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“He refused the contract?” Roxie paced around the island in her cozy blue kitchen. She’d been unable to settle her nerves after learning about the lowball offer on Sloan’s place. “Did he counter?”
“Nope.” Megan sat down at the rectangular kitchen table.
Roxie stopped before the bay window. The grove of trees between her house and Sloan’s stood illuminated against the pewter sky. The stark branches reached into nothingness. Her life in a nutshell.
Despite the light sweater she wore, she shivered at the chill in her bones. “Doesn’t he know how this works?”
“I couldn’t say.”
Another idea occurred to her, and with it came a surge of anger. “Does he think we’re incompetent?”
“I don’t think that’s the problem.”
Megan’s responses bordered on cryptic. She whirled to face her friend. “What? What aren’t you saying? Is he hurt? Did something happen to him?”
“Not that I know of.”
“But?”
Megan exhaled slowly, as if the subject were painful. “Look, I don’t want to tell you your business, especially since you’ve been so upset after breaking up with the guy, but he sounded pitiful.”
“Pitiful?” Her heart surged and stalled. “How so?”
“You know, rough. Like he hadn’t slept or eaten right.”
Her stomach wobbled. She searched her friend’s face. “Is he sick?”
“Not in a strict medical sense, but he sounds defeated. Tired, even. Depressed.”
He wasn’t ill.
He was miserable.
Just as she was.
Megan leaned forward. “The guy is whipped. You broke him.”
White noise filled her ears. Had she heard correctly? A tendril of hope snaked up from her depths. “What?”
Her friend’s palm smacked the counter. “Wake up! You love the guy. He loves you. Find a way to work this out before you both die of broken hearts.”
“It’s complicated.”
“You said that before. I didn’t buy it then, and I’m not buying it now. Reconcile your differences, or you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.” With that, Megan left.
Roxie slumped in a wooden chair. Her life had stalled the day she’d parted ways with Sloan. She’d spent so much time inside moping around that she felt vulnerable outside, as if someone still watched her.
Laurie Ann had explained that she was reliving the stress of being shot at and attacked by Andrea, that she was suffering from PTSD.
Roxie fought her fear with facts.
Nuts had been loosened on the fire hydrants. She wasn’t anyone’s target, merely the victim of cosmic bad luck.
Whatever the reason, she was tired of feeling lousy.
She loved Sloan with all her heart. She was miserable without him. He wasn’t doing well without her. Why wouldn’t he call her and tell her?
Her stomach clenched in memory. He’d called last time they had trouble, and she didn’t return his calls. It was too much to expect him to step into the breach this time. If they had a mudball’s chance in the ocean, she had to make the first move.
Outside the window, downed leaves whipped around in a circle in her backyard, eddying, rising, and falling to the ground. Her emotions were likewise caught in a dizzying swirl, unable to break free of the forces that held them. How could she work this out?
Was it possible he had an epiphany in the past week? That he no longer believed her grandfather was a thief?
Not likely.
If his mind changed on that, he’d have turned up on her doorstep.
If they reconciled, what would people think? People in Mossy Bog thought Hardings weren’t good people. Roxie knew better. Sloan was a good man. He’d helped her, and he’d reached out to Timmy.
The best way to prove her granddad wasn’t a thief was to help Sloan find the missing money. Could she convince him to give them another try? He’d been hurt by women in the past. His grandmother had abandoned his family; his mother had done the same.
He might not want to open those painful wounds, but she’d never know if she didn’t try. With his family history of female abandonment, he might not know how to make amends. She had to do something big. Something that would get his attention and let him know she still cared.
What could she do?
His roofline glinted through the bare trees, his new shingles dark and snug. Everything had started with that roof. In his leaking attic had been treasures from his past.
Treasures.
That gave her an idea.
The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that her plan was brilliant. If it didn’t work, she could have her license suspended for trespassing.
Risky.
She’d be putting her career on the line for love.
Fair enough.
This was a risk she needed to take.
***
SLOAN YANKED OFF HIS tie. Under pressure from his employees, he’d attended the charity luncheon, but it had been a big mistake. He didn’t want to be social.
