Lead Me On (12 page)

"Will do. But remember this the next time I ask you to call me back."

"Yeah, yeah," Scott promised absently. After hanging up, he headed back to the kitchen.

Allison was seated with the others around the table.

Conversation stopped instantly and all attention turned on him.

"Does anyone know if my niece has called here in the last hour or so?" he asked. "Her name's Chloe."

Allison looked at the others.

"The only phone call you've had was from your editor," Rory said. Though her voice was civil, her expression held no warmth. "I left the message on the dresser in your room."

"You're sure it was my editor, not a young girl? Chloe sounds very mature for her age."

"Yes, I'm sure," Rory answered. "Unless your niece would be calling to ask why you haven't faxed in a title suggestion for your next book."

"All right. Thank you." Fear churned in his gut as he turned away.

"Scott, wait." Allison rose. "Has something happened?"

He shook his head, having no wish to air his problems before her scowling family. "It's nothing. I need to make a few more phone calls, though, if that's okay?"

"Of course."

Allison watched him go, sensing there was something he wasn't telling her. At the moment, though, she had her own problems to deal with. John LeRoche had been interviewed on the midday news in Houston about his company's recent financial problems. LeRoche Shipping, the foundation company of LeRoche Enterprises, was closing their warehouse in Houston, putting hundreds of people out of work. During the live interview, the subject of the foreclosure on Pearl Island and subsequent lawsuit against the Liberty Union National Bank had come up.

According to Chance, who'd watched the whole segment, John had been as calm and smiling as a politician caught in a scandal. But when he was asked about the lawsuit, anger had taken over. He said he'd had a strong working relationship with the Galveston bank for years, which was why he was surprised when the bank president's own son used his influence to help three complete idiots with no business experience to buy the property to open a B and B. He'd gone on to say he wanted the house back because it had "sentimental significance." Then he'd added: "Frankly I pity anyone gullible enough to stay at the Pearl Island Inn, because that house is too run-down to ever make a decent bed and breakfast. The fools who bought it only wanted it because of an old grudge against the LeRoche family."

Allison looked at Chance, still trying to take in everything he had just told her. "I can't believe he said all that."

"I can't either," Chance told her. "It was really stupid on his part, because he opened himself up for a big fat slander suit. Not that it will be easy to win, but that's what we've been discussing."

"Have you asked Malcolm for his advice?" Alli asked, referring to the attorney Chance had hired on their behalf. "What did he say?"

"I called him the minute the interview ended," Chance told her. "He said it looks pretty good in our favor. We can't sue him for calling us fools. That's opinion. But his comments about the house show 'malicious intent' to harm the reputation of our business. Malice is a hard thing to prove, though, and filing the suit could just bring more attention to his inflammatory remarks. We've already had the local paper calling up wanting our reaction."

"What did you tell them?" Alli asked.

"I told them exactly what Malcolm told me to say, 'no comment.' And that's what all of us need to say to anyone who asks about this. Especially if we file a slander suit. We don't want John LeRoche to file a countersuit because of something one of us says in a moment of anger."

Allison turned to Adrian. "What do you think we should do?"

"I think we should sue his ass for everything we can get. And if it attracts media attention, fine. Bring 'em on."

"Rory, I assume you're with Chance on this?" Allison

said.

"Absolutely." Rory nodded. "Although I may have to duct-tape my mouth shut to keep from telling people what I think of John LeRoche."

"Well, okay then." She took a deep breath, battling her aversion to any kind of confrontation. "I vote we should do it."

"Fine." Chance nodded. "I'll call Malcolm tomorrow. In the meantime, we have other business to discuss." He opened a folder.

Rory groaned at the sight of the computer printouts, each one filled with neat rows of numbers. "Do we have to talk about money? I'm already depressed."

"Sorry." Chance gave his wife a sympathetic smile. "Cheer up, though, it's not all bad news."

"Well, that's a relief." Adrian sat forward to look over the figures.

"Of course, it's not all good news, either." Chance handed each of them a report Allison cringed at the amount of red ink. "Our occupancy rate is only averaging fifty percent."

"Well, that's up from our first quarter," Rory offered. "And this is only our first year. We expected to lose money at first."

"I know," Chance conceded. "But I've been running some numbers, and our operating costs are too high. We either need to cut costs or raise our rates."

"Or increase our guest capacity," Rory said.

Adrian arched a brow. "You mean divide up the ballroom on the third floor?"

"Oh, Rory, no," Alli said, her heart sinking at the

thought. The third floor was like a beautiful music box with whimsical frescoes and ornate plasterwork. "We all agreed to leave the ballroom intact, so we could rent it for private parties and day conferences."

