Every Breath You Take (32 page)

“Yes, don’t leave Chicago until you hear from us.”

“I’ll heed that warning,” he said shortly. “And now you’d better heed mine: If I ever see any of those photographs anywhere, I will bury Gray Elliott—and you—under a mountain of lawsuits filed against both of you personally, along with the City of Chicago and the State of Illinois. And while I’m at it, I’ll make sure the media learns about your voyeuristic ‘hobby,’ and your expensive trips to Caribbean islands in pursuit of that hobby—all at government expense. In short, I will smear your names all over the press.”

“Are you threatening me?” MacNeil said stiffly.

“Didn’t I just make that clear?” Wyatt snapped. “Nice tan, by the way,” he added. He started for the door, followed by his smirking attorneys; then he turned back
and aimed his next threat toward the two-way mirror. “I’ll give you the rest of the afternoon to get in touch with Caroline Wyatt and explain that I had nothing to do with William’s death. If you fail to convince her, I’ll bring her to your office in the morning and you can do it in front of me.”

After Wyatt left, Elliott opened the door and walked into the interrogation room. “That’s the second time in one day I’ve been called a voyeur,” he remarked idly, gazing at the open door. Transferring his gaze to MacNeil, he said, “Meet me in my office tomorrow at ten and bring all the files with you. I know who murdered William, but we’re going to have to go slowly and build our case very carefully.”

“I’ll be there,” MacNeil said. When he glanced up, Elliott was studying MacNeil’s thinning hair.

“Your hair looks different.”

“Different how?” MacNeil asked, then quickly looked away.

“I don’t know exactly. It’s … fluffy.”

“New shampoo,” MacNeil mumbled.

U
NLIKE LARGE FUND-RAISERS, THE CHILDREN’S HOSPITAL
benefit was an elite annual affair with an invitation list containing only 350 names, each name chosen based on the individual’s exceptional charitablespending habits. An elaborate dinner was served and a silent auction took place during the evening, with items that included fabulous artwork, museum-quality jewelry, and an occasional priceless antique. Opening bids for the least of the auction items began at $50,000, and tables for ten began at $100,000 each.

Each year, a philanthropist was honored during the dinner portion of the evening, with the mayor of Chicago making the presentation. This year, the honoree, for the fifth time, was Cecil Wyatt.

The location chosen for this year’s benefit was the Founders Club, which occupied the top two floors of Endicott Tower, a spectacular eighty-story octagon made of stone and glass, located in downtown Chicago.

Membership in the Founders Club was originally limited to wealthy descendants of Chicago’s founding families, but since many of those descendants had failed to maintain the wealth of their forebears—or had committed crimes even more horrendous than that—the Founders Club had loosened its membership restrictions. Currently, in order to be considered for membership, the candidate had only to have had “a significant presence in the Chicago area” for the past one hundred
years and to be able to afford annual dues of $50,000. However, as a safeguard, membership was “by invitation only from the board of directors,” which prevented the “wrong sort of persons” who otherwise qualified for membership from applying and becoming a nuisance when they were rejected.

Once a coveted membership was granted, the new member was entitled to enjoy the club’s spectacular views, its sumptuous luncheon and dinner menus, and, of course, bragging rights.

No expense had been spared on the interior decor of the club; it was designed to impress, and it did. To assist in that goal, the private elevator’s lobby was on the second floor of the club, and was an eight-sided rotunda with an elaborate wrought-iron railing around it that guided new arrivals toward a sweeping staircase that curved gracefully downward to the first floor. A grand chandelier, one story in height, was suspended from the center of the second-floor ceiling, its many-tiered gold frame dripping with magnificent crystals.

At the front of the room, standing near their table, Matt Farrell watched his wife walking slowly through the crowd on the first floor, and he excused himself to the people around him.

“Looking for someone?” he asked, walking up behind her as she stood gazing up at the second-floor rotunda, where the silent-auction items were displayed.

“Just checking to make sure everything is going well.” She was in charge of this year’s benefit, and she’d been working on it for months, dealing with the various committees and the endless details, as well as handling her demanding job as Bancroft & Company’s CEO.

