whatever it took to keep the panic at bay.

CHAPTER FIVE

“YOU’RE GRINNING.”

“What?” A piece of whole wheat toast halfway to his mouth, Colin looked up from his tablet—he read the news every morning over breakfast—and focused on his sister.

“You’re grinning,” she said again. Dressed in light-colored pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt, with her long dark hair curling over her shoulders, Julie looked about sixteen. Spoon suspended above her grapefruit, she was watching him.

They took breakfast together every day in the small room with a wall of windows that overlooked the ocean.

“What’s funny?” she asked now. In another half hour, she’d be leaving the dishes in the sink for their housekeeper and going up to shower. She had at least two meetings that he knew of that day—one in Los Angeles with executives from the Sunshine Children’s League. She was hoping to get funds for the Santa Raquel hospital to hire a child-life specialist to work exclusively with patients without family visitors.

“Nothing’s funny. I didn’t realize I was smiling.”

“You were staring at your tablet but haven’t scrolled in at least five minutes.”

She was exaggerating.

“I met the most marvelous woman last night.”

“Oh?” Leaning toward him, she said, “Do tell.”

“You can see for yourself,” he said over his bite of toast. “She’s agreed to help with the library project. She’ll be at lunch tomorrow.”

They were having it catered in what had been a dining room but was now a conference room at the Estrada mansion—giving the committee time to look around at the renovations that had been made since they’d last toured the place.

“You just met her and already roped her into helping us?”

He would have, if he’d thought of it first. “Leslie did.”

“And that’s how you met her? Leslie hooked you up?”

He might have been exasperated by his little sister’s nosiness if he wasn’t so damned glad to see the old teasing light in her eyes.

“No. I managed to make her acquaintance all on my own. She’s new to town...” Did he bring up Chantel Johnson’s publishing background now...or after Julie had a chance to meet—and like—her?

“And she was on the auction invitation list?”

“She’s from New York. I’m assuming her family had connections.” And if they hadn’t, they’d just have needed to make a call or two to ease their daughter’s introduction to LA society.

“Let me guess—she’s slender, blond hair, big brown eyes and isn’t quite as tall as you are, but she’s not short. Oh, and last night she was wearing a black halter dress that she’d probably purchased last season.”

Her grin had turned into a mischievous smile. She’d been messing with him. Lucky for her, he was in an unusually good mood.

“You’ve been talking to Jaime.”

“She called as soon as the auction was over. I’d asked her to. I wanted to know how she did.”

He’d have sought the woman out himself the night before, as he’d originally intended, but when he’d heard that Chantel had arrived in a hired car, he’d offered to see her back to her hotel.

“How’d she do?”

Julie named a figure that elicited a long whistle from Colin and then said, “So what’s her story? This Chantel person. She must be something to have monopolized your time the entire evening.”

Here’s where he could tell her that Chantel was a writer, too. That maybe her family could take a look at Julie’s series of children’s stories.

He ate a couple of bites of melon from the crystal plate in front of him instead. “I’d rather you find out for yourself,” he told her. “I’m interested in your opinion.” True. And also prevarication.

“Ohhhh...” Julie’s brows were raised, her lips still tilted slightly upward. “You’re looking for familial approval.”

He could have firmly denied the accusation. Laughed her off. “I like her,” he said instead.

Julie set her spoon down. “As in, you-want-to-see-her-again like her?”

Scrolling down on his tablet, he said, “I just met her last night.” And then—partially because she was soon going to find out, anyway—he added, “We’re going to be playing the leading roles in the murder mystery.” He left out the part about Chantel juicing up the script.

“You agreed to play a part?” Her mouth hung open.

Looking her in the eye, Colin nodded. It had occurred to him that perhaps part of the reason his little sister didn’t feel more of a drive to get out of the house and start really living again—as in looking for a relationship so she could start a family of her own—was because she was following his example.

It was one of his theories. Right along with the one where she’d go out with him, if he kept after her, because she felt safe with him. And once she started getting out more, she’d remember how much she’d enjoyed it. He’d been working off that one for more than a year...

“Wow. She must really be something if you’re coming out of the background at a party.”

He didn’t know about that. But Julie’s reaction did add to his suspicion that she held back more because he did. Could he help it that he took after their father? A man who preferred to observe and be aware? Julie had been more like their mother—the social one.

For a while, too long probably, he’d understood her reticence. But she was only three years from thirty. And hadn’t been on a date since high school.

“Well, I think that since I’m going to be way out of my comfort zone on this one, you could join me in that state by at least attending the event.”

She was still watching him. Her gaze more curious than guarded. She hadn’t said no.

“Will you? Please?” It was still a month away. She could think about it. And say yes and then change her mind, too.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” He raised an eyebrow at her, while inside he was hosting a minicelebration.

“I kind of want to watch you with your leading lady...” Her expression pointed, her tone wasn’t filled with despondency. He took that as another small victory. “But it’ll depend on the guest list.” The last was issued with a matter-of-factness that had become a way of life.

It depended whether or not the Smyths were attending. He’d wanted to keep them off the list, but they both knew that he couldn’t. Not while maintaining Julie’s front of there being nothing egregiously wrong between the two high-society families. Because she didn’t want it known how damaged she’d been. She wasn’t going to let that family run her out of the town she’d been born to, raised in and loved.

Which was why, on rare occasions, she’d go to evening functions—to maintain her own status quo. But it was usually only when the Smyths were vacationing elsewhere.

And they weren’t going to be this time. He’d heard the night before that they’d be attending the library event. It was turning out to be the event of the year. Everyone was going to be there.

Except his sweet sister, who was helping to put on the event?

Julie went back to her grapefruit and toast. Colin scrolled on his tablet and thought about the woman he’d met the night before. Thought about the fact that he was still thinking about her.

About ensuring that, aside from murder-mystery business, he’d be seeing her again. Soon.

“She really had an effect on you.” He was deep in thought about him and Chantel on a yacht on the ocean—something about a private dinner at sunset—when Julie interrupted him.

Glancing up, he saw her studying him. This time minus the grin. “Who?”

But he knew who.

“You were grinning again,” she told him. “And not scrolling.”

Did Julie spend every morning watching him scroll, for God’s sake? Making a note to read his news before or after he got to the breakfast table—to spend those few minutes every morning paying more attention to his sister—he said, “There’s something different about her, Jules. She’s not like the rest of the women I know. I’m eager for you to meet her.”

Julie did smile then. “And I’m getting more and more curious.”