“Take off your dress and leave it on the floor on the way out.”

“My dress?” Juliana inquired. Her voice was hesitant. Alarmed.

Hunter smiled despite his fatigue. “The servants will expect some evidence of a romantic evening. I’ll close my eyes, I promise.” He obediently closed his eyes. Never had he imagined that the whisper of fabric against skin could be so tantalizing.

“My father warned me about rich boys like you.”

“Your father is a smart man,” Hunter retorted, “but you’re safe with me.” A vision of her naked before him turned his body to pulsating awareness. He counted her footsteps across the room, his breath exploded in his chest, and he reminded himself that asking her to remove her clothes was his idea.

“Hunter?”

He hoped she wasn’t going to ask him whether she could expect to find him in her bed when she woke up. He couldn’t trust himself with the answer to that question.

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

This month Harlequin Intrigue has an enthralling array of breathtaking romantic suspense to make the most of those last lingering days of summer.

The wait is finally over! The next crop of undercover agents who belong to the newest branch of the top secret Confidential organization are about to embark on an unbelievable adventure. Award-winning reader favorite Gayle Wilson will rivet you with the launch book of this brand-new ten-story continuity series. COLORADO CONFIDENTIAL will begin in Harlequin Intrigue, break out into a special release anthology and finish in Harlequin Historicals. In Rocky Mountain Maverick, an undeniably sexy undercover agent infiltrates a powerful senator’s ranch and falls under the influence of an intoxicating impostor. Be there from the very beginning!

The adrenaline rush continues in The Butler’s Daughter by Joyce Sullivan, with the first book in her new miniseries, THE COLLINGWOOD HEIRS. A beautiful guardian has been entrusted with the care of a toddler-sized heir, but now they are running for their lives and she must place their safety in an enigmatic protector’s tantalizing hands! Ann Voss Peterson heats things up with Incriminating Passion when a targeted “witness” to a murder manages to inflame the heart of a by-the-book assistant D.A.

Finally rounding out the month is Semiautomatic Marriage by veteran author Leona Karr. Will the race to track down a killer culminate in a real trip down the aisle for an undercover husband and wife?

So pick up all four of these pulse-pounding stories and end the summer with a bang!

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Harlequin Intrigue, Senior Editor

The Butler’s Daughter
Joyce Sullivan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Joyce credits her lawyer mother with instilling in her a love of reading and writing—a fascination for solving mysteries. She has a bachelor’s degree in criminal justice and worked several years as a private investigator before turning her hand to writing romantic suspense. A transplanted American, Joyce makes her home in Aylmer, Quebec, with her handsome French-Canadian husband and two children. A visit to the Thousand Islands, where this story is set, gave her the inspiration to write about a hero and his castle.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Ross and Lexi Collingwood—He was the Baron of Wall Street. After their baby daughter was kidnapped and never returned, they went to extreme measures to hide the birth of their son and new heir from the world.

Goodhew—What did the butler know about the explosion that killed Ross and Lexi Collingwood?

Juliana Goodhew—She was the butler’s daughter, who’d agreed to raise the Collingwood heir as her own son.

Hunter Sinclair—This reclusive multimillionaire lived a double life as The Guardian. He’d do anything—even marry a woman he’d never met—to save his godson from a killer.

Annette York—Lexi’s sister. The baby was her only family left.

Kendrick Dwyer—The president and chief financial officer of the Collingwood Corporation. Was he too eager to fill Ross’s shoes as CEO?

David Younge—The controller. Had he been on his way out of the corporation? Or on his way up?

Sable Holden and Phillip Ballard—Ross Collingwood had ruthlessly bought out their companies in hostile takeovers. Did they want revenge?

Nonnie Wilson—Was the Collingwoods’ missing cook somehow involved in the bombing?

Stacey Kerr—Lexi’s personal secretary. Who was she sleeping with?

Gord Nevins—Could the household manager of the Collingwood estate be trusted?

To my daughter Elise

for the joy she brings me.

Acknowledgments

My sincere thanks to Denise O’Sullivan,

who recognized The Butler’s Daughter before I did.

And to the generous people listed below who answered

my tedious questions about their lives and their jobs

or provided valuable input to my plot.

From the Ottawa-Carleton Regional Police services:

Jackie Oakley; Constable Bob Arbour, Bomb Tech;

and Sergeant Dave Lockhart, Intelligence Section.

Also, Mr. Victor Robles, The City Clerk, The City of

New York; Tom McCormick, W. J. Van Dusen Professor of

Management, UBC Commerce; New York State Police

Trooper Lieutenant Jamie Mills; Dr. Steven W. Maclean;

Pilot Pierre Duchaine; Ellen Hall; Judy McAnerin;

T. Lorraine Vassalo; and Rickey R. Mallory.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

They weren’t going to make it to Severance tonight, Juliana Goodhew realized, resigning herself to that fact as another heart-wrenching wail erupted from her five-month-old charge who was strapped into the infant carrier in the back seat of the SUV. Cort Collingwood’s cry fractured into a refrain of sharp, desolate sobs that reverberated off the windows like steel balls.

Poor Cort was making it clear he’d had enough of traveling for one day. They’d missed their morning flight from Cleveland because he’d spent a restless, irritable night, and she’d taken him to the doctor only to discover Cort had an ear infection. The pain reliever she’d given him a few hours ago must have worn off.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” she crooned, trying to soothe him with her voice as she searched the dark New York interstate for an exit and lodging for the night. “I was hoping you’d sleep for most of the trip and before you knew it…you’d be in your parents’ arms.”

Emotion gathered tight in her throat at the thought of Lexi waiting anxiously for their arrival. Spending one more sleepless night without her baby. Lexi hadn’t seen her son since she’d tearfully handed him over to Juliana’s safekeeping when he was three days old. “They’re so anxious to see you again, pumpkin. They love you so much. But the reunion will have to wait until morning, after we’ve both had a rest.”

Cort snuffled as if he completely agreed with her, then let out another wail that sounded like a wounded tomcat. Juliana couldn’t see him, but she could hear him squirming in the carrier, completely fed up with being confined.

Her fingers gripped the steering wheel as she debated the risks of pulling over to the side of the road to comfort him for a few minutes. It was almost midnight and the traffic along the highway was sparse. She had a gun in the diaper bag that she knew how to use. But still, she couldn’t take a chance with Cort’s safety. Not after what had happened to the Collingwood’s first baby.

Anger and grief abraded her heart like bits of broken glass ground into an open wound. In the blink of an eye, Ross and Lexi Collingwood’s one-day-old daughter, Riana, had been abducted from the hospital nursery. The heir to one of America’s wealthiest families had gone missing. There had been one aborted ransom demand. Then nothing. Twenty-eight months later there were still no clues in Riana’s abduction.

And poor Lexi blamed herself. Juliana had taken Lexi’s request to see Cort as a sign of hope that she was finally ready to go on with her life after the tragedy. Surely after holding her delightful son in her arms—and experiencing just one of his bubbly sunshine smiles—she’d know that Cort’s rightful place was with his parents and not with the butler’s daughter.

“You are going to love your mommy, Cort,” she babbled reassuringly, still scouring the roadway for a hotel. “She’s so beautiful—she has a smile that begins with a starry twinkle in her eyes. It infects everyone she meets with an uncontrollable urge to smile back at her. Just like yours, pumpkin. And unlike some of the well-to-dos who shall remain nameless because I don’t tell tales about what I see behind closed doors, she’s kind and sincere all the time, not just when she’s in public. She’s generous, too.”

Despite her distress over Cort’s cries, Juliana’s heart swelled with gratitude for Cort’s mother. She knew full well it was Lexi’s glowing praise of her design and organizational skills that had resulted in her pick of a dozen job offers from wedding consulting firms across the country. A car hurtled past her on the left, blowing its horn, making Juliana realize she was driving well below the posted speed limit.

She sped up. Keeping her left hand on the steering wheel, Juliana stretched her other arm into the back seat and gently stroked Cort’s downy head with her fingers. He was hot and sticky, poor darling. She kept talking to him in an effort to soothe him. “Do you remember me telling you how your parents met at a hospital charity ball for sick children, pumpkin? Your mommy worked as a social worker for the hospital. Your father flirted with her—shamelessly, I might add. She didn’t know who he was, but she thought he was too handsome and too arrogant for his own good. He asked her out, but she told him she wouldn’t even consider going out with him unless he donated one whole week’s salary to the hospital because a man who didn’t care about sick children wasn’t a man she cared to spend five minutes of conversation with, much less an evening. Oh, I’d have loved to have seen your father’s face when she said that! Would you believe your father took your mother’s hand, pulled her to the stage of the ballroom and made a pledge for 1.2 million dollars?”

Cort let out a discontented roar.

The corners of Juliana’s mouth tilted. “You think he should have offered more, do you? Spoken just like a Collingwood.” Juliana steadied her grip on the steering wheel as a gust of wind from a passing eighteen-wheeler buffeted the SUV. “They don’t call your daddy the baron of Wall Street for nothing. He certainly proved he was smart enough to convince your mother to marry him—and I got to help your mommy plan their wedding.”

Juliana’s gaze flickered toward the star-studded sky, remembering the music and the twinkling lights and the thousands of flowers for that spectacular December night. She’d never seen two people more in love. Lexi had looked like a princess in an exquisite silk gown with diamonds sparkling in her chestnut hair. Juliana had planned every detail of the wedding and every detail had been perfect. Even her father had said so.

