Unwrapping the Playboy (8 page)

“Yes?” she asked innocently.

He was about to tell her that he'd changed his mind and didn't need any help from her, but that would have been a lie. He backed off. They'd had the same sort of rivalry that most brothers and sisters had, and, like most siblings, at bottom was a strong foundation of love. He could count on her as much as she could count on him.

“Thanks,” he finally said.

He could hear her smile through the phone. “Don't mention it. And good luck,” she added, saying, “I never did like that Dalton woman.”

“When did you ever have any dealings with her?”

“I didn't, outside of the society page,” Kate confessed.
“But there's just something about the way she comes across, that strong sense of superiority she always radiates. She's a snob who thinks that she's entitled to anything she wants just because she wants it. People like that
really
annoy me.” She abruptly interrupted herself. “Uh-oh, got a call coming in on the other line. Hopefully, it's Jackson,” she said, referring to her fiancé. “Gotta go. Let me know what I can do to help,” she said. The next moment, the line had gone dead.

Keeping her number in front of him, Kullen lost no time calling Jewel. She was surprised to hear from him. Surprised and pleased when he told her why he was calling.

“I just wrapped up a case,” she told him cheerfully, “and was wondering what I was going to do with myself in the spare seven minutes I had before I get to start the next one.”

Kullen put his own interpretation on her words. “If you're too busy, Jewel—” he began. He was willing to go with a referral from her, although he wasn't a hundred percent comfortable about it. He knew Jewel always went the extra mile.

She cut him off before he got any further. “Hey, you're Kate's big brother. I'm not too busy, even if I am.”

He supposed, in an odd way, that made sense to him. “Easy to see why you and Kate get along so well. You both talk the same kind of double-talk.”

“And don't you forget it,” Jewel laughed with pride. And then she got down to business. “Okay, what do you need?”

He'd give her the particulars when he saw her. Right
now he just offered an overview. “In a nutshell, I need you to find out if there are any skeletons in Elizabeth Dalton's closet that we could use in case we need to keep her in line.”

“Elizabeth Dalton,” Jewel repeated. “As in
rich
Elizabeth Dalton?” she asked, then further qualified, “As in Dalton Pharmaceuticals?”

He hadn't thought that Elizabeth Dalton was that common a name. Obviously, he'd thought wrong. “Yes and yes.”

He heard her give a low whistle. Jewel was either impressed or intimidated. Since she was one of his sister's two lifelong best friends, he was pretty certain that it was the former. Kate didn't suffer cowards very well and would have never hung around with someone who was fearful.

Still there might have been other reasons for her reaction to the name. “Problem?” he asked.

“No, no problem. But I am curious. Why do you need someone to go digging through her past?”

“Her late son, Erik, fathered a child.”

“Only one?” she marveled. “The way I read that he was going before his accident, I assumed he got a lot of mileage out of his rich status. There should be little Eriks scattered through the Southwest.”

Jewel had a point, he thought. They should look into other paternity issues. “Right now, only one that we know of. Mama Dalton wants custody of the boy. The boy's mother doesn't want to give him up.”

“And you've taken up the mother's cause.”

He brushed aside any discussion of his motives. “Some thing like that. If you come by the office to
morrow, I can give you all the particulars.” He knew it sounded as if he was taking her for granted, so he asked, “Are you interested?”

“Absolutely.” Her enthusiasm was impossible to miss. “It's been a while since I had a really interesting case. Nice to be able to exercise my brain cells for a change, instead of just using my telephoto lens and snapping men with their pants down.”

“Be careful who you say that around,” he warned with a laugh. “Your fiancé might not be too understanding about that.”

“My fiancé is fantastic, but thanks for worrying,” she said cheerfully. “Two o'clock okay with you?”

He'd settle for two if he had to, but it wasn't his first choice. “Earlier if you can make it.”

Jewel never hesitated. “Earlier it is. Nine early enough for you?”

“Perfect.”

