Dead Ringer (17 page)

A makeshift bar occupied one corner, but she couldn't imagine the serving selection beyond the ubiquitous Eden's Gate water. Too bad, because she could really use a drink. Since that was out of the question, she stood on the threshold and scanned the room for her quarry. But Victor saw her first.

He hurried over, then slowed as he came near. A brief kind of crumbling happened to his face, and a small sting of shame pricked her. What was she doing to this man?

She hardened her heart.
Preventing him from helping thousands die.

"You look..." He swallowed. "You look magnificent."

"Thank you." She smiled sweetly. "The dress is lovely. The maid said it belonged to your wife."

He nodded. "You look... remarkably like her in it. You even smell like her."

She tilted her head up at him, trying not to feel suffocated by his powerful gaze. "That's because I borrowed her perfume. I left mine in Helena and the girl who delivered the dress was kind enough to find me some. It's the same fragrance that scents my room." That had been a surprise. The sharp smell hinted of spice and earth and layers of mystery. Perfect for her, but not at all what she expected from her mother. "I hope you don't mind me using it."

"Mind? It's wonderful." He proffered his arm, and she hoped he wouldn't notice the slight tremble as she placed her hand on it "Did you have a chance to rest?"

Not exactly. "Yes, thank you. I feel wonderful."

He drew her arm through his, and she snuggled close, letting him smell her perfume. Nothing like fragrance to renew old memories.

"Come, I'd like you to meet someone," he said.

He led her to a clump of people clustered around a woman whose back was to Angelina. Victor touched the woman's shoulder, she turned, and Angelina found herself face-to-face with a photograph.

Her mother's sister. Marian.

Angelina's heart thumped, her whole body stiffened in shock, in expectation, in hope, and in fear. God, what would Marian say? Would she claim Angelina as her sister's child? Surely she knew about the baby.

In the space of a heartbeat, Angelina saw the other woman throw her arms around her neck, weeping in welcome. Then the fantasy dissipated and Angelina was left standing next to Victor, dry-mouthed and aching.

No one seemed to notice. Not even Marian. Her first glance was toward Victor, and her eyes lit up at the sight of him. "Oh, Victor, I was just telling-" Her gaze slid naturally from Victor to Angelina. The smile died and the blood drained out of Marian's face. The glass she'd been holding tumbled through her fingers and smashed against the polished oak floor.

Heat crawled up Angelina's neck and into her face. In the background she heard murmuring, knew heads were turning, people staring. But in Marian's eyes she saw no eager welcome. Nothing but shock and dismay. Angelina's heart clenched and the moment seemed to stretch forever. Then a gasp of voices jumped into the silence.

"Marian, are you all right?"

Victor's voice penetrated the other woman's stupor. She put a hand to her head.

"I... yes. Oh, I'm so sorry."

The other people drifted away, and Victor signaled to a maid. The girl ran up with a towel to wipe the spill and pick up the broken glass.

"Angelina, this is my sister-in-law, Marian. Marian, this is the treasure I've told you about, Angelina Montgomery."

For a moment, the breath backed up in Angelina's lungs. Then Marian extended her hand, covering Angelina's with a strong grip.

"I'm... I'm delighted to meet you." She stumbled over the words, clearly trying to regain her composure. "Victor said he had a surprise for me tonight. He was ... he was right."

"It's wonderful, isn't it?" Victor gazed at Angelina with a fond expression, seemingly oblivious to Marian's shock.

She sent Victor a tiny glare, a small pinprick of rebuke, then covered it up with a faint smile. "The resemblance is uncanny. You... you're even wearing her favorite dress."

Marian turned toward the wall behind them. A portrait of Carol Borian stared down at them. Angelina gasped. The woman in the canvas looked back at them with Angelina's own face. Both were wearing the blue dress. A wave of nausea quivered in her stomach, and she clutched at the satin skirt. Victor must have sent it on purpose.

"I... I had no idea. I'm so sorry if I've brought back unpleasant memories."

"Not unpleasant at all." Victor stared up at the portrait ardently. "It's almost like having her back again."

