“Please, Albert, don’t make a scene.”
Indeed, everyone in the area seemed to be focused on the argument.
“I don’t care who hears me! I will hold you personally responsible if I don’t get Mama’s desk back!”
Galen was shaking as she said, “I—I’m afraid you’ll have to bid on it.”
“Fine!” Al stormed over to the desk, practically running into Simone. She moved out of the way, and he picked up a pen and quickly scribbled his bid. “That should do it until I find Teresa and get this straightened out.”
“Really, there is no way to get the desk back other than win the bid,” Galen squeaked to his retreating back.
“You won’t let someone else have it if you know what’s good for you!”
Simone had no doubt Al would try to circumvent paying for the desk. He was the antithesis of generous, as she well knew. He was refusing to release any money—David’s share of the law firm—to her. She was certain Al would try to find a way to negate the small fortune David had brought into the business before he’d died, thereby cutting her out completely. She suspected she might have to hire a lawyer of her own to get what Al owed her and Drew.
If she was a different type of person, she would simply sic her brother Michael on him. For the first time in her life, she was tempted to use her family connections.
Before Simone could move away, another member of the Philanthropic Club, Nikki Albright—Marilyn-blond and statuesque in a gold lamé number—slithered over to the desk and scribbled another bid. “If Cecchi thinks he’s getting this desk back, he’s got another think coming,” she told anyone within earshot. “I don’t care how much I have to bid to keep it away from him!”
Nikki’s bitter tone made Simone wonder what Al had done to her. “I’m sure it will all work out for the best,” she murmured.
“You ought to watch your mouth, my dear,” a man said in a low, cultured voice.
Simone recognized Nikki’s ex-husband. Sam Albright wore a perfectly tailored gray suit, the cut of his blond hair making him look distinguished.
“Why? What are you going to do to stop me from talking, Sammy?” Nikki demanded, pushing her way past him.
“I’m not beyond finding ways of dealing with unpleasant situations,” he warned. “You’ve had a taste of that before.”
He watched her through narrowed blue eyes for a moment before shaking his head and moving on. Nikki looked genuinely frightened.
Simone rubbed a chill from her arms. What a bully. She made her way downstairs, looking for reporters and intending to steer clear of them. On the main level, guests gathered in small groups, sat at tables or boogied on the dance floor.
At least half of the crowd was middle-aged or older so the deejay was playing old seventies’ rock tunes. Simone liked the music better than the incessant hip-hop that used to come from Drew’s room at all hours. Her son had been driving her crazy with his music until she’d cut a deal with him that he would wear headphones when she was home.
Halfway down the open-backed staircase, Simone stopped when she spotted Cass talking to a man who looked disturbingly familiar. This must be the boss the hostess had mentioned. He was tall and muscular and handsome. Even from a distance she could see his chiseled features framed by slicked blue-black hair. Her stomach knotted and her throat tightened.
He looked like a mature version of…
She forced herself to continue down the stairs, only she couldn’t take her eyes off the man. Before she reached the club floor—as if he knew she was staring at him—he lifted his face and met her gaze.
A wave of dizziness swept through her and almost made her stumble.
Cass was pulling the man toward her and all Simone wanted to do was escape.
She could see Cass’s mouth moving—the hostess was obviously trying to tell her something. But the blood was rushing through Simone’s head and she could only distinguish one word.
“Gideon.”
GIDEON WAS stunned.
The sounds and movement of the club receded as he came face-to-face with the woman he’d thought was out of his life forever.
He couldn’t stop staring at Simone. She’d matured into an exquisite beauty. Her dark hair hung in long waves over her dark green gown—the same startling green as her eyes.
Taking the final step down toward him, Simone held on to the railing as if to steady herself. She was taller than Gideon remembered, maybe five feet eight or nine, and her curves had matured—full breasts, trim waist, round hips.
It really was his Simone. He’d known her as Simone DeNali, not Simone Burke.
“Mrs. Burke,” he said, trying to keep his voice pleasantly neutral as he glanced at her left hand, which had a white-knuckled grip on the railing.
No wedding ring…
So she’d removed it.
“Is there something I should know?” Cass asked, looking from him to Simone.
“I imagine if there were, you would already know it,” he said casually.
Cass sighed. “How many times do I have to tell you it doesn’t work that way?”
Simone blinked and seemed confused. “What doesn’t work what way?”
“Cass’s—”
“Intuition,” the hostess finished for him, then rushed on to add, “Simone is the public relations person for the Chicago Philanthropic Club.”
“And doing a fine job as far as I can see.” He didn’t take his gaze off Simone.
“How would you know what kind of a job I’m doing, considering we just met?” Simone asked.
Her familiar low, throaty voice made the skin along his forearms prickle with goose bumps. That voice had always turned him on. Now here she was challenging him, Gideon realized, trying to get him to say something to admit they knew each other.
Or was she?
“It was lovely meeting you, Gideon,” Simone said, suddenly seeming distracted. “Congratulations on the success of Club Undercover.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes when she said, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to circulate.”
