Mysterious Millionaire. Cassie Miles

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      Ben came closer. “Could you use some help?”

      Embarrassed about blushing, she thought of icebergs and snowstorms—anything to cool her off. Though she hated to admit that she didn’t have a clue about the third fork, Liz feared that Rachel would have a coronary if the place settings weren’t perfect. “I could use some expert advice.”

      His shoulder brushed her arm as he reached across the plate setting to rearrange the knives. She was aware of his bodily warmth and a natural masculine scent that was far more enticing than aftershave. Not that she should be noticing the way he smelled. Her focus should be on gathering evidence to prove that he was an unfit father.

      When he finished with the formal setting and stepped back, she nodded. “I knew that.”

      He gave her a sidelong glance. “Did you?”

      “Not really, but it’s not something that bothers me. In the grand scheme of things, why should I waste brain cells on knowing where to put the forks?”

      “You’re not really a maid. Sorry, housekeeping engineer. Why are you really here?”

      His intense blue-eyed gaze rested suspiciously upon her face. He wanted the truth, which wasn’t something she could give.

      From her other undercover experiences, she’d learned that successful lies were based on truth, so she stuck to reality. “I’m a law student, paying my own way. I need a summer job, and I heard about this maid gig through a friend of a friend.”

      His scrutiny continued; he wasn’t totally satisfied with her answer. “I liked the way you handled Monte. You know karate.”

      Now the truth got more complicated. If she mentioned Dragon Lou, Ben might check her out with a phone call, which might lead to someone mentioning her part-time work as a private eye. “I learned the basics of self-defense. Seemed like a smart thing for a woman living alone.”

      Having offered a rational explanation, she should have stopped talking but really wanted him to believe her. She continued, “You probably won’t find it hard to believe that I’ve gotten myself into a few scrapes. About six years ago, I went out with this guy…” A warning voice inside her head told her to shut up. Shut up, now. “Maybe I had too much to drink. Maybe he did. I don’t know.”

      Ben’s attention never wavered. “Go on.”

      “Somehow,” she said, “I ended up at his apartment. He got aggressive. When I told him no, he didn’t stop.”

      She had never told anyone—not her mother, not her friends, not Harry Schooner—about that night. She’d been date raped. Remembering her weakness made her sad and angry at the same time. “That’s when I started taking karate lessons. And I’m good. No one can force me to do something I don’t want to do. Never again. No means no.”

      He took a step toward her, and she feared he would offer sympathy. A shoulder to cry on. Or a gentle platitude that could never make things better.

      Instead he shook her hand. “Smart decision, Liz.”

      “Thank you, Ben.”

      She was beginning to really like this guy.

      Chapter Four

      To Liz, the flurry of anticipation and activity surrounding the arrival of the dinner guests seemed out of proportion. It wasn’t as if the Queen of England would be popping by for a state dinner. Her attitude was in direct contrast to the other maid, Annette Peltier, who twittered excitedly as she rearranged the centerpiece on the dining room table.

      “Isn’t it beautiful?” Annette gushed. Her maid’s cap nestled perfectly above a neat chignon at the back of her head. “I just love these dinner parties.”

      “Who’s coming, anyway?”

      “Patrice and her husband. He’s a famous athlete, you know.”

      “Monte? What sport?”

      “He was in the winter Olympics. In the biathalon. The one where they ski and shoot. He’s a marksman.”

      “Who else?”

      “Dr. Mancini and Tony Lansing, the family lawyer.” She fussed over the elegant china and crystal, adjusting the place settings one centimeter left, then right. “And Charlene’s friends from Denver. They’re so beautiful, especially Ramon Stephens. He’s dreamy.”

      Rachel came into the dining room and gave a snort. “Watch out for Ramon when he has a couple of martinis in him. That young man thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”

      Though there were wineglasses on the table, Liz hadn’t noticed a liquor setup. “Where’s the bar?”

      “In the downstairs lounge. Which is, undoubtedly, where they’ll go after dinner.”

      “I used to be a bartender. Maybe I could—”

      “Why didn’t you mention this before?” For the first time, Rachel regarded her as though she were more than a waste of space. “Bartending will be your primary assignment. Run downstairs and make sure everything is in order.”

      “I’m on it.”

      “Liz, please,” Rachel chided. “Proper response.”

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      Liz skipped down the staircase into a long, low room with a beamed ceiling and a fireplace. Classic leather furniture arrayed around a red-felt pool table and giant flat-screen television. The carved cherrywood bar was stocked with an inventory of mixes for a very upscale selection of liquor. Nothing but the best for the Crawfords.

      In the fridge, Liz found garnishes—lemons, limes, cherries and olives—everything she’d need for cocktails. An impressive bit of organization.

      From upstairs, she heard the chatter of the first guests arriving. She ought to trot up there and see if she could be helpful, but Liz wasn’t planning on winning any prizes for Maid of the Year. Instead, she went to the far end of the room where sliding glass doors opened onto the forest. Outside, the sun dipped toward the mountains and colored the underbellies of clouds with a golden glow. From this vantage point, she could see down to the lake. To the south, there were two outbuildings. The big one was probably where the Arabian stallions of the first Mrs. Jerod Crawford had been kept. The other, constructed of rough logs, had only one story with garage-sized double doors across the front.

      As she watched, she saw Ben emerge from a side door of the log barn. Though she was too far away to clearly see what he was doing, it looked like he was fastening a lock on the door. That kind of secrecy suggested nefarious purposes. The barn might be where he hid his drug stash.

      How could he be an addict? The guy reeked of integrity. But she’d seen him making a buy from the dealer in Denver. Seen him with her own eyes.

      She went back into the lounge in time to greet two men coming down the stairs. The white-haired man, neatly packaged in a three-piece gray suit with a red bow tie, was Dr. Al Mancini, the family doctor, who had been pointed out to her when he’d arrived at the house. Though the other man wore a casual sweater and jeans, he had the arrogance of a СКАЧАТЬ