"Only we're having trouble booking conferences, because we don't have enough rooms. So I was thinking"— Rory's eyes sparkled as she looked at each of them—"what if we go ahead and build the bungalows we've discussed now instead of waiting?"

"Not practical." Chance shook his head. "We already have too much invested in this venture. We can't possibly borrow any more money until we start showing a profit."

Rory disagreed, and the debate was on. Allison chewed her lip as she listened to both sides, fretting over what they should do. Chance argued for caution, but Rory had a point. Too much caution could spell failure. They were either committed to succeeding or they weren't. Of course, Rory looked at everything as an all-or-nothing proposition, and the thought of failure rarely entered her mind.

The debate headed quickly for a stalemate. To appease both sides, Allison agreed to look for ways to cut costs and increase income with the gift shop.

"Well, I'm not cutting back on anything that jeopardizes the quality of the food," Adrian insisted, setting off a new debate between him and Chance.

Allison closed her eyes as a dull throb started behind her forehead. Why couldn't there be an answer that pleased everyone and guaranteed success? "If y'all will excuse me," she said, "I think I'll go clean up, then do some inventory work in the gift shop."

Adrian frowned in concern as she rose, but didn't object to her leaving.

~ ~ ~

By the time Allison finished showering and changing into a clean T-shirt and denim jumper, Adrian had come downstairs. She could hear him in the room they'd meant

to be Rory's bedroom. When Rory had married, she and Chance had built a small house on the island, secluded from the inn by a stand of trees. Adrian had turned the spare room into a workout room with free weights along one wall and mirrors covering another.

Crossing to the doorway, she watched her brother go through the graceful movements of t'ai chi. "I take it Rory and Chance have headed home?"

"They have," Adrian answered without breaking stride.

"Would you like me to fix some dinner before I go upstairs?"

"I'll get something later." He moved into a pose meant to increase balance and improve concentration. An invisible wall seemed to drop between them.

She stood a moment, hurt by his cool behavior. Her brother had always been there for her, offering unquestioning support and understanding. Even though his workouts required focus, he never shut her out like this.

"Adrian, you're not mad at me, are you? I mean, I know you're worried I'll get hurt, but you're acting like you're ... angry." She laughed, waiting for him to say that was nonsense.

Instead, he moved into another stance, not meeting her gaze.

"I don't understand why you're being this way." She shook her head. "You didn't disapprove when Rory was spending every night over at Chance's apartment. You worried, yes, but you weren't mad."

He finally looked at her, his eyes cool. "Rory was in love with the man she was sleeping with."

That stopped her for a moment, until anger took over. "Oh, and I suppose you've been in love with every woman you've taken to bed."

"That's different"

"Why, because you're a man?"

He shot her a scowl, then picked up a towel to dry his face. "Okay, so maybe I haven't been in love with them, but I have the decency to be sure they won't expect more than I'm willing to give."

"How is that different from the way Scott is treating me?"

"It's just different."

"Because I'm your sister?"

"Yes, dammit!" He tossed the towel aside, his muscles flexing in anger. "And I don't want you getting used by some man who sees you as nothing more than a new 'Flavor of the Week.' "

"Adrian ..." She pressed her fingers to her temple. "I'm not a kid anymore. I don't need you to protect me. I know the score and I won't get hurt."

"The hell you won't. I know you, Alli. You're lying to yourself if you think you can handle this sort of a relationship. In fact, I'll bet money you're half in love with the guy already."

She dropped her hands. "I told you, I don't want that. I don't want marriage or children, or any of that."

"This from a woman who collects dolls."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Honestly?" As he studied her, she saw his anger shift to caution. "I think you're trying to replace the baby you lost."

The unexpected words hit her low and hard. Adrian never talked about the miscarriage and Rory didn't even know about it. It had happened so long ago, but suddenly the pain returned, clamping about her chest until she could barely breathe. "If you'll excuse me"—she turned away—"I have work to do."

"Alli ..." he called. She turned in time to see his shoulders sag. "I'm sorry. I—"

"Don't." She squeezed her eyes shut. When her composure returned, she looked at him calmly. "I think it's best if we let this whole subject drop. Come on, Sadie, let's go upstairs."

In the back hall, Alli pressed a hand to her stomach and waited for her body to stop shaking. Sadie whined and looked at her with worried brown eyes.

"I'm okay." She squatted down to soothe the dog. "Big brothers think they know everything, but they don't."

