One Baby, Two Secrets

As recently as this morning, Kate had convinced herself Annabelle would be fine. Chloe had sworn that Annabelle was the luckiest little girl in the world. Chloe had read all about Quentin Roo and was more than impressed with his money and his success.

He was in mourning now, she had said, and not ready to introduce Annabelle to anyone from the family. Impatient to get away from her childhood memories and back home again, Kate had been willing to buy into Chloe’s optimism.

She’d made it as far as the airport, her bags checked, and arrangements made with Nadia to pick her up in Seattle. But while she waited for her flight to board she’d done an internet search and found some news items featuring Quentin. One showed him outside a downtown nightclub a few weeks back. He was clearly intoxicated, a sexy woman on his arm, confronting a police officer over the right to drive his fancy sports car.

Disturbed by the images, Kate had searched further. His social media presence painted a picture of a party animal. She also found clips of his belligerent behavior and descriptions of wild times held at his mansion. He might be rich, but he definitely wasn’t responsible.

Protective instincts had welled up inside her. She’d cancelled her flight and left the airport, determined to confront him, determined to demand access to Annabelle and the right to ensure the baby was safe. But halfway to his mansion, she’d stopped herself, realizing the confrontational approach was almost guaranteed to fail.

She knew she needed a better plan, something more subtle in order to get close to Annabelle without spooking Quentin. The best way she could think of to do that was appear amicable and nonthreatening, to fit seamlessly into his world. She’d decided the best option was to get to Quentin and pretend she was just like Francie.

One crazy makeover later, she did look like Francie. And now she was inside the party. And she’d met Quentin. Even if it was only momentarily, it was still a start.

The man named Brody kept pace with her along the pool deck. Whoops of delight echoed around them. Groups of people talked and laughed, drinks in hands, eyes alight with enthusiasm and exhilaration. The staccato of the bassline pummeled through to her bones.

She kept an eye on Quentin, waiting for the right moment to approach him again. He was engrossed in conversation with a tall blonde woman. She was model-thin, taller than Quentin, with impossibly long limbs and a gorgeous face that would do justice to any magazine cover.

“I’ve never been up north myself,” Brody stated conversationally.

His deep, rolling accent purred over her. Ordinarily, she would have enjoyed that. But chatting up anyone but Quentin wasn’t in her plans tonight, even if the man was distractingly attractive.

And Brody was definitely that. He had a strong chin with just enough beard stubble to be rakish. His eyes were slate gray, his brow quizzical, and he had a sexy dark shock of hair swooping across his forehead. His mouth was firm, slightly stern, some might even say judgmental. Although exactly what someone living in the thick of the rock-and-roll lifestyle would have to be judgmental about was a mystery to her.

“No rock concerts to promote in Washington State?” she asked, telling herself to keep it light and stay in character. Everybody with anything to do with Quentin needed to believe she was just like Francie, a girl looking to enjoy life without worrying too much about the details.

“North America is a secondary market. Here we mostly stick to New York City. I have been to Boston and Chicago, and once to Florida, but that was a vacation.”

“Miami’s a fun town.” She was guessing. She’d only ever seen it on television, but it seemed like a good bet.

She kept watch on Quentin, poised to interrupt as soon as she had a chance. She’d decided to downplay her interest in Annabelle tonight. A party girl wouldn’t be fixated on a baby’s welfare. But she was growing impatient. Quentin was getting rapidly drunk, so who was with the baby?

“The Keys,” Brody said beside her.

“What keys?” she asked.

“The Florida Keys.”

“Oh.” Kate told herself to focus and try to use the conversation productively. She’d track Annabelle down as soon as she could. “How long have you known Quentin?”

“I’ve been in LA for a few weeks,” Brody replied. “But I’ve known of him for quite a bit longer.”

She leaned casually against a rail that overlooked the sweeping lights of the city, keeping Quentin in her peripheral vision while the breeze blew her newly short hair back from her face. “And what do you think of him?”

Brody turned to face her. “In what sense?”

“I’ve seen the news reports, and I wonder how much of it is true.”

He took in her outfit, and she was reminded of her heavy makeup, tight dress and the funky hair. She wasn’t exactly comfortable with the impression she must be making, but she had to see this through.