Marian looked down quickly, but not before Angelina saw the haunted look in the other woman's face. Losing a beloved sister was bad enough without reliving the pain. It had been unkind of Victor to spring this on her. Then again, what Angelina was doing had its own share of cruelty. She glanced up at the painting again and imagined her mother's eyes accusing her.

Angelina put a hand on Victor's arm. "I... I didn't mean to upset anyone. Perhaps it would be better if I left."

But a quick smile replaced the pain in Marian's face. "No, please, not on my account. The dress is lovely. And the pin makes it entirely your own."

At the mention of Finn's monitor, a flash of alarm surged; instinctively Angelina covered the pearl circle, reassured by its solid shape. "Thank you. It was my ... my mother's." Her lie brought a gleam of approval to Victor's eye.

"How nice," Marian said, no indication that she knew who Angelina's mother was. "Well, I... I hope you'll enjoy your visit with us." The words were polite, the tone one used with a stranger. Deep disappointment wrenched Angelina, though she did everything she could to hide it.

"I'm sure I will," she said.

A stranger. She was nothing to Marian. She glanced up at the painting of her mother and imagined her scoffing down.

What did you expect
-
a brass band?

What had she expected? Carol's parents had kept the baby's existence from everyone; maybe even the baby's aunt. Good news for Finn, as the assignment could proceed as planned. Bad news for Angelina, though she hadn't realized how much she'd been hoping for something different until it hadn't happened.

A waiter with a tray of refreshments passed by, and Victor snagged two glasses, handing each of them one. Angelina sipped sparkling water laced with a hint of sweet raspberries and searched for something to say that wasn't about family or how easily they could let you down. Something that would help with the real reason she was here. But she felt her mother's gaze on her, screwing with her concentration, and all she could come up with were banalities. 'The ranch is lovely. You must enjoy it."
Talk to me, Marian.

But it was Victor who replied. "She better. We wouldn't know what to do without her. Marian has been here since my wife's death. She nursed her during that last horrible year, and then kindly consented to stay on as my hostess."

"You must have loved your sister very much," Angelina said.

Marian looked away as though the thought were too much to bear. "We all did."

"She was ... she was very beautiful." What was she like, Marian?

"Not unlike you," Victor said, wrapping an arm around Angelina's shoulders.

Marian saw the gesture and her small eyes widened just the merest bit, and Angelina found herself embarrassed. Casually, she disengaged herself from Victor's embrace.

"Victor tells me she loved the ranch and the mountains."

"Very much," Marian said. "She liked the outdoors, hiking, riding."

"And you?'

She smiled ruefully. "Oh, I don't have time for fun,"

"You don't make time," Victor scolded.

She sent him a mock grimace. "A thankless job, caring for a man." A twinkle in her crimped, mud-colored eyes said she was teasing.

"But one she does well, I can assure you" Victor waved his hand, indicating the room. "She's responsible for this whole event in fact. She contacted the guests and made all the arrangements. And did it in two days."

Marian sighed. "Unfortunately, I'm very efficient."

"Maybe you can give me lessons," Angelina said. "I'm hopeless when it comes to planning."

"That's because you're too pretty to worry about it." Victor ran a proprietary finger down her cheek, sending a flutter of unease through her that she deflected by turning to Marian.

"Oh, don't tell her that. She'll think I'm some kind of blond bimbo."

"No one would think that," Marian said kindly. "Some people have a gift for organization, and some people don't."

A burst of laughter drew Angelina's attention away momentarily. The crowd parted and she saw Grisha's hulking form. He stood on the sidelines, in the same ready stance he'd taken at the restaurant, hands crossed in front of him, eyes on Victor. Her awareness sharpened, but she quickly repressed her small intake of breath and the sudden thump of her heart. The bodyguard was an enormously tangible reminder that she wasn't there solely for a family reunion.

"Thanks for the reprieve, but I still might hold you to those lessons. And in the meantime, I'd love a tour of the ranch." Where have you stashed your deadly trinkets, Victor?

"I'm sure Victor will love to give you one," Marian said.

"Oh, but you must come, too. It would give us a chance to get to know one another." And give Victor a chaperone.

Marian shook her head. "Oh, I couldn't possibly. Too much work-"

"I insist," Angelina said. "And so does Victor."

