Love By Association

He hoped so. He wanted Julie to like Chantel. Not just because he did and hoped the woman would be around awhile, but because her publishing experience, her own drive as a writer, could help Julie take enough of a step out of her shell to submit some of her work for publication.

Maybe she’d even be able to help him convince Julie to attend the murder mystery gala. It would be a miracle.

But who knew? Colin being preoccupied by a woman was a bit of a miracle, too.

CHAPTER SIX

ON DUTY AT four on Friday, Chantel finished off a pint of chocolate ice cream for breakfast and lunch at a computer at the precinct, looking up names from the party the night before. Pulling police reports for any that had them. She already had everything there was to have on the Morrisons. Today she was looking at the others on the guest list.

A break-in, never solved. Several traffic incidents. A couple of DUIs.

First and foremost, she’d gone straight to the Fairbankses. And hadn’t been surprised to find not one single reference to them in the police database. You didn’t run a law firm as successful as Fairbanks, most particularly not with the types of clients they represented, if you were prone to mischief.

Still, a girl could never be too careful. If she was going to pretend an interest in the rainmaking attorney—and she was most definitely going to if she could persuade him to pursue her—she needed to be certain that he was going to help her case, not hurt it.

After brunch, already in uniform, she stopped to give the captain her report and then headed out in her car, driving by Max and Meri’s house—completely unnecessarily, given that the man who’d tortured Meri was in prison for life in Nevada, but it was something she still did several times a week, just the same. And she took a drive by The Lemonade Stand, too, going around the block twice, just watching. She was glad to see that the shops that fronted the unique women’s shelter were conducting business as usual. There was no reason for them not to be.

But the women who were fighting for their lives inside those shops, fighting for fresh starts, striving to live without violence, deserved to be watched over.

Then she went to the beach, to sit on a bench and watch the ocean. To clear her mind, relax a bit, so that she’d be prepared and focused when she hit the streets that evening.

What she saw, as she sat there, was an empty beach with an inner vision of her and Colin Fairbanks transposed onto the sand. They were walking, hand in hand.

And there the vision stopped. Even when she’d been in a serious relationship, Chantel hadn’t been the type who held hands on the beach. Or had her doors opened for her, either.

But boy, if ever she had been, a hand like Colin’s wouldn’t have been horrible to hold...

Giving herself a mental shake, she thought about Leslie Morrison and replayed their meeting the night before over and over. Making note of the “tells” the other woman had given her. There’d been too many to ignore.

Even accounting for the fact that Chantel had been specifically looking and could have made something out of nothing a time or two, she hadn’t imagined Leslie’s completely changed manner after her husband had joined them.

Whatever Chantel thought, personally, of Colin Fairbanks, whatever strange and possibly delicious feelings he’d raised in her undercover persona were irrelevant. If, indeed, he was presenting her with the perfect alibi for spending more time in his circle than a few charity events would afford, she was going to use him for all he was worth.

Because saving a woman and her son from brutality was far more important than Chantel’s social life.

She’d just have to make certain that Colin understood, from the beginning, that their time together had nothing to do with any real caring between them. She couldn’t let things develop beyond enjoying each other’s company. Maybe she’d have to change her story a bit—maybe she was only in California until she finished her story. Maybe the family would need her back in her publishing position as soon as her book was done. She was out to save a life—not to be cruel.

* * *

COLIN FELT LIKE a schoolboy as he pulled into the recently poured parking lot of Santa Raquel’s first and impressive full-service library just before noon on Saturday.

In business attire, minus the jacket, he perused the parking lot, wondering if she was there yet.

“You see her car?” Julie asked from the seat beside him. Guiding his Lincoln Continental to a stop beside a silver Mercedes—a birthday gift to Leslie Morrison from her husband—he shrugged.

“I have no idea what she drives. She was dropped off by the hotel’s limousine the other night.” And then he realized that he’d fallen into Julie’s trap. She’d never named whose car he might have been seeking.

