Adair wasn’t Rena.
And he wouldn’t fail again.
“So that’s the gig? You pose as my new boyfriend so you can nose around here and dig into the past?”
“Pretty much.”
Landry slipped on her sunglasses, the shielding of her eyes as clear a message as simply standing up and walking away. “I’ll consider it on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“We’re partners on your little investigation.”
“I work better alone.”
“Then you can head right back the way you came. Despite what she may think, my aunt doesn’t have a say in what goes on in this house. Neither do my brothers. And while I may love all of them to pieces, I’m not going to follow along like some frightened puppy.”
“I’m a trained professional.”
“And I live here. You’ll do far better as my ally than my enemy.”
Derek knew he had a stubborn streak a mile wide and twice as deep. He also knew when it made sense to step back and let the target think they had the lead. He’d give Landry Adair her head for a few days. From all the intel he had, it was easy to assume she’d get bored in less time, anyway.
“No one can know what I’m after.”
“Of course.”
“Not even your mother.”
“Then it won’t be a change from how we usually get on. I don’t tell my mother anything. And as you so succinctly mentioned, she’s out of the country right now anyway.”
With her eyes shaded, he couldn’t see any hint of emotion deep in her expressive gaze, but even sunglasses couldn’t hide the subtle tightening of her slim shoulders. “So we’re agreed?”
“Agreed.”
She extended her hand across the table and Derek hesitated, the implied contract not lost on him. When she only waited, he slid his fingers over hers, her delicate skin soft under his calloused palm.
It didn’t make sense, nor was it rational, but in that moment he knew his world had reordered itself. And he knew with even greater certainty that nothing would ever be the same again.
Her hand slipped from his as she stood, her breakfast untouched. “Well, then. You’d better get ready.”
“For what?”
“We’ve got a governor to go meet.”
* * *
Landry slipped her cell phone into her caramel-colored clutch purse and left her room. She’d already fastened on her suit—Armani, of course—and the subtle jewelry that had become her trademark. Her heels sank into the ranch’s plush carpet as she moved from her wing toward the main staircase.
Although she’d been raised with the understanding that not much was expected of her beyond perfect hair, impeccable manners and a few well-chosen charities, she’d determined early on that she wasn’t going to let that be an excuse. So she’d channeled the frustration born of low expectations—along with boredom and a damn fine business degree—into making life better for others.
It had been a fulfilling choice until recently.
Until the bottom had dropped out of her world and she’d been forced to wonder about the morals, ethics and basic decency of her loved ones.
And her mother sat at the top of the list.
As Patsy Adair’s youngest child—and only daughter—she’d grown up with the knowledge that her mother was different. Cold and brittle, she wore both like a battle shield against the world. And wielded them equally well.
As a result, Landry had gone to the right schools. Had the right friends. Hell, she’d nearly even married the right man because it fit what was expected of her.
Wealth brought privileges and expectation in equal measure, and Landry had always understood that. What she couldn’t understand was how her mother could live a life so devoid of warmth and kindness.
Or love.
She turned down the last corridor toward the stairs and came to a stop at the top, thoughts of her family and their low expectations vanishing as if they’d never been.
Derek Winchester stood in the great hall, a phone pressed to his ear, and she gave herself a moment to look her fill. The same impression she’d gotten this morning of subtle strength and power was still there, but she let others swirl and form around it. He was tall and whipcord lean, but the strength in those broad shoulders was more than evident.
His coloring was dark—darker than she’d realized in the sun—and she placed his ancestry as holding some, if not all, Native American. Unbidden, an image of him on horseback filled her mind’s eye, roaming the High Plains and protecting his family from harm.
Protecting what was his.
She fought the fanciful notion and continued on down the stairs, already on the descent before he could catch her staring at him. Landry fought the slight hitch in her chest when she cleared the last stair and came to stand next to him.
And she refused to give an inch by relaxing the haughty demeanor that she swirled around herself like a cloak. “Do you have a suit jacket?”
“In the car.”
“And a tie?”
“Right next to the jacket.”
“Then let’s get them and go.”
Twenty minutes later they were on their way toward San Diego in her BMW. Unwilling to ruin her hair, she left the top up all while cursing herself for the choice. She should have selected her large SUV instead of the tight confines of the two-seater.
Serious mistake.
Derek’s large body filled up those confines and she could swear she felt the heat rising off the edge of his shoulders, branding her with its intensity.
“What event are we going to?”
Landry filled him in on the work of her favorite charity, the project’s focus on children an ongoing highlight in her life. Although she’d let several of her other commitments lapse over the last few months since her father’s death, she’d refused to cut ties with the bright and able-bodied leaders who worked tirelessly to ensure that the children of Southern California had enough basic necessities to not only survive, but blossom.
Weekend camps, tutoring and days out simply enjoying their youth were a mainstay of the organization, and in the past three years she’d seen the children who took part begin to thrive.
“Sounds like a special group. Why is the governor attending?”
“He promised some additional funding if we met certain testing criteria,