Her laugh was low and throaty. “So I've been told,” Jewel said just before she hung up.

He replaced the receiver.

Okay, he thought, everything was in motion and he was committed. No turning back now.

Kullen rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

T
here was wealth and then there was
wealth,
Kullen decided as he caught his first glimpse of the thirty-room mansion where Elizabeth Dalton resided. It was one of five such houses, for lack of a better word, that she owned.

He took it all in as he slowly drove up the winding, light blue-gray paved driveway. Comprised of carefully chosen pavers, the path appeared far more pristine than his own kitchen floor after his once-a-month cleaning service got through with it.

Elizabeth Dalton could qualify as her own self-contained country, keeping an army of people employed. Some one not only maintained the vast grounds but obviously cleaned them as well. Diligently.

He brought his sedan to a stop beside an impressive marble fountain. A sculpture of Neptune, water shooting from his trident, caught Kullen's attention. The fountain
stood several yards before a building that could not, by any stretch of the imagination, be referred to as a home. The word
compound
came to mind. Especially when a smartly uniformed young man unobtrusively emerged from the side to inform him that he would be parking the car. The apparition put his hand out for the keys.

Getting out, Kullen eyed the man uncertainly. Apparently Elizabeth Dalton had her own valet. Nobody should be that rich.

“It'll be waiting for you when you come out, sir,” the valet assured him as he continued holding his hand out, waiting for the keys.

Kullen was neither accustomed to this kind of service when paying a courtesy call to an opposing client, nor to being addressed as “sir” by someone roughly his own age. Possibly older. There was something uncomfortable about both situations.

But, in the interest of being cooperative, he nodded and surrendered his key.

Getting in behind the wheel, the valet told him, “Terrence will take you to Mrs. Dalton.”

“Terrence,” Kullen muttered under his breath, turning toward the mansion's front door. “Who the hell is Terrence?”

Terrence, it turned out, was the man who opened the door when Kullen rang the bell. Actually, he reconsidered as it continued pealing,
bell
was a paltry word in this case. Cathedral chimes was a more appropriate description of the sound that resulted from a simple press of his forefinger.

The woman certainly knew how to be intimidating—too bad it was all lost on him, Kullen thought, looking
around and taking it all in as he was led into the ornate foyer. He'd grown up living in the same house with his father who had, in his own way, turned intimidating into an art form. Anthony Manetti had done it out of love, his mother had maintained. Being so strict was just his way of getting the very best out of his people and his children.

Kullen had never appreciated the lesson until just now. It prepared him for meeting the likes of Elizabeth Warfield Dalton.

“Mrs. Dalton is waiting for you in the library,” the tall, thin man who had introduced himself as Terrence informed him, leading the way to one side of the building.

Kullen could have sworn that the hike from the door to the so-called library—did people actually
have
libraries these days?—was close to a half mile.

He should have brought breadcrumbs. Either that, or a pocket GPS to help him find the front door when the time came.

At the end of a journey filled with twists and turns was Elizabeth Dalton. She sat on a sofa, her face turned toward the door. A regal, attractive auburn-haired woman, she had the carriage of a queen. Kullen had a feeling that he was in danger of hearing her shout, “Off with his head!” if he displeased her.

“Mr. Manetti, you came,” Elizabeth said in a firm, confident voice.

She Who Must Be Obeyed,
he thought, recalling the title of an old science fiction movie he'd once caught on a cable channel.

Leaning forward, Elizabeth extended her hand to him.

Kullen wasn't sure if she was waiting for him to shake it or kiss it. Exercising his free will, he chose the former.

“I doubted if I had a choice,” he replied amiably. “I've never been summoned before.”

The tight smile on her small, perfect lips never wavered. “I'm sure you have,” she contradicted knowingly. “You see, I knew your father.”

“Apart from that,” he amended.

“Please, sit,” she coaxed, one perfectly manicured hand patting the seat beside her.

As he sat down, Kullen braced himself for absolutely anything.

“It's a very nice palace you have here,” he quipped.

