Lincoln McAllister rarely left Shangri-la. But no one was more surprised than he when he decided to attend Montana and Katie’s wedding at Carithers’ Chance.
His decision seemed more and more improbable as he drove his rented car up River Road toward the plantation. For years he’d had an assistant, but thus far, he’d never left him completely in charge. To relieve his guilt, Mac turned on his portable phone, though he genuinely hoped it wouldn’t ring.
It was late November. He’d called Sterling, just to check on Conner and his new bride, and casually inquired, “Are you going to the wedding?”
“Oh, no,” she’d answered. “I can’t.”
“Please come,” he’d said. “After all, you’re partially responsible for the wedding. I’m certain they’d love it if you came.”
“Perhaps,” she said softly. “We’ll see.”
“Perhaps,” he repeated now, out loud. Such an old-fashioned word. He wondered what she looked like, this woman who rarely went out. Well, perhaps he’d know soon. If she came.
According to the map, he was almost there. Then the phone rang.
“Mac, here.”
“Mac? This is Conner. I’ve got a problem.”
“What is it?”
“It’s Sterling,” he said.
Mac felt his chest contract. “Sterling? What’s wrong?”
“She’s disappeared.”