Hot & Bothered Page 11

  What he did trust was his ability to snatch an excellent idea out of thin air and run with it. He had great instincts and he’d learned long ago to follow where they led.

  It just so happened that this time they’d led to him announcing his engagement to Tori. If it had given him a great deal of satisfaction to wipe the supercilious smirk off Wentworth’s pompous face in the process, well, that was a bonus, to be sure, but secondary to his primary objective. The important thing was the soundness of the plan. And this was a good one—addressing as it did a number of the problems that had been plaguing him about how he’d induce anyone in Victoria’s world to give him the time of day, never mind information that might help clear her brother’s name.

  Instead of telling Tori any of that, however, he heard himself demanding, “Just who the hell is that joker to you anyway?”

  She stiffened. “What makes you assume he’s anything to me?”

  “Please—‘I fear I’ve forgotten your last name’?” he mimicked in a falsetto voice, then let it drop back into its normal register. “I doubt you’ve ever forgotten anyone’s name in your life. Particularly not someone who acted as familiar with you as that guy did. So, who is he?”

  She looked him up and down. “What did you mean when you said your father was a mean drunk?”

  Like a sniper’s bullet, he never saw the question coming and it was a direct hit—it took everything he had not to jerk beneath its impact. He faced her without so much as blinking, but ice lined his gut at the thought of how differently she’d look at him if she ever learned of the violence that had marred his childhood. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

  “Tit for tat, Miglionni. You seem to think you have a perfect right to my personal information, but you’re certainly reluctant to share any of your own.”

  “Because there’s nothing of interest to share. Now, you wanna get back to business or not?”

  He should have been pleased to see her face lose all animation and turn smoothly impersonal. It bothered him just how much he minded instead.

  “By all means,” she agreed with the same distant courtesy he’d watched her employ all afternoon. “Let’s do that. You can begin by explaining how on earth posing as my fiancé will possibly benefit my brother.”

  Her cool formality belatedly brought him to his feet to indicate the chair across the desk from him. “Have a seat.”

  She did so, her back princess straight, ankles primly crossed and hands folded with ladylike stillness in her lap. For a moment he simply stood there and silently dealt with the discovery that he much preferred her denting his wrist with her nails or trying to grind his toes into paste to the way she managed to look through him now as though he were some presumptuous street tough trying to pass himself off as a man of quality. Then with a shrug, he took his own seat once again. But for an additional second he simply observed her.

  She looked tired and frustrated and…sad. Guilt twisted inside him. For a short while today they’d actually conversed with some of the ease they’d once known, and he understood on a gut level that the memorial and reception had been emotional wringers for her. If her father hadn’t literally been consigned to his grave this day, at a minimum they’d held what amounted to his funeral. And even if, from all accounts, the guy had been a sorry son of a bitch, he’d still been her father. John admitted—if only to himself—that his own bald announcement to Wentworth hadn’t made things any easier for her.

  So maybe he ought to give her a break and put this discussion off until tomorrow. The only time he’d seen her look the least bit happy today was when Esme had shown up for a brief period during the reception.

  But he didn’t want to remember the little girl hanging from Victoria’s waist as she’d beamed up at her mama and he squared his shoulders, shoving the memory aside. Hell, get real, pal. Victoria would be the first to agree he was a conscienceless sinner. Just look at his failure to do anything about getting to know his own daughter. So why do you wanna confuse things by developing a conscience at this late date? Stifle that crazy-ass urge to give her a breather.

  But he kept picturing a little sweet-faced, dark-eyed girl, until, as if in answer to an unstated prayer, the memory of DeeDee giving her eulogy popped up to replace the image. With silent thanks and renewed determination he leaned forward. “Listen, if you want to present the cops with another suspect, I’m going to need access to all the country-club types who had contact with your father.”

  “So you’ve said before. And I believe I already agreed to introduce them to you.”

  “Yes, you did. But I also recall mentioning that private detectives rarely get involved in murder cases, both because cops tend to frown upon their participation and because they have no real authority to compel people to talk to them. I can’t make anyone tell me what they don’t want revealed. And why do you imagine anyone would want to talk to me, Tori? To satisfy some burning desire for truth, justice and the American way?”

  Seeing her open her mouth to retort, he rode right over whatever rebuttal she might have made. “As your fiancé, though, I’d have an entrée that few would bother to question. People are less on guard in social situations and I can take advantage of that to work conversations around to the things I want to know. I’d be free to talk to bartenders and caddies and the like without them having to worry that the members they depend on for tips are wondering what secrets they’re telling me.”

  “So you’re saying that in order to do your job you’d lie?”

  “In a heartbeat, darlin’. What’d you think, that a killer would just stand up and confess his crime because he likes my pretty face? Role-playing is part and parcel of being a detective.”

  “You always struck me as more straightforward than that.”

  “And so I am…if it’ll get me the facts I need to close a case. But I’ve also been known to set up a sting, pretend to be someone I’m not and flat-out lie through my pearly white teeth.”

  She looked as if she were severely disappointed in him, but didn’t comment as she crossed one long leg over the other. “What good does talking to the help do?”

