HANK YOU FOR coming by on such short notice, Kate,” Gray Elliott said after she’d introduced him to Holly. “Let’s sit over there,” he added, gesturing to a sofa with a coffee table in front of it and a pair of chairs facing each other at opposite ends.

Kate sat down on the sofa and Holly sat next to her. Curious and tense, Kate watched Elliott pick up some folders from his desk; then he carried them over to the coffee table and sat down on the chair nearest Kate.

He smiled sociably and leaned his forearms on the tops of his legs. “How well do you know Mitchell Wyatt?”

Kate stiffened in shock, her heart thundering all the way up into her throat. “I thought you said this was related to my father.”

“It may be. That’s what I want to find out. How well do you know Mitchell Wyatt?” he repeated calmly.

“Did Evan tell you I know him?”

“No, he did not, and he won’t hear it from me, which is why I suggested you not bring Evan along.” That was definitely a kindness on his part, Kate realized, trying to reassess her opinion of him. “Let me ask a different question,” he said patiently. “How long have you known him?”

“A couple of days. We bumped into each other in Anguilla.”

“And you’d never met him before then?”

“No.”

“How well do you know him?” he asked, returning to that question.

“Not well at all,” Kate said half truthfully.

“You’re quite certain?”

“I’m positive.”

His expression was disappointed, regretful as he held her gaze and opened the top of the folder. With a flick of his wrist, he sent enlarged color photographs of Kate and Mitchell, locked in passionate embraces, sliding across the shiny surface of the coffee table.

Kate stifled a moan and jerked her gaze from the proof of her intimacy with Mitchell.

Holly leaned forward for a closer look. “Holy crap,” she breathed. She picked up one of Mitchell and Kate on the balcony at the Enclave right after they checked in. He was standing in front of her with his hands braced on the wall on either side of her, grinning at her—the moment when she had been laughingly confessing she thought he hadn’t brought any clothes. “I’d love a copy of this one,” Holly said into the charged silence. “And this one, too,” she added, picking up a photograph of the two of them kissing passionately on the beach—when he had been naming the languages he spoke. His hand was shoved into the hair at her nape holding her mouth to his and his arm was angled down across her back, clamping her hips tightly against his. “I wish it wasn’t so grainy.” Holly picked up another one taken that night; in this one his right hand was over Kate’s breast, and she fanned herself with it. “My God, Kate, I am impressed. I truly mean that.”

Oblivious of everything except the explosion of anger inside her, Kate stood up, glaring at Gray Elliott through furious tears. “How dare you!”

“How well do you know Mitchell Wyatt now?” he asked calmly, but he sounded like a prosecutor to her.

“The answer to that is obvious. You didn’t need to ask me anything. You have the evidence.”

“I’d like an explanation.”

Holly leaned around Kate and said mildly, “Go to hell.” Then she stood up and looked at Chicago’s most eligible bachelor with cool, disappointed hauteur—as if he were a cockroach, but one who should have, could have, been a higher-level insect. “My sister is Laurel Braxton. She’ll be representing Kate in this matter should you have some purpose—other than being a voyeur—to question Kate about those pictures again.”

“I do have a higher purpose, Miss Braxton.”

“Dr. Braxton,” Holly corrected, and he looked duly chastened and a little surprised.

“Dr. Braxton,” he agreed; then he realized he’d been distracted and looked at Kate, who was madly swiping tears off her cheeks. “Kate—that should be Miss Donovan, I assume—since we’re unlikely to have a cordial relationship hereafter?”

Kate gave him a glacial stare, and he said with charming chagrin, “I’m glad to see I’m right about something.”

Kate wasn’t buying his superficial boyish charm; she’d already had all she could stomach of that from Mitchell. “What possible excuse can you have for invading my privacy by taking those photographs and then humiliating me by bringing me here and making me look at them?”

“Your father’s death. All I wanted to know was how long you’ve known Mitchell Wyatt so that I can rule him out—or in—as a possible suspect. The Wyatt family has had two deaths from unnatural causes recently, and your father makes a third instance. It’s a little odd for someone to have such a cataclysmic effect on people surrounding him, but Mitchell Wyatt seems to be one of those people.”

It was strange, inexplicable, but at that moment, Kate felt a fierce desire to protect the same man she despised for her own reasons from being attacked again because he was the bastard grandson of the Wyatt family, therefore beneath contempt to people like Evan and, apparently, Gray Elliott. “I met him in Anguilla a few days ago for the first time. The rest is in those pictures. He couldn’t possibly have had anything to do with my father’s death, and there is no way on earth that man killed his brother. He was very fond of him!”

“He talked about William with you?”

“Briefly. I pried it out of him. He told me he was dead— No, that’s not right,” she amended quickly when she saw the flare of interest in Elliott’s gray eyes. “I didn’t know his brother was William Wyatt, but when Mitchell talked about him, I assumed the brother was dead.”

“Why?”

“Because when Mitchell told me about him, he said...” Kate had all she could do to keep from weeping as she repeated the words that had seemed so poignant at the time. “He said... ‘My brother’s name was William.’ ”

“When did he say William was dead?”

“Don’t you listen?” Kate said, almost stamping her foot in frustration. “Mitchell used the word was, so I assumed that meant that William was dead. He never said William was dead.”

“All right, I’m clear on that. Now, will you explain to me how you know he was fond of William?”

“I could tell by the way he talked about him. It was obvious that he cared for him.”

He nodded, thinking that over. “Okay,” he said, looking convinced. “You made an assumption, based on Wyatt’s tone and expression, that he was fond of William?”

“Yes,” Kate said, dying to grab her purse and get out of there.

“Did you also assume, based on Wyatt’s behavior, that he was fond of you?”

Kate didn’t see the question coming, wasn’t prepared for his drawing that parallel. Tipping her head back, she closed her eyes, and swallowed. “You can see that I did,” she whispered.

“That’s it,” Holly said brightly, “we’re leaving.” She dug her sister’s business card out of her purse, thrust it at him, and headed for the door with Kate right behind her.

Elliott turned and watched them. “Miss Donovan?” he said.

Kate turned and glared at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said solemnly. “Looking at those pictures, it was impossible to know that you were emotionally as well as physically involved with him. I’m sorry you got burned.”

Kate refused to let him get off with an apology, let alone such an insincere one, but she kept her dignity and said calmly, “You would have put me through this even if you had known. What makes you think you’re any different than he is?”

IN THE CAR on the way home, Kate told Holly the whole story, and ended by telling her that Evan expected Kate to handle seeing Mitchell at the Children’s Hospital benefit. “I don’t know how I’m going to face him after what he did to me.”

“I know exactly how you’re going to do it,” Holly assured her, “and I will coach you. In fact, if Evan has room for me at your table, I’ll come along for moral support.”

“We’ll make room—”

“The first thing you need is a fabulous gown, which calls for a trip to Bancroft’s.”

“Actually,” Kate admitted, “Evan already phoned Bancroft’s to arrange for a personal shopper to help me pick out a gown for Saturday.”

“Evan can pay the bill, but I’m your new personal shopper.”