Black Ties and Lullabyes (2 page)

this.

Interchangeable

hotels.

Interchangeable causes. Interchangeable, ingratiating people who wanted his money.

Mile-long buffet—
check
. Silent auction—
check.

Bar in every corner stocked to the hilt—
check.
Young, sexy society women looking for husbands—
check.

Just once he’d like to see something different at one of these events. Maybe a margarita machine or a beer bong. A rock band instead of the symphony strings. Karaoke. A wet T-shirt contest.

Anything to keep him from being bored out of his mind.

But if he showed up at these things, Sybersense held on to its reputation as a philanthropic leader in the community, and he held on to his reputation as a wealthy, eccentric bachelor. Then, at the end of the evening, he invariably had several incredibly gorgeous women to pick from to entertain himself with later. As for the events themselves, he got his laughs by watching the looks on the faces of the old biddies as they tried to ignore whatever fashion faux pas he’d decided to perpetrate for the evening. They were al about propriety—almost al about it, anyway. In this crowd, money trumped taste, but just barely.

“Mr. Bridges! Good evening!”

He turned to see one of those old biddies waddling toward him. Genevieve Caldwel was a chunky senior citizen with silver hair, a brassy voice, and a gold-plated portfolio of oil fields al over the world.

“I’m just so delighted you could make it here this—” He knew the exact moment she caught sight of his slack tie and scuffed Nikes. Her voice faltered, and for a split second, he saw it. That look of disapproval.

That expression that said,
You’re not one of us.
That vibe of superiority that the social y blessed radiated to those less fortunate. But, as always, he consoled himself with the fact that for al her riches, he could buy and sel her ten times over.

In spite of her momentary gaffe, she recovered like a pro, pasting on a smile and holding out her hand.

“—this evening,” she finished.

Jeremy took her hand and kissed it, then flashed her a dazzling smile. “Mrs. Caldwel . What a joy it is to see you again.”

The old lady practical y quaked with delight, her disapproval momentarily vanishing in a wave of pure ecstasy.

Jeremy nodded toward Bernie. “Mrs. Caldwel , I’d like you to meet Bernadette. She’s a family friend visiting from Arkansas.
Rural
Arkansas. It was a slow time at the chicken farm, so she put on her best dress, hopped a Greyhound, and here she is.” At the same time he got a furtive eye rol from Bernie, Mrs. Caldwel ’s nose crinkled as if she’d smel ed something rotten. Hearing
rural, chicken
farm,
and
Greyhound
al in one sentence made her disgust meter shoot through the roof.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Mrs. Caldwel said, even though it clearly wasn’t a pleasure for her in the least. Then she tilted her head questioningly. “But I’m certain I’ve met you before.” Her eyes narrowed. “Do you know you look remarkably like Mr. Bridges’s astrologer?”

“My astrologer?” Jeremy said.

“Yes. Three months ago at the Sunshine Gala for Solar Energy, you had your astrologer with you. You said she told you that your moon in Pisces simply demanded you give an extra thousand dol ars.” She looked back at Bernie. “There
is
a resemblance.”

“Ah, that’s because she
is
my astrologer,” Jeremy said. “Did I not mention the connection before?”

“Why, no, I don’t believe you did.” Mrs. Caldwel turned to Bernie. “Do you do readings for others?” She smiled. “I can only hope for more moons in Pisces tonight.”

“It’s more of a hobby of hers,” Jeremy said. “She wouldn’t want the responsibility of suggesting another person’s path in life.”

“But you’l be happy to know, Bernie said, “that Jeremy’s moon is in Gemini today. The Twins. Which means he’s going to give twice as much money as he did at the Sunshine Gala.”

“That’s wonderful!” Mrs. Caldwel said, beaming.

“You’re such a generous man, Mr. Bridges. With patronage such as yours, the polar bears wil live on for generations to come.” She glanced over Jeremy’s shoulder. “Please excuse me. I have other guests to greet. I hope you and your friend have a lovely time tonight!”

Mrs. Caldwel moved toward her next victim, and Jeremy turned to Bernie. “You just set me up for twelve grand,” he muttered. “Thanks a bunch.”

“Consider it penance. Now maybe you won’t go to hel for lying.”

