Sinclair Justice (19 page)

T
he next morning, Emm’s eyes were bloodshot from a restless night as she prepared for her first official presentation as a historical trust officer. She knew the entire Sinclair family, probably including Ross, would not like what she had to say, but he’d seen the survey results by now, so he couldn’t quibble with her original analysis. They’d been too busy with . . . other things to discuss the buildings, but the Sinclair trust members needed to be aware that she was recommending to her bosses that the buildings be preserved. While their renovation would potentially be more challenging and less lucrative than a ground-up multistory building, the community and tax credit benefits were huge. More importantly from the perspective of Amarillo’s downtown revitalization, the preservation of one building often led to the restoration of others.

When she’d run through her PowerPoint for the third time and was secure in her ability to convey her passion without notes, she turned her laptop off and eyed her messy room. Inside her still slumbered somewhere—under the just-business professional—the idealistic little girl who’d adored Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella. She wanted to believe Sinclair was her prince who’d come, perhaps almost too late, to rescue her from her dreary existence, but she was also a modern woman who knew that one toss of the bedsheets did not a long-term relationship make. Especially with a man in his early fifties who’d never been married and was obviously skittish about women.

Reluctantly, she did as she ought, not as she wanted, and packed most of her stuff. Whether Sinclair asked her to stay or not, she had to be ready to leave for Mexico City because nothing, not even her own hope of future happiness, could get in the way of finding Yancy and Jennifer.

Telling herself the tears in her eyes were from determination, not despair, she left her room key and a generous tip for the maid on the bed, lugged her bags into the hallway, and wheeled them to the elevator.

She got a complete copy of her lengthy bill so she could be reimbursed for her expenses by her employer and then nodded at the bellhop’s offer of assistance. “Can you store them for me for a few hours until I can get my plans settled?” she asked.

He did so, leaving her free to walk out carrying only her purse and briefcase. She’d already set up a luncheon appointment with Curt following her presentation. She intended to wheedle, beg, and, if that didn’t work, threaten Curt into flying to Mexico City with her. She knew Ross and Abby would be on high alert the minute they found her gone, and they had the connections to trace her reservations on a commercial airline.

But a private jet listed only under Curt’s name? They’d never find her in time to stop her from going to Mexico City. As to what she did next, she’d stayed up half the night as she used Google Earth to pinpoint several potential candidates for the mansion she’d glimpsed in the photo. The wrought iron was custom and very distinctive, and after spending hours searching, she’d only found three structures on the outskirts of the city that had the same style of fencing.

She had a plan, at least the beginning of one. Its execution would depend on whether Curt was with her or not . . . which was another reason he had to go with her. She spoke some Spanish, but he was fluent, and if he truly had nothing to hide and still cared for Yancy, once she told him about the bloodied fabric samples and the photos, he should be willing to help.

Her conscience pinged her as she recalled her promise to Abby and Ross not to share that information, but Yancy and Jennifer’s lives were at stake . . . Besides, feeding him enough information to hang himself would aid, not block, the investigation. If he was really a money launderer for one of the wealthiest, most ruthless crime lords on the face of the planet, she could be in danger, too, just as Ross had feared, but it was a risk she had to take.

When she arrived at Ross’s ranch a bit before nine a.m., expensive cars of all types, even a Rolls or two, crowded the circular drive in front of the house. She had to very carefully parallel park between a Mercedes and another BMW even to find room for her car. Taking her laptop and file full of handouts with her, she climbed the stairs. She was reaching for the bell when the door burst open and two teenagers in new jeans and spotless boots almost knocked her down the steps as they ran outside.

Laughing a “Sorry, miss,” they hurried down to the outbuildings, where she now saw tables set up with white-and-red-checked tablecloths. Saddled horses were tended by several cowboys in traditional chaps and hats.

The roundup, it seemed, was about to begin. Emm gingerly stepped inside Ross’s vast foyer. It, too, looked different, with red, white, and blue bunting strung from beam to beam and wrapped around the balustrade leading to the upper floors. A huge cowhide rug was centered on the flagstones.