“That’s how I discovered I wanted to be a wedding planner. It’s sort of like being a fairy godmother to brides. They get to be Cinderella with their own prince.” Juliana sighed softly and stroked Cort’s head, missing the glamour and the romance of her job. She even missed the thousand and one details that had required her constant attention. While she hoped she’d be returning to that life after this weekend, a part of her ached at the thought of being separated from Cort.

After five months together, she knew each of her tiny charge’s smiles and cries. She knew the plump rounded curves of his cheeks and limbs and the delicious scents of his skin and his hair. Her heart folded into a tight contented box whenever she held him. Saying goodbye was not going to be easy.

“But for the moment, pumpkin,” she mused as Cort continued to whimper and grumble like a radio with static, “I’m your fairy godmother—until your mommy comes to her senses and realizes she can’t hide your birth from the rest of the world.”

To her relief, Juliana rounded a dark curve and the headlights flashed on an accommodations sign for the next exit. “It won’t be much longer now.” She gave Cort’s head one last caress and put both hands on the steering wheel.

Within fifteen minutes, she’d managed to secure a motel room and juggle the baby, his diaper bag, her purse and her carry-on bag up to the second-floor room. She gave Cort another dose of pain reliever, changed his diaper and snapped him into a miniature baseball sleeper while a portable crib was brought up to the room. Then she put a bottle in the warmer. Cuddling Cort against her, she pulled the cell phone from the diaper bag to call her father.

“Juliana? It’s practically midnight.” Her father’s voice was stiff with disapproval. “Where are you?”

“Sorry, Papa. I thought I could surprise the Collingwoods tonight, but Cort is fussing. His ears are bothering him still. The doctor said it would be a good twenty-four hours before the antibiotics took effect.” Juliana rocked from side to side as Cort started to whimper, his fingers clinging to her cotton sweater. “We’ve just checked into a motel about two hours from Severance. We’ll leave first thing in the morning and arrive for breakfast. Cort usually wakes around six.”

“Well, then, I suppose it can’t be helped.”

Juliana closed her eyes, hearing the unspoken accusation that she’d failed him yet again echo in her ears. Typically, her father viewed the baby’s ear infection and her failure to arrive by the designated hour as a poor reflection on him. Would she ever stop failing him? Probably not. Why did she even try?

“I need to go, Papa. Cort needs his bot—” Her words were drowned out by an explosive roaring transmitted over the phone line. What on earth? “Papa! Are you there? Answer me! What’s happening?”

Juliana strained to hear as she pressed the receiver close to her ear, her heart thundering in her chest, while her other arm clutched the baby. Oh, dear God. The phone line was not dead. She could hear distinct crackling and popping sounds. Flames?

“Papa!” she shouted into the receiver. “Can you hear me?”

To her relief she heard her father’s voice, fading in and out, as if coming from the end of a tunnel. “There’s been an explosion—a bomb. Take the baby, Juliana. Protect him with your life. Operation Guardian. Promise me as a Goodhew that you’ll…” His voice faded, snatching away the rest of his words.

Horror gripped her. “I promise—”

With a loud pop, the line went dead. Juliana stared at the phone and started to shake. Operation Guardian could only mean one thing. Ross and Lexi Collingwood were dead.

SICK WITH FEAR over the safety of her father and the Collingwoods, Juliana called the police and reported the explosion, then punched in the number she’d been asked to memorize in the event of an emergency such as this.

“Yes.” The voice that answered was curt and concise. One word, but totally male and in charge. She knew instinctively that he was the enigmatic security consultant Ross Collingwood had hired to head up the search for Riana. The man known only as The Guardian.

Juliana had never met him. But then, few people ever met The Guardian in the flesh or knew his real name. His existence and the services he supplied were a closely guarded secret of the world’s upper class.

“Operation Guardian,” she replied numbly, the code word falling from her shocked lips like a blunt instrument onto a table. She gripped the phone tightly as tears seared her eyes.

Please God, this wasn’t happening. Not to her father. Or Ross and Lexi. They couldn’t be dead.

Tremors wracked her body in undulating waves of disbelief and grief. If not for Cort’s ear infection, she and the baby would have been caught in the explosion, too!

A softly muttered curse whispered over the line, the hint of raw emotion it conveyed so genuine it snagged her heart like a hook, connecting her to him. “Tell me your name,” he commanded.

The clear authority in his tone evoked a comforting image of an indomitable muscle-hewn Marine sergeant. Juliana caught the tiny precious foot of the child who lay on the bed beside her. Cort’s golden gossamer eyebrows arched over his sooty blue eyes in surprise as he gnawed on a teething ring of plastic keys. She swallowed hard and glanced nervously over her shoulder toward the door, half expecting someone to kick it open. Whatever fate had been dealt her charge’s parents, Cort was not alone. Not while breath still remained in her body.

“My name is Juliana Goodhew,” she said as calmly as she could.

“Juliana, I’m The Guardian. Tell me what’s happened.”

Wanting to tear her hair out with the fear that was expanding in her until she thought her skin would burst, she told him about the secret rendezvous with the Collingwoods at a rented home in the Adirondacks and the horrible explosion she’d heard a few minutes ago when she’d called her father to inform him she and the baby would be delayed until morning.

“My father believed it was a bomb. He told me to call you. I called the police first to get them some help….” Her voice broke.

After all her problems with her father…was this how it was going to end? I’m sorry, Papa.

A sharp stab of guilt lanced her side, torturing her with memories of a rainy autumn afternoon and a gleaming banister—a forbidden and irresistible temptation to two young children. The day that had changed their lives forever.

She fanned her fingers over Cort’s plump belly, her heart melting at the snugly warmth of his compact body and his gummy irresistible smile. Tears slipped down her cheeks, splashing onto his sleeper. I won’t let the baby out of my sight, Papa. I promise.

The Guardian’s voice penetrated her thoughts. “You did the right thing, Juliana. Your father is wise to be cautious. Until we have more information confirming the cause of the explosion, I’m going to implement measures to keep you and the baby safe. Where are you now?”

“A motel in Utica.” She gave him the name and room number.

“Stay inside, away from the windows. Don’t go out to your car. I’ll catch a chopper and be with you in an hour and a half, two hours tops. Did you call your father or the police from the phone in the motel room?”

“No, I used my cell phone.”

“Good. So only the police know of your location.”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell them who the child is with you?”

Did he think she had the IQ of an idiot? “Of course not,” she said shortly. “I told them I was the butler’s daughter, and I’d been talking to my father when the explosion occurred.”

“Are you armed?”

The implication of his question slid over her like the blade of a razor. He thought the danger was real.

“Yes. Mr. Collingwood insisted I be trained properly in how to use a gun.”

“Excellent. I’m on my way. Stay alert and be ready to move.” The line clicked off.

She dropped the phone onto the bed as if it had burned her.

Be ready to move.

But moving with a baby required thinking ahead. She’d given Cort his second dose of antibiotics when she’d stopped for gas at 10:00 p.m., but he would need a bottle. Wary of casting a shadow across the window, she crawled on her hands and knees to the bathroom to grab the bottle from the warmer she’d set up earlier on the counter. Then she unplugged the device so she could pack it back into the diaper bag.

Returning to the bed, she pulled the semiautomatic pistol from the diaper bag and laid it on the floor beside her within easy reach, then pulled Cort into her arms and leaned her back against the wall so she could keep an eye on the door while she fed him. Cort took the nipple of the bottle into his mouth, sucking greedily. His fingers curled and uncurled blissfully around the bottle as his eyelids slowly drifted downward.

Juliana kissed his sticky-sweet forehead as terror brutally clutched her heart in a white-knuckle grip. “Please, God, let them be okay.”

Beyond Cort’s sucking noises an ominous silence hung outside the thick drapes covering the window.

EXACTLY ONE HOUR and forty-two minutes later, Juliana heard a light tapping on the door.

Leaving Cort sleeping on a pillow on the floor, she approached the door stealthily with the gun in hand. Surely, it could only be The Guardian, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

Through the peephole she saw a man standing in the exterior hallway—his posture rigid and controlled as if his body were formed from black steel, his head turned in profile to scan the corridor and the parking lot below.

He was younger than the image she’d conjured from his voice. But no less intimidating. Instead of the military fatigues she’d imagined, he was dressed all in black. The black leather of his jacket gleamed almost malevolently in the muted glow of the corridor light piercing the chilly autumn night. He tapped again lightly on the door.

Juliana jumped, her heart dropping to her stomach. “Who is it?” she called softly, staying to one side of the door.

“Operation Guardian.”

Relief whisked through her. There was no mistaking his voice. “Just a minute.” Tucking the gun into the waistband of her jeans at the small of her back, she unhooked the chain and opened the door. His brown hair was cut short and combed back, revealing every bone and hollow in a face that was hard and uncompromising. His eyes were the azure blue of a Mediterranean Sea.

The instant their gazes connected she knew the news wasn’t good. His face was grave, each tight line carved in stone.

She fell back two steps, instinctively retreating from the harsh truth in his eyes. “M-my father?”

He entered the motel room, closing and locking the door with fluid efficiency, then put his hands on her shoulders. His firm fingers held her captive, upright, though her knees threatened to sink right to the carpet. “Juliana, I’m afraid your father has been seriously injured.”

Her fingers twisted into the cold supple leather of his jacket, felt the impenetrable hardness of his chest beneath. “He’s alive, then?”

“They found him unconscious. He was apparently outside when the explosion occurred.”

