The Baby Track by Barbara Boswell

As far as Courtney could tell, Jarrell Harcourt did not possess the ability to smile.
    Jarrell joined them, taking a seat next to her brother, turned her back to Courtney and proceeded to converse with him. No one else came near the table, and Courtney, shut out of the Harcourts’ conversation, sat in silence. Ten minutes crawled by, then fifteen. She sighed.
    And then, just when she had decided that the interminable evening had reached its nadir, it took a definite turn for the worse.
    For a moment, Courtney thought she was hallucinating. That couldn’t be Connor McKay and Kieran Kaufman, in black tuxes and looking for all the world as if they belonged in this elite crowd, who were crossing the wide expanse of the ballroom. Heading directly toward the table where she and the Harcourts sat.
    Courtney froze. She balled her hands into tight fists but barely felt her nails digging into her palms. Horror of horrors, it was McKay and Kaufman! And their elegant attire aside, the unholy grins on their faces were alarming testimony to the fact that they were up to no good.
    “Uh, excuse me,” Courtney mumbled and rose from the table. The dangerous duo were at least twelve feet away; if she moved swiftly she had enough time to intercept them before they reached the Harcourts.
    “Hello, Gypsy.” Connor’s sea-green eyes slid lazily over her as she approached them.
    Courtney was wearing an elegant peacock-blue silk dress that was cut in modest, classic lines and was not the least bit gypsylike. Her dark eyes smoldered. “What are you doing here?”
    “I guess you wouldn’t believe that we were invited? That we’re old golfing buddies of Hop’s?” drawled Connor.
    “I most certainly would not. You crashed this party!” “Bingo!” Kaufman exclaimed.
    Courtney sent him a scathing glance, then turned to Connor again. “Why did you crash the party?” A dreadful thought struck her. “Surely not to—to see me?”
    “I told you we needed to talk tonight,” Connor replied, shrugging. “Since you insisted on being here, it was only logical that we hold our meeting here. Although I can’t say much for the surroundings.” He glanced around him, his expression disapproving. “Trapping those poor birds and ’ shutting them up in cages so these society geeks can gawk at them..He shook his head. “I know a few diehard animal rights activists. Maybe I should give them a call and alert them to this abuse.”
    “Get than and their pickets over here right away,” Kieran said gleefully. “I’ll call a local news team who is sympathetic to the cause. It might make the news at eleven.”
    “No!” cried Courtney. But what was even more horrifying than the thought of a fanatical group of picketers and camera crew crashing the party was the fact that Connor McKay had just spoken the very thoughts she’d been harboring all evening about those poor captive birds. She did not want to be so psychically attuned to him!
    “How did you know I was here?” she demanded nervously.
    The two men looked at each other, then back at her. “It’s part of my job to track people down, Gypsy,” Connor explained with a patient air that she found extremely irritating. “I’ve traced reclusive celebrities who cover their trails with professional expertise, and I’ve traced politicians holed up with women who were most definitely not their wives, to
    mention just a few cases. Locating you was a kindergarten exercise.”
    “Hey, who’s the blond babe sitting at your table?” Kieran asked, surveying the crowd with his weasel-sharp eyes.
    Courtney actually smiled. “That’s Jarrell Harcourt. And I’m willing to bet that’s the first time in her life she’s ever been referred to as a ‘babe.’ ”
    Kaufman stared, assessing the woman. “Hmm. Looks tense and humorless—but sexy in a snobbish, aristocratic kind of way. Desperately needs to get laid, I wager. Well, this is her lucky night. I’m going to blitzkrieg her. She’ll never