Losing Control - By Robyn Grady Page 0,45

Hunter.

Cole hadn't elaborated on his suspicions - that he believed his father's second wife was involved in these assassination attempts against Guthrie. But there must be some good reason for Eloise to have created such a big blip on his radar. Taryn assumed no one else knew of his concerns, least of all Guthrie. How would his father react if his would-be killer turned out to be the woman who had pledged to love him till death us do part?

But Taryn knew better than most. Some people didn't give a rat's behind about the people they should care most about.

Taryn sympathized with Cole. The Hunter family was indeed a tangled web. How must he feel being the "special one," feeling responsible for trying to keep all the spiders out?

Cole opened her passenger-side door and she followed as he strode up a half dozen wide granite steps to the massive front doors. Before she'd caught up, he'd rung the bell twice. Now he was thumping the panels with the side of one fist. When a woman - obviously staff - responded to the ruckus, Cole seemed less impressed than he had been all day.

The woman said, "Are Mr. and Mrs. Hunter expecting you?"

Cole all but pushed the woman out of his way. He was halfway across the huge shining foyer when he stopped, turned and held out his hand, waiting for her before he charged on.

Absorbing her surrounds, Taryn took his hand and followed. The grounds of the estate were impressive enough. Pristine manicured lawns with soaring pines delineating an endless paved drive. Inside, however, Taryn was left near speechless. Everything screamed wealth. Extravagant embroidered furnishings. Magnificent art hanging from towering walls. The room they'd entered was larger than a regular-sized city apartment. The cost of maintaining this grandeur must be exorbitant.

Guthrie was resting on a couch, gazing out a window that took in a one-eighty-degree view of a back lawn that presented more like a state garden. Guthrie looked over as they entered but he didn't get to his feet. One leg rested on cushions on the couch and a square bandage sat high on the right side of his forehead.

Cole came straight to the point. "I fired your wonder P.I."

"Jeremy told me that you called." Guthrie swiveled a little and spotted his other guest. "Taryn, sorry to call you away early from your work."

Feeling horrible for the whole situation, she edged forward. "Are you all right?"

Guthrie touched his head. "A bruise here and there. My pride's wounded the most. If not for that man who'd been walking his dog, I can't say where we'd be now."

Cole asked, "Where's Tate?"

"In the media room with a policeman standing guard. Son, I wonder whether we should put Tate somewhere safe until this is over."

"Safe like where?"

"Perhaps with one of your brothers. Whatever madman we're dealing with here, hopefully he won't have connections that far abroad."

"Let's get Brandon in on this first," Cole said, "then we can nut out what needs to be done."

At that moment, a fourth person entered the room. Taryn recognized the face from media shots and the photo Guthrie kept on his desk. Eloise Hunter was of medium height and svelte, other than a baby bump. Wearing a black silk-and-chiffon pantsuit straight out of the pages of Vogue, she looked as if she were attending a celebrity wake. Only no one was dead. God willing, it would stay that way.

Taryn expected the mistress of the house to be either overly gracious to her or serve up a cursory glance; she was, after all, no one of consequence. But on seeing Taryn, Eloise stopped in her tracks and, without regard to social etiquette, eyed her up and down as if she might have been a person who intended her family harm.

Taryn bristled. Within five seconds of meeting Mrs. Hunter, she understood Cole's disapproval. What happened next made her hackles rise more. Eloise's focus slid away from her and settled upon the younger of the Hunter men present. The glimmer in those amber eyes was unmistakable. Eloise found her stepson physically attractive. She might be running her fingers up and down the side of the water glass she held but in her mind, her hand was stroking something far more personal.

Apparently unaware, Guthrie took care of introductions. "Darling, this is Taryn Quinn, a producer we've put on."

Eloise's gaze flicked back and a meaningless smile curved her lips. But then a wiser glint shone in her eyes and she focused again on