The Butler's Daughter by Joyce Sullivan Page B

working on piecing the pager together. We might know more in a few days. And, of course, the Cleveland police are dusting Ms. Goodhew’s apartment for fingerprints. The floral delivery mancould be the same person who broke into her apartment. We’ll want to take Ms. Goodhew’s prints before she leaves today so they can be eliminated from any found at the scene.”
    â€œWhat about Nonnie Wilson, the missing cook?” Hunter asked, noting that Juliana’s head snapped up and her rich mahogany eyes sparked to attention at his mention of the Collingwoods’ chef.
    Discomfited, he tore his gaze from Juliana’s pale face and the sharp jut of her chin and focused on Bradshaw. Had he jeopardized the trust she’d placed in him by passing along the information she’d given him about the cook’s disappearance to the police? To Hunter’s consternation, earning more of Juliana’s trust and keeping it ranked high on his priority list. Right up there with being a loving and attentive father to Cort.
    â€œNonnie Wilson’s still unaccounted for,” Bradshaw said wearily. “A neighbor saw her put several suitcases in her car Friday morning and drive off. We’ve got an APB out for her car, and we’re checking the airports and bus stations.” The investigator checked his watch. “I’ve taken up enough of Ms. Goodhew’s time for today. If you’ll both follow me, someone from the Forensic Identification Section is waiting to take Ms. Goodhew’s fingerprints.”
    Relief flowed through Juliana as she rose from the table. She was bone tired and heartsick with worry about her father’s potential reaction to Investigator Bradshaw’s insinuations. And she missed Cort. She wasn’t used to spending so much time away from him.
    As Hunter and Investigator Bradshaw made arrangements to talk later in the day about the security for the funeral a chill eased down her spine. The sooner she and Hunter were married and safely on his island, the more secure she’d feel.

Chapter Six
    Hunter holed up in his study when they got back to the apartment as much to get away from the reality of his impending wedding as to keep pursuing the investigation in his own way. He had piles of Collingwood Corporation documents to review, as well as updates from his operatives and a constant influx of tips coming in on Riana Collingwood’s 1-800 hotline demanding his attention.
    Since the night of the explosion, calls to the 1-800 tips line for Riana Collingwood had catapulted into the thousands and each one had to be taken seriously. Even though an FBI case agent was reviewing the incoming calls for potential new leads in Riana’s abduction, Hunter had instructed the staff manning the hotline that he wanted to see a report on every call. He might spot something the agent missed.
    Normally, he would review this information in the offices he leased for his covert Guardian operations, but he felt more comfortable being near Juliana and Cort.
    Hunter eyed the daunting piles of folders accumulating on his desk and selected Ross’s takeover files on Phillip Ballard’s and Sable Holden’s companies as being the most urgent to review. But the words swam on the page as an image of Juliana—radiant in an ivory wedding gown thatbrought out the luminescence of her pearly skin—appeared like a specter in his thoughts.
    He hadn’t kissed her since Saturday night and the memory of that kiss throbbed hot in his veins. It struck him as being exceedingly ironic that while he was adverse to the institution of marriage, he was not adverse to Juliana’s charms.
    Juliana, the butler’s daughter.
    Ross would laugh his head off at the irony, then threaten to kill him if he hurt her.
    Hunter appreciated women. Appreciated their beauty and the softness of their skin and the special way women had of making their mark on the world, whether in a business