“He knows how to have a good time,” said Brody.

Kate gave her head a little toss and tried to look like a woman who was very much interested in having a good time. She glanced pointedly around the party, the pretty people, the exotic clothes, the expensive food and liquor. “This is definitely a good time.”

There was an unfathomable expression in his eyes that could have been sarcasm or resignation. “Isn’t it just.”

The odd reaction made her curious. “You must be used to parties in your line of work.”

“I’ve been to parties of all kinds.”

“Wild ones?” she asked, striving to look intrigued and excited at the possibility.

“Some.” He gave her a warm smile.

“Sounds terrific.” She half expected him to toss out an invitation, at least a generic one: maybe I’ll take you sometime, baby...

She’d refuse of course, politely. She wasn’t here looking for dates. She was here for Annabelle and nothing else. But he didn’t ask, and she found herself wondering if the purple highlights weren’t working for her.

Just then Quentin left his conversation partner, and she spotted her opening. She made a quick move toward him, but her heel caught on a concrete seam, and she stumbled, sloshing her champagne.

Brody grasped her elbow, stabilizing her.

“Sorry.” She quickly apologized for her clumsiness, hoping she hadn’t splashed anything on his clothes.

“You all right?” he asked, still holding on to her.

“I tripped.”

“You were in a pretty big hurry.”

“I was—” She hesitated over her words. “I’m hoping to catch Quentin.”

Brody glanced past her. “Someone beat you to him.”

She turned to see two new women laughing with him. She cursed under her breath.

“He was just with your sister.” There was censure in Brody’s tone, and she looked up to see his gaze had hardened.

“It’s not that.” It was clear from his frown that he didn’t believe her. “I’m not here to make a play for Quentin.”

“You nearly injured yourself trying to get over there to chat him up.”

“Not for that.”

“Listen, it’s not really any of my business.”

“You’re right. It’s not. But I’m going to tell you anyway. I’m not romantically interested in Quentin.”

She couldn’t imagine any circumstance where she’d be romantically interested in a man like Quentin Roo.

Brody’s gaze took a leisurely tour of her outfit. “Good news, Kate. Romance is not at all what you’re projecting.”

Despite the fact that she’d done so on purpose, she was offended by his implication that she’d dressed provocatively. “I’m not after Quentin in any way, shape or form.”

“Of course you’re not.”

She didn’t care what this Brody person thought. At least she shouldn’t care about his opinion. But for some stupid reason, she did care.

It was on the tip of her tongue to explain that this was all about her niece. She was playacting here, making sure Annabelle was going to be okay. But she stopped herself just in time. Instead, she looked up at him and gave her highlighted hair another defiant toss. “I’m here for a good time.”

His eyes reminded her of flints. “Aren’t we all.”

* * *

Brody watched the fleet of tiny electronic spaceships blast their way through an asteroid field on the wall-mounted wide screen. The ships changed colors, using different weapons, all jockeying for position while trying to avoid being annihilated by other players.

“See that? Right there,” said Will Finlay, the head programmer from Shetland Tech. “The organics on the planet surface.”

“All I see are a bunch of things exploding.”

“It’s the way they’re exploding,” said Will. “Or rather, the way they’ve changed the way they’re exploding.”

“If you say so.” Brody wasn’t a software engineer, and he wouldn’t pretend to come close to Will’s technical understanding.

“This is the best evidence yet. I’ve checked with a few contacts at MIT, and they agree Shetland Tech has been ripped off.”

“Can we prove it with this?” Brody asked.

Will had managed to get his hands on a prototype of the Beast Blue Designs’ new game, “Blue Strata Combat.”

“Not without the source code,” Will said. “We can prove they’re using advanced algorithms that trigger object evolution within an AI environment, but we can’t prove they stole it from Shetland.”

“But they did,” said Brody.

“They did.”

“If we move now?”

“I’m told that if we make a move based on the evidence we have right now we’ll be tied up in litigation for a few decades. And after that we’ll probably lose.”

Brody sat back in the burgundy leather armchair that was positioned in the living area of his hotel suite at the Diamond Pier Towers. He’d been away from home for over a month now, and he was growing impatient.