Emm smelled appetizing aromas. She knew José must be cooking a huge breakfast spread, probably had been since well before dawn. Ross had told her something of his family retainer, that he insisted on doing most of the cooking himself with catering to fill in. He worried José was getting too old for such a task, but the old buzzard, as he affectionately called his friend, was adamant.

Emm heard voices coming from the study, but the heavy door was closed and the gender was indistinct, though she could tell that at least some of the voices were raised in anger. Feeling like the famous Roman messenger, the bearer of bad news to the emperor, Emm stifled her urge to barge into the study and salute with one hand raised, palm out, and declaim, “We who are about to die salute you!”

Smiling wryly at her own quirky sense of humor, which tended to surface at inappropriate times, Emm set her file and computer down and went in search of José. He’d know the agenda and where to direct her. She’d only been in the kitchen once, however, and she took a wrong turn and ended up in the luxurious secondary master suite downstairs. She peeked inside the room and did a double take at its occupant.

A statuesque brunette stood next to the bed in a silk wrap that barely came to her knees. She was unpacking the open Louis Vuitton suitcase on the silk spread.

Muttering a “sorry,” she was about to retrace her steps when a feminine voice said, “Why, hello; you must be Mercy Magdalena Rothschild. A lovely name, by the way.”

Politeness forced Emm to pause. “I’m sorry; I’m not very familiar with the house and I wasn’t sure where to go because it sounds like R—Mr. Sinclair is busy.”

The woman turned from the bed, holding a very expensive set of scanty black lace matching lingerie—Emm could just see the La Perla tag in the bra—and a bustier, garter belt, and black stockings. Not the attire for a family reunion, Emm thought with a sinking heart. And hadn’t Ross told her all the family but his mom and dad and aunt stayed in the outbuildings he’d had constructed for these visits? She’d wanted a tangible sign of his affections or lack thereof... well, here it was.

She’d obviously made the right choice in packing without even telling him.

Emm forced a smile. “Sorry again. I’ll just wait next to the fire. I’m a bit early.”

Again the woman spoke as she tried to turn away. “Oh, please, stay. I’m an old friend of Ross’s from Yale. Elaine Gottlieb.” She nodded at the chair across from the bed. “Eugenie and Clara have invited me to hear your presentation, and I was just changing for it. Won’t you visit with me while I dress?” She took out a pair of jeans sewn with diamantés and added a shirt—Emm had to gawk a bit in disbelief—with pockets and pearl snaps. By the looks of them, real pearl snaps. Oh, dear lord, if the woman pulled out fur chaps, Emm knew she’d gag. Still, half-rapt, half-repelled, Emm sank into the chair as instructed.

Luckily, her coffee stayed down, because Elaine turned aside to pull the jeans up very long, perfect legs that made Emm cross her own stumps in self-defense. Even if Elaine did look a bit too shiny and new in the clothes, she was a gorgeous woman without a wrinkle in her skin. She looked more like thirty than her late forties, and her long dark hair had the shine of a seal.

Elaine said, “We have some buildings in Baltimore we’ve been thinking of renovating. My dad wanted to tear them down, but I talked him out of it. I really respect what you do.”

“Thanks,” Emm managed.

“Would you be willing to take a look at them next time you’re in town and give us your professional opinion?”

“It would only be a guess. The tax credit process is quite involved, and the buildings have to meet a detailed checklist of criteria to warrant inclusion in the National Register.”

“So I’ve heard, but you can smooth the way a bit, can’t you?” Elaine buttoned her shirt. “My father is friends with half the senators and congressmen in DC, so I’m sure we could help your career.”

Emm realized this woman had, from the first taste of her baby bottle, been fed a steady diet of cream of the crop. She literally knew no other way to operate but by asking for, and granting, favors. Emm’s coffee threatened to come back up as she wondered how Ross could make such sweet, soulful love to her one day and invite this snob into his home the next. An old lover to boot; Ross had let her first name drop during their cuddling when she’d tentatively asked about his previous lovers.

And based on the clothes Elaine had packed, she was an old lover who expected to take up where they’d left off years ago.

