Joyce Sullivan - The Butler's Daughter

“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.”