Back in Scotland, his brother Blane had too much to worry about already. Suffering from the neuromuscular disease Newis Bar Syndrome, Blane tired more easily than most people. But as eldest son, the Viscount and the future Earl of Calder, the responsibilities for the family seat fell to him. Brody had to at least take the money trouble out of the equation.

“We need to get inside their facility,” Will said. “Proving our case still hinges on accessing their resident servers and finding our proprietary code.”

“We already tried that.”

The attempt had been a dismal failure. The technical security was impenetrable, and the server room was on lockdown twenty-four hours a day. The private detective they’d hired to go undercover as a technician was caught trying to gain unauthorized access and was summarily fired.

“Do you think Quentin might confess something?” Will asked.

“To me?”

“To anybody.”

Brody found his thoughts moving to Kate. If he looked like Kate he might be able to get Quentin to spill his darkest secrets. But he didn’t look like Kate, and so far Quentin didn’t want to talk business with outsiders.

“I need to find an opportunity to search his house,” Brody said. “If we can’t get into their corporate headquarters, Quentin’s house is the next best bet.”

“You get caught snooping around? Well, I have to say, those security guys he’s hired seem very serious.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“They have Russian accents.”

“I know.”

Brody had heard rumors about Quentin’s financial backers, that they had shady backgrounds and even shadier connections to overseas criminal organizations.

“I don’t see we have any choice,” he said.

“There’s always a choice,” Will said.

“You mean I can make the decision to bankrupt my family?”

“It’s better than being shot.”

“Marginally,” Brody said.

Quite frankly, he’d rather take a bullet than be responsible for losing the Calder estate. The earldom had been in his family for twenty-two generations. They’d had ups and downs over the years. The land had been mortgaged before, but the family had always made it back to better times.

Five years ago, their financial position had become particularly precarious, and Brody knew they needed to modernize. His brother Blane, the viscount and eldest son of the earl, wanted to develop tourism infrastructure on the estate, starting with a hotel. But Brody worried about the high investment and slow rate of return that were part of Blane’s plan. He knew they needed something faster, so he’d convinced his father to buy Will’s start-up company and go into high-end gaming technology.

At first, it had worked brilliantly. They’d paid down their debt and were looking forward to moving into the tourism sector. But then Brody got overconfident. He’d borrowed again, borrowed more, and plowed the money into expanding Shetland Tech, creating a new game that he and Will were sure would revolutionize the industry.

Their logic was solid. So was their research. It should have been a success. It would have been a success. But then Beast Blue Designs had stolen their code and stood a frightening chance of beating them to market.

If Beast Blue succeeded, it would be impossible to recoup Shetland Tech’s sunk costs, and the company would most certainly go bankrupt. The Calder estate and the castle on the banks of the River Tay would be lost to the family forever.

“I’m serious,” Will said, setting down the controller. “You can’t mess with those guys.”

“They already messed with me.”

Will uttered an exclamation of disgust. “You’re going to get all macho about it?”

“I’m not getting macho. What I’m getting is smart. If we can’t infiltrate the company, then we’ll come at it from another angle, through Quentin. The man drinks and parties to excess. He’s not as sharp as he should be, and I’ve succeeded in becoming his new pal.”

“That’s because you’re pretending to be exciting and likable.”

“I like to think I’m generally both,” Brody said with a straight face.

Will flashed a grin. “Right. Sure. Let’s call you that. But you can’t expect to meet Quentin Roo’s standards.”

“I’m definitely not the life of some parties,” Brody said. He had absolutely no desire to be the life of Quentin’s parties.

His phone buzzed on the low table in front of him.

Will stayed silent while he picked it up.

“Blane,” he answered warmly. He didn’t have any good news for his brother, but he was still glad to hear from him.

Blane coughed into the phone. “Hi, Brody.”

Brody was immediately concerned. “What’s wrong? Are you ill?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?”

Blane coughed again. “It’s nothing. Mother has me steaming in the bathroom.”

Brody relaxed a little, since he knew that at the first sign of a problem their mother would hover over Blane. He glanced at his watch. “It’s late there.”

