Broken Silence (Anthology)

138 Pages·2003·0.79 MB·English

by  Shayne Maggie

BROKEN SILENCE
By
Maggie Shayne, Eileen Wilks, Anne Marrie Winston

DANCING AWAY DANGER?
Bluebonnet Ball intended to quiet concerns about genetically engineered individuals
Greenlaurel, TX
The nation is still spinning from the news of covert scientific experiments that resulted in
genetically altered children who were allegedly adopted by unsuspecting families. Questions have
been raised as to what special powers each of these extraordinary individuals might possess,
and allegations have been made linking the World Bank Heist to such a person.
Here in Greenlaurel, Texas, a city steeped in wealth and tradition, with the highest adoption
rate in the nation, townspeople are giving in to speculation. A group of society matrons hopes to
alleviate the town's fears with this year's Bluebonnet Ball. "We just want to show everyone that
nothing has changed," says May Ellen Ingram, president of the Belles of Texas Historic Society,
whose own grandson, Jake Ingram, currently heading the investigation into the World Bank Heist,
is adopted. "We're still the same people we were before. The ball will go on this Saturday, and the
world will see that our community is above this sort of petty nonsense."
But will the Bluebonnet Ball be enough to extinguish the flames of fear currently consuming the
country? Or will Greenlaurel, like the rest of the world, have to face the fact that their former days of
innocence are long gone?

MAGGIE SHAYNE,
a USA TODAY bestselling author, has written more than twenty-five novels for Silhouette. She has won numerous
awards, including two Romantic Times Career Achievement Awards. A five-time finalist for the Romance Writers of
America's prestigious RITA* Award, Maggie also writes mainstream contemporary fantasy and romantic suspense, and
has contributed story lines to network daytime soap operas. Maggie lives in rural Otselic, New York, with her husband, Rick,
with whom she shares five beautiful daughters, two English bulldogs and two grandchildren.
"If ever a writer was destined for super-stardom, it is surely Eileen Wilks…"
—Romantic Times
EILEEN WILKS
is a fifth-generation Texan. Her great-great-grandmother came to Texas in a covered wagon shortly after the end of the
Civil War—excuse us, the War Between the States. She's tried everything from drafting to a brief stint as a ranch hand—
raising two children and any number of cats and dogs along the way. Not until she started writing did she "stay put,"
because that's when she knew she'd come home. Readers can write to her at
P.O. Box 4612, Midland, TX 79704-4612
.
"Anne Marie Winston writes the kind of wonderful book that makes you feel like a million bucks when the last delicious
page is turned."
—Romantic Times
ANNE MARIE WINSTON,
a RITA Award finalist and bestselling author, loves babies she can give back when they cry, animals in all shapes and
sizes, and just about anything that blooms. When she's not writing, she's chauffeuring children to various activities, trying
not to eat chocolate or reading anything she can find. You can learn more about Anne Marie's novels by visiting her Web site
at www.annemariewinston.com.

MAGGIE SHAYNE
EILEEN WILKS
ANNE MARIE WINSTON

BROKEN
SILENCE
Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Maggie Shayne,
Eileen Wilks and Anne Marie Winston for their contribution to the FAMILY SECRETS series.

Copyright © 2003 by Harlequin Books S.A.

The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:
THE INVISIBLE VIRGIN
Copyright © 2003 by Harlequin Books S.A.
A MATTER OF DUTY
Copyright © 2003 by Harlequin Books S.A
INVITING TROUBLE
Copyright © 2003 by Harlequin Books S A

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to
anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the
author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

Visit Silhouette at www.eHarlequin.com Printed in U.S.A.
THE INVISIBLE VIRGIN
Maggie Shayne
Chapter 1

