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Cinderella For A Night
Susan Mallery
A masquerade ball is plunged into darkness… A woman is poisoned… A millionaire bachelor becomes a father… As a blackout gripped Grand Springs, Colorado, CEO Jonathan Steele was having quite a night. First, Cynthia Morgan–aka "Cinderella"–drank poison meant for him. Then his blackmailing half brother and sister-in-law were murdered, leaving Jonathan with his newborn baby nephew.In thirty-six hours, Jonathan's life had changed forever. Then grateful-to-be-alive Cynthia offered to move into his home as a temporary nanny, a serious challenge to Jonathan's bachelorhood…


STEELE ENTERPRISES, INC.
MEMO
TO: Note to self
FROM: Jonathan Steele, CEO
• Check on Cynthia Morgan’s progress at Vanderbilt Hospital—looks quite hopeful!
• Follow up with police—must find out who would poison such a sweet, beautiful woman.
• Set up nursery at home for baby nephew.
• Consider Cynthia’s offer as temporary nanny—though must beware of those sparks flying between us…

Dear Reader,
As the Intimate Moments quarter of our year long 20
anniversary promotion draws to a close, we offer you a month so full of reading excitement, you’ll hardly know where to start. How about with Night Shield, the newest NIGHT TALES title from New York Times bestselling author Nora Roberts? As always, Nora delivers characters you’ll never forget and a plot guaranteed to keep you turning the pages. And don’t miss our special NIGHT TALES reissue, also available this month wherever you buy books.
What next? How about Night of No Return, rising star Eileen Wilks’s contribution to our in-line continuity, A YEAR OF LOVING DANGEROUSLY? This emotional and suspenseful tale will have you on the edge of your seat—and longing for the next book in the series. As an additional treat this month, we offer you an in-line continuation of our extremely popular out-of-series continuity, 36 HOURS. Bestselling author Susan Mallery kicks things off with Cinderella for a Night. You’ll love this book, along with the three Intimate Moments novels—and one stand-alone Christmas anthology—that follow it.
Rounding out the month, we have a new book from Beverly Bird, one of the authors who helped define Intimate Moments in its very first month of publication. She’s joined by Mary McBride and Virginia Kantra, each of whom contributes a top-notch novel to the month.
Next month, look for a special two-in-one volume by Maggie Shayne and Marilyn Pappano, called Who Do You Love? And in November, watch for the debut of our stunning new cover design.


Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Senior Editor
Cinderella for A Night
Susan Mallery


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Special thanks and acknowledgment
are given to Susan Mallery for her contribution
to the 36 Hours series.

SUSAN MALLERY
is the bestselling author of over thirty books for Silhouette. Always a fan of romance novels, Susan finds herself in the unique position of living out her own personal romantic fantasy with the new man in her life. Susan lives in sunny Southern California with her handsome hero husband and her two adorable-but-not-bright cats.



Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15

Chapter 1
“You look like Cinderella,” thirteen-year-old Jenny Morgan breathed as she stared at her older sister in the mirror.
“You’re right,” Cynthia Morgan said with a laugh. “All I need now are the mice!” She spread out the full skirt of the rented aqua-colored ball gown and gently swayed back and forth. “A handsome prince would be nice, too.”
“You’ll find him,” Jenny said confidently. “He’ll take one look at you and fall madly in love.”
“A girl can hope.”
But Cynthia wasn’t expecting much in the way of handsome princes at the Grand Springs Charity Masquerade Halloween Ball. For one thing, Grand Springs, Colorado, wasn’t a hangout for the handsome prince set. For another thing, she wasn’t princess material. Tonight, in her rented ball gown, with her hair pulled up and wearing more makeup than usual, highlighting her pleasant if not spectacular features, she looked pretty good. But the charity event attracted Grand Springs social elite and “pretty good” was not going to put her in the running for anyone very special. Certainly not for Jonathan Steele, a living breathing Prince Charming if there ever was one.
“Let me look.”
Cynthia turned at the sound of her mother’s voice and smiled as Betsy Morgan’s face softened into an expression of maternal pride.
“You’re a vision,” Betsy announced.
“I said she looked like Cinderella.”
“You know what?” Cynthia asked as she leaned forward and kissed her mother’s cheek. “I think I’m the luckiest person in world because I have a wonderful, supportive family and I get to go to a swishy ball tonight at the Grand Springs Empress Hotel. I promise I’ll memorize details and tell you both everything in the morning.”
Betsy exchanged a conspiratorial look with Jenny. “Not so fast.” She disappeared into the hallway, then reappeared carrying a shoebox. “We have a surprise for you.”
Cynthia stared at the box, then looked at both her mother and sister. “Tell me you didn’t.”
Jenny beamed. “We did. We voted and even Brad and Brett agreed and they’re exactly the right color and you’ll look so pretty when you’re dancing.” She crossed her arms over her chest and tightly squeezed herself. “When I grow up I want to be exactly like you, Cynthia. I want to go to a Halloween ball and be beautiful.”
Cynthia turned to her mother. “Are you sure about this? It’s just for one night.”
Betsy shrugged. “Sometimes that’s all you need to find a little magic in your life. You’ve been so good to all of us. We wanted to give something back.” She laughed. “Besides, they’re just shoes.”
They were more than that and Cynthia knew it. Money was tight in the Morgan household. Cynthia had used up the last of her pitiful savings to rent her finery for the evening. While the princess costume came complete with a tiara and fake jewelry, it hadn’t included matching shoes. She’d seen a pair of dyeable pumps on sale a week ago, but hadn’t had the money. Her mother had offered the household’s “what if” fund—a jar full of change that everyone contributed to. The rule was each member of the family had an equal vote on how the money was spent. Generally it went for a fun dinner out or an evening at a local arcade.
“I can’t believe you all wanted me to have these shoes,” she said and opened the lid.
Inside were a pair of aqua pumps that matched her rented dress perfectly. She slipped them on, then stood in front of the mirror while her mother and sister fussed over her. All of the Morgan kids were blond and fair. With the exception of Cynthia, they had big blue eyes inherited from their mother. Jenny was still too skinny and had a mouthful of braces, but in a couple of years she would be as pretty as Betsy. The ten-year-old twins—Brad and Brett—took more after their father and would grow to tower over the women in the family.
“Are you ready?” Betsy asked after smoothing the hem of the dress. “You look amazing.”
Cynthia met her gaze in the mirror and smiled. The rented dress smelled faintly of mothballs and her long, elbow-length gloves had been bought at a thrift store and mended. The tiara was rhinestones, the pearls around her neck fake, but for tonight none of that mattered.
“I feel great,” Cynthia told her and picked up her small handbag. “So if I stay out past midnight, will my car turn into a pumpkin?”
Betsy and Jenny followed her to the front door. “Not possible. It’s already a wreck,” her mother said cheerfully. “Pumpkin would be an improvement.”
Cynthia kissed Jenny’s cheek then her mother’s, and walked toward her battered car. “You’re right. Don’t wait up, Mom. I’ll be fine.”
“Promise me you’ll dance at least once with the most handsome man there,” Betsy called out as her daughter started her ugly but reliable car.
“I’ll do my best.”
She waved at her sister and her mother, then shifted into gear and started down the driveway. A shiver of anticipation rippled through her. For the first time in her life she was going to see how the other half lived. More important, she was actually going to speak to Jonathan Steele. At least that was her plan.
“I can do it, I can do it,” she chanted quietly to herself as she drove through the dark streets of Grand Springs. The mountain evening was cool and a starlit sky twinkled overhead. A magical night, she thought cheerfully. The kind of night where anything could happen. Meeting the great Jonathan Steele was the main reason she’d been so excited by the opportunity to attend the charity ball.
Two years ago she’d received a grant of seed money to start her new business. Now a relatively flourishing concern, Mother’s Helper existed because of Jonathan Steele’s generosity. The billionaire gave back to the community on a regular basis. He provided start-up capital for dozens of fledgling concerns. He was also the sponsor of the night’s charity ball.
“I will go up to him and, in a poised and confident manner, thank him. I will be gracious and brief and I will not trip or fall or forget to talk or anything else humiliating.”
Cynthia had a brief image of herself spilling punch down the front of his tailored, expensive tux and made a mental note not to be carrying anything liquid when she made her way to his side.
“Maybe we’ll dance,” she said dreamily, wondering what it would be like to be in Jonathan’s strong arms. He was so very handsome. Tall and dark and…
“And completely out of my league,” she reminded herself as she approached the well-lit Grand Springs Empress Hotel. Jonathan was a tycoon who dated incredibly beautiful, glamorous women. She was a struggling owner of a company that provided temporary live-in nanny care. If she was very lucky, she just might get to thank him, but that was it.
She paused at the crest of the rise to admire the twinkling lights of the hotel, glittering like a wedding cake in the rugged, rustic setting. The looming mountains were dark shadows in the distance. She breathed in the crisp night air and drove onto the hotel grounds.
She pulled up to the valet who took one look at her car and visibly shuddered. Cynthia glanced at the luxury car in front of her, then shrugged.
“My other car is much nicer,” she teased as she stepped out and accepted the parking ticket. “With this one I don’t have to worry about it being stolen.”
The valet, a young man about her age, relaxed enough to grin. “Like I believe that. Don’t worry, I’ve parked worse.” He jerked his head toward the open glass doors. “The ballroom is on your left. Have a nice evening.”
“I will,” she promised, speaking to both herself and to him.
Squaring her shoulders, she clutched her small, cloth bag in one hand and stepped forward, prepared to meet her destiny.

