In the background, he could hear The Derby Brunch in full swing in the garden and knew that this really was the only time to get in and out of the business center with the information his brother needed. With so many guests on site, there was no way their father would be any- where but under that tent" he was a reprobate, but his manners had { 296 }.

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never been assailable. Further, all corporate staff had Derby day off, so not even the underlings would be at their desks.

The poor bastards might work Fourth of July, Thanksgiving, Christ- mas, and Easter, but this was Kentucky. No one worked on Derby day.

As Lane came around to follow him, he put out his palm. I go alone.

I cant let you do that.

I can afford to get caught. You cannot. Stay here.

He didnt wait for a response, but continued onward, knowing that after nearly forty years of his being the eldest, his words would freeze Lane where he stood.

At the rear entrance to his fathers facility, Edward punched in an access code that hed assigned to a third party contractor five years ago as part of the security upgrade. When the red light turned to green and the lock released, he closed his eyes briefly.

And opened things up.

There was a temptation to brace himself before stepping inside, but he didnt have that luxury, either in terms of energy or time. As the door shut behind him, the outdoor light was cut off, and it was a moment before the dim interior registered to his eyes.

Still the same. Everything. From the thick maroon pile rug with its gold edgings, to the framed articles on the company that hung on the silk-covered walls, to the pattern of open glass doorways leading down toward the central waiting area.

Strange . . . that he assumed just because he was different, this place in which he had spent so many hours would have changed as well.

No alarm went off as he proceeded deeper into the facility because of the code hed used, and he passed by the formal dining room, the conference rooms that looked like Easterlys parlors, and even more of- fices that were kitted out with the luxury of a top- tier law firm. As always, the drapes on all the windows were pulled to ensure total privacy, and nothing was left out on any desks, everything locked up tight.

The waiting area was a circular space, the center of which was demar- cated with the family crest in the carpet. Prominently placed off to the side, { 297 }.

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and bracketed by an American flag, a Kentucky Commonwealth flag, and a pair of Bradford Bourbon Company banners, the desk of the receiving sec- retary was as regal as a crown" and yet that wasnt even close to the seat of power. Beyond all that show, there was glassed- in office where the executive assistant occupied space" and finally, behind that bulldogs desk was a door marked yet again with the family crest in shimmering gold.

His fathers office.

Edward glanced over to the line of French doors that opened up into the garden. Thanks to the combination of heavy drapes and triple- paned glass, there was not even a peep heard of the six or seven hundred people out there" and there was absolutely no chance of any guests wandering in here.

Edward shuffled forward to the glass office and entered the same code. When the lock released, he pushed his way in and went around to sit at the computer. He turned no lights on and would have not dis- turbed the chair behind the desk had his legs been capable of supporting his weight for any length of time.

The computer was running, but locked, and he signed on using a set of shadow credentials hed given himself when hed had the companys network expanded and reinforced about three years ago.

In like Flynn, as they said.

But now what?

On the trip to Easterly, he had wondered whether his brain would come back online for any of this. He had worried that the painkillers, or the trauma, had damaged his gray matter in a way that was not material when all one did was drink and sweep up stables" but rather dispositive when one attempted to function at a higher level.

That was not the case.

Although his circumnavigation among the file system of secured documents was slow at first, soon enough, he was moving quickly through the information caches, exporting what was relevant to a dummy account that would appear to be a valid BBC e- mail, but was in fact, out of the network.

Yet another shadow.

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And what was best about it all? If anyone looked into the activity, they would trace the destination to the name of his fathers bulldog executive assistant" in spite of the fact that she herself knew nothing about the account. But that was the point. Anyone in the company who saw that womans name on something was going to back away and say nothing.

As he sifted through the financials, he focused exclusively on raw data that had yet to be scrubbed by accountants, and though there was a temptation to start to analyze, it was more important that he capture as much as he could"

The lights in the reception room flared to life.

Jerking his head up, he froze.

Shit.

L izzies phone went off finally just as the first of the guests started to take their leave. And she nearly ignored the vi- bration, especially as two of the waiters came up to her with a series of demands from a table of twenty- year- olds who were underaged and utterly drunk.

