Chapter Sixteen
Bret Carlton opened the crystal decanter and poured himself a drink before answering the vibrating phone on the end table. Harry’s name flashed across the screen and for a split second, Bret debated about letting the call go to voicemail, but his mother’s stern face popped into his mind, and he brought the cell phone to his ear.
“I found your ex and your son,” Harry said.
“She’s not my ex—we’re still married.” Bret took a sip of the brandy, welcoming the smooth, warm burn as it slid down his throat.
“Whatever. I spotted them at that community tree ceremony.”
Bret shook his head and took another sip of his drink. “Savannah’s so fucking predictable. Where’s she staying?”
“I don’t know, Boss. She’s not staying in town.”
Bret’s fingers gripped the glass tightly. “You already established that days ago. Where the fuck is she staying with my son?”
“I’m not sure.”
“That’s not a ten-thousand-dollar answer, Harry.” Heat rose up his neck.
“She’s staying with some dude, and from the looks of it, they’re more than roommates,” Harry said, hardness creeping into his voice.
“What the fuck does that mean?” Bret sat down on the wingback chair next to the fireplace.
“They acted like they had something going on, and your son seemed pretty friendly with him.”
Bret paused, trying to take in what Harry was saying. That’s why the old bitch ran away—she’s been having an affair. What a sanctimonious hypocrite. “Who’s the guy?”
“A biker with an outlaw club.”
“What?”
“He’s involved with the Insurgents—they’re based in Pinewood Springs.”
“That figures. I wonder where the hell she met him. Are there any of those people in Boston?”
“No—only in the west. Didn’t your mother-in-law say Savannah met him when she got stuck in the blizzard?”
“Yes, but that’s only been a little more than a couple of weeks ago.” When he and Savannah had first begun dating, it took him forever to get inside her pussy, so he doubted that she’d take up with a stranger so soon.
“I just call it like I see it, Boss.”
“Did you follow them home?”
“Uh … there were so many damn people, they got lost in the crowd. I’m keeping my eyes open around town. I’m sure your wife will want to do some Christmas shopping. When I spot her, I’ll follow her.”
“Yes—do your fucking job. I want to know where the hell this dirtbag lives, and who the bitch is shacking up with. I can’t believe she’d be doing this with my son there.”
“I’ll find out everything. I know what I’m working with now.”
“I can’t get away until after the weekend. Before I go to some damn hick town, I want all the information on this asshole, and I don’t want any fucking excuses why you don’t have it.”
“I’ll have it all for you.”
The cell phone landed with a thud on the end table as Bret stood up and paced around the den. The thought of Savannah with another man infuriated him, and he couldn’t wrap his head around it. She had to have met him in Boston, but where the hell was she that she’d meet someone like him? Bret knew Savannah’s schedule—he made it a point to keep tabs on his wife, and she rarely veered off from her daily routine of fundraising meetings, lunches with her girlfriends, and taking care of Timmy. Bret cracked his knuckles. Of course, Timmy was the focal point of all your days. The thought that she would take up with someone she’d just met didn’t sit well with him, so Bret had to convince himself that Savannah had been cheating on him and that’s the reason she’d left. It was all an elaborate plan, and calling your mom and telling her you were stuck in a blizzard was genius, bitch, but you didn’t fool me, did you?
The grandfather clock against the maroon-painted wall across from the picture window chimed loudly as it counted eight strokes. Restless as hell now, Bret swiped through his electronic black book. He wanted a young blonde with big tits, a fake tan, and a nice rounded ass. His gaze fell on Kim’s number with a notation “Loves raunchy sex.” Just what I need. He’d planned to stay in and have a quiet night catching up on some of the television shows he’d recorded, but Harry’s call ruined all that, and now he planned to fuck Savannah right out of his head.
Bret tapped in the number and smiled when Kim’s enthused voice cried, “Daddy! It’s been too long.”
“I’ll send a car to pick you up. Wear the filthiest lingerie you got, babygirl.”
“I can’t wait to play with you,” she gushed.
“Make yourself pretty for me. See you in an hour.”
Once he secured the driver and the hotel suite, a rush of adrenaline surged through him. Kim was the perfect woman to help him forget about his old wife and her biker lover. As he ran the electric shaver over his face, the image of Savannah when he’d first seen her years before waiting tables at Luna’s floated through his mind, and then Timmy’s face with his spattering of freckles and dark eyes replaced it, and Bret’s muscles tensed. You changed the game plan, Savannah, and now I find out you’ve been cheating on me? Fuck that. He pounded the porcelain sink with his fist. No one makes a fool out of Bret Philip Carlton. No fucking one.
Impeccably dressed, he walked out of their penthouse and rode the elevator down to the parking garage. As he drove to the hotel, loneliness gnawed at his gut, and he cursed his renegade wife. Bret’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel hard.
“You want a fight, bitch? You got it,” he said out loud.
Then he sped up and merged into traffic on Tremont Street.