Dark Paradise (45 page)

she thought she would have given anything to sleep alone, in her own

bed, in her own house. Now she dreaded the idea. The bed was too empty.

The house was too quiet. Most nights she lay awake, staring in the dark

at the space beside her, where Will should have been. Tonight she would

lay awake and stare at Will's spot and wonder if the mystery bandit

might break in and attack her. And if he did, would Will even care when

he heard about it?

She had spent the night of the party in the guest room at Bryce's. Her

mind filled with the bright afterglow of excitement, sleep had been a

long time coming. She may have felt out of place during the evening, but

in the aftermath she relived every scene with enthusiasm, remembering

the people she had met and the conversations she had been a part of. It

was like a dream, like stepping into a whole other world the

celebrities, the beautiful clothes she had worn, the music, the

champagne, the pool glowing as darkness crept down the Mountainside.

A wry smile touched her mouth as she served a Falstaff and a Chivas to a

couple from Beverly Hills. A fairy tale.

Sam Rafferty as Cinderella with Evan Bryce as the fairy godfather. But

the clock had struck, the enchantment was over, and she was back

hustling for tips at the Moose, working the late shift until she could

go home to her dumpy little empty house to sleep alone.

The black mood swooped down on her like a vulture and dug its claws into

her stomach. Tears gathered behind her eyes and she blinked them back as

she made change for a fifty and gave service with a smile. Half an hour

to go, then she could cry all she wanted and there would be no one to

see her except Rascal.

When she turned to go back to the bar, Bryce caught her eye. He was at

his usual table, drinking Pellegrino with lime. The crowd around him was

small. Just Sharon, Ben Lucas, and another man she had seen briefly at

the party, a tall, stiff-looking man who might have been a television

news anchor or a leading man from the era of Kirk Douglas. Of the

foursome, only Bryce appeared to be having a good time. He flashed her a

grin and motioned for her.

"Hey there, beautiful, what time do you get off?"

Samantha gave him a crooked smile, not quite sure how she was supposed

to react. If she hadn't been stuck in New Eden, Montana, her whole life,

she might have come back with a witty remark, but she felt awkward

trying to pretend sophistication she didn't possess.

"They've kept you hopping tonight," he said. "I guess everyone is

charged up over that break-in we heard about."

"Yeah," she said, pulling her empty tray up in front of her, warming to

him. He went out of his way to include her, to make her feel more

important than she knew she was. She greedily soaked up his generosity

and tried not to worry about what the rest of his friends probably

thought about her.

"Did you hear whose room it was?" she asked, excited at the prospect of

sharing what little gossip she knew. "Marilee Jennings. She was at your party."

Ben Lucas raised his eyebrows and glanced across the table at the older

man - Townsend.

Bryce frowned and rubbed his chin. "Really?
 
That's terrible. Was she

hurt?"

"He hit her in the head. I heard she had a concussion, but she's not in

the hospital or anything. She was lucky."

He had a faraway look in his eyes, as if he were doing math in his head.

"Yes, I guess she was," he murmured.

"It's creepy," Samantha said, shivering a little, the fear showing

through. "That kind of thing doesn't happen here. People getting

attacked and robbed and stuff like that."

Bryce sharpened, his blue eyes narrowing. Concern creased his high

forehead as his brows pulled together.

"You're home alone. Will you be all right?"

"Sure," she said without much enthusiasm.

"No, no, no." He wagged his head. "I don't like that idea at all. Come

and stay at the ranch."

Samantha blinked at the offer and the temptation that hit hard on its

heels. A vision of the guest room played through her head like a

commercial for a luxury hotel.

"No, I couldn't," she said automatically.

"Of course you could. We'd be glad to have you, wouldn't we, Sharon?"

Samantha flicked a glance at the statuesque blonde.

Sharon didn't look glad to her. The smile that twisted the woman's thin

lips was the kind that usually comes as a reaction to sucking on

something unexpectedly bitter.

"No, thanks, really," Samantha said as her self-esteem sank. She

imagined she could hear the words behind Sharon Russell's flat

gaze - stupid little spick waitress.

"I'll be okay. I'm used to staying alone. Besides, I don't have anything

a thief would want."

"Maybe he wasn't a thief," Sharon pointed out calmly, running a finger

around the rim of her Margarita glass.

Samantha's eyes widened. Bryce shot his cousin a glower. "Way to go,

cuz, scare the poor girl to death."

Sharon licked the salt off her finger and shrugged, unrepentant. "Better

safe than sorry. A woman has to consider all the possibilities and act

accordingly. If you don't feel safe, Sam, by all means, come out to

Xanadu. You'll be safe with us."

Three tables over, a man cleared his throat noisily and raised an empty

glass when Samantha glanced his way.

She held up a hand to acknowledge him and turned back to Bryce. "I've

got to go. Thanks for the offer, but I'll be okay."

He reached up and gave her hand a squeeze, made eye contact, and gave

her a dose of sincere and fatherly concern.

"Think about it. We won't be leaving for a while yet."

