The Butler's Daughter

His throat tightened. “Juliana, if you do manage to get through to your father, be careful what you say. His life and our lives may depend on it.”

“PLEASE, LET HIM BE OKAY.” Juliana’s stomach bunched in a tight lump as her call was transferred to the ICU. A nurse told her that her father was heavily sedated and hadn’t regained consciousness from the surgery. But he was breathing on his own.

Helplessness and fear welled in Juliana, torn by divided loyalties to her father and Cort.

“Could you hold the phone up to his ear, please?”

“Hold on.” There was a brief pause. Then a distant, “Go ahead, ma’am.”

Juliana heard the steady beep-beep of a heart monitor and her throat swelled with gratitude. He was alive. “Papa, please get better. I wish I could be with you. I love you.”

She hung up the phone, her body trembling. She hadn’t told her father she loved him in over two years—not since the day he’d hugged her when she’d returned home to the estate to help after Riana’s abduction.

The direct line to the administrative household manager’s office as well as the main line to the Collingwood estate were constantly busy. Lexi’s private line was picked up by her voice mail. The sound of her vibrant voice moved Juliana to more tears. She kept speed-dialing the manager’s office as she applied her makeup and pulled a hairbrush through her hair.

Finally the line rang through, but it was Stacey Kerr, Lexi’s personal secretary who answered, rather than Gord Nevins, who examined and supervised all expenditures on the estate.

Stacey’s genteel Southern composure broke as soon as she recognized Juliana’s voice. “I can’t believe they’re gone!” she said, bursting into tears. “Those two beautiful people—and after what they went through with their poor baby’s abduction. Then Lexi losing her mother and her father. Tell me, how is your father doing? Gord told us that he’d been seriously injured, but we didn’t know which hospital to call to check on him.”

“He’s doing as well as can be expected,” Juliana said, reaching for a tissue and struggling to keep her voice steady as she updated Stacey on her father’s condition.

“We’ll be praying for him. It’s terrible what they’re saying on the news. The police are here asking questions of the staff. Is it true it was a bomb?”

“I’m not sure,” Juliana hedged, remembering Hunter’s warning that someone on the staff might be a mole. “I’ve been so worried about my father that I haven’t spoken to them directly.”

“Well, you stay with your father. He needs you. We’re managing here, though it is difficult. Cook is missing—she took the week off when the Collingwoods told her she wouldn’t be needed on their getaway and we haven’t been able to reach her. She hasn’t called in either. The sous-chef is helping Gord plan the menu for the reception after the funeral.”

Juliana frowned. Should she mention the cook’s disappearance to Hunter? It was probably nothing. Maybe Cook hadn’t turned on a TV or seen the morning paper yet. “Do you know when the funeral is scheduled?”

“Wednesday or Thursday, we’re told. Gord received a fax with instructions for the funeral from Mr. Collingwood’s lawyer. We haven’t seen hide nor hair of Lexi’s sister. Apparently, as a security precaution, she’s under guard. Poor thing. We’ve had too many funerals in this family in the last few years. With the Collingwoods gone, I imagine the staff will soon be looking for employment elsewhere.”

Including her father, Juliana thought despondently. The household staff was a gregarious family with a hierarchy all its own. They had their conflicts and their slights, but they also pulled together when the need arose. She couldn’t imagine one of them voluntarily being involved in a murder plot. “I’ll keep you posted on my father. He’ll appreciate your good wishes.”

Juliana brooded over the phone call as she transferred the gun from its hiding place in the bathroom to her purse, then hurried downstairs to give Cort his morning dose of antibiotics.

The kitchen smelled deliciously of sausages and French-roast coffee. Valentina reluctantly surrendered Cort to Juliana, reassuring Juliana that he’d drunk a full bottle. Valentina returned her attention to slicing fresh fruit into crystal bowls, but Juliana felt the housekeeper’s attentive eye on her as she squeezed a syringeful of bubble-gum-flavored medicine into Cort’s mouth. Cort fussed, his lips scrunched into a cupid’s bow of distaste.

She gave him an indulgent smile as she stored his medicine in the refrigerator. “The coffee smells divine. Where is breakfast usually served, Valentina?”

“In the breakfast room, madam. Straight through that door.” She gestured with her paring knife. “Marquise found a high chair for the little one.”

Juliana carried Cort into the breakfast room, which looked out onto a terrace garden. The walls were a burnished gold that reminded her of the summer days she’d spent in Provence visiting her mother’s family when she was a girl. Her mother, Juliette, had been the social secretary to the wife of the American ambassador to France. Her father had met her mother below stairs when Ross’s parents were guests of the American embassy in Paris.

Juliana was settling Cort in the soft high chair clipped onto the table when Hunter joined them, his hair still damp from the shower. He was wearing black slacks and a charcoal sweater. The scents of soap and money still clung tantalizingly to his skin as he nuzzled her neck in greeting, his fingers dropping lightly onto her shoulders.