“Have you signed up to be my nanny?”

“If you’re sick—”

“A tickle in my chest is not sick. I’m humoring her. I don’t need to humor you.”

“Okay.”

“Oliver Masterson came by today.”

The information gave Brody pause. Oliver Masterson was the head architect on the family’s hotel development project. Oliver shouldn’t have much to do at the moment, because it was a long-term plan, with nothing substantive happening for years down the road. Brody thought they were all clear on the timing.

He spoke to his brother in a cautious tone. “We’re only looking for preliminary drawings right now.”

“We were. We are,” said Blane. “He only wanted to see the site. He likes the view of the lake.”

“Who wouldn’t?”

The east meadow was one of Brody’s favorite spots on the entire three-hundred-acre estate. If he’d had his way, they’d have built a house there and turned the castle into a hotel. But his mother wouldn’t hear of moving from the family’s traditional home.

“He wants the building to go higher,” said Blane.

“Higher than three stories?”

“I know that puts us into a whole new category of construction. But we need to think of the long term, our children’s children and beyond. The high-end market provides the best return on investment.”

“You’ve been talking to the town council again.” A large, five-star hotel on the Calder lands would have spin-off effects to any number of local businesses.

Blane coughed again. “You know they’re right.”

“I understand where you’re coming from, Blane.”

“And you agree with me.”

Brody did agree. Like their ancestors before them, they had an obligation to support the surrounding community. He agreed there was growth potential in luxury tourism. The only problem he had was cash flow. They needed significant cash to flow in order to underwrite his brother’s dream. Right now, they didn’t have it.

“Don’t sign anything today,” he said.

“I won’t. Are you close?” Blane knew only the broad strokes of the problem with Beast Blue Designs. He didn’t know how precarious their financial situation had become.

“Getting closer,” said Brody, knowing he was going to have to make something happen soon or confess to his family the full extent of their problems.

“Let me know how it goes.” Blane’s coughing started again.

“I will. Get better.”

Blane wheezed out a laugh. “I’m in good hands.”

Brody couldn’t help but smile as he set down the phone. Their mother the countess was a force of nature.

“Problem?” asked Will.

“They want to make the hotel bigger.”

“Let me guess. They accomplish that by spending more money.”

“I knew you weren’t just a pretty face.” Brody suddenly felt tired and momentarily defeated. “It’s always about more money. We need to win this thing, Will. And we need to do it soon.”

“Okay,” said Will, squaring his shoulders. “Let’s hope Quentin is the kind of guy who brings his work home with him. If you can get in front of his home computer, I can tell you what to look for. But don’t get caught, and whatever you do don’t get shot by the Russian bodyguards.”

Brody frowned. “I have no intention of getting shot.”

“Nobody plans to get shot,” said Will. “It happens all of a sudden and usually at the most inconvenient time.”

Three

Kate had wrangled an invitation back to Quentin’s Sunday night. She had been hoping to talk to him alone and maybe even meet Annabelle. But she’d been disappointed on both fronts.

Annabelle had been put to bed by the nanny before Kate arrived, and Quentin didn’t even show his face. His friends didn’t seem to care, though, guzzling liquor, dancing on the furniture and frolicking in the pool to music from a live band in the gazebo.

She’d had no desire to party, but she was more determined than ever to meet Annabelle. So when she saw a woman passed out on a sofa, she’d come up with an idea. As the party wore down, she found a quiet corner and pretended to do the same.

There was no way she was dozing off amidst intoxicated strangers. So she lay there awake until 4:00 a.m. when the last guests had stumbled away.

Chilled and exhausted, she’d finally closed her eyes.

At five, the cleaners showed up and began straightening the furniture and clearing up the debris—empty bottles, broken glass, garbage and cigarette butts discarded everywhere. At six, they turned on vacuum cleaners and began to filter the pool water.

Giving up on the idea of sleeping, Kate found a bathroom. She gazed at her smudged makeup, mussed hair and the dark circles under her eyes. Lack of sleep made her look exactly like a woman who’d partied too hard two nights in a row. It was depressing, but there was no denying it would help her disguise. She ran a comb through her hair and wiped away the worst of the mascara smudges, then her thoughts turned to coffee.

