lives right around the corner. Maybe it means she lives in Toronto and paid someone to mail the letter for her.”
Dalton swirled the last of the drink around the bowl of the glass as he considered their predicament. “No, the question isn’t who did he sleep with. The question is, which one of those women hated him enough afterward to do something like this?”
Griffin pretended to consider, then shrugged as if giving up. “I’d guess all of them.”
But Dalton shook his head. “No. Say what you will about him, but our father was a charming bastard. So that eliminates all the one-night stands and casual hookups. Someone had to really know him to hate him this much.”
Dalton stood and picked up his suit coat.
Griffin raised his eyebrows. “I take it you’ve had an inspiration.”
“Of a sort. If there’s someone who hates Father that much, there’s one woman who would know about it. Mrs. Fortino.”
“Our former housekeeper?”
“Exactly. She knew everything that went on in that house. She’ll be able to tell me what I need to know.”
“She retired five years ago,” Griffin pointed out. “Are you sure you can find her? Maybe she’s traveling the country in a mobile home.”
“She’s not the one I’m worried about finding.” Dalton tossed back the last of his drink. “She’s not the type to travel, and she was set in her ways even when we were kids. I’m sure she’s still in Houston.”
“Hey, you know who would know how to find her?” Griffin asked just before Dalton walked out the door.
“Our mother,” Dalton stated the obvious.
“Sure, maybe. But I was thinking of Laney.”
Dalton turned and looked at his younger brother, keeping his expression carefully blank, hiding the way his heart had leaped at the sound of her name.
“You remember Laney. Mrs. Fortino’s granddaughter. Lived with her for a while when we were in high school.”
“Yeah. I remember her.”
“She moved back to town a couple of years ago. I ran into her at a fundraiser for Tisdale. Did you know she teaches there now?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yeah. Weird, huh? I can’t imagine a firecracker like Laney teaching first grade at a Catholic school.”
“Guess things have changed.”
Again he tried to leave, but before he made it out the door, Griffin said, “I’m surprised you didn’t know she taught there. Aren’t you on their board?”
“Sure, but it’s a position in name only since we donate so much to the school.” Dalton pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced down at it, as if he’d just gotten a text. Then he gave the phone a little waggle to indicate he needed to go handle something. “I’ll see you later?”
This time, he didn’t give Griffin a chance to answer but beat a hasty retreat to the elevator.
He could have gone back in to work—he certainly had plenty to do—but instead he headed back to his condo so he could start the search for Matilda Fortino. Logic—as well as his gut—told him it was the first step in finding the missing heiress.
But for the first time in a long time—maybe in his life—he was questioning both. Was he seeking out Mrs. Fortino because she could lead him to the missing heiress or because she could lead him to Laney?
Of course, he knew where Laney was; at least, he knew where she worked. He hadn’t yet gone so far as to hunt down her home address. That alone said volumes.
It said almost as much about him as the lie he’d told to Griffin. Not only had he known when Laney applied at Tisdale but he’d been the one to step in and make sure she got the job. At the time, he’d told himself it was just because she was an old family friend. Of course, at the time he’d been married to Portia. Any fantasies he’d had about Laney had been distant blips from his youth.
But now, nearly a year out from his divorce, with his entire future on the line, he had to wonder. He wasn’t used to questioning his gut. But he also wasn’t used to lying. So which was it: Was he looking for the missing heiress or for Laney?
At 3:00 p.m., Laney Fortino stood in front of Tisdale Elementary School cursing the hot sun, the parents who were late for pick up, Dalton Cain and the lack of specificity of fortune cookies.
Her fortune with last night’s takeout had read: “Change is in your future.”
Then today, she’d gotten a note from the school secretary saying Dalton Cain was coming by to talk to her after school.
It was the first accurate fortune she’d gotten in her entire life, and it had done her absolutely no good. Why couldn’t it have said, “Dalton Cain is going to call” or even “Change is in your future, so tomorrow would be a great day to wear some kick-ass heels and that Betsey Johnson dress you bought on eBay. And your Spanx.”
Of course, she would never wear Spanx or heels to teach in—too much bending—and if the fortune had referenced Cain directly, she probably would have booked a flight to… oh, say, Tahiti, and been halfway around the world by now.
So instead, here she was, waiting for the last of the parents to pick up their kids, sweating in the blazing October sun in her vintage sundress she’d picked up at the thrift store and her bobby socks and Keds shoes. She was dressed like a Cabbage Patch Kid.
She didn’t actually care how she was dressed for Dalton Cain. It was just costuming, really. She might not care about how she looked, but she cared desperately what he thought about how she looked. She needed to make the right first impression.
Because there was only one reason why one of the richest, most powerful men in Houston was coming to see her. He must know her grandmother had stolen nearly a million dollars from the Cains.
Money that Laney hadn’t known anything about before she’d been granted power of attorney the year before.
Ever since discovering the extra funds in Gran’s trust, Laney had been racked with guilt wondering what to do about it. There was no way Gran had come by the money honestly. Laney knew roughly how much Gran had had when Laney had graduated from high school. No amount of frugality or clever investing could turn her meager savings into well over a million dollars in a decade.
Gran must have stolen the money from the Cains.
Laney couldn’t very well go to the authorities. It seemed unlikely they’d prosecute an elderly woman with Alzheimer’s, but what if they did? Laney couldn’t risk it. She certainly couldn’t go to the Cains and explain. Hollister was brutal and vindictive to his enemies and Caro was little better. Every time Laney tried to think of a way out of the conundrum, she pictured Gran being led away to jail in handcuffs.
She couldn’t even just give the money back. It was in an irrevocable trust, which Gran had set up to pay for her care at the assisted-living center. Laney couldn’t touch it. Her power