Jonathan Steele accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray, then took a sip. He eyed the mingling crowd filling the oversize room and knew that it had been a mistake for him to come tonight. He wasn’t in the mood to play the game of gracious host. He hated events like these. Too many business acquaintances presumed on a relationship that didn’t exist. Too many women thought it was well past time he was married. Debutantes and their persistent mothers cornered him at every turn and more married women than he could count thought he would be a fun, if temporary, companion.
But convention demanded that he make an appearance, so he was here. As soon as he was able, he would make his escape and retreat to the solitude that was more comfortable, if not more preferred.
He took a second sip of champagne only to have the fizzy liquid choke him when he spotted a familiar couple across the room. Anger burned through him—a molten rage that made his fingers tighten dangerously on the delicate crystal.
Jonathan set down his glass on a nearby table, then walked through the crowd. His gaze never left the darkly handsome pair talking with friends. The man was tall, nearly his own height. The wife, a too-thin former model in a clinging black gown, had a haughty look about her pinched features.
He stopped beside his half brother and tapped David on the shoulder. “I would like a word with you,” he said.
David turned slowly, his expression unconcerned. “Jonathan, what a pleasure. But then you’re the sponsor of tonight’s ball, so I suppose it isn’t a surprise that you’re here.”
David Steele, younger by seven years, had lived the good life since the day he was born. He didn’t know what it was to build something, to work hard and be proud of his accomplishments. Instead he expected all things would come to him and much to Jonathan’s disgust, they generally did. But that was about to change.
“Excuse me, darling,” David said, lightly kissing his wife’s cheek. “I’ll be right with you.”
Lisa Steele offered her brother-in-law a cold smile. “Don’t keep him for too long, Jonathan. I’m lost without him.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” Jonathan said smoothly, wondering how Lisa and her husband would maintain their marriage when they were in prison.
Jonathan took David’s arm and led him to a private alcove in the large ballroom. The two men were both over six feet, each with a strong build. Their gazes locked.
“The game’s up,” Jonathan said bluntly. “I’ve known about your embezzling for months, but now I have proof. Either put the money back or I’ll inform the authorities in the morning.”
David smiled slowly. “You don’t have proof. You don’t have anything. This is a bluff.”
Jonathan’s gaze narrowed. “I never bluff. You know that. It would give me great pleasure to see you arrested for this, David. Don’t push me.”
Jonathan didn’t know why he was giving his brother time. He should call in the police right now. But he knew he wouldn’t.
David raised his dark eyebrows. “You think you have it all planned out, big brother, but you don’t. This time I’m going to win. You see, Lisa and I are going away. You won’t be able to find us. In a very short period of time, you’ll have an unfortunate but fatal accident. Lisa and I can return as the grieving family. You’ll be gone and we’ll have everything.” He waved his hand like a wand. “Presto—I win.”
Coldness filled Jonathan’s chest. He hadn’t known it could get any worse between himself and his brother. He’d thought the truly low point of their relationship had been when their father had left David the family home. It had been the only thing Jonathan had ever wanted, but the elder Steele had intended to send a message from the grave. David had waited just long enough for the title to clear in his name, then he’d offered it to Jonathan at twice its value.
The house had been Jonathan’s only link with his past. He would have paid more to take possession and he’d given his brother the money.
Now David was threatening to have him killed. He almost didn’t believe they were having this conversation. “Why?” he asked.
“Why am I stealing or why do I want you eliminated?”
Jonathan shrugged. “Either. Both.”
“I would think the reason I want you gone is obvious. Father left you the firm, but I’m the heir when you’re dead. Now I’ll take it from you.”
Jonathan didn’t doubt his brother’s desire to have what he, Jonathan, had built. David had always been greedy. “If you’re planning to kill me, why embezzle?”
David leaned close and lowered his voice to a whisper. Unholy pleasure glinted in his eyes. “Because I can. Because it hurts you. I’ll miss causing you pain when you’re dead. It’s my favorite hobby. Oh, well. I’ll find another.”
With that, David slapped him on the back and walked away. Jonathan watched him go. From the moment David had been born thirty years ago, he’d been the golden boy of the family. Jonathan had never understood why. David had been given every opportunity, but he’d wasted them all. He took what he wanted and when he was tired of it, he destroyed it.
Jonathan thought about his brother’s threat to his life. He didn’t doubt that David had a plan. And just as soon as Jonathan left the party, he would call the detective he’d been working with and pass along the information. No doubt he would be told to hire a bodyguard or lie low for a few days.
He waited for a sense of outrage or anger, but he was tired of it all. There wasn’t anything left for him to feel. He’d been trying to understand his brother for too long, just as he’d been trying to get their father’s attention. It didn’t matter that Jonathan had taken a failing division of Steele Enterprises and had turned it into a multibillion-dollar success. His father had barely noticed.
Years before, Jonathan had decided that families were an invention of the devil and nothing had happened since to change his mind. He didn’t want to have to put his only living relative in prison, but David wasn’t going to give him a choice.
He swore and stepped out of the alcove. The laughter and loud conversation in the room seemed to echo in his head. He decided it was time to go home. If David really planned to kill him, he didn’t want his last night to be spent here.
He turned to leave, only to collide into a cloud of aqua silk and tulle. A young woman took a step back, then looked at him and smiled.
“You know, I had an entire conversation with myself on the way over here in which I swore I was not going to spill wine on anyone.” She looked down at the puddle on the floor, then returned her attention to his jacket. “Did I get you or miss you?”
He was sure he’d seen every debutante in the county and most of those in the state. He had a great memory for faces and knew instantly he hadn’t met this young woman before.
She was of average height, with pale skin and hazel-green eyes. She wore her blond hair up in a simple style, anchored by a ridiculous tiara. There was an air of innocence about her. If this had been another time and place, he would have sworn she was a vicar’s daughter in from the country for the first time in her life.
He touched the hem of his jacket. It was dry. “You missed me.”
She pressed a hand to her chest. “Thank goodness. I would have hated to soak you.” She waved her now-empty glass. “At least it was white wine. That doesn’t stain, does it?” She bit her lower lip and blushed slightly. “I’m babbling. It’s horrible, but you make me nervous. I mean, you’re you and I’m not. Well, I mean of course I’m not you. And spilling, it’s just so high school. Don’t you hate that?”
She paused for breath. “You’re not in costume.”
He glanced down at his dark tuxedo. “I know.” His gaze returned to her. He took in the ball gown, the tiara, the wonder in her eyes. “You must be Cinderella.”
“Almost. Cynthia.” She bit her lower lip again. “Please don’t call me Cindy. It would be too embarrassing.” She gave him a shy smile. “And you’re Jonathan Steele. I recognize you from your pictures in the newspaper. You look better in color than in black and white.”
“How reassuring.”
She glanced around, then back at him. “People stare at you. Have you noticed? I can’t decide if it’s because you’re good-looking or if it’s the money-power thing. Do you know which it is? Or is it both?”
The complete lack of guile in her eyes told him that her question was genuine, not an attempt at flattery.
“Maybe it’s you,” he told her.
She waved her hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Oh, please. There’s a laugh. You’re the king of the ball.”
“You’re in a tiara. You must be royalty as well.”
She grinned. “Sure. I’m the Princess of Nowhere.” She set her glass on a nearby tray then curtsied. “It’s a small kingdom on the edge of town. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”
Jonathan had spent the past two months confirming that his only living relative had concocted a scheme to skim millions from his business. That same relative had just informed him that he had arranged for his murder. If David didn’t put the money back, which was unlikely, Jonathan was going to have to have him arrested. It had been a hell of day.
Yet despite that, he suddenly didn’t want to leave the ball. His house was a cold, empty place and the past echoed through the many rooms. Instead he found himself wanting to be with the mysterious Cynthia—perhaps the last innocent on the planet. He wanted to hear her views on things like the best flavors of ice cream and who else had she spilled drinks on that evening and did he really make her nervous.
The orchestra in the corner started a waltz. Jonathan bowed formally. “May I have this dance, Your Highness?”
Cynthia smiled and held out her arms. “Okay, but I have to warn you the kingdom didn’t have money for a dance instructor so your toes are in danger. Just don’t try anything wild and I’ll probably be able to stumble along.”
He drew her close, enjoying the feel of her curvy body against his hard, male planes. Up close her fake finery lost some of its glitter, but he found he didn’t mind. She was, he decided, a genuine person, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had the pleasure of dancing with one.

