Night Whispers
Page 51
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"I think," he replied with a knowing smile, "you already have the answer to that. Noah Maitland is smitten."
Sloan felt a rush of pleasure because Noah cared and an even bigger one because he'd been able to outmaneuver Carter Reynolds.
"We'll be gone for hours!" Paris exclaimed happily, walking up to Paul's car. "Sloan, we're going to have 'the works'—a facial, manicure, pedicure, massage, and then hairstyling. We'll have to hurry, though, because they're fitting us in, and we have to be there on time."
"Better get going, then," Paul told them; then he got into his rented car. He waited until he was several blocks from the house before he unlocked the glove compartment and took out his cellular phone. He dialed a number and the phone was answered by another FBI agent who was sitting on the pier, wearing a cap with fishing lures stuck in the visor and holding a fishing pole in his hand. "Can you talk?" Paul asked.
"Can I talk?" the other man repeated in angry disbelief. "You're the one who'd better do some talking, Paul. You didn't tell me you're down there on your own time and your own initiative. I got a call last night from the man in the big office as soon as he found out, and he's on a rampage. He thinks you've let a personal grudge cloud your judgment and that you're obsessed with this case. I'm serious, buddy, your ass is on the line. You're going to blow your career, and even if you do turn up evidence, Reynolds's lawyers will get it tossed out of court because of the way you're gathering it—"
"But I'm not looking for evidence, and when it turns up, I won't be the one who gathered it," Paul interrupted in the weary, patient tone of someone who is being forced to explain the obvious. "I am here merely as Sloan's 'facilitator.' I had nothing to do with Carter Reynolds's decision to invite his daughter here. And if his daughter happens to come across something incriminating during her visit, it's only natural that she would turn it over to the authorities whether I was here or not. After all, she's a cop."
"I'm not the one you have to convince; you need to call the old man and convince him."
"I'm on vacation at the moment. When I make him a hero, he'll calm down. In the meantime, I'm here and conducting myself like a perfect guest who is vacationing at someone's home. I play tennis, lounge around by the pool, have dinner, go dancing. I haven't opened a drawer or even a photo album without being asked to look inside it. I'm not telling Sloan where to search or what to look for. I've never told her Reynolds is using his bank to launder money, and I've never told her whose money he's laundering. I won't have to, because fate has stepped in and put her exactly where I wanted her."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that my gorgeous traveling companion has acquired a very persistent admirer, and no federal judge alive could rule out any evidence she gets on him, because I had absolutely nothing to do with it."
"Who is he?"
"Noah Maitland."
The agent drew a long breath and expelled it in a triumphant whisper. "Bingo!"
26
Sloan stood at her balcony railing, mesmerized by the sight below. The entire back lawn was lit with torches and dotted with tables covered in white linen and decorated with flowers and candles in glass bowls. Tuxedo-clad waiters were passing trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres among what appeared to be at least two hundred guests. Banquet tables with huge floral arrangements had been set up on the right side of the lawn, and on the left, near the swimming pool, an orchestra was playing near a portable dance floor. On a separate table in the center of the lawn was a huge ice sculpture of graceful soaring gulls.
"Ready to make your grand entrance?" Paris asked, walking through Sloan's bedroom and joining her on the balcony.
"I didn't think this was going to be such a big, elaborate party," Sloan said.
"Noah's secretary is a magician," Paris decreed, surveying the gathering with approval. "I could never have pulled off anything like this on such short notice. Let's go."
"I'm nervous," Sloan admitted.
"So am I," Paris said with a shaky laugh. "No one has ever worn one of my designs before. Let's see the total effect."
Sloan turned from the railing and followed her into the bedroom, where she did a slow pirouette for Paris's inspection. The lemon chiffon dress had a multilayered skirt that floated around Sloan's knees with each step she took and a tightly fitted halter bodice with a square neckline and a jeweled clasp at the nape. "I will never look this good again," Sloan declared half seriously.
"The color is perfect with your tan," Paris said, standing back and studying the entire effect. "And the dress is a wonderful fit. I feel very—professional."
"You are professional," Sloan said with solemn sincerity.
"Father doesn't think so. He said I was wasting my time last month when I made these…"
"Don't let him do that to you," Sloan said with quiet force. "Please don't let him do that to you. He isn't right. Look at me. Look at us" Sloan emphasized as she walked into the dressing room and stood in front of a full-length mirror. "You designed both of these dresses."
Side by side, they stood in front of the mirror, Paris in embroidered peach silk with her dark hair held back on the sides with gold clips, Sloan in pale yellow with her hair falling in a cloud around her shoulders.
"After this, my wedding gown will be an anticlimax," Sloan declared.
"No it won't," Paris said, shaking off her insecurity with a toss of her head. "Because I'll design that, too!" She turned away from the mirror. "Come along, Princess Sloan, it's time to go to the ball. Father is going to meet us on the patio, and I'll stay with you while he takes you around and introduces you to everyone."
Noah was standing near the patio, listening to a group of men who were trying to persuade him to buy into a stud farm they were planning to purchase as a joint venture.
His back was to the house, but he knew exactly when Sloan made her appearance on the lawn, because the men in his group stopped talking and started to stare. So did many of the people around them.
"Good lord, look at that!" one of the men breathed.
Noah turned slowly, prolonging the anticipation, but when he saw her, he found it hard to stay put and let her mingle with the guests. He stood there for nearly a half hour, watching as Carter moved about the guests with Sloan on one arm and Paris on his other. He saw Sloan smile as she was introduced to each person; then she listened attentively to whatever they said to her, and he watched her win everyone over with her natural poise and unaffected warmth.
