Afterglow (3 page)

Cole was caught in conversation with the redhead. Rand was certain there hadn’t been a ginger at the wedding. He’d remember. He had a strong aversion to them. The woman’s back was to him, yet every hair follicle on his body felt electrified, even though he knew she wasn’t who his body thought she was.

“Mortified!” He identified that shrill voice as belonging to one of the blond, heroin-chic bridesmaids. The well-preserved middle-aged woman she was talking to was related to the groom. Aunt, Rand remembered. She agreed wholeheartedly, “Outraged!”

The room was large enough to hold a hundred wedding guests, but with everyone agitated, vocal, and moving about, it seemed overly crowded with less than half that number this morning. Cole and the redhead wove their way through the masses, making their way along the back wall out of the traffic flow. It took willpower for Rand to pull his gaze from the unidentified woman.

Hotel security? Another doctor coming to check on the wedding party? He had no idea who she was, other than a distraction he couldn’t afford. It wouldn’t be so distracting if he could get a glimpse of the woman’s face to assure himself she wasn’t who he thought she was.

“My mother …”

“Not my fault, baby, I swear. Your sister …”

“… get tested, what if someone had …”

Rand lifted his head, his gaze skimming over the complainants and, like a filing to a magnet, back to the redhead just as she turned.

Ice-green eyes met his straight on.

Dr. Dakota North.

Impossible. Improbable. Incontrovertible.

It was that coppery hair that attracted him three years ago. But it was those pale eyes that had drawn an unsuspecting man like a moth to a flame. Windows to her soul, he’d thought back then. Cool, clear, and as refreshing as looking into a quiet pond. He remembered thinking her skin appeared luminous as if backlit. Glowing and silky smooth—

Seeing her here made something inside him go still—the quiet before the storm. Then he felt the impact of those familiar peridot-colored eyes like a physical blow to his solar plexus. A bomb of suppressed emotions exploded in his chest and splintered through him like shrapnel.

Bitch had
cojones
, showing up here. Now.

Rand kept his expression impassive, keeping a tight rein on his self-control so he didn’t betray even a flicker of what he was feeling. Too bad that self-control didn’t extend to his thoughts. He maintained eye contact for several more beats, giving her a cold look of inquiry.

Her chin lifted a fuck-you-right-back fraction of an inch.

Looking effortlessly hip in a simple white T-shirt tucked into dark jeans, completed with a black blazer fitted to her narrow waist, Dakota was thinner than the last time he’d seen her, her cheeks a little more refined.

Still so beautiful she made his mouth go dry.

He cleared his throat, tightening his resolve along with his jaw. He had no idea what the hell she was doing here or where she’d come from, but she could crawl right back.

She’d tied a mile of glossy red hair up in a just-got-out-of-bed untidy ponytail that hung over one shoulder and curled around her left breast before spilling like magma halfway to her waist. It was much longer than when he … they … than when he’d seen her last, but the color was seared into his memory. Fragrant living fire. Cool and impossibly silky to the touch.

In spite of, or hell,
because
of the situation, Rand instantly imagined all that wild red hair spread over her creamy naked body. Spread over
his
naked body. Even though he hadn’t drunk the mickeyed champagne, watching nothing but sex for hours straight left an imprint on his brain.

His body
remembered
hers. The taste. The texture. The heat. It all came rushing back in an unwelcome surge of muscle memory. His skin felt too tight, and he was annoyed to find his heartbeat doing calisthenics.

What kind of sick joke had put Dr. Dakota North and an aphrodisiac in the same geographical location? Someone up there must be laughing his ass off.

Rand glanced away. What was she doing here, halfway across the world from Seattle, anyway? Because having Dakota just show up out of the fucking blue was not only annoying as hell, it was a stretch.

