Thoughts from Crudley, the cat: Letter to Reader Title Page Dedication About the Author The Silhouette Spotlight - “Where Passion Lives” Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Epilogue Copyright

Thoughts from Crudley, the cat:

I can’t believe someone stole me, thinking I was Princess Athabasca. The kidnapper must certainly not be a cat lover if he mistook a tomcat like me for that pedigreed feline. My owner, Cass, must be frantic with worry. She’s so sweet and loving, I know she would do anything to get me back home where I belong.

I’m hoping that the millionaire who’s helping her with the search will sweep Cass off her feet and into his elegant mansion. Cass deserves to be happy, and Gabe Preston would be the luckiest man alive if he married her. Then all my catnip wishes and caviar dreams would finally come true. He’ll put me in fancy collars and Cass in beautiful jewels. . .maybe they’ll even have a few babies who’ll play with me!

I’ll just have to keep my paws crossed and wait to see what happens....

Dear Reader,

Silhouette welcomes popular author Judy Chrisbenberry to the Romance line with a touching story that will enchant readers in every age group. In The Nine-Month Bride, a wealthy rancher who wants an heir and a prim librarian who wants a baby marry for convenience, but imminent parenthood makes them rethink their vows....

Next, Moyra Tarling delivers the emotionally riveting BUNDLES OF JOY tale of a mother-to-be who discovers that her child’s father doesn’t remember his own name—let alone the night they’d created their Wedding Day Baby. Karen Rose Smith’s miniseries DO YOU TAKE THIS STRANGER? continues with Love, Honor and a Pregnant Bride, in which a jaded cowboy learns an unexpected lesson in love from an expectant beauty.

Part of our MEN! promotion, Cowboy Dad by Robin Nicholas features a deliciously handsome, dutyminded father aiming to win the heart of a woman who’s swom off cowboys. Award-winning Marie Ferrarella launches her latest miniseries, LIKE MOTHER, LIKE DAUGHTER, with One Plus One Makes Marriage. Though the math sounds easy, the road to “I do” takes some emotional twists and turns for this feisty heroine and the embittered man she loves. And Romance proudly introduces Patricia Seeley, one of Silhouette’s WOMEN TO WATCH. A ransom note—for a cat!—sets the stage where The Millionaire Meets His Match.

Hope you enjoy this month’s offerings!

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor, Silhouette Romance

Please address questions and book requests to:

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The Millionaire Meets His Match
Patricia Seeley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For “Daddycakes”

PATRICIA SEELEY

graduated from the University of Denver with a degree in English. She has worked as a bakery clerk, a secretarial assistant, a waitress and a police dispatcher, and has even classified and identified fingerprints. She currently works in the adjustments division of a bank, searching various documents and computer data for missing money.

She grew up on the East Coast but came to Oregon to dog-and-cat-and-house-sit for a friend who was going on a walking tour of Europe for six months. By the time her friend had returned, Patricia had developed an attachment to the beautiful state, in spite of all the rain.

Patricia and her husband of ten years have one cat, who was semi-namelessly referred to as “The Kitty” for the first eight years they had her, and who is now technically named Kitty Sue.

The Silhouette Spotlight

“Where Passion Lives”

MEET WOMAN TO WATCH Patricia Seeley

What was your inspiration for THE MILLIONAIRE MEETS HIS MATCH?

PS: I saw two unrelated articles concerning missing pets that became the basis for the plot. Using the idea of a cat kidnapping as the impetus for bringing the hero and heroine together, I thought about the various roles each might play that would bring them together and at the same time create a conflict between them.

What about the Silhouette Romance line appeals to you as a reader and as a writer?

PS: I like the old-fashioned, sweet and innocently sexy feeling of the Romance line. I’m a fan of old 1940s films, particularly Claudette Colbert movies. I love the tone of those movies—romantic attraction played out with warmth, humor and clear but understated sexiness.

Why is THE MILLIONAIRE MEETS HIS MATCH special to you?

PS: I really like the characters in this book. The narrative line is so strongly character driven that it was always easy to pick up where I had left off. I also like the humor. And I really did have a cat named Crudley, and it was fun to use him in the story.

Chapter One

“What do you mean he’s gone?” Cass Appleton glared across the wide expanse of teak desk at the office manager safely shielded behind it.

Mr. Howard, as his brass nameplate proclaimed him, smiled with a practiced artificial concern that said he was used to dealing with overwrought women. “Simply that,” he said in his most consciously soothing voice. “When the attendants arrived this morning, they found the door open...”

“I don’t believe it!” Cass slapped both hands on the polished wood surface of the desk. “How could you let this happen? I told you he could slip off those ridiculous hook latches you use on the doors. I told you that you’d need to take extra precautions. It’s sheer negligence for you to have let him escape despite my warnings. With the rates you charge, the least I have a right to expect is that you won’t—” She broke off, unwilling to admit the harsh reality. “Won’t...misplace my cat. Have you checked behind all the furniture?”

“My dear Miss Appleton, you didn’t allow me to finish. It wasn’t simply your cat’s cage that was found open, but the rear door of the clinic itself. We were burglarized last night”

Cass continued to stare at him, unappeased. “Are you trying to tell me someone broke in here and stole my cat?”

Surprise ruffled briefly across Mr. Howard’s carefully composed features before he regained his self-possession. “Of course not,” he assured her. “Your animal, as you know, has very little monetary value. I meant that although your cat did, apparently, manage to get out of his cage, he still would have been perfectly safe and sound inside the clinic building had we not experienced this unforeseeable break-in. I’m happy to say our alarm system worked perfectly and the thieves were frightened off before any of the expensive drugs or equipment could be taken. Unfortunately, your—” he dropped his gaze to the file folder on his desk “—Cuddly evidently used the opportunity to run off through the outer office doors.”

“Crud-ley,” Cass corrected him through gritted teeth.

“Pardon?” Mr. Howard asked as if suspecting he’d just been sworn at in some foreign tongue.

“His name is Crudley, not Cuddly. The r isn’t silent.”

Mr. Howard straightened his tie and relaxed fractionally. “Oh. Of course. In any case, I did send the boys out immediately to search the area as soon as I was informed one of the animals was missing. But on these busy streets, with all the early-morning traffic that rushes by, they weren’t able to find any sign of him.” He shrugged philosophically, apparently able to detach himself from the unpleasant reality of the fate he’d just suggested Cass’s cat would inevitably meet

“All I can do now,” he continued, “is tender the doctor’s sincere sympathy for your loss and my personal apologies for the negligence of the kennel staff. I assure you, they will be sharply reprimanded for this oversight. Naturally you won’t be charged for your cat’s two days’ board. And although there is no question of your suffering any financial loss by your cat’s disappearance, the doctor has instructed me to offer you a free replacement, with all its shots, and a free neutering when the time comes. We have several nice kittens available right now, if you’d care to pick one out. Then we can all put this unpleasant incident behind us.”

Cass felt the hot color rising to her cheeks. “I don’t want a ‘replacement.’ I want Crudley back. I left him in your care. You’re responsible. Do something.” The last words came out almost a plea, and Cass instantly despised herself for asking anything of this heartless petty functionary. Were there people who could be appeased by the kind of cold-blooded drivel Mr. Howard had been spouting? Or was she merely too inconsequential to rate a conference with the clinic’s owner himself? “I want to talk to Dr. Bellingham,” she declared.