This wasn’t really happening, Cynthia thought as Jonathan swept her around the room. It was all she could do to hold back her squeals of delight. For the first time in her life, her dreams were coming true.
She’d been wishing and hoping that she might have a chance to speak with Jonathan Steele and thank him for all he’d unknowingly done for her. But now she was in his arms and dancing with him. Her heart pounded so hard in her chest, she thought she might be in danger of swooning.
“Tell me about life in your kingdom,” Jonathan said as they twirled past other couples in the rapidly spinning ballroom. “Is there a prince in your life?”
She wasn’t sure if he was teasing or not. “I’m not married, if that’s what you’re asking.”
A slow, male smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He had a wonderful mouth, she thought dreamily as she inhaled his masculine scent. Firm, almost stern looking, and studying it made her wonder how it would feel against her own. He was tall, too, and the faint whispers of silver at his temples were so intriguing. She wasn’t sure how old he was. Several years older than herself, which meant he was probably wildly experienced with women and she was making a fool of herself with him, but she couldn’t find the will to mind very much.
“That’s exactly what I wanted to know.” His dark eyes glittered with a light she couldn’t recall seeing in a man’s eyes before. Not that she’d had much experience with being this close to men like Jonathan Steele.
They continued to dance, moving easily, as if they’d whirled around the floor a thousand times before. She found herself pressing against him, her breasts flattening against his broad chest, her legs brushing his through the yards of tulle and silk of her ball gown.
“So why haven’t I seen you before?” he asked. “Are you new in town?”
Cynthia laughed. “I’ve lived here all my life. We don’t exactly travel in the same circles.”
“But I thought all the royals knew each other.”
He was teasing her. She couldn’t believe it. She didn’t know that men like him knew how to tease. “I guess you missed me, then.”
“I guess I did. I’m glad I’ve had the chance to fix my mistake.”
His gaze locked with hers. She could feel the shiver rippling through her body, making her legs weak and her heart flutter like a trapped bird. She was going to faint or start laughing hysterically, or throw herself at his feet and beg him to do whatever it was men like him did to young women like herself.
“Aren’t you going to tell me about yourself?” he asked.
“There’s not much to tell,” she said. “I work for—”
“Let me guess,” he said, cutting her off. He drew her to the edge of the dance floor, then slowed to a stop. “You teach kindergarten, or first grade. You have something to do with small children.”
Her eyes widened. “How did you know?”
“You have that look about you.”
“What look?”
“The look of an innocent.” He reached up and touched her cheek. “I can’t remember the last time I met someone like you, Princess Cynthia. I can’t decide if you’re Cinderella or the Princess of Nowhere. What happens at midnight? Do you disappear and leave me with only your shoe?”
She didn’t know how to answer. His fingers were a light caress that she felt all the way down to her toes curling in her new shoes. Goose bumps erupted on her arms and her breath caught in her throat. She and Jonathan were playing a very grown-up game and she didn’t have enough experience to understand the rules. If there were any rules. Maybe people made them up as they went along.
“I don’t have to disappear,” she whispered. Heat flared on her cheeks and she ducked her head to hide her blush.
He swore. “Don’t do that,” he told her even as he took her hand and led her into an alcove of the ballroom. One minute they were in the middle of the crowd, the next they were in a private paradise, tucked between a row of plants and a curtained wall.
“Don’t do what?”
“Blush. If you blush it means I can’t do what I want.”
She risked glancing at him. “What do you want to do?”
She asked the question with no expectation of an answer, but as soon as the words fell from her lips, she knew exactly what he wanted to do…or she had a pretty good idea.
“Find out what innocence tastes like,” he said, and gently cupped her face. Then he lowered his head and brushed his mouth against her lips.
She hadn’t been sure what to expect. If someone had asked her to guess about Jonathan Steele’s kissing technique, she would have said that the man probably took what he wanted. But this wasn’t like that at all. His touch was gentle, tender, almost asking, as if he wanted to be sure that she was fully aware of what was going on and that she liked it.
What was there not to like, she thought hazily as tiny explosions seemed to go off inside her entire body. Fire rushed through her, as if every inch of her had just had a close encounter with a major heat source. His fingers branded her, his lips teased and she knew that if she died this very moment, it would be with the knowledge that she’d experienced something incredibly perfect.
They weren’t touching anywhere but their mouths. Yet it was as if he pressed into her. She sensed his nearness and it was an intoxicating presence. His lips moved against hers…slowly, lightly but with a thoroughness that left every millimeter of her mouth caressed and aroused. His breath fanned her face. She thought briefly of opening her eyes, but her eyelids were too heavy. Besides, she didn’t want to destroy the perfection of the kiss.
He turned his head slightly, then brushed his tongue against her lower lip. She shivered and parted for him. For a man who had all the world offered and who was probably used to taking what he wanted, he entered her with a reverence that almost brought tears to her eyes.
The first touch of his tongue against hers nearly drove her to her knees. Passion exploded—a passion she’d never experienced before. Her throat was too tight for her to speak coherently, but a small sound of pleasure escaped. Perhaps he’d been waiting for that, or perhaps it was simply luck on her part. Either way, he dropped his hands to her waist and pulled her hard against him. Then he plunged his tongue fully into her mouth and claimed her.
Cynthia leaned against him because she couldn’t stand on her own. She couldn’t breathe or think or act. She could only feel the glory that was Jonathan as he continued to kiss her. She could only kiss him back and know that whatever else happened in her life, she would always have this night and the magic of his kiss. There had been other kisses before, other boys or men, but comparing their attentions to his was to compare a glass of water with the wonders of an ocean.
“Who are you?” he breathed against her mouth. “What are you doing to me?”
“I don’t know,” she said honestly and opened her eyes to look at him.
She had a brief impression of barely controlled passion and a desire that made her tremble with both anticipation and fear. Then there was a loud crack and all the lights went out in the ballroom.

Chapter 2
“Well, hell,” Jonathan said, staring into complete blackness. The interruption had been ill timed, to say the least. Or maybe it had been for the best. After all what had started out as a simple friendly kiss had turned into something much more. Something passionate and intriguing. Given the chance, he would have been very pleased to do a whole lot more than just kiss the mysterious Cynthia. That despite the obvious innocence in her eyes and the blushes staining her cheeks.
“What do you think happened?” Cynthia asked, her voice almost a whisper. “The hotel is new. Maybe this big charity event was more than the circuits could handle.”
“Possibly,” he said, but he was doubtful. Not that he could come up with a better explanation. Most of his blood was well south of his brain—a condition brought on by Cynthia’s breasts still pressed firmly against his chest—which meant he wasn’t thinking straight.
“It could be another blackout,” she offered, referring to the thirty-six-hour blackout that had kept the city in chaos three years ago.
But Jonathan didn’t respond. Something, more feeling than proof, whispered in the back of his mind. Suddenly he knew with a certainty that he couldn’t explain that this blackout was very different from the one Cynthia mentioned. This one had a more sinister cause and he would bet most of his considerable fortune that David was somehow involved.
He stared at the woman he held, but he couldn’t make out any of her features in the darkness. “Stay here,” he told her. “Guests are going to panic and if you leave the alcove you could be trampled.”
“But you’re going to brave the madding crowd?” she asked.
“I don’t have a choice,” he said by way of explanation. He wasn’t about to go into detail on the subject of his brother.
“Okay. I’ll stay here.”
He squeezed her upper arms, then pushed through the wall of plants that hid the entrance of the alcove. Already he could hear the increased volume of conversation as worried guests wondered what to do. Across the ballroom, a woman shrieked.
Using instinct and a faint light in the distance, Jonathan made his way along the perimeter of the ballroom. As he moved, he brushed against bodies and nearly tumbled over a tray perched precariously on a rickety stand.
A sense of urgency filled him, forcing him to walk faster and faster toward the flickering light. As he approached he realized he’d been drawn to the back of the ballroom, not the entrance that led into the hotel foyer. The flickering was caused by a door banging in the stiff evening breeze. Jonathan reached to push it open when the sharp sound of gunfire stopped him dead in his tracks.
He waited, counting three shots. Behind him, several people in the crowd screamed. He sensed a general surge of movement away from the danger and had a brief hope that Cynthia had stayed in the alcove. She would be a hell of a lot safer there than trying to fight her way out of the dark ballroom. He waited several more seconds until he thought it might be clear, then he stepped out into the parking lot behind the hotel.
His first thought was that there were too many lights and he slipped into a shadow by the door. So the power outage was localized to the hotel, or maybe just the ballroom. There were probably a hundred cars parked out here. Trees lined the edge of the parking lot. He sensed more than saw several flickers of movement. A tightness in his gut gave him a bad feeling about the entire situation and he couldn’t get rid of the impression that somehow David was involved. Was the blackout a distraction for whomever was going to kill Jonathan? He shook his head. David would want to be far away before anything happened to his half brother.
“So what am I doing out here?” he muttered to himself.
Good question. He didn’t have any way to protect himself against whoever had the gun. Nor was he a police officer with any kind of training. He was rarely impulsive and this unplanned action could get him dead very quickly. Still he stayed where he was, trying to figure out what exactly had happened.
He didn’t have to wait long. A car door banged closed at the far end of the parking lot and he heard the rumble of an engine, followed by a squeal of tires as the vehicle sped away. Closer to him, he heard a man swearing loudly.
“If anyone can hear me, call 9–1-1,” he yelled. “There are two injured people here. I’ve got to go after the shooter.”
Jonathan moved toward the voice. Before he’d gone more than twenty feet, a second car took off into the night. But Jonathan didn’t spare it a glance. Instead he looked down and saw two people sprawled out on the tarmac. Two tall, dark-haired people. A man and a woman.
His gut tightened even more and before he got close he knew what he would find. He shifted and light fell across the bodies. He recognized them both. David and Lisa. Lying still. Too still.