She smiled magnanimously, allowing him the one parry. “It's home.”

No, Buckingham Palace is home,
he thought.
This amounts to an entire city.

Sitting back, Elizabeth never took her eyes off him. Obviously, the woman subscribed to the theory that it was good to keep the enemy in your sights at all times.

“I won't waste your time, Mr. Manetti. I asked you here so that we could arrive at some kind of satisfactory arrangement.” Elizabeth inclined her stylishly coif-fured head whimsically. “A deal, I believe you might call it.”

So this was an out-of-court negotiation. He hadn't expected one so soon. He'd only been the attorney on record for a few days. The woman worked fast. But
some thing was off. Kullen looked around. “Shouldn't one of your lawyers be here for this?”

The smile never reached her eyes. “I thought it better this way since the arrangement I'm proposing would be strictly between the two of us.”

“You and my client,” he asked, seeking to clarify just who she was referring to. He had an uneasy feeling that it wasn't the two he cited.

And he was right.

The smile on Elizabeth's lips turned positively reptilian to him.

“No, Mr. Manetti, between you and myself. You're a bright young man with an equally bright future before you. I can make it better, infinitely better. I can supply you with connections you never dreamed possible, introduce you to a world beyond your wildest imagination.”

In a nutshell, she was asking him to sell his soul. “And all I have to do is sell out my client,” he concluded, showing no emotion.

She frowned slightly, then reined in her annoyance. The smile appeared more forced than before. “That's such a harsh description. I don't want you to sell out. I want you to make her see reason.” She gestured about, taking in not only the house but her vast holdings as well. “I can offer my grandson the world. She has nothing to compare with that.”

His eyes met hers. “A mother's love.”

Elizabeth Dalton began to laugh, as if he was sharing a simpleminded joke with her. And then she stopped, her eyes widening as she looked at him, the truth dawning
on her. “Oh, my God, you actually believe that, don't you?”

He wasn't about to allow her ridicule to undermine him. Moreover, he began to see why Erik Dalton had been such an ass.

“Yes, I do.”

Still seated, she drew herself up as if to cast a formidable shadow. “Then we have nothing else to talk about.”

“It doesn't look that way, no,” he agreed, glad and relieved to be leaving this poisonous woman's company. “I'd say it was a pleasure, Mrs. Dalton, but that same man who used to summon me also taught me not to lie.”

With that, he turned his back on her and began to walk out of the room.

“You can't win, you know,” Elizabeth called after him as he crossed the threshold.

Kullen didn't bother turning back around to face her. But he did toss off a reply as he continued on his way out of her lair. “We'll see.”

He thought he heard the woman utter a curse in response, but he wasn't sure. All he wanted to do was get out of there.

 

On the way back to Orange County, Kullen struggled to get his temper under wraps and back on an even keel. Elizabeth Dalton obviously thought she had the right to play God with people's lives. It took him the better part of twenty miles to get himself under control.

Since he'd signed himself out of the office before
he'd left to see Mrs. Dalton, he was free to go home. He thought of stopping for a beer.

Or three.

But then he'd have to wait several hours before he was able to drive home and that held no appeal for him. But he did want some company and at least one beer, if not more.

As he got off the 405 freeway, a convenience store caught his attention. He pulled up to it and picked up a six-pack of his favorite brand of amber refreshment, and a couple of other items as well.

He decided to drop by Lilli's place and give her an up date. He wanted to tell her about the command performance before Elizabeth Dalton, the Red Queen, beat him to it and called Lilli herself, twisting facts to suit her purposes. The woman was capable of a great many things that didn't come under the heading of Love Thy Neighbor.

He wanted to assure Lilli that if he'd harbored any doubts about going to the mat with this case, those doubts were now completely and permanently emulsified. Elizabeth Dalton had seen to that.

And then he wanted to ask Lilli how she had refrained from punching the woman out when Mrs. Dalton had initially made the offer to, in effect, “buy” Lilli's son and take him from her. One woman could hit another woman, whereupon a man could not.