She floated off into the crowd without so much as a glance back his way.
“What was that all about?” Cass asked.
“If you don’t have anything to keep you busy, I’m sure I could find something.”
“Uh, right, I get the hint. But if you want to talk about her…”
Gideon didn’t answer and Cass didn’t wait around for another invitation to leave. The second she moved off, Gideon tried to find Simone in the crowd, but she seemed to have disappeared.
Again…
She could destroy everything he’d worked for. She could destroy him.
All she had to do was tell her brother, Mob boss Michael DeNali, that he’d returned to Chicago. Michael had sworn to kill him before he’d disappeared several lifetimes ago.
But he wasn’t running anymore, not ever again.
Chapter Two
Simone rushed through the crowd to head off her brother before he came face-to-face with the owner of the club. Joey Ruscetti might call himself Gideon, but that didn’t mean Michael wouldn’t recognize him. Her pulse ratcheted up a notch. She prayed Gideon wasn’t following her. She chanced a look back but didn’t see him.
“Simone, there you are.”
Michael wrapped an arm around her back and kissed her cheek. Dressed in Armani, his hair fashionably spiked, he almost blended in with the crowd. But there was something about him—the way he carried himself, the way his dark eyes continually scanned the club as if looking for enemies—that set him apart. Not to mention the muscular bodyguard who stood several paces away. Big and blond, Ulf Nachtmann had the attention of several interested women, but his pale blue eyes were focused on the man he’d been paid to keep safe.
“You don’t have a drink,” he said.
“I’m working, remember?”
“Your work here is done. This party’s a success. You should be celebrating.”
Not anymore, she thought.
Michael gra
bbed a flute of bubbly from a passing waiter’s tray and placed it in her hand. “To my little sister’s success.”
“I didn’t put this fund-raiser together myself, you know. I’m just one cog in the machine.”
“Then to success in any venture. How did your little job interview go?”
Simone bit back a sharp retort. Being the public relations person for a local Chicago-based charity might be small potatoes to him, but it would have been a big deal to her. “It could have gone better.”
In the eyes of the man who’d interviewed her, the voluntary charity work she’d done year after year hadn’t made up for her not having had a paying job.
Michael slugged down his drink and said, “I don’t know why you suddenly want to work anyway.”
“I have a son to raise, remember? Who knows if I’ll ever see a penny of David’s life insurance.”
David had taken out a two-million-dollar policy several months before his death. The insurance investigator was of the opinion that David might have committed suicide. Ridiculous! Then what?
Simone wanted to believe her husband’s death had been an accident.
So why couldn’t she?
“The insurance money’ll come through eventually,” Michael reassured her.
“In the meantime, it would be nice if I could get David’s share of Cecchi and Burke.”
“If Cecchi needs some incentive—”
“No. And that’s final.”
“All right. Don’t get yourself into a twist.” He signaled a waiter and pointed to his empty glass. “And don’t worry about the money. I’ll give you whatever you need. Even better, sell your place and move in with me. Since the divorce, that place is too big for me. I rattle around all by myself.”
Him, his staff and his bodyguards, Simone thought, but she knew what he meant.
The Prairie Avenue mansion, built at the start of the twentieth century by a leading industrialist, had been too big for their family when they’d all lived there. It had always been a showplace rather than a home. After their father had been incarcerated at Stateville Correctional Center in Joliet, their mother had left it for their town house in Florida. And there she’d stayed. Michael had refused to move. He’d hung on to the place through three divorces.
She and Michael had been close as kids. He’d always turned to her to feel better when he’d screwed up and Papa had been hard on him. And after Papa had been indicted, Michael had assumed the responsibility of being the head of the family. He’d seen her through a rough time and had made sure she was protected, just as she used to do for him.
“You and Drew can have the whole third floor to yourselves,” Michael said. “Think about it. David isn’t around anymore, but Drew still needs a man’s hand.”
Her teenage son could use a good male influence. Michael just didn’t happen to be it.
Drew still hadn’t gotten over David’s death. The sixteen-year-old was already looking more and more to Michael for guidance.
That’s what Simone feared most.
Realizing her brother was still waiting for an answer, Simone said, “You know how I feel about taking money from you, Michael.”
“It’s family money.”
“Exactly.”
His visage darkened and he said, “I run legitimate businesses, Simone.”
Some were, perhaps, but Simone didn’t believe he’d divested himself of certain edgy if lucrative ventures that included an escort service staffed by gorgeous women and a security outfit with specialists who looked as if they’d pumped iron behind bars.
“I need to know I can take care of Drew and me, Michael. I need to prove this to myself.” Papa had taken care of her, then Michael, then David. It was her turn to take care of herself. “I need purpose to my life, I need something that someone didn’t give me. Surely you can understand that—wanting to have something you call your own.”
His glower softened and he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and shook one free. “Okay, okay, little sister. You always wow me, you know. We’ll do it your way for now.” A book of matches in his left hand, he bent a single match and touched the head to the flint. He flicked with his thumb and the match flamed to life. “But you change your mind and want me to take care of Cecchi, you just say the word.”
