36
The St. Martins’Asheville mansion was even more impressive than Liv remembered. She had attended a similar benefit here five years ago on the arm of another man who, unlike Zeke, loved high society parties.
Tyler Westcott could work a crowd like a seasoned politician, but without the bile-inducing flattery and meaningless conversation. Tyler knew how to listen and ask questions that set the receiver at ease.
Much like the youngest Blackwell.
On the opposite side of the room, Phin and Kayla held court with several outrageously costumed guests. Whether by design or accident, the two crowd-pleasing powerhouses were the epitome of yin and yang. Black and white. Modern and ancient.
Rather than don a full-on costume, Phin had decided instead to keep it simple with a Dolce and Gabbana black suit and a Columbina, a Venetian eye mask. But it wasn’t a plain black mask like Zeke’s. Phin’s had just enough flare to set his apart from all the others.
A series of jet-black crystals curved over one eye, swooped down to the bridge of the nose before arcing over the other eye. Decorative black trim surrounded the perimeter of the mask and raised scrolls and little wisps gave the mask an elegant old-world feel.
Kayla, on the other hand, was dressed in an eye-blinding white chiffon Grecian gown with silver and diamond clasps holding the front and back sections together at the shoulders and a matching accessory around her slim waist. With her blond hair piled high on her head, she looked like she should be lounging on Mt. Olympus rather than standing in the St. Martins’ ballroom.
Her white paper-mache Columbina was as exquisite as its wearer. Two majestic swan wings arched upward on one side of the mask and more diamonds lined the upper and lower edges of the eyeholes.
Kayla and Phin were an eye-catching couple, both beautiful and sleek and cunning. Like two mountain lions marching through a den of mice.
The Yin and Yang broke away from the knights, queens, fairies, and werewolves and strolled toward their host, Hugh St. Martin. The vascular surgeon didn’t have the same collector’s heart as his wife, but he enjoyed giving private tours of his wife’s museum, especially if the group included a young, beautiful woman.
St. Martin had already shown an interest in Kayla’s company at the Thornton dinner party. Her friend would not have to work too hard to coax him into a tour.
As fun as it was to watch Kayla and Phin work their magic, Liv’s attention never strayed far from the tall, broad-shouldered man, making his way toward her through the animated crowd.
Where Phin charmed, Zeke observed. Listened. He nodded at the right moments and moved on when conversations got too personal, leaving an air of mystery in his wake.
He was James Bond in the flesh. Not the polished Pierce Brosnan version, but the flawed and brooding Daniel Craig.
Dangerous Daniel Craig.
Before handing the St. Martins’ valet his keys, Zeke had buckled a sword to his waist, whipped a long cape around his shoulders, and tied on a half mask. Within seconds, Mr. GQ had turned into Zorro. She’d been charmed by his costume, until she got a good look at his sword.
The weapon dangling from his hips was not a rapier, but a longsword. One that bore a striking resemblance to the one she’d spotted in his research folder all those weeks ago. Had he found the family heirloom? Or was this a replica?
Why bring either of them to the fundraiser? A suspicion began to form in her mind until Zeke caught her staring. The small, private smile he sent her, while pretending absorption in the pair of women who’d intercepted him, kicked all thoughts of ancient weaponry to the background.
No matter how hard she tried to barricade her heart against further assault, he continued to smash her barriers with little more than a sexy grin, a warm glance, or a reassuring hand on her son’s shoulder.
She forced herself to shake off his effect and refocus on reconnaissance. Between the four of them, they had prowled the entire mansion in short, coordinated bursts, checking security details, exits, cameras, and anything else that would help them finalize their recovery plan that they would execute in the wee hours of the morning.
If they located the CI’s doll.
“Olivia,” a cultured feminine voice called. “I’ve finally caught up with you.”
Liv air-kissed her hostess’s cheek. “Fabulous party, Nicola. Thank you for inviting us.”
She took in the older woman’s jeweled crown, ruby and diamond choker, and shimmering red ballgown. “Or should I say, Your Majesty, though I’ve never seen Queen Elizabeth looking so gorgeous or so . . . modern.”
“Elizabeth?” Nicola shuddered and waved a hand over her costume. “Behold Queen Máxima of the Netherlands, not some four-hundred-year-old doddering Englishwoman.”
“Of course, I can see the Dutch now.”
Nicola tapped her fan, none too gently, against Liv’s hand. “Where is your handsome escort?”
Four women surrounded Zeke’s caped figure now. She was surprised the gathering hadn’t sent her jealous flag flying.
Maybe it was the occasional amused smile Zeke would tilt in her direction that made the sight more amusing than concerning. Or maybe she didn’t feel deeply enough for him to cause such a visceral reaction.