Kitabı oku: «The Redemption Of Rafe Diaz», sayfa 3

Chapter 3

The Friends Foundation’s annual silent auction was held in whatever location seemed the most lavish, the most luxurious, the place best suited for over-the-top elegance. This year, a luxury downtown hotel had offered the use of its refurbished ballrooms for free, and the foundation’s board jumped at the gift.

Although Allie had established the foundation, provided its initial funding and sat on the board of directors, she designated the members of the fund-raising committee to man the receiving line. That left her free to mingle and deal with any last-minute problems that might arise.

Tonight there were masses of people, delicious food on the buffet, ice sculptures, fountains flowing with chilled champagne and soft music overhead.

She moved from group to group to exchange pecks on the cheek and gripping handshakes. Some of the guests were friends, some customers of her shop, and all had made donations to the foundation in the past. Her goal tonight was to make sure they opened their checkbooks again.

She slid through the crowd with ease. Although she’d taken a chance wearing the red beaded gown with wire-thin straps when she had requested the hotel’s air-conditioning system be set on full blast, the press of bodies heated the room and kept her comfortable.

Until she spotted Rafe Diaz stepping through the doorway. Clad in a midnight-black tuxedo, he looked large and solid. Totally gorgeous. His thick, pitch-dark hair was slicked back, his dark eyes stared out of the chiseled, golden-skinned face, scanning the room carefully.

Adonis should have looked so good.

While she watched him divert around the receiving line, heat welled in Allie’s veins. Her heart pumped as though she’d just run a seven-minute mile. Her lungs tried to keep pace with her pulse, and her entire body was suddenly…hot.

No AC could cool her down now.

She had spent hours anticipating this encounter. And dreading it. Miss Manners had forgotten to cover the rules for how to best socialize with a man one had helped send to prison.

After taking a steadying sip of champagne, Allie began easing her way through the crowd to greet him.

Rafe paused just beyond the receiving line he’d avoided and surveyed the ballroom. It was huge and packed with people. Clad in tuxes and gowns shimmering with beads, pearls and sequins, the guests stood elbow to elbow under a dazzling trio of teardrop-shaped crystal chandeliers.

Enormous paintings in vivid, frenetic hues dotted the ivory-toned walls. There was enough color in the ballroom to make Rafe’s head swim. Yet through the crowd and the clashing tones, he saw Allie coming his way.

Her dress was a form-fitting glitter of flame with skinny, sparkling straps. As she moved, a side slit revealed a length of creamy thigh. Her honey-blond hair was clipped at the sides with something small and sparkling. Blood-red stones that he’d wager were real rubies fell in a rope from her earlobes to brush shoulders that looked as soft as her thigh. Her mouth and sky-high heels were the same hot color as the dress.

She looked, Rafe thought as his stomach muscles twisted, outrageously alluring.

When their eyes met, he didn’t return her smile. He might not be able to control his damnable physical response to her, but he wasn’t going to let her see it.

“Hello, Rafe.”

“Allie.”

She gestured toward a nearby waiter toting a tray filled with glasses. “Would you like something to drink?”

He flicked a look at the flute in her hand. “I’m here to work, not party.”

“What a coincidence. I’m working, too.”

Easing back one flap of his jacket, he slid a hand into his pocket and fisted his fingers. The scent she wore smelled like hot, smoldering sin. “Doing what?”

“Politely reminding the guests to slip into the adjoining ballroom where the auction items are on display. I stop short of making them swear to fill out bids. While I’m at it, I manage to squeeze in some wheedling for donations to the foundation.”

“Wheedling,” he repeated. “If you use the same tactics you did when you got me to agree to work at the house for the abused woman and her kids, I’d say you’re good at it.”

“Very good.” She lifted her chin, her red-glossed lips curving. “When it comes to acquiring donations, I’m known in wheedling circles all over the country.”

With his eyes locked on her lush, compelling mouth, Rafe felt the hard jolt of desire, unbidden and unwanted.

Instantly he pulled himself back. Since the moment he walked out of prison, he’d made certain he controlled every aspect of his life. He had learned to block out the remembered clang of a cell door sliding shut behind him. To erase the black and cloying memories of having been caught in a living nightmare. And—most importantly—to strap back all thought and emotion that might threaten that control.

Now facing a woman who had everything inside him straining at its leash, he deliberately dredged up the hated images from his past, which included Allie Fielding sitting on the witness stand, testifying against him.

