Gayle Wilson - Under Surveillance

Her eyes stung at the strength and duration of their spontaneous tribute. She bit the inside of her bottom lip, determined to get through this evening without crying. So far, all her tears had been shed in private. She didn’t intend to make a public spectacle of her grief tonight.

She waited, not attempting to speak until the noise had died down again and the only sounds in the vast ballroom were of people settling back into their chairs. Her eyes had apparently adjusted to the dazzle of light because she could identify some of those seated at the nearest of the small, round tables. Their faces were turned expectantly up to the dais where she stood.

She had made a point of speaking to most of them before dinner, and as much as she dreaded it, she would mingle with the crowd again after the auction. That was another talent Chad had had. Making people feel welcome. Making them want to participate and to feel good about what they were doing.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. Whatever her own motives were for being here tonight, her brother certainly deserved their applause. “As I had started to say, on behalf of my brother, I would like to welcome you to the eighth annual Lockett Legacy Dinner and Auction. As you know, Chad was a tireless fund-raiser for a number of causes, as well as being a true philanthropist himself. This particular event, however, always held a very special place in his heart.

“For one thing, this is the only one of the many organizations to which he devoted his time and considerable energy that bears our family name. For another, the charities to which you have so generously donated each year were chosen by him personally. This foundation was Chad’s baby, and I thank you all for continuing the good works he believed in so much.”

There was another round of applause, this one more perfunctory than the last. That was all right. The first had been for her brother himself, from his friends and colleagues. To Kelly it had been the far more important response.

“As you know, this year we have a very special auction arranged for you. This, too, was Chad’s brainchild, and he worked tirelessly to acquire the items you see around the room.” She paused a moment, allowing the audience to focus once more on the glass display cases that lined the walls. “I know he would want me to again thank the donors for making these beautiful garments available, and I do. I should also remind you that because we want to raise as much money as we can tonight, we have accepted a few prebids from some very serious collectors. You’ll have plenty of opportunity, I promise, to open your checkbooks and outbid them for anything that catches your eye.”

Polite laughter followed the remark, just as the citation in parenthesis on her note cards had said it would. No one who had seen them expected those prebids to be overruled. They had been allowed only on the rarest and most valuable items of tonight’s collection, and they had come in from all over the world. Kelly, along with everyone else associated with the Legacy, had been pleasantly surprised at the amounts.

“I rather fancied the off-the-shoulder black dress that belonged to Princess Diana,” she continued, following the script she’d been given. “I even thought about breaking open my piggy bank to see if there was enough there to make a down payment.”

More polite laughter at what could only be classified as a very lame joke, given the Lockett wealth. And that, too, was okay, Kelly decided.

She had been able to relax a little as she mouthed this nonsense, and the urge to cry for how much better Chad would have done this had finally passed. All she had to do now was give the last of her professionally written introduction, and then the actual auction would begin.

Once it had, she would have a chance to catch her breath. Maybe even to grab a glass of the champagne that would be flowing freely as an inducement to bidding. There was only this one last hurdle to get past.

“Unfortunately, that one didn’t fit. A height issue,” she said. More laughter at her acknowledgement of her small statue. “Actually, since no alterations were allowed to any of the garments, the dresses our models will wear tonight are recreations of the originals you see in the cases. As is this.”

She stepped from behind the lectern and walked to the head of the raised runway that had been set up in the center of the room. She paused a moment, more to calm her nerves than to showcase the dress, although it surely deserved the spotlight.

Even though she was far more at home in jeans and a sweater, Kelly had to admit there had been something completely sensuous about slipping the flame-red evening gown over her head. With a whisper of silk, it had settled around her hips and breasts like a glove.

Behind her, the voice of the professional announcer picked up where she had left off. “As any couturier will tell you, in order to truly understand the magic of a garment, it is necessary to see it worn. Therefore, we’ve arranged a very special showing for you tonight.”

Carefully coached in the same glide the professional models would use, Kelly began her journey down the runway. The chorus of oohs that followed her was proof that her advisors had been right about the gown. Both the color and its strapless design made it a showstopper. Or in this case, a show starter.

“Miss Lockett is modeling a copy of a vintage Givenchy with matching stole. The dress was created for Audrey Hepburn, the designer’s favorite star, to wear in the film Funny Face. I’m sure you all remember the scene in which Miss Hepburn descends the stairs at the Louvre wearing this same gown.”

According to the script, at that exact moment Kelly should have reached the end of the runway, which jutted out into the middle of the room. In front of her was a series of six steps that led down to the floor of the ballroom. Just as Hepburn had in the movie, she raised her arms to shoulder height, displaying the matching red silk stole, before she started down the steps.

“I’ll tell you in confidence that there isn’t a single prebid on this one,” the smooth voice from the stage behind her went on. “We’ve saved it just for you.”

Kelly had been advised to pick out a couple of people in the crowd to smile or nod to as she descended. She had begun searching the faces around her, looking for a familiar one, when her gaze seemed to lock on a masculine profile. Its features, silhouetted against the lights from the back of the room, were clean and strong, as classically proportioned as if they had been graven on some ancient coin.

At that exact moment, the man turned his head, his eyes meeting and holding hers. She couldn’t have said what color they were. Or even what he looked like. All she knew was that he was dark—both eyes and hair. Handsome in a rugged, completely masculine kind of way. Compelling.

Obviously, she thought, relieved when her stride carried her past the table where he was sitting. Although she continued along the predestined route all the models would take, designed to let the guests have a closer look at the garments, she had to resist the urge to turn her head and glance back at him over her shoulder.

And that was totally out of character. Especially given what had been happening in her life during the last few months.

Finally, thankfully, she reached the end of her performance. Before her were the double doors that led out of the ballroom and back to anonymity, with which she was far more comfortable.

Behind her she heard the auctioneer open the bidding on the original of the Givenchy knock-off she was wearing. The next couple of hours would be someone else’s responsibility—his and the other professionals hired from one of the top New York fashion houses. And she was more than ready to hand it over.