Corinne Hastings glared across her desk at the man seated there. “You went to her mother’s house? What is wrong with you?”
“But you said to find out where she is.”
“Yes, as in follow a trail. By now, I’m sure she’s aware of your visit and she’ll be more careful than ever. She knows someone is looking for her. And did her mother tell you anything?”
The man shifted uncomfortably. “Well, no. We told her we were from the bank and that we wanted to know where to send her severance pay.”
She had turned toward the window, but now whirled at him. “We?”
“Yeah, I took one of my off-duty partners along. He’s been working with me.”
“You’re an idiot,” she shouted.
“I’m sorry you think so, because I followed dear Mom to dinner the other night. She was picked up by another woman, younger. I ran the plates on the car. It belongs to one Brooke Jamison who just happens to be a former co-worker of Ms. Carlson. Soon after they arrived at the restaurant, Ms. Jamison got a phone call and then gave the phone to Mrs. Carlson. Mom was in tears, I’m guessing because she was talking to her missing daughter.”
Corinne rounded the desk and leaned on the edge, glaring down at him. “And?”
“And I checked the restaurant’s phone records. The call came from an unlisted number in Snoqualmie, Washington.”
“Unlisted, huh? Any way to find out whose number that is and the address?”
He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and flipped it open. “Best way I know—call.” He pulled a small notepad from his inside jacket pocket and opened it, then punched numbers into the cell phone before handing it to the Governor.
Corinne lifted the phone to her ear, listening to it ring. Then voicemail came on, Please leave a message. I’ll call back as soon as I can. “Son-of-a-bitch.” She snapped the phone shut and tossed it to him. “I want that number. And I want you to find out to whom it is registered and the address.”
“Yes, Madame Governor.”
“And watch your mouth. You forget who I am—and who you are.”
He jotted the phone number and ripped the paper from his notebook. “You remind me all the time.” He stood and headed for the door.
“You have a stake in this too. Don’t forget that, little brother.”
Anthony Baker, stared at her. “Can I ask you something, Corinne? Why in the hell do you want Mark’s bastard in the first place?”
“Forcing him to raise that child will be a constant reminder of how he betrayed me. He thought he could screw around on me with that little bitch and walk away without taking any responsibility when she ended up pregnant. Well, the joke will be on him. I have to give the girl credit for one thing—she didn’t bow to his insistence she terminate the pregnancy. Hell, she probably voted for me in the last election based upon my pro-life platform.”
“Has it occurred to you that you will also be raising that child?”
She pressed her lips together and glowered at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll hire a nanny.”
Anthony snorted. “Perfect. Another young thing working at the mansion for Mark to screw. Why don’t you just cut him loose? He’s never been faithful. He doesn’t love you and I can’t imagine you love him.”
“Love?” She shook her head. “Do people marry for love? I married Mark Hastings to get exactly what I’ve gotten. Benefit from a legacy of the Hastings family name. I see one more term as Governor of Missouri, then I’ll run for the Senate. Or maybe even bypass that step and go straight after the White House. By then this country will be ready for a female president, don’t you think?”
“If you say it’s so, Corinne, it’s so. You have a photo of that girl?”
She opened a locked drawer in her desk and produced a photograph she’d snapped with her phone during her late-night visit to Heather Carlson’s apartment.
Anthony stared at the photo. “Mark has good taste.” He shoved the picture into his jacket pocket. “I’ll be out of town for a few days.”
“Where are you going?”
He shrugged. “The great Northwest.”
~ * ~
After checking in on Bailey and finding her completely happy and smiling in a baby swing Dawn had on hand, she and Jake headed to the cabin. She needed another pair of shoes and lunch.
“I’ll make sandwiches while you get your shoes,” Jake said.
“Just be a minute.” Upstairs she first went into the bathroom. While standing at the sink to wash her hands, she stared at her image, wondering how she’d look as a blond with a short, spiky cut.