He watched her walk away, her thick braid twitching across her slim back

as she went. Then he brought Drew Van Dellen's frown into focus at the

bar beyond.

"Bryce, we need to talk," MacDonald Townsend said in a harsh, low voice.

A dull throb started in behind Bryce's eyes. Townsend had been chanting

that phrase all evening. Bryce kept putting him off just to be perverse.

He was in no mood to listen to the judge's whining.

"In a minute, Townsend," he said irritably, his gaze never leaving Van

Dellen. Gracefully he pushed himself to his feet and sauntered away from

the table, smiling to himself as Townsend complained bitterly to Sharon

and Ben Lucas behind his back.

Drew set his pencil down atop the liquor inventory as Bryce approached

the bar. He didn't bother with a smile. "Mr. Bryce."

"Drew." Bryce flashed the Redford grin and dropped his elbows on the

bar. "I hear you had a little trouble last night."

"Nothing that will happen again if we can help it."

"How is Marilee?"

"Well enough, all things considered. She had a nasty scare."

"No sign of the culprit?"

"None."

"Hmm . . . Well, I imagine it was just a random burglary. Or someone got

wind of her inheritance and thought maybe she'd gotten something

valuable from our friend Lucy."

"Not the case," Drew said neutrally. "Not something small enough to keep

in her room, at any rate."

Bryce nodded as if he were conceding a point in a subtle debate. "One

could never tell with Lucy. She was full of surprises."

"People are. Not all of them pleasant." He cut a meaningful glance to

Bryce's table. "Take, for example, your friend the judge. In person he

doesn't seem quite the genial fellow the press would paint him."

"Yes, well, Townsend is under some personal strain these days," Bryce

said, smiling like a shark.

Drew arched a brow and looked supremely bored.

Bryce studied him intently for several moments, trying to read, trying

to gauge and calculate angles.

Drew went on, unperturbed by the scrutiny. "I wanted to have a word with

you about Samantha."

"Did you?"

The idea seemed to amuse him. Drew had done all he could do to keep his

expression bland. "Yes. She's very young, you know. Not terribly

sophisticated when it comes to the ways of the world outside Montana."

"And?" Bryce spread his hands and raised his eyebrows, feigning

ignorance. "Are you warning me off, Drew?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Merely pointing out that she's inexperienced. And married."

"You couldn't tell it by the way her husband treats her."

"They're having their problems."

"She deserves better," Bryce declared flatly. "She's a bright, lovely

girl. I'm just letting her have a taste, giving her a little fun, a

little attention."

And hoping to profit by it. Drew kept the opinion to himself. It would

do no good to get into a figurative shoving match. Bryce swung enough

weight to put a sizable dent in their business if he so chose, and

nothing would be accomplished other than boosting the man's ego another

notch toward the ionosphere.

"I just don't want to see her hurt, is all," he said diplomatically, his

gaze drifting to Samantha as she delivered a round to a table of

tourists from Florida. She smiled at them and listened thoughtfully as

they asked her a question about the history of the lodge. Pretty girl,

sweet girl, as unspoiled as the wilderness. Pity she had such poor luck

with men. Pity men had to be such bastards. The thought of her being

caught in a tug-of-war between Bryce and the Raffertys made his heart

ache. The knowledge that she wouldn't confide in him because of his own

orientation only added to the sadness and the sense of helplessness.

Bryce's eyes strayed to Samantha as well. Beautiful, exotic, innocent,

fresh, ripe to taste what the world could offer her. She was youth and

opportunity. With guidance and tutelage, her potential would have no

bounds. The thought was as seductive to him as it should have been to

her.

"I don't have any intention of hurting her," he murmured as plans

shifted and realigned in his head. "Get me a whiskey, will you, Drew?"

He took the drink back to the table, where Lucas was playing at

seduction games with Sharon, and Townsend sat stewing. Lucas was out of

his depth and didn't know it. Sharon's eyes gleamed with secret

amusement. Townsend finished off a Stolichnaya, his stare petulant as

Bryce sat back down into his chair at the head of the table.

"How much longer are you going to put me off?"

Bryce narrowed his eyes and made a pained face. "I'd say until you

became too annoying to stomach, but that moment is already a distant

memory."

Townsend ignored the insult. "Did you get the videotape?"

"No."

A fine sheen of sweat misted across the judge's face.

Even in the glow of firelight he looked abnormally pale, his skin

stretched tight against the bones of his face. His eyes had taken on a

haunted, paranoid quality. Bryce rubbed his chin and wondered just how

much coke his honor was doing these days. Too much, the fool. If the man

had ever possessed any nerve, it was gone now, burned away by excesses

his spineless conscience couldn't handle.

"Goddamn you, Bryce," he snarled. His hand was trembling as he curled it

tightly around his empty glass. "You never should have made it in the first

place!"

Bryce laid his elbows on the table and leaned forward, nonchalantly

scanning the room for curious onlookers.

Everyone was either engrossed in retelling a personal brush with crime

or in making a last trip to the bar.

Satisfied, he tilted his head in Townsend's direction, his lips