Red Carpet Christmas Read online

  Gideon’s face inched closer to hers

  Simone could see his lip was bleeding from his fight with the mystery intruder.

  She trembled.

  Anticipation warred with dread.

  One kiss could be deadly, she told herself. She couldn’t trust him.

  But when his mouth lightly touched hers, the metallic taste of blood sparked something so primal and so deep in her, she moaned into his mouth and parted her lips. All the invitation he needed to crush her to him and to invade her mouth as if all the years apart hadn’t passed.

  As if she was still a teenager dazed by first love.

  As if he hadn’t betrayed her by taking away her father.

  The reminder of what had come between them chilled her inside. Just as the elevator car came to a stop and the doors opened, Simone twisted out of his arms and ran.

  RED CARPET CHRISTMAS

  PATRICIA ROSEMOOR

  To my father, Walter H. Pinianski, who lost his life to a home intruder; and to my husband, Edward, who is still fighting for his own life. You were both on my mind and in my heart with every word I wrote.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Patricia Rosemoor has always had a fascination with dangerous love. In addition to her more than forty Intrigue novels, she also writes for Harlequin Blaze and Silhouette Bombshell, bringing a different mix of thrills and chills and romance to each line.

  She’s won a Golden Heart from Romance Writers of America and Reviewers’ Choice and Career Achievement Awards from Romantic Times BOOKclub, and she teaches writing popular fiction and suspense-thriller writing in the fiction writing department of Columbia College Chicago. Check out her Web site: www.PatriciaRosemoor.com. You can contact Patricia either via e-mail at [email protected], or through the publisher at Patricia Rosemoor, c/o Harlequin/Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279.

  Books by Patricia Rosemoor

  HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

  38—DOUBLE IMAGES

  55—DANGEROUS ILLUSIONS

  74—DEATH SPIRAL

  81—CRIMSON HOLIDAY

  95—AMBUSHED

  113—DO UNTO OTHERS

  121—TICKET TO NOWHERE

  161—PUSHED TO THE LIMIT

  163—SQUARING ACCOUNTS

  165—NO HOLDS BARRED

  199—THE KISS OF DEATH

  219—TORCH JOB

  243—DEAD HEAT

  250—HAUNTED

  283—SILENT SEA

  291—CRIMSON NIGHTMARE

  317—DROP DEAD GORGEOUS

  346—THE DESPERADO

  361—LUCKY DEVIL

  382—SEE ME IN YOUR DREAMS *

  386—TELL ME NO LIES *

  390—TOUCH ME IN THE DARK *

  439—BEFORE THE FALL

  451—AFTER THE DARK

  483—NEVER CRY WOLF *

  499—A LOVER AWAITS

  530—COWBOY JUSTICE

  559—HEART OF A LAWMAN †

  563—THE LONE WOLF’S CHILD †

  567—A RANCHER’S VOW †

  629—SOMEONE TO PROTECT HER

  661—MYSTERIOUS STRANGER *

  665—COWBOY PROTECTOR *

  684—GYPSY MAGIC

  “Andrei”

  703—FAKE I.D. WIFE **

  707—VIP PROTECTOR **

  745—THE BOYS IN BLUE

  “Zachary”

  785—VELVET ROPES **

  791—ON THE LIST **

  858—GHOST HORSE

  881—RED CARPET CHRISTMAS **

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Gideon—The secretive owner of Club Undercover has spent half his life running, but now the past—and the woman he once loved—are about to catch up to him.

  Simone Burke—The chief suspect in the murder of her late husband’s law partner, she must turn to the man she never wanted to see again, to help clear her name.

  Al Cecchi—What made someone want to kill him?

  Teresa Cecchi—Did Al’s widow figure out he was cheating on her?

  Nikki Albright—She was a suspect until she ended up dead.

  Sam Albright—Was Nikki’s controlling ex-husband the secret link between the two murders?

  Michael DeNali—Had Simone’s brother tried to get Cecchi to pay money he owed her?

  Ulf Nachtmann—Why was Simone’s brother’s bodyguard sneaking around and spying on her?

  Galen O’Neil—Did the silent auction chair have reason to silence Al Cecchi?

  Josie Ralston—What did Al’s mistress know about his secrets?

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  “I know about the tape. I want to hear your side of the story.”

  Those words had nearly choked him, David Burke thought as he headed home. Speeding north on Lake Shore Drive, he turned on his brights to cut through the fog rising from the lake. Late spring along Chicago’s lakefront often brought rain and fog, and road conditions on this night were particularly treacherous.

  The middle of the night hadn’t been the best time for a confrontation, but when would have been? He never should have listened to the tape. What he’d learned from it was still eating at him.

  Too bad he hadn’t gotten a straight answer.

  Rain splattered his windshield and he turned the wipers from Intermittent to Low. He would be glad when he got home to Simone’s comforting arms…not that he could tell her what had happened.

