Willa looked like a gazelle running to the lobby. She threw the door open and screamed, “Call security!”
Alexandria rolled her eyes. She could have done that.
Mervyn was still shouting from inside the glass walls of the conference room, but Alexandria blocked him out. Had she not left her purse inside, she’d have been on her way. Security was on their way up. Once she got her bag, she’d leave. Being the boss was hard work.
The handset Willa had given her beeped and she answered. “Hello?”
“This is Chris Foster. Marc’s brother.”
“Marc? My Marc?” Alex balanced on one heel while leaning forward to get away from the noise.
“Yes, your husband. My brother. Marc Jacob Foster.”
“My husband doesn’t have a brother. Excuse me a minute, please, Chris.”
Her father and brother continued their loud argument as a man walked through the door with Willa.
He was tall and strong, muscles bulging from beneath the jacket of a well-made suit. He didn’t look uncomfortable, just that he didn’t want to be there. She agreed with him.
His dark eyes missed nothing. Not her brother behind the glass wall gesturing toward her. Not her father telling her how disappointed he was in her behavior and how she wasn’t going to get away with anything. Not Willa, who sobbed as if she’d been shot, and Little Sweetie who was barking his head off.
Her entire family was an embarrassment.
This man had been in her life for forty-five seconds and she didn’t like him. He’d seen her at her absolute worst and anybody that saw that was somebody she didn’t want to know.
Instantly, her defenses went up. She didn’t trust him. He didn’t look as though he’d hurt her, but he looked as if he could if he wanted to.
“Who are you?” she asked him with a fake-patient smile in her voice.
“I’m Hunter. Are you ready to go?”
“And just where would I be going with you?”
“Have you talked to Chris Foster?”
“He’s on the phone now.”
“I’ll be standing by when you’re done.”
He stepped back to give her privacy. Without understanding why, she appreciated that about him. The men in her life were without consideration and she always felt inferior, but not anymore.
“Okay.” Alex heard her southern twang and took a few deep breaths. It was always more pronounced when she was stressed or after a long day. “Can you make yourself useful and hold this?”
She handed Hunter Smith her shoulder Vuitton doggie bag, turned and gestured inside. “My purse is inside. Can you get that without letting my daddy and brother out? Security is on the way to arrest my brother. It’s a long story. He wants to hit me, so it’s important that doesn’t happen.” She smiled and nodded her head. “Thank you.”
Plugging her ears, she turned her back on the whole mess.
“I’m sorry, Chris. You caught me at a bad time. My husband didn’t have any family. He was an orphan. You have the wrong number, and as I’m sure you can hear I’m kind of busy right now.”
“Mrs. Foster, my brother wasn’t truthful with you. I’m very much alive, and very much his brother.”
“When was he born?” she asked him.
“May 5.”
“That’s right. What city?” she said quickly.
“Costa Woods, California.”
“That’s not true. He was born in Macon, Georgia.”
“No, he wasn’t. Marc Jacob Foster was born in Costa Woods, California.”
“He has a birthmark—” she began.
“It’s shaped like a boot of Texas on the inside of his right knee,” Chris finished. “He has a scar on his shoulder from falling out of a tree when he was six years old trying to reach a cat that had climbed up and wouldn’t come down. Seven stitches,” they said together.
“That’s right,” she said slowly as the reality of his words hit home.
“Why would Marc say he didn’t have a brother?”
“I can’t answer that right now, Mrs. Foster. I’ve made all the funeral arrangements.”
There was a loud crashing noise and Alexandria didn’t even want to know what was going on behind her. This day had turned out to be a day she shouldn’t have gotten out of the bed. But she knew that not looking at the mess didn’t mean it wasn’t going to be there. So she turned around.
Her brother had tried to pile chairs against the conference-room door to keep the police out, but they weren’t amused.
He was on the floor being handcuffed while their father stood by dialing his phone. No doubt calling his attorney.
“It sounds like you’re at the zoo.”
“About the same thing. It was a board meeting,” she said.
“Your husband, Marc Jacob Foster, my brother, born May 5, died in an airplane crash.”
She braced her hand on the wall and all her gold bangle bracelets rattled. “Marc can’t be dead,” Alex broke in, keeping her voice steady despite the panic that shook her rib cage. “I talked to him two days ago, and he helped me…with something.” Alex took the phone to the far end of the hallway and pressed herself into the corner.
“He’s dead, Alexandria. I know it’s hard to comprehend. But he’s gone. I’ve made the arrangements,” he said compassionately. “You’re booked on Delta flight 1135 from Atlanta to Los Angeles. There’s a layover before catching flight 231 to Del Rosa. Your seats are row 15A and 27B. A friend of mine, Hunter Smith, has agreed to be your escort so you won’t be alone. I’ve known Hunter since my days in the bureau. He’s a trustworthy guy who owns his own security company in Atlanta. The funeral is tomorrow here in Del Rosa, California. Do you have any questions?”
“Your friend is already here. Can I trust him? He’s no rapist, is he?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Ma’am is my mother. I’m Alexandria, or Alex. I have another question.”
“Go ahead.”
“Where are rows 15A and 27B? They don’t sound like first-class unless there’s a plane of all first-class seats. You know, I’ve never seen that before.” Alex tried to block out the sound of her brother gurgling.
“They’re not in first class.”
“Oh.”
