Reginald Summerhill was an exemplary man, though she’d never say that in front of her sisters because she knew they didn’t agree. “He has all the qualities a man should have.”
“Like?” Bea asked.
“Like he’s chivalrous, and has principles, and is confident and motivated, not to mention that he’s graceful and intelligent.” At their incredulous stares, she added, “He’s handsome and dresses nicely. He’s a very successful portfolio manager, and he smells nice.”
“How do you know what he smells like if you’ve never spoken with him?” Viola asked.
“From standing next to him in the elevator.”
They all exchanged glances.
“Don’t do that.” Summer frowned. “I’m not mad.”
“Are you sure?” Rosalind asked doubtfully.
“I’ve seen him in the society pages,” Beatrice said, sipping her drink. “I thought he had a girlfriend.”
She nodded. “That’s why I must make my move now. I’ve already waited too long.”
Rosalind put her hand on Summer’s arm. “He’s taken, Summer.”
“Is he? Until he says ‘I do’ I think he might be fair game.”
They all exchanged glances again.
“Stop that,” she said, crossing her arms.
“We just don’t want you hurt,” Viola said.
“We don’t want you to fall into the same trap your mother did,” Bea added with her usual candor.
“I’m not.” At the disbelieving looks, she shook her head. “Really, I’m not. I know what I’m doing. One kiss. I’ll kiss him, and if he’s meant to be mine he’ll fall in love right there and realize he’s seeing the wrong woman.”
“Life doesn’t work like a fairy tale, Summer.”
Why couldn’t it? She gritted her teeth, determined to prove them wrong. One just needed to believe. Love always prevailed. “Does that mean you won’t help me?”
Bea shook her head. “We’re always here for you, Summer. You’re our sister. Of course we’ll help you.”
“You want us to hold him down and squish his cheeks so his lips pucker?” Rosalind asked.
Summer smiled. “I don’t think we need to go that far.”
They all looked up as the front entrance burst open and Titania breezed in, her stride lanky in her Converse shoes. She wore her usual jeans and a T-shirt, but her hair bounced happily past her shoulders and her cheeks flushed with the warm glow of love. In her hand, she held her camera, like she always did.
Their youngest sister shooed Rosalind over and crowded in. “What did I miss?” she asked, gesturing to the bartender for a drink. “And where’s Luca? I thought he’d be here. I have some business I need to discuss with him.”
Beatrice stiffened. “What sort of business?”
Summer hid her wince behind her wine glass. Bea and the Italian Formula One driver had something going on, but no one could figure out what. Luca had been more and more scarce lately, which just added to the mystery since he used to be around so often. Summer hoped he and Bea hadn’t had a falling out. Luca’s love for Bea was written on every line of his face.
Titania shrugged, smiling at the waitress who deposited a pint of beer in front of her. “Luca wanted me to do some photos for some spread he has coming up.”
Bea reclined, her eyes flinty. “He probably wants portraits of himself to put up in his flat.”
“He
is
pretty to look at,” Rosalind replied mildly.
Bea snorted.
“I’d shag him,” Vi said.
Summer shook her head. Luca was attractive, but he was much too wild. Ryan, on the other hand, was perfect—gentlemanly and proper.
“No one’s going to shag Luca,” their oldest sister commanded.
Rosalind grinned. “Not even you, Bea?”
Titania chortled, and Bea gave her a steely look as she lifted her martini.
The entrance opened again, and Jacqueline walked into the bar. She stopped in the doorway and looked around, as though adjusting her vision, even though all the windows were open and it was the same light quality inside and out. She saw them in the booth and, slowly, carefully, came to join them.
Summer looked at the others and saw the surprise on their faces. “I invited her.”
“Good,” Bea said, turning to her mother. “This is a lovely surprise.”
“Sit here.” Titania crowded Rosalind and Summer over. “There’s space.”
“Thank you,” the woman said, carefully smoothing her skirt as she slid in. Jacqueline’s eyes misted over the tiniest bit.
If Summer hadn’t been watching she’d have missed it. She knew that Jacqueline had been estranged from her daughters for years and that any closeness was due to recent efforts. Except for Beatrice, who was the glue of the family.
