Rocky Mountain Manhunt by Miles Cassie

Author:Miles, Cassie [Miles, Cassie]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, azw3, epub
Tags: Suspense
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2012-03-13T13:00:06+00:00

Chapter Eleven

While the head of the RMS public relations department directed the final choreography for her press conference, Kate waited inside the front foyer of her mother’s house. The rest of her family—her mother, stepbrother, stepfather and ex-husband—had already trooped outside, and she was alone with Liam.

Nervously, she shifted back and forth on her high-heeled Gucci sandals. The outfit her mother had selected for her was a classic skirt and blouse of cream silk. Three-quarter sleeves covered the scar from the bullet wound on her upper arm.

She glanced over at Liam, who leaned against the wall beside the banister with his arms folded across his chest. He was solid as granite, utterly stable and self-controlled.

In contrast, a platoon of butterflies marched cadence in her stomach. “I don’t want to do this.”

“Come on, Kate. Everybody likes being a star, having their fifteen minutes of fame.”

“Notoriety,” she corrected. If she’d just won an Olympic gold medal or a WPGA tournament, she’d gladly welcome the attention. “The press is here to see for themselves if I’m cuckoo.”

“You’re not crazy,” he said in a decisive voice that brooked no argument.

This was a man she could trust with her life; he would never lie to her. “How do I look?”

“Nice,” he said.

She’d hoped for a bit more enthusiasm on his part. “Am I not gorgeous? Not sexy?”

“Your eyes,” he said, “are beautiful.”

When he stepped away from the banister and came toward her, she backed away. “No touching. You’ll ruin my makeup.”

He stopped in his tracks and hitched his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. “Wouldn’t want to mess up your lipstick. That would be a real tragedy.”

An uncomfortable distance spread between them, and she didn’t like the feeling. “My bag is packed, Liam. As soon as I’m done with this, I want to leave. We’ll go back to the mountains. To my little cave.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course,” she said. “I don’t want to stay here.”

“But you’ve got the big summer gala to plan. More clothes to buy. An image to protect.”

“Stop it,” she snapped. “I’m not my mother.”

With his hands still stuck in his pockets, he leaned closer to her. “Why didn’t you ask her about the necklace?”

“I couldn’t. Not with all those people around.”

As soon as she’d spoken, Kate knew she’d been mouthing a lame excuse. She didn’t want to believe her mother was involved—even tangentially—in her disappearance. More than that, she feared that her mother might lie to her.

Through the front door, the PR director signaled to Kate. She inhaled a deep breath and stepped through the front door to a makeshift podium. There she faced a couple dozen print, radio and television journalists. A cluster of microphones gathered at the edge of the lectern. Television lights glared. Cameras flashed.

Though she had spoken at press conferences and innumerable charity presentations, this was a different contingent of the media. Not the Society editor. Not the human-interest reporters who listened politely while she spoke about RMS contributions and the various projects they funded. These were crime reporters.

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