“You all right?” Detective Jack Stryker asked Jonathan a couple of hours later.
Jonathan looked at the detective and shrugged. “Under the circumstances? I’ve been better.”
Stryker, a tall man in his mid-thirties, nodded sympathetically. “I know this isn’t easy. It was one thing when you found out David was embezzling from the company, but threatening to kill you makes it a whole different story.”
Jonathan didn’t respond. All he could think of to ask was if Stryker had a brother and did they get along. Which was crazy. Other people’s families didn’t matter to him. He had a half brother who had just threatened to kill him. Now that half brother was in a hospital somewhere, or already dead. He had the brief thought that he should insist that the detective take him over to the hospital to stand vigil or something, but he was still too numb to feel any sense of urgency.
If David was still alive, what was he, Jonathan, supposed to say to him? “I forgive you?” Would David give a damn about that? Jonathan doubted it. Besides, he wasn’t sure he was willing to forgive. Not the death threat nor the stealing. Certainly not the lifetime of squandering every opportunity.
Stryker’s cell phone rang. The detective answered it. Jonathan waited, leaning back in his chair and rubbing a steady pain by his temples. At least the lights had come on about an hour before. The room the two of them occupied was small and windowless. Probably a business conference center at the hotel. There was a long table in the center of the room and a dozen chairs pulled up around it. The serviceable carpet was a medium shade of gray. Still new enough not to be stained or flat in patches.
Carpet, Jonathan thought to himself. I’m thinking about carpet. What the hell is wrong with me?
But he knew the answer to that. If he didn’t think about carpet, he might think about his brother again. About what David had done or wanted to do. About a threat of murder that was probably a whole lot more than a threat. About how things had gotten so screwed up and how he didn’t have a clue as to how to fix them.
“What time?” Stryker asked.
An edge in the detective’s tone alerted Jonathan. He turned in his seat until he faced the blond man leaning against the edge of the table. Stryker’s face tightened.
“I see. All right.” He paused. “Yeah. I’ll tell him.”
He continued talking, but Jonathan stopped listening. He knew the subject of the conversation and he knew what Jack Stryker planned to say. David and Lisa were both dead.
The news wasn’t a surprise, he thought grimly as he waited for the realization to slam into him. He’d heard the gunshots. He’d seen their too-still bodies lying on the ground and the pools of blood around them. He’d known the truth the second he’d stumbled across their bodies. So he wasn’t surprised to have the information confirmed.
Stryker shoved the phone into his jacket pocket. “Jonathan, I’m sorry.”
Jonathan held up a hand. “I know. They’re dead.”
Stryker nodded. “They were pronounced dead on arrival at Vanderbilt Memorial. There will be an autopsy. It might delay things for a day or two.”
It took Jonathan a second to figure out that the detective was talking about a funeral. Nothing could be scheduled until the bodies were released.
He swore under his breath. “What happened?” he asked and realized a second too late the detective would think he meant his brother’s death, when Jonathan was really talking about a lifetime of a relationship gone wrong.
“There was luggage in the car,” Stryker told him. “Eight good-size suitcases, passports and tickets to Rio. Several witnesses reported seeing them with a smaller, soft-sided black bag, but we haven’t found that yet. Maybe it got kicked under one of the cars. We have officers searching the area.”
Jonathan decided it was easier to talk about the murder than to explain what he’d really been asking. “Do you think it held the money?”
“Maybe.” Stryker settled on a corner of the table.
“David said he and Lisa were going to be far away when I was killed. Being out of the country would make their alibi even better. But who killed them?”
“We’re going to have to find that out. We’re looking for the two cars you saw leaving right after the shooting. Obviously David and Lisa weren’t working alone. There had to be at least one other person involved, possibly more than that.”
One other person. The murderer. “So if my brother was telling the truth about going away, then he was probably also telling the truth about having me killed.”
Stryker’s steady blue gaze locked with his. “That’s my read on it.”
Jonathan couldn’t escape his feeling of disbelief. This wasn’t happening. “Where would David find someone willing to kill me. Neither of us travel in the ‘gun for hire’ circle.”
“Unfortunately it’s not as difficult as you might think. A couple of discreet questions in the right bar and you have a contact. One contact leads to another. If someone was motivated, he could set up a hit in a couple of days.”
“David was motivated,” Jonathan said, trying to figure out why he wasn’t more worried. Right now all he felt was numb. How had he and his brother turned out so differently? When had David started to hate him enough to want him dead?
“To make it more complicated,” Stryker was saying, “there’s no way of knowing if David’s death ended the threat or not. You’ll need to hire a bodyguard. The department can help, but a full-time professional is your best bet. I know some good people. They’re not local, but they can be here by morning.”
“Good idea,” Jonathan said, even though he didn’t believe the words as he spoke them. Protection? From a hired gun? That happened in the movies, not in real life.
“Let me get their phone numbers,” Stryker said as he headed for the door leading in to the hallway. “I want to check a few things, too, so I may be a minute.” He paused and looked at Jonathan. “There will be a uniformed officer outside the door. He’s there to keep you safe so don’t go wandering off without him.”
“Not a problem,” Jonathan said.
He didn’t feel like wandering anywhere at the moment. He was too busy trying to absorb all that had happened. David and Lisa both dead. Was it possible?
Stryker stepped out into the hallway. Jonathan heard him talking with someone, then saw a flash of aqua. His brain quickly shifted gears, providing a name and a face to go with aqua tulle and silk. Cynthia? What was she doing here?
Before he knew what he was doing, he was on his feet and pulling open the door. Stryker and the uniformed officer had Cynthia pressed up against the hall wall. Jonathan couldn’t see her face, but he realized she was shaking. She carried a cup of coffee in one hand and the cup rattled against the saucer.
“Stryker, she’s with me,” he said quickly.
The detective glanced at him. “Are you sure? She was lurking in the hallway.”
“I didn’t mean to do anything wrong,” Cynthia said, her voice trembling as much as her hands. She stared at Stryker. “I was worried about Mr. Steele. He went outside when the lights went out and then there were gunshots. I heard the police had brought him to a conference room and I just wanted to make sure that he was okay.” She turned her attention to Jonathan. “That’s all. I’m sorry if I made trouble or anything.”
Her dress looked out of place away from the ball and she still wore a ridiculous rhinestone tiara. Despite the fake jewelry, the smudges of mascara under her impossibly large hazel-green eyes and the patches on her long gloves, she was both lovely and sincere.
“Does she look dangerous?” he asked the detective.
“Ask me if that matters,” Stryker told him. “But if you know her, then it’s fine.” He motioned for Cynthia to join Jonathan in the small conference room, then he glanced at the uniformed officer. “No one else gets in there. Just me. You got a radio?”
“Yup.” The man touched the radio, then his gun. “I’ll keep him safe.”
“You do that.”
As Stryker turned to leave, Jonathan ushered Cynthia into the small room.
“Why are you still here?” he asked when he’d shut the door and settled her into a chair. “I’ve been with the detective for a couple of hours. You must be tired.”
Cynthia set the cup of coffee on the table. “I was worried,” she said, repeating what she’d told Stryker. “I saw the ambulance, but when I asked I was told you were fine. Even so, I wanted to see for myself. I’d heard a lot of people were injured in the panic after the lights went out. Thanks for telling me to stay in the alcove. You saved me.”
He waited for her to go on—to state her angle or what she wanted, but she was silent after that. While he believed her concern, mostly because it seemed genuine and he wanted to, he didn’t doubt she had a purpose for being here. “Do you need cab fare back to your place?”
She frowned in confusion. “Of course not. I have my own car and if I didn’t, I wouldn’t make you responsible for getting me back home.” She stared directly at him. “I don’t want anything from you. I meant what I said. I stayed to make sure you were all right.”
She meant it, he thought in amazement. Cynthia didn’t want money or attention or any of the other dozen things women expected when they were with him. She had actually been worried. With no thought of personal gain. Was it possible?
“Who are you?” he asked.
She smiled. “Obviously not Cinderella. It’s after midnight and I’m still here.” She waved a foot. “Shoes and all.” She pushed the cup of coffee toward him. “Here. This is for you. One of the waiters brought it for you and I said I’d bring it in.” She gave a tiny shrug. “It was my excuse to get closer to the room with the hope of seeing for myself that you were fine.”
He settled in the chair across from hers but didn’t touch the coffee. “I appreciate your concern.”
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “I have to say, this is my first society function and it didn’t go exactly as I’d pictured it.”
“We don’t usually have murders here in Grand Springs. At least not at functions like this.”
Cynthia shivered. “So those poor people are dead? How awful. Do the police know what happened?”
He pushed the coffee back toward her. “Here. Drink this. You need it more than I do.”
She hesitated, then thanked him and picked up the cup.
“The police are still working on the details,” Jonathan said.
“Do they know who the people are?” she asked before taking a drink of the coffee.
“Yes. My half brother and his wife.”
Cynthia made a soft sound, then set the cup on the table. She stretched her arm across the table and placed her hand over his. “Oh, Jonathan. I’m so terribly sorry. You must be in shock.”
She blinked and he would have sworn there were actual tears in her eyes. As if she was wounded on his behalf. Did women really cry for reasons other than manipulation?
She squeezed his fingers, then released him. “I can’t know what you’re going through right now,” she said. “No one can. I lost my stepfather three years ago. I still remember the incredible pain and sense of loss. His being gone left such an incredible hole in my life. One that will never be filled.” She sipped the coffee again. “Frank, my stepfather, was more like an older brother than a father to me. We were so close and I loved him deeply. I comfort myself with the fact that I was able to tell him that at the end.”
She gave a soft cry, then pressed her free hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “That was so thoughtless. I didn’t mean to make you feel worse by pointing out the fact that you didn’t get to tell your brother goodbye.”
A single tear trickled down her cheek. She set the cup back on the saucer and brushed away the dampness.
Jonathan watched her with the interest of an alien visitor examining an unfamiliar species. He’d heard her words, knew their meaning, yet he couldn’t relate to anything she’d said. Her grief for her stepfather was genuine, as was her compassion for him. Yet nothing she said made sense to him.
“You’re not thoughtless,” he told her. “My brother and I weren’t close.”
There was an understatement, he thought. David had embezzled millions from him and had arranged to have him killed. Other than that they’d been what…like brothers? Not in this lifetime.
“How can you not be close?” she asked. “You grew up together, didn’t you? All families are close.” She paused as if considering her statement. “Okay, maybe not all. My mom had me when she was very young and when she turned eighteen, her family threw her out of the house. Even though she had a small child to raise. So I guess I can understand about you and your brother. It just seems so sad.”
She would be more upset if she knew the truth, he thought.
She stood up and paced to the far end of the room. Once there, she turned to face him. “I don’t mean to presume, but do you have any family to help you out?”
“Help me with what?”
She folded her arms over her chest. In her ball gown and tiara she should have looked foolish. Instead he found himself thinking that she was lovely and still looked too innocent for the likes of him.
She cleared her throat. “With the arrangements. I’m only asking because, well, you’re the kind of person who is known in the community. There have been a lot of articles about you in the newspaper and none of them has mentioned family, so I thought if you were alone, if there wasn’t someone to help, I would be happy to do that. Not that I’m trying to butt in or anything.”
She spoke quickly, as if she felt she had to get all the words out before he stopped her. Her posture was faintly defensive, yet he was the one wondering what she wanted from him.
When he didn’t speak, she drew in a breath. “There’s the funeral, then your brother’s things to go through. I don’t mean legal papers or a will, but rooms and closets. I remember how hard that was for my mom. I took care of it for her.”
“I hadn’t thought of any of it,” he said truthfully. A funeral. He would have to see about that. It would be expected. And perhaps for Lisa as well. As far as he could remember, she didn’t have any family, either. “Hell.”
She was at his side in a minute. She lightly touched his arm and gazed at him with sympathetic concern. “I’m so sorry.”
Her words and her barely there physical contact were all meant to comfort. Oddly enough, he felt comforted. He almost reached out to pull her close when the door opened and Stryker walked into the room.
“I’ve got some news,” the detective said, then stopped when he saw Cynthia.
“I’ll go wait outside,” she said instantly.
Jonathan surprised them all, including himself, when he shook his head. “You can stay.”
Stryker raised his eyebrows but didn’t otherwise comment. “All right. We’ve checked out the tickets to Rio. They’re one-way only, paid in cash. No hotel reservations, but an address of a private villa. We’re looking into that. Probably arranged through friends or a real estate agent who specializes in renting to those who wish to disappear. They left money in their joint checking account, but several large transfers have come through in the past month.”
Jonathan frowned. “As if they were cashing out other accounts? Funneling funds into one central bank, then removing them?”
“Exactly. It’s going to take us a few days to trace everything back to its source.”
“What about—”
But a soft cry interrupted his question. While he and Stryker had been talking, Cynthia had moved to the side of the room. Now she leaned against the wall and clutched her stomach. All the color had faded from her face, leaving her skin faintly gray.
Jonathan hurried toward her. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” she gasped. “It hurts. One minute I was feeling fine and the next—” She moaned and dropped to her knees.
“Call an ambulance,” Jonathan instructed.
“Already on it.”
He heard Stryker speaking into his cell phone. Cynthia huddled on the floor. When he tried to move close to her, she cried out again. A sense of helplessness filled him.
“What can I do?” he asked.
She raised her head to look at him. Pain glazed her eyes. She opened her mouth, either to say something or cry out again. Instead she sucked in a breath and fainted. Jonathan caught her as she fell. He pulled her close and stroked her damp face.
First his brother and Lisa, now Cynthia.
“The ambulance is on its way,” Stryker said, crouching next to them. “How’s she doing?”
“She collapsed. I don’t know what’s wrong with her, but I have a bad feeling it has something to do with everything going on here tonight.”
He looked at the detective and knew the other man shared his sense of dread about the situation. The hell of it was there was nothing either of them could do except stay with Cynthia and wait for help to arrive.