“That might cover
this
lie. But what about al the others?”

“You have no respect at al for these people, do you?”

“Their games aren’t my games.”

“So you make up games of your own.”

“Exactly.”

“Just don’t make me your financial planner again. I don’t know a damned thing about the stock market.” With that, she turned and fanned her gaze over the crowd with the same intensity she always did, never relaxing for a moment, never cracking a smile. Bernie was nothing if not predictable. She wore the same plain black dress she always did whenever she shadowed him at events like these, one that hit her legs midcalf. It was so shapeless that it was impossible to get a mental picture of what her body beneath it looked like. Dark hair that grazed her shoulders in no particular style. Not a speck of makeup. Flat, sensible shoes. No stockings, of course. He couldn’t imagine Bernie wiggling into a pair of pantyhose. Jewelry? Perish the thought. In this room ful of peacocks, she looked like a plain brown starling, so bland she faded right into the wal and so unmemorable that he was surprised Mrs. Caldwel had recognized her at al .

Sometimes he cocked his head and narrowed his eyes and looked at Bernie when she wasn’t aware he was doing it, just to see if there was an actual woman in there somewhere. Occasional y he got a glimpse of one, but it was like seeing something fleeting on the periphery of his vision that was there one second and gone the next.

He wondered what she did with al the money she made working for him, because it sure didn’t go toward nice clothes or a decent apartment. She wore discount-store clothes and lived in a mediocre complex in east Plano ful of questionable people. Not that it wasn’t safe for Bernie. Somebody would have to have a death wish to mess with her. Aside from paying somebody to hack into her bank account or personal email, Jeremy didn’t have any way of finding out much more, and hel would freeze over before she offered any personal information of her own accord.

Her professional history, though, was a different story. He might show the world a cavalier attitude, but he never hired anyone without vetting that person from top to bottom. As bodyguards went, Bernie was the best of the best. Ex-military, she was a top-notch marksman and a martial arts expert. She had observational skil s out the wazoo. And Jeremy had no doubt she could be lethal if the situation ever warranted it.

Stil , she
was
a woman, and every once in a while he imagined what would happen if he sent her for a day at one of those stupidly expensive spas, then took her to Neiman’s and sprang for the works. Just for fun.

Just to see the result. Of course, if he ever actual y suggested such a thing, he’d probably end up as one more notch on her Q-Tip.

“I’m heading for the bar,” Jeremy said. “Can I interest you in a glass of outrageously expensive champagne? I have to recoup my twelve thousand somehow.”

“You know I don’t drink on the job.”

“Do you drink
ever
? Or smoke, or park il egal y, or spit gum on the sidewalk? What do you do for fun, anyway?”

“I am having fun,” she deadpanned. “Can’t you tel ?”

“Lighten up, Bernie. This is friendly territory. Not much chance of a kidnapping attempt around here.” Bernie’s laserlike eyes zeroed in on something across the room. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you know that woman?” Bernie asked. “The one by the buffet table in the silver sequined skirt up to her ass?”

Jeremy turned to look at the woman in question, who turned out to be the same women he’d seen as he was coming into the hotel. She was indeed showing a few more inches of thigh than the average woman here tonight. Bernie didn’t seem to approve, but—funny thing—he didn’t object in the least.

Did he know her? No. Was he going to get to know her? Absolutely. Before this evening was out, he intended to get to know her very,
very
wel .

“Never seen her before tonight,” he said.

“I have. A couple of times in the past few days. She may be fol owing you. She was outside the gates to your house two days ago, and on the street in front of Rodolpho’s yesterday when you were having lunch with Phil Brandenburg. And she’s barely taken her eyes off you tonight.”

Jeremy smiled. “Ah, women… they just can’t seem to control themselves around me, can they?”

“There
is
a chance she’s just a groupie. She probably saw the article they did on you in
Dallas
After Dark
and she’s hoping to snag a handsome mil ionaire.”

“So you think I’m handsome, do you?”

“I’m just quoting the article.”

“Wel , if it’s in print, it must be true.”