She opted for a pair of flip-flops figuring another painting accident wouldn’t do much damage. She recalled how Jake’s body had felt beneath hers—strong, solid, and if she wasn’t mistaken, turned on. She hadn’t meant to rub herself all over him, but getting off of him in such a tight space made avoiding that impossible. When she left Jefferson City, she had vowed that it would be just her and her daughter, at least for a year. Maybe longer. She clearly had poor taste when it came to getting involved with men. Her boyfriend before she got involved with Mark had taken her for a couple of thousand dollars, a loan he promised he’d repay. His repayment had been to take off without so much as a “see ya’.” She had convinced herself that was the reason she had responded to Mark. She knew who he was, that he was married when he cajoled her into having drinks with him. His unavailability and his mature good looks made him more appealing. They’d only been together a few months when her conscience got the best of her and she broke things off. Then she discovered she was pregnant.
Replaying the scene in her head when she’d told him about the baby still made her physically ill. His grim expression and insistence that she “take care of it,” followed by a tirade that she was the one who was irresponsible and he was not going to leave his wife for her. “You do remember who I’m married to, don’t you?” he has asked.
She had almost laughed out loud at the question, wanting to retort, “Like you remembered you were married?” But she’d seen Mark Hastings’ anger a few times, and she had no interest in bringing his wrath down on her when they were alone in her apartment. She was firm, though, about keeping the baby and assuring Mark he didn’t have to do anything.
He called her a few times during the pregnancy under the guise of making sure she was okay. His last call came a few weeks before the baby was born when he told her his wife had found out about the affair and the baby and had suggested they arrange a private adoption. When she reacted with horror at the idea, Mark swore at her and told her if she knew what was good for her, she’d reconsider.
Now, here she was, using the identity of a dead college classmate and hiding out in a stranger’s cabin in the Northwest. She felt she knew Jake better in just a week’s time than she’d ever known Mark. Or maybe she wanted to believe that. Jake was everything Mark was not—gentle, caring, hard working, and a man of integrity. She caught him at times staring at her, his eyes warm, but he never made a move on her. She gave herself a mental shake. Getting involved with Jake would be a huge mistake, at least right now. She sighed and headed back to the kitchen.
“Turkey sandwiches and chips okay?” Jake asked.
“Sounds great. I’m ravenous. I haven’t worked that hard in a long time.”
“What kind of work did you do?” He set a glass of iced tea beside her.
“I was a bank manager.” She took a sip of tea, then asked, “Can we stop by a store before we come back here later? I need to pick up a few things.” Like scissors and hair dye.
“No problem.”
They ate quickly and, while she rinsed their plates, Jake dropped some apples, cheese and chips into a bag, along with two cans of soda. “Afternoon snack,” he said.
The day was beautiful, in the low 70s and with a gentle breeze. They had left the windows open and left the fans Jake had hauled over there running. The work they had done was just about dry.
Jake set up the paint for the bedroom walls. “We’ll use rollers. Remember to roll some of the paint off the roller so it doesn’t run. And don’t roll all the way to the top. I’ll go around and do that last.” He glanced down at her flip-slops. “You’re going to work all day in those?”
She stared down. “Probably not a good idea. I’ll work barefoot.” She kicked of the rubber footwear and shoved them aside. Jake filled two pans with paint and handed her a roller, then took his paint to the opposite wall. She didn’t have the heart to tell him she had painted plenty of rooms and knew exactly what to do.
“We need music.” She retrieved the radio from the kitchen and plugged it into a hall socket just outside the bedroom door. This time she found a light rock station. She was shaking her butt to the music when she turned to add paint to her roller and saw Jake staring at her. Their eyes met briefly, then he turned away and resumed painting. It was her turn to watch the way the muscles in his arms and back rolled along with the strokes of the roller. How in the hell had this man stayed unattached? She’d been with him in close quarters for a week and couldn’t identify a single flaw. He was perfect. Too perfect.