Guarding the Socialite (7 page)

That was a bold-faced lie. At least part of it was.

And he wanted to know what was behind door number two. He just had to figure out how to get the key.

E
mma took a moment to compose herself before she pushed the doorbell on her parents' palatial home, stuffing down the trepidation that usually followed a visit to Veronica and Nigel Vale.

It wasn't always so difficult to go home but after Elyse died—she swallowed the familiar lump when thoughts of her sister arose—and the opening of Iris House, the visits became more like tense negotiations rather than family get-togethers. And frankly, as her parents aged, they became less interested in tact than they were in their single-minded desire for her to shut down Iris House and take her place in society, as if they were living in the Victorian age and Emma was shaming them for her career choice.

She had no taste for pointless dinners and parties. Perhaps at one time she'd been seduced by the lavish social events, but after Elyse died Emma had realized how shallow and meaningless it all was. She also recognized that to keep
Iris House open she had to continue to circulate in the same nauseating circles as she had before, only now she was more interested in their generous donations.

The door opened and she smiled a greeting to Phillipe, their butler since she was a child, and allowed him to take her coat.

“So good to see you, Miss Vale. Your parents are enjoying a cocktail in the drawing room with Mr. West,” Phillipe said, his voice strong in spite of the full head of silver and the fact that he suffered terrible arthritis in his hands. She paused for a moment. “Isaac is here? I thought he was still out of town,” she mused.

“Apparently, his business concluded early and he heard of your troubles and wanted to show his support.”

“How sweet of him,” she said, smiling.

“Yes,” Phillipe agreed amiably, adding, “Perhaps he will provide a welcome buffer should things become…uncomfortable with your parents.”

“Yes, perhaps,” she said smothering a giggle, resisting the urge to hug the older gentleman. With her parents milling about she didn't dare embarrass Phillipe with such a display. But Phillipe was as much a part of her childhood as was Maura, the family cook, and she refused to ignore that fact simply because they were in a different tax bracket. “How are you, Phillipe?” she asked, taking note of the subtle stiffness in his gait. “Are you using that cream I sent for your joints? I found it in Chinatown. It's supposed to be wonderful for arthritis. And since I got it from a little old Chinese lady who swore by it, I figured it was worth a try.”

He bent his head ever so slightly and a smile played on his lips. “It's very soothing, Miss Vale. If you'll allow me to take the cost out of my paycheck I'd be most obliged.”

“I will not, which is why I won't tell you how much it cost because I know you'll try and slip me the money
somehow. Besides, it was very little and I'm happy to do it.” She savored the warm feeling in her chest for just a moment as she enjoyed being able to help in some way. Then with an inward sigh to bolster her nerves she asked, “So what's the mood in there?” Phillipe's brow furrowed as if troubled and that gave her pause. Usually, Phillipe didn't mind giving her a heads-up on the sly but now he clearly seemed bothered by something. She paused. “What's wrong?”

“This business with that maniac killing the ladies of the night has everyone worried about you, Miss Vale. Your parents have been glued to the television each night, waiting for news, hoping that whoever is perpetrating these horrific crimes has been caught.” Phillipe placed a hand gently on her shoulder, and her eyes widened at the genuine concern she read in his dignified face. “They're terrified of losing you, too.”

“Likely, they're more terrified of the bad press,” she said in an uncharitable grumble that immediately shamed her, but the old arguments her parents resurrected about Iris House caused her to be defensive.

“I shouldn't talk out of turn but Mr. Vale pulled some considerable strings to ensure your safety regarding this nasty business.”

She startled. “What do you mean?”

Phillipe shook his head. “I've said too much already. It's not my place, but I know I rested a little easier knowing the FBI had assigned their best to the case. Just remember your parents have already lost one daughter—they can't bear to lose another.”