“Oh, thank God! He was probably waiting for me and Cort to arrive.” Juliana stopped suddenly. A cold horrible truth was still suspended between them on a taut thread. “How serious are his injuries?”

“I don’t know. He’s been rushed to the hospital, and I haven’t received an update on his condition. But someone will call.” He paused and Juliana felt the slow pound of his heartbeat against her fingers. She couldn’t explain it. She was terrified, yet she’d never felt so safe or so grateful for this man’s presence. It was as if every beat of his heart shielded her in a secure airtight bubble from the grim truth of what had happened tonight.

“And the others?”

His face might have been carved of stone, but for an instant his eyes gleamed with moisture. Confusing her. Scaring her.

A well of grief savagely ripped open within her. “Oh, no!”

His fingers dug into her shoulders, preventing her from collapsing. “I spoke with the police at the scene. They don’t expect to find any survivors in the house.”

“Oh, my God.” Juliana pressed a fist to her mouth, hot tears stinging her eyes. This was not happening. It was too much. She’d grown up on the Collingwood estate. Had spied on Ross Collingwood and his friends living their golden lives in a world she could never be part of. Ross ran a billion-dollar corporation and amassed companies in takeover bids as if capturing checkers on a checkerboard. And he remembered to take her and her father out to lunch on their birthdays and wrote them silly poems for birthday cards.

A sob exploded in her chest like a fireball. He could not be dead. Nor could Lexi. They were madly, totally in love with each other. This was too horrible, too ugly to contemplate.

The Guardian pulled her against his chest, his hands stroking her back. Heat seeped into her cold body in slow widening circles.

“I’m sorry.”

Juliana bit back a sob and lifted her head to look up into his rock-hard features, her heart registering the compassion she saw in his eyes. She’d heard stories of The Guardian. Whispered tales that made him sound mysterious and invincible, like a cross between a comic-book superhero and James Bond. But in that fraction of a second before he hid the emotion banked in his eyes she saw a man who truly cared about the people he tried to protect. “Was it a bomb or an accident?”

“It’s too soon to tell. The fire department will investigate, but they say the explosion is suspicious. It appears to have originated in an upstairs bedroom. Were Ross and Lexi the only ones in the house? The police would like to know.”

Juliana nodded, her mind still trying to grapple with the horror of what he’d just told her and the frantic desire to rush to her father’s side, ensure he was okay even though he’d told her to keep Cort safely away. “There were only the three of them, my father and the Collingwoods,” she said shakily. “The Collingwoods were being extra careful, following the precautions you gave them. They left the members of their traveling staff at home—even the chef and the chauffeur. No one knew they’d rented the house in the Adirondacks. My father secured the booking under his own name.” Juliana paused, suddenly aware that she was still standing there with The Guardian’s arms around her.

Self-consciously, she pulled out of his embrace and wiped her face with her palms. She needed to be strong. Ross and Lexi and her father were counting on her. She had promises to keep. “What about the baby?” she asked, her legs trembling as she walked around the corner of the bed to check on Cort. He was still sleeping peacefully, his little arms suspended in midair as if ready to receive a hug. “What happens to Cort?”

The Guardian followed her movements, his gaze narrowing on the sleeping infant. He didn’t ask why the baby was lying on the floor rather than in the crib. “He’ll be raised by his godfather.”

Juliana stepped defensively between him and the infant, alarm snapping her to attention. His godfather? That was news to her. Had Lexi and Ross had the baby christened shortly after his birth? Perhaps that was information they’d only shared with her father. “Who would that be?” she demanded, feeling as if more of her world was about to change.

“Me. I’m Hunter Sinclair.”

The strange, reclusive multimillionaire who’d sent Ross and Lexi a canoe as a wedding present? Juliana instantly recognized his name and remembered the rumors associated with it. Rumours of dementia. Wasn’t there a history of mental illness in the family? She didn’t give a damn if he was James Bond or the President of the United States. She was not surrendering Cort to him. Ross and Lexi had trusted The Guardian to find their daughter and protect them from harm. He’d failed on both counts.

“Over my dead body,” she said sharply, breaking twenty years of protocol by raising her voice to her better. “You are not taking that baby away from me.”

Hunter stiffened at the unexpected threat. Juliana Goodhew glared at him out of almond-shaped eyes that reminded him of richly polished mahogany. Her lips, bearing a faint trace of pink lipstick, thinned into a determined line.

Ross had trained the nanny well. Slim and youthful in blue jeans and a thick creamy cotton sweater, her silver-blond hair escaping a French braid, Juliana looked ready to carry out her threat. Her hand moved, reaching behind her for the Glock he could see in the mirror on the far wall.

Hunter cocked a brow, his hand snaking out to grab her wrist. He could snap the fragile bones in her arm with one movement. “Please, don’t for even one foolish moment, consider reaching for the gun at your back. I would hate to hurt you.”

“Release me instantly,” she snapped, her face glowing white with anger.

Hunter released her, eyeing her warily. The nanny he’d hired to care for his sister’s children would never dare speak to him like this. Nor was she this pretty, he noted, his inner radar for trouble sounding a silent alarm.

“Thank you.” Frost clung to Juliana’s tone. “I repeat, you are not taking that baby from me. I don’t care who you are. Where were you when Riana was abducted? Or for Ross and Lexi? The Goodhews have served the Collingwoods for sixty-three years. The Collingwoods personally entrusted him to my care. He’s staying with me.” She folded her arms across her chest and drew herself up to her full height; the top of her head barely reached his chin.

Grief lashed Hunter’s heart along with her accusations. He frowned down at her, hesitating between a grudging admiration for her show of loyalty to her charge and his innate suspicious nature. He knew painfully well that trusted servants betrayed their employers. Money could be a powerful motivator.

He’d been nine years old when he’d seen pictures in the newspapers of his mother’s indiscretions with two of his father’s friends. The Sinclairs’ butler had secretly orchestrated a blackmail scheme, certain that Hunter’s father would pay up to prevent the photos from being released to the media. Convinced his wife would never betray him, Hunter’s father hadn’t met the blackmailer’s demands. Their marriage was destroyed when the pictures appeared and his mother committed suicide. His father had told Hunter and his sister that their mother had suffered from a mental illness.

Hunter took in the sharp thrust of Juliana’s chin and the defensive stance of her body.

He could count on one hand the other individuals who’d known the Collingwoods had another child. There was the doctor who’d delivered Cort. The lawyer who’d drawn up Ross’s and Lexi’s wills. Lexi’s sister Annette. And Juliana and her father. Yet someone had obviously gotten wind of the child’s existence, despite the care the Collingwoods had taken to keep Lexi in seclusion during her pregnancy.

Where had the breach in security occurred?

“Juliana, I have no intention of wrenching that child from your arms. Not now or in the near future,” he said, striving to reassure her. “But you are both coming with me. These are extraordinary circumstances. We will have to work together. I’m sure it has occurred to you that Cort was an intended target of the explosion, as well. Whoever planned it is undoubtedly aware that you’re caring for the child. That puts you both in danger.”

“Why should I trust you? How do I know the almighty Guardian wasn’t behind the explosion?”

He stepped toward her menacingly. “I know you are hurting and wanting someone to blame, but Ross was my best friend. I would never hurt him, nor was I after his money.” A bitter laugh erupted from him. “I have enough damn problems dealing with my own family fortune.”

She didn’t budge an inch. “If you were so close, how come he never mentioned you? Oh, excuse me, your name was among the eight hundred others on the guest list to his wedding. But as I recall, you didn’t bother to attend.”

Hunter towered over her, feeling the tension and the distrust emanating from her body like shrapnel. He just happened to be the nearest target. “How do you know that?”

“I helped Lexi with the guest list. And I was there when your regrets arrived along with your wedding gift.” Her voice quavered, her brown eyes taking on a faraway cast as they glistened with fresh tears. “Ross had the canoe you sent put in the swimming pool so he could recite poetry to Lexi in the moonlight. He did, too.” She wiped away a tear slipping onto her cheek with a jerky movement. “He loved her so much.”

Hunter risked squeezing her arm, needing the human contact with Juliana to help ground his own tormented feelings. So much of his life he’d mastered on his own, coldly and calmly discarding any emotions that got in the way of his job. But he’d lost a friend tonight—Ross had been an anchor—and Hunter was treading water to keep himself from sinking under into the pain. “I know. Ross and I met at Harvard. We were roommates our last year. In fact, he’s the one who nicknamed me The Guardian.” Pain laced his words. “I take the credit for teaching him how to be a little more ruthless in his judgment. We stayed close, but I was afraid I’d be recognized if I came to the wedding. Ross sent me a video of the ceremony.”

She pulled away from his touch, leaving Hunter reeling alone in memories of his friendship with Ross. Her suspicions were still plainly apparent on her face.

“You’ve never even been to the estate,” she said in a clipped tone. “I was a boy-crazy teenager in high school when Ross was bringing his friends home from Harvard. You weren’t among them.”

His lips thinned. He knew the friends Juliana was referring to. She must have gotten quite an education from watching Ross with his self-indulgent buddies…if that was all she’d gotten. She’d probably been as pretty in high school as she was now. His impatience with the conversation grew.

“Juliana, you’re wasting time with these questions. We must leave quickly. I’m obliged to trust you to keep The Guardian’s real identity confidential, and you’re going to have to trust me. Understood?” His gaze locked with hers, studying the shadows flickering in her unusual mahogany eyes like minnows darting in the shallows.

Color rose from her pale throat and splashed onto her cheeks, but her voice was as suitably controlled and decorous as he would expect from an employee. “Quite, Mr. Sinclair.”