Cole had gone to the airport to pick up Zak Stark’s handpicked Lodestone agent, and this was who he’d brought back? Even though Dakota was a chemist and could probably give him some insight as to what the drug might’ve been, she was a problem Rand didn’t want. They were done. Had been for two years. He wanted nothing to do with her. Not then, not now, not fucking ever again. She’d destroyed his family.

And nearly destroyed what was left of him.

He met his assistant’s gaze, telegraphing his feelings without a filter. Cole’s ass was grass for bringing her here.

He must’ve bumped into her at the airport, or—hell, Rand had no idea why she was standing there as if she had a gold-plated fucking invitation to stay.

Where was the Lodestone agent? Zak had assured him he was sending his best man for the job. Rand needed the guy
now
. Judging by the raised voices around him, he couldn’t wait any longer. They were edging toward hysteria, and it was time to take control.

Dakota’s shoulders stiffened as she started picking up and comprehending snippets of conversation.

“… make the Kardashian tapes look tame.”

“Paparazzi?”

They each had an embarrassing story, each more horrific and humiliating than the last, and everyone in the room started talking louder, determined to be heard. It was definitely time.

“Quiet!” Yelling “cut” might be more effective. Still, the decibel level dropped as Rand snagged their attention. “Take a seat and calm down. You
all
had a bad experience, but trying to top one another is counterproductive.” He paused. “Yes. You’ll be getting your phones and cameras back. I’d like to remind you that you all signed nondisclosure agreements, and it’s in everyone’s best interest to keep this situation out of the press. Let’s see what we know and go from there. One at a time.”

Everyone talked at once.

“Enough!”
His volume barely changed, but this time the group shut the hell up as everyone swiveled to face him. Their expressions ranged from fury to humiliation to fear. If looks could kill, he’d be stone dead.

And this was eleven hours
after
the incident.

“Arguing and pointing fingers isn’t going to help us find the culprit.” Rand kept his voice low and even. “My team has already spoken with each of you once, and we’re going to go through it again now, one story at a time. You might not realize that you saw something that might help us with the investigation. Please be patient and wait for my assistant, Cole, over there.”

Cole raised his hand.

“He’ll come to you. Refreshments have been set up to make the wait easier. Thank you for your patience and assistance.

“And no, Creed,” he added as the award-winning director and godfather to the bride opened his mouth to speak, “we
still
don’t know if a wedding guest was responsible.” Rand’s people had grilled all of them like cheese sandwiches. And since no one had been allowed to leave the floor, the culprit was still there. They just had to figure out who that was, and/or wait for a blackmail demand.

“Then
obviously
it was one of the hires.” Seth Creed’s voice was tight and level. Rand started out as a stuntman, working his way up to stunt coordinator for the director. Creed was a lifelong friend of Rand’s father. Rand was pretty sure they weren’t gay, but they had an interesting relationship that was hard to define. One thing for sure, Rand liked Seth Creed a hell of a lot more than he did his father.

The director had guided his career from the start. Rand owed him a lot. Seth’s stamp of approval on his security company had garnered clients before Rand earned them on his own. It pissed him off that this was the way he was repaying his friend for standing by him for years.

He’d always admired the director’s even temperament. Creed didn’t get flustered, never yelled or threw temper tantrums. His calm tones tended to keep people on his sets on an even keel, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t pissed as hell right now. His fair skin was flushed all the way to his receding hairline. His narrowed eyes warned that when he lost it, it was going to be extremely unpleasant for everyone.

“One of your security people—” Rand raised a brow, and the director subsided on the brocade settee, his expression grim, his eyes telegraphing his frustration. Unlike the others, he’d obviously taken the time to shower, and was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved, crisply starched blue cotton shirt, buttoned to the throat. “Or one of the waitstaff,” Creed finished. “You haven’t found
anything
new?”

“I would have told you.”