In truth the man seemed less than enthusiastic, but he did bow his head gallantly. "By all means. Please join us."

"Well..." Marian smiled tentatively. "I'd... I'd like that."

"So would I," Angelina said. "Tomorrow, then?"

"Tomorrow," Marian said. "And in the meantime, would you excuse me? I need to check on the food."

"Certainly."

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. Victor introduced her to so many people the faces melted together into one oversized smile. Most seemed ordinary enough for Victor's neck of the woods-wealthy landowners, mining executives, businessmen, politicians and their wives. All gave Victor a certain narrow-eyed deference, as though he were someone they didn't dare cross, but didn't dare like either. Many looked at her oddly, remarking on her likeness to Carol or her portrait until Angelina grew tired of hearing it.

But no matter where she went or with whom she spoke, her mother's eyes stared down at her from the painting on the wall, an indictment against the impostor in the crowd. By the time the party ended Angelina felt raw and bruised as though her skin had been peeled back to reveal what was hiding beneath.

When everyone had gone, Victor escorted Angelina to her room. He kissed her hand at the door and looked deep into her eyes.

"You pleased me very much tonight."

She didn't know what to say. The way he looked at her, the intensity of his gaze, the fervor, was the same he'd turned on his wife's portrait, and it made her skin crawl. "I... I'm so glad."

He cupped her face with his hand, trapping her. "Good night,
milaia."

What had he said? She raised a brow in question, and he smiled. "It means 'my dear one' in Russian."

"My dear one." She forced herself to appear contented. "It's... it's very beautiful. Thank you, Victor. Good night."

He made no attempt to embrace her, merely stepped back and let her slip inside.

She slumped against the closed door, glad for the barrier.

In the moment it took for her to regain her composure, she glanced around the room. How long to wait before escaping to Finn? She started for the dresser and a change of clothes, then stopped.

Something about the room was different.

The hair on her neck stood on end. Had someone been there? She ran a rapid inventory. Clothes, makeup- nothing was missing. And yet, something was wrong.

She scanned the space again. Daisies stood shoulder to shoulder with lily of the valley, all perky in their vase, the blue of the cornflowers reflecting off the water bottle on the nightstand. Nothing out of place. Nothing...
looked
different.

But something smelted different. The strong, spicy scent of Carol Borian's perfume permeated the air like a thick presence. Had Angelina left the bottle open? She checked, found the stopper off. Quickly she closed it up, but the ghostly fragrance lingered.

Is that you, Mother?

Angelina stood in the middle of the room, heart hammering. An icy, unnatural feeling washed over her. Carol felt close, as though her spirit had floated down from the portrait. Watching. Waiting. Hoping for a chance to stop Angelina.

Don't be an idiot.

But she couldn't shake the eerie feeling. Slowly, she turned, searching every corner for something she couldn't name.

You can't protect him, Mother. If Victor has those radioactive goodies, he deserves to be unmasked and punished.

Silence. Nothing moved. No spirit appeared, malevolent or otherwise.

Careful to keep a watchful eye, Angelina sidled over to the window and raised the glass. Fresh air rushed over her, earthy and real, and she inhaled a deep, ragged breath. A few moments, and the spicy scent receded.

She swallowed, her mouth dry. She was going batty and could only imagine what Finn would say if he knew.

Good thing he'd never know.

She shook off the nerves and shucked Carol Borian's dress in a sudden frenzy to be free of her mother's clothes. Rummaging in a dresser drawer, she came up with a pair of black jeans, a black tank top, and a matching cardigan to throw over it. A little warm for June, but Finn had warned her to cover up as much as she could to avoid detection. It would be easy enough to remove the cardigan when she was clear of the ranch, although mountain nights were notoriously cool. She pinned the pearl monitor to the tank top and grabbed a black scarf, stuffing it in her pocket. Once she was clear of the house, she'd cover her head with it. Finn had been adamant about that.

"Your hair glows in the dark," he'd said in a tone that told her he lusted after the shine even as he begrudged her its gleam. "Cover it up."

She smiled, remembering. The man had a funny way with a compliment.