Chapter Thirty-Five

Finn paced his office. “I’m going over there.”

“No, you aren’t,” Jules said.

“Why not? I should have gone over there in the first place.”

“You aren’t going to her to have the same argument you just had over the phone. You’re both stubborn.” Jules sat on his couch. “Give it some time.”

He pushed the hair off his forehead. “I’m worried about her. I want to make sure she’s okay. I could have helped today, dammit.”

“Has it occurred to you she doesn’t want your help?”

He faced her. “I’m aware. It doesn’t mean I shouldn’t offer.”

“Have you offered? Or have you taken over?”

“Maybe a little of both. She has a lot to deal with; it’s logical to delegate.” He rubbed his head. “She doesn’t trust me.”

“She doesn’t trust many people, but she trusts you. She just has a lot to prove. You swooping in and handling it won’t fly. She isn’t Katie or Lara. She wants to prove to the world she’s up for the job her grandfather left her. That starts with proving to herself she can do the job without help—even in a time of crisis.” Jules stood up, patted his arm. “You need to look at this a different way.”

“How’s that?”

“Bev wanted you in her life even when she didn’t need you for anything. Isn’t that a nice idea? Someone choosing to be with you and not expecting you to handle every little detail—or worse, wanting you for the Callahan money?”

“But now she’s kicking me out of her life. I won’t let that happen.”

“Okay. You’re willing to fight for what’s important to you. But are you willing to let go and let her be Beverly Winslow?”

“I’m not interested in changing her, Jules.”

“Then don’t. She’ll let you know when she needs you to handle something for her. She isn’t the type to hold back.”

“What am I supposed to do until then?” He dropped to the couch.

“Be her friend, her lover. She loves you. She just has to come to the idea that loving someone doesn’t mean losing her independence. Give her the time she needs; it will be all the sweeter when she realizes she wants you even if she doesn’t need you.”

“Normally, I’m a patient man.”

“Normally, you aren’t in love with someone,” Jules said. “New territory for you means a learning curve. Give yourself a break and, for the love of God, try to realize just because a woman says something doesn’t mean she’s going to feel the same way two days from now.”

“I can do that. For right now, I’m just happy this is over, and she’s safe. That’s all that matters to me.”

“Focus on that.” Jules rolled her eyes when the office phone rang. “And I’ll focus on doing my job.”

He began to pace again. Jules was right. He’d been heavy-handed. Beverly wasn’t a damsel in distress who needed rescuing. He respected her immensely. He’d do a better job of letting her know it. Jules walked back into his office; her face was ashen.

“What’s happened? Is it the kids?”

“No, that was Tracy. John Hamilton just came out of the coma. She needs you to help get a hold of Bev. This isn’t over.”

****

Bev waited for Len to open her door. The parking lot was empty, but they had arrived in Plymouth in record time. She used the drive to conference with San Francisco, ignoring several other calls coming in. She saw her missed calls and noted Tracy was one of them. She would listen to the messages before she went in. Maybe the meeting hadn’t started yet? As she got out of the car, her phone rang, interrupting her plan.

“Yes, Ms. Garrett?”

“You are meeting Jim Schulz inside the warehouse Mr. Hamilton was in negotiations to buy. Mr. Schulz seems agitated. He says he should have heard if Winslow Holdings was going through with the purchase of the fishery in spite of Mr. Hamilton’s arrest.”

She looked skyward. She should have called the man first thing this morning. “It was an oversight I’m about to fix.”

“The office to the warehouse is open. He said it’s down the waterfront from where you are parked, about a quarter mile.”

“Okay. We’ll walk from here.” She clicked off the phone. Looking around the charming town of Plymouth, she noted a chill in the air not unusual for Massachusetts, even in June. The air smelled of salt, heavy with moisture.

Seeing clouds to the north, she looked to Len. “There’s a storm coming. I think we can be in and out before the rain hits. Do you want to wait with the car?”

“No, ma’am. We’ll go together, if you don’t mind.”

They began the short walk to the warehouse. She thought it was about time to make some more changes that suited her idea of Winslow Holdings. “After this is over, I’ll buy you a beer and we can talk about ideas for my security team. I’d like to keep you on as head of my security detail, but take it down a notch, you know?”

Len offered a small smile. “Yes, ma’am. A beer sounds good.”

They reached the chain-link fencing that cordoned off the warehouse district from the rest of the marina. Similar to Salem’s docks, albeit a bit grittier and worn. They reached the warehouse office with the fishery next door.

She made a mental list of necessary improvements. No wonder the union rep wanted to meet with her. These people shouldn’t work in conditions like this. Low tide smells replaced the fresh salty air.

Holding a hand over his mouth, Len gagged. “This is disgusting.”

There was no reason for that. Sanitation could be better as well. Her phone rang, and she saw it was Finn. She wanted to click Decline but told herself to grow up.

“Hi. I’m about to go into a meeting. I thought we covered everything with the last phone call.” She glanced to Len and hoped her voice sounded normal. She didn’t want to seem emotional.

“That isn’t important right now. You need to get back to Boston as soon as you can. Tracy has been trying to reach you.”

She heard the panic in his voice. “What is it? Is it Ma? What’s happened?”

“John Hamilton just woke up. His partner set him up. He didn’t kill Reginald’s nurse, and he didn’t blow up your office.”

“Jesus, who’s his partner?”

“Your father.”

“For once the old man surprises me.” Trembling now, she forced herself to think. She and Len walked up the cement steps to the office.

“I’ll be back on the road in less than an hour. I have to meet with a union rep here.”

“Beverly!” he shouted into the phone. “You don’t understand! John Hamilton was meeting your father in that warehouse. It’s a setup. Get out of there. Now!”

The office door opened with an eerie scrape, metal on metal. A familiar face looked out from the shadow of the dark office. The gun he held was pointed directly at her. Her stomach dropped. She swallowed. And remembered her phone.

Looking into her father’s eyes, she whispered, “Too late. He found us.”