She would never tell Michael to act for her. Hoping to smooth over the atmosphere between them, she asked, “So, where’s your date for the evening?”
After taking a long drag on his cigarette, Michael said, “Don’t have one. The society dames who are here are rich. You’re the only woman who’s ever loved me without wanting anything from me. Hell, you won’t take it when I offer. Maybe that’s the key to getting a keeper—getting someone like you, a woman who won’t want to be with me just for the money.”
Simone smiled. Of course, Michael wasn’t here because the holiday spirit had hit him. He would never even wear a sprig of holly or a decorative tie during the season…not even when she bought one for him. Even when they’d been kids, he’d said pretending to believe in Santa was only good for the loot you got. So he wanted Santa to give him a new wife?
“There are plenty of eligible women around.”
“And I see one right now. Later, sis.”
Focused, Michael moved in on a young woman Simone didn’t recognize. With purple chunks highlighting her spiked short brown hair, and even though it was winter, wearing an unusual outfit that left her midriff bare, and her navel rings showing, she certainly stood out from the more conservative crowd.
Not exactly Michael’s type, but hopefully she would keep him entertained and away from their ghost from the past.
Gideon…
“THAT BITCH made another bid?”
Having just entered the silent auction area, Gideon whipped around to see who’d made that comment and saw a thin, middle-aged man with a receding hairline adding a bid for the Victorian desk.
“I need a stiff drink,” the man muttered and stalked off to get one.
Gideon signaled Blade, who was tending bar tonight, to keep an eye on the angry guest.
Then he looked around for Simone. She’d given him the slip and had stayed out of his line of sight all evening. Surely she couldn’t have left, not when she was one of the society women running the show.
He’d seen Michael, though, Gideon thought grimly, thankful that he’d managed to stay off the other man’s radar. He didn’t want any trouble, not tonight. This charity event was too important—among the recipients of the funds raised would be a local shelter for abused women and children.
After tonight…well, Gideon didn’t want any trouble with Michael DeNali at any time, but at least he would have people to watch his back.
“You must have a lot on your mind.”
Gideon realized Gabe Connor, his security chief, was standing directly in front of him. His narrowed green eyes, intent expression and hard-set square jaw stood in contrast to the fantasy of the Santa hat covering his dark hair.
“It’s turned out to be an unusual evening, all right,” Gideon admitted. “I’ve just seen a couple of ghosts from the past.”
“Anything you want me to do?”
Gideon noticed a blonde stopping at the Victorian desk and adding a bid to the list. The one dueling for the piece with the man at the bar?
Realizing Gabe was waiting, he snapped his attention back to the man. “Ever heard of Michael DeNali?”
“Who hasn’t? He’s here tonight?”
Gideon nodded, brought Gabe over to the balcony railing, spotted Michael in the crowd and pointed him out. “He’s trouble, and I don’t want trouble out of control in my club.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
Though Gabe was dressed as well as any guest, the headset threaded under the Santa hat kept him in contact with his team and identified him as security. He used the system now to talk to one of the men on the main floor and instructed him to keep an eye on Michael.
“Is this something we should talk about?”
Gabe then asked.
“Maybe another day.”
Gideon was aware of the curiosity he inspired in Team Undercover, as he liked to call his associates. They knew nothing about his past, but it seemed his past had just caught up with him.
Isn’t that why he’d come back to Chicago?
No matter that he’d spent half his life running—and despite Michael’s threats of vengeance—he’d always known he would have to come back to face what he’d left behind. It was a matter of honor. Besides which, he hadn’t been able to get Simone out of his blood, and to do that, he knew would have to confront her one day.
But after having reclaimed the city for his own and after having had a local private eye investigate Simone and her new life, he’d kept a low profile and had waited for the right moment, the right opportunity to…
To what?
He’d never quite figured that out. Simone had been happily married with a son, and so he’d been tempted to leave until he’d found his mission, a reason for being. A reason for staying put and not moving on to the next city, the next meaningless life, as he’d done over and over through the years.
Team Undercover—they’d all worked together several times now to help people out of dire straits. When the desperate had nowhere else to turn, they could turn to him and his associates. It was the reason that, in the end, he’d agreed to the charity event at Club Undercover. Giving aid to abused women and their kids fit right in with the team’s mission.
But no one on the team knew Gideon’s true identity. Maybe it was time to break the silence.
When the desperate had nowhere else to turn…
He only hoped that didn’t end up being him.
“YOU HAVE five minutes to make your final bids,” came the announcement over the loudspeakers in the club. “This is the five-minute warning.”
Simone entered the now-crowded silent auction. People were jockeying to make their final bids. She scanned the crowd for a dark head that stood out above the others. No Gideon. She didn’t know if she was disappointed or relieved.
A loud “Oops” turned her toward Galen O’Neill, who’d dropped something that went skittering toward Simone.
Red Carpet Christmas Page 2