It didn’t matter that he’d been free for five years. Didn’t mean a damn thing that he’d carved out a life for himself. He would never forget the vicious helplessness that had ripped through him while he sat in that courtroom. Nor would he ever put himself in a situation where he wasn’t positive he’d be the one pulling all the strings.

Like now. With her.

“Don’t forget the party queen circles,” he said, his voice a hard clip. “I imagine you’re even more famous in those. Or should I say infamous?”

He watched with grim satisfaction as her blue eyes flashed, boring into him like a pair of cold lasers. If he couldn’t trust himself to keep his distance, he could at least make sure he was the last man she’d want to be around.

Allie tightened her fingers on her glass. She understood why Rafe wasn’t interested in letting bygones be bygones. Her testimony had been one reason he’d lost two years of his life. Still, she wasn’t interested in spending time with a man who felt free to judge the woman she’d become based on past behavior.

“Since you’re here to work, I won’t take up any more of your time,” she said coolly. “I haven’t seen your client’s wife and son yet. Perhaps you’d better wait by the door so you’ll know if Ellen and Will Bishop actually show up.”

“Allie!”

Pasting on a smile, Allie shifted in the direction of the female voice that had called her name.

Katie Jones, twentysomething and so painfully thin that her eyes looked like they’d been drawn by a cartoonist, rushed to Allie’s side. “I about freaked when I heard you found my uncle’s mistress dead. And then almost got killed yourself! It must have been awful.”

“It was.” Allie didn’t have to glance across her shoulder to know that Rafe was still there. It was as if she could sense all the prickly intensity that seemed to simmer inside him. No doubt he had heard Katie’s comment and decided to hang around to hear what Hank Bishop’s niece had to say. Fine, she thought, angling her body back toward his. He was there to interview members of his client’s family. The sooner Rafe did that, the quicker he would be gone.

“Katie Jones, this is Rafe Diaz,” Allie said. “He’s a private investigator, working to clear your uncle.”

Pursing her mouth, Katie gave Rafe an appraising look. “According to my aunt, hiring you is a waste of time and money. She hasn’t come out and said it, but I think she’s convinced Uncle Hank is guilty.”

“I hope to prove him innocent,” Rafe said easily.

“Katie, how is your family?” Allie asked. “I’m sure this is a difficult time.”

Katie nodded. “Aunt Ellen has flipped out. So has my mom. She’s too upset to deal with all the stuff that needs to be done for my wedding. My dad said things at his and Uncle Hank’s office are super-stressed.” Tears welled in the young woman’s huge eyes. “It’s a terrible strain on everyone.”

Allie gave the girl a hug, which was the equivalent of embracing a bag of bones. “Is your fiancé here tonight?”

“He and Will are getting drinks,” Katie said, gesturing toward the far side of the ballroom. The movement sent light shooting off the gumdrop-size diamond on her ring finger. “Allie, will you be able to finish my trousseau?”

“Of course.” Allie frowned. “There’s no reason for you to worry about that.”

The girl’s face cleared. “I’ll tell Mom. We didn’t know how badly you were hurt.”

In reflex, Allie lifted a hand to her temple. She’d covered the bruise with makeup, but she was still plagued by a leftover ache from the concussion.

“I’m fine. And I’m looking forward to your fitting next week.” She patted the girl’s painfully thin arm. “Your trousseau is going to be gorgeous. I promise.”

Katie beamed. “I can’t wait to try everything on.” She glanced over her shoulder, waved to someone in the crowd. “I’d better get back to my family.”

Frowning over the young woman’s thinness, Allie watched Katie disappear through the throng of bodies.

“Something wrong?” Rafe asked.

She looked up. The intensity with which he studied her was unnerving. “No.” She forced a polite smile. “Thanks to Katie, you know that Will Bishop is at one of the bars, getting drinks.” Allie took a step backward. “Because he’s one of the two people you want to interview, I won’t keep you.”

“Careful,” Rafe said at the same instant he gripped her elbow and nudged her sideways.

She glanced across her shoulder, realized she’d almost stepped in the path of a waiter balancing a tray brimming with flutes of champagne.

“Thank you,” she said, conscious of the strength of the hand that gripped her elbow.

Their bodies were close enough to brush now, close enough for Rafe’s warm, masculine scent to slide into her lungs. When she felt everything female inside of her respond, she took a step backward, forcing him to drop his hand.