The office manager shook his head and sighed. “I’m afraid that will be impossible. The doctor’s schedule is quite full for the next several days—the annual dog show, you know. In any case, I assure you I have followed precisely the doctor’s instructions on this matter. There is nothing further that he, or I, can do for you.”

Cass stood and smoothed the creases from her rapidly wilting summer suit. “We’ll see about that,” she said, hoping but doubting that the words sounded vaguely ominous.

The office manager smirked priggishly and barely inclined his head in acknowledgment of her empty threat, then rose fluidly to open the door for her to leave.

Outside, the late-afternoon sun still blazed high in the sky, sending waves of heat rippling up from the hot asphalt parking lot. The scorching air suddenly seemed too suffocating to inhale, and Cass staggered slightly as she tried to catch her breath.

She never should have brought Crudley to this callous overpriced clinic. She’d deliberately chosen the most expensive veterinarian in town, a man whose patrons included most of the elite in Newport society, believing Crudley would receive the best possible care from him. Now, it turned out, she had been wrong to assume he was well cared for.

Cass stalked over to her car, threw open the door and then slammed it shut behind her. Shoving the key in the ignition, she started the engine with an unnecessary roar and turned the air-conditioning on full. The cooling blast did little to ease the fevered anguish that overwhelmed her. It was too much. On top of everything else that had been miserable and hopeless in the past three days, now Crudley was gone.

Gone. The word brought such a spasm of pain to her midsection that Cass felt nauseated, such a tightening of her throat that she could scarcely breathe. She slumped over the steering wheel and rested her head on her forearms, feeling the tears well up in her eyes and overflow down her flushed cheeks.

A gentle tapping on her window startled her. Cass looked up to see Bobby, one of the kennel attendants, peering anxiously at her through the glass. She pushed the air-conditioning switch to a lower setting and rolled down her window.

“Are you all right, Miss Appleton?” the boy asked. His brown eyes were warm with concern. Unlike most teenage boys, he didn’t seem to be uneasy in the presence of someone else’s emotional display.

Cass grabbed a tissue and quickly blotted her eyes. “I’m fine, Bobby. Thanks. I just had some bad news.”

Bobby glanced around the parking lot furtively, then hunkered down beside her car, out of sight of anyone looking their way from the clinic. “I know,” he said. “That’s why I was waiting for you. I’m the one who opened up this morning and found Crudley gone.” He shot a quick look in the direction of the building, then turned back to Cass. “He’s a great cat, Miss Appleton. Not like most of them that come to this place, all pampered and spoiled with no personality. Crudley is a real character. And smart? Miss Appleton, I’ve never seen a smarter cat. You could teach him to do anything, I swear. Whenever I see him here, I make it a point to look after him myself and make sure all his instructions are followed to the letter. I would never let anything happen to him.”

Cass experienced a rush of compassion for the boy. Unlike the office manager’s prepared bromides and rehearsed apology, Bobby’s words had the ring of truth. His feelings for her plight were genuine, based on his own affection for her cat. “It’s not your fault,” she assured him.

Bobby’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, I know it’s not. That’s what I had to tell you. I’ve known Crudley for three years and I know he can pick locks and open doors on regular cages. I’ve seen him do it During the day, if I’m working alone in the kennels, I let Crudley wander around with me while I feed the other animals and stuff. Then I play with him awhile before I put him away for the night But before I leave, I always put a special lock on his door so he can’t get loose during the night. I wouldn’t want him to get hurt or anything.”

Bobby gave the clinic another surreptitious glance. “Miss Appleton, Crudley was locked in tight last night. I saw to that. And then this morning, when I got here, he was gone, and someone had left a note for Dr. Bellingham. I heard the doctor and Mr. Howard talking about it, and then I sneaked into the office after they left and looked for it. It’s just like the kind of ransom note you see in the movies.”

“Ransom!” Cass interjected.

Bobby nodded. “Yes, ma’am. With words and letters cut out from old magazines and newspapers. It said that the kidnappers had taken Princess Athabasca and would be calling Mrs. Crosswhite tonight with instructions on how to get her cat back.”

“Princess Athabasca?” Cass frowned. “Mrs. Crosswhite? There’s another cat missing?”

“No, ma’am.” Bobby shook his head emphatically. “Just Crudley. But the kidnappers think he’s Princess Athabasca.”

Cass pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples. “Bobby, I don’t understand.”

“That’s because you haven’t seen Princess Athabasca. She’s a big gray cat with golden eyes.” He paused, as if waiting to see if Cass had caught on. “Her breed is very rare and expensive, and she’s a national champion, but she looks a lot like Crudley, even though he’s just a regular cat. I would never get the two of them confused,” Bobby assured Cass, “but someone who’d only seen a picture of the Princess or read a description and knew she would be here this weekend might make that mistake.”

Cass at last began to understand the significance of what Bobby was explaining to her. “So someone did steal my cat,” she summed up incredulously, “because they thought he was someone else’s cat.”

“Mrs. Crosswhite’s,” Bobby repeated. “She’s filthy rich and crazy about her cat. The kidnappers are going to demand a ransom. Only they haven’t got Princess Athabasca, and Mrs. Crosswhite’s not going to know what they’re talking about when they call.”

Cass drew a sharp breath, remembering her own conversation with the office manager. “You mean Mr. Howard and Dr. Bellingham didn’t tell Mrs. Crosswhite someone had tried to steal her cat?”

Bobby shook his head. “No, ma’am. They don’t want anyone to know about it. They don’t want the rich customers thinking their animals aren’t safe here. They even told the police there was no need to make a report since nothing was taken. The chauffeur picked up Princess Athabasca this afternoon and took her home. When the kidnappers contact Mrs. Crosswhite tonight, she’ll just think it’s some prank and ignore it.” Bobby’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Then I don’t know what will happen to Crudley.”

Cass shared his unspoken fears, even as her heart leaped with the knowledge that, for the moment at least, Crudley was alive and safe. “Nothing is going to happen to him,” she said firmly, patting Bobby’s shoulder to reassure him. She turned and looked at the blankly imposing facade of the veterinary clinic. “I’m going back in there and force that weasel Mr. Howard to call Mrs. Crosswhite and tell her what’s going on. Then I’m going to contact the police and have them put a trace on her phone so when the kidnappers call, we can find out who and where they are.” In the space of a few seconds Cass had almost convinced herself that Crudley was on his way home already.

One look at Bobby’s expression reminded Cass her problems were far from over just because she knew the reason for Crudley’s disappearance. “I don’t know,” he said doubtfully. “I don’t think anyone in there is going to help you.” He made a grim face. “The old man isn’t interested in anything but the bottom line, and he mostly hires people who can’t afford to be anything but loyal. He doesn’t want any scandal or bad publicity, and he’ll lie if he has to. The official story by eight o’clock this morning was that someone tried to break in but was scared off by the alarms and never got inside. They’ve either hidden the kidnappers’ note or destroyed it, because when I sneaked back into the office during lunch to look for it, it was gone. There’s no way I can prove what I’ve told you, except for this.”

Bobby pulled a padlock out of his pocket and handed it to Cass. “It’s the one I used to lock Crudley in. Unless somebody slipped him a set of lock picks, Crudley didn’t let himself out of that cage. Someone used the key I left on the board.”

Cass stared at the lock. It was all the proof she needed. “I can’t let them get away with this,” she insisted. “And I have to do something to save Crudley.”

“I know. Me, too. I’ve been thinking about it all day, trying to figure out what to do, and I decided we should go to Mrs. Crosswhite ourselves.”

“Go ourselves?” Cass echoed, still trying to formulate a plan of action despite the tumult of emotions swirling in her head.