Yes, he’d been thinking about Chantel Johnson. Looking forward to seeing her. It may also have occurred to him that she’d change her mind and not show.

After all, what did he really know about her? Except that she was beautiful and had made one hell of a first impression on him. She could be a total flake. Lord knew, there were enough of them in their set. There were people, young women in his set among them, who did exactly as they said they would do, too.

A long black limousine pulled into the grand entrance in front of the historic mansion.

“Is that her?” Julie asked, looking beautiful in tight black pants, and a long, figure-hugging black-and-white silk top with a black silk scarf tied loosely around her neck. She handled her three-inch spiked heels like they were tennis shoes as she shut the door of the Lincoln behind her. “She’s beautiful, Colin.”

“Yeah, that’s her.” Reminding himself to wait for his sister, Colin approached the front entrance, getting turned on as one long leg followed another out of the car. In a fitted blue dress that ended just above the knee, the blonde woman with her perfectly manicured nails and sleek makeup could be stepping out of the pages of a fashion magazine.

Except that she looked far too elegant to ever parade herself for hours in front of a camera.

“Chantel!” He greeted her just outside the massive front door. “Good to see you again.” She couldn’t be blamed for thinking he was stalking her—appearing just at the exact moment that she arrived. “I’d like you to meet my sister.” He drew Julie closer. “Julie Fairbanks, Chantel Johnson.”

Two slender hands met. And, if he wasn’t mistaken, the two women sized each other up. Julie’s interest he understood. But Chantel’s? Could it be that she really was as interested in him as he was in her? That the instant attraction between them was mutual?

Only way to find out was to pursue her. And so he would.

Holding the door, Colin followed both of the women inside.

* * *

THE LIBRARY COMMITTEE consisted of six members. Seven including Chantel. Each member of the committee was in charge of an aspect of the project—from catering to marketing—and each had people working with them. As they sat over lunch—a sample from the three top caterers in the running to provide the mystery dinner on gala night—one by one they reported on their progress.

Leslie, who was the committee’s head, ran the meeting. To her right, at a table set for eight in what had once been a dining room and was soon going to be one of several conference rooms in the Santa Raquel Public Library, sat Emily Longfellow, a thirtysomething woman whose plain features were accentuated with beautiful jewelry. Emily was in charge of arranging the mansion for the evening’s entertainment—including all furnishings necessary not only to accommodate dinner seating for a couple of hundred people, but for any necessary accoutrements for the mystery that would be unfolding throughout the night. Next to Emily was a little woman who must be at least seventy, Martha something or other, who was responsible for floral arrangements.

John Duncan, next to Emily, was a man Chantel had met the other night at the auction. He was a young attorney in Colin’s office who, having just recently passed the bar exam, was on the committee but was there to oversee any work that Colin determined was legally necessary. John’s father, Clemency Duncan, was chief of neurosurgery at Stanford Hospital.

And then, opposite John, was Colin. Chantel was in between him and Julie, who sat directly to Leslie’s left.

When Chantel was introduced as their artistic director, everyone smiled and welcomed her. She had a feeling every one of them had already known everything there was to know about her. What she’d led everyone to believe about her, she amended the thought as she smiled and greeted everyone before taking a stab at the salad in front of her. It had walnuts in it. And cranberries.

“Chantel’s going to be beefing up the script for us, but since I am giving it to her only this afternoon, she hasn’t had a chance to read it yet.” Leslie continued and then moved on to Julie, in charge of invitations and marketing, who reported that their guest count was closing in on the two hundred mark.

Obviously in her element, Leslie Morrison appeared to be exactly what everyone thought she was—confident, healthy, in control, in charge. There was nothing about her that even hinted at any kind of unrest at home. She asked for the committee members’ opinions as to whether or not they should raise the guest cap on the function in the event that response continued to be so positive. Leslie took a vote and the cap was raised by fifty.

Conversations broke out at that point, Leslie leaned over to say something for Julie’s ears only and Chantel relaxed for just a moment. Long enough to feel the brush of Colin’s thigh against hers beneath the table. He was engaged in conversation with John, and at first she thought the contact had been accidental.