Elyse's ghost hovered between them, a painful memory for the entire household. As much as she was loved, her death had been both devastating and a relief for her parents. By the last days, Elyse had nearly ripped their family apart. Emma read the pain in Phillipe's eyes as the memory haunted him,
as well. She buried the cold knot of fear pulsing beneath the surface of her emotions and deliberately forced a warm smile for his concern. It hurt her heart to see Phillipe so visibly shaken. She patted his soft, gnarled hand and reassured him as best as she could. “You've nothing to worry about, Phillipe,” she said with good cheer, though she didn't quite like the fact that her father had been responsible for putting Dillon on the case. It made her feel babysat and that didn't sit well at all. Still, since she had no wish to trouble Phillipe with her feelings on the matter, she simply reassured him. “I am taking every precaution. Agent McIntyre is quite sharp and you'd like him, I think. He's very 007 with his British accent but there's an edge about him that says
I can disable you with my pinkie.
” She refrained from continuing. There were many things about Dillon McIntyre that were noteworthy, but if she continued, Phillipe knew her well enough to see that she was soft on the man. And she didn't really want anyone to know that. Least of all her family. She had complications enough. She didn't need one more added to the heap.

Phillipe's frown didn't ease, but he remained silent, offering only the slightest nod to indicate he'd said his piece even if he didn't feel better about the situation.

She sighed and glanced in the direction of the drawing room. “Guess we should get this over with. The Vales are not the kind of people you leave waiting.” She offered a subtle mischievous smile, which Phillipe couldn't help but return.

Lips twitching, he said, “This way, Miss Vale. It's always a pleasure.”

Phillipe announced her at the door and then closed it behind him. Her parents, as well as their family friend Isaac West stopped their conversation and turned as she walked into the room.

Isaac, a wealthy gentleman who had come into their lives through her father's business associates, had been something of an uncle to Emma and Elyse, and she was, at the very least, happy to see him, if not her parents.

He greeted her with an effusive hug that caused her to laugh when it lingered. “Isaac, you act as if you haven't seen me in years,” she joked when he finally let her go.

“Forgive me, but you get more beautiful each time I see you,” Isaac said, his gaze warm and appreciative. She laughed away his compliment but he would not allow it. He shook his head. “No, it is no wonder your father cringes at the company you keep.”

Faltering, Emma glanced at her parents, wondering when they'd managed to contaminate Isaac's views on her work when he'd always been so supportive, even going so far as to help find the building for Iris House when she first began. “Isaac, please tell me you haven't lost faith in the work I do,” she teased but there was unease resting beneath the surface. She needn't have worried, though. A heartbeat later Isaac laughed and waved away her concern.

“Of course not. It's just this sordid business has everyone all tied in knots. You are a guardian angel for those women,” he declared, ignoring her father's look of irritation at his effusive praise. “Nigel, deny it all you want…Emma is doing important work. Imagine how things might've been different if there'd been something like Iris House for Elyse?”

Veronica Vale stiffened at the mention of Emma's twin, the subject forever a sore one for her mother. She sniffed and took a quick sip of her wine. “Next subject,” she demanded, her displeasure clear. “I will not have a pleasant evening ruined by bad memories.”

Emma swallowed her immediate ire for Isaac's sake, but a moment of uncomfortable silence followed until Veronica cleared her throat and forced a smile like the good hostess
she was trained to be. “Darling, it's so good to see you. What's new? Anything exciting going on? Isaac was just telling us that on his latest trip he rode an elephant.”

Emma shot Isaac a look of incredulity that was not entirely directed at his mode of transportation while visiting Thailand. She chose her words carefully, not wanting to incite a full-blown fight when there was a guest in the house but not wanting to pretend that everything was fabulous for the sake of appearances. “Well, Mother, as you know, we've suffered a loss at Iris House,” she began. “So we've been wrapped up in the investigation. An agent has been interviewing the girls—”

“Emmaline,” her mother's sharp voice interrupted her, her mouth a firm slash of Estée Lauder red. “I don't want to talk about Iris House tonight. Surely, there's something else happening in your life worth talking about aside from
prostitutes
and
drug addicts.
”

“Veronica, don't needle the girl,” Nigel cut in, while Isaac looked pained to be in the same room with the Vales at the moment. Likely, he hadn't expected the evening to deteriorate the way it was. “You're always complaining that she doesn't visit enough as it is. Why are you trying to scare her off?”