Sadie tilted her head, listening. The gesture was so dear, Alli's throat threatened to close. Big brothers might not know everything, but hers had known a puppy would make the perfect get-well gift ten years ago when Aunt Viv had brought her home from the hospital. Nearly eleven years now, she realized as she noticed a trace of gray around Sadie's muzzle.

"You're still young, though, aren't you, girl?" Sadie's eyes twinkled with life as Alli scratched beneath her chin. "Tell ya what, if you promise to be good, you can sit in the gift shop while I work. Would you like that?"

Sadie barked and twirled in a circle.

"No! No barking. You have to be good." Standing, she opened the door a crack to be sure no guests were about. When she found the first floor empty, she headed for the sanctuary of the gift shop where she could lose herself doing inventory and poring over catalogues.

Halfway there, she noticed the doors to the office were still closed and light was shining beneath them. Curious, she veered that way and slid one panel open. The floor lamp by the desk had been left on, casting a faint glow over the room. Lightning flashed, drawing her attention to the curved alcove formed by the tower. She saw Scott seated on the settee, his forearms braced on his knees. He lifted his head and the haggard expression on his face startled her.

"Scott?" She stepped into the room, grabbing Sadie by the scruff before the dog could charge forward to greet her new friend. "What is it? What's going on?"

"It's nothing. I'm just waiting for a call. Is it okay if I wait in here?"

Before Allison could answer, Sadie wiggled free and dashed straight for Scott, planting her front paws in his lap, her tail wagging.

"Sadie, get down!" Allison hurried forward. Sadie sat at Scott's feet, completely confident of her welcome. Allison put her hands on her hips. "You are so spoiled rotten." To Scott, she added, "Now you know why we don't let her around guests."

"I don't mind." Scott smiled sadly as he petted Sadie. He still had on the clothes he'd worn riding, and the faint but pleasing scent of horse and leather tickled her nose.

"Are you sure nothing's wrong?" Alli asked.

"I'm fine."

She thought about leaving, but could tell something was definitely wrong. Cautiously, she sat beside him, folding her hands in her lap. "I thought you said it wasn't fair to withhold information."

"That's only when you're telling a story. Real life is exactly the opposite."

Rather than point out that her "story" had been real, she tried a different tack. "So, tell me a story."

He started to shake his head, then glanced at the phone. "My niece, Chloe, ran away from home. She's been missing since sometime before ten this morning."

"Oh, Scott ..." She laid a hand on his thigh, longing to absorb some of his worry. "I'm so sorry. What can I do?"

Gratitude filled his eyes as he stared at her. "You just did it."

"What?"

He covered her hand with one of his. "You did nothing. You didn't ask for anything, blame me, or demand that I fix the problem. You did ... nothing."

She sat quietly as his thumb brushed her knuckles. In that moment, gazing into his eyes, she felt closer to him than she had last night even when their bodies had been joined.

He looked away. "The worst part is, all I can do is wait by the phone. The police have put out a BOLO, 'be on the lookout,' but runaways aren't something they actively investigate. So I have to wait and hope either Chloe calls and tells me where she is, or my sister calls to tell me the kid's been found."

"Do you know where she may have headed?"

"Yeah. She left a suitably dramatic note saying she wanted to live with me, so it's a safe bet she headed for my townhouse." He rubbed his forehead. "I live in the French Quarter, for God's sake. I don't even want to think about my twelve-year-old niece wandering around that area by herself."

"What do you think she did when she found out you weren't there?"

"She was smart enough to call my agent, who told her where I'm staying and gave her the phone number. Since she hasn't called, I assume she's taken it into her head to come find me. Oh, man." He leaned forward, and buried his face in both hands.

Worry came off him in waves, reminding her of her brother when he went into protective male mode.

"If she's hitchhiking I swear I'll kill her. Surely she's not that stupid, though. She's a smart kid. She'll try to take a bus, right?" He looked at Allison, his eyes beseeching. "The driver will notice she's a minor traveling alone and turn her in, right?"

Her heart ached, knowing all the things that could happen, or might already have happened. "I'm sure she'll be fine."

He nodded and stared at the phone as if willing it to

ring.

Allison petted Sadie absent-mindedly as she wondered what to do. "Can I get you something to eat?"

"I'm not hungry."

"How about something to drink? We have white wine in the refrigerator."

He laughed. "Now that I'll take."

Nodding, she headed back for the kitchen to get a bottle of Pinot Grigio. When she and Sadie returned, he raised a brow at the second glass. She shrugged. "I figured I might as well keep you company while you wait."

"Thanks." His whole face relaxed with a smile. "You know, Alli, I don't care what anybody says, you're okay."

She laughed as she poured them each a glass. "Such lavish praise."