Hunter nodded approvingly as he reached for the bags lying on the end of the bed. “My household doesn’t stand on the same ceremony as the Collingwood household. You may address me as Hunter in private. The Guardian is addressed as sir when he’s on duty. Clear enough?”

She gave him a subdued smile. “Yes, sir.”

“The chopper is waiting. You take the baby. I’ll carry your luggage.”

“What about my car?” she asked as she slipped an apricot wool blazer over her sweater and transferred the Glock into one of the blazer’s front pockets. From the way she handled the weapon, Hunter had no doubt she was proficient in its use. Hooking a caramel leather purse over her shoulder, she knelt down to scoop up the baby.

“I’ll send one of my men to pick up your car. You won’t need it where we’re going.”

“We’ll need Cort’s car seat.”

“We’ll go without it. Someone could have tampered with your car since you left it in the parking lot.”

She glanced over at him, alarm sparking in her eyes as she gently tucked a blanket around the sleeping infant. The baby cried out in his sleep and Juliana spoke softly to him, pressing a kiss onto the crown of his head.

The intimate gesture caused anger to rise inside Hunter—anger and unbearable guilt that Ross and Lexi would never kiss their son—or the daughter who’d been snatched from their lives over two years ago. All the security precautions in the world could minimize the chances, but not always prevent a determined lunatic bent on destruction.

In the hospital, all it had taken was for one night-duty nurse to be overpowered by a stun gun and little Riana Collingwood was gone. Though Hunter had vowed to do everything within his means to find the infant, chase every lead that came in over the 1-800 tips line, the grim odds were that they might never find her. Or learn the true reason for her abduction.

The timing of the explosion tonight in a rented house where the Collingwoods had planned to be reunited with their son was suspicious—especially following their daughter Riana’s kidnapping. And it cast Riana’s abduction and the aborted ransom demand into a whole new light.

Ross Collingwood had some powerful enemies. Men whose companies he’d ruthlessly overtaken, who had the financial means to discover his secrets and his vulnerabilities. And who might be determined to destroy his entire family and the Collingwood empire. The aborted ransom demand could have been part of the kidnapper’s goal to emotionally cripple Ross by leaving him agonizing over his daughter’s fate.

Hunter knew far too keenly, far too deeply that all the money in the world couldn’t protect a man’s heart. Love made a man vulnerable to his enemies.

While Hunter couldn’t be sure at this point, he had to assume the security measures set in place to shield Cort’s identity had been breached. He needed to take countermeasures to protect the baby from another possible attack. He owed it to his friend.

Carrying the diaper bag and Juliana’s carry-on bag he moved to the door, motioning for Juliana to wait while he opened the door and checked the exterior corridor to ensure the coast was clear.

“Where are we going?” Juliana demanded sotto voce as they headed out in the brisk night air, their footsteps muted on the concrete walkway.

“New York City,” he said in her ear, cupping her elbow. The scent of her hair reminded him of springtime and apple blossoms. He shook the distracting thought away and focused on checking their surroundings. He didn’t know how much time they had before details of the explosion hit the news.

“Is that where you live?”

“No, but I have a residence there where I can set up a command post to deal with the police and the lawyers and whatever else needs to be done. There will be some reaction in the stock market to his death and the future of the company.” Hunter grimaced inwardly as he scanned the parking lot. Ross Collingwood had been his friend, but he didn’t have time for grief. He was The Guardian. He had to do his job—protect Ross’s son.

The vehicles were dark and silent. Not a sign of movement. They descended the stairs. “The chopper’s in the parking lot of a mall just down the street.”

The street was deserted. The streetlights cast pools of light on the sidewalk.

Juliana adjusted the blanket around Cort. “Where do you call home, then?”

“A private island in the St. Lawrence Seaway. I hope you don’t like crowds.”

Her arms tightened around the baby. “I can put up with anything to keep Cort safe.”

Ahead, the chopper crouched like a giant glass grass-hopper in an asphalt field. “I’m relieved you feel that way, because it’s going to take some ingenuity to keep Cort’s identity secret from the world. I don’t think it was a coincidence that the explosion occurred tonight when Ross and Lexi would have been reunited with their child. And I can’t help wondering if Riana’s kidnapping and the explosion tonight are related—that someone wanted to destroy Ross Collingwood and his empire by killing him and his family. We need a strategy to protect Cort. If the media learns of his existence, there’ll be a circus trying to find him.”

Juliana halted in her tracks and a suspicious gleam entered her eyes. “I’ve done a good job protecting Cort on my own. What did you have in mind?”

Hunter hesitated, momentarily blindsided by the brilliant simplicity of the plan that formed in his thoughts. Sweat dotted his brow. Could it work? Juliana was pretty enough. It wouldn’t be much of a stretch to feign an attraction to her. At all.

“Hide him in plain sight,” he said slowly as if his words were weighed down with lead by the decision he was making. “I live on an island. People in the surrounding community would be curious if I suddenly brought home an infant and a nanny. Bringing home a wife and a son would rouse less suspicion. Marginally less,” he added wryly. “But less.”

Her mouth dropped open. “A wife and a son? Just what are you suggesting?”

Every muscle in his body tightened with foreboding. He’d told himself a thousand times he’d never subject himself to the state of matrimony. Sinclairs were cursed in that regard, experiencing more bitterness than bliss.

But he wasn’t offering Juliana his heart, his bed or his money, he told himself rationally. There’d be a prenup. “I’m suggesting that we get married.”

Chapter Two

Juliana stared at Hunter in mute shock. Then she got angry and said the first thing that came to mind, the wrong thing, “You are absolutely insane.”

She regretted it instantly as his eyes narrowed on her like rapier blades and his mouth flattened into a deadly line. “Given my family history, I’d say that’s a foregone conclusion. What’s the matter, Cinderella, you never wanted to marry a prince?”

“That remark was completely inappropriate, Mr. Sinclair, but excusable considering my own poor choice of words,” Juliana retorted sharply, feeling heat blister her cheeks. She was half out of her mind with worry about her father’s condition and this man expected her to take his marriage of convenience proposal seriously. Still, caution honed from years of domestic service whispered a gentle warning in her ears. Whether she liked it or not, Ross had appointed Hunter Sinclair as Cort’s guardian. If memory and gossip served her correctly, the Sinclair family owned luxury hotels. Lots of them. She was at this man’s mercy and his whims if she wished to remain in Cort’s life and uphold her promise to her father.

She took a deep breath. “I assure you, I intended no disrespect toward you or your family. You simply caught me off guard. Are you sure someone will call about my father?”

“Yes. I’ve dispatched two operatives to ensure he receives the best medical care and personal protection. Someone will call as soon as there’s news.”

“Thank you.”

One of Hunter’s dark eyebrows rose. “You haven’t answered my other question. Had you planned on marrying a prince?”

He was baiting her. Intentionally. Maybe even testing her. Juliana had no intention of sharing her private dreams with this intimidating man. Nor did she want to offend him. She held Cort’s warm bundled body against her heart, knowing her father would urge her to do whatever duty necessitated.

After all, her father hadn’t thought twice about asking her to give up her career and branding her an unwed mother to protect Ross and Lexi’s son. She doubted her father would object to her skyrocketing up the social ladder by marrying a multimillionaire.

But as far as Juliana was concerned, it was a leap in the wrong direction.

Her insides trembled at the prospect of playing the mistress of Hunter Sinclair’s home—and the mistress of his bed, where, in the shadowed folds of the night, he’d surely look just as intimidating as he did towering over her now.

Lexi had been the daughter of a middle-class family. She’d boldly and elegantly leaped into Ross’s elite world with her grace and charm, blissfully ignorant of the rules. Juliana, by contrast, had been schooled in the rules of behavior long before she entered kindergarten. The butler’s daughter did not play with the children of the Collingwoods’ guests. She did not speak until spoken to. And she did not once ever let herself think that any of Ross’s fancy friends would look at her as anything more than a diversion.

She rather doubted Hunter even considered her a diversion. From his perspective he was negotiating a business merger with all the rules to be spelled out on paper in legalese. “My personal desires are none of your business, Mr. Sinclair,” she said coolly. “But allow me to allay your fears. I’m not the least bit interested in the number of zeroes in your trust fund. All I care about is this darling little boy’s safety. If marrying you will achieve that, then so be it. But I want a prenup with your agreement that I shall be appointed Cort’s guardian in your will. And should the marriage end in divorce, I want joint custody.”

“That’s all? No zeroes from my trust fund?”

She held his mocking gaze for a long moment, convinced that behind his tight mask and the sarcasm was a man who truly cared about protecting Cort. No doubt he was as reluctant as she to enter into this absurd agreement. “Not a one. You may keep them all to yourself. I have employable skills—it’s so hard to find good domestic help these days. Do we have a deal?”

Those azure eyes transformed, thawing with sudden warmth. “Deal. The helicopter is waiting. The performance begins now. We can’t have anyone suspecting we aren’t in love—especially the hired help. You know how they gossip below stairs.”

Before she could stop him or think to protest, he brushed a kiss along her cheek, then nuzzled her jaw as if she were a delectable offering. Juliana stood paralyzed inhaling the scent of him, mesmerized by the seductive play of his lips over her skin and the moist heat of his breath. He was so big, so hard, so utterly dangerous her pulse fluttered on tiny wings. What on earth had she gotten herself into?

Shyly, tentatively, she let her lips touch the corner of his mouth. Felt the firmness of those lips and the prickle of stubble on his cheek.