“I just don't want to talk about that place,” Veronica said in a low tone, rising to refill her wineglass. “The whole thing makes me sick to my stomach, especially now with that maniac running around.”

“Emma, we've come to the conclusion that this sordid business—” he gestured at her with a wave of his hand that she knew to mean Iris House “—has to stop. It was a harmless hobby that was quite benevolent of you in the beginning, but there's real danger now with that man on the loose and I don't want you in the thick of it.”

“Now, Nigel—” Isaac started but her father waved him off.

“No, Isaac, you've been out of the country for a while. You
don't know what kind of danger Emma has gotten herself wrapped up in. I'm sorry but things have gotten serious.”

“Dad…” She spoke around the growing tightness in her chest and tried not to let her temper get the best of her. Her father was notorious for being a controlling bully but she was no longer a teenager under his thumb and refused to be cowed. “I appreciate your
concern,
but really, the media has sensationalized the case and I'm not in any danger. Besides,” she couldn't help but add even when she'd told herself to let it go, “from what I hear you pushed all the right buttons to get the best on the case, so I should be
just fine.
”

“Emma, the prostitute that was killed,” her mother started, her tone faltering on the word
prostitute
as if just allowing the word to fall from her lips was some kind of social faux pas, and shooting a glance at Nigel, who was wearing his customary hard-lipped scowl. “We know she was one of your boarders. Charlotte, yes?” Veronica took her silence as enough of an admission. “This is hitting too close to home. We can't allow you to continue putting yourself in harm's way with this pet project.”

Pet project? “I beg to differ, Mother. Iris House is beyond a pet project or hobby. We're making a difference out there for the women who want to change their lives. I appreciate your concern but I have no intention of shutting down.”

“Don't make us be the bad guys when we're just trying to keep you safe,” her mother said, puzzling Emma. The decision was not theirs to make. They held no claim on Iris House, she'd made sure of that from the beginning, yet there was an uncomfortable buzz at the base of her skull that surely wasn't a good sign. “Your father and I think it would be best if you moved home for a while. Until things settle down and everything goes back to normal.”

Move home? She was an adult, not a child and it irked her to know that in spite of her achievements her parents still
perceived her as a girl who needed a short leash lest she hurt herself. “No.” Her answer was immediate. Leave Iris House? Absolutely not. “That's not possible. I have responsibilities. You may not understand but I can't just walk away. It's ridiculous for you to even assume that I would consider it.”

“Ridiculous?” Nigel repeated, his brow darkening. “What I find ridiculous is your incessant need to cling to a bunch of drug-addled whores, one of which was found cut to pieces, when it's clearly unsafe to do so.”

Isaac jumped to her defense. “Nigel, my friend, you aren't being entirely fair. Emma's work is incredibly important. You should be proud of her.”

“Thank you, Isaac, but don't waste your breath,” she said, too angry to censor her words, fisting her hands as she directed her ire at her father. “Don't talk about my boarders with such disrespect. You know nothing about Iris House and with that attitude you never will.” She gathered a deep breath, her body quaking with the rage that her father never failed to kindle with his elitist snobbery, and cooled her voice with great effort. She wasn't going to let him goad her into a shouting match. “If that's all this visit was about then we're finished here.”

“Emma, please,” her mother said, a plea in her voice as her gaze darted from Emma to her husband. “What your father is trying to say is that it's just too dangerous right now.”

Emma thawed just a little at the raw fear in her mother's voice. Veronica was not putting on a show for her benefit. Wonder of all wonders, her mother's concern was genuine. Immediately shamed for her unkind thought, she said, “That's what I'm trying to tell you…I'm fine. I'm in no danger whatsoever. I'm just as safe here as I am at Iris House and I have too much to do before the Winter Ball to skip out now, even for a short time. Mother, surely you can understand
the preparations that go into coordinating a major fundraising event.”