"Try and not let it go to your head."

She sat beside him and Sadie settled in at their feet. "Tell me about Chloe."

"Oh, she's a handful." He laughed. "Smart, stubborn, a tomboy trapped in a body destined to be a heartbreaker. I've been totally nuts about her since the day she was born, and she knows it."

"You spend a lot of time with her?"

"Not as much as I'd like, but more time than her father does."

"Oh?" Allison frowned at the bitter edge to his voice.

He settled back into the corner of the settee, facing her with an ankle resting on the opposite knee. "My sister has a real knack for picking men. Chloe's father is a prime example, suave, charming, and a total user. That was Diane's first husband and the marriage lasted all of one year. She's been married twice since then and is currently accepting applications for asshole number four. Chloe has a way of getting lost in the shuffle."

"So you step in as surrogate dad."

"Something like that. I like having her around, even if she is a major distraction." He took a sip of wine. "The irony is, Diane loves to complain about how our parents were so wrapped up in their own lives, they totally neglected us as kids. Yet she's doing exactly the same thing. It drives me insane."

"Have you talked to her about it?"

"Oh yeah." He snorted. "Unfortunately, Diane's whole life is an optional illusion."

"An 'optional' illusion?" Alli leaned back into her own corner of the settee.

"You know, you get to pick and choose your own reality. She's quite creative at altering the facts to fit her fantasy."

"Maybe she should have been the writer in the family."

"Gawd." He shielded his eyes. "I can just imagine the kind of books she'd write—high drama with lots of angst. There would be the misunderstood glamour queen who marries one lying, cheating playboy after another, the child who takes her for granted, and the friends who only care about her money and connections. No one really loves her, or gives her the attention she deserves."

"Sounds dysfunctional enough to be a blockbuster movie."

"That's it!" He snapped his fingers. "She writes a book, Hollywood picks up the movie rights, and Diane becomes even more impossible to deal with than she is now."

"No." Allison shook her head. "She marries the leading man. Finds him in bed with a starlet. Murders him, and goes to jail."

Scott raised both eyebrows. "Maybe you should be a writer."

"Wait, I'm not finished." She waved her hand as she took a sip of wine. "In prison, her roommate is a cat burglar who teaches her the tricks of the trade. They stage a daring breakout, then go about the country stealing from all the men who ever did them wrong."

"With Diane that would have to be all over the world. Asshole number three was an Italian tennis pro."

"Italy, hum? Even better. They can graduate from stealing jewels to stealing internationally famous art objects."

He grinned, getting into the spirit of the story. "And since they both hate men so much, they become lesbian lovers."

"Oh, that's good." Alli laughed. "What happens next?"

Scott wiggled his brows. "Diane finds her new lover in bed with another woman. No wait." He held up his hand. "In bed with her Italian ex."

"Ooo, you are cruel."

"It's an author's job to torture his characters."

"Okay, so which one does she kill this time?"

"Neither one." Scott leaned forward, lowering his voice. "The lesbian lover and the Italian ex don't know they've been found out."

"Ah, so she plots revenge?"

He nodded. "She steals a famous bronze—"

"And pins the crime on them."

"Exactly." He toasted her.

She clicked her glass to his. "Then what?"

"She sells the bronze for a bundle and retires to a tropical island, of course."

"Where she finds the only man who can make her happy," Allison added. "A gorgeous cabana boy who doesn't speak a word of English but worships her like a goddess."

"Now
that
would make my sister happy." He toasted her again. Then his face went strangely blank and he stared into space. "I don't believe it."

"Don't believe what?" Concern made her straighten.

"I actually came up with a story. Okay, so it was completely ludicrous and you thought of half of it, but it was something." He burst out laughing.

"I don't get it." She looked at him, wondering if he'd gone a little mad. "Surely you come up with stories all the time."

"Not lately. Oh man, you can't imagine what it's like to have writer's block. At first, I just couldn't think of a decent idea—at least not one I thought my editor would approve—but for the past several months, I haven't even been able to come up with a bad idea. Every time I try to force my mind in that direction, my brain shuts down. Like hitting a wall.
Wham!
Nothing. Total blank." He slipped a hand behind her neck and gave her mouth a hard, smacking kiss. "Thank you!"

"For what?"

His slow grin made her heart flip. "For helping me relax. Maybe Hugh was right and that's all I needed."

"Oh." The word came out on a little breath of wonder. He was so close, she could feel the warmth of him. "Does that make me your muse?"

"I guess it does." His gaze wandered over her face before dropping to her mouth. "Which means we need to renegotiate your term of one night only."