Matt looked up at the people on the second floor, moving from table to table with glasses of champagne in their hands, writing down bids, talking and laughing, while a string quartet played in the curve of the staircase
On the main floor, the candlelit tables were laid with sparkling crystal and china, and decorated with spectacular sprays of cream-and-red bicolor roses from South America, blooms the size of softballs.

“More than half of the people are upstairs with pens in their hands, and an army of waiters is passing out drinks to make sure they stay loose. You’re a guaranteed success. And,” he whispered tenderly, “you are also very beautiful.”

She sent him a beaming smile, tucked her hand through his arm, gave it a squeeze, and then she nodded toward the head table, where the guest of honor was talking to the mayor.

Matt suppressed a grimace. “Leave it to Cecil Wyatt to check himself out of the hospital so he can walk up to another podium and accept another award.” As if to wash away a bad taste, he swallowed the last of the champagne in his glass. A waiter arrived instantly with a tray of refills. “How much,” he teased her, “did you budget for liquor?”

“A lot,” she admitted. “Look, there’s Mitchell,” she added a moment later. She watched him smiling politely as group after group of his new “family friends” stopped to say hello to him or introduce themselves for the first time.

When Cecil arrived at Mitchell’s elbow and drew him aside a moment later, Meredith shook her head a little as if to clear it. “I still can’t get used to seeing Mitchell with Cecil. We’ve known Mitchell for so long, and he’s stayed with us so many times, that I can’t believe he waited six months to tell us he was Cecil’s grandson. If we hadn’t seen him at Cecil’s birthday party, I’m not sure we’d know it now.”

“How thrilled would you be to find out you’re related to a domineering, egocentric old man? Oh, wait … you’re already related to one of those,” Matt teased,
and Meredith burst out laughing; then she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Shhh,” she whispered, “my father is right behind you.”

“That’s not good. Change places with me,” he joked. “I don’t like having my back turned to him.”

He was half serious about the last part, Meredith knew, and for good reason. Her father had destroyed their marriage when they were young, and when Matt strode back into her life ten years later, her father tried to interfere again and almost lost Meredith in the process. For her sake, Matt tolerated her father, but he’d never forgiven him, and he never would.

“I’m indebted to him tonight for persuading the Founders Club to let us use this place for our benefit,” she said. “It was a real feather in our cap.”

“He didn’t do it for you,” Matt teased. “He did it to show
me
that he could still do something for you that I can’t do. Former steelworkers from Gary, Indiana, can’t be members here, no matter how successful they become. Do you know how I know that?”

Meredith’s shoulders shook with laughter, because she had a pretty good idea what the answer was. “How do you know that, darling?”

“Your father told me. Fifty times. This week alone.”

Meredith smiled, but her attention had reverted to Mitchell. “Oh, look, Olivia Hebert has him by the arm. It’s so funny to see him squiring a little old lady, instead of some gorgeous woman with an exotic name, and he does it with such patience and élan.”

“Mitchell does everything with élan,” Matt replied, drily, “and it’s easy for him to be patient tonight, because he knows he’s leaving for Europe tomorrow. He told me he can’t wait to put an ocean between himself and Chicago.”

Meredith’s expression clouded. “Something’s been bothering him.”

“Something other than being accused of murdering his brother, having to surrender his passport, and being forced to remain in the city until Gray Elliott checked out his story, you mean?”

Meredith ignored the irony in his tone and nodded emphatically. “Something besides that. Those problems are over, and since Caroline is with him tonight, she’s obviously accepted that he had nothing to do with William’s death. Whatever is on his mind isn’t related to any of that.”

“I haven’t noticed anything different about him.”

“Men don’t notice subtleties about other men,” she said with a sigh. “Has it occurred to you that he’s never mentioned Kate to us? She was so important to him that he was going to fly back and forth to the Caribbean to see her every night, but he hasn’t mentioned her once. I tried to work around to the subject a few days ago by asking him if there was anyone special in his life. He said no.”

“Mitchell doesn’t talk about the women in his life.”

“Mitchell called Zack in Rome to talk about Kate,” Meredith argued. “I wonder what happened to her.”

“She never went aboard the yacht. When Zack asked him what happened, Mitchell said ‘things got complicated,’” Matt reminded her, as a waiter with a tray of canapés stopped at his side.

