“It wasn’t a run-in. It was a mistake,” Olivia argued. “Collins in the FBI—that’s a good one.” She laughed. Miss Sensitivity an agent? Not possible.

“I’m not joking. Can you picture it? Collins carrying a gun?”

“Dibs on telling Sam.”

“I already tried,” she said. “I got voice mail. She’ll get back to me when she can.”

Olivia’s cell phone rang, interrupting their conversation. Before she looked at the iPhone screen, she checked her watch.

“Talk about a pain in the backside,” Olivia said. “Natalie’s right on time.”

“Your sister’s on time? On time for what?”

“She’s been calling every night for the past five nights at exactly seven o’clock.”

“You better answer it. You may explain after you talk to her . . . if you want to explain . . . unless it’s private . . .”

Exasperated, Olivia said, “You know I tell you everything.”

Jane nodded. “I know. I was being sensitive. It’s a new thing I’m trying. Now answer your damned phone. I want to hear what’s going on.”

Olivia didn’t want to talk to her sister, but she knew that, if she didn’t answer the call now, Natalie would continue to phone her every fifteen minutes until she got hold of her. Her sister was as tenacious as a junkyard dog, and in some instances just as mean.

“Hello, Natalie. What’s new?”

Her sister wasn’t in the mood to be chatty. “Did you talk to Aunt Emma yet?”

Olivia counted to five before she answered the question, hoping to get rid of some of her anger before she spoke. It didn’t help. “No, I did not.” Her voice was emphatic.

“She’s home from London.”

“Yes, I know.”

She could hear Natalie’s long, drawn-out sigh over the phone. “Don’t you care about our mother?”

Here comes the drama, Olivia thought. She really wasn’t in the mood to put up with Natalie’s antics tonight. She’d had enough drama today.

“Is Mother there with you?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“May I speak with her?”

“She’s on the other line talking to our father . . . you know, Robert MacKenzie, the man you’ve been ignoring.”

Olivia couldn’t resist a bit of sarcasm. “I thought I was ignoring our mother.”

“Don’t be rude,” Natalie snapped.

Olivia vowed she wouldn’t let her sister goad her into an argument, no matter how abrasive she became, and so she remained silent.

Another sigh, then Natalie said, “All I’m asking is that you talk to Aunt Emma and convince her to come to our father’s birthday party.”

“His birthday isn’t for several months,” Olivia stated.

“These big celebrations take time. It’s going to be an amazing event,” she said, enthusiasm lacing her words. “One of Dad’s assistants booked the grand ballroom at the Morgan Hotel over a year ago, and we’re expecting as many as three hundred guests.”

“Three hundred for a birthday party?”

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

Amazing was obviously Natalie’s word of the day. “Yes,” she said. “Amazing. But here’s my question. Dad lives in Manhattan. Why is he having a birthday party in Washington, D.C.?”

“Oh, there’s going to be another party in New York.”

“Two birthday parties?” she asked and began to laugh. “Isn’t that a little narcissistic?”

“Dad didn’t want to exclude anyone, and all those men and women who invested in the MacKenzie Trinity Fund want to celebrate with him. He’s made them all rich.”

“I’m betting they were already rich.”

“Yes, but Dad’s a financial genius, and he has more than doubled their investments. So many of his investors live in D.C., and that’s why he decided to throw a party there, too. There’s going to be at least three senators and twice that many congressmen attending the party and a couple of ambassadors, too.” Natalie sounded starstruck.

“Was every investor invited?”

“No. That would have made the number of guests well over a thousand. Just the high-income investors were invited. I’m telling you, it’s going to be amazing.”

“It sounds like it will be,” she said to placate her sister.

“So you understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Aunt Emma has to be there,” she cried out. “For God’s sake, pay attention. You know how important Emma is. And powerful. How many boards do you think she’s on? And she’s a huge patron of the arts.”

“She’s on three boards.”

“She’s an influential member of society,” Natalie said. She sounded calmer now, more in control. “If she doesn’t attend the birthday party, it will be noticed. People will talk, and Mother will be embarrassed.”