Unable to even pretend politeness anymore, Emm rose. “R—Mr. Sinclair has my e-mail address. Feel free to e-mail me particulars and I’ll see what I can do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to review my notes.” Emm fled.

Elaine called after her, “You will come to our wedding, won’t you?”

She was half-expecting the catty invitation, but when it came, Emm bit her lip so savagely she tasted blood. She went into the guest bath she’d used a couple of times before and did what she could with her puffy lip by applying more lipstick. She heard Ross’s voice calling her. She wiped a tiny dot of mascara from her eyelid, a remnant of the single tear she couldn’t control, took a deep breath, and opened the bathroom door. At least one thing was settled: One way or another, she’d be leaving Amarillo. Today.

She entered the vast living area. “I’m here. Is everyone ready to listen?” She smiled brightly, too brightly, because he gave her a strange look. He opened his mouth to say something, but Elaine entered, walking a bit stiffly in what were obviously new boots.

“We’re ready, darling. We were just having a little chat while I dressed. Emm’s going to look at some of our buildings, isn’t that nice?” She linked her hand around Ross’s arm. She whispered something to him, and she was so tall he didn’t even have to bend his head to hear.

Emm pretended not to notice as she got her laptop and file. “Where do you want me to make the presentation?”

“I have equipment set up in the study,” Ross said. He pulled gently at his arm, forcing Elaine to release her grip. The woman merely sailed on her long, elegant legs into the study.

Ross hung back, offering to take Emm’s laptop, but she waved him away.

“Emm, it’s not what you think,” he began.

She wanted to whirl on him and demand what it was, then, and why had he had sex with someone who hoped to be his new girlfriend when his old girlfriend was arriving the next day, obviously intent on sharing his bed, too? True, they’d made no promises to each other, and she did initiate things. But he’d snookered her into believing he was a man of class and discrimination, even said it had been a long time since he’d made love to someone that mattered.

Obviously, I don’t matter either, Emm concluded.

But she only pretended not to hear him and forged ahead. Ms. Gottlieb might come from great wealth and power, but Emm had Rothschild blood in her veins, and for once, she’d use it to intimidate. Ross would remember her in the years ahead, as she would likely remember him.

Fondly? At this point, she didn’t give a flip either way.

The minute she entered, the buzzing conversation stopped. She felt six pairs of eyes appraise her coolly. She noted that the four men, ranging in age from late seventies to thirties, relaxed when she smiled at them. But the two very well-preserved women, perfect size sixes garbed in custom black jeans, fringed shirts, and boots, eyed her critically. Emm knew from her research into the family that they were sisters. Well into their seventies, though they looked fiftyish, and arbiters of both style and society in their East Coast domain. Ross had been a surprise baby, and perhaps for that reason both his aunt Eugenie and his mother Clara were fiercely protective of him.

Normally, they would have intimidated Emm with their regal noses all but sniffing at her, but given recent events, she was too raw to care. She’d never see these people again, so she’d do her job and get the hell out. Ross came in and closed the door. He introduced her, and she thought his father looked a lot like him. His hair was entirely silver, but his bearing was erect, and he had the same vibrant sparkle of intelligence and curiosity in his blue eyes.

The niceties out of the way, Ross nodded her toward the audiovisual array he’d hooked to a wall screen that had obviously been built for presentations like this. Emm had used such equipment before, so it only took her a second to hook up her computer with the PowerPoint presentation she’d prepared. When she was ready, she handed out the six copies of the survey she’d printed and began to review it section by section.

They were only a few pages in when Clara tossed her papers aside in irritation. “We’re not engineers; just summarize for us, please.”

Emm met the glacial blue eyes that were the exact shade of Ross’s. She said very precisely, “The conclusion of the structural engineer R—Mr. Sinclair retained is that both the Hoover and Draper buildings are structurally sound. If you’d care to have his findings reviewed, I perfectly understand. Or you can get a second opinion by another preservationist. But neither will change my recommendation to the Parks Service that both buildings be preserved, not demolished.”