Chapter 16

Lucky me.

“Quinton.” A stocky, craggy-faced man of average height stalked into the bay.

“Oh, hell,” I muttered.

Gregor Novotny had been part of our family since his sister had come to keep house for my parents before I was born. Eighteen years my senior, he had become my surrogate father after my father had been killed in the crash of an Air India jet in 1978. He’d answered my questions about sex; he’d given me my first condoms; he’d comforted me when the love of my life, a young Frenchman I’d met when I’d gone with Mother on a tour of the wine country of France in the summer of 1980, had broken my heart.

Now he was not only my mother’s chauffeur, he was also her cook and butler.

What very few knew was that he was a retired FBI agent who also served as Mother’s bodyguard.

Dr. Forrester looked up from her handiwork. “You shouldn’t be here, sir.”

“Should you be here, girly?”

“I’m his doctor.”