A Year And A Day. Inglath Cooper
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revealing with sickening accuracy her innocence. Lips parted as if she had been shocked to discover that the world could end up so ugly. Her dress torn. One sandal missing. The last image of his little sister all those years ago flashed through his mind, sending a knife of pain through his gut. He ran a hand over his eyes.
“I promised that family,” he said. “I promised them that son of a bitch would pay.”
“Nicholas—”
“But that was my mistake, wasn’t it? Never make promises you can’t keep, right?” He grabbed the cups and stood. “We better get back out there. I’ve got another party to go to.”
“Yeah,” Kyle said, slapping his hands on his knees and pushing out of his chair. “Wouldn’t want to keep your new employer waiting.”
Nicholas attempted a smile. “First impressions and all that.”
Kyle squeezed his shoulder once. “Miss us a little, will ya?”
“I don’t think I’ll have a choice.”
AUDREY AND JONATHAN arrived at the Websters’ just after nine o’clock. She could think of nothing but Jonathan’s intention to send Sammy away, and she wished simply for the evening to be over, to be alone with her thoughts long enough to reassure herself that her plan would work.
A who’s who roster of cars—Bentleys, BMWs, Ferraris—lined the driveway outside the West Paces Ferry mansion. Spotlights held the enormous house captive in their glare. Thomas stopped the car in the circular drive and opened the back door of the Mercedes limousine. Jonathan slid out, offering her a hand. She ignored it. His frown lasted only a millisecond, replaced with a pleasant smile directed at the chauffeur.
“I’ll call your cell phone when we’re ready to leave, Thomas,” he said.
Thomas nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Jonathan put a possessive arm around Audrey’s waist and pulled her close, forcing her to walk next to him. This was the part he’d perfected. The Colbys. Happily married couple. Adoring husband. Pampered wife.
Ross and Sylvia Webster stood in the doorway. A former weight lifter who had let the muscle go soft, Ross wore suits that were a shade tight, as if he couldn’t quite admit to needing to go up a size. A couple of inches taller than her husband, Sylvia was a study in elegance, her dark hair loosely pulled back with a diamond clip, her red silk dress fitted to every aerobicized curve.
One of the premier houses in Atlanta, the Webster home contained an indoor pool, racketball courts and a huge ballroom in which the party took place. Proof that silence was lucrative.
“Hello, Jonathan. Audrey.” Ross shook Jonathan’s hand, then reached down to brush his lips across Audrey’s cheek. His gaze caught hers, but he quickly looked away, avoiding her eyes while Jonathan greeted Sylvia.
Sylvia laughed at something Jonathan had whispered in her ear, then turned to Audrey. “Let’s get you something to drink, and I’ll tell you all about the fabulous new designer I found. I think his stuff would look great on you.”
“I’ll watch for you,” Jonathan called out, his voice low and even.
Audrey followed the other woman through the foyer. Red poinsettias lined the stairway. Garlands of magnolia leaves hung from the banister, draping the entrance to the ballroom. Bottles of Dom Perignon and crystal glasses caught the light from the chandeliers suspended overhead. A tuxedo-clad singer crooned a Sinatra tune, an orchestra set up behind him.
“Love the coat,” Sylvia said, rubbing a hand across the sleeve of Audrey’s mink.
“Thanks.” Audrey handed it to a hovering butler. She despised it. Despised herself more for wearing it when the thought of killing an animal for its fur had always repulsed her. But she mostly hated the coat because it had been one of Jonathan’s extravagant apologies. One of many.
Sylvia passed her a glass of champagne. “Missed you at the League fashion show yesterday. Some of the cruisewear was simply to die for.”
Audrey took a sip, not meeting the other woman’s eyes. “Really?”
Sylvia made a sound of disapproval. “I wish I could afford to be as unconcerned as you. But then you could put on a sack and look great in it.”
Audrey wondered what Sylvia would have said if she told her what she saw when she looked in the mirror. “Did you find anything for your trip to St. Barts?” she asked, forcing herself to make an effort at polite conversation.
Sylvia brightened. “A few things, but I’m really excited about the Martin Hospice show on the second. You’re still planning to go, right?”
Actually, she’d forgotten about it. Jonathan had brought home the invitation, suggested she go with Sylvia. It was good to be seen at such events. She would have preferred to make an anonymous donation, but that would have been wasting an opportunity for public credit. “I—yes,” she said.
“Of course, it’s a charity show, but I understand Neiman’s has held back some of their spring items to donate.”
“How nice,” Audrey said.
Sylvia went on to tell her about the Dolce & Gabbana swimsuit Carol Estings had all but ripped from her hand last week at Saks.
Audrey made the appropriate sounds of interest, all the while wishing she could fast-forward the next few hours. Get past the night’s inevitable conclusion. Even if she stood in a corner by herself, there was always a trigger. A passing waiter who smiled her way. A married man asking directions to the bathroom.
It didn’t have to make sense. It rarely did. The conclusion was inevitable.
CHAPTER TWO
NICHOLAS STOOD on the fringe of the Websters’ party, reminding himself he needed to mingle. As the most recently hired partner at Webster & Associates, working the crowd for future clients was the reason he’d been invited here tonight.
But he was out of his element. And then some.
Surrounding him were the elite of Atlanta society. CEOs lamenting the Dow-Jones. A lawyer bragging about the workhorse of a paralegal he’d just hired. A local actress touting her most recent chemical peel.
He’d left the surprise party at the office and driven home to change. He glanced down at his newly purchased tuxedo, wondered if it looked as wrong on him as it felt. He’d never been a tuxedo kind of guy, but then he’d never imagined himself going to work for one of the biggest corporate law firms in the city either.
Things changed.
People changed.
He let his gaze wander the room, noticing two women who, like him, stood at the edge of the crowd, talking. On the left, Sylvia Webster. They’d met a few days ago in Ross’s office. Nice enough, if a little eager to please where her husband was concerned.
The woman beside her looked familiar, but he couldn’t place where he’d seen her. Beautiful. But there was something else in her face that made him look closer. The impression that like him, she might be tolerating the party rather than enjoying it.
He glanced at her left hand. A wedding ring gleamed in the light.
“There you are, Nicholas.” Ross Webster wound his way around a few people, leaving space for the man who followed closely behind. “I want you to meet one of our most important clients. Jonathan Colby, this is Nicholas Wakefield, our newest partner at W&A.”
Colby stuck out his hand, his grip firm, authoritative. An inch or two under six feet, he had the stature of a man clearly used to having other people’s attention. He reminded Nicholas of a stallion he’d seen with a group of mares on a trip out west when he was a boy. With a look, that stallion had made his position clear to any would-be encroachers. Dared them to challenge him.
“Good to meet you, Nicholas,” he said, his voice smooth