Until his hand dropped to his lap, disappeared under the crisp white linen tablecloth and ended up on her leg.

He was taking a hell of a lot for granted, based on one night’s meeting. Or was simply being bold, telling her in the only way he could in that moment that he was interested.

His fingers didn’t slide up her leg. Or toward her inner leg. He wasn’t being a creep. Or disrespectful, either. He just held on.

And Chantel liked it.

* * *

“DO YOU HAVE some experience with scriptwriting?” Julie was trying the spinach quiche Chantel had shied away from, and, finished with whatever she and Leslie had been discussing, she was addressing Chantel while she ate. Her smile was warm and friendly, reminding Chantel of Jill—the best friend she’d had since grade school and lost to a crook’s bullet several years before.

“None,” Chantel admitted, breathing through the memory. And then, remembering her cover, said, “I’m a writer, though.” You didn’t have to be published to be a writer.

“Oh? What do you write? Anything I might have read?” Colin’s hand moved from her leg, leaving a cold place.

“Hardly.” She grinned and almost forgot to soften the edge of street life from her voice. “I’m not published. Yet,” she added to give the impression that she was serious about her pursuit.

“Do you have an agent?”

Did she? Trying to remember anything she might have heard about her aunt’s business, and the story she’d told Colin about her own publishing position, she decided on, “Yes.” And hoped she wasn’t digging a grave before she was ready to bury Chantel Johnson. She’d be doing publishing and agent research later that night.

“So what are you writing?”

“Women’s fiction. Suspense. It’s a woman-in-jeopardy story.” And before she saw any of these people again, she better have some kind of plot fleshed out. She’d go through her case files. Find an interesting arrest that had converted to charges and then a conviction.

Colin’s hand was back. Chantel’s body responded with a small feeling between her legs. She didn’t dare look at him. But she did notice that he was no longer speaking with John.

She assumed he was listening to her and Julie. So she slipped her hand under the table, leaving it on her lap. “My family’s in publishing,” she said, telling Julie that she’d left behind a position of VP of marketing. Colin’s hand slid over hers.

When her libido leaped in response, Chantel took a sip of water and then added, “I’m going to go back to it, though. I talked to my folks last night. They agreed to give me as much time as I need to finish the book, as long as I would return to the family business when it’s done. In the meantime, they’re going to be sending work my way. Things they want my decisions on.”

There. Cleared up a bunch of issues. Namely, any chance that Colin Fairbanks would think there was any future in a relationship between them. It also negated any need for her to be in the market for a permanent residence. Something she had a feeling this friendly and powerful bunch would be glad to help with.

His hand didn’t leave her lap. Julie didn’t respond, either. She was looking at her brother and was no longer smiling.

Did she know what Colin was doing to Chantel under the table? And she disapproved? She’d gotten the impression earlier that Julie had been pleased to meet her...

“What do you all think?” Leslie’s voice raised as she addressed the table, halting private conversations. In that first second Chantel froze, heat rising up her neck and face. Did everyone know how her body was responding to the chaste touch of a man’s hand?

“Did everyone get a chance to try everything?” Leslie followed her first question with a second.

Chantel hadn’t had any quiche. Everyone else nodded.

“We need to make a choice today.” The caterers weren’t being mentioned by name. A had provided the quiche. B was the salad and bread assortments. C had brought some kind of grilled chicken that, in spite of the fact that it was chicken, the meat that was served at every banquet Chantel had ever attended, was delicious. Leslie passed around menus provided by all three caterers minus any kind of identifying determiner.

Discussion ensued. Chantel listened. Agreeing with Julie on every point she brought up—the flavors that, while gourmet, wouldn’t please as wide a range of palette as others. The need for a variety of options for those who couldn’t tolerate rich food but yet preventing the dreaded “bland” moniker being slapped on the evening. Colin opted for the meat and potatoes option over fondue and finger foods, his fingers leaving little caresses just above her knee.

