by Cara Summers
Lily felt her stomach sink. "No. Tony's not going to forget that I came here with the intention of stealing his hotel away from him. I just want to make sure he doesn't lose it."
Tyler set the papers down. "Well, the offer is open. You can change your mind. In the meantime, Nick and I did a little checking into why Tony's father might have warned him not to sell to McNeil."
"As far as I could see, McNeil and Henry Romano never met," Nick said. "There's no record of any business dealings."
"But it turns out that my grandmother had business as well as personal dealings with J. R. McNeil. She was engaged to him at one time. They'd even set the wedding date."
Lily stared at Tyler. "I never knew."
"You must have been a child. I certainly was. The only reason I came across the information is that my grandmother kept a series of journals and I'm trying to organize them into a biography. She met Henry the month before her wedding, and then she evidently changed her mind about the wedding."
"Did she say why?" Lily asked.
"She's not really clear on that one." Tyler smiled wryly. "My grandmother was a shrewd woman. I'm sure she kept the journals, knowing that the information would be made public after her death. She's vague about a lot of things."
"When was the wedding date?" Lily asked.
Tyler smiled. "Now that she did write down. They were to be married on March 15th."
"The Ides of March," Lily murmured. "Dame Vera said that everything started on the Ides of March."
_____9______
Tony hadn't been in one of the presidential suites at the Plaza before, and he was impressed as the hotel butler led him down a short hallway to a spacious sitting room. With a quick glance, he took in the plush cream-colored carpet dotted with what appeared to be authentic oriental rugs, fresh flowers on an ebony coffee table, and a wall of windows that in daylight would offer a view of Central Park. J.. R. McNeil, looking warm and expansive, sat at a mahogany dining table. As the butler led him toward it, Tony studied the woman standing to his left. Pamela Langford-McNeil was a tall brunette in her early fifties, Tony guessed, but very well preserved. And she had the cold eyes of a shark.
"Would you like some coffee, Mr. Romano?" Pamela asked.
Tony glanced briefly at the silver urn on the nearby buffet, then shook his head. "No, thanks. I'd like to get down to business."
A flicker of annoyance passed over Pamela's carefully made-up features. "Jerry should really be in on this meeting. He'll be here shortly."
Impatience flashed into J.R.'s eyes. "You can fill Jerry in later, Pamela. Obviously, what Mr. Romano has come to say is urgent. Otherwise, he would not have requested this meeting at such a late hour."
Tony studied the man seated across from him at the table. He was in his late sixties. That much he knew from the background check that Sam had run. His first wife, Lily's mother, had died shortly after Lily was born. He'd married Pamela Langford when Lily was ten. J.R. carried the years well, and from the neatly styled hair right down to the personally tailored suit, he looked every bit the successful CEO of a multimillion-dollar corporation. But for the life of him, Tony couldn't picture the man as Lily's father. Perhaps because the warmth that the man exuded was merely a mask.
J.R.'s lips curved in a smile that didn't reach his cool gray eyes. "I'd like to apologize for my daughter's ineptness in representing McNeil."
Beneath the table, Tony's hands clenched into fists. "She isn't inept."
"Inexperienced, then," Pamela said. "You'll be much more comfortable dealing with Jerry. He's had lots of—"
"I won't be dealing with Jerry." Tony kept his eyes on McNeil's. "The only person from McNeil Enterprises that I intend to deal with is Lily. In fact, I called this meeting in part to let you know that you've made the trip to New York for nothing."
J.R.'s eyes narrowed. "And what was the other part of your reason for requesting this meeting?"
"I don't want you to show up at Henry's Place unless you're invited because I don't want Lily upset."
J.R. leaned back in his chair. "So that's the way it is."
"That's the way it is." Neither of the two people facing him looked happy.
"That's it? That's what you came out here to say?" J.R. finally asked.
"No." Tony leaned back in his chair. "I want to know the real reason why you offered to buy Henry's Place last month."
