in the northeast, and everyone associated with the company was committed to maintaining that position or bringing them to number one.
Swiveling on his chair, he sent Jocelyn an email, outlining his travel plans for the following Thursday. Giles had no idea where Wickham Falls, West Virginia, was, but in another week he would find out.
* * *
Giles deplaned after the jet touched down at the Charleston, West Virginia, airport. A town car awaited his arrival. Jocelyn had arranged for a driver to take him to Wickham Falls. She had also called a hotel to reserve a suite because he did not have a timetable as to when he would return to New York.
The trunk to the sedan opened, and seconds later the driver got out and approached him.
“Mr. Wainwright?”
Giles nodded. “Yes.” He handed the man his suitcase and a leather case with his laptop.
When he’d boarded the jet, Giles had experienced a slight uneasiness because he still could not fathom what he would encounter once he arrived. He had racked his brain about possible scenarios and still couldn’t dismiss the notion that something had happened to John Foley.
He removed his suit jacket, slipped into the rear of the car, stretched out his legs and willed his mind blank. When Jocelyn confirmed his travel plans, she informed him that Wickham Falls was an hour’s drive from the state capital. Ten minutes into the ride, he closed his eyes and didn’t open them again until the driver announced they were in Wickham Falls. Reaching for his jacket, he got out and slipped his arms into the sleeves.
“I’m not certain how long the meeting is going to take,” he said to the lanky driver wearing a black suit that appeared to be a size too big.
“Not a problem, Mr. Wainwright. I’ll wait here.”
Giles took a quick glance at his watch. He was thirty minutes early. His gaze took in Wickham Falls’s business district, and he smiled.
It was the epitome of small-town Americana. The streets were lined with mom-and-pop shops all sporting black-and-white awnings and flying American flags. Cars were parked diagonally in order to maximize space. It was as if Wickham Falls was arrested in time and that modernization had left it behind more than fifty years before. There was no fast-food restaurant or major drug store chain. To say the town was quaint was an understatement.
He noted a large red, white and blue wreath suspended from a stanchion in front of a granite monument at the end of the street. A large American flag was flanked by flags representing the armed forces. Giles knew it was a monument for military veterans.
He strolled along the sidewalk to see if John Foley’s name was on the monument. There were names of servicemen who’d served in every war beginning with the Spanish–American War to the present. There was one star next to the names of those who were missing in action, and two stars for those who’d died in combat. Although he was relieved not to find the corporal’s name on the marker, it did little to assuage his curiosity as to why he had been summoned to Wickham Falls.
As he retraced his steps, Giles wasn’t certain whether he would be able to live in a small town. He was born, grew up and still lived in the Big Apple, and if he wanted or needed something within reason, all he had to do was pick up the telephone.
He opened the solid oak door to the law firm and walked into the reception area of the one-story, salmon-colored stucco building. He met the eyes of the middle-aged woman sporting a ’60s beehive hairstyle, sitting at a desk behind a closed glass partition. She slid it open with his approach. His first impression was correct: the town and its inhabitants were stuck in time.
“May I help you, sir?”
Giles flashed a friendly smile. “I’m Giles Wainwright, and I have an appointment at eleven to meet with Mr. McAvoy.”
She returned his smile. “Well, good morning, Mr. Wainwright. Please have a seat and I’ll have someone escort you to the conference room.”
He nodded. “Thank you.”
Giles did not bother to sit on the leather sofa, but stood with both hands clasped behind his back. He had sat enough that morning. First it was in the car heading for the airport, then all through the flight and again during the drive from the airport to Wickham Falls. He had altered his normal morning routine of taking the elevator in his high-rise apartment building to the lower level to swim laps in the Olympic-size pool.
Swimming and working out helped him to relax, while maintaining peak physical conditioning from his time in the military. Going from active duty to spending most of his day sitting behind a desk had been akin to culture shock for Giles, and it had taken him more than a year to fully adjust to life as a civilian.
“Mr. Wainwright?”
He turned when he recognized the voice of the woman who’d called him. “Ms. Campos.”
The petite, dark-haired woman with a short, pixie hairstyle extended her hand. “Yes.”
Giles took her hand and was slightly taken aback when he noticed a small tattoo with USMC on the underside of her wrist. He successfully concealed a smile. It was apparent she had been in the Marine Corps. “Semper fi,” he said sotto voce.
Nicole Campos smiled. “Are you in the Corps?”
He shook his head. “I proudly served for ten years.”
“I was active duty for fifteen years, and once I got out I decided to go to law school. I’d love to chat with you, Mr. Wainwright, but you’re needed in the conference room.”
Giles always looked forward to swapping stories with fellow marines, yet that was not a priority this morning. He followed her down a carpeted hallway to a room at the end of the hall.
His gaze was drawn to a woman holding a raven-haired baby girl. Light from wall sconces reflected off the tiny diamond studs in the infant’s ears. The fretful child squirmed, whined and twisted backward as she struggled to escape her mother’s arms.
He smiled, and much to his surprise, the baby went completely still and stared directly at him with a pair of large round blue eyes. She yawned and he was able to see the hint of two tiny rice-like teeth poking up through her gums. He couldn’t pull his gaze away from the baby girl. There was something about her eyes that reminded him of someone.
His attention shifted from the baby to the man seated at the head of the conference table. His premature white hair was totally incongruent to his smooth, youthful-looking face.
Giles smiled and nodded. “Good morning.”
“Good morning. I’m Preston McAvoy. Please excuse me for not getting up, Mr. Wainwright, but I’m still recovering from dislocating my knee playing football with my sons.” He motioned to a chair opposite the woman with the baby. “Please sit down.”
Giles complied, his eyes meeting those of the woman staring at him with a pair of incredibly beautiful hazel eyes in a tawny-gold complexion. He wondered if she knew she looked like a regal lioness with the mane of flowing brown curls with gold highlights framing her face and ending inches above her shoulders. A slight frown appeared between her eyes as she continued to stare at him. He wondered if she had seen him during his travels in the Bahamas, while Giles knew for certain he had never met her because she was someone he would never
