He’d lost his father and felt as if he’d lost his mother, too, now that she was living in France. He couldn’t lose Cynthia. He’d ask Owen Banks, his chief of security, to keep track of her.
Owen looked like a nerd with his thick glasses and supershort haircut, but he had the mind of a CIA operative. Unclipping his cell phone from his belt, Luke speed-dialed Owen.
“What’s up, boss?” Owen insisted on calling Luke that, despite many conversations in which Luke had suggested Owen use his first name instead.
Luke filled him in. “I want to know if she leaves town, either driving or flying, but I don’t want her stopped. Only followed.”
“Do you know if she’s in her Corvette?”
“Damn it. No, I don’t.” Luke squeezed the bridge of his nose. “And if she’s in Landry’s vehicle, he probably has a rental.”
“No worries, boss. Regardless of what they’re driving, I’ll find them and keep you posted.”
“Thanks.” Luke thought of something else and wished he hadn’t. But he should consider all possibilities. “Better alert all the wedding chapels, too. If she comes in with Landry, they need to stall as long as possible. I will interfere if she decides to go that far.” Technically he couldn’t stop her, but he could make a hell of a protest.
Cynthia had met the guy a couple of months ago at a local gelato shop, of all places. They’d hit it off, and Luke had made it his business to find out what he could about Bryce Landry. The details were sparse. Landry came from a wealthy family in San Francisco and spent most of his time in Vegas playing high-stakes poker. Luke had no quarrel with that lifestyle—Vegas depended on men like that to keep the lights on—but that didn’t mean Luke thought a high roller was the right choice for his sister.
“Got it. Talk to you soon.” Owen disconnected.
Luke laid the phone on the battered wooden desk and sat back in the worn leather desk chair with a sigh. He should have seen this coming, but he hadn’t. Cynthia might have hoped he’d be toasted after his success, which could make him easier to convince about the showgirl thing. Curiously, he hadn’t been as elated about winning the bar as he’d expected to be, and he hadn’t touched a drop of liquor all day. So he’d been stone-cold sober when she approached him. Good thing. He’d needed his wits about him.
Of course she’d asked him for the hundredth time to let her perform with the Moonbeams. Even though she could have signed on with any of the casinos just to spite him, her only goal was performing with the signature act created by their mother, Felicia. Felicia had been a dancer before her marriage to Angus, and afterward, she’d supervised the hiring and helped with choreography. Luke could understand that Cynthia had been starry-eyed at fifteen, but he’d expected that by now she would have grown out of it. Instead, they’d had a blowout fight when she arrived after the poker game and he’d refused her request again.
Although he was only eight years older than his sister, sometimes he felt a hundred years older, and this was one of those days. He had to be both father, mother, and brother to her, and he was doing a piss-poor job of it. Although he couldn’t blame his dad for dying, he wished his mom had stuck around to help deal with Cynthia.
No, no, he didn’t. Not really. Felicia Dalton had never been particularly maternal. She’d loved her husband passionately, and Angus had spoiled her rotten. Her grief when he died had threatened to suck both her children under. Luke had been secretly relieved when she’d decided to move to a little cottage nestled among fields of lavender in Provence. A couple of her friends had already flown over for visits. He’d been way too busy to go, but Cynthia kept saying she would.
She hadn’t, though, because she really did avoid travel as much as possible. A few weeks ago, he’d called his mother and asked her to talk Cynthia out of her obsession with the Moonbeams, but his mother couldn’t see the problem with letting her do it. Sometimes he wondered if he should just say to hell with it and put his sister in the Moonbeams’ lineup. He tried to imagine himself giving up the struggle, and it hurt his soul. He’d think of his dad, who’d been so proud of announcing that his daughter was attending Yale. He hadn’t cared that she hadn’t chosen a profession yet. She was one smart cookie, he’d say, and he’d had every confidence she would pick an exciting career in her own time.
Well, she had, and performing with the Moonbeams was it. She’d admitted today she’d only attended Yale to please their father. She’d always planned to follow in their mother’s dancing footsteps.
But he had to believe she wouldn’t have pulled this disappearing act if she hadn’t fallen in with Landry. The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that the guy was encouraging her to push the envelope. Otherwise, why disappear with him? Why not go alone? Landry appeared to be an accomplice of some kind, and if he was, then he’d just made an enemy of Luke Dalton.
A knock sounded on the door. “Luke?”
He recognized the voice of Chuck Stevens, a friend since grade school and his CFO for Dalton Industries. Chuck had tended bar all through college, and he’d offered to oversee the operation this first day. “Come on in, Chuck.”
Chuck opened the door and stuck his head in. “Sorry to bother you. I figured you came in here to be alone.”
Luke waved a hand. “I could probably use some company. What’s up? Are we running out of booze already?”
“Nah. Still plenty. But . . . uh . . . somebody’s here to see you. I’m not sure if you want to see her, though.”
“Cynthia?” Luke leaned forward so fast the chair creaked.
“No, sorry. This lady’s name is Giselle.” He paused. “Giselle Landry.”
“Landry.” Luke gazed at his friend. “Is this some weird coincidence?”
“No. She’s Bryce Landry’s sister.”
Luke stood. “Good. This is good. Maybe she’ll have some insights into the situation.”
“Well, shoot.” A tall redhead with green eyes walked into the office. “I was hoping you’d have some insights.”
Luke stared at her. He was very afraid his eyes had widened, but he managed to clamp his jaw so it wouldn’t drop. As he took in the sight before him, all rational thought ceased. This Giselle Landry had to be the most beautiful, sexy woman he had ever seen. She was exactly his type—long legs, adorable freckles, and fiery hair. Looking at her, he felt a wave of desire that almost knocked him over.
But one Dalton mixed up with a Landry was more than enough. He wasn’t about to make it two for two.
Giselle hadn’t thought to ask Vaughn to describe Luke Dalton. Vaughn wouldn’t have given her any significant information, anyway. He’d probably have said Dalton had dark blond hair and blue eyes. He might have mentioned that the guy was about six-two.
Those facts wouldn’t have prepared her for this man with broad shoulders, a chiseled jaw, and the mesmerizing gaze of a movie star. His slightly unkempt, almost shaggy haircut only added to his sex appeal. A cotton dress shirt, open at the throat, and a snug pair of jeans signaled his disinterest in traditional business attire. This was the kind of guy who could, if he chose to, use his looks to get anything he wanted from a woman. And possibly from a Were who wasn’t against Were-human sexual connections.
Which she was. She didn’t allow herself to be attracted to human males because she was opposed to cross-species mating, so why even go there? Her libido might not like that restriction, but too bad.
The guy who’d brought her into the office glanced at Luke. “Holler if you need anything.”
“I will, Chuck. Thanks. Close the door on your way out.”