“Yes, ma’am. I figure if we tell her the story, she’ll want to help. She’s really a nice lady,” Bobby said with the confidence of youth. “I’ve met her when she brings Princess in. She’s a little dizzy, if you know what I mean, but good-hearted. She always pets the other animals and talks to them. She’s pretty cool.”

Bobby’s idea wasn’t half-bad. It was simple and direct, and it didn’t rely on the dubious support of Dr. Bellingham or Mr. Howard. Cass’s mind raced ahead. She would contact Mrs. Crosswhite, explain the situation, ask her to stall the kidnappers and then go to the police for their assistance. “It’s a good plan,” she told the young kennel attendant, “except for one thing. I can’t let you go with me, Bobby.”

Hurt and then indignation flashed across Bobby’s face. “It’s for your own good,” Cass explained. “I can’t let you do anything else that might jeopardize your job. As I recall, you’re going to be putting yourself through school soon.”

The boy nodded mutely.

“You can’t afford to lose this job,” Cass said soothingly. “I can’t take the chance that you’ll be penalized for doing the right thing in coming to me. I want you to promise you won’t say anything about this to anyone else. I’ll tell the police that my information came from a confidential source. With luck, Dr. Bellingham will suspect Mr. Howard slipped up somehow.”

Bobby grinned. That particular possible consequence seemed to make Cass’s alterations of his plan more palatable. “Okay,” he agreed. “Do you know where Crosswhite Manor is?” Without waiting for her answer he plunged on. “It’s not along the Cliff Walk, with the real famous places. It’s out farther, next to Heritage Park. You can’t see the house from the road—Mrs. Crosswhite has acres and acres—but you can’t miss the spot. There’s a high iron fence all around and a gatehouse out front with the name on it.”

Cass nodded. “Thanks, Bobby. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done. If you hadn’t figured all this out and then put your job on the line by telling me about it, I doubt I would ever have seen Crudley again. Now I think there is a good chance he’ll be home very soon.”

“He’s a great cat, Miss Appleton,” Bobby said. “If there’s anything else I can do, you let me know.” He stood up and threw a disgusted look back at the clinic. “I’m gonna start looking for another job, anyway. I don’t like working here anymore. These animals have no class.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his lowslung jeans and exaggeratedly sauntered back to work.

Cass pulled out of the parking lot into rush-hour traffic. She should have taken a back way to Heritage Park, but on impulse she drove toward Bellevue Avenue. Her route would now take her past the renowned mansions Bobby had referred to. Perhaps looking at them first would make Crosswhite Manor seem less imposing.

When she’d first moved to Newport, Cass had behaved like a typical tourist. She’d strolled along the Cliff Walk, enjoying the panoramic ocean view on one side and the incredible architecture on the other. Along this one threemile stretch of Atlantic coastline, she had seen some of the most opulent private homes, built around the turn of the century. The Breakers. Rosecliff. Marble House. The names evoked images of beauty and extravagance, money and imagination indulged and run wild. That had been Cass’s first purely practical opinion.

But although the imitation European palaces, castles and châteaus were undeniably pretentious, Cass had come to think of them as oddly charming. Like the yearly yacht races and tennis tournaments, these flamboyant “summer cottages” belonged to a different era, or at least a different class than the one Cass inhabited. It seemed pointless to speculate about the motives and morality of the people who’d lived in such grandeur.

Except now Cass was forced to ask for help from one of the residents of the great mansions. She fervently hoped that Bobby was right about this specific woman and that she was in fact “a nice person” and “pretty cool.”

Nervously Cass practiced explaining the bizarre mixup that had led to Crudley’s kidnapping, and Mrs. Crosswhite’s unintentional involvement in Cass’s plight. Not until she pulled up the driveway in front of the heavy iron gates and saw the redbrick gatehouse manned by a private guard did Cass realize she had overlooked a fundamental problem. The guard eyed her neutrally, glanced conspicuously at a clipboard in his hand and then walked over to her car as she rolled down the window.

“Good day, ma’am,” the guard said politely, just a hint of a foreign lilt adding music to his deep commanding voice. His eyes took in every detail of the interior of Cass’s car as though she might be smuggling contraband. “Your name, please?”

“Cass Appleton,” she told him. The guard studied his clipboard again. “Mrs. Crosswhite is not expecting me,” Cass offered. “I didn’t know I would have to come here today. It’s an emergency. I only need to speak to her for a few minutes.”

“Mrs. Crosswhite does not see anyone without an appointment,” the guard said placidly.

“I can’t make an appointment,” Cass protested, growing frustrated. “Mrs. Crosswhite’s telephone number is unlisted.”

“That is because she does not like to be bothered by people she does not know.”

For a moment the two of them stared at each other, neither willing to give an inch. Sweat trickled between Cass’s shoulder blades, and she wondered how the guard managed to look so cool. Maybe it was all in the attitude. “Fine,” Cass said eventually, raising her chin to look down her nose at the man, not an easy thing to do when she was sitting and he was towering over her. “Maybe I’ll just wait here and catch her when she comes out.”

“I would not advise that,” the guard replied. “This driveway is private property. I am asking you to leave. If you do not, I will be forced to call the police. You could, of course, wait in the street if you choose, but the local authorities do not take kindly to people loitering in the area.”

He wasn’t bluffing. He had no need to make empty threats. He held all the cards and he knew it. Logic, duty and the law were on his side, and Cass was on the other. After a few seconds of glaring at the guard to prove he couldn’t run her off, Cass threw the car into reverse and backed down the long, winding driveway to the street. Despite the guard’s warning, she parked there for a few minutes, fuming.

She was annoyed at herself for not having anticipated the problem of getting in to see Mrs. Crosswhite. She should have realized visitors would be screened. On the other hand, what difference would it have made if she had thought about it ahead of time? She had a feeling the guard had heard every story in the book and didn’t believe any of them. It would have come down to the same thing, one way or another: no appointment, no entrance, at least not through the front gate.

But surely there was another way in, Cass thought with sudden inspiration. The servants wouldn’t use the front gate. Cass put the car in drive and headed slowly along the border of the Crosswhite acreage. She didn’t remember passing another entrance, but she had been watching for the gatehouse. Almost a quarter of a mile from the main driveway, Cass spotted an unmarked service road. She turned into it and followed it for several hundred yards, stopping when she discovered a second massive iron gate, this one flanked by brick pylons, but no guardhouse. There was no sign of a guard, either, only a man digging in a nearby flower bed. The gardener, no doubt.

Cass parked the car and got out to examine the gate. She glanced at the gardener, who showed no interest in her arrival. Perhaps that was a good sign. Maybe people went in and out here all day without anyone noticing or caring. Cass pulled on the iron bars experimentally. The gate was definitely locked. Someone would have to open it for her from the other side.

She sneaked another peek at the gardener. Was he part of the permanent staff, or did Mrs. Crosswhite hire some landscaping service when she needed work done? Cass thought it over. A place this size would obviously have full-time year-round maintenance workers for the grounds. Her posing as one of the staff would be too risky; the gardener would probably know she was lying. Better to pretend to be a lost visitor coming to see Mrs. Crosswhite. That was sort of true, at least.

Cass took a few steps toward the gardener and called out, “Excuse me.” The man continued working as though he hadn’t heard her. With an easy rhythmic motion, he plunged his shovel again and again into the soft earth of the flower bed, deftly turning the soil as he lifted the blade out. He was drenched with sweat, yet his movements seemed almost effortless. A natural animal grace marked every aspect of his activity. His T-shirt had been cast onto the nearby grass. For a moment Cass stood mesmerized by the play of muscles across the man’s broad shoulders and back, the gleam of his bronzed skin.

