LITMIR.BIZ

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cold and clammy as Kara vanished out of sight with a whisper of French fabric.

      It was one thing to talk about loosening up a little; it was another thing altogether to actually do it and let go. The sense of being poised on the edge of a precipice swept Laurel.

      Should she take that first step into the unknown and walk on the wild side? Or should she stay in her safe world and risk never feeling quite satisfied?

      The answer came quickly, so quickly it took her aback. She was tired of missing out. She wanted to feel more of that pulsing energy that she’d experienced earlier. That flutter of rebellion brought a surge of illicit pleasure.

      Laurel drew a deep breath and felt her lungs fill, and resolve spread through her. Kara was right—there was no time like the present. She headed for the door.

      Tonight, she’d flirt with a stranger.

      Two

      In the elegant, embellished salon downstairs, a twelve-piece jazz ensemble was playing blues, a smoky, elegant sound. Perfect for what had to be one of the high-society weddings of the year.

      Laurel hummed and did a little dance step in Kara’s wake and almost skipped into Alan Sinclair, who’d materialized in front of them, holding two glasses brimming with pale, bubbling gold wine. By some miracle he managed to keep the glasses upright, while Laurel apologized effusively.

      “Major catastrophe averted,” he joked.

      All three of them laughed.

      “These were intended for you, beautiful ladies.” Alan held out the brimming glasses, his hazel eyes alight with good humor.

      “Only a sip for me. I’m going to need my wits about me—I need to make sure I get all the guests’ names right,” said Kara with a gracious smile.

      Laurel took the remaining glass. “Thank you.”

      “I didn’t get a chance earlier to give you my very best wishes,” Alan told Kara. “Eli is a lucky man.”

      “Why, thank you, Alan.” Kara beamed at him. “I certainly hope you meet the woman of your dreams soon—maybe even tonight.”

      Alan laughed. “I can live in hope. But maybe we should wait a while—give you time for a honeymoon—before handing you another wedding to plan.”

      “I’d be thrilled to do another wedding. And, for once, that’s not the businesswoman in me talking. I’m so happy, I’m ready to marry everyone off.”

      “He’s a nice man,” Laurel observed as they walked away, holding their glasses.

      “Thoughtful, too,” Kara agreed. “He’ll make some lucky woman a good husband.”

      They’d reached the bridal table by now, and Eli leapt up to welcome his bride, his eyes warm and devoted as he seated her.

      Feeling a bit like a third wheel, Laurel slipped into the vacant seat beside her mother and set her glass down on the white damask linen sprinkled with pink and crimson rose petals. A waiter appeared to fill it up.

      “Where’s Cutter?” Laurel asked her mother, aware that she was sitting in his seat. The whole world had paired up—even her mother.

      Everyone except her.

      A wave of loneliness swept her; then she shook it off. All the more reason to follow the List and find a stranger to flirt with—and where better than a wedding?

      “He spotted Harold Parsons and Mr. Larrimore and went over to greet them.” Elizabeth fluttered a hand in the direction of the bar. Following where her mother indicated, Laurel could see the white-haired lawyer talking to the head of Larrimore Industries, which had recently begun doing business with The Kincaid Group, making up a little of the losses TKG had suffered when several customers defected to Carolina Shipping. Why, only this week her brother Matthew, TKG’s director of new business, had heard rumblings that Jack Sinclair was trying to outbid them on an important shipping contract through backdoor channels.

      Speak of the devil.

      Jack Sinclair had pulled out a chair to seat himself at a table right on the edge of the dance floor. How boldly arrogant. He was behaving like he owned the Kincaid mansion. Laurel supposed inheriting forty-five percent of the stock in The Kincaid Group was responsible for some of that arrogance. She hadn’t managed to get a handle on Jack yet. Dark, unsmiling and perpetually brooding, he made her a little uneasy. He’d certainly caused TKG enough headaches in the past few months to last a lifetime.

      Then Laurel caught a sight of the smooth blond hair of his mother, Angela, seated beyond him. Something his mother said caused a ferocious scowl to mar Jack’s features. Laurel shivered at the sight of his displeasure.

      Why had her father’s firstborn son bothered to come to the wedding, if he intended to sit there and glare? Was he only here today to fool the paparazzi into thinking he was an accepted part of the Kincaid family? Or were her siblings correct? Did Jack fear that by staying away he’d heighten the suspicion already surrounding him? Laurel didn’t want to consider the possibility that her father had been shot in the head by his firstborn son…. It was too horrible.

      She refused to allow Jack’s presence to ruin the celebratory mood tonight. The pall that had hung over the family for months had finally lifted. Laurel intended to enjoy the occasion … and make sure her mom did, too.

      Laurel caught Elizabeth’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I can’t tell you how glad I am not only that you’re here at the wedding but that you’ve been cleared of all those ridiculous charges. It’s the best wedding gift Kara and Eli could ever have received.”

      “Today hasn’t been easy,” her mother confessed. “All the speculation. I’m sure there are people here this evening who still believe I killed your father. And everyone is so curious about Cutter—it’s difficult for him, too.”

      Yet, in the way that was so typical of Southern society matriarchs, none of her mother’s discomfort showed. Elizabeth’s face was serene, her short, auburn hair with the elegant grey highlights was immaculate, the strain of the past four turbulent months carefully masked. Only the reserve in her green eyes hinted at the anguish she’d been through.

      “You deserve some happiness.” Laurel echoed Kara’s words from earlier. Letting go of her mother’s hand she reached for the glass Alan had given her. “And if Cutter makes you happy you shouldn’t let what others think spoil that. Let’s drink to happier tomorrows.”

      Elizabeth took a tiny sip, and then set her own glass down. “I do wish the police would hurry up and finalize the investigation. Not knowing who killed your father …” Her voice trailed away.

      Her brothers RJ and Matt had some strong opinions about who might have killed her father. But now wasn’t the right time to share them with her mother.

      “I’ll call Detective McDonough tomorrow to arrange a meeting for later in the week to find out if there has been any progress,” promised Laurel. She shot the brooding interloper at the edge of the dance floor a surreptitious look. With luck, the police might finally have gathered enough evidence to toss Jack Sinclair in jail where her brothers said he belonged.

      If her brothers were right, then Jack had been extremely devious—he’d made sure he had an airtight alibi, with several of his own employees vouching he’d been working late the night her father had died. Laurel didn’t want to believe her half brother was capable of that kind of treachery. But as RJ had pointed out, Jack was a very wealthy man—made even richer by the forty-five percent stake he inherited in The Kincaid Group on her father’s death. That kind of money could buy any alibi—particularly when the people supplying it already depended on him to earn their living. Laurel made a mental note to get an update from Nikki Thomas, the corporate security specialist the family had hired to investigate Jack Sinclair’s efforts to sabotage The Kincaid Group. Laurel couldn’t bear to see her mother so down, and Nikki might also have some thoughts about how to speed up the investigation—even

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