But what the hell was the sense of spending tens of thousands of dollars on security work if they were going to leave the fucking front gate wide open?
He bit back his irritation as he drove several hundred yards to the main house.
The acre surrounding the house was meticulously landscaped, the lawn a perfect green carpet that would have done a golf course groundskeeper proud. Brightly flowering bushes were clipped into submission, not a single leaf out of place. Beyond the lawn, the landscape was allowed to stay in its wild state until it blended in with the surrounding woods.
To the right of the house was a four-car garage. The housekeeper’s Saturn was parked in front of the leftmost door, and a black-and-white police cruiser emblazoned with the Atherton Police Department shield was parked beside it.
As he approached the mahogany double doors at the house’s entrance, he couldn’t help but shake his head at such excess. The house was a massive English manor–style home, designed as a monument to the owner’s wealth. Over ten thousand square feet for one resident. Well, three if you counted the time Kara and her younger brother spent here.
Not that Ethan had the right to judge. The house he and his brothers had grown up in hadn’t been exactly modest. Their father, Joe Taggart, had made his fortune in investment banking in the late eighties, and Ethan had grown up in a world where money was no object.
Only stints in the military had kept him and his brothers from becoming the type of entitled dickheads that this town seemed to breed.
Ethan rang the doorbell and was gratified to hear the beeping of the keypad in the front entryway. At least they were keeping the house alarm on, per his instructions.
The door swung open to reveal Manuela, Kramer’s housekeeper. A petite woman in her early forties, Manuela greeted Ethan with a shy smile. “Everyone is in the kitchen,” she said and motioned Ethan to follow her.
The hard soles of his shoes echoed on the marble floor of the foyer before it gave way to hardwood in the hallway that led to the kitchen. He could hear a man speaking in a low voice that echoed off the high ceiling, followed by another voice, more strident. “I don’t see what the hell that has to do with anything.”
Kramer, operating with his usual subtlety. Ethan often wondered how someone so lacking in tact had managed to become so successful in business. Then again, Kramer was the development guru at his biotech company, working behind the scenes to develop new and innovative products. When Ethan had researched Kramer before taking him on as a client, he hadn’t been surprised to read that although Kramer had founded GeneCor six years ago, when the company went public, investors had brought in a new CEO to be the public, polished face of the company.
In the kitchen were two uniformed policemen who quickly identified themselves as officers Hayes and Torres. “Ethan, thank God you’re here.” Jerry Kramer was a heavyset man of medium height. When he was angry or upset, as he was now, his scalp burned red under his thinning blond hair and a thick vein pulsed across his forehead. “I don’t think these clowns know what they’re doing.”
“And who are you exactly, Mr. Taggart?” Officer Hayes asked. The cop looked like he was straight out of a cornfield somewhere, blond and beefy, and almost a match for Ethan’s height of six foot three. His mouth was tight, his blue eyes hot as he obviously struggled with his patience.
Ethan offered his most engaging “Can you believe this guy?” smile, hoping he could salvage the situation before Kramer permanently pissed off the entire police department.
He handed Hayes a card. “My company handles Mr. Kramer’s security. He called this morning when he discovered his daughter was missing.”
Hayes nodded. “We arrived a few minutes ago and have been asking Mr. Kramer some questions.”
“None of which are relevant,” Kramer said.
Ethan hid a wince and wished he could simply backhand Kramer across the mouth. “Would you excuse us a moment?” he asked and grabbed Kramer by the arm before the cops could answer. He steered Jerry into the hall.
“Jerry, you’re not going to do anyone any good if you piss off the cops.”
“But they’re not doing anything. Why aren’t they out looking for her instead of standing in my kitchen asking irrelevant questions?”
“They said they just got here. They have standard procedure to follow.”
“But we’re wasting time when we should be out looking.”
Ethan gave Jerry’s arm a warning squeeze. “The best thing we can do right now is to answer all of their questions and give them all the information we can to help them find Kara.”
Jerry took a deep breath and nodded tightly.
As they turned back to the kitchen, Ethan could hear the low murmur of conversation between Manuela and the police. He strained to overhear but their discussion stopped as soon as they heard Ethan and Jerry’s approach.
