Cinderella For A Night. Susan Mallery
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“David was motivated,” Jonathan said, trying to figure out why he wasn’t more worried. Right now all he felt was numb. How had he and his brother turned out so differently? When had David started to hate him enough to want him dead?
“To make it more complicated,” Stryker was saying, “there’s no way of knowing if David’s death ended the threat or not. You’ll need to hire a bodyguard. The department can help, but a full-time professional is your best bet. I know some good people. They’re not local, but they can be here by morning.”
“Good idea,” Jonathan said, even though he didn’t believe the words as he spoke them. Protection? From a hired gun? That happened in the movies, not in real life.
“Let me get their phone numbers,” Stryker said as he headed for the door leading in to the hallway. “I want to check a few things, too, so I may be a minute.” He paused and looked at Jonathan. “There will be a uniformed officer outside the door. He’s there to keep you safe so don’t go wandering off without him.”
“Not a problem,” Jonathan said.
He didn’t feel like wandering anywhere at the moment. He was too busy trying to absorb all that had happened. David and Lisa both dead. Was it possible?
Stryker stepped out into the hallway. Jonathan heard him talking with someone, then saw a flash of aqua. His brain quickly shifted gears, providing a name and a face to go with aqua tulle and silk. Cynthia? What was she doing here?
Before he knew what he was doing, he was on his feet and pulling open the door. Stryker and the uniformed officer had Cynthia pressed up against the hall wall. Jonathan couldn’t see her face, but he realized she was shaking. She carried a cup of coffee in one hand and the cup rattled against the saucer.
“Stryker, she’s with me,” he said quickly.
The detective glanced at him. “Are you sure? She was lurking in the hallway.”
“I didn’t mean to do anything wrong,” Cynthia said, her voice trembling as much as her hands. She stared at Stryker. “I was worried about Mr. Steele. He went outside when the lights went out and then there were gunshots. I heard the police had brought him to a conference room and I just wanted to make sure that he was okay.” She turned her attention to Jonathan. “That’s all. I’m sorry if I made trouble or anything.”
Her dress looked out of place away from the ball and she still wore a ridiculous rhinestone tiara. Despite the fake jewelry, the smudges of mascara under her impossibly large hazel-green eyes and the patches on her long gloves, she was both lovely and sincere.
“Does she look dangerous?” he asked the detective.
“Ask me if that matters,” Stryker told him. “But if you know her, then it’s fine.” He motioned for Cynthia to join Jonathan in the small conference room, then he glanced at the uniformed officer. “No one else gets in there. Just me. You got a radio?”
“Yup.” The man touched the radio, then his gun. “I’ll keep him safe.”
“You do that.”
As Stryker turned to leave, Jonathan ushered Cynthia into the small room.
“Why are you still here?” he asked when he’d shut the door and settled her into a chair. “I’ve been with the detective for a couple of hours. You must be tired.”
Cynthia set the cup of coffee on the table. “I was worried,” she said, repeating what she’d told Stryker. “I saw the ambulance, but when I asked I was told you were fine. Even so, I wanted to see for myself. I’d heard a lot of people were injured in the panic after the lights went out. Thanks for telling me to stay in the alcove. You saved me.”
He waited for her to go on—to state her angle or what she wanted, but she was silent after that. While he believed her concern, mostly because it seemed genuine and he wanted to, he didn’t doubt she had a purpose for being here. “Do you need cab fare back to your place?”
She frowned in confusion. “Of course not. I have my own car and if I didn’t, I wouldn’t make you responsible for getting me back home.” She stared directly at him. “I don’t want anything from you. I meant what I said. I stayed to make sure you were all right.”
She meant it, he thought in amazement. Cynthia didn’t want money or attention or any of the other dozen things women expected when they were with him. She had actually been worried. With no thought of personal gain. Was it possible?
“Who are you?” he asked.
She smiled. “Obviously not Cinderella. It’s after midnight and I’m still here.” She waved a foot. “Shoes and all.” She pushed the cup of coffee toward him. “Here. This is for you. One of the waiters brought it for you and I said I’d bring it in.” She gave a tiny shrug. “It was my excuse to get closer to the room with the hope of seeing for myself that you were fine.”
He settled in the chair across from hers but didn’t touch the coffee. “I appreciate your concern.”
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “I have to say, this is my first society function and it didn’t go exactly as I’d pictured it.”
“We don’t usually have murders here in Grand Springs. At least not at functions like this.”
Cynthia shivered. “So those poor people are dead? How awful. Do the police know what happened?”
He pushed the coffee back toward her. “Here. Drink this. You need it more than I do.”
She hesitated, then thanked him and picked up the cup.
“The police are still working on the details,” Jonathan said.
“Do they know who the people are?” she asked before taking a drink of the coffee.
“Yes. My half brother and his wife.”
Cynthia made a soft sound, then set the cup on the table. She stretched her arm across the table and placed her hand over his. “Oh, Jonathan. I’m so terribly sorry. You must be in shock.”
She blinked and he would have sworn there were actual tears in her eyes. As if she was wounded on his behalf. Did women really cry for reasons other than manipulation?
She squeezed his fingers, then released him. “I can’t know what you’re going through right now,” she said. “No one can. I lost my stepfather three years ago. I still remember the incredible pain and sense of loss. His being gone left such an incredible hole in my life. One that will never be filled.” She sipped the coffee again. “Frank, my stepfather, was more like an older brother than a father to me. We were so close and I loved him deeply. I comfort myself with the fact that I was able to tell him that at the end.”
She gave a soft cry, then pressed her free hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “That was so thoughtless. I didn’t mean to make you feel worse by pointing out the fact that you didn’t get to tell your brother goodbye.”
A single tear trickled down her cheek. She set the cup back on the saucer and brushed away the dampness.
Jonathan watched her with the interest of an alien visitor examining an unfamiliar species. He’d heard her words, knew their meaning, yet he couldn’t relate to anything she’d said. Her grief for her stepfather was genuine, as was her compassion for him. Yet nothing she said made sense to him.
“You’re not thoughtless,” he told her. “My brother and I weren’t close.”
There was an understatement, he thought. David had embezzled millions from him and had arranged to have him killed. Other than that they’d been what…like brothers? Not in this lifetime.
“How can you not be close?” she asked. “You grew up together, didn’t you? All families are close.” She paused as if considering her statement. “Okay, maybe not all. My mom had me when she was very young and when she turned eighteen,