“Even though you didn’t come here because of the auction, you might want to bid on some of the items. In fact, there’s an Art Nouveau lamp that’s particularly interesting.”

His expression remained unreadable. “I’ll check it out.”

“Good. I need to touch base with the staff overseeing the auction. Hopefully you’ll be able to interview Ellen and Will Bishop while you’re here.”

“That’s the plan.”

She turned and walked away. And because she couldn’t help herself, she settled her hand over the spot where Rafe’s fingers had gripped her arm. She told herself it was just her imagination that her flesh still held the heat from his touch.

She had no hope, however, of discounting the fact that she was somehow far more aware of his touch than she’d ever been of any other man’s.

Having studied photos of Will Bishop in the society pages, Rafe easily spotted his client’s son among the attendees.

That done, he milled through the crowded ballroom, observing the young man. All the while, he felt himself being pulled, tugged at, by thoughts of Allie Fielding.

She was trouble. A smoldering package of temptation he in no way needed or wanted.

It rankled that there seemed to be various faces—bold, fragile, sexy, sensitive—of the woman he once believed shallow. Then there was the disconcerting knowledge that he’d spent the previous night with her face lodged in his dreams when he had worked so hard to erase that vicious wedge of his past she was a part of.

He shouldn’t even be here, he admitted. If he’d given it some thought, he could have come up with some other way to question his client’s son and wife. Allie Fielding was only a small part of the case, and he’d gotten all the information from her that he could. Instead, here he was, standing in a crowded ballroom, imagining he could still smell her sexy, compelling scent. He needed to get away from her—and stay away.

Forcing his focus back to his case, he watched Will Bishop step to one of the small bars set up around the outer edge of the ballroom. While he ordered a refill, Rafe studied his quarry.

Hank Bishop’s son was in his late twenties, lanky and good-looking, with longish sun-streaked blond hair and a deeply tanned face. He wore an expensively cut tuxedo, but had left the collar of his crisp, pleated shirt unbuttoned and forgone the requisite bow tie.

Rafe had watched the young man work the crowd, moving from woman to woman, smiling and flirting while projecting an air of nonchalant cool. From the number of intimate female smiles and longing gazes he received, it was apparent Will Bishop had his laid-back Mr. Charm persona honed to a T.

If he was at all upset about his father having been arrested for murder, it didn’t show.

Rafe stepped to the bar, positioning himself behind Bishop. When the younger man turned, gripping a tumbler of whiskey, Rafe stuck out his hand. “Will Bishop?”

“That’s me.”

“I’m Rafe Diaz. I’d like a word with you.”

Bishop returned the handshake while Rafe watched his expression as he struggled to try to place him. After a moment, he frowned. “Do we know each other?”

“I’m a private investigator, hired by your father. I’ve been trying to reach you.”

A flash of emotion tightened the skin around Bishop’s eyes. Then his expression cleared. “Yeah, I got your messages.”

“You didn’t return them.”

“Been busy.”

“Doesn’t look like you’re tied up now.” Rafe inclined his head toward the pair of tall doors he had discovered earlier which led to an outside terrace. “We can talk out there.”

Bishop glanced toward the terrace, considered. “Okay. But I don’t have a lot of time.” He raised his glass, tossed back its contents, then set the tumbler on the bar. “Lead the way.”

Outside, the intense heat of the summer day had lessened with nightfall. But the air now carried the scent of rain and was muggy enough that none of the other guests had ventured out onto the terrace illuminated by massive carriage lamps.

Will Bishop walked to the railing bordering the terrace, then turned. “I meant it when I said I’ve been busy. My mother freaked when she found out about my father’s affair. And that he’d been arrested for killing his mistress.”

“Your father claims he didn’t murder Mercedes McKenzie.”

“I hope to hell he didn’t. But I’m sure wondering.”

“Did you know about his relationship with the woman?”

“Do you really think my father would have told me he had a mistress?” Will shot back. “That he’d put her up in one of the properties he owns? Paid all of her expenses?”

“No,” Rafe replied levelly. “I don’t think your father would have told you about her. But family members stumble over information about each other all the time. So, I’ll ask again, did you know about your father’s affair with the McKenzie woman?”

“No.”

“What about your mother? Did she know?”