With an effort she shook off her trance and walked closer to him, following the heavy ornamental iron fence a short distance until she was only a few feet from the man. “Excuse me,” she repeated, louder than before.

This time, the gardener must have heard her. He drove his shovel into the ground and turned toward Cass. Involuntarily she caught her breath. He was incredibly good-looking. Her next thought was that he’d probably been a beautiful child. The years had sculpted a leaner, more angular look to his cheekbones and jawline, and added enough experience to make the face even more interesting than it was handsome. His sea green eyes regarded her with polite inquiry, the proper attitude, she supposed, for the hired help. Cass wished she felt equally unaffected by him. She was here on business, after all.

She cleared her throat. “Would you help me, please?” she asked. She tried to sound imperious, like a lady of the manor used to ordering the servants about. Instead, her uncertain delivery gave the request a peculiar poignance rather than any insistence.

The gardener leaned on his shovel, one foot propped on the blade. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

“I’m here to see Mrs. Crosswhite. Would you please let me in?” Cass pointed to the huge wrought iron gate.

“The main gate is back that way.” The gardener jerked his head in the direction she’d just come from. “Security there screens all visitors.”

“I know. I was already there. He... There wasn’t anyone at the gate so I came around here.” Cass had thought it wasn’t possible to feel any more overheated and uncomfortable until hot blood flooded her cheeks with the lie. She tugged at the neckline of her wilting silk blouse, trying to unstick the material from her perspiring skin.

“The front gate is always manned,” the gardener said, watching Cass squirm as he calmly confronted her with her own falsehood.

Cass pushed a wet tendril of dark hair out of her eyes. She had no patience for this kind of game. “All right,” she admitted. “Someone was there. He wouldn’t let me in. He insisted I had to make an appointment first, but I can’t make an appointment because Mrs. Crosswhite’s phone number is unlisted and I haven’t time to write a letter. It’s vitally important that I speak with Mrs. Crosswhite. If I could just explain the problem to her...”

“Explain it to me.”

The gardener walked casually toward Cass, pulling off his heavy gloves. He stopped just on the other side of the fence, disconcertingly close. Cass could smell the mingled scents of earth and grass clinging to his sweat-sheened body. The sun glinted off his streaked sandy brown hair.

“Explain it to you?” Cass repeated.

“Explain it to me. Convince me you need to see Mrs. Crosswhite and maybe I’ll let you in.”

Cass didn’t like the direct way he looked into her eyes, or the keen intelligence evident in his coolly assessing gaze. He seemed to be taking her measure in a completely detached, analytical way that was more intimidating and more intimate than the leering and ogling some men indulged in. She felt exposed and vulnerable, as though all her secrets were being laid bare before his critical eye. She took a step backward and folded her arms protectively across her breasts, forcing herself to meet his stare. “I can’t,” she said. “It’s personal.”

Gabe Preston had assessed the woman on the far side of the fence with a single, trained glance. Now he made a show of giving her a slow once-over, head to toe, just to see how she’d react. Nice legs, he thought fleetingly, as she reflexively retreated a step or two despite the obvious protection of the wrought iron gate standing between them.

Everything about her was all wrong. Her dressed-forsuccess suit was damp and wrinkled with heat and perspiration, but the style was a mistake in any case. The straight, clean lines of the short jacket and slim skirt had trouble accommodating the lush curves of her body which spoiled the intended silhouette.

The haircut was equally amiss. Some hair stylist’s fantasy of sleek sophistication, it clearly was supposed to have a sculpted appearance. Instead, her thick, dark hair was windblown and tousled. It curled and waved around her face damply, destroying the elegant simplicity she probably hoped for.

In short, she was a mess, albeit an attractive one, right down to the guarded but obviously distressed expression in her hazel eyes. Gabe was intrigued in spite of himself. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what it’s about,” he advised her.

Was Cass only imagining a change in his voice or did he really sound concerned now? Here was her opportunity, yet she balked at telling her story to a stranger. He would think her ridiculous and no doubt refuse to help.

“I can only say it’s urgent,” she hedged. “A matter of life and death, really. Please, won’t you let me in?” She read surprise and doubt but also hesitation in his unguarded eyes. Desperately she searched for a way to tip the balance in her favor. “I...I’ll pay you,” she added, fumbling at the catch of her purse.

For a moment the gardener looked stunned. Then he threw back his head and roared with laughter.

Cass didn’t understand what he found so funny. Did Mrs. Crosswhite pay this man so well he didn’t need any extra money, or was it the notion that Cass could have enough in her purse to interest him that he found so hilarious? Regardless, she seemed to have forfeited what little headway she’d made. Any spark of compassion she might have glimpsed in the gardener’s eyes had been extinguished by amusement. She snapped her purse shut

“Excuse me,” the man said, recovering himself and taking note of Cass’s stony expression. “I suppose that must seem like a logical offer to you. And it probably sounds hypocritical to say, standing in front of a place like this—” his arm made a sweeping gesture encompassing the estate grounds “—that money can’t buy everything. But it can’t, you know. That’s the first thing you learn when you’re around people who have lots of it.”

He leaned against the wrought iron bars of the fence, so close Cass could hear him breathe. He lowered his voice to acknowledge their new proximity. “Money is also no guarantee of sincerity, I’m afraid. No,” he said, shaking his head, “you’ll have to find some other way to convince me to let you in.” Then he made a deliberate show of giving her a slow once-over, head to toe, and grinned wickedly as he met her gaze.

Chapter Two

Cass glowered at the smiling gardener, trying without success to ignore the physical sensations that flooded through her body when she looked into his laughing green eyes. She was certain she knew exactly what this man expected her to offer by way of a bribe.

She wasn’t willing to go that far to see Mrs. Crosswhite. There had to be some other way to get inside the fence. But before she left this gate, admitting temporary defeat, she could still salvage a minor triumph. It would be a real pleasure to slap the smirk off the gardener’s face. “Just what do you have in mind?” she asked with studied innocence.

‘Well...” the man stepped back and made another exaggerated survey of her through half-closed eyes veiled by dark lashes. He smiled slowly. ”You could climb the fence.”

Cass stared at him, uncomprehending, so prepared for him to say something else that she could muster no response to what he actually said.

“You see,” he continued, “if I were to go back to my digging and you were to climb the fence while I wasn’t looking, then you could say that you’d become lost on the way to the house, and I’d have to show you there. It wouldn’t be as though I’d actually let you in. Once you’re on the grounds, you’re presumed to be a guest and I’d have to show you every courtesy.” The gardener’s grin was even wider now, and more knowing. He’d guessed the kind of proposition Cass expected and was enjoying her speechless confusion.

His smug good humor irritated her, not least because she knew how unfairly she’d judged him. She’d taken for granted he felt the same physical attraction that kept intruding, unbidden, into her own thoughts. Then she’d compounded that error by assuming he was the sort of man to take advantage of a woman in a difficult situation.

Cass narrowed her eyes in deliberation as she studied first the tall iron fence, then the gardener. If he was on a power trip, it was different from anything she’d seen before. He looked more like a kid who’d just dared his best friend to try something that would get them both in trouble. She glanced at the fence again. From the corner of her eye she saw the gardener’s eyebrows lift, as if he didn’t really believe she would even consider his bizarre proposal.