Chapter 3
“There has to be something you can do,” Jonathan insisted, even as he knew that losing his temper wasn’t going to make the situation any better.
“Right now our goal is to keep her stable while we wait for test results,” Dr. Noah Howell said calmly. “Once we know what is causing the problem, we can start treatment. Until we’re sure, we’re at risk of doing the wrong thing by acting without knowing what’s really wrong with her.”
Jonathan had never felt more frustrated in his life. He’d spent the last several hours dealing with situations he couldn’t control and now he was faced with one more. He knew if he could just do something, he would feel better. But he wasn’t a cop and he wasn’t a doctor. He hated feeling like this.
“Is she still unconscious?” he asked.
Dr. Howell nodded. “However, under the circumstances, that’s not surprising.”
It might not be surprising, Jonathan thought grimly, but it also wasn’t very good. Since fainting at the hotel, Cynthia had not regained consciousness. He’d accompanied her to the hospital where Noah Howell had examined her. For reasons that weren’t clear to anyone, her entire body was in the process of shutting down. If they didn’t figure out what was wrong soon, she was going to die.
A sense of powerlessness filled him. What was the point of being one of the richest men in Colorado if he couldn’t save Cynthia’s life?
“I have to get back to her,” Dr. Howell said. “I’ll let you know if there’s any change.”
“What about when you get the test results?”
Noah’s blue eyes regarded him steadily. “I know you’re concerned about Ms. Morgan. We’re doing everything we can to save her. I’ll be sure to keep you informed of her condition and any test results. If you or the detective come up with anything from your end, let me know.”
Jonathan sank into one of the green plastic chairs that filled the small waiting room and swore under his breath.
“Hell of a day,” Stryker said sympathetically. “First your brother and his wife, and now this.”
Jonathan nodded, then leaned his head against the white wall. “I hate hospitals,” he said, taking in the nondescript linoleum flooring and the television bolted to the wall on the opposite side of the room. It was on but mercifully silent.
Noises filtered in from beyond the confines of the waiting area. The squeak of soft-soled shoes, the clank of a piece of equipment being moved. He could smell the lingering scent of antiseptic and the previous evening’s dinner. It was nearly two in the morning and the waiting room was deserted. There was still chaos downstairs in the emergency room—people being treated in the aftermath of the hotel blackout and the subsequent panic. But up here was relative peace. At least he didn’t have to worry about making small talk with anyone. Except Stryker.
He glanced at the detective. “I don’t think you’re waiting with me because you’re concerned about Cynthia Morgan.”
“I wouldn’t mind knowing she’s okay,” Stryker told him. “But I’m here because I need to ask you some questions.”
Jonathan rubbed the bridge of his nose, as if he could erase the weariness that filled him. “It feels like it should be some time next week,” he said. “Instead of just early Sunday.” He drew in a deep breath and figured there was no point in ignoring the obvious. “You want to know if there was some reason David could have wanted to get to me through her. Did he hurt Cynthia because it would bother me.”
“The thought has crossed my mind,” the detective admitted. “Your brother obviously wanted to screw you any way he could. The doctor said they didn’t know what was wrong with her. They’ve ruled out appendicitis. Once the tests come back we’ll have a clearer picture, but until then I can’t rule out the suspicion that David was involved.”
Jonathan looked at Stryker and shook his head. “Not possible. I just met her tonight.” He told the other man about literally running into Cynthia at the ball. How he’d planned to leave, then had surprised himself asking her to dance.
Without wanting to, he found himself caught up in the past, in the pleasure of her in his arms. How she’d looked and felt as they moved together. The sweet scent of her skin and the way she’d tasted when he’d kissed her.
“David couldn’t have known about her because I didn’t,” he concluded.
Stryker loosened his shirt collar, then jerked his head at the purse lying next to him. “There’s nothing in there to give us a clue, either. I’ve notified her family. They’re on their way here. Maybe they’ll know something. Although her mother said Cynthia is perfectly healthy. Never had a medical condition.”
Jonathan didn’t want her to die. Not that he wished anyone dead, but his desire for Cynthia to live was strong and growing. He willed strength to her, as if he could send the power through the corridors of the hospital and help her hang on until the doctors got it all figured out.
The detective pulled out his notebook. “Start from the beginning and tell me again what happened.”
“I was speaking with my brother,” Jonathan began patiently, prepared to go through the sequence of events as many times as it took. “We’d just finished and I knew that if I was going to die that night I didn’t want it to be at that ridiculous party. So I started to leave. When I turned I ran into—”
“Mr. Steele?”
He looked up and saw a young nurse standing in the doorway of the waiting area. Jonathan was on his feet in a heartbeat. “What? Do you have news?”
She nodded. “Dr. Howell asked me to tell you that the preliminary toxicology reports suggest that Ms. Morgan was poisoned. He wanted to let you and the detective know.”
The news shouldn’t have stunned Jonathan. After all he and Stryker had been talking about David being involved. But David couldn’t have known about Cynthia. “Poisoned?” he repeated blankly.
She nodded. “He said that it would be helpful if you could figure out how and then find the poison.” She gave him a quick, impersonal smile and turned to leave.
“Wait,” he called. “How is she?”
“I don’t know. The same, I think.” And then she was gone.
Jonathan sank back into his chair. He looked at Stryker. “Poison? Does that make sense to you?”
“Depends on how it was delivered. Did she eat anything at the party?”
“I don’t know,” Jonathan admitted. He frowned in concentration. “When I first met her she was carrying a glass of wine. White, I think. She spilled it, so I doubt she drank much. If she ate before or after I was with her, then I wouldn’t have seen what it was. While we were together, she didn’t eat or drink anything.”
Stryker tapped a pen on his notebook. His tweed jacket looked rumpled and blond stubble darkened his jawline. He rubbed his tired eyes. “We haven’t had any complaints about other people getting sick. So it probably wasn’t in the food. And if she ingested the poison before the party, we don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of figuring out what it was.”
Jonathan listened as the other man spoke, but a part of his brain focused on something else. A whisper of a memory that he couldn’t make focus. Something just out of reach that seemed important and yet—
“The coffee,” he announced, cutting Stryker off in midsentence. “She brought me coffee.”
“What?”
He turned toward the detective. “At the hotel. Remember? You went to check on something and she was waiting in the hall. She wanted to see how I was. She was holding a cup of coffee and told me that a waiter had brought it for me. But I hadn’t ordered any.” He frowned, trying to remember the exact sequence of how things had occurred. “I didn’t want any because I hadn’t ordered coffee. Then Cynthia ended up drinking it instead.”
Stryker was on his cell phone in an instant. He spoke to a police officer still at the scene.
“We’ll see if we can get hold of that cup,” he said when he was finished.
“Is that how David planned to kill me?” Jonathan asked. “Poison?”
Stryker shook his head. “Your brother wouldn’t have been that specific. I’m guessing the killer saw an opportunity and took it. We’ll interview the staff. Someone had to have seen a new guy working tonight. We’ll find him and get him to tell us what kind of poison he used.”
He sounded confident, but Jonathan wasn’t so sure. Besides, even if they found the killer, would it be in time to save Cynthia?
“I need to get back to the hotel,” Stryker said as he came to his feet. “You’ve got my number. Call me when you know more about Ms. Morgan’s condition.”
Jonathan hated the thought of being left behind. “There has to be something I can do to help.” He couldn’t just sit around and wait. He always acted in a crisis. It was one of his strong suits.
“We’ll handle it, Jonathan,” Stryker said. “I promise I’ll be in touch.”
And then he was gone, walking out of the waiting area and down the corridor. Jonathan watched him go. The tall man passed by a young mother with three children. The harried woman stopped at the nurses’ station across from the waiting area.
She was petite, maybe five-one or-two, with short blond hair. Something about her was vaguely familiar, yet Jonathan was sure he’d never met her before. He glanced briefly at the gangly preteen girl standing on one side of the woman, then at the twin boys clinging to her other arm. Then he shrugged and settled back in his seat. He didn’t like waiting around, but it looked like he didn’t have a choice.
“Mr. Steele?”
He looked up and saw the woman and her children had entered the waiting room. He rose to his feet, not sure how she knew him. “I’m Jonathan Steele.”
The woman trembled slightly. Tears filled her blue eyes and her face was pale. “I, ah, they said at the desk that you brought her in. Cynthia. That you were with her.” The woman paused and swallowed. Her visible effort to maintain control made him uncomfortable. “They didn’t tell me anything when they called. Just that she’d collapsed and was being brought here. They wanted to know about existing medical conditions, but I told them she’d always been fine. A healthy girl, and, oh Lord, I can’t lose her, too.”
“It’s okay, Momma,” the preteen girl said and wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist. “She’ll be fine. You’ll see.” But she was crying as she spoke and the two boys clung tighter as tears spilled down the woman’s face.
Jonathan resisted the need to bolt. He wasn’t comfortable in the face of this much emotion or suffering. “Look, maybe I should call a nurse or something,” he said awkwardly, already backing from the room.
The woman was shaking her head. “No, I’m fine.” She wiped her face with her free hand and offered him a poor imitation of a smile. More tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry. I just can’t seem to find the strength to deal with this. I suppose it’s because I lost my husband three years ago and being in the hospital is bringing it all back.”
Jonathan stared at her. Cynthia had mentioned something about her stepfather dying three years ago. Which meant this woman was her mother. But Mrs. Morgan didn’t look much over thirty-five and Cynthia had to be in her mid-twenties.
“You’re her mother?” he asked.
The woman nodded. “I was still a teenager when I had her. These three are my children with Frank.”
A shudder rippled through her. Both the boys had tears on their faces and the preteen had given up pretending not to be crying. Jonathan felt as if he’d just boarded a leaking ship. In a matter of minutes they would all be going under.
“As someone must have told you, I’m Jonathan Steele,” he said, touching the woman’s arm and urging her and her children over to the plastic chairs.
“ You can call me Betsy,” she said, sinking onto the seat. “This is Jenny and the boys are Brad and Brett.”
Jonathan gave the kids a reassuring smile. He crouched down in front of the distraught family. “I’ve spoken with the doctor in charge. His name is Noah Howell and he’s about as good as they come. As of a few minutes ago, they know what’s wrong with Cynthia and they’re doing everything they can to make her better.”
Betsy stared at him. He saw now that her daughter had her mother’s mouth and her eyes were the same shape, if a different color. Cynthia topped Betsy by about five inches, but they both had slender yet curvy figures.
“What happened?” Betsy asked. “Do they know why she’s sick?”
He hesitated. There was no point in trying to hide the truth. They would find it out eventually. “They think she was poisoned. It was an accident,” he added hastily. “But now they can start working on the best way to get the poison out of her system.”
A voice came over the loudspeaker, requesting a doctor on a different floor. Betsy closed her eyes and shook her head. “I can’t go through this again,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “I just can’t.”
“Mommy?”
One of the boys spoke. Betsy didn’t respond verbally. Instead she put her arm around him and held him close. The little family seemed to fold in on itself, as if each member gathered strength from the others. Jonathan felt like an intruder.
He stood and cleared his throat. “Now that you’re here to see about your daughter, I’ll just be going,” he said.
Betsy’s eyes popped open. She stared at him. “You’re leaving us?”
Both boys stared at him beseechingly. “Aren’t you Cynthia’s friend?” one of them asked.
Jonathan shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, well, we are friends and of course I’m concerned. It’s just…” His voice trailed off.
The preteen girl didn’t stay anything. She simply stared at him, tears running down her cheeks.
Betsy recovered first. “Of course, Mr. Steele. I’m sure you’re a very busy man. It was kind of you to stay this long. Thank you for your concern. We’ll be fine.”
He wanted to swear at them all. They looked anything but fine. It was the middle of the night and they were all scared out of their minds. The kids had already lost their father and now they had to worry about their older sister. The mother looked as if she was going to lose it at any second.
He told himself this wasn’t his problem. On the heels of that thought came the realization that Cynthia could have swallowed poison meant for him and there was no way these people were going to make it without some kind of help. For now, he didn’t have a choice.
He shoved his hands into his tuxedo pants pockets. “I’m going to get some coffee,” he said. “Why don’t I bring you back a cup?” Then he glanced at the two boys. “You two want a soda or something? Why don’t you come along and help me carry everything.”
Betsy Morgan gave him a genuine smile. “Thank you, Mr. Steele. Those newspaper articles always say you’re a wonderful, caring man and now I know they must be true.”
“Call me Jonathan,” he said curtly, wondering how he could explain that he was anything but wonderful and caring. In fact he was something of a bastard. But this was neither the time nor the place. Besides, if he stuck around long enough, she would figure it out for herself.

