Danger in a Red Dress (33 page)

A man in a business suit came to stand before her, and offered his hand.

She took it and looked up, startled, into the handsomest face she’d ever seen.

In a voice tinted with the faintest trace of an Italian accent, he said, “My name is Roberto Bartolini. I am a lawyer, and with your permission, I will serve as your defense.”

She felt a little punch-drunk from looking at the face and the shoulders and, wow, the face. “Thank you, but I intend to defend myself.”

“If you will permit me to explain?” He glanced over at the lawyer for the federal government. “I must tell you Mr. Moore is young, hungry to take his law degree into a political office, and this is his first high-profile case. He has declared his intention to make a mark for himself, and he cannot do that if you walk away a free woman.”

She looked at Bert Moore, then back at Roberto Bartolini. “How do you know that?”

“He was talking in the local pub. Lawyers.” Roberto shrugged expressively. “Someone buys us a few drinks. We get drunk, and we say things we shouldn’t.” He smiled with an excess of charm. “Just like real people.”

She wanted to smile back, but she’d learned to be wary of men who offered to do her a favor. In the past, she had paid dearly for those favors. “While I appreciate your offer, I don’t think I can afford you.” Because the suit he was wearing fit him like a glove, and his French cuffs were held together by gold cuff links with chunks of stone that looked like real diamonds.
Big
diamonds.

He still clutched her hand, and now he bent and kissed her fingers. “I seek no payment. My brothers and I—we have taken an interest in your case.” He waved a hand toward the benches.

She turned to see what he meant, and there they were, two more tall, broad-shouldered men sitting behind her. The family resemblance was slight. She probably would never have guessed they were brothers. Except for the . . . “Oh.” She yanked her hand out of Roberto’s grip. “You’re Nathan Manly’s sons.”

Roberto seated himself in the chair beside her. “How did you guess?”

She looked at him, then looked back at the other two men.

They smiled at her.

“The eyes.” Those damn green eyes.

“Yes.” Roberto’s lips curled with scorn. “Our father, he gave us nothing except the distinctive green eyes.”

“Look, I don’t want—”

“Shh.”
Roberto put his finger to his lips. “The judge enters.”

The hearing took an hour, and it seemed Roberto was right. Bert Moore intended to use the case to bring himself into the public eye.

Thanks to Roberto, he did just that, but not in a good way. Instead, he made a fool of himself in front of a large contingent of news reporters.

And while she should have been paying attention to the proceedings, concerned about the possibility of prison, she was instead wondering what Gabriel had told his brothers about her, why they had really come . . . whether Gabriel himself lurked somewhere close. She wanted to examine the spectators, look for the face that haunted her nights. She wanted to interrogate Roberto about Gabriel: his health, his whereabouts, and his full family history.

Most of all, she wanted not to care.

She was acquitted of all charges, and the press clamored to interview her. They never stood a chance, for she left the courtroom in the center of the triangle formed by the three brothers.

Out on the sidewalk, Roberto shoved Hannah into the front seat of a big black Cadillac Escalade.

A quick look around proved that Gabriel was nowhere inside.

The biggest brother got in the driver’s seat; the other two guys hopped into the back. As they skidded away from the curb, Roberto spoke from right behind her. “Miss Grey, allow me to introduce you. Mac MacNaught is driving. He’s a banker.”

“Good to meet you, Hannah.” Mac never took his eyes off the road.

“Good to meet
you.
” She groped for her seat belt and buckled it.

Roberto continued. “Beside me, Dev Fitzwilliam. He’s a hotelier.”

“It’s a pleasure.” Dev grinned, obviously relishing the speed.

“A pleasure.” These guys were insane, not at all like their brother, who was coldly, intensely sane. In fact, when she remembered the way he had fooled her, she would have to say he was cold. Except when he . . . Well. No. He was cold and hard and she hated him.

Roberto finished, “You know me, I’m a lawyer.”

“A good one.” She held on as they careened around a corner.

“We were hoping you’d like to go to lunch.” Mac glanced in his rearview mirror, and goosed it. “There’s a tearoom across town with, you know, scones and flowered wallpaper and stuff.”