Cass took off her shoes and thrust them through the iron bars at the gardener. “Hold these,” she instructed, handing him her purse next, then shedding the boxy jacket of her suit. She hitched her skirt up to midthigh. Giving one last peek at the gardener’s astonished face, she proceeded to scale the fence with easy athletic grace. At the top she hiked her skirt higher and held on to it with one hand while she jumped down onto the grass of the Crosswhite estate, landing lightly with a deep flex of her knees. She stood up, dusting imaginary grass stains from her hands, then walked over to the gardener. “Thank you,” she said as she retrieved her clothes and put on her lowheeled pumps.

The gardener laughed again. This time Cass felt oddly pleased to have provoked the rich tenor explosion of delight.

“I can see you didn’t misspend your youth in smoky pool halls,” he said. “You must have been the local tomboy.”

“I still am,” Cass said proudly, defying him to contradict her. Her heart had begun pounding in delayed reaction to her reckless act.

“You’ll get no argument from me,” he said. He threw his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“Good. Then just tell me where to find Mrs. Crosswhite and you can go back to what you were doing.”

He reached for the white T-shirt lying on the grass and quickly pulled it on. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” he began.

Cass bridled instantly. “What? I thought we had a deal? You said—”

“Easy, girl, easy! I’m not reneging. I’m just trying to explain to you that I have to go with you. You’ll never find Emilie without a guide. Any of her employees would toss you out before you had a chance to look for her unless you’re with someone they know. They’re a very protective bunch. So stick with me, and I’ll do all the talking if anyone stops us. Got it?”

“Got it,” Cass said, tucking her damp blouse back into the equally damp waistband of her skirt. She decided to carry her jacket, at least until they reached the house.

“Good.” The gardener reached for her hand and tugged lightly to start her moving. He kept hold of her hand as they walked, even though it was clear to Cass they were simply heading in a straight line across the grassy expanse of lawn toward the imposing manor house. The huge hand enveloping hers comforted Cass, like a promise of safe passage through the terrors of life. She felt a surge of optimism. She had made it inside the gates. She was going to see Mrs. Crosswhite. Everything could work out, after all.

They came up on the rear of the house, threading their way through an elaborate English-style garden with a maze of box hedges. They crossed a broad brick patio to a set of French doors, which the gardener pulled open, gesturing for Cass to go inside. She hesitated, watching him kneel down to unlace and kick off his boots before entering the house himself.

Once inside he crossed rapidly to a wall phone and picked it up, not bothering to dial. A few moments later he said, “Mark? I’m in the morning room. Would you ask Emilie to meet me here? I’ve brought her an unexpected guest.”

The morning room. That was a good name for it. It would be even more impressive in the early hours of the day than it was now in late afternoon. Huge windows and glass doors allowed the sunlight to bathe every corner. Beautiful healthy-looking plants flaunted their rainbow hues everywhere—tall ones standing in pots on the floor, smaller ones resting on tables or hanging in baskets from overhead hooks. White wicker furniture accented with overstuffed cushions in a green and yellow floral pattern completed the motif. Cass could have believed she was standing in a furnished greenhouse, except the air was deliciously cool.

The gardener hung up the phone and flopped into one of the flowered chairs. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said.

Comfort was an impossibility at that moment, despite the cultivated charm of the room. Cass was too worried about her impending interview with Mrs. Crosswhite. She tried to mentally compose herself, but found herself distracted by questions about the man who had brought her this far in her quest to rescue Crudley. He’d twice referred to Mrs Crosswhite as “Emilie.” The first time, Cass had dismissed it, assuming he was being flippant about his employer in the way many employees are when the boss is out of earshot. Now she was forced to consider whether she had completely mistaken this man’s function at Crosswhite Manor and his relationship with its owner.

He seemed perfectly at ease inside the residence. He’d let himself in without a second’s thought, removing his boots first with what might be interpreted as proprietary care. He knew where the house phone was and used it to issue a rather peremptory summons for Mrs. Crosswhite. Now he lounged casually in a chair, awaiting the great lady’s arrival while encouraging Cass to make herself comfortable, too, as though he had every right to bring anyone into this house on any terms he chose. Who was he?

Cass licked her lips nervously. At this point he was her only ally. She’d tried lying to him, ordering him around and finally bribing him to worm her way inside the gate. He’d laughed all that off and helped her, anyway. Would he have let her in the gate if she hadn’t taken up his ridiculous challenge to scale the fence? She had no clue. It made her uneasy, though, having to worry about his motives and his pull with the woman whose help she’d come to request.

Cass pulled on the jacket to her suit and smoothed it as best she could, then ran her fingers through her wildly disarrayed hair trying to restore it to some semblance of neatness. She perched carefully on the edge of a chair and flicked a quick look at her guide. He was watching her with continuing frank amusement. She suppressed her irritation and forced herself to meet his laughing eyes. “Thank you for helping me,” she said.

He shrugged. “We had a deal. Maybe you’d better tell me your name, though. It will make the introductions easier when Emilie arrives.”

“Cass Appleton.”

“Gabe Preston. Nice to meet you.”

She nodded, then they lapsed into silence for several minutes.

The door opened abruptly. A tiny white-haired woman floated in wearing a long silvery gown that made her look like an earthbound cherub. She turned immediately to the gardener, who’d risen automatically at the sound of her arrival. “Gabriel, darling,” she said, lifting her smooth powdered cheek for a kiss.

“Hi, Emilie.” He gave her a hug along with the kiss.

The woman turned quickly to Cass, who also stood automatically. “And you’ve brought a guest. How wonderful.” She drifted forward as though she were walking on a cloud, her hand outstretched to grasp Cass’s. “It’s so lovely to meet one of Gabriel’s friends.”

“She’s here to see you, Emilie,” Gabe explained. “I just happened to meet her on the grounds, so I showed her the way to the house. Emilie, this is Cass Appleton. Cass, Emilie Crosswhite.”

“You’re here to see me?” Emilie Crosswhite repeated, turning to Gabe while clinging to Cass’s hand. “I thought I didn’t have any appointments this afternoon.”

“I don’t have an appointment, Mrs. Crosswhite,” Cass confessed, releasing the tiny cool hand that had gripped hers with unexpected firmness. “I didn’t have time to make one. I’m here because of an emergency.”

“An emergency!” Mrs. Crosswhite’s clear blue eyes dimmed with concern. Her classically arched eyebrows drew together as she frowned. “Sit down, my dear. Gabriel, ring for tea, won’t you please?” She led Cass to a sofa and sat, patting the cushion next to her. “Tell me all about it.”

Cass sat and her eyes flicked toward Gabe, who was speaking on the house phone. “It’s rather personal,” she said softly.

Mrs. Crosswhite followed the direction of her glance. “You mustn’t worry about Gabriel. my dear. He’s my godson and my most trusted friend. I have no secrets from him.” She laughed gaily, like a girl. “Except my age of course. No one knows that but me, and I’m afraid I’ve quite forgotten it.”

Gabriel had hung up the phone and stood propped against a high-backed chair, his forearms resting lightly on the wicker. His sea green eyes were alert and watchful, belying the casual pose.

Cass took a deep breath. “I’m not sure I know where to begin.”

Emilie Crosswhite patted her hand. “Just take your time, dear, and do the best you can. Gabriel will explain it to me if I don’t understand at first.”

That wasn’t a reassuring thought. Cass turned so she wouldn’t have to see Gabe’s face when she told Mrs. Crosswhite the reason for her visit. “Someone has kidnapped my cat,” she said.