Rosie pushed her glasses up higher on her nose and watched her grandmother's approach.
She was glad of the long, winding path from the mansion to her own beloved little cottage, which
had been built to house the Linden estate's gardener. The entire family had been scandalized
when Rosie had returned home from college and claimed it as her own, two years ago.
Grandma Marjorie walked the path, wearing a floral print designer dress and a string of marble-
sized pearls, looped around her neck three times and still hanging low. She wore matching
earrings and bracelet and a wide-brimmed straw hat with roses embroidered all over it. Her horn-
rimmed prescription sunglasses had diamond chips at the outer corners and her shoes cost three
hundred bucks if they cost a nickel.
Not for the first time, Rosie wondered if she might have been adopted, or found on the
doorstep one day. She strengthened her resolve, and continued pulling tiny weeds from the rich,
dark soil of her flower bed, pretending not to notice Grandma Marjorie's approach.
The older woman stopped at the edge of the flower bed, planted her hands on her hips, and
said, "My goodness, child, don't you get enough of digging in the dirt at the botanical gardens all
day? I can't bear to think what your nails must look like!"
Rosie sat back on her heels, brushed the soil from her hands, and then glanced down at her
nails. Specks of soil on her glasses made it hard to see very clearly, but she knew well enough
what her nails looked like. "Good thing I don't model rings and bracelets or star in dish soap
commercials for a living, I guess. I'd be out of a job."
"I suppose you think you're amusing. We both know you don't need to do anything at all for a
living. Much less wallow in weed patches and exist on the pittance they pay you for it."
Smiling, Rosie got to her feet. "I like my job. And I hike being independent. And by normal
peoples' standards, they actually pay me pretty well." Her grandmother looked mildly annoyed, so
Rosie gave up. She would never change the woman's mind about her own lifestyle choices.
"Come on inside. You can rest a minute and I'll get you a cold drink. But don't waste your time
trying to talk me into that Bluebonnet Ball again, Grams. You'd just be wasting your breath."
"Hmmph. Just because you live on your own earnings, doesn't mean you don't have to do as I
say, young lady."
Rosie held the door for her. "Actually, Grams, that's pretty much exactly what it means."
Grandma Marjorie walked into the cottage, looking around and trying to hide her approval.
Rosie had made the place into a personal paradise. Plants were everywhere, along with fountains
and figurines. It was like an indoor garden, and she loved it. The old woman sighed and took a
seat in a wicker rocking chair with a thick cushion. "Regardless of all your arguments to the
contrary, my dear Rosemary, you are going to attend that ball."
"I buy my clothes retail, Grams. I don't own anything suitable and I don't have any interest in
spending a week's salary on a dress." As she spoke, she walked into the tiny kitchen area, filled a
glass with ice, then poured lemonade over it. "Besides, I'm not the least bit interested in this sort
of thing. You know that. Society bores me."
"Maybe so, dear, but do lunar orchids bore you?"
Rosie stopped halfway back to her grandmother, the glass in her hand shaking, cubes clinking
against the glass. "What?"
"I have managed to procure an extremely rare African lunar orchid. You probably already know
this, but this particular orchid blooms only three nights each year, during the full moon phase. This
one is due to open on the night of the ball."
"You…you…who's taking care of it?"
"A competent gardener, dear."
"Gardener? A gardener? It should be under the care of a botanist. Do you have any idea how
delicate—?"
"Oh, pish-tosh, child, it's only for a week, just until the ball. After that, I plan to give it away."
"Give it away?" She didn't mean to shout the question.
Grandma Marjorie smiled. "Yes. Why, would you like it?"
Rosie narrowed her eyes on the scheming, conniving, dear old woman. "Is this some kind of
attempt to blackmail me into going to that stupid ball?"
"It's not blackmail, it's a bribe." She rose, taking the lemonade from Rosie's hands, drinking
long and slow from the glass, then setting it on the wicker end table beside her chair. "The orchid
will be at the center of the garden maze. Attend the ball, and it's yours."
Grandma Marjorie stood there, waiting, staring Rosie down, knowing she had won. She had
made an offer that neither Rosie, nor any other botanist in her right mind, would refuse.
Sighing, Rosie nodded. "Fine," she said. "You win. I'll go to the ball."
"That's better," Grandma Marjorie said as she sauntered to the door, looking supremely
triumphant "See you Saturday night. Eight sharp."
Rosie sank into the chair her grandmother had vacated, feeling as if she'd just lost a major
battle. She took her glasses off and used the end of her shirt to wipe the smudges from the lenses.
"She's up to something,'' she muttered.' 'And like an idiot, I walked right into it"
All hell broke loose at work the next day. An unfamiliar fungus was attacking an entire section of
the botanical gardens, and tropical plants were dropping like victims of the plague.
To Rosie, it was almost as bad. When she examined the wilting plants, she could feel their
pain. It hit her the way seeing children or puppies suffer hit most other people. She knew it was
odd, but she thought of plants as living beings, with feelings and moods and even emotions. The
gardens were in turmoil, and she had to find a way to ease it
She worked nonstop, spent hours in libraries, on the phone and the Internet, consulting with the
top botanists in the country. She was the only botanist on staff. The other members of her team
were master gardeners and apprentices, along with a handful of botany majors. It was up to her to
find the solution. She spent hours in the lab at the local university, studying samples of the fungus
under a microscope until she had identified it, and then testing treatments. The only fungicides that
were effective, were so powerful they would also kill the plants.
The grueling efforts went on all week. She worked at the gardens, at the lab, at the office and at
home. By Saturday night, she was exhausted, but still no closer. She was at home in her cottage,
poring over the few books she still hadn't skimmed when she stumbled on the answer buried deep
in the pages of an out-of-print book. It was the least likely source of information, she had thought,
which was why she hadn't read it earlier. It was a collection of folk wisdom about plants, gathered
from indigenous peoples. No science, just tidbits handed down from generation to generation.
The solution: ants. A certain, tiny ant secreted a substance known to kill the fungus, while not
harming the plants themselves.
She made two phone calls to entomologists who helped her identify the ant as one found only in
South America, and led her to a supplier. Finally, she ordered an express shipment of ants, and
hung up the telephone. She sighed in utter relief. Problem solved. It would work, she knew it would
work, she felt it right to her bones. Everything would be fine. Her precious plants were saved.
She sent off an e-mail to the rest of the team, letting them know the crisis was over. The ants
would arrive in the morning and she would release them into the affected flower beds the moment
they did. All would be well.
Rosie leaned back in her chair, feeling extremely pleased with herself and completely
exhausted. She'd barely slept since the onset of the crisis, but it was worth the sacrifice. She had
only lost a few plants. Most could be saved. The staff and her employers would be pleased, but
hardly thrilled. This was her job after all. It's what they paid her to do. She so wanted to share this
achievement with someone who would appreciate it. Someone who would get it
Her family would not get it. Her older sister, Tara, was more concerned with social standing and
money than much else, and preoccupied at the moment with her fiancé, Jake Ingram and plans for
a dream wedding. And her younger sister, Phoebe, was only interested in clothes, parties and
men. Rosie was the black sheep of the family. Only she would be as thrilled by having used
insects to conquer a fungus and save some plants, as she would have been had she destroyed an
asteroid and saved the world.
The telephone shrilled, and she sat up to grab it, hoping it wasn't some problem with the ant
shipment. That was the worst thing that could happen now, she thought.
It wasn't. It was the second worst thing that could happen.
"Child, where are you?" Grandma Marjorie demanded. "Everyone has already left for the ball,
and I really can't wait any longer. Are you almost ready?"
The ball? Oh, hell, the ball! Rosie glanced down at her T-shirt, jeans and bare feet. Her
glasses slid right off her nose into her lap. "I'm running a teeny bit late, Gram. Why don't you go on
ahead, and I'll meet you there."
"You're not trying to back out on your promise, now are you?"
"No. No of course not, Gram. I said I'd be there and I will."
"I'm counting on it, dear. You have one hour. Then the deal's off." Grandma Marjorie
disconnected.
Rosie put the receiver back into its cradle, and wondered just how in the world she was going
to find a dress, get into it and get to the ball within the next hour. Oh, but that orchids—it would be
magnificent. She bit her lip, put her glasses back on and ran to her bedroom closet, knowing even
before she looked that she would find nothing suitable there.
She was just going to have to exercise a little sisterly prerogative. She may not be a
clotheshorse or a fashion plate, but both her sisters were, and their closets were overflowing with
ball gowns worn once and racked for life. There had to be something.
She grabbed her keys off the shelf, and drove her VW Bug—another source of unending
embarrassment to her family—down the winding path to the mansion. Then she let herself in and
went directly to Tara's bedroom.
Dresses and gowns, designer suits, rows and rows of shoes and purses, scarves and belts
hung there as if daring her to make an appropriate choice.
She would, inevitably, make the wrong ones if she tried. She didn't give two hoots what the
upper echelons of Texas society might think about her, but her family did, and she didn't want to
embarrass her ultra-image-conscious sisters. There, on the bed, like a sign from the heavens,
was a green taffeta gown with short, puffy sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. It was not anything
Rosie would have chosen for herself, but then again, neither was anything else in Tara's closet.
Rosie had no sense of fashion, her sisters and her mother had told her so often enough that she
believed it. So just because she hated the dress on sight, didn't mean it was unsuitable. And the
fact that it was laid out on her sister's bed certainly suggested that Tara had at least considered it
as an option for tonight's affair. That must mean it was a viable choice.
She snatched the gown off the bed, and raced into her sister's private bathroom. Fifteen
minutes gone, she thought, glancing at her watch. She had a twenty minute drive, which left her
twenty-five to get ready.
She stripped off her clothes and dove into the shower, telling herself that the orchid her
grandma had promised her would be a prize more than worthy of all the trouble she was going
through.
At least, it had better be.
Chapter 2