The officers motioned Jerry to have a seat at the kitchen island. If he balked at the idea of being invited to sit in his own home, for once Jerry had the grace to keep his mouth shut.
Officer Torres flipped open his notepad. “Now, Mr. Kramer, you said you got home late last night.”
Jerry nodded.
“How late?”
“One
AM
,” Jerry said.
“And you don’t make it a habit to check on your children when you get home?”
“No,” he said defensively. “That’s why their rooms are in another wing. I’m out late quite often, and I don’t want to disturb them.”
More like you don’t want to actually have to interact with them for more than the time it takes you all to pose for the family holiday card.
But it wasn’t Ethan’s job to criticize Jerry Kramer’s style of parenting. It was all too common in families like this for kids to be foisted off on a series of nannies, tutors, and coaches while parents committed themselves to high-powered careers and equally demanding social lives.
Ethan should know. He and his brothers had experienced it firsthand.
“And your son is where again?” Officer Torres asked.
Jerry gave a frustrated shrug and looked pointedly at Manuela.
“Kyle is at baseball camp,” Manuela said in softly accented English. “He’ll be back next week.”
Officer Hayes pursed his lips before asking, “Any chance your daughter might also have plans to be away that might have slipped your mind?”
Ethan gave Jerry a warning look. He had no doubt officers Hayes and Torres would relish the opportunity to cuff and stuff a jackass like Kramer for assaulting an officer.
Manuela chimed up again. “Oh no, sir. Kara is home for the summer until Mr. Kramer takes the children to the Lake Tahoe house the first week of August.”
“Could she be at a friend’s house?” Officer Hayes asked. “Is it possible she’s spending the night and just forgot to check in?”
Before Jerry could answer, the front doorbell rang insistently. Manuela’s relief was palpable as she hurried out of the kitchen, the soles of her rubber sandals squeaking along the marble floor.
Ethan heard the murmur of female voices. Moments later, the squeaking approached again, soon drowned out by the clacking of a woman’s high heels. A bone-thin blonde of medium height burst into the kitchen, followed by an impressively tall woman with dark hair that angled sharply to her jaw.
“Jerry, what’s going on? Where is Kara?” The woman’s blue eyes were hollow and bloodshot, her cheekbones sharp and drawn as if she’d gone too long without a good meal or a decent night’s sleep.
“Jesus, what is she doing here?” Jerry said to the room at large.
“I called her,” Manuela offered softly, then cringed as though bracing herself for a blow.
Jerry’s cheeks flushed red and he opened his mouth. Ethan caught his eye and sent him a hard look, reminding him of their audience. Jerry swallowed hard and thought better of his tirade. “Everything is fine, Marcy.” He shot a glare at Manuela that promised later retribution. “There was no reason to call Mrs. Kramer.”
Marcy Kramer braced her thin shoulders and squared off against her ex-husband. “Don’t get angry at Manuela for calling to check if Kara was at my house. You should have called me.” Her mouth pulled into a bitter line. “But you were probably too busy boning your little twenty-year-old to even notice.”
“I’m surprised you weren’t too high on your happy pills to find the phone.”
Ethan inserted himself between Marcy and Jerry as gracefully as possible and painted on his most sincere, can’t we-all-just-get-along-here smile. The cops didn’t make a move, happy to have Ethan defuse the situation. “Mrs. Kramer, let me introduce myself. I’m Ethan Taggart. Your husband hired us to handle his security concerns.”
Marcy frowned and stepped back as though caught off guard, then blinked again as her gaze froze on Ethan’s face. She stared for a few minutes, unspeaking. Ethan was used to that. Not that he was especially vain, but if enough women tell you how gorgeous you are, you start believing them. Personally, he didn’t pay too much attention to his looks other than to keep himself clean shaven and to make sure his hair was cut short enough to subdue its natural wave, but he’d learned early in life that his good looks could be used to his advantage, especially when it came to women. In the navy, his looks and luck with women had earned him the dubiously flattering moniker Lancelot. Though he still didn’t like being compared to a man who slept with his best friend’s wife, he wasn’t above exploiting the edge his looks provided.
Marcy nodded absently before turning her attention to the police. “I don’t understand why you’re not out looking for her.”