Oh, my. Her stomach did a free fall to her toes as his lips settled, coaxing and demanding, over hers. Juliana clutched Cort to her, aware of his precious slumbering body between them as Hunter skillfully swept his tongue into her mouth and kissed her as she imagined all rich boys kissed. Thoroughly. Powerfully. As if the world and her body were his for the taking.

And they were. Her bones threatened to disintegrate beneath the onslaught of sensation.

It was only when she felt the cold imprint of the night air on her face did she realize Hunter had pulled back and was gazing down at her beneath half-lowered lids. The intensity gleaming in his eyes sent a tremor rippling through her. “We’ll tell everyone I met you in Europe. That you only told me recently I’d fathered your baby,” he said.

Juliana told herself that if he kept looking at her as he was looking at her now, as if he’d been interrupted during a favorite meal, no one could possibly doubt that he’d fathered Cort. This crazy scheme might work. “Where in Europe?” she said breathlessly. “People will ask.”

“Germany. The Black Forest. They’ll believe that. We camped at adjoining campsites. Everyone knows I never stay in hotels, especially my own hotels.”

“I know absolutely nothing about camping.”

“Which is why I came to your rescue, Cinderella, out of fear that you’d light your clothes on fire.”

She ground her teeth behind clamped lips, subduing the urge to insist he stop calling her Cinderella. She forced her lips into a smile. “How complimentary.”

“I’m glad you approve.” He gripped her elbow again and hurried her across the parking lot toward the chopper. Juliana felt as if she were leaving one world and entering another.

TO HIS CREDIT, THE MAN she’d just agreed to marry was solicitous to a fault during the chopper ride to New York City. For the limousine ride to the penthouse apartment overlooking Central Park, Hunter thoughtfully closed the privacy window between them and the driver. Juliana tried not to let her grief over the Collingwoods’ deaths or her fears over her father’s condition show in her face. What was happening with her father? Why didn’t the doctor call?

The apartment was as enigmatic and masculine as Hunter himself. An oasis of muted earth colors on the walls, comfortable leather furnishings, and artwork that probed to the soul.

Juliana restrained herself from offering an apologetic smile to the middle-aged butler and housekeeper who’d obviously been roused from their beds and awaited them in the foyer, with appropriate smiles of welcome.

“Juliana, darling, this is Marquise and his wife Valentina, who make life much simpler in the Big Apple,” Hunter said warmly, slipping the stiff band of his arm around Juliana’s shoulder and dropping a kiss on Cort’s downy head. “Marquise, Valentina, this handsome young man is my son, Cort. And his beautiful mother is going to be my wife as soon as we can arrange a quiet wedding. Please make them comfortable. They’re both exhausted from their trip.”

Juliana blushed as Marquise, a short man with a precisely trimmed goatee and velvety black eyes, bowed slightly. “Very good, sir. And congratulations. A crib has been set up in the nursery for the little one.”

Cort let out a grumpy wail. Gratitude and awkwardness spilled through Juliana. It felt alien to have someone anticipate her needs before she’d thought of them herself; she was used to the shoe being on the other foot. “Thank you, Marquise. The baby’s not feeling well. I’m sure he’ll rest better in a comfy bed.”

“You follow me, please, madam,” Valentina said in heavily accented English. Hunter excused himself to take care of some phone calls. Neither Marquise nor Valentina seemed to think it odd that he would be making phone calls at 4:00 a.m. Juliana prayed that one of those phone calls would bring news about her father’s condition. Please, let him be all right.

Unpretentious and quiet, Valentina led the way down a thickly carpeted hallway to the nursery. Even though the lights were turned low, Juliana could see this was a room used by children. Boys, she presumed from the twin set of race car beds and the buckets of blocks, trucks and action figures neatly arranged on the shelves near the window.

She didn’t ask Valentina what boys used this room. As Hunter’s fiancée, it would be expected that she know this. Did Hunter have children from a previous marriage? Was that why he’d seemed so sarcastic about the subject of matrimony? Had his first wife relieved him of some of his much prized zeroes?

Although she’d successfully hidden Cort’s existence from the world for the last five months, Juliana was overwhelmed by the enormity of what the task now entailed. It was one thing to pretend to be a single mother living on her own. Quite another to find herself suddenly married, pretending to be in love with a stranger. A large, intimidating stranger.

While Juliana changed Cort’s diaper, Valentina helpfully warmed a bottle for him, then unpacked the diaper bag. Juliana experienced a flicker of alarm, wondering if the housekeeper found it odd that there was only a few days’ worth of clothes in the bag.

Hunter had been right, they couldn’t have the servants talking, thinking there was anything remotely suspicious about their wedding or Cort’s parentage. “I had most of the baby’s clothes sent to the island,” she extemporized. “And I planned to do some shopping—for the wedding and for him while we’re here in New York. He’s growing so fast.”

Valentina laughed. “Marquise will drive you to find what you need. He knows all Brook’s favorite stores. She comes many times with the boys to visit their fathers and to shop.”

Fathers? Juliana distractedly absorbed this information, wondering if it was a grammatical error on Valentina’s part and still uncertain as to who Brook could be. Cort whimpered and snuffled as Juliana changed his diaper, her fingers fumbling with the snaps of his sleeper. Had the news of the explosion reached the media yet? “There, there, everything’s going to be fine,” she whispered to Cort, rubbing his back until he quieted. Then she lowered him into the crib and covered him with his favorite blanket.

With any luck, he’d sleep for a few hours.

Valentina waited outside in the hall, her dark-ginger eyes eager to please as she led Juliana to a room across the hall that was distinctly feminine in tones of ivory and powder-blue. A bedroom fit for a princess, with dainty upholstered furniture and a bed draped with yards of powder-blue velvet, ivory satin and gold-tasseled cords. Not a bed fit for the butler’s daughter.

Resentment and anger teemed inside her. This pampered luxury was not her life. It rightfully belonged to Lexi and Ross. She wanted to scream.

Valentina was gazing at her in concern. “Hunter say to prepare this room. His room is adjoining, yes? He gets lots of phone calls in the night. No good for a new mother who needs her sleep.”

Juliana reminded herself to play her role. “How thoughtful of him, although I doubt anyone’s going to get much sleep with Cort in the house,” she murmured ruefully. With a practiced eye she sought out the details she’d been trained to note: the bed neatly turned down, the fresh flowers, the spotless tabletops that would pass a white glove test. “The room is very comfortable, Valentina. Thank you.”

The housekeeper bobbed her head and beamed. “Hunter not bothered by crying babies. He love babies—very good with babies. I unpack your bag for you, yes?”

Juliana felt woozy, as if she couldn’t hold herself together a moment longer. “Please. I’m so exhausted I can’t think straight. Our flight was delayed for hours. Leave my robe out. I’ll have a shower before I turn in.”

Escaping into the bathroom, she removed her jacket, wondering what to do with the gun in the front pocket. Where could she hide it from Valentina’s prying eyes? She tucked it between the folds of a plush towel stacked in a basket on the handsome wood vanity until she could return it to her purse. Violet smudges cut beneath her eyes as she stared at herself in the gilt-framed mirror. The situation was absurd. She didn’t look anything like a happy bride-to-be. Just the thought of pretending to be in love with Hunter Sinclair made her shiver.

Shedding her clothes, she turned on the water in the large marble-tiled shower. Here, at last, was privacy beneath the veil of steam and the pulsing drum of the water. Juliana sagged against the cool marble wall and let the sobs come.

“THANKS, KEEP ME POSTED.” Hunter hung up the phone and massaged his temples, holding his grief at bay through sheer force of will. From his study window, Central Park was a dark abyss with a halo of fire rising along the horizon, the sun dawning on a terrible day. The fire department had recovered two bodies from the house in the Adirondacks. Autopsies would be done later today or tomorrow to identify the remains. Hunter had contacted the Collingwood lawyers, then alerted the senior vice president of the Collingwood Corporation. Coverage of the explosion was already hitting CNN on one of the TVs on the opposite wall.

Hunter dialed Lexi’s sister’s number again, wishing he could deliver this news personally. But Cort’s safety was his top priority.

“Hello?” Annette York’s voice had the breathless, disoriented quality of someone roused from a deep sleep.

Hunter introduced himself as The Guardian.

Lexi’s sister woke instantly, wariness rippling into her voice. “Why are you calling?”

“I’m afraid I have some difficult news.”

“Is it Riana? Have you found her?”

Hunter’s stomach tightened into a lead ball. “No. It’s Ross and Lexi. There’s been an explosion. I wanted you to know before it hit the news. They were both killed. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, my God! Are you sure? There’s no chance you’re mistaken?” The shred of hope clinging to her voice nearly obliterated his self-control.

“There’s no mistake.” He gently told her about the rented house in the Adirondacks and the suspicion that the explosion was caused by a bomb.

“But I talked to Lexi two days ago. She didn’t mention they were going,” Annette protested in numb disbelief.

Hunter selectively chose what information he could share with her. He saw no point in informing Annette of the purpose of the trip. Or that Juliana and Cort had narrowly missed being caught in the explosion.

“Perhaps the decision to go away was made last minute,” he said tactfully. “Ms. York, I realize this is a terrible shock, but you must listen to me carefully. Ross gave me instructions to protect Cort in the event something like this should occur. Someone killed your sister and her husband—quite possibly the same person who abducted Riana. You and Cort could be next on the list.”

Dead silence greeted his explanation.