“Oh, my dear!” Mrs. Crosswhite exclaimed, genuine distress clear on her face. “How awful for you.”

Cass ignored the choking snorting sounds coming from Gabe Preston’s direction and concentrated on capitalizing on Mrs. Crosswhite’s sympathy. “They didn’t mean to take my cat. They meant to take your cat, Princess Athabasca.”

“My cat?” Emilie Crosswhite looked confused. She shot a quick look at Gabe, searching for a clue to Cass’s mysterious statement. Apparently he was no help. She focused on Cass again. “I don’t understand, dear.”

“There was a burglary at Dr. Bellingham’s clinic last night,” Cass explained. “Whoever broke in took my cat and left a note. The note said the kidnappers would be calling you tonight to give you instructions on when and where to leave the ransom money. They think they stole Princess Athabasca, but they made a mistake and took the wrong cat. My cat.”

“That is the most ridiculous—” Gabe began.

Emilie Crosswhite brought him up short with a stern look, then addressed Cass. “What does your cat look like, dear?”

“He’s a big gray tom with gold eyes. Bobby, one of the kennel boys who works for Dr. Bellingham, says there’s a strong superficial resemblance between Crudley and the Princess.”

“Crudley?” Gabe echoed in disbelief. Cass nodded without looking at him. For the first time she wished she’d given her cat a more impressive name.

Emilie, however, seemed quite taken with the name. “That would be,” she ventured, “C-r-u-d-l-e-i-g-h? He is French, isn’t he?”

The unmistakable twinkle in Emilie Crosswhite’s eyes filled Cass with renewed hope. She smiled and shook her head in answer. “No, he’s American. It’s just plain l-e-y.”

“How refreshing! And what a relief, really. The French can be so fiercely independent one hesitates to offer help. A French cat, no matter how desperate his straits, might very well try to bite the hand that rescued him. I speak with some authority. We had a French poodle once—”

“Emilie,” Gabe interrupted, his voice dropping to a lower warning register.

“Now, Gabriel,” Emilie Crosswhite answered him, a hint of willfulness in her tone, “you know we have to help the girl.”

“This is not your problem,” he insisted.

“Of course it is,” she countered. “Someone tried to kidnap Princess Athabasca. They failed, but only because this girl’s brave cat thwarted their plans by valiantly substituting himself for their intended victim. It could easily be the Princess and not poor Crudley languishing in a cold dark cage somewhere without food or water or a kind voice to cheer him.”

Gabe rolled his eyes theatrically and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Emilie, your whimsical interpretation of events is an almost constant delight to me. But in this case, I think you’re overreacting. This woman is a stranger. She showed up here today unannounced, charmed her way past the staff—” he had the grace to stumble a little over that “—and now she’s trying to sell you this preposterous story, apparently in the hope you’ll feel guilty and agree to pay off some alleged kidnappers for the return of a cat she may or may not even own.”

Cass was prepared to take offense when Emilie Crosswhite took it for her. “Now who’s being ridiculous?” the older woman demanded. “No one would name an imaginary cat ‘Crudley.’ He’s obviously a real cat, and he’s obviously an innocent bystander, caught up in a plot to extort money from me. I cannot simply abandon this poor animal or pretend I bear no responsibility for what happens to him. He would be safe at this moment if I hadn’t taken the Princess to that wretched clinic for her yearly tonic.”

Cass had a fleeting vision of a kitty health spa where overweight and overpampered cats dined on caviar and drank Perrier water while attendants brushed their fur and clipped their unused claws. Then Gabe rejoined the argument. “What if she does own a cat named Crudley? What if he was at Dr. Bellingham’s clinic last night and he’s missing now? How do you know this woman isn’t the extortionist herself? How do you know she didn’t come here today to give you this sob story in person just to convince you to pay the ransom?”

“Very simply,” Cass interrupted, her temper rising at Gabe’s about-face and his attempt to blacken her character. “You know that isn’t true because I didn’t come here to ask Mrs. Crosswhite for any money.”

Emilie Crosswhite beamed at Cass, then threw a smug little smile in Gabe’s direction. “You see?” she scolded him. “I keep telling you not to assume the worst about people.”

Gabriel Preston colored deeply, an unreadable mix of emotions flashing across his face. He wasn’t ready to surrender, however. “Why did you come here, then?” he demanded of Cass.

“To ask Mrs. Crosswhite if she’d help by stalling the kidnappers when they call.” She turned to Emilie. “If you could play along with them, tell them you need time to collect the ransom and most of all not tell them they have the wrong cat, then that will give me a chance to notify the police. They can set up a phone trace or something and catch the people who did this.”

“The police are not going to go to all that trouble because of a missing cat,” Gabe interjected.

“He’s not missing. He was stolen,” Cass corrected hotly.

“Even if he was,” Gabe said wearily, “that isn’t a crime.”

“Of course it’s a crime!”

Gabe shook his head. “Cats are not considered property in this county.”

The two women stared at him, uncomprehending. “What does that mean?” Cass finally demanded.

“It means cats can’t be ‘stolen’ because legally they don’t belong to anyone. They’re like squirrels or raccoons.”

Emilie waved off Gabe’s statement. “They’re not a bit like either of those creatures.”

“Legally speaking, Emilie, cats are considered no different from wild animals. Unless they’re living on a game preserve, protected by state or federal government, their welfare falls outside the scope of the law.”

“But that’s absurd—”

“I never heard of anything—”

Both women had spoken at once. Both broke off at the same time, silently considering the implication of Gabe’s words. Cass found her voice first. “What about the break-in at the clinic? Isn’t that a crime?”

“Of course,” Gabe acknowledged. “And if the doctor notifies the police, they’ll take a report and conduct a routine investigation. They aren’t going to hunt for a missing cat, though.”

Cass’s jaw muscles tightened. “What about the ransom note? What happens when the kidnappers call and demand money from Mrs. Crosswhite? Isn’t that a crime?”

“Yes, that’s a crime, too. If anyone tries to extort money from Emilie, naturally she’ll report it to the police. But once she tells the extortionists they don’t have her cat and she won’t pay them a dime, she won’t have any further contact with them.”

“And what happens to my cat if she tells them that?”

Gabe shrugged. “Whoever took him, if someone really did take him, will probably just let him go.” He grinned wryly. “It isn’t as though the kidnappers have to worry about your cat identifying them to the authorities. There’s no reason for them to hurt Crudley.”

“So they’ll dump him somewhere and I’ll never see him again and then everything will be fine. Is that right?” Cass challenged.

Gabe had no answer. Silence fell on the group until Emilie Crosswhite gradually emerged from the fog of thoughtfulness that had enveloped her. “I cannot believe,” she said, “that the Princess could have been kidnapped and the police would do nothing to save her.” She made a nervous fluttery gesture with one hand.

“That would be a completely different situation, Emilie,” Gabe hastened to assure her. “If the Princess had been taken, there would certainly be an investigation.”

Emilie looked from Gabe’s calm face to Cass’s bewildered one as though afraid she was the only one who didn’t understand. “I thought you said the police wouldn’t consider a cat stolen.”

“The Princess is a show cat, Emilie. She has monetary, not just sentimental value. The law recognizes that.”

“Oh.” Emilie relaxed slightly even as Cass stiffened with anger. “Oh!” Emilie repeated with new distress as the meaning of Gabe’s analysis sunk in. She glanced at Cass’s tight-lipped profile. “Oh, dear. That really isn’t fair at all.”