In the glow of a carriage lamp, Bishop’s eyes sparked. “She wouldn’t have put up with it if she had. She’s hurt. Going through hell. She told her attorney to draw up divorce papers. Which, because I can’t remember a time when my parents weren’t arguing and sniping at each other, is long overdue.”

“You work in your father and uncle’s real estate investment business?”

“That’s right.”

“What do you do?”

“I scout locations to see if they’d make good investments.” His brow rose. “Dad thinks it’ll build character if I start at ground zero and work my way up.”

“Do you agree?”

“I think my dad should have paid attention to his own character building. He created the mess he’s in. There’s nothing I can do to help him.”

“Your father said you’ve been away from the office a lot.”

“After what he put my mother through, she needs a lot of attention and support. She’s my priority now. He and Uncle Guy can fire me if they want. At this point, I don’t much care.”

“Mind telling me where you were when the McKenzie woman was murdered?”

Bishop smirked. “Hell, yes, I mind. I told the police where I was. I don’t have to tell you.”

Will’s cell phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket. After murmuring a few words, he hung up and met Rafe’s gaze. “I’ve got someone waiting for me inside. Any more questions?”

“That’s it. For now.”

Rafe stayed on the terrace, watching the young man stride away. When he pulled open the door to the ballroom, a tall, curvy redhead wearing a low-cut gown draped herself over his arm and gave him a pouty smile.

After Bishop stepped inside and closed the door, Rafe leaned a hip against the railing. Nothing Will Bishop said had put a blip on Rafe’s radar screen. And his claim that his priority was taking care of his mother was commendable. Still, Bishop didn’t fit the mold of a concerned son. Maybe that was because tonight he hadn’t once looked his mother’s way, much less spoken to her, during the entire time Rafe had spent observing him.

That, and the little twinge at the base of his spine, had him deciding to keep his eye on Will Bishop. And to find out where he’d been at the time of the murder.

Rafe checked his watch. Next on his agenda was to find Ellen Bishop and have a chat with his client’s angry wife.

Striding across the terrace, he scowled when his thoughts returned to Allie. She’d done him a favor adding his name to the guest list. So he would track her down before he left. Thank her. Once that was done, he could head home, conscience clear.

After that, when he was away from her and his lungs were free of her intriguing scent, he would shove all thoughts of the woman out of his head.

But before he could stop himself, he pictured her face, her lush, red mouth. That long length of creamy thigh. He gritted his teeth while need rose inside him like a hot wave.

He was going to need a damn bulldozer to help do that shoving.

Chapter 4

Allie hovered in the hallway just outside the ballroom where the auction items were on display. To her relief, bids had been placed on all paintings, sculptures, trips and antiques. Even the monstrous Art Nouveau lamp that an eccentric matron willed to the foundation had snagged a bid. Not from Rafe Diaz, she noted cynically. And the pièce de résistance—the bejeweled, beaded shoes that had been on display in Silk & Secret’s window for a month—fetched a dollar amount far higher than anticipated.

In all, a great night for the Friends Foundation, Allie thought, smiling. Then there was her annual pledge to match the auction proceeds. Tonight’s receipts would buy several fixer-upper houses. After renovation, each would become a safe haven for a victim of violent crime.

For an instant, she allowed her mind to wander. She imagined if her father were still alive, he would be in attendance tonight. Not to show he was proud of her role in the foundation’s success. As much as he had disliked her, Franklin Fielding had very much liked the accolades and attention of his society friends and business associates. The man, who’d purposely remained disconnected from his only child while going through a succession of wives as though they were water, would pretend a show of support solely for the sake of appearance.

At least he’d have been here, she thought. She couldn’t say the same thing about her mother. At five, Allie had been such a burden to the woman that her mother had walked out and never come back.

When long-buried hurt scratched at her lungs, she eased out a slow breath. It was beyond her why she was wasting time thinking about the two people who’d shown her that no one came out of a relationship happy or unscathed.

Which was why she’d resolved long ago to put all of her time, energy and thoughts into her business. Her designs lasted. The people in her life rarely did.

When guests began streaming out of the ballroom, she flicked a discreet look at her diamond-encrusted watch. Handshakes were traded, air kisses exchanged. Although no major problems had arisen throughout the evening, she decided to hold off on breathing a sigh of relief until the winning bids were paid and all attendees had left the elegant hotel.

“You bitch!”

The voice coming from just behind her was so shrill it turned the heads of nearby guests and made Allie’s throat go dry. She turned and felt her pulse bump when she saw the vicious anger in Ellen Bishop’s face.