He forged ahead. “It would be prudent to act with extreme caution. We must be very careful not to let slip any information about Cort. I want you to pack your bags. I’ve sent a car for you. You’ll be brought to a hotel here in New York where I’ve registered you under another name. I don’t want any reporters finding you. You can issue a family statement to the press via Ross’s lawyers.”

“What about Juliana and the baby? Where are they?”

“They’re safe. For your nephew’s protection, I’d rather not tell you any more than that until we have a chance to speak privately. I’m sure you understand.”

“No, I don’t understand. My sister and her husband are dead. I want to know where my nephew is now.” Her shrill voice scraped his ears like a blade cutting glass. “I’m his aunt—his only living relative. You have no right to keep him from me.”

“On the contrary, Ms. York. I’m acting on Ross’s wishes and at the specific request of the infant’s legal guardian, whom Ross and Lexi appointed in their wills. You’ll be informed of Cort’s whereabouts and a visit will be arranged when his guardian feels it’s safe to do so.”

“Just who did Ross and Lexi think was fit to raise their son—the butler’s daughter? Or someone in that damned company?”

Hunter genuinely felt sorry for her. He knew what it felt like to have your family shattered and suddenly be set adrift in a sea of uncertainty. Her hurt and disappointment that her sister hadn’t chosen her to rear Cort were obvious. Anger was only one of the emotions she would be experiencing in the painful days ahead. “I regret that I’m not at liberty to reveal that information.”

“I’ll go to the media,” she threatened.

Hunter felt the beginning pound of a headache. “Ms. York, take a deep breath. You’re upset. You’re not thinking clearly. Going to the media could endanger your life, as well as Cort’s. I’ll contact you at the hotel and we’ll discuss this privately. Is there anyone you’d like to stay with you? The next few days are going to be very rough.”

“No,” Annette said very softly. Quietly. “Our parents died just after Riana’s abduction. And Lexi was my best friend.”

Hunter’s chest tightened with the dull ache of his own heavy heart. “I’m very sorry for your loss.” Somehow the words seemed inadequate.

He hung up the phone, promising himself that he’d find out who had done this. Make them pay for destroying a family. And he’d do his best to be the kind of father Ross had wanted for his son.

Hunter made a couple more quick phone calls, checking on the increased security measures he’d put in place on the Collingwood estate. Apparently, the press was already gathering at the gates. One of the operatives he’d dispatched to the hospital called with Goodhew’s doctor on the line. Hunter convinced the doctor he was Goodhew’s son-in-law and listened grimly to the doctor’s report on the extent of the elderly man’s injuries. At least he was expected to recover.

Feeling much older than his thirty-three years, Hunter made his way down the hall to Juliana’s room.

If she was sleeping, he’d let her rest.

His knock went unanswered, but the sound of the shower running in the bathroom told him she wasn’t sleeping. He entered the room. The bed hadn’t been touched.

The door to the ensuite bathroom was closed, steam escaping the crack at the bottom of the door. Hunter frowned. How long had she been in there? Concerned, he rapped briskly on the door. “Juliana?”

There was no answer. Beneath the rhythmic drum of the water, he thought he heard a sob. Was she crying?

He knocked once more on the door. “I’m coming in.”

Mist surrounded him, ghostly fingers of it swirled around him as he stepped into the bathroom. He couldn’t make out Juliana’s shape through the mist-cloaked glass doors of the shower, but the water was running.

What on earth? Where was she?

“Juliana? Are you here? Are you all right?”

A muted sound like an animal in pain echoed from out of the shower stall. Hunter opened the door to the stall and saw her huddled on the marble floor, a sodden trembling ball of white flesh. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her knees and damp ribbons of hair were plastered to her shoulders and back.

Sympathy pierced his body like a sword from his groin to his heart. Hunter quickly shut the water off and reached for the thick white towels she’d set out.

He snapped one open and stepped into the shower, crouching down to gingerly wrap it around her. Somehow he hadn’t associated a marriage of convenience with the inconvenience of having a sodden naked young woman in his life.

“Juliana, we have to get you out of here,” he said gently, worried she was in shock.

She lifted her head, looking at him with red-rimmed eyes. Fear, dark and turgid, shadowed her gaze. Hunter fervently wished that he were anywhere else in the world but here. Her eyes were a mirror into his own soul. “My father?”

“I just spoke to his doctor.” Fighting a reluctance to touch her in this vulnerable state, he massaged her back through the thickness of the towel, careful to keep his gaze from drifting onto the gleaming damp softness of her limbs or the delicate shape of her feet peeking out beneath the towel. She looked like a frightened swan, ready to take flight. “It’s good news. Your father’s made it through surgery—he’d been struck by some flying debris. He broke a few ribs and shattered his shoulder blade, but the surgeon has repaired the damage. Apparently your father’s suffered some burns on his face and hands, but the doctor expects him to make a full recovery. They’re moving him into ICU to keep a careful eye on him. He’s heavily sedated.”

Her eyes shuttered closed. “Thank God. I should be there with him, but if I went he’d only be angry. He told me to stay with Cort.”

Hunter didn’t contradict her. A tremor was shuddering through her body. He wasn’t letting her or Cort anywhere near that hospital. If the killer was intent on finding Juliana, that would be the first spot the killer would look. “You’re exhausted,” he said. “And you’re shivering. You need to be in bed.” He lifted her effortlessly against his chest, his senses reacting simultaneously to the feel of her buttocks molding sweetly to his abs and the scent of apple blossoms clinging to her damp hair.

She didn’t protest.

The shock of what had happened was setting in.

Carrying her into the bedroom, he yanked the covers back from the bed and laid her gently on the crisply ironed powder-blue sheets. Stopping long enough to extinguish the bedside lamp and curse his predicament under his breath, he removed his shoes and climbed in bed beside her.

Every self-protective instinct in his body rebelled, his legs and arms moving as if hindered by rusting armor as he wrapped his arms around Juliana, awkwardly spooning his body to hers. Despite the steaming heat of the shower, her limbs were ice cold.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered.

Hunter closed his eyes, not caring that the dampness from her hair seeped into his pillow. He grudgingly allowed the exquisite softness of this woman he’d committed himself to marrying to register on his senses, to distract him from the headache grinding at his temples.

The faint shallow sound of her breathing gradually deepened and became regular.

She’d fallen asleep.

Hunter told himself he could leave her now, strip himself away from the forced intimacy of their joined bodies. Take some pain reliever for his headache. It would be light soon. There were numerous tasks still requiring his attention. But he didn’t move. Ross and Lexi were dead, their lives extinguished far too soon. Though Hunter never would have thought it possible, somehow, holding Juliana close to him like this made his own grief more bearable.

A MONTAGE OF PHOTOGRAPHS of Ross and Lexi Collingwood flashed on the TV screen, each looking as if it had been lifted straight out of the pages of a storybook fairy-tale romance—white teeth, stylish clothes, not a pimple to be seen or a hair out of place. There was no mention of the butler’s daughter or the baby.

A curled fist hit the desktop. Damn!

After all that careful planning, the baby had escaped his fate.

Not for long, though. Not for long.

Ross and Lexi’s killer smiled smugly and rose to thumb through the clothes hanging precisely one inch apart on the row of expensive wooden hangers. The specially chosen attire purchased for the funeral waited expectantly at the back of the closet like a gift to be unwrapped and savored on Christmas morning. The brand-new black leather shoes lined up beneath it, toes and heels aligned as if at attention. Half of the plan had been achieved. The baron of Wall Street and his oh-so-perfect wife were dead. How hard could it be to find the butler’s daughter?

The baby would be with her.

Soon, very soon, all the Collingwoods would be dead.

Chapter Three

Cort’s cries tore Juliana from sleep, uprooting her from what felt like a tangle of heavy branches until she realized that the branches flung over her torso were long and muscled—and belonged to a man.

Sunlight peeped through the partially closed drapes allowing her a glimpse of the slumbering man beside her.

He looked just as handsome and dangerous this morning as he had last night. What was Hunter doing in her bed?

A draft of cold air on her bare shoulder brought an even greater worry. How had she ended up naked in bed with him?

His eyes fluttered open, pinning her in the sights of his azure gaze. Juliana stared at him, transfixed, as his pupils narrowed to tiny dots and shifted downward to her breasts. Too late, she scrambled to pull the sheet up to cover herself, conscious of the heat that exploded in her stomach and crept over her body to sear her face.

“The baby’s crying,” she gasped. “Where’s my robe?”

Hunter blinked as if orienting himself, then threw back the covers and leaped out of bed. He was fully dressed. Memories slapped her like physical blows to the heart as she remembered the explosion. The Collingwoods were dead. Her father was in the hospital, clinging to life. And Hunter, the man she’d woken up beside this morning, expected her to hand over her freedom and her dreams and marry him to protect Cort’s identity.

“I’ll get Cort,” Hunter said gruffly, “and bring him in here while you find your robe.”

“He doesn’t know you—” she protested, searching the floor and the bedclothes for the practical toffee-colored velour robe her father had given her last Christmas.

He cut her off abruptly. “Then it’s time we got acquainted. Besides, a new father would be eager to see his son. Marquise and Valentina would expect it.”

He was right, Juliana realized, finally spotting her robe on the carpet on the opposite side of the bed. It looked like a mud puddle on the pale-blue wool—as glaringly out of place as she was in this apartment. Had Hunter climbed into her bed last night because he’d thought the servants would expect that, too?