“Once he loses the press, we’ll drop you off,” Dev said.

“Drop me off?” They had
better
lose the press soon, because she was getting carsick.

“The wives wanted to meet you.” Roberto leaned forward and said, “Mac, you shouldn’t drive on the sidewalk.”

Hannah turned her head to stare at the men. “The wives?”

“Our wives. And Gabriel’s sisters. It’s all one big”—Dev waved his arms—“extended family.”

“What if I don’t want to meet them?” Hannah asked.

Except for the squealing tires, the car got very quiet.

“I suppose we can drop you off at your hotel, but . . .” Mac took a long breath. “Man, I do hate to upset Nessa. She’s pregnant, you know.”

Looking like a pack of big, sweet St. Bernard puppies, the guys all looked pleadingly at Hannah.

“I didn’t know.” She didn’t even know who Nessa was. Mac’s pregnant wife, apparently.

“The thing about the Prescott girls is that they’re all so fiercely protective of Gabriel.” Dev pointed. “Mac, turn here.”

They went around the corner on two wheels.

“Now turn here.” Dev pointed again.

Mac took that turn just as quickly.

Roberto looked behind them. “You lost them. People certainly stare in this town, don’t they?”

“When you drive like maniacs, they do!” Hannah said.

“
Maniacs
is such an extreme word.” Mac slowed to five miles above the speed limit.

“And there are
our
wives, too. Not pregnant, but they went to such trouble, and when they don’t get their way, they’re unhappy.” Dev grimaced.

They were back to that.

“And when they’re unhappy—” Roberto began.

“We’re unhappy,” Mac finished. “Not that you should feel any obligation because we got you off on the federal charges and out of the courthouse without having to deal with the news reporters.”

Hannah couldn’t tell whether she was exasperated or charmed. “You guys are not only pussy-whipped—you’re experts at ladling on the guilt.”

“We don’t like to call it pussy-whipped,” Dev said. “We like to call it
Trained in Compromise and Negotiation
.” He laid his hand, palm up, across the seat.

Mac slapped it in congratulations. “As for being experts at ladling on the guilt—desperation will have its way. And here we are!” He pulled up in front of a charming early-twentieth-century bungalow with the shingles placed in waves across the roof and an exterior painted various shades of soft pink and light blue.

The men actually shuddered when they looked at it, as if the lace curtains in the windows threatened their manhood.

Hey, at least Hannah was now certain Gabriel was nowhere inside.

Dev got out and opened her door.

She slid out and realized Roberto and Mac were standing on the brick walk, waiting to escort her inside. But first—

Roberto hugged her and kissed each of her cheeks. “It was an honor to represent you today,
cara
.”

“Thank you. I appreciate all that you—”

Mac pushed Roberto to the side. “Yeah, yeah, he’s a great lawyer. I’m a great driver.”

“Thank you for driving,” she said.

He embraced her, too, very gently, as if he feared he might break her.

Dev waited his turn to hug her. “And I’m the great navigator. They call me the Grand Homing Pigeon.”

“We could have used the GPS,” Mac said from the corner of his mouth.

Dev didn’t even turn around to answer. “Not at the speed you were going.” He smiled kindly at her. “Good to meet you, Hannah. We’ve heard so much about you. Looks like it’s all true.”

“Well . . . thank you.” She wanted to ask if that was a good thing or not, but decided against it. She looked up at the blue front door, painted with pink roses, and took a breath. She climbed the stairs and put her hand on the knob, and looked back at the guys.

They all smiled.

Mac made little shooing motions.

Fine. But she would rather have faced an entire room full of federal prosecutors than Gabriel’s sisters.

She opened the door and stepped inside.

THIRTY-EIGHT

A lady in a ruffled apron and cap waited for Hannah. “Are you here for the Prescott party?”

“I guess.” She glanced out the window.

The guys were standing on the sidewalk, waiting, like military officers ready to stop a retreat.

She was so stuck.

“This way,” the hostess said.

Hannah’s first thought when she stepped into the room of chattering women was that she was glad she’d worn a good suit. These women all looked great—and they were all total strangers. Except for the pregnant lady. That must be Nessa.