Summer smiled at Jacqueline. “You have perfect timing. I have a masked ball to go to, and I need everyone’s help. I made notes for each of you.” Feeling jittery with hope and anticipation and fear, because her future depended on this, she handed out the cards to each respective person.
“A black mask,” Viola read from her card. She set it down and faced Summer. “Is this for you?”
“Yes.”
“Forgive me, dearest, but black is possibly the worst color for you in the spectrum.”
Summer looked down at her black dress.
“Precisely my point.” Vi waved the card. “Don’t worry. I’ll find the perfect mask for you.”
“We’ll coordinate,” Rosalind said, holding up her card, “because I’m picking out her dress, of course. I’m thinking a mermaid green, something magical.”
“Green?” Summer swallowed. “Are you sure?”
“You’ll feel like a princess.” Rosalind smiled. “Trust me.”
Jacqueline read hers out loud. “Tickets to the annual Midnight Masquerade Ball?”
Summer bit her lip. “Is that doable?”
“Of course.” All business, the Countess of Amberlin tucked the card into her purse. “The chairman and I go back ages. I don’t see it being a problem.”
“Transportation?” Bea looked up from her card. “That’s it?
“I wondered if I could borrow your car and driver.”
“Arriving in style is important. I’ll make arrangements.” Bea pulled out her phone and tapped into it.
“Wedding photos?” Titania held up her card. “You aren’t even dating anyone.”
She shrugged. “I’m planning ahead.”
Her youngest sister shook her head. “You’re crazy, if you ask me.”
“Well, I need shoes, if you’d prefer going shopping with me.”
“Bloody hell, no.” Titania recoiled. “How many drinks have you had?”
She glanced at Viola, and they started to laugh. To pull this off, she had a feeling she was going to need one or two more in the process.
Chapter Five
The last thing Jon expected when he opened his office door was to have fifty-kilos of leather-clad woman hurled at him.
He stood stock-still, hands out to his sides, as Trudy clung to him. At least he assumed it was Trudy. Same inky hair, layered with deep purple. Same rail-thin body. Same oddly sweet scent that didn’t correspond to her sharp image.
He cleared his throat. “Haven’t you had your medication yet today?”
“Normally I’d tell you to bugger off, but I’m too happy with you.” Sniffing, she let him go and ran a finger under the black makeup lining her eyes.
He closed the door behind him. “Forgive me if I’m suspicious, but you haven’t spoken to me in the two weeks since I told you we were retiring and closing shop.”
She looked at him through thickly mascaraed lashes. “Let me blow your mind and tell you I’m sorry about my poor attitude. I shouldn’t have doubted that you’d come to your senses.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said as he headed directly for the safe in his office.
Trudy followed him, her stiletto boots clacking behind him. He had no idea how she walked so quickly in those things. “The case file you asked me to pull together. The printed file is on your desk, but I also uploaded it so you can access it through your phone.”
“Thank you.” He dialed the elaborate combination for the safe, aware of his office manager’s eyes on him. Trudy had been with him since he’d opened his headquarters in London eight years before. She was the only person who knew the scope of his work. He trusted her with his life—literally.
He looked through the IDs he had in the safe and selected
Jon Lincoln
, American. As he replaced the ID in his wallet as well as the bankcards, Trudy said, “I can’t tell you how happy you made me.”
He secured the safe and turned around, putting the billfold in his back pocket. “I still have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She leaned against his desk, her scrawny arse perched on the end. “The fact that we’re not retiring anymore.”
“What gave you that idea?” He frowned. “We’re still retiring.”
He regretted the words as soon as they left his tongue. Trudy’s face fell, her elated joy melting into crushing disappointment. Crossing her arms, she said, “But I thought you came to your senses and realized how stupid it was to retire.”
“This lifestyle isn’t sustainable, Trudy.”
“But you took this new case.”
“As a favor to a friend. It’s minor. A retrieval of information rather than a person.”
She nodded. “Which is why I thought we were changing focus to become a private investigation service. It’s brilliant, if you think about it.”
“I don’t want to think about it. I want to retire.” He sat behind his desk and picked up the file she’d compiled. Trudy was exceptional at her job. She had a way of getting information that amazed even him. They’d been a good team.
