every bit her equal. The lower level was huge, with one room flowing into the next through high, arching doorways. Silk rugs dotted the polished hardwood floors, and the paneled walls and heavy oak shelving were garnished with oil paintings and African artifacts. Ornate chandeliers spilled soft lighting throughout the rooms, and a magnificent free-standing staircase curved gracefully to a second-floor gallery where another group of people mingled with drinks.
Erin had always imagined her father’s home looking something like this—spacious and grand with evidence of the family’s ill-gotten gains nearly everywhere one looked.
Dean Stanton had earned his house the old-fashioned way. It came with his title. A definite perk for climbing the academic ladder, Erin decided.
She stood apart from the throng, sipping her wine and eyeing the gathering with a bored, critical eye. Schmoozing with the board of trustees and would-be donors was a part of her work she hated, but it was necessary in her field, where laboratories and research grants were often funded by private donations.
Erin caught Dean Stanton’s eye, and he motioned her over. He was talking to a particularly intense-looking group of people, and Erin grimaced inwardly as she made her way across the crowded room.
“I’d like you to meet the newest member of the Hillsboro family,” he said proudly, his gaze moving over Erin in an appreciative sweep. She suspected he’d been worried about what she might turn up here wearing tonight, but in spite of her distaste for such functions, she’d learned a long time ago how to play the game.
She wore a black, sleeveless tunic over matching pants and a fluid silk jersey that clung to her scant curves, filling them out in ways nature had forgotten to. Her high heels helped alleviate nature’s other slight, and just to remind herself that she hadn’t been entirely forsaken, she’d left her hair down. The thick, wavy tresses swung over her shoulders, framing her face in a way that made her feel sexy and wanton. A fleeting feeling, to be sure…
She felt Dean Stanton’s hand on her back, urging her into the spotlight, and Erin had to resist the temptation to pull back. He made the introductions, but the names all ran together in her head, and she hardly noticed any of the faces, except for the tall man who took her hand and held it for a shade longer than she would have liked.
He was impeccably dressed, with silver hair slicked back from his face and a dark tan that highlighted the coldest pair of gray eyes she’d ever encountered. There was something about those eyes, about the way he looked at her, that made Erin experience the same vague uneasiness she’d felt that afternoon after talking with Ross.
Could this man be the one Ross had seen watching her? He did look familiar, and even his name, Ed Dawson, rang a very faint bell.
Erin’s stomach fluttered in warning as she removed her hand from his. She heard Dean Stanton address him again, and she listened more alertly, trying to place where she might have seen him before.
“…consulting on cases all over the Midwest as well as Chicago,” Stanton was saying. He turned to Erin. “Why don’t you tell us about some of the cases you worked on down in Knoxville, Dr. Casey?”
Erin frowned briefly, not wanting to talk about her work except in the most general terms. “Most of my work is fairly routine. Not all that interesting to anyone other than myself.”
The silver-haired man’s brows lifted slightly. “You’re far too modest. I find what you do fascinating, Dr. Casey. I’d certainly like to hear more about your cases at some future date, particularly the ones connected with the Chicago Police Department.”
“Those cases are current,” she explained, “and may end up in court. I’m really not at liberty to discuss them.”
Dean Stanton scowled at her. “Your reticence is admirable, Dr. Casey, but if the superintendent of the Chicago Police Department wants an update on the criminal cases in which you’re currently involved, you would have no objection, surely.”
Superintendent of the Chicago Police Department? Of course! That’s why the man’s face and name seemed so familiar. Undoubtedly, Erin had seen Ed Dawson on television, or perhaps seen his picture in the newspaper.
She glanced at him apologetically. “I’m sorry. But I was just reminded this afternoon how vital it is to safeguard our forensic work.”
“No apology necessary,” Dawson said smoothly. “As Dean Stanton correctly pointed out, your discretion is admirable. A cocktail party is not the place for such a discussion.” The look he gave Dean Stanton was almost frigid, and Stanton, in turn, glared angrily at Erin. There was no mistaking who would get the blame for his faux pas.
Just then, a woman behind Ed Dawson turned and came to join them. She looked to be in her late fifties, probably around Dawson’s age, but she was still a very pretty woman, with a nice complexion and short, dark hair. The green silk dress she wore was exactly right for her age and her coloring, and the smile she flashed Erin was the first genuine show of friendliness she’d seen all evening.
Ed Dawson took her hand and pulled her forward. “I’d like you to meet a good friend of mine. This is Maggie Gallagher,” he said to the group, but his gaze remained on Erin. “She has three sons who are in the Detective Division. It’s possible you may cross paths with one of them in the future, Dr. Casey.”
Startled, Erin stared at the woman for a moment. Maggie Gallagher’s features, especially her blue eyes, were very like the detective’s Erin had met earlier that day. Were Dawson’s words prophetic, or did he know Nick Gallagher had already been to see her?
She gave Maggie a tentative smile. “Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Gallagher.”
“Call me Maggie,” the woman said warmly.
“And I’m Erin.”
“You look so young to be a doctor!”
“I’m a Ph.D.,” Erin explained.
“Dr. Casey is a forensic anthropologist,” Dawson said. “She consults with the Chicago Police Department, as well as other law enforcement organizations throughout the Midwest.”
Maggie Gallagher couldn’t quite hide her surprise. “A forensic anthropologist. That means you work with—”
“Bones,” Erin supplied. “Skeletal remains. I help with identification.”
“She does much more than that,” Dawson said, his expression almost grim. “A good forensic anthropologist can also determine cause and manner of death. Their expert testimony has helped us convict countless murderers who would have otherwise gone free.”
“My goodness.” Maggie looked dutifully impressed. “Are you here with your husband, Dr. Casey?”
“I’m not married.”
Maggie’s brows lifted ever so slightly. “I’ll be sure to tell my sons that I met you.”
Three sons in the police department, Erin mused. And by the looks of things, Maggie Gallagher and the superintendent were a little more than mere acquaintances. His hand rested possessively on her back, and when Maggie glanced up at him, the two exchanged a look that was unmistakable.
He bent down to say something to her, and Erin used the interlude to make her escape. Murmuring her excuses to Dean Stanton, she drifted away, melting once more
