Rae smiled as though she was thrilled to serve a guest, proving she could act with the best of them. When she moved on, Hunter searched for Curly Locks.

Green and black satin slashed through the room with quiet determination.

He might have dismissed her as unimportant if not for his training and if tonight didn’t involve a mission centering around three Fratelli expected to meet with Gwenyth.

And the familiar feeling about the woman stirred his curiosity further.

Curly Locks might have an innocent reason for being here.

Then again, she might not.

If she posed an issue of any sort that might interfere with tonight’s mission he’d alert Carlos, who would give the order to have her removed. Silently.

As if gaining entry to the Wentworth fund-raiser hadn’t been difficult enough, now Abbie had to find Gwen without drawing attention to herself.

The stuffy doorman had given her invitation close scrutiny, as if she’d counterfeited the damn thing, but her name was on the guest list so he had to allow her entrance to the Wentworth fairyland. This family was old, old, old money that originated in the United Kingdom. A Vancleaver like Brittany would blend into this glam crowd like a sparkling shell in the ocean, but Abbie was going for the invisibility of being a raindrop in the ocean until she found Gwen. It should be easy when moving through a room filled with beautiful people decorated in diamonds and precious metals.

If she made a misstep and drew any attention, this bunch would boot her quicker than a cow pony from a herd of thoroughbreds.

That would give Stuey all the ammunition he’d need to get rid of her and the threat she posed to his family jewels.

Abbie smiled constantly, hoping to disarm those whose gaze slid down the ridge of their nose. She wandered about slowly, listening to the sound of classical melodies rolling off the ivory keys of a piano that deserved to be on that knee-high pedestal. Male and female catering staff wore tuxedos. One offered Abbie a flute of champagne she accepted before moving on past exotic flower arrangements taller than her that were nothing short of artistic brilliance.

She slowed next to one gigantic floral display and leaned in to appear as though she sniffed the scent-an aromatic cuisine for the nose-but she actually searched the room for Gwen.

Would the Wentworth hostess use the dual stairway that anchored one end of the room for a grand entrance?

Abbie would. She’d never wanted to own something like this spread, but didn’t every girl think about walking down a fabulous curved stairway like that?

So far, no female matched the photos she’d studied of Gwen Wentworth, with her signature mane of natural blond hair that fell to her waist. The identifying mark was a silvery-white stripe running through the left side.

Strange for a woman not yet thirty.

After researching Gwen for the last forty-eight hours, Abbie felt sad for the woman, whose little boy had died right after birth two years ago. Under different circumstances, Abbie would have liked to film a documentary on the Wentworths ancestry. They had their share of dark secrets but deserved acknowledgment for all this family had donated across the world.

She hoped Gwen’s loss hadn’t hardened the woman, that Gwen had some compassion for other mothers. She didn’t allow interviews so Abbie had nothing beyond news bites on the reclusive woman. Nothing that would indicate how difficult it would be to convince Gwen to help Abbie’s mother.

Didn’t matter. Gwen sat at the head of the board of directors for the Kore Women’s Center. She would not want the damning information Abbie possessed released to the media.

Hopefully Abbie wouldn’t have to make that threat.

Stuart had rolled out a mile of warnings, starting with not annoying anyone since she wasn’t even supposed to be at this party. And not telling anyone she was with WCXB. He could have saved that breath. The quickest way to shut down a conversation in this crowd would be to identify herself as being with the media. The minute someone outed Abbie as being with WCXB and Gwen found out, security would see her off the property.

Abbie wasn’t after a media interview.

She wanted access to the Kore records on her mother but hadn’t told Stu when he demanded to know why this was so important to her.

He’d finally gotten the invitation, with a helpful suggestion from Abbie, then laid down his rules, telling her, “I don’t know why you’re hell-bent on attending the Wentworth event, but know this-I won’t stick my neck out to save you if you do anything that draws negative attention to the station, and God forbid you do something that reflects badly on WCXB. I told Brittany an aunt of mine wanted to go. And if Brittany finds out I’m taking her to New York for dinner and a play just so you can attend this party in her place, she’ll be looking for blood. I’m not donating alone.”

Stuey had reason to worry about Brittany questioning the motive for his surprise trip to New York. He lacked the imagination to come up with a better solution to yesterday’s standoff with Abbie and deserved the hit his wallet was taking, but he was right about one thing.

Abbie’s head would be the first one to roll if her plan to pull out the PR hammer Dr. Tatum had given her backfired.

All the wrangling and manipulating she’d done to get inside this place would be for naught if she didn’t get close enough to talk to Gwen.

What if Gwen called security on her?

Don’t borrow worry, as Abbie’s father would say.

She meandered around, taking pretend sips of her champagne. No drinking. Ignoring her low tolerance for alcohol six years ago had led to the most embarrassing night of her life with a guy named Samson, a hot guy even if he had looked wild with long hair and a shaggy beard.

Wild, but endearing in the way he’d only had eyes for her and… kissed. The embarrassing part had come the next morning.

Who could blame her for acting like a fool after the man she’d been engaged to had played her for one?

Not the time to think about that. She headed for the arched opening to a solarium where people sat and stood in clusters.

Maybe Gwen had come down quietly and was in there.

Just as Abbie neared the marble column supporting the left side of the archway she was stepping through, a woman on the other side laughed and took a step back… directly into Abbie’s path.

They bumped.

Abbie’s still-full glass of champagne sloshed over her hand and dripped on the gigantic rug she had a sick feeling would bring a record amount at a Sotheby’s auction.

Long silky black hair fanned along bony shoulders of the woman she’d collided with. The scrawny twenty-something female spun to face Abbie. Her gasp of surprise exhaled on a huff of outrage as though she’d been assaulted. “Are you drunk?”

Was it Abbie’s imagination or had everyone within thirty feet heard that comment and gone silent? She felt a thick wall of eyes locked on her.

“No, I’m not drunk.” Abbie went for indignant, but the catch of worry in her voice might have ruined the affect. Clusters of curious faces popped into her peripheral vision. She tried to act as though her stomach wasn’t having a disco party at warp speed. “You backed into me.”

“I don’t think so.” The black-haired woman spit her words from perfectly shaped lips in plum-colored lipstick, adding plenty of how-dare-you-insult-me innuendo. The low V of her silky purple top split in a long cut to her waist, meeting the top of black bolero pants cinched with a braided gold and silver belt. She flexed her shoulders back and one of her surgically enhanced puppies came close to nosing its way out.