“But what does it mean?” Betsy asked the next morning.
There weren’t any windows in the waiting room so it was impossible to tell what it was like outside. Jonathan glanced at his watch. Eleven-fifty. Sunday. Barely twelve hours since the ball last night, but he felt as if he’d already lived a lifetime since then.
“Stabilized means just that,” Jonathan said, trying to keep Cynthia’s mother calm. If she stayed in control, the kids were fine. When she started to lose it, he had four sobbing messes on his hands.
“Last night she was deteriorating,” he reminded her. “So stabilized is a step up. Next, she’ll start improving.” At least he hoped so. He had enough skin in the game now that he wanted to make sure that Cynthia made a full recovery.
Betsy looked at him, then folded her arms over her chest and sighed. “You’re being very patient and kind and I really appreciate that. I’m trying to believe what you’re saying, but it’s so hard. I want her to wake up.”
“I know. Me, too. At least they’ve been letting us in to see her.”
Just after breakfast Noah Howell had arrived in the waiting area with the news that they could visit Cynthia for a few minutes every hour.
Betsy tucked a strand of short blond hair behind her ears. She looked weary, with dark circles under her eyes. Last night she’d obviously dressed in haste. She wore a sweatshirt over jeans, and athletic shoes with no socks. Jonathan felt out of place in his tux. He knew that he would have to go home to shower and change at some point, but he wasn’t ready to leave just yet.
The three kids were seated close to the television, watching a cartoon show. They all looked dazed from what was happening. Dazed and young and impossibly vulnerable. Their concern about their sister touched him, as did Betsy’s love for her child.
“I can’t survive if something happens to her,” Betsy said in a low voice. “I won’t make it.”
Jonathan leaned close. “First, she’s doing better and the doctors think she’s going to be fine.” Fine was a stretch, he admitted to himself. The fact that she was still unconscious wasn’t good, but he wasn’t about to remind Betsy of that. “Second, you’ll make it because you have three children depending on you and you’re not the kind of person who walks away from her responsibilities.”
Tears filled her eyes. “I don’t know if I can be that strong.”
“I know you’ll do what you have to.”
She sniffed and looked at her three children. “I guess you’re right. It just feels so impossible.”
Her pain slipped through his defenses and made his insides ache. She loved her children with a fierceness that startled him. He hadn’t known it was supposed to be like that between a mother and her offspring. His mother had walked out of his life when he was only five, leaving behind an angry husband and a confused and sobbing little boy. His stepmother had been kind, but ineffectual against his father’s tirades. Growing up, he hadn’t had much in the way of emotional security and comfort.
Watching Betsy with her children made him wonder how life would have been different if his mother had stayed, or if his father had forgiven him for being the son of the woman who had left him.
Jonathan straightened in his chair and forced himself to push away the maudlin thoughts. It was all the in-activity, he told himself. It gave a man too much time to think.
Movement by the waiting room door caused Jonathan to look up. He saw Jack Stryker standing in the hallway, motioning to him. Jonathan excused himself and stepped out to speak with the detective.
“You look like hell,” Stryker said by way of a greeting. “Have you had any sleep at all?”
Jonathan dismissed the question. “I’ll get home later today for a quick shower. That’s all I need right now. What did you find out?”
Stryker grinned. “I have good news for you, my man. We have recently taken into custody one Harold P. Millingsgate, better known as Harry the Hood. He has as many arrests as he has tattoos, which is saying something. He’s a career criminal, starting out with small stuff in high school and graduating to some impressive felonies. In the past couple of years, he’s moved into killing for hire. He’s wanted for murder in several states, including Texas and he’s willing to talk to avoid extradition to a place where they are more eager to enforce the death penalty.”
“He’s the one who poisoned the coffee?”
“He sure is. He’s already handed over the substance—some chemical used for industrial pest management—which I took to Dr. Howell. After looking at a series of photos, Harry identified your brother as the man who hired him to kill you. He was supposed to wait until later this week, but he wanted to head back to New York before the first of the winter storms, so he went to work a little early.”
Jonathan didn’t know what to say. While he was grateful that the doctors could now figure out how to make Cynthia better, he couldn’t absorb the fact that David had actually hired someone to kill him. Hearing it from his brother was one thing, but having a detective fill him in on the details was another.
He stood in the hallway waiting to feel something—anger, rage, frustration. But there was only cold emptiness. He’d always known that his brother had resented his presence. David had longed to be the only Steele son. But murder was a hell of a way to realize his dream.
“I guess he figured embezzling wasn’t enough,” he said with a lightness he didn’t feel. “I appreciate all your hard work on this, Jack.”
“It wasn’t just me,” the detective said. “Once we knew the poison came from the coffee, we had a place to start. Tracking down Harry after that was just a matter of following leads.” He hesitated. “There’s more. The good news for you is David hired Harry directly, so you don’t have to worry about an assassin lurking in your future.”
“What’s the bad news?”
“David and Lisa were involved with some pretty dangerous people. Embezzling from Steele Enterprises was the least of it. I’m not at liberty to go into details, but the FBI is involved. In fact, they’re going to want to talk to you in the next day or so.”
“I’ll talk to them whenever they want,” Jonathan said, wondering what David had been up to. Obviously trying to destroy Steele Enterprises hadn’t been enough. If he’d been willing to kill his own half brother, then he would be capable of a lot of other criminal activities.
“Are those dangerous people the reason David and his wife were killed?” he asked.
“We can’t know for sure,” Stryker told him, “but it makes sense. I have a feeling that this mess isn’t going to be cleaned up for a while.”
Jonathan thanked the man for his information, then returned to the waiting area. Betsy Morgan gazed at him with hopeful eyes.
“That was the police,” he said. “They’ve located the poison and now the doctors will have a clear idea about what to do for an antidote.”
“Thank you for telling me.” She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. “You must be exhausted,” she said. “You don’t have to stay here with us.”
He glanced from her to her three kids, huddled together, united by fear of losing their older sister. He might not be much, but from what he could tell, he was all they had.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he told Betsy. “Not until Cynthia is out of danger.

