Brown-Eyed Girl (Travises 4)

“I see him,” Steven replied. “I’ll have Ree-Ann handle it. Over.”

Aware of a woman approaching, I turned and smiled automatically. She was whippet-thin and elegant in a beaded panel-construction dress. Her blond bob was perfectly highlighted with a bar code of platinum streaks.

“Can I help you?” I asked with a smile.

“You’re the one who planned this wedding?”

“Yes, along with my sister. I’m Avery Crosslin.”

She sipped from a glass of champagne, her hand weighted with an emerald the size of an ashtray. Noticing that my gaze had flickered to the beveled square-cut gem, she said, “My husband gave it to me for my forty-fifth birthday. A carat for each year.”

“It’s remarkable.”

“They say emeralds bestow the power to predict the future.”

“Does yours?” I asked.

“Let’s say the future generally happens the way I want it to.” She took another dainty sip. “This turned out nice,” she murmured, surveying the scene. “Fancy, but not too formal. Imaginative. Most weddings I’ve been to this year have all looked the same.” She paused. “People are already saying this was the best wedding they’ve been to in years. But it’s only the second best.”

“What’s the best wedding?” I asked.

“The one you’re going to do for my daughter, Bethany. The wedding of the decade. The governor and an ex-president will be attending.” Her lips curved in a slender, catlike smile. “I’m Hollis Warner. And your career’s just been made.”

Four

As Hollis Warner sauntered away, Steven’s voice came through my earpiece.

“Her husband is David Warner. He inherited a restaurant business and parlayed it into casino resorts. Their fortune is obscene even by Houston standards. Over.”

“Do they —”

“Later. You’ve got company. Over.”

Blinking, I turned to see Joe Travis approaching. The sight of him kicked my heart into a drumfire rhythm. He was dazzling in a classic tux, wearing it with unself-conscious ease. The white edge of his collar formed a crisp contrast to an amber tan that seemed to go several layers deep, as if he’d been steeped in sun.

He smiled at me. “I like your hair down like that.”

Self-consciously, I reached up to try to flatten it. “It’s too curly.”

“For God’s sake,” I heard Steven’s acid voice in the earpiece. “When a man gives you a compliment, don’t argue with him. Over.”

“Can you take a break for a few minutes?” Joe asked.

“I probably shouldn’t —,” I began, and I heard both Steven’s and Sofia’s voices at the same time.

“Yes, you should!”

“Tell him yes!”

I yanked off the earpiece and mike. “I don’t usually take a break during the reception,” I told Joe. “I need to keep an eye on things in case anyone has a problem.”

“I have a problem,” he said promptly. “I need a dance partner.”

“There are a half-dozen bridesmaids here who would love to dance with you,” I said. “Individually or collectively.”

“None of them has red hair.”

“Is that a requirement?”

“Let’s call it a strong preference.” Joe reached for my hand. “Come on. They can do without you for a few minutes.”

I flushed and hesitated. “My bag…” I glanced at the bulk of it wedged beneath the chair. “I can’t just —”

“I’ll watch over it,” came Sofia’s cheerful voice. She had appeared out of nowhere. “Go have fun.”

“Joe Travis,” I said, “this is my sister Sofia. She’s single. Maybe you should —”

“Take her away,” Sofia told him, and they exchanged a grin.

Ignoring the dirty look I gave her, Sofia murmured something into her radio mike.

Joe kept possession of my hand, pulling me past tables and potted trees until we’d reached a semisecluded area at the other side of the reception tent. He signaled a waiter who was holding a tray of iced champagne.

“I’m supposed to be running things,” I said. “I have to stay vigilant. Anything could happen. Someone could have a heart attack. The tent could catch on fire.”

After taking two glasses of champagne from the waiter, Joe handed one to me and retained the other. “Even General Patton took a break sometimes,” he said. “Relax, Avery.”

“I’ll try.” I held the crystal flute by the stem, its contents shimmering with tiny bubbles.

“To your beautiful brown eyes,” he said, lifting his glass

I flushed. “Thank you.” We clinked glasses and drank. The champagne was dry and delicious, the chilled fizz like starlight on my tongue.

My view of the dance floor was obstructed by orchestra instruments, speakers, and ornamental trees. However, I thought I caught sight of Hollis Warner’s distinctive white-blond bob in the milling crowd.

“Do you happen to know Hollis Warner?” I asked.

Joe nodded. “She’s a friend of the family. And last year I took pictures of her house for a magazine feature. Why?”

“I just met her. She was interested in discussing ideas for her daughter’s wedding.”

He gave me an alert glance. “Who’s Bethany engaged to?”