Officer Torres stepped forward. “We’re still gathering information, ma’am. The more we know, the better we’ll know where to begin our search.”
The tall woman, who still hadn’t introduced herself, leaned with one hip against the granite island, arms folded across her chest. Low-slung jeans clung to her narrow hips and long, lean legs. A clingy black T-shirt with a picture of a red-and-green dragon rode over high, tight breasts and showed off toned, pale arms. Hazel eyes stared shrewdly through dark-framed glasses, her attention was focused solely on Ethan. With her no-nonsense look and unwavering gaze, she reminded him of his third grade teacher. Not that his third grade teacher had legs that appeared to sprout directly from her armpits or a wide, red mouth that no amount of pursing could make look prim. In fact, Miss Humphrey had been ancient—at least to his third grade mind—while this woman couldn’t have been older than her late twenties, early thirties tops. But Miss Humphrey had given him that same look, one that said, “You can smile all you want, young man. But I know exactly what you’re up to.”
Still, Ethan had yet to encounter a woman he couldn’t charm. Even Miss Humphrey had relented after the first semester.
He focused the full force of his smile on her tight-lipped face. “We haven’t met. I’m Ethan Taggart, Gemini Securities.”
She reluctantly took his hand. Hers was slender and fine-boned, all but swallowed up by his broad palm and long fingers. But her handshake was firm and her face remained impassive, her smile a mere tightening of the lips, a narrowing of the eyes. “Toni Crawford.” Her hand slid from his grip, and he felt the trace of her fingers all the way down to his groin.
“This is going to sound rude, but I don’t understand what you’re doing here,” Ethan prodded when she offered no additional information about herself.
“She’s with me,” Marcy said. “I hired Toni several months ago to do some work for me”—she looked pointedly at Jerry—“before I filed for divorce.”
“You’re her attorney?” He scanned her outfit skeptically.
Toni shook her head. “I do a little investigative work myself.”
Jerry’s head whipped around and his gaze narrowed on the woman’s face. “So you’re the one who cost me an extra ten million.” He tried to make it sound like a joke but Ethan could hear the menace in every syllable. “Those pictures really did me in.”
Toni straightened to her full height, which was a good two inches over Jerry’s. “Mr. Kramer, I only reported your activities back to my client. If you didn’t want to get caught, perhaps you should have thought better of your behavior.”
Ethan smothered a chuckle. Cool as a cucumber. Not a bit rattled, she stared Jerry down. She should have looked cold and intimidating but Ethan found her inexplicably sexy.
He’d already noticed her impossibly long legs. As subtly as possible, he moved his gaze higher to check out the firm curve of her ass. Nice. Not too big, not too small, nicely rounded against the fabric of her jeans. It was a perfect match for her breasts. Firm and round and high.
Her hair was thick and shiny, cut at a sharp angle that framed her features. And those heavy, librarian glasses did nothing to disguise the sculpted lines of her cheeks and jaw. With her pale skin, full red mouth, and almost-black hair, she was like Snow White in jeans and Converse All Stars.
Yeah, if Snow White looked like she wanted to reach out and snatch your balls off.
Still, Ethan felt his groin stir in appreciation.
Okay, so she was hot in a dark, serious sort of way, but his swift physical reaction didn’t make any sense. She was the exact opposite of what he usually went for. His mind flashed back to Gillian, whom he’d left only a few short hours ago in a tanned, blond, well-satisfied heap.
Yet here he was, working on a healthy hard-on for Toni.
Who didn’t like to be checked out, if the pursing of her luscious mouth was anything to go by. Unlike good-time Gillian, Toni looked like she hadn’t laughed in years and wouldn’t know a good time if it bit her in the ass.
Then again, if nipping her in her firmly curved rear was what it took to put a smile on her face, Ethan was game.
But now was neither the time nor the place for Ethan to fantasize about the many different ways he could make Toni Crawford smile.
Toni was oblivious to his lust, her face impassive as she turned her attention to Officer Torres. “Sorry we interrupted. What have you found out so far?”
“We wanted to know if Kara could be at a friend’s house, could have gone out and forgotten to check in?”
“Kara’s very responsible,” Jerry said. “She would never forget to call.” He shot a meaningful look at the housekeeper.