  As a lawyer, David was used to clients evading the truth. Normally, he was able to cut through the bull. He’d recognized evasions and half-truths when he’d heard them, but what was he going to do about it?

  Nothing was the appropriate answer, but in this case, it was one he didn’t like. Too close to home.

  Halfway past Grant Park, he noticed headlights in his rearview mirror. Another vehicle was following too close for the conditions. The road was slick from rain, and the fog continued to roll over the Drive in waves.

  “Did your mother raise you to be an idiot?” he muttered.

  Hardly anyone else was on the road at this time of night. The idiot driver had three other clear lanes, but his headlights stayed smack in the middle of David’s mirror.

  David cursed and shifted one lane to the right.

  So did the other vehicle.

  David switched back to the left.

  The headlights followed him.

  “What the hell?”

  His chest tightened. He knew in his gut this was no coincidence. The confrontation had been a mistake. Approaching the curve before Navy Pier, he pressed the accelerator and began calculating how far it was to the next exit—about a mile and a half—and where he could go once he got off the Drive. Maybe he could disappear somewhere in Lincoln Park.

  If he got off in one piece…

  Without warning, the other vehicle rammed him hard. David jerked in his seat but hung on as his car’s tires slid on the wet pavement.

  Another hit.

  Panicked, David floored the accelerator and prayed he could get home to his family…

  Another hit from the other vehicle—this one far harder than the first. His car skidded and was hit again so fast and hard that it went sliding sideways, crumpling the guardrail as if it were paper.
r />   For a moment, he was flying. Then he plummeted, the car flipping like a carnival ride in a shower of sparks toward the lake.

  David closed his eyes and thought of Simone and Drew before the water claimed him.

  Chapter One

  Eight months later

  “The Chicago Philanthropic Club is different from other charitable organizations,” Simone Burke told the reporter during an interview at Red Carpet Christmas, her organization’s annual holiday fund-raising event.

  “Every public relations maven says the same thing about her organization,” the reporter said.

  Maven? An image of a much more mature woman popped into Simone’s head.

  “We award money for worthy projects, yes, but we don’t actually cut a check for the organization,” Simone said. “Instead, we pay the vendors directly. That way, money can’t be redirected away from the approved project. Ah, but there’s our fearless leader, Lulu Hutton—she’s the one next to the Christmas tree.” She motioned to catch the attention of the silver-haired matriarch who wore her age and money with class. “I’m sure she would like to speak with you.”

  Simone’s smile stayed plastered to her face until the reporter crossed Club Undercover’s upper level where the items for the silent auction were laid out, mostly on tables decorated with holly and big red bows and branches of pine. The request for this year’s auction items—give up something you love for charity.

  The party was just beginning, but already the main floor of the club below was filled with Chicago’s rich and famous—those who could afford the three-hundred-dollar-a-person entry. Twinkling lights embellished the club’s red-and-blue neon decor, and music echoed in the cavernous space. Glancing back to see the reporter engrossed in her conversation with the organization’s chairwoman, Simone finally took a deep breath and let down her guard.

  Doing her best to get back into the swing of things eight months after her husband’s death was every bit as difficult as she’d imagined it would be. She could get her mind on other things successfully as long as she was interacting with someone. But the moment she was alone, the worries and questions resurfaced.

  David had said he was going to be late because of a case that needed his attention. Used to the hours of a successful criminal lawyer, Simone had gone to bed without him. Only to be awakened at dawn by a life-changing phone call. Someone had spotted the rear end of David’s car sticking out of the lake. Trapped by his seat belt and a smashed-in car door, her husband had drowned.

  According to the authorities, the weather had been bad, and David had been speeding. His car had spun out of control. Police suspected there might have been a collision—scrapings of black paint from another vehicle found on David’s car might have been the result of a sideswipe in a parking lot or on the street. Or maybe it had been a hit-and-run on the expressway. With no witnesses, no other proof of another vehicle’s involvement, the authorities had ruled the tragedy an accident.

  As far as the insurance company was concerned, though, the jury was still out.

  Simone couldn’t believe fate would have taken away her best friend and the best father a woman could wish for her son. Perhaps she felt guilty that she hadn’t loved him better, at least not in the way he’d wanted. Not in the romantic way he’d loved her all these years.

  She’d had that once, but that had been another lifetime ago.

  “You’re sad. Is there something I can do to help?”

  Simone turned to look at the striking woman who seemed to have appeared from nowhere. Tall and statuesque with shoulder-length mahogany hair, she wore a barely-there crimson dress with stilettos to match.

  “I’m fine,” Simone told her. “Just too much on my mind.”

  “Yes…” the woman said. “I can see that. I’m the club’s hostess, Cassandra Freed. Cass.” She aimed a hand with scarlet nails at Simone. “If there’s anything I can do for you…”

  “Simone Burke, public relations.”

  When she shook the hostess’s hand, an odd sensa tion shot through Simone. Something about the way Cass was looking at her so closely made her uneasy, so she quickly withdrew her hand.

