Ellie Ashe - Miranda Vaughn 02 - Dropping the Dime (16 page)

Back when I worked in finance, I spent a few evenings at formal events. Patterson Tinker Investments, my former employer, knew how to spend money to make money. From the freshest seafood, to an endless supply of champagne, to floral centerpieces that each cost as much as a used car. There was always a well-known rock band that played until the early morning hours.

Yet those parties lacked something that the Leonidis Foundation's fundraiser had in spades—class. Ana Leonidis was the brains behind the annual event, Kathryn had told me, and she paid attention to every detail. And it showed.

A valet had parked our car—Sarah's mother's BMW, which we had borrowed for the evening. Then we followed a row of glass hurricane lamps, flickering with white candles, up to the front door of the house. We gave our names to the attendant and were greeted by a waiter bearing a tray of champagne.

The entire first floor of the house was open to guests, and dozens of people mingled in the rooms and spilled over into the patio and backyard, where a string quartet played. White lights twinkled in the trees and a gentle warm light spilled out of a white canopy, under which tables were set with sparkling crystal and silver settings.

"Everyone looks so…beautiful," I whispered to Sarah as we walked through a living area that looked like it was out of a glossy architectural magazine.

"It's the lighting," she said.

I looked around. Sarah was right. Even the lighting was designed to be perfect. It worked. Everyone's complexion looked smooth, as if shot with a diffuser filter over the camera lens.

"Do you know anyone here?" Sarah asked.

I shook my head. "No, I don't think so."

And that was the plan. Get in. Get upstairs. Get the evidence. And then get out, before anyone could remember seeing us at the party.

"Can we pretend to be celebrities?"

"No one will buy that."

"Miranda Vaughn!" A woman's voice behind me made me wince with dread. Oh God, who was it?

"Well, now they won't," Sarah huffed.

I turned and saw a woman with short dark hair heading toward me.

"Miranda, dear, it is you," she said, and I recognized Jane Sinclair, the wife of one of the Patterson executives. She had thrown a holiday party for the office staff every year, hosting it in her spacious home.

"Hello, Mrs. Sinclair," I said, unsure how I'd be received. She was always nice to me when I had seen her socially, but that was before my arrest and Patterson-Tinker's collapse. I'd heard that her husband had "retired" when the firm closed its doors after news broke that the investment bank was a front for an international money-laundering ring.

"It is lovely to see you here," she said, seeming sincere.

I blew out a breath and smiled with relief. "Thank you. It's nice to see you, too. Is Mr. Sinclair here?"

She laughed and waved a hand, the diamonds in her cocktail ring catching the light with a flare. "He's in Scotland, golfing with his university buddies. Every year a group of his old buddies from Harvard get together for a golfing holiday."

Sarah and I tittered along with her.
Of course, Harvard.

I introduced Mrs. Sinclair to Sarah and watched her size up my friend. She was probably trying to figure out Sarah's ethnicity, but was struggling with it. Sarah's long black hair was parted on the side and hung in a long shiny straight sheet to the middle of her back. Her green eyes were lined in black, enhancing their natural almond shape. She wore a simple plum-colored strapless dress and heels I could hardly believe she could walk in.

The dress was mine, but the shoes were Sarah's, and I wondered when she would have worn them. I had opted for a simple silk sheath dress, black, and modest three-inch heels. To dress up the number, I found a pair of stockings with a seam up the back, which required garters and all that paraphernalia. I cleaned up okay, but standing next to Sarah would make anyone fade into the background.

Mrs. Sinclair's study of Sarah lingered and was bordering on rude. So much for getting out unnoticed. Mrs. Sinclair would be able to draw Sarah's face from memory now.

"I recognize you from somewhere," Mrs. Sinclair said, her eyes narrowing. "The opera?"

Sarah smiled and looked down modestly, and Mrs. Sinclair gasped, grabbing Sarah's extended hand.

"Oh, you're Sarah van Etter. The soprano! I saw you in San Francisco two seasons ago. You were divine."

Sarah beamed, and I nearly groaned out loud.

"Thank you, you're so kind," Sarah said.

"How do you two know each other?" Mrs. Sinclair asked, looking between Sarah and me.

"We went to university together," Sarah said. "We've been great friends ever since."

"Miranda, I had no idea you were friends with such a celebrity!"

Mrs. Sinclair took Sarah by the arm. "I have to introduce you to my friend Darla. She was with me at that performance, and she'll be thrilled that you're here."

Sarah looked back and gave me a wide smile as she was led away.

So much for being my co-conspirator. Now how was I going to get to the second floor without being seen?

I made my way toward the outdoor area, trying to place the Leonidis family members so I knew whom to avoid. Ana was easy to spot—surrounded by a throng of male admirers.

On either side of the patio were the brothers, Milo and Alexi. Tall, dark, and handsome was encoded into this family's DNA. Other than the tiny bit of gray at the temples, Milo was the spitting image of Alexi. Both wore their tuxedos easily, shook hands with a practiced familiarity, and looked bored out of their minds. Milo's wife, a petite blonde, held his hand and kept a frozen smile on her face.

Alexi seemed to be alone. But not for lack of trying by many of the female guests.

Simon Leonidis was making the rounds, clapping people on the back, giving women warm hugs.

Careful there, he can get handsy
, I wanted to warn them.

All of the family was outside, so I decided it was a good time to find the staircase Kathryn had told me about. I stepped back into the house, and smiled a greeting at a couple of women who were gawking at Alexi. The women nodded and gave me lukewarm smiles as I passed.

