Australian Quinns. Kate Hoffmann
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Brody nodded. “I do. We were incarcerated together.”
His eyebrow shot up. “I knew she spent some time in the local jail, but I didn’t know you were with her when she was arrested.”
“I wasn’t,” Brody said. “We just happened to be confined at the same time. I paid her fine and settled her accounts. Why are you looking for her?”
“It’s a private matter,” he said. “Do you know where she is?”
“Did she break the law?”
“As I said, it’s a private matter. But there is a reward for information leading to her location, if you know something.”
“I bailed her out and then dropped her on the road out of town. I think she said she was going to make her way down to Sydney,” Brody lied. “I told her she could probably catch a ride on one of the road trains that pass through.”
“Road trains?”
“It’s a semitruck that pulls a string of trailers. They pass through Bilbarra occasionally, hauling feed and building supplies.” He leaned back and stretched his arms out to rest on the edge of the bench. “She could be anywhere by now.”
“Yes, well, thank you,” the man said. “That’s the most I’ve found to go on. She didn’t say anything about where she might be staying or whether she met up with any friends?”
Brody pretended to ponder the question for a moment, then shook his head. “Nope. She just wanted to get out of town.”
The investigator threw a wad of cash onto the table, then held out his hand. “Your lunch is on me,” he said. “Thanks for the information.”
“No worries,” Brody said. “I hope you find her.” He watched as the man walked out the front door then went back to his spot at the counter. When Shelly returned with his meat pies, he pointed to the empty booth. “He’s buying me lunch.”
“Well, there’s a clever boy. What did you tell him?”
Brody scooped up the pies wrapped in paper, and took a big bite out of one of them. “Not much,” he said as he chewed. “But I got a free lunch out of it.” He headed toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Shelly asked, disappointment tingeing her tone. “I just rang my husband to stop by. Arnie’s got himself mixed up in some silly football scheme with the boys over at the Spotted Dog and he needs advice on his footy picks. He’s been losing twenty dollars a week to those fools.”
“I’m out of the game,” Brody said, pointing to his knee. “I’m trying my best to forget footy.”
“You were one of the best, Brody Quinn,” Shelly called.
As Brody strode down the street, he inhaled the two meat pies. He was tempted to stop by the Spotted Dog for a beer to wash them down, then realized he’d been banished from the place until further notice. Instead, he decided to stop at the local library. A quick Internet search might turn up a few clues on Payton and her past…and maybe even outline her crimes.
The public library was attached to the small school in Bilbarra. Though nearly all of the children who lived on cattle and sheep stations took their classes by computer, those who lived within a short drive of Bilbarra attended a regular school. Some of the advanced classes were still taught online, but there were two teachers that guided the thirty or forty students through their studies, and the town librarian to see to their literary needs.
When he walked into the library, a trio of young boys gathered at a large table. One of the boys recognized him immediately and quickly informed his friends. The librarian, Mrs. Willey, looked up at the commotion, then smiled. “See there,” she said. “Everyone uses the library, even football legends.”
Brody grinned. “She’s right, you know. The library is one of my favorite spots in all the world. Read more books!” He stopped at the counter. “There,” he muttered. “I’ve done my duty as a role model, ma’am. Now, I was wondering if I could use a computer with Internet access.”
“Certainly,” Mrs. Willey said. “Use any one of those three along the wall. But I’ll have you know, accessing adult material is prohibited and will result in the suspension of your privileges.”
He caught her teasing smile and chuckled. “There’ll be none of that,” he said. “I’m here to look up some recipes.”
He sat down and keyed in his favorite search engine then typed Payton’s first and last name. Brody paused before he hit Enter, wondering what he’d find. Maybe it would be something he didn’t like, something he’d rather not know. And shouldn’t he wait for Payton to tell him about her past? Real relationships were supposed to be about trust.
He had to know all the facts before he could protect her, Brody rationalized. If she was in trouble, he’d do everything in his power to help her. “So I have to know,” he said as he hit the keys.
“Payton Harwell,” he read. “Over one thousand hits?” Brody clicked on the first one and found her name mentioned as the winner of a horse show. But right below that was a startling headline: Payton Harwell to Wed Heir to Whitman Fortune.
He clicked on the article and an instant later, a photo of Payton and her fiancé appeared. He scanned through the text beneath it and stopped at the wedding date. “The couple will be married on the island of Fiji in late April with close friends and relatives in attendance. the bride will wear a gown by designer Sophia Carone.”
Late April? If Payton had been married in late April and he’d met her the first of June, then her marriage hadn’t lasted more than a month. “Oh, shit,” Brody muttered. Had he been having a naughty on a nightly basis with a married woman?
There weren’t many rules in Brody’s book when it came to sex, but not bedding another man’s wife was one of them. After witnessing the problems in his parents’ marriage, he’d vowed never to be involved in breaking up a family. Besides, there had always been plenty of single women willing to jump into bed with him, he’d had no need to do it with the married sort.
He leaned back in his chair and studied the photo. They looked happy, their arms wrapped around each other, smiling for the photographer. Worse, they looked as if they belonged together, living in some fancy mansion in New York with servants to tend to their every need.
Well, at least she wasn’t a criminal, Brody mused. She was simply a runaway wife. He paused. Or maybe a runaway bride. There was no proof that she’d ever gone through with the wedding. Maybe she’d arrived in Fiji and decided marriage just wasn’t for her.
“Is there anything I can help you with?”
Brody quickly clicked back to the search engine, then glanced over his shoulder at Mrs. Willey. “No. Nothing. Just catching up on a few of my old friends.” He stood, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Thanks. I’m in a bit of a hurry right now, but I’ll stop by soon and pick up some books.”
“You do that,” she said with a wide smile. “Be sure to come on a school day if you can. I’m sure the students would love to talk to you.”
Brody strode out the front