Rules could be very annoying.

By the time he finally pulled up in front of Lilli's house, twilight tip-toed. He sat in his car for a moment, wondering if he would disturb her by coming over unannounced like this. And while he sat, debating, it struck
him how much more real this small, tidy two-story house was than the one that Elizabeth Dalton rattled around in.

Taking a breath, he picked up the bag of goods he'd bought at the convenience store and got out of the car.

 

It had been one of those days when she felt she was going ninety miles an hour while everyone else was going a hundred and ten. With an incredible number of tasks to accomplish, Lilli was falling behind and she hated that.

Rochelle, one of the two salesgirls who worked for her at the boutique she managed, had called in sick this morning. The other salesgirl, a cheerful little thing named Judy, had left the shop early to pick up relatives flying in from Phoenix.

That left only Lilli to handle the customers
and
the inventory. The latter needed to be completed by the end of the week if she had any hopes of placing a timely order with the shop's suppliers. If the order didn't go through, there would be empty shelves and empty hangers on the racks next month, which the owner of the shop wouldn't appreciate.

Days like today made her feel as if she were holding on by the tips of her fingers. And coming perilously close to losing her grip and falling down into the abyss.

All she really wanted to do was stay home with her son and close the door to keep the rest of the world from barging in. But if she gave in to that overwhelming desire, her carefully constructed world would fall apart around them.

It still might, but she chased that thought away.

Shorthanded, she'd been late getting home. She knew that her mother, bless her, was always there to pick up the slack, but she desperately needed some alone time with her son. Desperately needed to unwind and pretend, just for a little while, that everything was all right and would continue to be that way.

Her mother had left fewer than ten minutes ago. Because of her, dinner was waiting for them on the stove and Jonathan had finished his homework.

The woman was a saint, Lilli thought, kicking off her shoes and getting comfortable. She had no idea what she would do without her. The idea of leaving Jonathan with a stranger now left her cold.

Walking into the kitchen, Lilli glanced toward the stove. Her mother had made a large chicken pot pie—the healthy kind, her mother had stressed—and it smelled wonderful. But Lilli had no appetite. Worry, no matter how hard she tried to keep it at bay, had a habit of wearing a hole in her stomach. Her only incentive to sit down at the table to eat was if Jonathan hadn't had dinner yet, either. But her mother was good about things like that. She made sure that Jonathan ate at the same time every night because a sense of stability was important for a child.

After greeting Lilli with the small, fierce hug she'd come to need more than the very air she breathed, Jonathan had run off to the family room to play his new video game. Maybe she could get something down if she took her dinner to the family room and watched him play.

About to spoon out a small serving of the pot pie, Lilli heard the doorbell ring. Her first thought was that
her mother had forgotten something. But then she realized in the next moment that her mother wouldn't ring the doorbell. She had a key to the front door.

Who—

“I'll get it!” Jonathan called out.

Lilli's heart froze, then dropped like lead into the pit of her already knotted stomach.

“No!” she cried.

Her sudden onset of fear didn't arise from the general rule that every mother tried to impress upon her children not to open the door to strangers. There was a far greater danger to deal with than that. What if for some reason the person on the other side of the door was Elizabeth? Or one of myriad people who worked for her? What if they were here for Jonathan? How long did it take to whisk a small boy away? One, two seconds? Three, tops?

Dropping the silverware she'd just taken from the drawer, Lilli didn't even hear it clatter to the tile floor as she ran out of the kitchen.

“Don't open the door, Jonathan!” she shouted to her son.

But it was too late. Jonathan had already pulled it open.

“Hi,” he guilelessly greeted the person standing on his doorstep.

With hair like golden wheat and bright blue eyes, the boy looked like a miniature version of Lilli, Kullen thought. He smiled like his mother, too.

“Hi,” Kullen said, grinning down at the boy. “You must be Jonathan.”

“I am,” the boy confirmed solemnly.