  He pulled his gaze away from the slice of thigh revealed by the slide of her skirt up her nylon-encased legs. “For the most part, like servants, they’re treated as if they’re invisible. And the unnoticed are the very people who tend to observe stuff themselves. To hear stuff. For example, DeeDee eulogized your father today as dear, dear Ford, but rumor has it she might be messing around with the tennis pro at the club. The kid who picks up balls and dispenses towels could probably tell me faster than anyone else if that’s actually true or not.”

  “How on earth did you hear that?” Then she shook her head. “Never mind—I don’t even want to know. Besides even if it’s true, haven’t we already established she had no motive for Father’s death?”

  “That’s simply the quickest example that came to mind.” Glancing at her legs again, he tugged his tie loose. Then, impatient with himself and feeling a little pissed at her as well for distracting him from the matter at hand, he drilled her with a hard gaze. “Do you see what I’m saying, though, or are you being deliberately obtuse?”

  Jesus, Ace, get a grip. He gathered himself, not needing to see her offended expression to know he was out of line. He’d been trained to be more diplomatic than this. “Look, murder isn’t my area of expertise, so the whole engagement gig is a long shot at best. But I’m telling you straight out, I’ve got a much stronger chance of succeeding with that as a cover story than if I simply go in and start asking questions because you hired me to.”

  She jiggled her foot in its sleek, spike-heeled shoe. “In other words, you want to throw me back in the middle of that phony social scene,” she said crankily. “The one I swore I’d never get involved in again.”

  “Hey, it’s your call.” But what was with her waspishness all of a sudden? It wasn’t like Victoria at all. She was usually much too mannerly to show her temper. Although, come
to think of it, that was generally with everyone except him. Still, he studied her with unwelcome concern. “Did you get anything to eat today?”

  “What do you care?” She scowled at him. “And have you bothered to give one moment’s thought to what Esme might think to find her mother suddenly engaged?”

  Oh, shit. The truth was, he hadn’t. Dammit, he wanted to do right by that little girl. He’d like nothing better than to do right by her…if only he knew what the hell that might be. Was it trying to further his acquaintance with her, or was it keeping his distance?

  And his face must have said it all, because the look Tori shot him was pure disgust. “You’re a real prince, Miglionni. Even leaving Es out of the equation—and trust me that’s highly unlikely—what makes you assume you can pull this off? That damn club is all about golf and tennis and status. And you—” she eyed him critically, her gazing lingering for a moment on his hair “—well, you’re hardly the country-club type, are you.”

  It wasn’t a question and he shoved his chair back with a screech and rose to his feet. “What—you afraid I’ll pick my teeth with my pocketknife in the exalted club dining room?” Anger and an edge of something else he didn’t care to examine too closely surged through his veins. “You know what? Forget it. We’ll spread the word that I’m just another rejected suitor who was jerking your chain at the reception this afternoon and go back to plan A. Having met and talked to several of the club’s members this afternoon, I’m guessing it probably won’t work. But I’ll give it my best shot. Because I sure as hell wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of your tony friends.” He headed for the door but stopped with his hand on the knob to look back at her. “I realized you’d changed quite a bit since the good old days,” he said flatly, running his gaze over her expensive little outfit before meeting her startled gray-green eyes as she revolved in her seat to stare at him. “But, darlin’, I never would have pegged you for a snob.”

  And ripping open the door, he strode from the room, making a beeline for the front entrance.

  “I’M NOT A SNOB,” VICTORIA said to the empty room. Un-twisting from her awkward position watching Rocket’s abrupt exit, she slowly settled back into her chair, then simply stared blankly at the bookcase behind the desk for a moment. She wasn’t, dammit. He’d pointed out himself the other day that he wasn’t country-club material. Besides, her comment had actually been a backhanded compliment, since the last thing she could envision John having the slightest interest in was trying to out-Jones the Joneses.

  But a tiny interior voice snorted and she sat a little straighter. All right, perhaps her approach hadn’t been exactly diplomatic. In her own defense, though, she honestly couldn’t envision him caring for or knowing the first thing about golf—and it was a fact the male members of this club tended to be rabid about their game. And realistically, what could a guy with a tattoo of a skull and crossbones that were bracketed by his battalion designation and the words Swift, Silent and Deadly have in common with the country-club set?

  Aside from the fact that he’s every bit as athletic and dresses as beautifully as any club member, you mean? Or that you’ve never once known him to be at a loss for words or out of his element with anyone? Her face burned. Because God only knew, her impressions of people weren’t always the most reliable in the world, and as she’d noted earlier, she and Rocket had never gotten around to discussing their backgrounds with each other. For all she knew to the contrary, he could be the product of a family that was every bit as entrenched in their local society as her own was—and his tattoo be damned.

  Dear God. She was a snob.