She froze for a fraction of a second, goose bumps tingling her skin despite the fact she knew this was all for the servants’ benefit. She slid her hand up to his smooth-shaven cheek. How could a man’s face feel so incredibly appealing? She tilted her head back, awareness rising in her as she bravely dipped her gaze into the azure ocean of his eyes. “Can I expect that every morning?”

“That, and then some,” he retorted with a teasing grin.

They broke apart as Marquise entered, carrying the coffeepot.

Juliana gratefully accepted the steaming cup of fragrant coffee and tried to get her mind to settle on the notion that this would be her everyday life. Having breakfast with her husband and son, though she noticed Hunter’s appetite was as meager as her own. Fortunately, Cort’s babbling eliminated the need for meaningful conversation. After picking at his meal for a few minutes, Hunter excused himself and leaned over to whisper in her ear, “Duty calls. Annette is expecting me, and I have a private meeting with the senior management of Ross’s company. Will you be all right here with Cort? The building is secure.”

“Of course.” She was armed. Without thinking, she smoothed the deep lines bracketing his mouth with her fingers. Her heartbeat stumbled as his eyes met hers. His eyes glowed with pure amusement. Knowing that he was amused by her feeble attempts at playing his loving wife made her fingers tremble. “I have a wedding to plan, remember? And shopping arrangements to make. We’ll be fine.”

His firm lips formed a sardonic smile beneath her fingertips. “Ah, yes, the shopping. Don’t let it be said that the Sinclair family hasn’t made a meaningful contribution to the economy.”

Her voice lowered as she placed a lover’s kiss on his cheek. “Be careful. We need you.”

He drew back. The amusement was gone from his eyes, replaced by an intensity that awakened a slow warmth curling through her belly. “You can reach me on my cell phone.” He grabbed one of Cort’s hands and blew a raspberry into his tiny palm. Cort chortled.

As Hunter left the room, Juliana’s smile faded, chased away by misgivings. If someone knew she’d been caring for Cort, did that person also know The Guardian’s identity?

Chapter Four

“Is the team in place?” Hunter demanded into his cell phone as the limousine whisked him through the fleet of cabs zigzagging the city’s streets. Saturday morning shoppers were out in full force. Though it was nearing noon, the overcast sky visible between the high corridors of the buildings made it seem even later.

“Yes, sir. We’ll be invisible,” Del Lanham, the commander of The Guardian’s elite security force, assured him. “She won’t even know we’re there.”

“Good. I don’t want to alarm her any more than necessary. If anyone so much as looks at her the wrong way, I want details, right down to the names of their second cousins. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. They’re in good hands.”

“I’m counting on it.” Hunter disconnected the call, still debating whether or not he should have told Juliana about the team he’d assigned to secure the apartment building and watch over her and the baby. Del was assigning their best team to this detail, handpicked ex-military and police officers, even a former Secret Service agent. Until Hunter knew who’d murdered Ross and Lexi, he wasn’t taking any chances. He couldn’t ignore the fact that only a handful of people knew of Cort’s birth.

Hunter arrived at his family’s flagship hotel via a rear entrance reserved for celebrities. He met briefly with the head of Clairmont’s security to ensure that the special measures he’d requested to protect Lexi’s sister were being carried out to the letter. Then he was escorted up to Annette’s suite.

A security officer was stationed outside her suite. A butler opened the door and showed him inside.

Annette York was almost lost in the ornate grandness of the suite. Hunter found her burrowed in the corner of the plush sofa, a silver tea tray resting on the coffee table in front of her. Attractive in an elfin sort of way, her short frosted hair framed features that were thin and expressive, and swollen from crying. Beside the tea tray, her leather satchel lay open, piles of typewritten pages and her agenda visible. Hunter remembered she worked as a copy editor for a women’s magazine. She eyed him warily, her brows arching when he dismissed the butler.

“Are you The Guardian?” she demanded.

“Yes, I am,” he acknowledged. “We spoke several hours ago by phone. Again, my deepest condolences for your loss.”

Annette sandwiched her hands into the brocade cushions surrounding her. Hunter had the impression she was fortifying herself for an emotional onslaught. “Is it really necessary for me to be kept here like this? I have obligations. Mr. Nevins has questions about the funeral arrangements. I should be at the estate.”

Hunter had no intention of telling her that no one would be allowed at the estate other than the staff until the police had finished sweeping it for hidden listening devices. “You should be here, where you are safe and can be protected. Mr. Nevins is extremely competent. This will be a difficult period, Ms. York, I ask for your forbearance.”

“You don’t intend to keep me from attending the funeral?”

“No.”

“Good.” Annette drooped, some of the tension leaving her petite body. “I would still like to see my nephew, reassure myself that he’s okay.”

Hunter refused to be moved. “He’s safe and well cared for.”

Her lips set in obvious irritation at his response. Her green eyes snapped with fire. “And you still refuse to tell me who Ross and Lexi appointed to take care of him?”