Free Dangerous Love by Ednah Walters, E. B. Walters Page A

and not on others. Letting these women bail her out now went against the very core of her upbringing.
    “So what do you think?”
    Estelle’s voice reached Faith from afar. From her expectant expression, whatever excuses Faith came up with would be brushed aside.
    “Sean will know something is going on when he sees you, Aunt Estelle.”
    “I don’t intend to go with the girls, but I’ll be there when they plan the shakedown.” Her aunt and her friends grinned like a bunch of cheerleaders planning a coup at a frat party. Faith was in trouble. No, change that to Ken, and he wasn’t going to like it.
    “I need to discuss this with Mr. Lambert first. It might conflict with his plans,” she added when the women looked ready to argue.
    “Call him,” Estelle urged.
    “And since we’ve decided to go with the designs we chose before, we can discuss the details now,” Barbs added.
    Faith’s gaze moved from one face to another. “You don’t want new gowns?”
    “No, dear,” Barbs said. The others shook their head. “You have enough on your plate preparing for Fashion Week and dealing with Sean’s mess. By the time we finish with him, he’ll be a fool to let anyone wear his ill-gained designs.”
    Emotions zipped through Faith in quick succession—elation, relief, gratitude. Her gaze swept the beaming faces. How could she ever thank these wonderful women? By protecting them from themselves.
    She cleared her throat. “Thank you. You’ve no idea what this means to me.”
    “We do,” Monique VanderMarck said. “We were once young too and needed a helping hand.”
    “Call your detective friend,” Barbs instructed. “Tell him what we have planned.”
    “Excuse me.” Faith pulled out her cell phone from her bag and walked to the sliding door, which led to an expansive deck.
    Barbs’ home had a panoramic view of the Pacific. For a moment Faith let the sound of waves crashing on the beach sooth her senses by closing her eyes and taking a deep inhale. A soulful tune, carried by the salty breeze from a neighboring house, teased her ears.
    It was a great not to worry about new designs. Creating them would have cut in on the little time she had before Fashion Week. As it was, the two solid things she had was a contract with a modeling agency and a stage manager who had worked with the girls from that agency, but she’d yet to choose the models. She also had to finalize deals with a hair and makeup stylist, and a producer. But now wasn’t the time to stress about such things.
    Opening her eyes, Faith searched for a place to sit. A gazebo with a wide sofa and fluffy pillows was to the left, and several lounges were scattered on the wraparound, fenced deck. She walked to one by the fence poles, right by the concrete steps leading to the beach below, sat, and punched in Ken’s number.
    “Yeah?” he said after two rings, sounding breathless.
    “Can you talk?”
    “Uh, not now. I’ll call you back in a few minutes.” The phone went dead.
    “Great!”   Faith took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. She glanced at the house. The women would get impatient if she didn’t go back soon. The urge to call and interrupt Ken was strong. She glared at the dark water slapping the sand. The turbulent waves matched her dark mood.
    “Sweetheart?” Estelle called from the doorway a few minutes later.
    Faith swore under her breath, gripped the phone, and walked back to the house. “I called Ken, but he couldn’t talk. He said he’d call back.”
    “I’m sure he will. Have you eaten?”
    “I had a sandwich before I left home.”
    “That’s not a meal. Come inside and join us. Barbs’ cook made dinner.”
    Just before they entered the house, Faith’s cell phone rang. She recognized Ken’s number.
    “Go on ahead, Auntie Estelle. I’ll be in shortly.” She moved away from the door and spoke into the phone, “Sorry for calling you this late.”
    “It’s hardly late. What’s going on?”
    “I need a favor.”