"I told you—"
"You told me squat." Tony leaned forward. "You've bought up the entire block surrounding the hotel."
"I don't know what you're talking about," J.R. said.
Tony waved a hand. "Don't bother lying. My brother and my cousin have checked it out. Giles For-tescue is ready to participate in a bidding war for the hotel. And someone is trying very hard to put Lily or me or both of us out of the picture. In the past twenty-four-hours we've been shot at and nearly run down."
Tony could have sworn that J.R.'s skin whitened beneath his tan. "If you're accusing me—"
Tony raised a hand. "No. I'm not accusing you. I wanted you to know that this 'deal' you're involved in has put your daughter's life at risk. And I'm warning you—if you're behind the attacks, I'll find out and I'll expose you."
"Now wait just a minute." Some of the color had returned to J.R.'s face. "I would never do anything to harm my daughter. And I don't make a habit of killing people just so that I can buy their hotels."
J.R. had made a smooth recovery, Tony thought, but something that he'd said to the older man had shaken the him. If he could just pinpoint exactly what it was... In an attempt to penetrate McNeil's very smooth facade again, he asked, "Why did my father tell me never to sell to you?"
Surprise flickered in his eyes before the shutters slipped back into place. Everything else aside, Tony realized that he might actually enjoy playing poker with Lily's father.
"He told you that?" J.R. asked.
Tony recognized the question as an attempt to stall. The older man was trying to gather his thoughts. "What did you do to him to make him distrust you that much?"
J.R. drew the pen through his fingers again. "Nothing. Your father was the man who couldn't be trusted. He stole away a woman I was about to marry."
This time it was Tony's turn to be surprised. He glanced at Pamela and he would have bet that this was news to her also.
"Who?" And then the answer came to him as suddenly and definitively as little lottery balls slipping into slots. "Isabelle Sheridan. You're after my hotel because of something that happened over twenty years ago?"
"No." J.R. was in control again. "My offer to buy your hotel is strictly business."
There was something that J.R. wasn't telling him. Tony was sure of it. But he was out of ammunition and time.
J.R. rose from the table and extended his hand. "I'm looking forward to hearing my daughter's report, Mr. Romano. And don't worry, I won't visit the hotel without an invitation."
Lily closed the door of the penthouse suite and leaned back against it. The first hint of dawn was graying the sky, but the room was dark—darker than it had been earlier with the moonlight streaming through the glass. She knew that the place was empty. If Tony had returned while she was away, he would have called Sam the moment he discovered she was missing. Barring that, he would have been waiting for her, ready to pounce as soon as she came in.
Pressing the heel of her hand against the tightening sensation in her chest, she told herself that it was relief she should be feeling. If he'd been here waiting, there would have been hell to pay. If he'd been here waiting, she would have been willing to pay it. If he'd just been here.
She moved down to the table that he'd set for her earlier in front of the fireplace. She missed him. It had been only a few hours since he'd been here, since they'd made love, and she missed him. Picking up the vase filled with lily-of-the-valley, she inhaled their scent and wondered how much she was going to miss Tony Romano when he was out of her life for good.
A sound had her turning and moving t
oward the window. She knew that Sam had a man stationed on the roof somewhere, but this would have been the first time that she'd heard him. For a moment the footsteps paused, and she concentrated on identifying the shadows that she could see. The darker shapes about ten yards away had to be the potted trees that separated the penthouse patio from the rest of the roof.
The footsteps began again, and it was only a moment before a shadow separated itself from the row of trees and began to move slowly toward the door. Straining her eyes, she tried to see who it was. But the light was too dim. She could have sworn that whoever it was wore a cloak of some sort that swung about his feet as he moved. The sound of the footsteps was muffled, almost as if the person was tiptoeing.
Could it be Tony? But surely, Tony wouldn't be in a cloak. Nor would he be sneaking so stealthily across the patio. Operating under the principle that it was better to be safe than sorry, she grabbed the candelabra off the table and hurried to hide behind the door to the suite.
