For Joy's Sake. Tara Quinn Taylor

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СКАЧАТЬ her friends had all chosen to believe that a brutal date rape had been consensual sex.

      Not everyone was out for the money, Julie told herself.

      Her protective voice spoke up. But everyone looked out for self. In spite of others’ needs.

      Except at The Lemonade Stand, where Lila and Julie and Lynn spent most of their waking hours. She could trust them to be real friends.

      I will not let the bastard win...

      “When did you have in mind?” Every nerve trembled, but when Lila gave her a date and time, Julie agreed to the outing.

      And got out of The Lemonade Stand as quickly as she could.

      * * *

      LATE SATURDAY MORNING, Hunter Rafferty swung. Connected the iron with the ball and sent it sailing. It landed on the green, setting him up for a putt that would make him a shoe-in for the day’s grand prize. He didn’t even know what it was. Or care.

      Hunter didn’t really like golf. Never had. Even though he’d been playing since he was twelve. He was good at it.

      But then, he was good at pretty much everything he tried.

      Looking to the one person in his foursome who’d prompted his attendance at the day’s charity event, he asked, “What can you tell me about Julie Fairbanks?”

      Brett and his wife, Ella, had stopped in briefly at the wine tasting held at the Fairbanks mansion the night before. Their sixteen-month-old son had a cold, and Ella, a pediatric charge nurse, hadn’t wanted to be away from him. But Hunter had seen Brett speaking with Colin Fairbanks, Julie’s older brother.

      Brett Ackerman, founder of The Lemonade Stand, among other things, turned and looked at him. “About Julie Fairbanks? Depends on what you want to know.” He picked up his bag and, with Hunter right beside him, began the two-hundred-yard trek to his ball a little short of the green. If they hadn’t been friends for so long, Hunter might have taken offense. As it was, he knew Brett was just being...Brett. He’d actually managed to establish a nationally respected accreditation for charities. They’d invite him to sit on their boards; there, he’d oversee spending and activities to ensure a lack of fraudulent use of funds. All across the United States, charitable foundations were vying for the accreditation, waiting in line for Brett to have time to sit on their boards.

      The other two in their foursome at the semiannual businessmen’s tournament were several yards ahead of them.

      Depends on what you want to know. Brett would’ve made a great covert op. Getting information out of him was nearly impossible sometimes.

      If he knew what he wanted to know, he wouldn’t be asking.

      He didn’t want to limit what he might learn by narrowing his possibilities.

      “I found it odd that she wasn’t at the wine tasting last night,” he improvised. The event had been in her home. When Brett had issued the invitation to attend as a way to get to know some of Santa Raquel’s elite a bit better, Hunter had immediately accepted. Mostly because it would’ve given him a chance to see Julie outside their business relationship.

      Brett had originally introduced him to Julie when he’d heard about the gala fund-raiser for one of the kids’ charities she supported. As a result of that introduction, Julie had hired Hunter’s company—The Time of Your Life—to run her gala, and they’d been working closely together for months.

      He knew nothing more about her now than he had when they’d first met.

      Except that she was soft-spoken, often quiet, but when she had something to say he wanted to listen. She wasn’t pushy or aggressive, and yet she always managed to make things happen. She dressed more conservatively than any other woman he’d ever wanted to date. She’d never once mentioned that she lived in a mansion or that her trust fund was worth more than he’d ever had in all his investments combined. Her long dark hair was always contained. She had a smile that could melt ice.

      And a scent that he dreamed about, waking up on more than one occasion expecting to smell it on the pillow beside him.

      Oh, yeah, he had it bad.

      But he wasn’t about to wallow in it.

      He was The Time of Your Life guy.

      And it was time for him to have a life.

      Or something like that.

       CHAPTER THREE

      WITH ONE MISSION in mind—getting Brett to give him some information before they left that day—Hunter took a couple of quiet steps in the pristine grass. Trying to come up with a plan.

      “She wasn’t at the wine tasting because she was busy elsewhere,” Brett said a good two minutes after either of them had spoken.

      Hunter had spent the evening looking for her when he should’ve been courting new clients and had left with his hopes dashed.

      “You know where she was?”

      “Yeah.”

      “But you aren’t saying.”

      Brett stopped then and turned toward him. “Are you asking?”

      He hadn’t said exactly what he wanted to know. Or why he was asking about Julie. A key miss on his part.

      Brett Ackerman was not a man to hack around with. He had made a mint from one thing most people had but so rarely relied on—integrity. A mint. By being a man the entire country could trust.

      Americans Against Prejudice was how Hunter had met him. Hunter’s business arranged charity fund-raising events. And Brett had just been starting to earn recognition in the field of charitable organizations. Hunter had withstood intense scrutiny from Brett on the first few occasions they’d met. He’d been completely open. With his books, his intentions, his plans. He’d been eager for Brett’s approval, truth be known.

      The two had been in contact ever since.

      “I’ve asked her out more times than I can count,” he confessed as they reached Brett’s golf ball.

      Hunter might not be as wealthy as most of the men out on Santa Raquel’s most prestigious golf course that Saturday afternoon, but he had money. Good looks. And a knack for showing people a great time.

      Brett swung. Hunter watched as his ball landed and rolled five feet closer to the green than his own. Didn’t matter, Hunter was there on one. It had taken Brett two.

      “I’ve never been turned down for a date in my life,” he said, when Brett remained silent.

      “So that’s what this is about?” Brett asked, bagging his iron. Slinging the strap of his golf bag over his shoulder, he started to walk again.

      “That I’m bugged because she turns me down? I thought so at first.”

      Glancing his way, Brett asked, “You don’t now?”

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