“Right.
Dallas After Dark.
Journalism at its finest.” Bernie continued to eye the girl, then shook her head grimly. “There’s something fishy about her. She doesn’t belong here. She’s dressed too slutty. And she’s standing alone.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Jeremy said. “Maybe I should check her out. Get closer to her. Infiltrate her evil plot.”

“You’re not taking this seriously.”

“Now, that’s where you’re wrong. I’m very,
very
serious about taking her home with me.” He glanced back at the woman. “And look at that. I don’t even have to go on the hunt. The prey is coming to me.”

If Bernie had to endure one more word of this woman’s incessant babbling, she was going to reach down her throat and permanently remove whatever organs afforded her the ability to speak.

Even after moving to her post along the wal , Bernie could stil hear Miss Ashley Preston tel ing Jeremy that she’d seen him in
Dallas After Dark,
and she just hadn’t been able to get his photograph out of her mind. When Jeremy asked her about her family, she said she was the daughter of Mr. T. J. Preston, a man who, according to Ashley, “dabbled in oil, real estate, that kind of thing.” She went on to say that she was between careers because she hadn’t found her cal ing yet, though she did have her volunteer work with her sorority sisters from Southern Methodist University. To Bernie, al of that said she was either supported by daddy or had a never-ending trust fund from another rich relative.

Mrs. Caldwel swung back by and Ashley greeted her by name, reminding her that they’d met briefly at the Faces of Hunger benefit at the Adolphus Hotel three months before. Bernie waited for Mrs.

Caldwel ’s reaction, which included a short but definite lapse of memory. Within a second or two, though, she greeted Ashley as if they were old friends.

Unfortunately, Bernie couldn’t tel if Mrs. Caldwel had final y remembered Ashley, or whether it was merely a social cover-up because she thought she was supposed to.

If it was the former, al was wel . If it was the latter, Bernie could be dealing with somebody who’d done her homework for the event to ensure she wasn’t found out for the impostor she was. Unfortunately, a possible memory lapse on Mrs. Caldwel ’s part wasn’t enough to start any whistle blowing.

As Ashley started on her second glass of wine, the hair twirling began, and before long she was practical y shoving her breasts right into Jeremy’s chest. Bernie sighed, wishing to God he would just go ahead and make his move and get al this over with.

Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait much longer.

Jeremy leaned in to talk quietly to Ashley, who leaned away with a raised eyebrow and a seductive smile. “Now, Jeremy. Just what kind of girl do you think I am?”

“One who loves fine wine,” Jeremy said, nodding down at her glass, “and rich men.”

Ashley laughed in that way that only beautiful blond women could, with a toss of her head and music in her voice. “You already know me so wel ,” she said slyly. “I do believe we’re a match made in heaven.” A few minutes later, Jeremy made nice with Mrs.

Caldwel , thanking her for the evening and assuring her that his check would be forthcoming. Then he and the blond deposited their wine glasses on the nearest bar and headed for the hotel lobby. Bernie cal ed Carlos, and by the time they reached the circular drive in front of the hotel, the limo was pul ing to the curb.

Ashley glanced back at Bernie, her sunny disposition growing a little cloudy. She leaned in and whispered to Jeremy, but Bernie heard her loud and clear. “Your bodyguard isn’t hanging around al night, is she? To tel you the truth, she kinda scares me.” Jeremy whispered back, “To tel you the truth, she kinda scares me, too.”

“Then you’l send her away?”

“As soon as we get to my fortress.”

Carlos got out and opened the door, escorting Ashley inside. Bernie started to get into the passenger side of the front seat, when al at once something dawned on her.

“Bridges,” she said quietly.

One foot in the limo, Jeremy stopped and turned back. “What?”

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Bernie stepped away from the car. Jeremy reluctantly fol owed.

“Did you tel that blond I was your bodyguard?” she asked.

“No. Why?”

“She knew. She asked you if your bodyguard was going to hang around al night. How did she know who I was if you never told her?”

“Come on, Bernie. It isn’t that hard to deduce.”

“I’m a woman. Most people don’t.”

“Maybe she’s smarter than she looks.”

“Maybe she’s more of a threat than she looks. Do you remember how she greeted Mrs. Caldwel by name, but Mrs. Caldwel didn’t seem to remember her?”

“Mrs. Caldwel is pushing eighty. Do you have more than that?”