They all gathered around Cynthia’s bed and waited. Even Detective Stryker lingered in the hallway. It was Monday afternoon. Cynthia had been unconscious for thirty-six hours, although in the past few hours she’d showed signs of coming to.
Jonathan stayed near the back of the room. He felt like an interloper at this very private family event. But every time he tried to leave, Betsy dragged him back.
“Don’t even think about it,” she said when he once again inched toward the door. “You stuck with us through the last couple of days. The least we can do is let you be here when she wakes up.”
“Mommy, look!”
One of the twins cried out as Cynthia tossed her head and muttered under her breath.
Betsy was at her side in an instant. She took her daughter’s hand. “Come on, honey. Wake up. You have us all worried and we just want to make sure that you’re feeling better. Then you can sleep some more. Come on, Cynthia. Wake up.”
Jenny and the two boys stood pressed against one side of the bed while Betsy stood guard on the other. Jonathan leaned against the wall by the door and Stryker made calls on his cell phone from the hallway.
“Mom?”
He looked up in time to see Cynthia’s eyelids flutter then open. Betsy beamed at her oldest, tears pouring down her cheeks.
“Why are you crying?” Cynthia asked, then turned to her right and saw Jenny and the boys. “Hey, what are you three doing here?” She blinked. “What am I doing here?”
“You’ve been sick,” her mother said as she stroked her daughter’s face. “But you’re going to be fine and that’s what matters.”
Cynthia shifted slightly on the bed. “Sick? I guess I don’t feel great, but it’s not so bad. My stomach hurts, though. I remember…” Her voice trailed off. “I was at the party and talking to Jonathan Steele. His brother died. I wanted to make sure he was all right before I came home and…”
Her gaze moved around the room and settled on him. Her eyes widened. “Is that really you?”
He pushed away from the wall and leaned against the foot of her bed. “Last time I checked.”
She gave him a weak smile. “What are you doing here?”
He jerked his head toward her family. “They’ve been really worried about you. I stayed because I thought maybe you really were trying to turn into a pumpkin.”
His joke earned him a faint giggle.
He stepped back to let the others have more time with her. Now that she was awake and obviously feeling better he told himself it was time to leave. After all, she would want to be with her family, not some stranger she’d just met.
But it was more difficult to go than he’d thought. Something about the people clustered together around the bed called to him. He wanted to stand close and be a part of the moment. Which was ten kinds of crazy. He didn’t need them. He didn’t need anyone.
He glanced once more at the bed, taking in Jenny’s big smile and Cynthia’s delicate features. She was a little pale, but otherwise as pretty as she’d been the night he’d met her. A lot had happened since then.
“Everybody happy?” Stryker asked from the doorway.
“Looks that way.” Jonathan stepped out into the hall to join the detective. “She’s awake, which Dr. Howell said was the next step in her recovery. He’ll check on her tonight. She might be released in the morning.”
“Then we’re down to the final details,” Stryker told him. “You’ll be hearing from protective services this evening. They’ll want to get things going as quickly as possible.”
Jonathan stared at the man. “What are you talking about?”
“The baby.”
Jonathan heard the word, but it didn’t make any sense. “What baby?”
“David and Lisa’s son. Your nephew.”
Stryker kept talking but Jonathan wasn’t listening. A baby? He vaguely remembered David talking about Lisa being pregnant. He’d received a notification of the birth, along with a letter requesting a gift, but nothing else. He and David didn’t spend much time together so he’d never actually seen his nephew.
“He’s been in a temporary foster home for the last couple of days,” the detective was saying, “but you’re welcome to take custody anytime you’d like. As far as we can tell, you’re his only living relative.”
“There has to be someone else,” Jonathan said forcefully. “I don’t know anything about babies.”
“Then you’d better learn, Jonathan, because you’re his new legal guardian.”