Sloan felt a rush of pleasure because Noah cared and an even bigger one because he'd been able to outmaneuver Carter Reynolds.
"We'll be gone for hours!" Paris exclaimed happily, walking up to Paul's car. "Sloan, we're going to have 'the works'—a facial, manicure, pedicure, massage, and then hairstyling. We'll have to hurry, though, because they're fitting us in, and we have to be there on time."
"Better get going, then," Paul told them; then he got into his rented car. He waited until he was several blocks from the house before he unlocked the glove compartment and took out his cellular phone. He dialed a number and the phone was answered by another FBI agent who was sitting on the pier, wearing a cap with fishing lures stuck in the visor and holding a fishing pole in his hand. "Can you talk?" Paul asked.
"Can I talk?" the other man repeated in angry disbelief. "You're the one who'd better do some talking, Paul. You didn't tell me you're down there on your own time and your own initiative. I got a call last night from the man in the big office as soon as he found out, and he's on a rampage. He thinks you've let a personal grudge cloud your judgment and that you're obsessed with this case. I'm serious, buddy, your ass is on the line. You're going to blow your career, and even if you do turn up evidence, Reynolds's lawyers will get it tossed out of court because of the way you're gathering it—"
"But I'm not looking for evidence, and when it turns up, I won't be the one who gathered it," Paul interrupted in the weary, patient tone of someone who is being forced to explain the obvious. "I am here merely as Sloan's 'facilitator.' I had nothing to do with Carter Reynolds's decision to invite his daughter here. And if his daughter happens to come across something incriminating during her visit, it's only natural that she would turn it over to the authorities whether I was here or not. After all, she's a cop."
"I'm not the one you have to convince; you need to call the old man and convince him."
"I'm on vacation at the moment. When I make him a hero, he'll calm down. In the meantime, I'm here and conducting myself like a perfect guest who is vacationing at someone's home. I play tennis, lounge around by the pool, have dinner, go dancing. I haven't opened a drawer or even a photo album without being asked to look inside it. I'm not telling Sloan where to search or what to look for. I've never told her Reynolds is using his bank to launder money, and I've never told her whose money he's laundering. I won't have to, because fate has stepped in and put her exactly where I wanted her."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that my gorgeous traveling companion has acquired a very persistent admirer, and no federal judge alive could rule out any evidence she gets on him, because I had absolutely nothing to do with it."
"Who is he?"
"Noah Maitland."
The agent drew a long breath and expelled it in a triumphant whisper. "Bingo!"
26
Sloan stood at her balcony railing, mesmerized by the sight below. The entire back lawn was lit with torches and dotted with tables covered in white linen and decorated with flowers and candles in glass bowls. Tuxedo-clad waiters were passing trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres among what appeared to be at least two hundred guests. Banquet tables with huge floral arrangements had been set up on the right side of the lawn, and on the left, near the swimming pool, an orchestra was playing near a portable dance floor. On a separate table in the center of the lawn was a huge ice sculpture of graceful soaring gulls.
"Ready to make your grand entrance?" Paris asked, walking through Sloan's bedroom and joining her on the balcony.
"I didn't think this was going to be such a big, elaborate party," Sloan said.
"Noah's secretary is a magician," Paris decreed, surveying the gathering with approval. "I could never have pulled off anything like this on such short notice. Let's go."
"I'm nervous," Sloan admitted.
"So am I," Paris said with a shaky laugh. "No one has ever worn one of my designs before. Let's see the total effect."
Sloan turned from the railing and followed her into the bedroom, where she did a slow pirouette for Paris's inspection. The lemon chiffon dress had a multilayered skirt that floated around Sloan's knees with each step she took and a tightly fitted halter bodice with a square neckline and a jeweled clasp at the nape. "I will never look this good again," Sloan declared half seriously.
"The color is perfect with your tan," Paris said, standing back and studying the entire effect. "And the dress is a wonderful fit. I feel very—professional."
"You are professional," Sloan said with solemn sincerity.
"Father doesn't think so. He said I was wasting my time last month when I made these…"
"Don't let him do that to you," Sloan said with quiet force. "Please don't let him do that to you. He isn't right. Look at me. Look at us" Sloan emphasized as she walked into the dressing room and stood in front of a full-length mirror. "You designed both of these dresses."
Side by side, they stood in front of the mirror, Paris in embroidered peach silk with her dark hair held back on the sides with gold clips, Sloan in pale yellow with her hair falling in a cloud around her shoulders.
"After this, my wedding gown will be an anticlimax," Sloan declared.
"No it won't," Paris said, shaking off her insecurity with a toss of her head. "Because I'll design that, too!" She turned away from the mirror. "Come along, Princess Sloan, it's time to go to the ball. Father is going to meet us on the patio, and I'll stay with you while he takes you around and introduces you to everyone."
Noah was standing near the patio, listening to a group of men who were trying to persuade him to buy into a stud farm they were planning to purchase as a joint venture.
His back was to the house, but he knew exactly when Sloan made her appearance on the lawn, because the men in his group stopped talking and started to stare. So did many of the people around them.
"Good lord, look at that!" one of the men breathed.
Noah turned slowly, prolonging the anticipation, but when he saw her, he found it hard to stay put and let her mingle with the guests. He stood there for nearly a half hour, watching as Carter moved about the guests with Sloan on one arm and Paris on his other. He saw Sloan smile as she was introduced to each person; then she listened attentively to whatever they said to her, and he watched her win everyone over with her natural poise and unaffected warmth.