A pushy redhead latched onto him, and he’d been outright rude to get rid of her. Afterward he’d felt remorse over his crass behavior and came home to regroup. His entire life was in the toilet because the woman he wanted didn’t want him.
A crisp rap on his door startled him. Glancing through the peephole, he saw the uniformed doorman holding a package. He opened the door. “Yes?”
“I tried to catch you in the lobby, Mr. Harding. You must have been deep in thought. This delivery came for you earlier today.”
He thanked the doorman for the overnight package and closed the door. The return address was from Mossy Bog. Roxie’s address.
His heart thudded wildly in his chest.
He sliced the tape sealing the carton with a knife. The box was flat enough to hold a pizza, but twice as deep. Inside, he discovered a gift covered in old-fashioned floral paper. A blood red silk rose adorned the top of the box.
He tore through the wrapping like a kid on Christmas morning.
Dark oak framed a glass shadowbox of black velvet and his granddad’s war medals. Attached to the lower corner in the back was a small white card with the handwritten words, “Love, Roxie.”
His breath caught in his throat.
They were the most beautiful words he’d ever seen. He walked the present over to his fake mantel and set it there. Mac barked his approval.
Roxie wanted him back.
The tightness in his chest eased. His fingers closed around the white queen he still carried in his pocket. Possibilities sprang to his mind, but one thing was certain. This was a golden opportunity.
Without wasting another second, he flipped open his phone and called her. At the sound of her voice, he felt alive again. He pressed the phone tight against his ear so he wouldn’t miss so much as a single sigh. “Your package arrived. Thank you for the present.”
“You like it?”
He’d heard that breath she let out slowly before answering. This was hard for her too. “I like it. A lot.”
“I’m so relieved.”
“You and me both.” Please let me say the right thing, he implored silently. “Roxie?”
“Yes?”
“I’ve missed you.”
“Oh, Sloan.” Longing colored her voice, fueling his wild hopes.
“I want to see you again. Tonight. Will you have dinner with me?”
The line went quiet. Too quiet. He couldn’t breathe. He could barely think. He heard a small snuffling sound.
His heart lurched. Words tumbled off his tongue. “Roxie? Don’t cry. Please. I’m an idiot. Please. Give me another chance. Give us another chance.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
Relief sighed out of him. He wished she was in his arms right now. “I’m leaving Atlanta right now. I’ll be there by dinnertime.”
He tore through the condo, grabbing clothes, dog food, and laptop. Mac barked excitedly. With a last glance at his place, Sloan caught sight of the framed medals. Those belonged in Mossy Bog, with him and Roxie. He tucked the gift carefully under his arm and hurried out to his Jeep.
The miles between Atlanta and Mossy Bog ticked by one at a time. Plans spun through his head. He didn’t want to go through anything like this past week ever again. He wanted Roxie by his side, permanently. He would convince her of the logic. He’d sold riskier schemes in tricky international situations.
He could manage to sweet talk a woman in coastal Georgia into his bed on a permanent basis. Or if he lost his nerve, he’d tell her that was how it was going to be.
His phone rang between Macon and Savannah. He whipped it open. “Harding.”
“Hope I didn’t disturb you, boss,” Bates drawled. “You enjoying the redhead I got you?”
“Hell, no.” That explained why the woman was so persistent. “I can get my own dates.”
“Think of it as an early birthday present from me and the guys.”
Sloan eased around a blue Mustang. “You wasted your money.”
“I dunno. Sounds like you finally snapped out of the funk you’ve been in all week. That was money well spent.”
It wasn’t the redhead who’d bolstered his mood. It was the brunette. His brunette. The lady with the eyes like flashing seas.
“Your point?” he said.
“My point is to let you know we’ve got the office covered. Take some R&R.”
“You read my mind. I’m headed back down to Mossy Bog for a few days. If all goes well, you’ll be in charge of Team Six for a while.”
Bates whistled long and low. “It’s the brunette, right?”
“Yep.”
“I’ll be damned. She must be downright special to draw you away from work. Want us to run her background?”