Bernie pursed her lips, wishing she did have more.

But she had to tel the truth. “No. Nothing specific. I’ve just had a bad feeling about her from the beginning.”

“And I’ve had a good feeling. We’re going with mine.”

He turned around and got into the limo. Bernie wished she could take him by the lapels of his thousand-dol ar tux and shake some sense into him.

Nothing was more intolerable to her than his putting his sexual conquests above her recommendations about his personal safety.
Nothing.
She hadn’t gotten to be the best at her profession by ignoring her gut instincts, and the people she worked for hadn’t stayed alive by ignoring them, either.

Bernie got into the car, and as Carlos pul ed away from the curb, Ashley was giggling in the backseat.

Bernie could only imagine where Jeremy’s hands already were, but she had no intention of turning around to find out for sure. Carlos let out a soft whistle and whispered, “Wow. She’s a hot one.”

“Knock it off. You’re old enough to be her father.”

“Which does
not
make her any less hot.” Bernie just rol ed her eyes and stared out the passenger window.
Someday soon,
she told herself,
I’m outta here.

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at Jeremy’s estate. Carlos punched a code into the box by the front gates, and they swung open to al ow them entry.

He drove down the long, winding driveway. On either side, petunias and coleus overflowed their brick-lined beds, shaded by precisely spaced live oak trees that were tal and broad enough that, in a few years, they’d form a canopy over the driveway. With luck, Bernie would be long gone before that ever happened.

Carlos pul ed the limo beneath the portico on the west side of the house. He got out to open the door for Jeremy and Ashley. Ashley emerged, stil giggling in that grating way that made Bernie wish she were stone cold deaf. Jeremy told Carlos that he was in for the night, which was his signal to garage the limo and head home. Then Jeremy and Ashley disappeared into the house, shutting the door behind them without so much as a backward glance.

To hell with you,
Bernie thought.
I hope she blows
your head off.

Carlos pul ed the limo into the garage. He and Bernie got out, and they went to their respective cars that were parked nearby.

“Later, Bernie,” Carlos said.

Bernie nodded. Carlos got into his car and headed back down the driveway. Bernie started her car, intending to fol ow him, only to have another thought occur to her.

She grabbed her iPhone and Googled T. J.

Preston, which was supposedly the blond’s father’s name. Seconds later, she came up with a dean of a col ege in California and a veterinarian in Cleveland as the leading results. She scrol ed through that screen and two more, revealing the MySpace page of a freshman at Ohio State. A chemist in Maine. A children’s book author. Other assorted T. J. Prestons, but nobody in oil or real estate. If he was any kind of mover or shaker in the city of Dal as, his name would have popped up before now.

The bad feeling she’d had al night suddenly grew worse.

She thought about cal ing Jeremy. But would he listen? Probably not. Stil , what was the downside?

That she delayed his recreation for the evening?

She hit Jeremy’s speed dial number. Six rings, no answer. But that wasn’t unusual. If Jeremy was in the company of a woman, he probably wouldn’t even look to see who was cal ing.

Just then, the kitchen door opened and Jeremy’s housekeeper, Mrs. Spencer, came outside. Smal , compact, and grandmotherly, she was dressed as she always was in a starched white shirt, a plaid skirt, and a pair of highly sensible shoes. She walked across the courtyard to the stairs leading to her apartment above the garage, waving to Bernie as she passed by. Bernie waved back. If Jeremy had dismissed his housekeeper, he must real y be gearing up to make a night of it.

Just go home. It’s his own damned fault if
something happens.

Bernie put her car in gear. Started to hit the gas.

But for some reason, she sat there a few minutes longer, unable to put the pedal to the metal. If wasn’t as if she cared what happened to Jeremy Bridges.

But she cared very much for her professional record. If something went down tonight, who would be blamed?

Huffing with irritation, she kil ed the engine and got out of the car. Using her key, she went inside the house. She listened for a moment. Hearing nothing, she walked through the kitchen and into the den.

When she saw what was going on, every nerve went on red alert.

The security panel that was usual y hidden in the wal beside the bar had been opened. Jeremy stood next to it. And the blond stood six feet away from Jeremy, holding a handgun pointed directly at him.