Her Cop Protector. Sharon HartleyЧитать онлайн книгу.
across their foreheads with a feather plume jauntily waving in the back.
The costumes were expertly made and likely cost Sandy a fortune. Despite her misgivings, June loved the way she looked. She even enjoyed the subtle clicking sound the rows of dangling beads made as she moved.
But maybe that was because of the delicious dry, chilled champagne she and her three friends had enjoyed on the drive to the club. Truly their party had already started.
“I don’t see Paul,” Sandy murmured. “He said he’d meet us.”
“He’ll be here,” June said, unsure where that confidence came from. She met Sandy for lunch once or twice a year, but hadn’t spoken to Paul since her parents’ funeral.
Dark-haired Donna scooted across the backseat and emerged in her bright red saloon-girl costume, an outfit with ruffles and a stiff petticoat. Carole came last in an emerald dress with a low-cut bodice.
“Well, don’t we look fabulous?” Donna said with a smile.
“You know, we really do,” June agreed, checking out her friends.
“Ready, girls?” Carole asked.
The four friends hooked arms and entered the grand ballroom together. To June it seemed as if everyone in the room turned to stare at her, but she knew that couldn’t be true and was just her nerves kicking in.
“There you are.” Paul Taylor approached, his eyes wide in what June hoped was appreciation of his wife’s appearance. He gave her a quick hug, one without any real intimacy. His dark hair had begun to recede, so maybe an early midlife crisis was the problem with his marriage.
“Did you girls have a nice reunion?” he asked.
“We haven’t been girls for a long time,” Carole said.
“Still prickly after all these years, huh, Carole?” Paul asked.
Carole shrugged. On the limo ride over, Sandy had revealed her suspicions about her husband’s infidelity, which had infuriated Carole.
“It’s been great to catch up,” Donna interjected, always the peacemaker. “Thanks for sending the limo.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Why aren’t you in costume?” June asked, since Paul wore an ordinary business suit. An expensive one, expertly tailored, but one he’d wear to the office.
“I’m here as an attorney,” he said in a defensive tone.
“Oh, how interesting,” Carole said. “You are an attorney.”
“Come on, Sandy. I need you to meet someone.” Paul whisked Sandy away with a nod at the other three. Her feather bounced gaily as she hurried to keep up.
“What a jerk,” Carole muttered.
“Don’t make it any worse for her,” June said.
Carole sighed. “It’s just he— Oh, look. There’s Laura Harris.” Carole hurried in that direction.
“I need a drink,” Donna said. “Let’s find the bar.”
“June Latham. What a pleasant surprise.”
June let Donna go on ahead and turned to the speaker, a woman in her fifties dressed in a police officer’s uniform, vaguely recognizing her as a member of her parents’ large circle of friends.
“I’m sorry,” June said. “Please remind me—”
“Sylvia Baker,” the woman prompted, grabbing her hand and shaking vigorously. “I don’t expect you to remember. It’s been a long time.”
June nodded, having no clue how long it’d actually been.
“How are you?” Sylvia asked. “Where have you been?”
“I’m good,” June said.
“Look, Chuck,” Sylvia said, grabbing a passing man dressed as the devil. “It’s June Latham.”
June found herself swept up into the festive melee, and despite her misgivings, the old guard seemed genuinely happy to see her. She didn’t specifically remember anyone from her parents’ generation, but they sure knew her.
“Oh, but you’ve turned into a lovely young lady.”
“Your mother would be so proud.”
“You have your father’s smile.”
Then a cloud would pass across faces as old friends recalled the scandal and hastily changed the subject. Everyone mostly tiptoed around the subject of her parents, and she didn’t hear one snarky remark.
“But you just disappeared. Everyone thought you’d moved to Manhattan to live with your uncle,” said a white-haired lady in costume as a cowgirl.
June heard variations of the same comment at least a dozen times. Ten years ago it was what she’d wanted everyone to think. Only Sandy, Carole and Donna knew she’d remained in Florida.
“Uncle Mike let me stay in Miami and finish my senior year.”
“So you did graduate from Pinecrest Prep?” The lady’s eyebrows dipped together in confusion. “I thought that—”
“Uncle Mike insisted I transfer to a public school. It was a compromise.”
“Oh, I see.”
But June could tell she didn’t see at all. How did anyone explain the raw emotions of a seventeen-year-old whose life had just been kicked out from underneath her? Hell, she didn’t understand it herself. All she knew was she had been terrified of New York City, which Mike insisted would be a fresh start. She’d imagined a freezing-cold city with giant buildings and no trees, which sounded like torture to a teenager who grew up in Miami diving into a swimming pool every day.
And, despite her humiliation, she’d needed the comfort of her friends.
But that was all behind her. Time to start avoiding the older generation.
“Excuse me,” she said and stepped toward the bar.
Okay. She’d passed the hurdle of facing her parents’ cronies, which hadn’t turned out nearly as disastrous as she’d imagined. Good job, June. You’ve satisfied their curiosity. Let the gossip begin.
Now I deserve some fun.
She’d noticed plenty of guests her own age. New people to meet who knew nothing about her past. Who didn’t care a flaming golf ball about her unsavory history. Even some good-looking men, a bonus she hadn’t expected.
She knew the costume made her look damn good, which boosted her confidence, and she ought to take advantage of that elusive feeling.
With champagne in hand, she looked for Sandy, wanting to make sure Paul hadn’t upset her. June found her friend in a group that included her husband across the room. Sandy stood with her back to the floor-to-ceiling plate-glass windows that during the day revealed a beautifully maintained golf course. Tonight all that was visible was a subtly lit landscaped patio.
Husband and wife appeared to be getting along. June raised her champagne to her old friend. Sandy nodded and lifted a glass in return.
“It’s uncanny how much you two look alike.”
“My friend has a secret wish to be a twin,” June said, extending her arm to a very nice-looking dude in a pirate costume. Not as hunky as Detective Hammer, but nice. “I’m June.”
“Hi, June,” he said, shaking her hand with a smile. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
“Sorry. Do I know you?”
“Steve Hill. We were on the swim team together at Pinecrest.”
“Oh, of course.” She took a sip of champagne, recalling a gawky