“Do that and you’re a dead man.”
“Good one, boss.” Bates barked out a belly laugh. “Wait. Hold up a sec. Reg just sent me a text. Looks like there’s activity on Gilmore’s credit card. He gassed up an hour ago in Richmond Hill, wherever that is.”
“It’s between Savannah and Mossy Bog. Where is Reg?”
“Uh. Um.” His second-in-command cleared his throat. “Reg is in Charleston.”
“We don’t have any clients in Charleston right now.”
“It’s a personal matter, boss.”
“Shit. He’s fallen for another girl.”
“He’s whipped, boss. Just like you. What’s this agency coming to with all these skirts horning in?”
“The agency is what we make of it. That was the deal from day one.”
“Right.”
Silence hummed through the line. Sloan thought back on what Bates had said. “What else we got on Gilmore?”
“He’s shifted most of his assets into accounts under the name of Sonny Gifford. Don’t worry, boss, we’ve got the money flagged. He isn’t going anywhere without his stake.”
Cons like Jared Gilmore didn’t disappear without a score. They’d been tracking the man for weeks now.
“How many times has he been to Mossy Bog?”
“Can’t be absolutely certain. He’s made purchases there on three different dates at the seafood place, the gas station, the diner, and the hotel by the interstate. Those charges were all in the last six weeks.”
Six weeks. That paralleled the time frame Sloan had been traveling back to Mossy Bog. He didn’t believe in coincidences. That only left one logical conclusion.
The bastard was still after his inheritance.
“Thanks for the intel. Gotta run.” Spots danced in front of his eyes. He shook them away and ended the call.
The Harding fortune. The bane of his teens, the downfall of his father. If two generations of Hardings couldn’t find it, there was no way Gilmore would locate it.
The only treasure in Mossy Bog worth finding was Roxie. Gilmore couldn’t have her. Roxie was exactly what his grandfather had meant when he’d said the real treasure was in a man’s heart. Roxie was his heart. She was his treasure, not some missing money.
About time he realized that.
He turned off I-16 onto I-95 southbound, navigating through a tangled knot of Savannah traffic. Better let Roxie know his arrival time. She didn’t answer her phone. He left a message and tried her office. No answer there either. He thumbed through the business cards in his cup holder until he located Megan’s number.
“She’s with a client,” Megan assured him when he reached her. “Roxie’s South Carolina buyer is back in town and insisted on her showing him a property. She’ll be free by the time you get here. This guy is all hot air.”
Sloan got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. “He wouldn’t be from Charleston, would he?
“Yes, I believe Mr. Gifford is from Charleston. How’d you know?”
“Shit.” Sloan sped up.
“Is something wrong?”
“I’ll handle it.” Gilmore had Roxie. Sloan pulled his Glock out of the glove box and tucked it under his waistband. He couldn’t take a chance on the cops spooking Gilmore.
He crushed the accelerator pedal to the floorboard.
***
SONNY HAD GONE CRAZY. Nothing else explained him tying her to a kitchen chair and trashing her house. He’d secured her ankles to chair legs and bound her wrists behind her back, and he’d done it with her clothesline.
He strode back in the kitchen and waved a handgun at her. He held it sideways like gangsters on TV shows. “Where’s the money?”
The large barrel of the weapon riveted her attention. Roxie’s heart raced. “There’s thirty dollars in my purse. Take it.”
“Tell me where the money is, or I’ll bury you in that new drainage trench in your front yard.”
Her wrists burned where he’d tied them. But she had sensation in her fingers, which was good because she would free herself or die trying. Dusk was falling. Sloan would be here soon. She had to keep Sonny talking until Sloan arrived.
But Sonny had a gun.
So did Sloan.
No, what was she thinking?
Guns were bad. Someone would start shooting and people would get hurt. Killed maybe. She curled her fingers up and picked at the knot.
“I don’t have any money,” she said. “Both my house and my office are heavily mortgaged. I borrowed four grand on Miss Daisy, but you can have my car if you want.”
He jammed the gun to her temple. “Cut the crap. The Harding fortune. Where is it?”
