Hidden in a Whisper (32 page)

“I do know that much,” Simone replied, her expression revealing nothing but calm and the reassurance that she wasn't jumping to conclusions. To Braeden, she seemed to be weighing all the facts and not reacting at all in a condemning fashion. It gave him the courage to proceed. “Ivy arranged for a seduction scene. It seems she wants—or maybe even needs—a rich husband, and she picked me for her victim. When I came to the house, she was as drunk as anyone could be and proceeded to disrobe. Rachel came in at a most inopportune moment, to say the least.”

“Why would Rachel be there?” asked Simone softly.

“That was exactly my thought,” Braeden replied. “I mean, Mrs. Needlemeier coming in was no surprise at all. It is, after all, her home. But Rachel and Reginald Worthington had no reason to be there. It made me realize Ivy had set up the entire affair to come between Rachel and me.” Braeden felt a tightness in his chest. He hated feeling so out of control—so hopeless. “Look, I know she's talked to you, but I don't know how much she's said. You know I love her, but this may well have destroyed any hope for our future, and I can't let that happen. Trust comes hard for her—at least where I'm involved.”

“Rachel is a good woman,” Jeffery replied, hopping into the room as he struggled to pull on his boots. “She doesn't seem the type to just jump to conclusions.”

“She is a good woman,” Braeden agreed, “but even good women have their limits.”

“Where could she have gone?” The question came from Simone, as though no one else might have thought of it.

“I had hoped she'd come here, but then I realized the ordeal took place earlier in the evening when you both would have been at the celebration. Rachel might have thought to come here but most likely would have found the place deserted. From there, I have no idea what she would have done. Has she spoken to you of someplace special to her? Someplace she might go for safety or solace?”

“The church might be a logical choice,” Simone replied.

“That's a good idea!” Braeden replied. “And it's just across the street from the Needlemeier mansion.”

“Come on,” Jeffery told him. “We can walk up there and check it out. If she's not there we might need to wait until morning to do a more thorough search. Maybe the extra time will allow her to calm down and think things through.”

“Maybe,” Braeden replied, but he didn't feel convinced. “But I can't bear to think of her spending the night outside. The chill could be harmful.”

“Possibly,” Jeffery agreed. “But we don't need to jump to conclusions. Maybe she's safely spending the night with someone else. Maybe she went to pray at the church and the pastor and his wife urged her to stay with them. If she was as upset as you think she might have been, she might not have been capable of reasonable thought. Maybe the pastor just took charge and let his wife put Rachel to bed in their guest room.”

“Maybe,” Braeden replied, hoping that Jeffery was right.

However, when Rachel could not be found at the church, the parsonage, or anywhere in between there and the O'Donnell home, Braeden felt the bottom fall out of his world. Hope eluded him as he reluctantly agreed to wait until morning to begin searching in earnest.

Simone touched his arm gently as Braeden turned to go back to Casa Grande. “Rachel will consider the situation, and I believe she will know the truth.”

Braeden nodded in resignation. Maybe upon reflection, Rachel would realize his innocence. There was a chance it could work out that way, though Braeden feared it was slim.

“I'm sorry to have bothered you,” Braeden finally said. “If she's still not back in the morning, I'll be heading out to search for her at first light.”

“I'll be there,” Jeffery replied.

“What about your head?” Simone questioned her husband. “You probably shouldn't be anywhere near a horse for another few days.”

Jeffery lightly touched his wife's cheek, but his gaze went to Braeden. “I'll be there.”

When Braeden returned to Casa Grande, it was two in the morning. With no sign of Rachel anywhere, Braeden's frustration and misery mounted. It was only then that it dawned on Braeden that he might question Reginald Worthington about where Rachel had gone. Perhaps Worthington held the key to the whole matter if she had confided in him.

Braeden tried not to think of Rachel finding solace in Worthington's arms. He couldn't dare to react illogically in this matter—too much was at risk. Instead, he would simply go upstairs and speak to Worthington and state his case, plain and simple. With this in mind, he had reached the third step on the grand staircase when the lobby door opened behind him and in walked the very man he was going in search of.

“Worthington!” Braeden called out, going back down the stairs. “Where's Rachel?”

“I have no idea, Mr. Parker. I've been searching for her ever since the fiasco earlier this evening.” He paused, and the look of contempt on Worthington's face matched the feelings Braeden held in his own heart. “Besides, even if I knew where she was,” he added, “I wouldn't tell you.”

Braeden balled his hands into fists but stopped short of raising them to Worthington's face. “I did nothing wrong,” he managed to say, his jaws clenched tight. “That whole scene was Ivy's concoction.”

“I suppose you might see it that way, but I think it probably appears otherwise to Miss Taylor. Now, instead of standing around arguing about it, I suggest we put together some sort of search party. It'll be light in a couple of hours, and while I have to oversee the kitchens, I'm certain you can be spared from your post,” Reginald replied rather snidely.

Braeden grabbed Worthington by his lapels, and with his face only inches away from the Englishman's, he whispered low and menacingly, “If you are lying to me, I'll personally see to it that you never work again.”