As conversation died down, Leslie called for a show of hands in favor of A, followed by B and C. C had the job unanimously.

And Colin leaned over to ask her if he and Julie could drop her off at her hotel after their tour of the mansion, preventing the need for her to call and then wait for a ride.

Her announcement that she wasn’t going to be around for long hadn’t seemed to slow him down a bit. He was knowingly embarking on a short-time flirtation.

Which made him fair game.

She accepted his offer of a lift.

CHAPTER SEVEN

COLIN WAS READY to take the tour and go. Julie’s gaze had bruised him a bit. His little sister was pissed at him for keeping Chantel’s publishing background from her. He’d known she would be. But if he’d told her right up front, she’d probably have refused to meet her with an open mind.

Ever since the rape, she’d been slowly becoming more closed-minded. Stubborn.

Could he be blamed for caring enough to try to help her?

And Chantel...maybe she’d be free to have dinner with him that night. Just the two of them...

As Leslie was concluding the business portion of the day, the outer door of the library sounded. Someone had just come in.

“Ladies and gentlemen, dessert has arrived,” Leslie said, smiling, as a couple of white-coated women came into the room, each carrying a large brown box. And right behind them was...Patricia Reynolds—Commissioner Paul Reynolds’s wife.

Colin stiffened. What in hell the police commissioner’s wife was doing there he didn’t know. And he wouldn’t have cared, if not for the fact that Julie was sitting just a few feet away from him.

This was why she didn’t go out much. To avoid unexpected appearances...

“Now that the catering decision has been made, I can tell you that Patricia Reynolds has volunteered to handle the catering details for the mystery gala. As you all know, her daughter and son-in-law own Beachside Catering and, to avoid a potential conflict of interest, Patricia didn’t want to take on her duties until our choice had been made.”

Patricia smiled, including everyone in her greeting. The woman gave endlessly to the community. Volunteering everyplace she could. Providing companionship and guidance through a youth program she’d helped develop to young women who’d gone astray. If not for the fact that she was married to a man who could be bought, Colin would have liked the woman.

“Regardless of who we chose, Beachside Catering was providing our dessert today. But now I can tell you that caterer C, your unanimous choice, is none other than Beachside Catering.” Leslie smiled as Patricia nodded toward the two women who were standing by a counter in the back of the room.

Crème de menthe parfaits were being passed around by the time Patricia settled into the empty seat at the end of the table between John and Colin, as far away from Julie as she could be while still being seated at the same table. Colin supposed Leslie was responsible for that.

But he had to wonder why the other woman had gone along with a plan to include Patricia on the committee at all. Leslie Morrison, the one person in their crowd who knew the details of Julie’s rape, was usually the one who ran interference for his sister, to avoid exactly the kind of situation they now faced.

Bad enough that Patricia was on the committee, but to have blindsided Julie...

He was going to have a word with Leslie.

Later.

* * *

CHANTEL HAD NEVER been in a home, free to wander in and out of every single room, as magnificent as the Estrada-mansion-turned-library. If she hadn’t been conscious of Colin’s time, and the fact that Julie didn’t seem to be feeling very well after lunch, she could have spent hours exploring the nooks and crannies of the place.

She couldn’t imagine ever living there, however. Seemed like a lonely existence to her, having so much space to separate family members. And the idea of having to dust the place...

Julie didn’t say much as they issued their farewells and made their way to Colin’s town car. She slid into the backseat before Chantel could offer to do so, forcing Chantel to sit up front with Colin.

Not a bad thing. Just a little awkward at the moment, considering that ever since he’d had his hand on her knee, she’d been half-turned-on.

She knew that when cops went under they had to do a lot of things to protect their cover—take drugs, even—but having sex for the sake of the job was not something she’d ever do. Or have the department expect her to do.

She’d be fine. She just needed a few minutes back in her own environment to process what had happened. She wanted out of the heels.