As she moved down the hallway, she heard a woman’s voice chirping happily about it being a beautiful day and how she was warming a bottle that would be delicious. Kate guessed it had to be the nanny talking to Annabelle. Her chest swelled with anticipation, and she picked up her pace, following the voice.

“You look so pretty this morning,” the nanny singsonged. “Such a smiley girl.”

Kate moved through the archway into a bright, airy kitchen, to see a young woman in blue jeans and an orange T-shirt, holding a baby against one shoulder and a bottle in the opposite hand.

“Are you hungry?” the young woman asked Annabelle in a gentle voice, and then she spotted Kate.

“Oh,” she said, her expression sobering. “Hello. I didn’t realize anyone was here.”

“Leftover from last night,” Kate offered in an apologetic tone, smoothing a hand over her messy hair.

“Can I help you with something?” the woman asked, her voice and manner becoming reserved.

Kate couldn’t keep her gaze from Annabelle. The baby girl had blond hair and big blue eyes in a sweet, delicate-looking face. Her pink mouth was perfect, and she was dressed in a white romper dotted with colored hearts.

“I’m...” Kate struggled for words. “I was hoping to meet Annabelle.”

The woman’s gaze narrowed, and she drew almost imperceptibly back.

Kate was reminded of how she looked and of the impression she must be giving.

“I’m Kate Dunhern,” she quickly put in. “Francie’s sister.”

When the woman didn’t immediately respond, it occurred to Kate that she might be new on the job.

“Did you know Francie?” Kate asked.

“I didn’t know she had a sister.” The woman was still obviously cautious.

“We weren’t close.”

“She never mentioned you.”

Kate kept her voice calm and mild. She didn’t mind that the nanny was protective. “I can answer some questions about Francie. Or I can show you some identification.”

The offers seemed to dispel the woman’s fears. “That won’t be necessary. I’m Christina Alder, Annabelle’s nanny.”

“I guessed that,” said Kate, taking a step forward. “She’s adorable.”

Christina smiled fondly at Annabelle. “Isn’t she? She’s a sweetheart, good as gold.”

“Have you been taking care of her long?” Kate moved closer still, taking it slow, smiling at Annabelle, trying not to startle the baby.

“From the day she was born,” said Christina.

Kate reached out and touched Annabelle’s little hand with her finger.

“Baa,” said Annabelle.

“Baa, yourself.” Kate smiled. “I’m your auntie Kate.”

Annabelle wiggled, and Christina shifted her hold.

“You’re a friend of Quentin’s?” asked Christina.

Kate shook her head. “I only just met him on Saturday. I came home for...” She paused. “Well, I was disappointed they didn’t have a service for Francie. And then I learned about Annabelle.”

Annabelle wrapped her fist around Kate’s index finger, and a shaft of warmth shot straight to Kate’s heart.

“She misses her mommy,” said Christina. But there was something off in her tone, as if she was being polite rather than sincere.

“It’s good that she has you.”

“Yes,” said Christina, sounding more sincere. “It helps.”

“And there’s Quentin,” said Kate, opening the door for a comment about Quentin’s abilities as a father.

“There are a lot of demands on his schedule.” Christina’s tone was neutral.

“He seems very busy.”

“He is very busy.” Christina paused. “He loves his daughter, though.”

“I’m sure he does.”

Annabelle started to squirm, and her face twisted into a frown.

“She’s hungry,” said Christina.

“I’m sorry I interrupted.”

“Not at all. I just need to sit down to feed her.”

Kate stepped back to give them some room. She wasn’t sure if she should leave, but she desperately wanted to stay.

Christina climbed into a padded chair at the breakfast bar and adjusted Annabelle across one forearm, popping the bottle into the baby’s mouth. Annabelle began to suck and her eyes fluttered closed.

“She’s very patient,” said Christina. “Most babies cry from the time you get them up to the time they get their bottles.”

“Have you cared for a lot of babies?”

“I’ve had my diploma for four years. I did a lot of fill-in work for the first two, and my last posting was newborn twins.” Christina smiled. “They were a handful.” She smoothed a lock of hair across Annabelle’s forehead.