“I know. Oh, well, I guess that leaves the way clear for Marissa.”

Matt paused, his arm outstretched toward the tray. “Our daughter Marissa?”

“When I kissed her good night, she told me she’s decided to marry Mitchell when she’s old enough.”

“I’m not ready for this,” he declared, finally selecting a canapé from the tray.

Meredith grinned. “Your future son-in-law appears to be making his way in our direction.”

“Kate,” Holly said sympathetically, “we can’t spend the night in the ladies’ lounge. Drink this and let’s go.” As she spoke, Holly removed Kate’s empty champagne glass from her trembling hand and substituted her own glass for it. “Bottoms up,” she coaxed.

“Mitchell is down there,” Kate said, her voice shaking with nerves. “I saw him from the balcony.”

“I know that. Now, let’s make sure he sees you.”

“I’m not ready to go out there.”

“Yes, you are.”

Mindlessly, Kate sipped her glass of champagne, the second one in ten minutes. “How do I look?”

Holly strolled around her for a final inspection. Reminiscent of the slinky, glamorous gowns worn in 1930s movies, Kate’s pewter satin gown was bias cut, with a heart-shaped bodice and a narrow halter strap that made a V between her breasts. To complement the gown’s retro look, her hair had been styled into smooth waves and swept back on one side, held in place with an antique amethyst-and-diamond comb borrowed from Evan’s mother. “I love that Veronica Lake hairstyle on you,” Holly decreed. “That antique comb will make everyone think your earrings are real instead of costume jewelry,” she added, admiring the mock amethyst-and-diamond earrings dangling from Kate’s ears partway to her shoulders.

They both hesitated while two women who’d been using the adjoining bathroom walked through the mirrored lounge area. The women smiled and nodded as they strolled past, then they opened the door to leave and a blast of laughter and music filled the lounge.

Holly waited until the door closed again; then she removed the empty champagne glass from Kate’s fingers, and took Kate’s hands in hers. “I promised you that I’d coach you and tell you how to get through this,” she
said, looking solemnly into Kate’s wide, overbright green eyes. “And I deliberately waited until now, when the moment is at hand.”

Turning Kate toward the mirror, she said, “Look at yourself. You are absolutely stunning. This is your night, Kate. It’s your debut as Evan’s future wife, and tonight you’re going to find that even the biggest snobs here will welcome you as one of their own. They already know you’re not a trashy gold digger; you’re the daughter of a Chicago restaurateur who was something of a celebrity in his own right. You’re his successor. You also have a natural elegance and poise that people notice, and you have a warm heart that makes you infinitely appealing. Are you following me so far?”

Embarrassed by all the flattery, Kate smiled and said, “I’m following that, tonight, you want me to think I’m wonderful.”

“You
are
wonderful. Now, this brings us to Mitchell Wyatt. Sometime in the next couple of hours, you’re going to come face-to-face with him—” Three women, laughing and talking, walked into the lounge to check their makeup, and Holly and Kate both turned to the mirror, pretending they were doing the same thing.

Kate reached into her purse for her lipstick, but her entire body was in flight mode at the thought of looking into Mitchell’s blue eyes and seeing that hard, handsome face again. He’d made her laugh, he’d made her moan with pleasure, and then he’d held her in his arms as if he never wanted to let her go. Worse, much worse, he’d made her care so much that she thought she was in love with him.

And then he’d sent her back to break up with Evan, never intending to be there when she returned.

Viewed with the clarity of hindsight, she realized now that everything Mitchell did from the moment she met him—even sending for an ambulance and doctor
to help Max—was done to ensure the accomplishment of his ultimate goal. There was no doubt in her mind now that he’d sent her that Bloody Mary himself and then sauntered into the restaurant to introduce himself. In fact, just thinking about the way he’d made a date with her after she spilled the drink on him made her grind her teeth:
“If I were you, I’d offer to take me to dinner …”
Of all the egotistical, cocky, overconfident …

He must have been amazed and very pleased when he introduced himself and she didn’t recognize his name. Her ignorance made it so much easier for him, and so much more fun, as he seduced Evan Bartlett’s witless girlfriend.