The knob began to turn slowly just as she flattened her back against the wall. Raising the candelabra above her head, she braced herself and waited. For ten long seconds—she counted every one—nothing happened. Any remaining hope she had that this was Tony drained away. Surely, Tony would have walked right in.
A scenario began to build itself in her mind as fear fed her imagination. The shooter had somehow gained access to the hotel. The bald man in the sunglasses had eliminated the man stationed on the roof. And now he was ready to eliminate Tony.
Still the door didn't open.
Had the intruder heard her? Was he waiting and listening just as she was? Only because she had to, Lily drew in a quiet breath and let it out. Her arms were beginning to complain loudly when the door finally began to open. Stepping out of its way, she swung her arms down.
There was the sound of a thud, then someone swore loudly. She had time to absorb that much before she was shoved so hard into the wall that she dropped the candelabra. The impact was still singing through her when her arms were grabbed and pinned above her head. She opened her mouth to scream, but a hand clamped over it.
"Lily?"
She recognized the voice at once, even though he spoke in a whisper. Tony. Relief streamed through her.
"Is that you?"
She tried to nod against the hand that covered her mouth.
"Is there anyone else in the suite?"
This time she gave her head a negative shake.
Immediately, he released her and whispered, "What the hell is going on? What have you got on your mouth?"
For the first time, Lily remembered that she was still in disguise. How was she going to explain that? She didn't want him to know about her meeting with Tyler and A.J. Not yet. Before she could answer, Tony reached behind her and flipped on the lights. Then he simply stared at her.
"It's a mustache," he said. "You're wearing a mustache."
She lifted her chin as she looked him over with the same interest that he was bestowing on her. "You're wearing a dress. And a wig."
He tore the wig off and tossed it on the couch. "I had to wear a disguise to get out of the hotel safely." Then his eyes narrowed and the heat in them nearly seared her right to the bone. "That's what you're trying to do, isn't it?" Then gripping her arms, he gave her a shake. "Admit it. You're trying to sneak out of here in that get-up, aren't you?"
It that was the conclusion he wanted to jump to, Lily was only too happy to encourage the leap. Better that than have to admit that she'd already done it.
"Can't you get it through your head that someone may be trying to kill you?" He gave her another shake.
"Or you." She twisted herself free enough to poke him in the chest. "It's okay for you to go parading off around the city wearing a dress, but I have to stay cooped up here?"
"Yes!" he shouted.
"In a pig's eye," she shouted back.
"You two okay?"
The voice from the doorway had them both spinning toward it. Lily recognized him as the man who'd escorted her down to Sam and A.J.'s waiting car. Something in the way they both looked at him had him raising his hands palms out. "Just checking. Sam will have my head if anything...well...I can see that I'm..." He paused and made a choking sound. "I can see that...I'm interrupting—" He broke off as the laugh escaped, a deep-throated sound. "Sorry." One hand on his stomach, the other still "raised, he backed off a step. "I heard...the shouting." This time the laugh came right up from his belly.
Picking up his skirt so he wouldn't trip, Tony strode to the door. "Say one word about this to my brother, and you will regret it."
"Right...I understand." The rest of his laughter was muffled as Tony slammed the door.
When Tony turned back to her, he looked embarrassed, frustrated, and furious. His hair was sticking up in all directions, and he had the skirt of a flowered dress fisted in his hand. Her stomach plummeted and she felt herself take a quick hard tumble into love.
Had she just fallen in love with a man who looked mad enough to shake her? Panic warred with laughter—but laughter won, and she couldn't prevent it from escaping.
She coughed, trying to disguise it. "You're wearing a dress. I'm wearing a mustache." Helpless, she didn't bother with the cough when another laugh slipped out. "Can you imagine what he thought?"
Tony glared at her. "Several scenarios come to mind and I'm not interested in any of them getting out on the street or back to my family." He paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing. "You think this is funny."