“I don’t think Aunt Emma cares what people say.”

“But Mother does,” she snapped. “This is tearing her apart. She can’t stand the rift. It’s terrible that Emma won’t talk to her.”

“I believe it was our mother who started the silent treatment when Emma told her she’d changed her trust. Our mother and father aren’t getting any of her money.”

“Mother doesn’t care about that,” Natalie insisted. “She’s just happy that you and I are still beneficiaries. We’ll both get large sums when Emma’s gone, and I will gladly hand it over to our father to invest. Unlike you, I’m loyal.”

Her sister’s callous and mercenary attitude was making Olivia sick. “Wasn’t the money you got from Uncle Daniel’s trust enough, Natalie? Now you can’t wait to get your hands on more?”

Olivia heard Natalie’s husband, George, in the background telling her to hand him her phone. Then he was on the line.

“Olivia, George Anderson here.”

“For God’s sake, George. She knows your last name,” Natalie said.

“We understand your aunt Emma joins you for dinner every Sunday.”

“When she’s in town,” Olivia said.

“Yes, and you cook for her.”

“I don’t cook, George. We go out.” She knew she was irritating him with her interruptions, and she couldn’t help smiling.

“At one of the dinners, perhaps you could mention your father’s birthday party and request that she attend. Is that so difficult?”

“Apparently it is,” Olivia said.

“Don’t be sarcastic,” he chided. He turned away from the phone. “There’s no reasoning with her, Natalie.”

Her sister came back on the line. “Who cares who started the silent treatment. Emma needs to do the right thing and call Mother,” she said in a near shout. “And by the way,” she continued on a rant now, “shame on you, Olivia. Do you realize how cruel you’re being to the family? If you don’t show up for the party either, how would it look? It wouldn’t just be hurtful, it would be disloyal.”

Olivia muted the phone. “Natalie wants to know if I realize how hurtful I’m being to the family.”

Jane put her hand out, palm up, and wiggled her fingers. “Let me talk to her. Come on, give me the phone.” Jane’s face wasn’t pale now. In the space of a few seconds, her complexion turned bright pink. “I’ll set the record straight.”

Olivia smiled. Jane had always been her champion. She hit the mute button again and said to Natalie, “Aunt Emma has a mind of her own. You know that.”

“But she’ll do anything for you because she feels . . .”

Natalie had suddenly stopped. Olivia’s determination not to get pulled into an argument flew out the window. “She feels what?” she demanded angrily. “Go ahead, say it.”

“Okay, I will,” she said defiantly. “She feels sorry for you. She always has, ever since you got sick. Why do you think she moved to D.C.?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because she loved me and knew the rest of you had pretty much written me off.”

“We did no such thing.”

“Emma wanted me to have a home to go to when I was released from the hospital. And she wanted me to have at least one visitor when I got out of isolation.”

“You do like to dredge up the past, don’t you?”

Olivia closed her eyes. She couldn’t do this anymore.

“Natalie, do me a favor.”

“What?”

“Stop calling me.”

She didn’t give her sister time to argue. She disconnected the call, dropped her phone into her purse, and turned to Jane to tell her what Natalie wanted.

“Why is she so hell-bent on getting your aunt Emma to attend the party?”

“According to Natalie, everyone who matters in D.C. society knows who Emma is, and if she isn’t at the party, it will be noticed, and that will embarrass my mother.”

“Is Natalie working for your father now?”

“No,” she answered. “She’s just helping out with the birthday parties. She and her husband, George, still run that Internet company. From what I understand, it’s doing quite well. They sell everything from shoes to kitchen sinks. They have so many people working for them, they can afford to take time off.”

“Is George a believer, too?” she asked.

Olivia laughed. “A believer? Do you mean under my father’s charismatic spell?”

“Yes, that’s what I mean.”

“Yes, he is. According to Natalie, our father has doubled their money. She boasts that they could retire now if they wanted.”

The nurse walked into the room carrying a glass of orange juice. She handed the drink to Olivia and unhooked the IV.

