happened, and he hadn’t wanted to hear anything she said. He closed his eyes when he remembered how he’d spoken to her, the mean, hateful things he’d said. How could he have been so wrong?
He had to apologize. He had to ask her to forgive him. But what if she didn’t accept his apology? What if she didn’t forgive him? Dread consumed him at those thoughts. He inhaled a deep breath, knowing he had to try. But first he had to find out where she was. Mrs. Timmons said she was no longer living at Shady Pines. Had she left Charlottesville? If she had, where had she gone? If she was still here, then where was she living? The last person he wanted to talk to again was her mother, but he would try her brother. Sedrick would know how to contact her. All he had to do was contact St. Francis Hospital and track him down.
Caden was about to move away from the window to use the phone on his desk when there was a knock at his door. Thinking it was Dalton returning, he said, “Come in, Dalton.”
Instead of Dalton, his brother Jace walked in.
Taking one look at his younger brother, Jace said, “What is it, Caden? You look like shit.”
Caden knew Jace’s observation was probably true, because that was exactly how he felt right now. “What are you doing here, Jace?” he asked, instead of responding to his brother’s inquiry. “We thought you wouldn’t be back for a few more days. You didn’t think Dalton and I could handle things till you got back? You aren’t the only one who can run things around here.” As soon as he’d said the words, Caden regretted doing so.
“Sorry,” Caden said, moving to his desk, pulling out the chair to sit down. “Ignore me today. It hasn’t been my best.”
Jace stared at his brother for a moment. “Does it have anything to do with Sandra Timmons’s visit? She was getting on the elevator when I got off. She seemed upset about something.”
“And she should be. Damn, Jace—she and Samuel Timmons did the unthinkable and, like a fool, I fell for it. How could I have been so damned gullible, so fucking stupid?”
Jace took the chair in front of Caden’s desk. “I can’t answer that until I know what you’re talking about.”
Caden drew in a deep breath and then told Jace the nature of Sandra Timmons’s visit. He could tell from Jace’s expression that he was just as appalled as Caden was, but he listened without interrupting.
Then Jace asked, “So what are you going to do? From what you’ve told me, you treated Shiloh pretty damned shabbily.”
Yes, he had. And Caden wasn’t proud of what he’d done. “First I intend to find out where she is. Then I’ll go to her and apologize and then try like hell to convince her that I’m truly sorry for my actions.”
“I’m playing devil’s advocate for a minute,” Jace said, staring at his brother. “What if she doesn’t believe you and wants nothing to do with you?”
Caden tapped his finger on his desk a few times as he thought about what Jace was asking and had to face up to the fact that that was a real possibility. “I won’t give up on her, Jace. No matter how long it takes, I will not give up. I will make it up to her. But first, I need to find out where she is. I need to go see her and talk with her. Then we’ll go from there.”
Four
Dalton Granger checked his watch before entering the private investigator’s office. Great! He was on time for once in his life. He had toyed with the idea of hiring a private investigator for a couple of weeks, and now here he was.
He glanced around the sparsely furnished room and saw a woman sitting at a desk. She glanced up at him and smiled. He immediately thought she didn’t look bad for her age, which he estimated to be late forties. And she didn’t have a ring on her finger. While living in England, he was known as a man who preferred older women. In other words, he didn’t mind being a cougar’s cub. It had its benefits. A mature woman was usually independent, didn’t have time for game playing and wouldn’t create any baby-mama drama.
Since returning to the States, it seemed his tastes had changed, and now he was checking out women his own age or younger...just like the woman he’d met a couple of weeks ago at a local nightclub. The same woman who’d been so hot he still sizzled whenever he thought about her. This same woman had behaved as if he was a bother. She’d even had the nerve to refuse to give him her phone number. And when he told her he was interested in her and asked how he could reach her so the two of them could hook up, she’d had the audacity to tell him he’d have to find her first.
He’d been mad as hell. Dalton Granger didn’t go looking for any woman. There were too many out there to suit his fancy, and usually it was the other way around. Women came looking for him.
So why was he here doing the very thing he swore he wouldn’t do? Why was he willing to hire a private investigator to find the one woman who’d gotten away? The one who had snubbed him at the nightclub.
He could answer his own questions. Because she was a novelty. Different. Pretty damned refreshing. And, besides that, he had a feeling she would be hot in bed. Any woman who wore stilettos on legs like hers had to be. Damn. He would find this mystery woman and find out for himself just how hot she was. For her, he would make her an exception.
He walked toward the receptionist. “I’m Dalton Granger. I have an appointment with Mr. Harris.”
“Yes, Mr. Granger. Mr. Harris is expecting you.”
“Lead the way.”
She stood and led him to a door and, without knocking, she entered. “Mr. Granger is here.”
The man sitting behind the desk reading a sports magazine glanced up and stood, smiling. “Mr. Granger, thank you for coming in. I understand you want me to find someone for you.”
Dalton nodded. “Yes, Mr. Harris, I do.” The man had come recommended by Myron, the bartender/owner he’d met while frequenting McQueen’s, a sports bar and grill not far from Granger Aeronautics. Myron swore that Emory Harris was one of the best in the business and that he specialized in missing persons. Usually it was deadbeat dads that Emory Harris tracked down, but Dalton figured if he was as good as Myron claimed, then he would give the man his business.
“Please have a seat, Mr. Granger,” Harris said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.
“Thank you.” Dalton heard the receptionist leave, closing the door behind her.
“Would you like something to drink? Thanks to Myron, I keep a pretty well-stocked bar.”
“No, thanks. I’m fine. How did the two of you meet?”
Emory, who looked to be in his late forties, smiled. “Myron’s wife and I went to college together and remained close friends.” He paused and then said, “I understand you’re looking for someone. A female. Is she your ex?”
Ex? Boy, was he way off, Dalton thought. “No, she’s a woman I met one night at a club. She seemed to be in a hurry, and when I asked for her contact information, she rushed out and called over her shoulder that I should find her...and I intend to.”
“She must be some woman if you’re willing to go to the trouble.”
For a second Dalton thought about what Harris