Nothing worked out the way she had expected. In fact, though she seldom attended society
functions, Rosie had assumed this one would be nothing she couldn't handle. She was educated,
intelligent, capable. Certainly she could hold her own with a group of socialites.
And she probably could have, had she accumulated more than a few hours sleep over the past
week. Or perhaps with more than an hour's lead time.
As it was, she was a wreck. She'd decided her hair in its usual ponytail would be insufficient,
and like an idiot she'd applied some of her sister's "volumizer" mousse and attempted to style it
with the help of a blow-dryer. The result was that the normally tame dark blond length of it had
swelled up as if teased, and several strands insisted on sticking up at odd angles, no matter how
she tried to smooth them down. Her solution had been to pin it into a bun and hope for the best
The dress was a little too big. She hadn't thought so at first, but apparently the thing was designed
to fit tightly. Her initial relief at its surprising comfort wore off by the time she got halfway to her
destination. The puffy little sleeves kept sliding off her shoulders and she realized belatedly that if
she bent over in front of anyone, they would have a pretty good view of her bra. Too late to turn
back though. She would just avoid bending over.
Hell, she wouldn't have to be there long. At least she'd remembered to rinse the ever present
smudges from her glasses. She'd be able to see, if nothing else.
She pulled her VW into the elegant, curving drive of the Silverwood Estate, a place so palatial it
made her stomach ache, and stopped near the front entrance, where a uniformed attendant
waited to park her car for her. When she handed him the keys he looked at the Bug as if it were a
dead fish, but tried to cover it with a welcoming smile.
She faced the palace, squared her shoulders and walked to the huge, open doors. Light and