“You know the drill,” she said. “Drink all the orange juice, sit back, and relax. If you feel dizzy, push the call button.”

Olivia’s cell phone rang. Certain it was Natalie calling again with a renewed attack, she didn’t bother to look at the screen.

Her greeting wasn’t very polite. “You’re driving me crazy. You know that? Absolutely crazy.”

A deep male voice responded. “Yeah? Good to know.”

Agent Grayson Kincaid was on the line.

FIVE

Grayson had spent the rest of his afternoon putting out fires caused by the Jorguson debacle, but as busy as he was, he couldn’t get Olivia MacKenzie out of his head, and that irritated the hell out of him. His response to her didn’t make any sense. After all, he’d been with the woman for only an hour. It was purely a physical reaction, he reasoned. She had a beautiful face, an amazing smile, an incredible body. He would have to be a eunuch not to notice or react.

He sat at his desk reading through a file and cross-checking it with the data on his computer screen, but every now and then she’d pop into his thoughts. Disgusted with his lack of focus, he shook his head in an attempt to clear it and started over again on page one.

Agent Ronan Conrad knocked on his door, opened it, and leaned in. “Have you got a minute?”

“Sure. Come in.”

The office was claustrophobic. Ronan had to shut the door in order to pull out the one chair so that he could sit. In the process he banged his knee on the metal desk.

It was a cold, uninviting space. The gray walls were bare, and there weren’t any personal items, like family photos or mementos, on the desk. The only window was the size of a postage stamp.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Ronan said, grinning.

The two men were good friends. They had gone through training together and had been assigned to the same team now for four years. Their work ethic and dedication were very similar, though their backgrounds couldn’t have been more different. Ronan grew up in a large working-class family in the inner city. He attended a state university on an athletic scholarship and upon graduation entered the Marines. After serving several years on a special ops team, he returned home to attend graduate school and was recruited by the FBI.

Grayson, on the other hand, had been dealt a different hand. He was born into a family of wealth and prestige, and in the D.C. area was considered a blue blood. He entered the academy after earning his law degree at Princeton. His inheritance from a trust fund handed down by his grandfather was substantial, but Grayson had made several wise investments and had turned a large fortune into an even larger fortune. If the truth be known, he didn’t need to work for a living.

Coming from two such dissimilar circumstances, one would assume that the two men would be worlds apart, but the opposite was true. They had bonded after the first couple of weeks of training. Ronan initially had his doubts when he’d learned of Grayson’s privileged background, but his opinion quickly changed. There wasn’t anyone in their class who trained harder or studied longer. Grayson excelled at every test the academy threw at him, and soon a friendly rivalry developed between the two friends, each one pushing the other to a higher level. By the time they graduated from the academy, both men had won the admiration and respect of the instructors and all the other trainees.

“How do you like filling in for Pensky?” Ronan asked, crossing his arms and leaning his chair back on two legs.

“She’s back Monday, thank God. I hate being cooped up in this office. I feel like I’m in a tomb.”

Ronan looked around the room. “I think the utility closet is bigger,” he remarked. “Maybe you’ll get to use it.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Grayson asked. He rolled his shoulders to work out the stiffness. He’d been leaning over the file folders for hours now.

“Word is, the job is yours if you want it. Pensky’s going to retire next year. Maybe sooner.”

Grayson shook his head. “I don’t want it.”

“If you end up getting custody of your nephew, you probably won’t want to be running all over the country. Pensky’s job would be perfect for you.”

“I’m hoping my brother will step up and start acting like a father.”

“Come on, Grayson. You know that’s not gonna happen. At least not anytime soon.”

Ronan had known Grayson’s brother, Devin, almost as long as he’d known Grayson. He’d met him shortly after graduating from the academy. Devin had the same upbringing as Grayson, but the two brothers were polar opposites. Grayson had a strong work ethic and a fierce sense of duty and loyalty to family, but Devin was irresponsible and self-centered. Since his wife’s death several years ago, he had become quite the jet-setter. He liked the action in Monte Carlo and Dubai, and he loved women. He was the ultimate playboy and, sadly, often forgot he had a son.