The amazement in his voice had her doubling over. Drawing in a deep breath, she gasped, "Hilarious." Then as the next laugh escaped, she sank to the floor. "That dress gives new meaning to the phrase fashion emergency. You should see yourself,"
"I did, and it's not an experience I care to repeat. How about you? Looked in the mirror lately?"
She glanced up then, swiped at her eyes. "What?"
"Your mustache is crooked." His temper hadn't run its course, but watching her doubled over with mirth, he felt it draining. In a second he was crouched down on the floor in front of her. "Here, let me fix it." He yanked it off.
Startled, she pressed her fingers to her upper lip, then he watched her eyes fill with laughter again. This time he joined her. As the sound of his laughter filled the air, he began to feel relaxed for the first time since the car had nearly run them down.
By the time they'd regained some control, he was sitting beside her on the floor, his arm around her shoulders. He decided against asking her where she'd intended to go in her disguise. If she told him, he'd probably just become angry again. Instead, he asked, "Where did you get the mustache?"
"Alistair," she said.
He grinned. "Figures. Dame Vera was kind enough to lend me the dress and the wig. I'm betting she wouldn't be caught dead in either one." He patted her knee with his hand. "You'll be happy to know that I took them off before I talked with your father."
She twisted on the floor so that she could face him. "You met with my father?"
He nodded, then tightened his grip on her shoulder when she started to say something. "We didn't talk business. I told him that the only McNeil I would do any business with was you."
"But...then, I don't understand. Why did you go to see him?"
He took her chin in his hands so that she had to meet his eyes. "He's your father. He has a right to know that someone is trying to hurt you." He couldn't say kill. He didn't want to dwell on the fact that he could have lost her twice in one day. He needed to keep his mind clear if he was ever going to figure out what was going on.
When her eyes widened, he said, "What?"
"I just remembered. I got a phone call—on my cell phone a couple of hours ago. The voice was disguised, but whoever it was warned me that I'd be sorry if I didn't clear out of this hotel."
"What were the exact words?"
"If you want to survive another twenty-four hours, leave Henry's Place right now."
"Then perhaps you were the intended vi
ctim of the shooter." He ran his hands through his hair. "I've got a whole list of people who would benefit from you being out of the picture. What if your father's company plane was purposely tampered with to keep you in Tahiti and away from Henry's Place? Who would have stepped up to the plate for you?"
"Jerry."
"And he's not the only one on my list. If something happened to you right now, what do you think would be the chances of my selling to McNeil? And who might I turn to?"
"Giles," Lily said frowning.
"Exactly."
"But that car wasn't particular about who it was running down."
Tony shrugged. "I had told him I wasn't interested in selling. If he got rid of me in the bargain, that would pretty much ensure the sale of the hotel. Then Giles and Jerry duke it out, and my money's on Giles."
"He couldn't be sure your family would sell to Fortescue Investments," Lily pointed out.
"He'd rely on his negotiating skills for that."
Lily thought for a minute. "I could see that...."
He turned to study her. "You just can't picture him as a killer. Does he still mean that much to you?"
She sighed. "No. The only thing I feel when I think of Giles is that I was stupid to fall for his line. But when I think of him as a killer—I tried when I was sitting across from him at the Waldorf—my gut feeling is that the man doesn't have the passion for murder."
"He doesn't have to. He can hire someone to do it," Tony said flatly. "And if he gets rid of you and Henry's Place becomes his, he also has his revenge on McNeil for the fiasco of your broken engagement two years ago."
"So?" She slipped her fingers through his. "How do we stop him?"
He looked into her eyes and wished he knew the answer. "I don't know. Sam and Drew are working overtime to come up with something." Pulling her close, he then kissed her nose and drew her to her feet. "C'mon. I'm going to sleep on it. Something will occur to me."
She shot him a look as he led her into the bedroom. "We never just sleep in that bed."
"This time we will." He traced one finger over the dark circles under her eyes. "I'm not attracted to women with mustaches."