Chapter 4
“They’re very beautiful,” Betsy said as she fussed over the huge bouquet that had been delivered to her daughter’s room late that afternoon.
Cynthia leaned back in her hospital bed and gazed at the exotic flowers. “I agree.” She grinned. “I don’t even know what half of them are. I recognize starburst lilies and the roses, but what are those little waxy things? And all that purple puffy stuff?”
Betsy smiled at her. “Purple puffy stuff? Is that the official Latin name?”
“I guess it is for us.”
Her mother moved to the side of her bed and patted her hand. “You seemed to have made an impression on Jonathan Steele.”
“You think?” Cynthia asked, not meeting Betsy’s gaze.
Thirty-six hours of unconsciousness had left her brain a little foggy. Certain events leading up to her passing out after drinking the poison weren’t as clear as they could be. She remembered going to the ball and then meeting and dancing with Jonathan. She definitely remembered their kiss…perhaps in more detail than she should. But she didn’t recall much more than stomach cramps, then waking up to find her entire family and Jonathan waiting in her hospital room.
“He stayed here the whole time you were unconscious,” Betsy told her. She sighed and touched her daughter’s cheek. “For a while they weren’t sure you were going to make it and I didn’t see how I could survive that. I was closer to falling apart than I would like to admit and your Mr. Steele was very supportive.”
Cynthia felt a flare of heat on her cheeks. “He’s not my anything.”
“Then why the flowers?”
Cynthia returned her gaze to the beautiful display. “I guess he’s just a nice man.”
Her mother took her hand in hers and squeezed it slightly. “I’d have to agree with you on that.”
Jenny, Brad and Brett returned from their trip to the hospital cafeteria for dessert. The boys gave their mother an elaborate description of the piece of pie they’d each had. Jenny was quieter, hanging back until Cynthia patted the edge of her mattress and urged her to sit down.
“I’m fine,” she said quietly when the thirteen-year-old settled gingerly next to her. “I know it was scary, especially when no one knew what was wrong, but I’m okay now.”
Big blue eyes stared at her face. Jenny flashed a quick smile, showing a mouthful of braces. “I know you’re better, but for a while it was awful.” She glanced at their mother. “If Mr. Steele hadn’t been here, I think Mom would have lost it. But he stuck around and made sure we all ate and stuff.” Jenny flicked her long blond hair behind her shoulders.
Despite the age difference, she and Jenny were close. Cynthia had missed her terribly the year she’d been working in Chicago. Since Frank’s death three years ago, Cynthia had been living in Grand Springs, giving her and Jenny a chance to renew their special relationship.
“I’ll be home in the morning,” she reminded her sister. “Life will be back to normal and you won’t have an excuse to miss school.”
“I’m glad you mentioned that,” Betsy said as she ruffled Brett’s short blond hair. “Visiting hours are about over and we need to get going. These three need a good night’s sleep so they can be alert for classes tomorrow.”
“Ah, Mom,” Brad said. He puffed out his lower lip in an effort to show his mother how much the news distressed him, but she wasn’t the least bit impressed.
“No ‘ah Mom’s’ from you, young man.” But her warm hug belied the stern tone of her voice. Both freckle-faced boys clung to her for a brief embrace before turning to their oldest sister.
“See you tomorrow, Cyn,” Brad said. Brett leaned down and hugged her.
She squeezed the twin boys, then gave them each a smile. “I’ll be home by the time you get back from school. Everything is going to be fine. You’ll see.”
It took a couple of minutes for the Morgan family to finish their goodbyes, but just before the end of visiting hours, Cynthia finally found herself alone. She sank back against her pillow and sighed with contentment. Despite the potential tragedy of what had happened to her, everything had turned out well. She was nearly recovered from the poison and Dr. Howell had assured her there would be no long-term effects. Her body felt a little achy and her stomach would take a few days to settle down, but they were minor complaints.
As she pulled the sheet and blanket up to her chin, Cynthia turned her attention to the extravagant display of flowers by the window. They had arrived that afternoon with a handwritten note from Jonathan Steele. He’d ducked out that morning, shortly after she’d regained consciousness. Now, after everyone was gone, she was willing to admit that she’d been hoping he might stop by and see her before she left in the morning. But that wasn’t likely. Jonathan had a very busy life. They were practically strangers. He’d already been so kind to her family.
But all those reasons weren’t enough to ease her faint sense of disappointment. She’d wanted to see him again. Mostly because she knew she would never have another chance. They’d lived their entire lives in the same town and had never run into each other before. That wasn’t about to change.
“Oh well,” she said softly and closed her eyes. “Obviously I should have left my shoe at the ball or something.”
She waited for sleep to claim her. She’d nearly drifted off when she heard her door open quietly, followed by the sound of footsteps on the linoleum.
She opened her eyes and blinked at her visitor. Jonathan Steele—tall, darkly handsome and carrying a large stuffed bear—stood at the foot of her bed.
“I couldn’t tell if you were really asleep or just pretending,” he teased, then glanced over his shoulder toward the door. “I’m here after hours over the protest of your nurse. She made me promise to stay no more than ten minutes. If I violate that, she’s threatening bodily harm. Have you seen her? I think she could take me.”
Cynthia found herself giggling even as her entire body tingled with delight. “Thank you for visiting me.” Then she remembered her hospital gown, her lack of makeup and the fact that her hair must look like a visual “ode to a rat’s nest.”
“I’m a mess,” she said, trying to smooth her bangs.
Jonathan pulled a chair up close to the bed and sat down. “Neither of us think you’re anything but very lovely,” he said, handing her the stuffed bear. “This is Alfie. He was put into one of those programs that release animals back into the wild, but he decided he would rather live with an attractive blond woman who works with children. I instantly thought of you. I hope you don’t mind.”
She wrapped her arms around the cuddly bear. “I don’t mind at all. Thank you for him. And for the flowers. They’re beautiful.” She eyed the bouquet. “I’m not sure they’ll fit in the car.”
“I can rent you a truck if you need it.”
“Gee, thanks.” She pushed the control panel and raised her bed so that she was nearly in a sitting position. “And thank you for all your help with my family. Everyone says you were terrific. My mom says she was on the verge of falling apart and you helped her keep it all together.”
Jonathan dismissed the comment with a flick of his hand. “No problem. All I did was go for coffee and keep the kids fed.”
She shook her head. “You stayed. We’re strangers to you and yet you stayed. That means a lot.”
He leaned back in his plastic chair. During the time he’d been away he’d changed from his tux and had showered and shaved. Now a white shirt emphasized the width of his shoulders, while worn jeans outlined narrow hips and strong thighs. She wouldn’t have thought of a rich powerful guy like him wearing jeans, but she had to admit he could easily have modeled them on billboards across the country. Men might not be impressed but most women would have slowed to take a second look.
But it wasn’t just his body that got her attention. He wore his short, dark hair in layers. The hints of silver at the temple gave him a distinguished air. She found herself wondering if it was possible to get lost in his gray-blue eyes. She would have thought the color could be cold and distant, but on him it was warm and welcoming.
“I don’t think my actions qualify me for sainthood,” he said, “but thank you for the compliment.”
“I’m impressed you weren’t overwhelmed by my family.” She smiled. “The boys, especially. Most people have trouble telling them apart and when they decide to get into trouble, there’s no stopping them.”
“They were on their best behavior. I think you had them scared.”
“I guess you’re right.” She relaxed against her pillow. “When I was little, I was an only child. I was so happy when my mom had Jenny and then the boys. We’re a close family.”
His expression hardened. She couldn’t read what he was thinking, but she knew that she’d reminded him of something unpleasant.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “That made you think of your brother. You’re still in shock about his death.”
“Among other things,” he admitted. He hesitated, then leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “David and Lisa have a son. Colton. He’s three or four months old. Apparently I’m his only relative, and therefore his guardian.”
Cynthia beamed at him. “How wonderful! Oh, Jonathan, this is great. You’re going to have a piece of your brother in your life. As Colton grows up you’ll be able to see parts of David in him. You must be so relieved to know you’re going to have your nephew living with you.”

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