She snatched up her robe, jamming her arms into the sleeves and hurried to the dresser to find fresh underwear and clothes. She doubted Hunter knew the first thing about diapering a baby.

Cort’s cries had stopped by the time Juliana had changed into a pair of black slacks and a sleeveless black cowl-neck sweater. Her hair was a mess, so she twisted it into a ponytail. Then she hastily brushed her teeth and splashed cold water on her face. She’d call the hospital and get an update on her father’s condition right after she’d checked on Hunter and Cort.

The deep murmur of Hunter’s voice coming from the nursery pulled at her in a curious way. She paused in the doorway, feeling both protective of her charge and uncertain of the man holding him near the window.

Cort’s blond head leaned trustingly on the biceps of Hunter’s arm as the infant cooed and gurgled up at the dark, unshaven face hovering over him. Hunter’s eyes were intent on the infant, but he glanced up as if he’d sensed Juliana’s arrival. Her heart locked solidly in her throat when she noticed moisture glimmering in the clear blue of his eyes.

“He’s beautiful,” he said simply. A muscle flexed rigidly in his jaw as if capping the pain inside him.

Juliana took a hesitant step into the room, torn between conflicting duties. The butler’s daughter would never intrude on his private sorrow. But as Hunter’s bride-to-be she supposed she should say something. Offer some comfort.

She stood there awkwardly, feeling completely out of her element, yet drawn to this dangerous-looking man who could be abrupt and cynical one moment and deeply compassionate the next. Words whispered from her, razor-edged with grief for Cort’s parents who would never know their son’s delightful nature. “He’s a bundle of joy. How did you do with his diaper?”

“No sweat. Just peel and stick. I’ve changed diapers before.”

“You have?” Why did her heart beat so fast when he looked at her like that—as if he could intuit every thought, every secret she’d ever harbored? She crossed her arms over her chest and resisted the urge to reach for Cort. Somehow seeing him so secure in Hunter’s arms seemed threatening, a reminder that Hunter had all the power to make decisions for Cort’s care.

Hunter shrugged his massive shoulders, Cort’s eyes widening at the sudden movement. “My sister, Brook, has two sons resulting from two of her three failed marriages. Both boys’ fathers work in New York and she brings them for visitation.” Juliana didn’t miss the wry curl to his tone.

“That explains the nursery. How old are they?”

“Mackensie is eight and Parrish is three. They’re rascals.” Hunter frowned, thinking of his nephews’ dubious futures and the way Juliana had her arms drawn over her breasts as if she thought he might pounce on her. Of course, she’d been somewhat underdressed when they’d awoken this morning. And the glimpse he’d had of one sleep-warmed, pearly breast and its rosebud tip had been so disconcerting he’d practically pole-vaulted out of the room to attend to Cort.

Even now, in that typical chic black New York getup, her wild tangled hair and the circles under her eyes, there was a freshness in her clear skin. An honesty dwelling in those rich brown eyes and a sweet sensuality to her curves that made the prospect of marrying her doubly alarming.

He’d never once considered taking a wife. His sister’s three disastrous marriages had cemented that resolve. And thankfully, had produced the requisite heir and a spare to the Sinclair family coffers.

Hunter had no illusions that he’d be any better than his sister or his father in choosing a soul mate.

How many times had he cautioned his clients about marrying in haste? Rushing into a relationship based on physical desire or—especially among the wealthy—an attraction to an individual’s net worth. He’d been worried when Ross had told him Lexi was pregnant and they were getting married.

But Ross had assured him he’d learned his lesson from their Harvard days when women were eager to fall into his bed, and more than one had tried to trap him into marriage. Lexi was different.

And Hunter acknowledged the truth of that. Even though her parents had been pushy and middle-class with aspirations of grandeur for their daughter, Lexi had been Ross’s soul mate in every way. Even after Riana’s abduction, a tragedy that would have destroyed many relationships, the core of love between them had remained rock solid. The looks they exchanged excluded everyone else around them because Ross and Lexi had a private world unto themselves. Ross would have moved heaven and earth for his wife’s happiness, even asking the butler’s daughter to raise their precious son.

And Hunter could understand Ross’s reasoning. He’d met Juliana’s father and knew how highly Ross had regarded Goodhew, who’d looked after Ross like a second father after J. Ross Collingwood had died of a massive heart attack when Ross was barely out of college.

Goodhew knew how J. Ross had run the Collingwood empire, knew which senior executives and which board members could be trusted and which were sharks circling for a meal. While he’d brushed suits and laid out Ross’s Oxford button-down shirts and silk ties, he’d dispensed advice. And Ross had taken the Collingwood empire further than his father had ever dreamed.

Cort playfully drummed his heels against Hunter’s forearm, vocalizing his little heart out with chirps and coos. Hunter smiled down at his godson, feeling a laugh trying to burst its way to the surface.

The tender look he caught on Juliana’s face as he stole a glance at her told him they were at least on the same page when it came to Cort’s care. Her fierce loyalty to the baby was obvious.

Hunter had no intention of dishonoring Goodhew’s daughter, or ruining a perfectly good business arrangement by letting lust creep into his marriage and muddy the waters. A man in his position had the means to discreetly deal with his physical needs.

Since Juliana’s arms were still folded like bars across her body, he decided there was no time like the present to clarify their arrangement. “About my being in your bed this morning,” he began, finding it more difficult than he expected to broach the subject with her. “It was only for show…. You shouldn’t expect a physical side to our marriage. Or children.”

Her arms dropped to her sides. “Oh.”

Hunter wished he could interpret the thoughts flickering behind her dark polished eyes. She was relieved. He was sure of it. “I wanted that to be clear before we proceeded with the ceremony,” he continued, “in case it altered your decision.”

“Hardly.”

Hunter looked with renewed interest at his self-sacrificing Cinderella. Judging from the way she lovingly cared for Cort, he’d assumed that she was the type of woman who would want children of her own. She probably did, but she wasn’t going to admit it. His admiration for her went up another notch. “Do you feel up to coping with the world? I’ll have Valentina prepare breakfast.”

“I’d like to call the hospital again. Check on my father.”

“Of course. I have the number in my study.”

“I’m going to call the Collingwoods’ household manager, too. Let him know of my father’s condition and that he’ll need to supervise the preparations for the funeral. Annette won’t know what to do or the protocol involved—” Juliana broke off suddenly. Her palm tapped her forehead. “Annette. I completely forgot about telling Lexi’s sister! She’ll be devastated. Lexi was her only family. I don’t think Annette is seeing anyone whom she could lean on to help her get through this. She was engaged when Lexi was planning her wedding to Ross, but the engagement was called off for some reason.”

“I already called her. One of my operatives was dispatched to collect her and put her up in a nearby hotel as a safety precaution.”

“A safety precaution? You think she’s in danger?”

“If someone knows of Cort’s existence, it’s logical for them to suspect that Lexi’s sister would know where the baby is.”

Juliana ran her fingers through her tangled hair. “Yes, of course, you’re right. Annette must be terrified.”

“She’s being well guarded.”

Her pointed gaze threw his words of reassurance back in his face. He knew she was thinking he hadn’t protected Ross and Lexi. He couldn’t blame her, not when he was thinking it himself. Why hadn’t he considered that Riana’s abduction might have had deeper, darker roots, especially after the abandoned ransom demand? He set his jaw. He couldn’t second-guess himself. There was no way to be certain that first ransom demand had been genuine.

He had to focus on the situation as he knew it now. On keeping Cort safe and hidden. On playing this role with Juliana of a man eager to wed the mother of his child.

He held Cort out to Juliana. “Take him. I need to shower and change. I’ll meet you at the table for breakfast. I talked to my lawyer last night, he’s preparing the prenup. We’ll need to apply for the marriage license Monday. There’s probably a waiting period. We’ll need rings, and you’ll need clothes—”

“The waiting period is one day in New York. I know because I helped Lexi plan her wedding, remember? And I worked as a wedding planner before I got drafted as the nanny. How about I handle the details for the wedding, and you concentrate on finding out who did this horrible thing so Cort will be safe?”

Hunter looked at her, surprised, remembering how magical Ross and Lexi’s winter wedding had appeared in the video. She’d had her hand in that? He felt a prickle of guilt. A civil ceremony in the Manhattan city clerk’s office would be a far cry from whatever dreams she’d spun of her own romantic wedding. Well, they were both making sacrifices.

He’d suddenly had enough of the conversation and the cacophony of thoughts and emotions driving him in cross directions. “Consider yourself hired,” he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand, grateful for her offer and already turning his mind to the tasks demanding his concentration as he headed back to his room.

“Hunter?” Juliana called after him. “One more thing.”

He paused in the doorway and looked back at her; Cort was tucked in her arms, hungrily gnawing on a tiny fist shoved in his mouth. “Yes?”

Her pink lips parted in a faint smile that seemed apologetic, contrite, and made him wonder how she would taste if he kissed her. Really kissed her. Sweet, like a perfectly ripe peach? Or tangy like dry white wine?

His blood pounded in waves to his brain.

Color dusted her cheekbones. “I’ll need a credit card,” she said. “I suspect Hunter Sinclair’s wife has a higher credit limit than the butler’s daughter. It would probably be safer if I weren’t flashing my own credit card around, too. Credit cards can be traced, can’t they?”

He let his gaze twine with hers, felt his body’s stiffening response to her simple beauty and the intelligence embedded in her eyes. What the hell was the matter with him?