The woman was a trim and carefully turned-out forty-something with short, softly waved hair of dark brown around a sharp-featured face. Her mouth, wide and full, was painted coral. Her flowing emerald crepe pants and a silk blouse matched eyes that glinted with fury.

The smell of good scotch hovered around her like expensive perfume.

Considering that the woman’s husband had been arrested for murdering his mistress—and word of the affair was the talk of the Bishops’ social circle—Allie understood why Ellen had gone overboard on the scotch. But the reason for the seething anger aimed her way escaped Allie.

“Ellen,” she said. “Perhaps we need to speak in private—”

“A little late for that. Everyone knows how you’ve made a fool of me.”

Allie kept her expression benign, while willing her voice to remain steady. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play innocent with me!” Gripping a half-full tumbler of whiskey in one hand and a crystal-encrusted evening bag in the other, the woman advanced forward two unsteady steps. “Are you even sorry about how you’ve treated me?” she demanded, her slurred voice turning venomous. “Do you feel any guilt at all?”

“Guilt?” Allie asked carefully. It didn’t take an expert in human behavior to see that Ellen Bishop was as hot and high-pressured as a volcano ready to blow. The booze had apparently fueled the already-blazing fire, transforming it into an inferno. “What is it you think I should feel guilt over?”

“Like you don’t know.” With sarcasm dripping like acid from her voice, Ellen gestured with the tumbler, sending light flashing off her diamond bracelet. “You sold your sleazy goods to me while you did business with my husband’s whore. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Allie raised a cautious hand. “Miss McKenzie didn’t share personal information with me. I had no idea who she was seeing.”

“You must have had a laugh, racking up sales to the wife and mistress of the same man,” Ellen raged as if Allie hadn’t spoken. “Did you design matching lingerie for both of us?”

Oh, God! Allie thought. The woman already looked like she wanted to cut out her heart—no way was she getting into a discussion of the lingerie preferences between the two women who’d been sleeping with Hank Bishop.

Allie flicked her gaze past Ellen’s shoulder. The hallway was now crowded with guests who’d stopped to watch the woman’s drunken tirade. At the center stood a bank president’s trophy wife, best known for her insatiable love of gossip. It was surprising she didn’t already have her cell phone plastered to one ear to give friends not in attendance the latest scoop. The woman reminded Allie of her fourth—and fifth—stepmothers.

“Answer me!” Ellen demanded with a drunk’s bull-headed determination. “Did you design the same lingerie for both of us?”

Allie knew that when she sobered up, Ellen would no doubt be mortified over her behavior. But that was hours away and she needed to end the scene now.

Leaning in, she lowered her voice. “Ellen, the auction is over. It’s time to go home. Let me find your son—”

Allie’s words ended in a gasp when Ellen flicked her wrist and sent a river of scotch splashing across her face and chest.

“You have no shame!” Ellen railed. Fury throbbed redly in her face as she raised her hand clutching the evening bag. “You even sold me one of the purses that whore designed. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll see that you pay for making a fool of me.”

“You’re making a fool of yourself all on your own.” The words ground between Allie’s teeth as she used the back of her hand to blot scotch off her cheek. “You need to go home, Ellen. Sleep it off.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” With the precise form of a major-league pitcher, the woman lobbed the crystal-encrusted bag in a line drive aimed at Allie’s nose.

Swallowing a shriek, she ducked just as a hand swept in front of her face and caught the bag midair.

“Mrs. Bishop.” Rafe positioned himself between Allie and the frothing woman. “I’m Rafe Diaz, a private investigator. I’d like to speak with you, if you have a free moment.”

“Diaz.” Ellen spat out his name as if it left a bad taste in her mouth. “You’re the loser ex-con Hank hired to find some innocent person to blame the murder on.”

Allie winced as a murmur swept through the crowd. She had to hold herself back from blurting out that Rafe had been a victim of a terrible injustice. That it was one she’d had a hand in squeezed at her heart.

“No,” Rafe said while weighing the small purse in his palm. “Your husband hired me to prove he didn’t kill Mercedes McKenzie.”

“Go to hell!” Ellen’s belligerent gaze jumped from Rafe to Allie. “Both of you. Take my bastard husband with you!”

Whirling around, Ellen expelled a hiccupping sob, then jerked a cell phone out of the pocket on her flowing crepe pants. Stabbing at buttons, she wove her way down the hallway.