  “If I think of anything,” Simone said, “I’ll let you know.” Then the significance of that name hit her. “Cassandra Freed…aren’t you the woman who made it possible for us to have our fund-raiser at this club? I heard the owner wasn’t crazy about the idea.”

  Cass grinned. “It took a little convincing, but Gideon agreed when he heard that you plan to support Umbrella House,” she said.

  Umbrella House was a shelter for abused women and their children, and it was one of the primary organizations scheduled to benefit from the fund-raiser.

  “This Gideon sounds like a man with a conscience.”

  “And a good heart,” Cass said, then shifted gears. “You didn’t come for a look-see at the club with the rest of the committee.”

  “I had a last-minute situation with my son Drew,” Simone lied. “Teenagers can be quite a handful.”

  No way did she want to admit she’d been on an interview for a job she wasn’t going to get.

  “Drew,” Cass mused.

  The club’s hostess had that look again, as if she wanted to say something about him.

  Uncomfortable, Simone said, “I heard there were a few last-minute donations for the silent auction. I thought I would check to see what they were.”

  Smiling, she stepped away from the hostess, thinking that was the end of that.

  But Cass joined her. “Some very generous contributions.”

  They passed a table holding a large basket of fine wines from a man’s personal cellar, a pair of South Sea black pearl earrings displayed in a shell from a woman’s inherited jewelry collection, a brochure to the hottest new resort on Paradise Island—the auction item was a vacation for two that a couple had meant to take themselves.

  All items were supposed to mean something personal to the giver, expressing the true spirit of Christmas.

  “Ooh, something I would like to own myself.” Cass pointed to an Erte collar necklace of gold and diamonds, unusual because the centerpiece could be removed and worn as a brooch. She picked up the card and sighed. “Two thousand’s the starting bid. A tad out of my price range.”

  All of the items were pricey. The club had provided security guards—two men dressed in green elf costumes milled about the room. Plus the bartender serving drinks at the nearby bar appeared formidable, as well. Perhaps of Native American ancestry, with coppery skin and hawk-like features, the man wore his long black hair pulled back and tied at his neck with a leather thong. No one was going to steal anything on his watch, Simone thought.

  Most of the items to be auctioned were small, but a few pieces weren’t table-friendly. A Tiffany floor lamp from someone’s living room threw soft light across one end of the balcony; a narrow Victorian desk from another person’s office stood sentry at the other.

  “I haven’t seen that before.” Simone approached the burr walnut piano-top davenport desk that had been one of the late donations. The piece was only two feet wide, and she had the perfect spot for it in her living room. “I would love to bid on that piece.”

  If she could afford it, of course, which was unlikely considering her circumstances.

  Simone opened the top to find a tooled red leather insert on an adjustable ratchet slope. She figured a hidden catch would release a secret storage compartment—common to this type of desk—but she couldn’t immediately find it. Then she checked the descriptive card and realized the bidding started at $3,500. Definitely out of her price range.

  She saw that Nikki Albright, a new divorcée with an apparently generous settlement, had already made the first bid.

  Sighing, Simone closed the top, then noted the desk had been donated by Teresa Cecchi, wife of the man who’d been David’s law partner.

  She felt some resentment, but thinking about Al Cecchi would only spoil her evening, so Simone put him out of mind. If she was lucky, sh
e wouldn’t run into him this evening. She glanced over at Cass, who was staring at her strangely until something on the floor below drew the hostess’s attention away from her.

  “Oops, the boss wants to see me. Nice meeting you, Simone,” Cass said, heading for the stairs. “Remember, if you need anything, tell any of the wait staff or bartenders, and if they can’t help you, they’ll let me know.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.”

  She turned to look over the crowd in time to hear an angry voice demand “Where the hell is Galen?”

  Great. Al Cecchi. And he sounded angry.

  Galen O’Neill, chair of the silent auction, stood frozen in the middle of the room. In her forties, Galen was a pretty, petite woman with dark red hair, green eyes and skin that normally glowed with color. As Al Cecchi cut through the crowd toward her, Simone noticed the woman turn ashen.

  Al wasn’t a particularly big man—his ego was the biggest thing about him—but he could be intimidating.

  “What is it, Albert?” Galen asked, sounding choked.

  “The desk.” Al’s olive skin darkened all the way up his receding hairline, making his already sharp features even less appealing. “It’s mine!”

  “Um, yes, keeping with the theme of giving up something that means something to you. So generous—”

  “I want it back!”

  Galen started. “Um, you’ll have to take that up with your wife, since she’s the one who actually donated it. I saw Teresa just a while ago…” She was looking around, her manner desperate.

  “Take the damn sign off the desk!” Al shouted. “It’s not for sale!”

  “But Teresa gave it to us,” Galen argued.

  “Because she was angry with me. And delusional! That desk was my mother’s. Teresa’s trying to get back at me by giving it away!”