  But still. Angry, confused and nearly faint with a hunger she hadn’t identified until John’s inquiry, she shoved to her feet and headed blindly for the door. Pretending to be engaged was asinine. Who in their right mind would ever believe the two of them were a couple? Well, sure, she had, once upon a time. But that felt like a lifetime ago and even then she’d been smart enough to run as fast as she could in the opposite direction the instant she’d realized her heart was getting much too involved with a man who’d set rules for the end of their affair before it had even begun. Damned if she intended to stick her head back into that noose. It was too dangerous.

  The truth of the last thought brought her up short in her headlong trek toward the kitchen to grab something to eat before seeking the haven of her rooms. It was dangerous—to her peace of mind, if nothing else. She wasn’t afraid to admit it: she was much too susceptible where Rocket was concerned. And she sure as hell wasn’t inclined to have her willpower tested by being thrust headlong into the forced intimacy of a fake betrothal—not when John hadn’t done one damn thing to address his relationship with his daughter, which was his so-called reason for moving into the mansion in the first place!

  Besides, as reasonable as his explanation may have sounded, surely he’d exaggerated when he claimed a social connection was the best way to discover information to clear Jared’s name. His attitude had struck her as suspiciously testosterone-fueled. Maybe he was embarrassed to be caught out in that inexplicable pissing contest with Miles and thought he had to defend an impulsive declaration.

  She snorted. Right. Like she could visualize Rocket being embarrassed by anything.

  Still, he certainly hadn’t stated his objections in such strong terms when she’d first broached the idea of him searching for another suspect in Ford’s murder. If she correctly recalled, in fact, he’d flat-out said he enjoyed a challenge.

  So, no. For all that her method may have been ungracious and heavy-handed, she’d done the right thing. Clearly it was far wiser to call a halt to the bogus engagement before matters truly got out of hand than to find herself once again tangled in the snare of this treacherous attraction John Miglionni posed for her.

  IT WAS AMAZING WHAT SOLID food, a good night’s sleep and a morning spent playing with a little girl possessed of a penchant for warm, powdery-smelling hugs could do for a woman’s state of mind. Victoria didn’t feel nearly as crazed as she had last night and she smiled to herself as she made her way down to lunch. Rebecca had just arrived and she’d left the two girls in Helen’s care in the sitting room. They were settled in for an afternoon of pizza and playing with dolls and she was determined to tackle John and DeeDee about putting a stop to this engagement nonsense before it got completely out of hand.

  Only this time she intended to keep the discussion courteous. Nonconfrontational. Impersonal.

  The two she sought had reached the dining room ahead of her and they both looked up from the table when she walked in a few moments later. John had his neutral parade-ground face on, but DeeDee flashed her a big smile.

  “There’s the bride-to-be,” she said with such pleased warmth that Victoria paused on her way to the table.

  But only for a moment. Crossing the room, she pulled out the chair next to John’s and took her seat. Baldly suspicious of DeeDee’s sudden friendliness, however, she leveled a look at her. “About that—”

  “Yeah, how about that?” DeeDee waved her hand at John. “The big guy here is sure as hell a fast worker! Of course, I saw the chemistry between you two right from the very beginning.”

  Now I know you’re yanking my chain. But when Victoria looked closely at the other woman, she wasn’t actually certain. The truth was, DeeDee didn’t particularly like her and they both knew it, so Victoria fully expected to see satisfaction for her predicament written all over her erstwhile stepmother’s face. Instead all she saw was a hint of smugness that could just as easily be the result of having been proved right. On the off chance that was the case, she leaned forward and said earnestly, “Listen, about the announcement yesterday—”

  “If you’re going to apologize for its lack of formality, don’t worry about it. I took care of that.” She gave the couple a dry smile. “John’s not the only one who can work fast.”

  Tori’s stomach took a spiraling nosedive to her knees. From the corner of her eye, she saw John slowly s
traightening from his indolent slouch next to her and without thinking she reached over to grasp his hand. “What do you mean?”

  “One of my very favorite things about living with Ford was getting to meet all the movers and shakers. I don’t know if you recall, what with the heartwarming size of yesterday’s turnout, but the publisher of the Gazette was here. Well, what good is knowing every power broker in the state if you can’t beg one teensy-weensy favor from one of them? So I took Henry aside and look!” She whipped out a copy of the paper, folded to the lifestyles section. “Ta da! Don’t you just love how fast you can get things done when you know the right people?”

  Victoria leaned forward to read the newspaper DeeDee slid across the table. As her mind assimilated the words, she froze.

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  There it was in black and white. Her mouth gone arid and her heart beginning to pound in her chest, she swallowed dryly, then read aloud, “Victoria Evans Hamilton to wed John Miglionni Saturday, October—” She jerked her head up to stare at her stepmother in disbelief. “You gave them a date?”

  “Well, I had to. Henry said the Gazette’s acceptance policy is for no later than six weeks before the wedding date. But it’s not like you’re locked into it. You’ll probably want to submit a photograph of the two of you for the formal ad anyway, so you can give them the real date then. Or we can always announce it at the engagement ball. This is strictly bare bones, more in the nature of a little prenuptial kickoff than anything. And speaking of prenups,” she turned to John with bright-eyed interest, “is she making you sign one?”