Gabe quirked up one corner of his mouth and raised his eyebrows as if to say, What else is new?

Cass shot an angry look at him. “I’m sure you believed it when you said money can’t buy everything, Mr. Preston. You forgot to add, though, that a lack of money buys even less.”

Cass rose to go, infuriated that none of the sacrifices she made ever seemed to be enough. Money remained the great unequalizer. The world was run by the rich, for the benefit of the rich. Only they could expect “fair” treatment. Only they had the kind of security she’d worked so desperately to create for herself.

Emilie Crosswhite laid a surprisingly firm hand on Cass’s knee, pressing her to stay seated. She thrust her small but determined chin forward. “Well, Gabriel,” she announced, “if the police won’t help this girl, we certainly must.”

Gabe fixed Emilie with a warning look. “Now, Emilie...”

“Now, Gabriel...”

“What is it you propose to do?”

“I don’t know yet. You’ll have to help me figure that out. But it must be something that brings Crudley home safe to Miss Appleton.” Emilie patted Cass’s knee to emphasize her comforting words.

“You can’t mean you want to cooperate with these alleged kidnappers?” Gabe said incredulously.

“If that’s what it takes.”

Gabe threw up his hands in disgust. “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Emilie! Do you seriously believe Mark Gallagher will allow you to write a blank check to pay off some bungling extortionists who can’t even snatch the right cat?”

“He’s a wonderful advisor, but it’s my money,” Emilie insisted serenely. “I don’t see how he can stop me.”

“Emilie, you know very well—”

“Gabriel, I adore you but—”

“Excuse me,” Cass said, “but I already told you I didn’t want—”

The phone jangled loudly, arresting the verbal free-for-all. The three combatants stared at the white instrument perched on the wicker table as it rang again. Emilie Crosswhite and Gabe Preston moved toward it together until Emilie halted Gabe with an imperious look. She picked up the receiver and spoke calmly into it. “Yes, Mark?”

Emilie turned to smile at Cass, pointedly ignoring Gabe who stood, hulking over her, apparently trying to look menacing. “Put him through, dear,” she said. For the next few moments she concentrated on her conversation. “Yes...yes, I do... I see... Well, of course I do... No, no I wouldn’t do that... Is he, er, she all right?... Good, because if anything were to happen to him, uh, her, naturally I wouldn’t pay... Yes, I understand... Yes... Well, that’s quite a lot of money—not the sort of sum I have just lying about the house. I’ll need a few days to make arrangements to have it ready.... No, that would be quite impossible. I’ll need until Friday at least—Friday, that’s right... Very well.” Emilie hung up the phone and turned to her expectant audience.

Emilie still ignored Gabe and looked at Cass, breaking into a triumphant grin as she did. “They’re giving us until Friday. I told them I couldn’t possibly have the money before then. That gives us three whole days to come up with a plan.”

Gabe took a quick step to Emilie’s side. “What kind of plan?”

“The police may not be interested in our problem now,” she said haughtily, “but once we capture the catnappers and hand them over, I assure you the authorities will take us seriously.”

Cass could hardly fail to notice she seemed to have acquired a new ally. Neither could Gabe. “This has gone far enough, Emilie. Despite my advice, you’ve done all Miss Appleton claims she wanted you to. You’ve stalled the kidnappers. Now stay out of it.”

Emilie shook her head determinedly. “She was counting on the police to help her after I’d done my small part. But as you’ve so logically explained, they won’t I’ll have to, instead.”

Gabe stared into Emilie’s unwavering blue eyes. Sighing heavily, he ran his fingers through his sun-streaked hair. “Just how do you two amateur detectives propose to catch these crooks? Where are you going to begin your investigation?”

Emilie flicked a glance at Cass, who could only look back blankly. Her meeting with the society matron hadn’t gone quite as she’d hoped. She’d never planned on doing any investigating on her own. She’d expected to turn the whole mess over to the police. Suddenly left to her own devices, she hadn’t a clue what to do next. She shrugged and bit her lip. “We’ll think of something,” she said lamely.

Emilie Crosswhite was not so easily daunted. She looked Gabe square in the eye and smiled engagingly, as though they hadn’t been arguing ten seconds before. “You could help us,” she said sweetly.

“No.” The softness of the immediate response did nothing to lessen its forcefulness. Gabe picked up Emilie’s tiny fragile hand and held it tenderly in his own. “You know I can’t. And you know why.”

For a long moment the two of them looked at each other as though conducting a private conversation in complete silence. Emilie patted Gabe’s hand and smiled pensively. “I know, dear.” She turned back to Cass. “I suppose we’ll just have to pay the ransom.”

“What?” Gabe and Cass chorused with varying degrees of surprise.

“I don’t see any other choice,” Emilie said to Cass. “And it’s only ten thousand dollars,” she said to Gabe, adding with a meaningful lift of one eyebrow. “Hardly worth arguing about.”

“Ten thousand dollars?” Cass echoed. Unlike Emilie Crosswhite, she was horrified at the thought of spending so much money in a lump sum for anything. At the same time she was relieved that complying with the kidnappers’ demands would not be impossible, after all.

“Ten thousand dollars?” Gabe repeated in turn. “Are you sure that’s what they said?”

“Ten thousand dollars,” Emilie confirmed. “Since you won’t help us capture the kidnappers, we’ll just have to pay them off. I would have given them ten times that amount to secure Princess Athabasca’s return.”

“I know,” Gabe said. He frowned in confusion. “It’s almost as though whoever planned to take her doesn’t understand how much she’s really worth. I don’t like it.”

Cass stared at him in amazement. “I don’t believe you! A minute ago you were insisting Mrs. Crosswhite not pay anything, and now you’re insulted because they’ve asked for too little money!”

Gabe conceded the seeming oddness of his remark with a wry smile. “Not exactly. I am worried, though, that whoever stole your cat doesn’t have a better grasp of what its market value should be.”

“Worry all you like,” Cass replied in exasperation. “Personally I’m thrilled. If they’d demanded any more, I would never have been able to pay. As it is, by emptying my bank account and floating a small cash loan on my credit card, I can come up with the ransom.”

“Now, dear, you shouldn’t have to spend your life’s savings, even for such a worthy cause as rescuing your beloved pet. When I agreed to the kidnappers’ terms without consulting you, I made myself responsible for paying. I had no intention of forcing you to accept the financial burden.”

“That’s very generous of you, Mrs. Crosswhite. But I already explained I didn’t come here to ask for money. You’ve been very kind. Without your help I don’t know what I would have done. This isn’t how I expected to save my cat, but it doesn’t matter as long as he comes home safely.”

“Just a minute,” Gabe said, completely frustrated by the rapid turn of events. “You seem to have forgotten one or two minor details. Who is going to deliver the ransom money to the kidnappers? Where? When? These kinds of transactions don’t usually occur in broad daylight in public places. There is bound to be some danger to the person carrying the money.”

“He’s my cat. It’s my money. I’ll make the delivery,” Cass said shortly.

“And what if they want Emilie herself to be the courier?”

“Then I will be,” Emilie chimed in.

Cass threw an uneasy glance at the tiny woman. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. If we come to it,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “Look, all these people want is the money. They don’t want trouble. Why are you looking for problems where there are none?”

Gabe sighed heavily. “The problems are there whether or not you choose to see them. I already told you, the relatively small ransom the thieves have demanded means something. The only possibilities I can think of aren’t good. Most likely, it means we’re dealing with amateurs who don’t understand the value of what they’ve stolen. As amateurs, they’ll be twice as dangerous as professional crooks. They’ll be nervous and unpredictable, easily frightened into doing something stupid that could hurt someone. They’ll make mistakes and, unfortunately, you could be the ones to suffer for it.”