“I don’t have the money! I never had the money.” Her veins iced. The man was insane.
“Sure you do. It isn’t in that damned house, and it isn’t here either. I’ve searched both places.”
“No one knows what happened to the money. It’s gone.”
“A convenient lie.” He set the gun on the counter and slapped her face. “Tell me where the money is, or I’ll shoot you dead right here in your kitchen.”
Her cheek stung. Roxie trembled uncontrollably. Her breath came in short pants. “I don’t know where it is.”
“Tell me everything that was in that house before you fixed it up.”
“I don’t know! I can’t think.” He pulled his hand back to slap her again. “Wait... maybe a plaid sofa. An end table. A chrome dining set. Broken appliances. A few lamps. A twin bed. And the Army trunk in the attic. That’s it. I swear.”
“The bed’s gone.”
“Sloan replaced it.”
“I’ll bet he did. I saw the screwing palace he installed. He nailed you yet?”
Fear knotted her insides.
Fear for what this man might do to her.
What he might do to Sloan.
She tugged her wrists, straining the rope. “Please. Just leave. I can’t help you. I won’t press charges if you go away and never come back.”
He picked up the gun again. “Forget it. You’re my bargaining chip. Sloan’s got a thing for you. He’ll tell me where the money is to get you back.”
“He doesn’t know where the money is. It’s long gone. Why don’t you understand?”
“What I understand is that I need this score. I’m not leaving town without it. I’ve wasted six weeks watching you and trying to find it. I have too much invested in this to walk away now.”
Understanding dawned, dark and ugly. “You never wanted the Harding place—not to buy it anyway. You wanted to get in there and search for the money.”
“That’s the only reason I’d ever come to a cesspool like Mossy Bog. Someone should have put this backwater town out of its misery a hundred years ago.”
“This town is my home.” Did that knot slip a little? She continued to wiggle her fingers, trying to free her hands. “You don’t care about anything but money.”
“Exactly. And if you don’t shut up, I’m gonna duct tape your mouth.”
When Sloan couldn’t produce the money, Sonny would kill them both. She couldn’t let that happen.
***
SLOAN PARKED BEHIND his dark house and drew his Glock. Exiting the Jeep, he and Mac loped through the woods in the thin twilight, leaves rustling under their feet. From the base of the hill, he saw there was a light on in Roxie’s kitchen. It sent chills down his spine.
The light shifted and Sloan edged into the shadows. A person stood at the window. The silhouette was taller than Roxie, the hair shorter. Gilmore was in there.
Ice crystallized in his bones.
Gilmore had Roxie.
Sloan pulled his phone out of his pocket, called nine-one-one for backup, then inched forward, gun drawn.
Mac whined softly. The fur on his hackles rose. “We’ll save her, Mac. I can’t lose the best thing that ever happened to me.” Sloan motioned the dog to sit and stay.
With stealth, Sloan approached the side of the house. Was there anyone else inside with Gilmore? Where was he holding Roxie? If Gilmore touched so much as a hair on her head, he’d pay for it.
Sloan stepped over the hose lying in the flower bed, angling toward the kitchen window.
His heart thundered in his ears.
Focus, Harding.
Do your job. Search and rescue. Just like in the military. That others may live. He’d give his life for Roxie’s any day.
He gained the side of the house and peered in the window. A lanky blond man paced around the island, a revolver in his hand. Gilmore. He’d tied Roxie to a kitchen chair, her back to the window.
Her head moved, as if she were tracking her captor. Her hands tugged at the cord binding her.
She was alive.
Sloan weighed his options. If he could get in the front door undetected, he could sneak up on Gilmore. But if the bastard heard him coming, Gilmore could use Roxie as a shield. His best bet was a quick surgical strike through the back door.
In and out.
He’d done it a hundred times.
But never with such personal stakes.
It was so dark he could barely see his gun hand. Suddenly the back yard flooded with light. Startled, he backpedaled, tripping over the hose. A small azalea bush crumbled beneath him.
He scrambled for cover, but he was too late.
Too damned late.