No, she said as she took the cell out of her back pocket and ac- cepted the call without looking. Theyve been cut off for a reason" by their parents. If that bunch of entitled asshats has a problem with the service refusal, tell them to talk to Mommy and Daddy. She put the phone up to her ear. Yes?

Its me.

Lizzie closed her eyes in relief. Oh, my God, Lane . . . here, let me find somewhere quiet.

Im around back. By the garages. Can you come out for a minute?

On my way.

Ending the call, she caught Gretas eye across the tent and signaled that she was stepping out for a minute. After the woman nodded, Lizzie hightailed it down the periphery of the party, jogging behind the buffet tables where uniformed servers cut slices off perfectly roasted wedges of locally raised Angus beef.

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A couple of waiters raised their hands to try to get her attention, but she held them off, knowing Greta would be on it.

Entering the house through the door that opened into the kitchen, she ducked her head, trying to look as if she were already on a mission.

And she supposed she was. In the far corner, by the pantry, there was another door that opened into the mudroom, and after running by all the spring jackets of the help, she emerged outside by the garages.

She looked around for Lanes Porsche"

Over here, his voice announced.

Turning, she recoiled as she saw him leaning against a truck that was nearly as old as she was. But then she got with the program, jog- ging across the cobblestones.

Now, this is my kind of ride, she said as she came up to him.

Even as he didnt move a muscle, Lanes eyes traveled all over her, as if he were using her presence as a way of grounding himself. Can I hug you?

She glanced around, focusing on the windows of the house. Proba- bly better not to.

Yeah.

So . . . what are you doing here? With this F-150?

Borrowed it from a friend. Im trying to keep a low profile. Hows the party?

Your wifes been giving me the evil eye.

Ex- wife, remember?

Are you . . . are you going to head to the brunch?

He shook his head. Im busy.

Awkward. Pause.

Are you all right? she whispered. How was Edward?

Can I stay with you tonight?

Lizzie shifted her weight back and forth. Arent you going to the ball?

No.

Well, then . . . yes, Id like that. She crossed her arms" and tried { 300 }.

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not to feel a surging happiness which seemed inappropriate given every- thing that he was facing. But Im worried about you.

Me, too. He glanced up at his house. Let me ask you something.

Anything.

It was a while before he spoke again. If I decided to leave here . . .

would you consider coming with me?

Lizzie thought about joking it out, referencing Robinson Crusoe, or maybe the Carnival Cruise Lines. But he wasnt laughing in the slightest.

Is it that bad? she whispered.

Its worse.

Lizzie didnt bother checking to see if anyone was looking. She stepped in close to him and put her arms around him" and his response was immediate, his larger body curling around her own, holding on.

Well? he said into her hair. Would you leave with me?

She thought about her job, her farm, her life" as well as the fact that as of three days ago, they hadnt spoken in almost two years.

Lane . . .

So its a no?

She pulled back . . . stepped away. Lane, even if you never come back here again, you arent going to be free of this place, these people.

Its your family, your core.

I lived without them perfectly well for two years.

And Miss Aurora brought you back.

You could have. I would have returned for you.

Lizzie shook her head. Dont make plans. Theres too much up in the air right now. She cleared her throat. And on that note, I better go back. People are starting to leave, but weve got a good four hundred still in there.

I love you, Lizzie.

She closed her eyes. Put her hands to her face. Dont say that.

I just found out that my father was going to let those murderers have Edward.

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What? She dropped her arms. What are you talking about?

He refused to pay Edwards ransom when he was kidnapped. Re- fused. He was going to let my brother die there. In fact, I think he wanted Edward to die.

Lizzie covered her mouth with her hand and closed her eyes. So you did see him.

Yeah.

How . . . is he?

When Lane sidestepped that one, she wasnt all that surprised: You know, he said, Ive always wondered how Edwards kidnapping hap- pened. Now I know.

But why would anyone do that to their son?

Because its an efficient way to murder a business rival and not have to worry about going to jail for it. You get killers to take him into the jungle and then refuse to pay the agreed- upon price. Coffin for one, please" oh, and then let us play the grieving, tortured father for sym- pathy in the press. Win/win.

Lane . . . oh, my God.

So when I ask you about going away, its not just some romantic fantasy. He shook his head slowly. Im wondering if my brother wasnt onto my father . . . so the great William Baldwine didnt try to get rid of him.