Shock. Loss. And the fact that Juliana was more intriguing than his ego was willing to admit. “Yes, they can be traced. And, in this case, your paranoia is good. Brook has a personal shopper for each of her major haunts. Marquise will make the necessary arrangements with each store for your purchases to be put on my account if you feel up to venturing out today. I’ll see that you receive your own cards as soon as possible.”

“Thank you. Since visiting my father isn’t an option for the time being, I might as well do something useful or I’ll go absolutely crazy. I’ll bring my cell phone with me so I can keep in touch with the hospital. Cort will need clothes and a new car seat. Do you have a crib for him on this island of yours?”

“Yes, there’s a nursery. You’ll both need warm, comfortable clothes for the island. And plan to pick up something for the funeral while you’re at it. The butler’s daughter will be attending it…under close surveillance.”

“I am?”

“Yes, and you’re going to keep your eyes and your ears open, especially to what’s being said in the servant’s quarters.”

Her eyes narrowed on him, glassy as marbles. “The servant’s quarters? Are you suggesting that someone on the Collingwood staff was involved in this?”

He shrugged and glanced down the hallway to ensure their conversation was not being overheard by the servants. “It’s a possibility we can’t afford to overlook. Think about it. How did someone find out the details of the reunion in Severance? You said your father made the arrangements himself. So someone either overheard him make the booking by phone or searched his quarters and found the information. Reason suggests someone in the house may have been involved.”

Cort let out a discontented squawk, reminding them he was hungry. Juliana rocked him against her hip, her body swaying with gentle motion. “Maybe the house was bugged,” she argued. “An estate that size requires constant upkeep. Maintenance people coming and going fairly frequently, deliveries being made. My father would know if—” She broke off, biting her lip. Tears swam in her eyes. “I really should call the hospital. See if he’s regained consciousness. Maybe he saw or heard something that will help.”

The determination that seemed to glow from her skin with translucent fire melted one more barrier in Hunter’s resistance. She’d had a lot to deal with in the last ten hours and he wasn’t making it easier. If she gave him the same loyalty she devoted to Cort, he’d at least have a wife who was more loyal to him than his mother had ever been to his father. “Give me this little man,” he said more gently. “He’s about ready to swallow his hand. I’ll have Valentina prepare him a bottle while you call the hospital. You can use the telephone in your bedroom. Marquise will bring you the number.”

The scent of her hair and the delicate softness of her hands impacted his senses as she transferred the baby back into his arms.

“You’re in good hands, pumpkin.” The soft wool of her sweater grazed Hunter’s side as she rose on tiptoes to kiss Cort’s cheek, reminding Hunter of visits his mother had made to the nursery when he was a boy. He remembered his mother’s fragrance—as exotic and elusive as the flowers she’d tended in her private greenhouse—and her light kisses that felt like a feather against his cheek.

He remembered the sting of her betrayal.

His throat tightened. “Juliana, if you do manage to get through to your father, be careful what you say. His life and our lives may depend on it.”

“PLEASE, LET HIM BE OKAY.” Juliana’s stomach bunched in a tight lump as her call was transferred to the ICU. A nurse told her that her father was heavily sedated and hadn’t regained consciousness from the surgery. But he was breathing on his own.

Helplessness and fear welled in Juliana, torn by divided loyalties to her father and Cort.

“Could you hold the phone up to his ear, please?”

“Hold on.” There was a brief pause. Then a distant, “Go ahead, ma’am.”

Juliana heard the steady beep-beep of a heart monitor and her throat swelled with gratitude. He was alive. “Papa, please get better. I wish I could be with you. I love you.”

She hung up the phone, her body trembling. She hadn’t told her father she loved him in over two years—not since the day he’d hugged her when she’d returned home to the estate to help after Riana’s abduction.

The direct line to the administrative household manager’s office as well as the main line to the Collingwood estate were constantly busy. Lexi’s private line was picked up by her voice mail. The sound of her vibrant voice moved Juliana to more tears. She kept speed-dialing the manager’s office as she applied her makeup and pulled a hairbrush through her hair.

Finally the line rang through, but it was Stacey Kerr, Lexi’s personal secretary who answered, rather than Gord Nevins, who examined and supervised all expenditures on the estate.

Stacey’s genteel Southern composure broke as soon as she recognized Juliana’s voice. “I can’t believe they’re gone!” she said, bursting into tears. “Those two beautiful people—and after what they went through with their poor baby’s abduction. Then Lexi losing her mother and her father. Tell me, how is your father doing? Gord told us that he’d been seriously injured, but we didn’t know which hospital to call to check on him.”

“He’s doing as well as can be expected,” Juliana said, reaching for a tissue and struggling to keep her voice steady as she updated Stacey on her father’s condition.

“We’ll be praying for him. It’s terrible what they’re saying on the news. The police are here asking questions of the staff. Is it true it was a bomb?”

“I’m not sure,” Juliana hedged, remembering Hunter’s warning that someone on the staff might be a mole. “I’ve been so worried about my father that I haven’t spoken to them directly.”

“Well, you stay with your father. He needs you. We’re managing here, though it is difficult. Cook is missing—she took the week off when the Collingwoods told her she wouldn’t be needed on their getaway and we haven’t been able to reach her. She hasn’t called in either. The sous-chef is helping Gord plan the menu for the reception after the funeral.”

Juliana frowned. Should she mention the cook’s disappearance to Hunter? It was probably nothing. Maybe Cook hadn’t turned on a TV or seen the morning paper yet. “Do you know when the funeral is scheduled?”

“Wednesday or Thursday, we’re told. Gord received a fax with instructions for the funeral from Mr. Collingwood’s lawyer. We haven’t seen hide nor hair of Lexi’s sister. Apparently, as a security precaution, she’s under guard. Poor thing. We’ve had too many funerals in this family in the last few years. With the Collingwoods gone, I imagine the staff will soon be looking for employment elsewhere.”

Including her father, Juliana thought despondently. The household staff was a gregarious family with a hierarchy all its own. They had their conflicts and their slights, but they also pulled together when the need arose. She couldn’t imagine one of them voluntarily being involved in a murder plot. “I’ll keep you posted on my father. He’ll appreciate your good wishes.”

Juliana brooded over the phone call as she transferred the gun from its hiding place in the bathroom to her purse, then hurried downstairs to give Cort his morning dose of antibiotics.

The kitchen smelled deliciously of sausages and French-roast coffee. Valentina reluctantly surrendered Cort to Juliana, reassuring Juliana that he’d drunk a full bottle. Valentina returned her attention to slicing fresh fruit into crystal bowls, but Juliana felt the housekeeper’s attentive eye on her as she squeezed a syringeful of bubble-gum-flavored medicine into Cort’s mouth. Cort fussed, his lips scrunched into a cupid’s bow of distaste.

She gave him an indulgent smile as she stored his medicine in the refrigerator. “The coffee smells divine. Where is breakfast usually served, Valentina?”

“In the breakfast room, madam. Straight through that door.” She gestured with her paring knife. “Marquise found a high chair for the little one.”

Juliana carried Cort into the breakfast room, which looked out onto a terrace garden. The walls were a burnished gold that reminded her of the summer days she’d spent in Provence visiting her mother’s family when she was a girl. Her mother, Juliette, had been the social secretary to the wife of the American ambassador to France. Her father had met her mother below stairs when Ross’s parents were guests of the American embassy in Paris.

Juliana was settling Cort in the soft high chair clipped onto the table when Hunter joined them, his hair still damp from the shower. He was wearing black slacks and a charcoal sweater. The scents of soap and money still clung tantalizingly to his skin as he nuzzled her neck in greeting, his fingers dropping lightly onto her shoulders.

She froze for a fraction of a second, goose bumps tingling her skin despite the fact she knew this was all for the servants’ benefit. She slid her hand up to his smooth-shaven cheek. How could a man’s face feel so incredibly appealing? She tilted her head back, awareness rising in her as she bravely dipped her gaze into the azure ocean of his eyes. “Can I expect that every morning?”

“That, and then some,” he retorted with a teasing grin.

They broke apart as Marquise entered, carrying the coffeepot.

Juliana gratefully accepted the steaming cup of fragrant coffee and tried to get her mind to settle on the notion that this would be her everyday life. Having breakfast with her husband and son, though she noticed Hunter’s appetite was as meager as her own. Fortunately, Cort’s babbling eliminated the need for meaningful conversation. After picking at his meal for a few minutes, Hunter excused himself and leaned over to whisper in her ear, “Duty calls. Annette is expecting me, and I have a private meeting with the senior management of Ross’s company. Will you be all right here with Cort? The building is secure.”

“Of course.” She was armed. Without thinking, she smoothed the deep lines bracketing his mouth with her fingers. Her heartbeat stumbled as his eyes met hers. His eyes glowed with pure amusement. Knowing that he was amused by her feeble attempts at playing his loving wife made her fingers tremble. “I have a wedding to plan, remember? And shopping arrangements to make. We’ll be fine.”

His firm lips formed a sardonic smile beneath her fingertips. “Ah, yes, the shopping. Don’t let it be said that the Sinclair family hasn’t made a meaningful contribution to the economy.”

Her voice lowered as she placed a lover’s kiss on his cheek. “Be careful. We need you.”

He drew back. The amusement was gone from his eyes, replaced by an intensity that awakened a slow warmth curling through her belly. “You can reach me on my cell phone.” He grabbed one of Cort’s hands and blew a raspberry into his tiny palm. Cort chortled.

As Hunter left the room, Juliana’s smile faded, chased away by misgivings. If someone knew she’d been caring for Cort, did that person also know The Guardian’s identity?

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