Paper Rose. Diana Palmer
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if all he needed was a breastplate and feathers in his hair to bring back the heyday of the Lakota warrior in the nineteenth century. Cecily remembered him that way from the ceremonial gatherings at Wapiti Ridge, and the image stuck stubbornly in her mind.
“Audrey likes to rub elbows with the rich and famous,” Tate returned. His dark eyes met Cecily’s fierce green ones. “I see you’re still in Holden’s good graces. Has he bought you a ring yet?”
“What’s the matter with you, Tate?” Cecily asked with a cold smile. “Feeling…crabby?”
His eyes smoldered as he glared at her. “What did you give Holden to get that job at the museum?” he asked with pure malice.
Anger at the vicious insinuation caused her to draw back her hand holding the half-full coffee cup, and Colby caught her wrist smoothly before she could sling the contents at the man towering over her.
Tate ignored Colby. His eyes began to glitter as he looked at Cecily. “Don’t make that mistake again,” he said in a voice so quiet it was barely audible. He looked as if all his latent hostilities were waiting for an excuse to turn on her. “If you throw that cup at me, so help me, I’ll carry you over and put you down in the punch bowl!”
“You and the CIA, maybe!” Cecily hissed. “Go ahead and try…!”
Tate actually took a step toward her just as Colby managed to get between them. “Now, now,” he cautioned.
Cecily wasn’t backing down an inch. Neither was Tate. He’d gone from lazy affection and indulgent amusement to bristling antagonism in the space of weeks. Lately he flew into a rage if Cecily’s name was mentioned, but Colby hadn’t told her that.
“You have no right to make that kind of insinuation about me,” she said through her teeth. “I don’t get jobs lying on my back, and you know it!”
Tate’s black eyes narrowed. He looked formidable, but Cecily wasn’t intimidated by him. She never had been. He glanced at her hands, which were clenched on her cup, and then back to her rigid features. It had infuriated him to be the object of televised ridicule at the political dinner, and Audrey’s comments had only made things worse. He was carrying a grudge. But as he looked at Cecily, he felt an emptiness in his very soul. This woman had been a thorn in his side for years, ever since an impulsive act of compassion had made her his responsibility. In those days, she’d been demure and sweet and dependent on him, and her shy hero worship had been vaguely flattering. Now, she was a fiery, independent woman who didn’t give a damn about his disapproval or, apparently, his company, and she had done everything except leave town to keep out of his way.
She was still like an adopted daughter to his mother, but Tate couldn’t get near her now. He didn’t like admitting how much it hurt to have Cecily turn her back on him. All Audrey’s charms hadn’t been able to erase the memory of Cecily’s wounded, accusing eyes when Audrey had told her the truth about her so-called grant. He wished he’d never confided in the socialite. In the early days of their relationship, he’d been more forthcoming about the past than he should have been. It never occurred to him that Audrey would tell everything she knew to everyone who came within speaking distance. Amazing that he could be so easily taken in by a pretty face. Not that he hadn’t learned his lesson. Audrey heard nothing from him now that he wouldn’t mind having the media overhear. But the damage was done. It was standing in front of him with blazing green eyes and clenched hands. And to have Colby Lane, his friend, on the verge of an affair with Cecily…
“Why are you in town?” he asked Colby abruptly.
“I wasn’t needed any longer,” the other man replied with a grin. “Apparently my methods of interrogation were a little too…intense for some of our politically correct colleagues. They sent me home.”
“Marshmallows,” Tate muttered. “And did you see who was handling the investigation?”
“I did.” Colby finished his coffee. “Whatever happened to the good old days when the “company” handled overseas intelligence?” he wondered.
“Oh, no,” Audrey said in her husky voice as she joined them, ravishing in a red satin dress with a matching chiffon overlay. It looked like couture, and frightfully expensive. It probably was. She was dripping diamonds. “No shop talk,” she continued, pressing Tate’s arm to her breasts. She gave Cecily a cursory, contemptuous glance and transferred her blue eyes to Colby with a flirtatious smile. “Hi, Colby. Long time, no see.”
He smiled back, but his eyes didn’t. “I’ve been busy.”
“Too busy to come and see your best friend?” she chided. “We’ve invited you for dinner twice and you always have an excuse.”
Insinuating, of course, that she and Tate were living together, which Cecily already knew because of what Leta had told her. Cecily didn’t react visibly. Inside, she was slowly dying at the images of Tate and Audrey together.
“I’ve been out of the country for a week, myself, upgrading the security on one of our new oil rig projects in the Caspian Sea,” Tate replied. “We’ve had a few problems.”
“So I heard,” Colby said. “Brauer had friends, didn’t he?” he added, mentioning the German national who’d involved Tate’s employer in a kidnapping scheme. “I guess even from prison he can hire cleaners.”
Tate shrugged. “Pierce and I can handle it.” He smiled down at Audrey. “I’m not ready to cash in my chips yet.”
Cecily unobtrusively slid her free hand into Colby’s real one for comfort. Surprised, his fingers tightened around it.
“Well, it was nice to see you,” Colby said, reading the tiny signal, “but we need to leave pretty soon.”
At the coupling of their names, Tate glanced speculatively from one of them to the other. Everyone knew that Colby was still in love with his ex-wife, but he was holding Cecily’s hand and acting protective of her. He didn’t like that. Colby was teetering on alcoholism, and Tate didn’t want Cecily’s life ruined by him. He’d have to think of some way to handle this; for her own good, of course, he decided firmly.
“So you did show up, after all,” Matt Holden said shortly, joining the small group. He glared at Tate. “I’m not giving one inch on the casino issue, just in case you wondered,” he said without preamble.
Tate glared back at him. “You’re one man. You won’t stop progress.”
“Yes, I will,” Holden said in a clipped, hostile tone. “I’m not having organized crime at Wapiti Ridge, and if you don’t like it, you know what you can do.”
“Bull! There’s no connection to organized crime at Wapiti. That’s just an excuse. But you don’t own the governor or the state attorney general,” Tate told him. “And you have no influence whatsoever on the res.”
“Do you really want to be partners with men who’ll take eighty percent of the profit and shoot anybody who tries to stop them?” Holden asked. “I won’t have organized crime making a living at the expense of children’s food and clothing and housing!”
Tate took a step toward the man, who was a head shorter than he was, and his black eyes were every bit as intimidating as Holden’s. “That’s strong talk from a big shot Washington bureaucrat who rides around in chauffeured limousines and has his meals on china plates! What the hell do you know about children whose parents can’t even afford heat in the winter, who live on a reservation that hasn’t even got a damned ambulance to take injured people to the clinic?”
“I know more about it than you think you do,” Holden shot back. “Listen here…”
Cecily walked between them, just as Colby had gotten between her and Tate minutes earlier. She smiled at Holden. “My boss at the museum told me that you had a collection of projectile points dating back to the Folsom point,” she said. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of your showing them to me?”
Holden