I headed through the room, which appeared to be a music conservatory, toward the double French doors that opened to a wide hallway. As I passed a tall ornamental screen, an arm reached out and pulled me into a small sitting area. I looked up and into Quinn Bishop's bright blue eyes.

"Good evening, gorgeous," he said, his arm still snug around my shoulders. A delicious thrill ran through my body at the touch of his hand on my bare arm.

"Quinn, what are you doing here?" My heart was beating a little too fast, and I wasn't sure if it was from the anticipation of sneaking into Simon's private office, or being grabbed unexpectedly. Or the man who was doing the grabbing.

"Counting the minutes until I can leave," he said.

Surprisingly, he didn't look out of place in his tuxedo. Though the bottle of beer in his hand did. He cleaned up nice. Too nice.

"Is this something you come to every year?"

He shook his head. "My mother likes to support the Leonidis Foundation. She's a retired teacher and supports their literacy efforts. But my parents left for Arizona this morning, so I'm here to represent the Bishop interests."

A waiter glided by with a tray of crab-stuffed cream puffs, and I helped myself.

"It's a great sacrifice you're making," I said, then popped one of the appetizers into my mouth. It melted on my tongue and was possibly the best thing I'd ever eaten. My eyes closed, and I savored the fresh seafood and the buttery, flaky pastry.
Heavenly
.

"Wow. I guess I better try one of those," Quinn said, taking one for himself.

I smiled. "I skipped lunch."

He nodded toward my nearly empty champagne flute. "Be careful."

I'd heard that warning from another too-handsome man lately, and that brought me back to the fact that I was standing in a quiet alcove with Quinn, the convicted felon, the drug trafficker. But it was hard to take Jake's warning too seriously when there was nothing about him that sent off a signal that he was dangerous. At least, a danger to anything but my virtue, such as it was.

"Are you a supporter of the Leonidis Foundation, too?" he asked, watching me closely.

I looked away quickly then nodded. "Well, I'm all for literacy," I said, stalling while I came up with a good lie. "I'm here with Sarah."

He grinned. "I thought I saw her. What are you two up to? Why is she being fawned over by all those society matrons?"

"There may be some confusion about whether she's a famous opera singer," I said, biting my lip.

He shook his head with a laugh, leaned forward, and whispered in my ear. "Stay out of trouble, sweetheart."

His breath brushed across my neck, leaving a trail of tingles that drifted south.
Oh, my
.

"I have to go say hello to the Leonidis clan," he said, looking directly into my eyes. "If I don't see you later, I hope we can see each other again soon. I still owe you that dinner that Davy interrupted."

I nodded, my voice stuck in my throat at the sign of his roguish grin.

"I'm looking forward to that," he said.

With a wink, he was off, and I lost sight of him as he joined the crowd on the patio. I finished the champagne in my glass and let out a long, slow breath.

That was enough distraction, I needed to get to work and forget about sexy FBI agents and charming cowboys.

In the hallway, I turned to the right, toward the powder room then slipped through a door that was labeled "Auction staff only." I closed the door behind me and looked around in the dim light. It was a home theater, but it was being used to store the items that would be auctioned later, as well as the staff's coats and bags. And if Kathryn's directions were correct, I'd find a staircase in the corner.

Squinting, I saw an opening and figured that was the right direction. As I stepped away from the door, I heard voices on the other side. I froze, not wanting them to hear my heels clicking on the hardwood floors.

"Was that her?"

"Yes. Jane said she's here with an opera singer."

My entire body went hot, then cold. They were talking about me.

"Why isn't she in prison? Wasn't she convicted of fraud?"

Not convicted!
I wanted to scream.
I was cleared. Sort of.

My breath came in short gasps, and I reached a hand out to steady myself, leaning against the wall.

"No, apparently, she had some hot shot lawyer and got off."

I was acquitted. By a jury. I didn't do anything!

"Everyone knows she was in on it. I heard from people who worked there that there was no way she couldn't have known."

Little flashing lights flickered across my field of vision, and I realized that I had stopped breathing. I sucked in a deep breath and tried to steady myself, but it wasn't working. My whole body trembled.

"Well, it's pretty brave to come out here. She must have known she'd see former Patterson people. What was she thinking? It hasn't been that long. She can't have friends here. And just how do you suppose she paid for the ticket?"

What had I been thinking? This whole operation was ill-conceived, and I really should have thought that some of the social climbers I'd known at Patterson would make an appearance here. I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes, hearing the voices fade as the women moved away until the only thing I could hear was the sound of my blood rushing in my ears and the muted sounds of the party filtered into my consciousness.

"Miranda?"

My heart jumped at the sound of my name, whispered in the dark. I opened my eyes and peered into the room. Kathryn stepped into the dim light under a wall sconce.

"God, Kathryn. You scared me."

She smiled and came toward me, and I motioned toward the staircase in the corner. She was wearing a dark green dress that flattered her curves. It was a retro style that wouldn't have appeared out of place in an early season of
Mad Men
. Her hair was still horrible and those glasses—well, the dress was nice at least.

"You look beautiful," she whispered.

"Thanks, so do you," I said, keeping my voice low.

Kathryn looked up the dark stairs, which rose to a landing, then turned ninety degrees for the next flight to the second floor.

"When you get to the top, turn left. Go all the way to the end of the hall. If the door is locked, this will get you in." She pressed a key into my hand.

"Where did you get this?"

She smiled and shook her head. "Just don't get caught, okay?"

"Getting caught is definitely not part of the plan."

"No one is allowed upstairs. The main staircase is roped off, and this one isn't accessible to the guests, so you should be fine. Just hurry."