“I say,” the startled man replied, “you needn't take your anger out on me. You've brought these problems upon yourself.”

Braeden thought long and hard about punching the man squarely in the nose but instead tossed him backward so that he lost his balance and landed on the floor. “Just remember, Worthington, Rachel is my concern and my problem—not yours. Leave her alone.”

Worthington watched him for a moment before getting to his feet and dusting off his trousers. “You, Mr. Parker, are a ruffian of the worst kind, and if Rachel so desires it, I will do my utmost to protect her from you. Good-bye.”

Braeden watched him go, wondering when he'd ever felt this angry. There was nothing to be gained by losing his head, however.

And as much as Braeden hated to yield to Worthington on any matter, this was one of those few times he would do exactly that. Dawn would arrive in a few hours, and when it did, Braeden needed to be ready.

He decided the first order of business would be a change of clothes. He was still wearing his best suit on behalf of the grand opening, and it would never do to go traipsing around the countryside dressed in such formal attire. Opening the door to his office, Braeden turned on the lights, grateful that because of the resort activities the electricity had been left on instead of shut down at ten as was the routine. But no sooner had the light illuminated the room than Braeden found himself staring dumbfounded at the scene. Someone had ransacked his office—and from the looks of it, they'd done a pretty thorough job.

Papers were strewn all over the floor, his chair overturned and left in the corner, and every drawer of his desk had been pulled out and emptied. It didn't make sense. He had nothing of value here. There were papers related to the hotel's management, inventory, purchase orders, and payroll information, but all of the important things like actual payroll money, storage room keys, and anything of value were locked up tight in the hotel safe. What could the intruder have been looking for?

He squatted down and began picking up the papers. They were hopelessly mingled and would take hours to sort through. Braeden stood amid the disarray, trying to imagine what it all meant. As he thought of the note given to him by Ivy and of the scene she'd managed to set up, he couldn't help but wonder if she was also responsible for this mess. Then again, someone had broken into Rachel's office on more than one occasion. Perhaps whatever was searched for there was never found and the thief thought to find it in Braeden's office.

“It doesn't make sense,” he said as he set his chair upright. Beneath the leather chair, Braeden's gaze fell upon a square piece of stationery. He picked it up and realized instantly that it was a program from the opera singer's performance. How had that managed to get into his office? Had the thief left it there? It seemed logical to think they might have. Shaking his head, Braeden felt a growing sense of frustration. It was like having all the pieces to a puzzle but being unable to figure out where they all went.

After beginning to clean his office, Braeden realized there was no time for putting the papers in order. It would have to wait until after he found Rachel. Rachel's safety was more important than anything else. He couldn't allow himself to be distracted.

Distracted.

The word seemed to echo in his head. Maybe he was meant to be distracted. Maybe the mess he'd found in his office was created to slow him down. But slow him down from what? Finding Rachel? The intruder couldn't have known about Ivy's arrangements—or could they? He thought of the evening's events and realized that Ivy could very well have had many accomplices. She had incorporated the help of her maid at the mansion—why not additional help from her Harvey friends or other staff members of Casa Grande? Perhaps she had promised them money or something else.

He ripped off his tie and threw it on the bed in the adjoining room. Changing into jeans and a more serviceable shirt and coat, Braeden tried to figure out what it all meant. He uttered a prayer for guidance but felt no nearer to the truth. He recalled a verse in the Bible about seeing things through a glass darkly and thought it perfectly depicted his feelings just now. The images were distorted and unclear—the answers evaded his reach.

“I don't know what's going on,” he murmured as he took up his hat, “but I'm going to find out.”

  
TWENTY-TWO
  

AS IVY SOBERED UP, the first thing she became aware of was her aunt's imposing glare. The old woman glowered at her in such a way that it would have given her a headache—had she not already had one from the effects of the liquor.

Still, the fact that she'd managed to pull off her charade from the night before made the pain worthwhile, as far as Ivy was concerned. She had sketchy memories in places where the brandy had overpowered her senses, but for the most part she remembered everything— especially the look on Rachel Taylor's face when she found Ivy and Braeden together.

“You needn't smile,” Esmeralda declared in such a no-nonsense manner that Ivy couldn't help but wonder if there was something more than the events of the evening that disturbed her now.

“I'm sorry, but considering all that has happened, I believe I am entitled to think of this entire affair in the best of possible ways. If I had to be ruined by someone, it's at least beneficial that he was handsome and rich.”

“Stop it now. Stop this nonsense and finish your coffee. I want you good and sober in order to discuss this matter properly,” Esmeralda told her niece.

Ivy stared at her aunt for a moment, then shrugged and downed the contents of the delicate china cup. The strong, hot liquid scorched her throat as she gulped it down, but Ivy hardly felt the pain. Soon she would leave this hideous place and the painful memories it harbored. She was going to marry Braeden Parker and move back east and live in a fine house for the rest of her life. She'd already planned it all out in her mind.

Putting the cup back on the saucer, she looked to her aunt as if to invite her to speak. When Esmeralda only continued to frown, Ivy realized she'd have to be the one to start the conversation.