And to scrub her face. She remembered why she eschewed makeup. It made her skin itch.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to run Julie home first,” Colin said as he started the car. “I’m heading to the office, and the resort is in between.”

“That’s fine,” she said, and tried to ignore the tingle she felt at the realization that she was going to be completely alone with him for the first time.

Would he fill the time with small talk? Or try to get personal?

She needed him to get personal. To take the next step in making them an item. A temporary one. A spring fling.

Problem was, she wanted it, too...

“You okay with that?” Colin was looking in the rearview mirror, obviously addressing his sister.

“Of course,” Julie said and nothing else. Colin didn’t ask her if she felt okay or if anything was wrong. It wasn’t Chantel’s business, but...

“Did something at lunch not agree with you?” she asked, turning to look at the other woman. In her experience, guys didn’t always pick up on the obvious. And if Julie, who’d been so friendly earlier, was unwell, someone should notice.

“What?” Julie asked and then said, “Oh, I’m fine. I feel fine.”

Chantel didn’t need to be a cop to detect the lie. But she figured she’d been put in her place—a stranger who needed to mind her own business—and turned back around.

Colin glanced in the mirror again, his expression softening, but still said nothing.

He turned out into the street, drove half a mile and turned again. The silence in the car might not be bothering anyone else, but in Chantel’s world, it was weird—to have something lying there under the surface and not being addressed. But whatever. Must be how the rich and famous dealt with life.

Ignoring the messy parts.

Colin glanced in the rearview mirror again. For the fourth time.

“You want to come into the office with me?” Colin asked five minutes into the drive. “The preliminary child-life specialist contract should be drawn up. If you go over it today, we could have it vetted and ready to present as early as Monday.”

“Next Friday, as we originally agreed, is fine,” Julie said. “I’m not meeting with the Sunshine committee until then.”

Another couple of minutes passed. Chantel thought about chattering, except that she wasn’t a chatterer. There were questions she could ask about the ocean in the distance, the weather she could expect during spring in California, about places to eat and things to see. But when in Rome...and she definitely needed them to think she was in Rome.

“I’m fine, Colin.” The voice in the back of the seat didn’t sound sickly.

He glanced at his sister again.

“I really am.”

Another glance.

“I’m angry more than anything else.”

Okay, this probably wasn’t a conversation she needed to be hearing. Now that she knew Julie wasn’t coming down with food poisoning. Or the flu.

“I’m going to speak with Leslie.” Colin’s voice was firm. His jaw tight.

Chantel went high into cop mode. Why would Julie be angry with Leslie? What had she missed back there?

And to do with her subject?

“Why?” Julie’s question was sharp. “This has nothing to do with Leslie.”

“She should have given you a heads-up.”

“I never told her who he’d...” She broke off right when things were finally getting good.

Whether all eyes were on her or not, Chantel felt as though they were. In her world, she’d have turned around and asked what was going on. She’d have risked being told it was none of her business, but she’d have asked.

Her crash course in polite society hadn’t prepared her for this moment.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I feel as though I shouldn’t be here, and yet I can’t politely exit a moving car.” She spoke softly in character with Chantel Johnson, gentling her voice. But the Chantel Harris in her hadn’t been able to keep her mouth shut.

“No, I’m sorry,” Julie told her. “I’ve behaved horribly, letting my personal feelings put a damper on what was a really nice afternoon...”

“Your personal feelings matter,” Chantel said. Just as Leslie Morrison’s personal feelings mattered. People got upset for good reason. “Clearly you need to speak with your brother...” And she needed to keep her mouth shut.

Colin had glanced in the mirror a couple more times but was otherwise driving with his attention seemingly on the road.

“It’s just... Patricia Reynolds...”

Not Leslie Morrison? Chantel waited.

“She’s following me.”

What?

“She’s not following you, Jules.” Colin was stopped at a light and turned toward his sister.

“Yes, she is, Colin. She’s the police commissioner’s wife,” Julie said to Chantel, who’d also turned around. Chantel continued to face backward as the light changed and Colin was driving once again.