The women silently thought over Gabe’s analysis. Cass shifted uneasily on the wicker sofa. “There could be other explanations for why they asked for that particular amount of money,” she said.

“Perhaps ten thousand dollars is all they need,” Emilie suggested.

Gabe smiled tolerantly. “Greed, not need, usually motivates a kidnapper, Emilie. Maybe this first demand is only a way to test the waters. Maybe when the kidnappers call back Friday they’ll ask for twice as much. Or ten times as much. Maybe this is a kind of training exercise for them. Maybe they plan to go into business kidnapping the pets of wealthy people and ransoming them back. It’s a lot safer than kidnapping people, and could be almost as lucrative if you pick the right victim.”

He spread his hands and lifted his palms to indicate the world of possibilities. “I don’t know. But that’s my point. None of us understand the kidnappers’ motives, beyond the obvious desire to acquire some of somebody else’s money. My concern—” he leveled a serious expression at Emilie Crosswhite “—is you, Emilie. I can’t let you endanger yourself. That would be completely irresponsible of me.”

Emilie gazed at him fondly for a few moments. “I know, dear,” she said. “But my mind is quite made up. I intend to help Miss Appleton recover Crudley. You’ll just have to find a way to keep all three of us out of danger.” Gabe shook his head and rolled his eyes heavenward. Emilie leaned toward Cass and confided in a loud whisper, “That means he knows he’s lost the argument.”

“I heard that,” Gabe announced. “And contrary to your interpretation, all it really means is that I’m willing to call a temporary truce. I’m not making any commitments. You’re not making any commitments, Emilie. But Miss Appleton says she has the money. The kidnappers are supposed to call back Friday with further instructions. We’ll wait and see what they have to say.”

“That’s all we ask, dear,” Emilie assured him soberly while giving Cass a surreptitious wink.

As if on cue, a servant entered carrying a tray with three glasses of iced tea. The timing made Cass suspect the woman had been listening at the door, waiting for a break in the conversation. A second look at the woman’s elegant dress and regal bearing caused Cass to reconsider. She was hardly the type to eavesdrop. Her manner was deferential, but not the least bit servile. Tall and slender, she had the same smooth caramel complexion and piercing amber eyes of the gate guard. The two employees had to be related.

Tempting as the iced tea looked, Cass decided to take advantage of the natural break in events to leave. “Well,” she said, standing and ineffectually trying to smooth her wrinkled skirt, “I’ve taken enough of your time. I should be going. Despite Mr. Preston’s conviction that the police won’t be interested, I’d still like to stop by the station and make a report.”

“Suit yourself,” Gabe said with apparent indifference.

“I think that’s a fine idea,” Mrs. Crosswhite said. “And if you think it will help poor Crudley at all, be sure and tell the police that you’ve spoken to Gabriel and me and we’re willing to cooperate in every way.”

Gabe tensed at this suggestion and came dangerously close to scowling at his employer. “I’ll show Miss Appleton out,” he said curtly, striding to the door and waiting with obvious impatience as Cass thanked Emilie Crosswhite one final time.

Chapter Three

Outside, the heat seemed more intense than before. Where were Newport’s famed cooling ocean breezes?

Cass trailed her swift-moving escort back across the broad green lawns to the service road. By the time they reached the rear gate, Cass felt wilted all over again. “I hope you remembered to bring the key,” she said irritably. “I don’t feel like leaving the same way I came in.”

Gabe ignored her tone and stepped to one of the brick stanchions flanking the thick iron gate. Deftly he exposed a hidden control panel and punched in a coded number sequence. The heavy metal grillwork slid smoothly back.

Cass regarded her guide with a fresh flare of anger. “You knew all along how to open the gate. Why did you make me climb that fence?”

Gabe met her hostility impassively. “I needed to confirm my suspicions.”

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Cass said with a superior tone.

“You didn’t disappoint me at all. I suspected you had great legs, and you do.”

The unexpected turn of the conversation flustered Cass completely, as she was sure Gabe had intended. He was probably still testing her, hoping to provoke some revealing reaction. She wheeled and stalked through the gate.

Gabe caught her before she’d taken two steps, grasping her wrist gently but firmly to pull her up short. “I had to know how serious you were about needing to see Emilie,” he said unapologetically. “It’s your own fault,” he added. “You refused to tell me what was going on.”

“Oh, right. I’m sure if I had told you that my cat was mistakenly kidnapped, you would have flung the gates wide and happily ushered me in.”

“You’ll never know now, will you?”

“I can make a pretty good guess, based on the way you acted up at the house. I would never have been permitted within a mile of Mrs. Crosswhite.”

“Maybe not. Just remember, I don’t have to justify my conduct to you. I’m not only Emilie’s godson and friend, I’m also chief of security for Crosswhite Enterprises. I’m certainly not going to defend myself for wanting to protect Emilie from the con artists and opportunists who’ve been trying to get at her ever since her husband died.”

“Con artists? Opportunists?” Cass bridled. “You have no right to lump me in with people like that. I work for a living. I pay my own way. I came here to ask for the smallest of favors—a little of Emilie Crosswhite’s time and an inconsequential delay in telling the kidnappers they goofed. I’m the only one who’s been taken advantage of.”

“Maybe.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Just that I’m reserving judgment until this scenario has played itself out. Completely.”

“I don’t expect you to be around for the finish. Once I have the ransom instructions, I’ll gladly disappear from your life. What happens after that is between me and the kidnappers. It won’t concern you or Mrs. Crosswhite.”

“I hope you’re right. I hope you don’t give me any reason to regret the impulse to let you in here today.”

“What are you talking about?” Cass demanded in exasperation.

Gabe stared at her for a long moment, making his face an unreadable mask. “Let’s pretend,” he said evenly, “that you weren’t strictly on the up-and-up. Let’s say that you wanted to win Emilie’s confidence, and her sympathy. You might come to her with a story exactly like the one you told today. You’re an innocent bystander, caught up in a bungled extortion attempt. Fortunately you have just enough money to meet the kidnappers’ demands.

“Then on the day the exchange is to take place, and at the very last minute, the crooks demand more money. You’re totally tapped out. You’ve mortgaged your soul to scrape together the ten thousand they originally wanted. Tears and hand-wringing. What are you to do? Oh, happy day! Mrs. Emilie Crosswhite, noted philanthropist with enough money to pay the ransom a thousand times over, steps in quickly to offer assistance. Whether you let her give you the money or force her to accept a promise of repayment, the result is the same. You and the money and the phantom kidnapped cat vanish forever.”

Cass jerked her wrist out of Gabe’s fingers. Angry color mottled her cheeks. “That’s a very convincing story, Mr. Preston,” she said tightly. “Except that my cat is not a phantom and I am not a thief. If you’re really worried about people taking advantage of Mrs. Crosswhite, I suggest you look in the mirror. You’re a little too familiar with the worst in human nature. You might ask yourself why.”

“My character is not in question,” he said softly.

“And mine is?” Cass challenged.

Gabe raised one shoulder and tilted his head to regard her speculatively. He didn’t answer.

Cass reached for her car door, brushing aside Gabe’s attempt to open it for her. With an unnecessary roar, she started the vehicle and backed down the road. Her last view of the Crosswhite estate showed the enigmatic figure of Gabe Preston framed between the pillars in the high iron fence.

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