“It bears repeating,” Brett Sing, royal pain in the ass and stepfather of the groom, stated flatly as he joined them, his voice rising as he cast an unfocused look around the room. He smelled strongly of sweat and booze. He was still wearing his tux pants and jacket, but somewhere along the way had lost his shirt. “Maguire’s shecurity screwed up. Bottom line—
he’sh
responsible for this deviant getting in here in the first fucking plashe!” Again—or still—inebriated, he shot out a hand to brace himself as he listed to one side, sending a plate of croissants to the floor.

Rand bet the man would drink until he drowned out the memory of fucking his stepson’s best man on the dais in full view of his family. “And I’m not saying any different,” Rand said, keeping his fingers in the front pockets of his black dress pants in a deceptively calm posture. “Despite the fact that everyone here was run through a background check—twice—I take full responsibility for what happened.” His gaze flickered to Dakota in the back of the room.

Her eyes narrowed as she too studied the room’s occupants. He wondered what she was making of it all, then reminded himself he’d stopped giving a shit what she thought two years ago.

It wasn’t nearly long enough.

With her expertise, she’d probably be of some assistance, he acknowledged. But given her track record, he didn’t trust her. When the chips were down, self-preservation was the name of her game. He looked away and returned to the matter at hand. He and his people had done an exemplary job checking every aspect of the security for this gig. Including, Rand thought as he stared at Creed and the others, the entire guest list, the waitstaff, and his own security people. None of them had been exempt from intense scrutiny. The only person he trusted one hundred percent was himself.
Everyone
else was subject to suspicion.

Some, he thought darkly, not glancing at Dakota, more than others. “We have a strong lead,” he briskly told the group. “We’re going over every dotted
i
and crossed
t
. Again. I assure you, we
will
find the person or persons responsible and they’ll be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.” Before they were all blackmailed into bankruptcy, he hoped. And he lost his ass.

He walked over to what should have been the happy couple seated together on one of the ornate sofas strategically positioned to take in the view. Amanda Bennett, the petite, ethereal-looking bride, was one of Hollywood’s new romantic-comedy superstars.

Judging by her wet hair, she’d showered before changing from her wedding dress into jeans and a baby-blue T-shirt; her feet were bare. She looked about thirteen. She blushed crimson as she burrowed under her new husband’s beefy, protective arm. Her big blue eyes filled with tears. Not the tears that had won her three Oscars, a Tony, and several Golden Globes. These were the real deal. “My mother …”

“The doctor’s seen her three times,” Rand assured Amanda gently. Sara Tucker, a successful character actress, was too humiliated to leave her room. None of these people were at fault. Whatever the drug was, it was so powerful no one had been able to resist. It was doubtful if any of the wedding guests had even
noticed
when Tucker tried to rip the clothes off the nearest waiter and, when he fled, capped her bare breasts with the remnants of the wedding cake as she impaled herself on the groom’s twenty-year-old brother.

Some people should never be seen naked.

One aspect of this job that he and his people handled extremely well, thank God, was that not a whiff of the wedding had leaked to the press. That in itself was a fucking minor miracle with two such high-profile stars. Coupled with the nondisclosure agreements that all of the guests signed before attending the wedding, it meant there was still a chance to keep a tight lid on the situation.
Everyone
was humiliated by what happened. They weren’t going to say a damn word when they returned home. Even if someone
wanted
the publicity and was willing to go public about the incident, he or she would be ostracized by half of Hollywood for doing so, and it wasn’t worth the risk. Salacious was one thing, but the events at the reception had guaranteed that nobody came out smelling like a rose.

Ligg and his team had better find something on the images. Walters would spot the bad guy on the hotel video. Or Stratham and Rebik would find the missing waiter… . They just needed a place to start.

“Your mother’s fine now, sweetheart.” Jason Dunham, groom and action superstar, rubbed his chin on the crown of Amanda’s head as he met Rand’s eyes. Like many of the people in the room, Rand considered Jason a friend. He’d doubled for him in a handful of successful movies in his time, and they’d remained friends even after Rand branched off into his security business.