One half of the team glared at him relentlessly. He pretended to be engrossed in the file, but he felt her stare like a sharp dagger between his ribs.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this to us,” she finally said.
“I’m not doing anything,” he mumbled, feeling an odd pang. It took him a moment to realize it was guilt. He looked up, angry. “I’m pensioning you with enough money that you never need to work again. I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”
“Because what am I going to do?” The chain wrapped around her wrist clanked as she threw her hand in the air. “I back a mercenary. We extract people for a living. I arrange for false IDs and weapons that can’t be traced. I infiltrate unhackable computer systems. Who’ll hire a person with those skills?”
“The KGB?” he offered.
“I don’t want to defect,” she said succinctly, hands on her hips. Giving him the evil eye, she turned on her heels and stalked from his office.
He winced as she slammed his office door. That could have gone worse, he supposed.
Compartmentalizing his employee’s dissatisfaction, he went over her files, hoping she’d found something in her search through Ryan Huber’s life, but he was either innocent or really good at covering his tracks. Jon bet on the latter—if Bradley suspected the man enough to bring Jon in on the case, the man was crooked.
He downloaded the file onto his phone, checked to make sure it was all intact, and changed into his disguise. Finally, when he couldn’t avoid it any longer, he braved Trudy’s ire by walking through the reception.
She had her headphones on, listening to something that was loud and abrasive even from his standpoint. He waved to her, but she pretended to ignore him.
It was just as well. He was doing her a favor by getting her out of this business. One day she’d thank him.
Jon arrived at Peregrine Investments for his appointment with Huber late enough to show casual disregard for time without being disrespectful. He walked in and smiled wide at the receptionist.
“Hey, baby. I’m here for Ryan Huber,” he said, playing up the American accent. He figured it was the most appropriate voice for his character: a nouveau riche man in his prime with more money than he knew what to do with. To complete the image, he wore torn jeans, a faded T-shirt, and a linen coat, all high-dollar items to make him look like he had a lot of money. “My name is Jon Lincoln.”
She flushed, stammering a moment before batting her eyes and replying. “Yes, sir. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
“Aren’t you sweet?” He winked at her and strutted to a chair. Reclining, he propped an ankle on his knee and tapped his fingers against his leg. She hadn’t recognized him from the day before, but then he hadn’t expected her to.
The receptionist stood and sashayed toward him. Jon could tell it wasn’t her usual manner of walking because her gait looked slightly awkward. He had the urge to warn her to stay far away from men like him, but that wasn’t the role he was playing now, so he gave her an appreciative, wolfish grin.
Her cheeks flushed and her finger fidgeted at the hem of her shirt. “This way, Mr. Lincoln.”
“After you.” He gestured to her and stood slowly, making sure she caught him looking at her ass. Also part of his cover. Normally he didn’t ogle women.
For some reason, Ryan Huber’s fiancée came to mind, but she didn’t count. That was research.
“Great space,” he said to distract himself. Playing up his character, he added, “Love the view.”
She turned around, going beet red when she saw him looking at her rear again. She twittered a little, leading him faster down the hall. She opened the door and stood waiting for him to pass.
Grinning, Jon brushed by her close enough to touch without actually making contact. “Thanks, sweetie.”
She giggled as she closed the door.
A smile on his lips, Jon faced Huber. He watched the man size him up, from the tip of his good-and-evil shoes to the thick diamond studded ring cuffing his ear. Jon wore a necklace—a ruby encrusted cross—and a bracelet that had “Peace” engraved on it. When he’d looked in the mirror before leaving the office, he thought he looked ridiculous. To Ryan Huber, he was one big dollar sign.
He took Huber in with one thorough sweep. Discreet but expensive diamond cuff links on a custom-made shirt, unwrinkled under his tailored coat. Hair carefully styled to make it appear unstyled. Designer briefcase displayed next to his desk, in the perfect spot for it to be visible from the visitor’s chair. Expensive Swiss pen in his hands.
Pretentious. Trying too hard.
Jon stuck his hand out, acting overeager. “Jon Lincoln. Thanks for seeing me so quickly. Eddie said you were really busy.”
Huber’s brow furrowed. “Eddie?”
“Eddie. Your boss.”