Rafe shifted toward Allie, his dark gaze skimming down her, then up. “You all right?”

“I will be.” Her hands were shaking so badly she curled them into fists. Taking a deep breath, she forced her mouth to curve upward, then turned toward the guests crowded into the hallway like sardines in a tin.

“When I promised the evening would be memorable, I didn’t realize how true those words would turn out to be,” she commented. While a few emotion-diffusing chuckles sounded, she accepted a fresh napkin from a waiter. “I want to thank each of you for supporting the Friends Foundation so generously,” she added.

With the majority of the guests now heading toward the hotel’s exits, Allie blotted the white linen napkin against the bodice of her whiskey-spattered gown.

“How about you?” she asked. “Are you okay?”

Rafe met her gaze, his compelling, olive-skinned face as calm as carved stone. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Ellen’s ‘ex-con’ remark.”

“I am an ex-con.”

“It was a mistake.” Allie’s fingers clenched against the napkin. “You were innocent.”

“So what?” His mouth thinned. “That doesn’t wipe out the fact I spent time locked in a cage like an animal.”

Although they weren’t touching, she could feel the tension in him, a live wire dancing with dangerous electricity. Allie searched for some words of comfort that might blunt the vicious memories, but she knew there were none.

So she changed the subject. “Did you walk up in time to hear Ellen accuse me of designing matching lingerie for her and Mercedes?”

Rafe nodded. “After viewing pictures of Mercedes and seeing Ellen in the flesh, I imagine they had different tastes in more than just clothing.”

“Good call. But if your client bought Ellen the bracelet with the heart-shaped diamonds she’s wearing tonight, he didn’t let their diverse taste stop him from giving them identical jewelry.”

Rafe raised a dark brow. “Mercedes had the same bracelet?”

“Yes.” Allie closed her eyes, remembering. “She had it on when I found her. I had to nudge it aside to check her pulse.”

Just then, a man’s voice boomed from the far end of the hallway. Allie turned and spotted Ellen Bishop’s brother-in-law rushing toward them.

“I just heard what Ellen did.” Guy Jones took in Allie’s damp gown, mortification filling his eyes. “I apologize on Ellen’s behalf.”

“It’s okay, Guy.” Allie dabbed the napkin against her damp throat. “I’m sure Ellen is under an enormous amount of stress.”

“Yeah.” Jones shoved a hand through his thinning dark hair. “Ellen’s not alone. I’ve got a daughter who’s dieted herself down to a toothpick so she won’t look fat for her wedding. My wife’s going crazy planning the shindig. My brother-in-law and business partner is charged with murder, his wife has gone off the deep end and his son—my nephew—now hates him. To top things off, Will’s ticked at me because he thinks I knew his dad was having the affair and I didn’t do anything to stop it.”

“Did you?” Rafe asked.

Guy’s attention snapped to Rafe. “I wish to hell I had. Maybe then I could have talked some sense into Hank.” Guy ground an oath between his teeth. “Diaz, tell me you’re making progress on getting him off the hook on the murder charge. There’s no way he killed that McKenzie woman. No way.”

“I’m working on it.” Rafe offered the crystal-covered clutch to Guy. “Your sister-in-law has one hell of a powerful throwing arm. She may look for this after she sobers up.”

Guy’s dark brows shot up. “Ellen threw this at you?”

“My face was her actual target,” Allie answered. “Luckily, Rafe caught it. It’s one of the evening bags in the line that Mercedes McKenzie designed. I sell them in my shop.”

Guy stared down at the jeweled clutch nestled in his palm. “She made purses for you?”

“Designed them,” Allie corrected. “Considering the circumstances, Ellen wasn’t pleased to know she owned a Mercedes McKenzie creation.”

“No wonder that set her off.” Guy slipped the small bag into the pocket of his tux, then blew out a breath. “My wife and I need to get Ellen home. I’m sure that’ll be just one more pleasant experience to top off the night.”

Rafe pushed back the flap of his jacket and slid a hand in the pocket of his slacks. “I was under the impression her son is taking care of her.”

“That’d be hard for Will to do right now, seeing how he’s made himself scarce with some redhead.”

Allie patted the man’s arm. “I know you’re dealing with a lot right now. I appreciate your supporting the foundation.”

“It’s all for a good cause.” He forced a smile. “Not to mention a great tax write-off.”