The chattering stopped. Every eye turned to her.

Six. There were six of them.

The following outcry made her jump.

“Hannah!”

“So glad you came!”

“So glad the guys got it right!”

“So glad that prosecutor got what he deserved!”

They lined up in a female imitation of the guy lineup outside.

A smiling lady with brown hair and big, blue eyes hugged her and said, “I’m Hope. These are my sisters, Pepper and Kate. We’re the Prescott sisters.”

Hannah embraced each of them, wondering what the sisters thought of her and her relationship with Gabriel, thinking she’d never felt so socially awkward in her life.

Hope continued, “This is Brandi Bartolini. Her husband was your lawyer.” Brandi had to lean down to hug Hannah—the woman was tall, built, and gorgeous.

Scary.

“Meadow Fitzwilliam.” A pretty woman with a merry face whose husband was the Grand Homing Pigeon.

“Nessa MacNaught.” Mac’s wife.

Nessa had to lean forward over her belly to hug Hannah, and her sweetly accented Southern voice murmured, “Sorry if little Mac kicks you. It’s been a very active day.”

“It’s okay.” Hannah had never felt so unprepared, so alien, in her life.

Hope hooked her hand through Hannah’s arm. “We’ve ordered a formal tea: scones, clotted cream, cucumber-and-watercress sandwiches, and lemon curd. We can’t wait to celebrate your win.”

“In court, you mean,” Hannah said.

“That, too.” Pepper grinned.

“Mostly for lassoing Gabriel,” Kate said.

Hannah stiffened. “I did not lasso Gabriel.”

“You ought to be bragging.” Meadow clapped Hannah on the shoulder. “We didn’t think anyone could make him yearn and ponder, but you did it.”

Hannah let them place her at the head of a long table, and no one heard her ask, “He . . . yearned?”

At least, no one seemed to hear her.

Hope sat on one side of Hannah. Brandi sat on the other. The other women took their places with a surety that told Hannah the arrangement had been discussed in advance.

The waitress placed three-tiered plates with artfully placed pastries and sandwiches.

“First.” Hope placed a photo album on the table at Hannah’s elbow. “We thought you’d like some pictures of Gabriel.”

Hannah slid her gaze toward the album, then back up to Hope’s face.

Pepper leaned forward and fixed Hannah with her gaze. “We’ve got a few photos from when he was a teenager—we lost most of those when we lost our parents—but we included several shots of him in his twenties, and when he bought the ranch, and the ones where he was given an award from the Texas governor.”

Hannah pulled the napkin off the table and onto her lap, deliberately not touching the album.

“There’re a couple in his headquarters in Houston, with Daniel and some of his staff.” Brandi smiled at Hannah. “You know, he’s created the most successful security firm in the U.S., but he’s got other thriving concerns.”

“He’s got the ranch near Hobart, Texas. That’s the town where Hope, Pepper, and I were born,” Kate said.

“It’s a working ranch, too. Of course he has the cattle concerns leased to a neighbor, and the oil wells are pumping.” Pepper beamed with pride.

“Don’t forget to mention the place he bought near us in South Carolina.” Meadow poured tea into her flowered china cup and passed the pot. “It’s lovely. Small but so comfortable and the kids love to go there and play on the beach.”

“He bought the penthouse in Houston, too, which is convenient for his work,” Nessa said.

“I’ve been there.” Hannah bit off the words.

Nessa fixed Hannah with her gaze. “He has all these places to relax, and he knows how, but at the same time, he’s a real hands-on boss. He works with his security guys. He likes the physical demands of getting out in the field. It’s dangerous sometimes, so we’re looking to you to rein him in.”

The conversation came to a halt.

Everyone looked at Hannah and waited.

But she knew better. She was not going to let any one of his relatives, no matter how charming, bully her into speaking to Gabriel Prescott. Instead, she fixed Kate with her gaze. “So. I think I’ve seen you reporting on
GMA
?”

“That’s right,” Kate said. “I do the occasional political reporting for the network, but most of my work is in Texas.”

Determinedly, Hannah led the conversation to less personal topics.