Scarlet had been on the visitors’ side of prisons and correctional facilities before. Yet she’d never been quite so nervous as when Wyatt Hill entered with a guard.
Even if Bayli hadn’t scanned and e-mailed the yearbook photos of him, Scarlet would have pegged him instantly as Sam’s father. Wyatt was a mammoth of a man, all brawn and earthy good looks.
Incarceration and the criminal lifestyle had nothing on this guy. Sure, he was a bit weathered around the eyes and mouth, but he’d be an easy pick-out in a lineup, with unforgettable chiseled features and bright blue eyes.
Wyatt slid into the seat on the other side of the glass partition and lifted the phone. Scarlet pressed her own receiver to her ear.
“Mr. Hill, my name is Scarlet Drake. I’m an independent insurance fraud investigator.”
His gaze narrowed on her. “You’re not from my lawyer’s office?” he asked with a deep southern drawl.
“No, sir.”
“Then what the fuck makes you think I want to speak with you?”
She inhaled sharply. The nerves were clearly justified. After a long, though somewhat discreet, exhale, she said, “I’m looking into the disappearance of an art collection from the Vandenberg estate in the Hamptons.”
“And that has what to do with me?”
Scarlet’s gaze met his as she said, “It belonged to Karina Reed. Your high school sweetheart. The mother of your two sons, Sam and Dylan. Your twins.”
His jaw clenched, the way Sam’s did when he was tense. “You can go fuck yourself, lady. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” Wyatt slammed down the receiver. Shoved back his chair and jerked his chin at the guard, indicating he was done.
Scarlet hung up. Heaved a sigh.
That went oh, so well.
She gathered her belongings and returned to her rental car. Drove back to Phoenix to catch her flight home. On the plane, she stewed over the brief interaction with Hill. Wondered if she should have stayed and tried again, but in all honesty, Scarlet wasn’t entirely sure what she hoped to gain from engaging him in conversation.
Her interest in the man was predicated on his relationship to Sam—well, lack thereof, but Wyatt was Sam’s birth father. And the father of Sam’s brother. So naturally, Scarlet wanted to pick the man’s brain about his romance with Karina, why he’d bailed, and whether or not he’d ever been in contact with Dylan. If he’d ever considered reaching out to Sam.
Scarlet had learned from Bayli that an absentee parent could be like a black hole. There might be curiosity to explore it, but chances were very good you’d just get sucked into an inescapable abyss.
Bayli had had what if? moments while growing up, all centered on finding her dad. Who was he, why had he split before she was even born, why had he told her mother he loved her when it clearly wasn’t true?
And what if Bayli were to locate him?
She’d wanted to on a few occasions, Scarlet knew. Particularly when her mother required a series of heart surgeries—and the bills had started to pile up. Bayli had been a kid then and she’d needed not only some financial support from her father but emotional support as well.
But he’d left them both. Willingly. Consciously. So Bayli had finally decided to write him off, as her dad had done with her and her mother.
Had Dylan done the same, or had he searched for his birth parents? Had he found Wyatt?
As the plane touched down at SFO, Scarlet once again reached that mental question when it came to all of her internal queries on this particular subject: Did it matter? If Dylan had somehow tracked down Wyatt or vice versa, did it matter? Did it make any difference in Sam’s life?
Not that Scarlet could see.
So she’d come to another dead end.
She’d learned who Sam’s father was and that Sam had a brother. The rest remained a void.
Well, except for the fact that she was privy to something Sam was not.
Guilt ate at her as she left the terminal, retrieved her car, and drove back to River Cross. Her gran was off on her own wild adventure for a new book, so the house was empty and quiet. Scarlet took a shower and slipped into a nightgown and robe. She was mentally exhausted. Conversely wound up, though.
She snatched her cell from the nightstand, slid between the sheets, and hit the speed dial number for Michael.
“I was just thinking of you,” he said as he connected the call.
Scarlet’s spirits didn’t fully lift. Though Michael’s words were exhilarating, her dark cloud loomed.
She said, “I wish I was simply calling to tell you that I miss you.”
Michael was silent a moment, then asked, “Why does this sound like a Dear John call?”
She laughed softly, despite her tension and melancholy. “That’s not it at all. In fact, it could actually be the other way around.”
“Not likely,” he quietly, though vehemently, told her.
“You say that now.…” Scarlet’s heart hurt. Her very soul felt weighted down, sinking lower and lower.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Michael said in a concerned tone. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong is … me, Michael. I’m wrong.”
“About?”
Scarlet sighed dejectedly. “It’s not so much an about scenario. It’s more like a compulsion. A sickness, really.”
“Okay, now you’re worrying me.”
“Sorry. It’s just…” Sheer agony lanced through her. “I have this insatiable need to know everything when it comes to investigations. I can’t help myself. Sometimes I don’t have to delve too deep. Sometimes I do. Whatever the job entails, I do it. But this time … I went too far. I looked into something I had no business looking into. Well, aside from voracious curiosity.”
Michael didn’t say anything for a few moments. Scarlet’s tension mounted.
Finally, he asked, “What exactly were you looking into?”
“Sam’s past,” she admitted, not willing to keep this from Michael because she needed his advice. His help.
“Why, Scarlet?” Michael inquired. “What bearing does that have on anything? On the case?”
“I don’t know. I’m not so sure it was about the case. Sam told me he has no idea who his father is, not even a name. And I just … I couldn’t let that go. I had to find out. I couldn’t help myself.”
Christ, what a horrific confession to make.
But then again, Karina Vandenberg had bared her soul in front of her sons. That had taken some courage. So here was Scarlet, womaning up, so to speak.
She said, “I’m not particularly proud that I can’t let well enough alone, that I have to collect as much information as I possibly can until either I’m facing a brick wall that can’t be breached or I’ve broken through that wall.”
“And somehow Sam’s dad’s identity was crucial to your plight?”
Michael’s tone was level, not accusatory. So Scarlet didn’t retreat. Rather, she told him, “It was mostly important to me since Sam is important to me. I want to know him the way I’m getting to know you. I’ve met your parents. Or at least, I’ve met your father and stepmother, and I’ve read about your biological mother. I can at least connect dots on your side. On Sam’s side, there was an anomaly. A variable I couldn’t define.”
“You’re doing a hell of a lot of veiled apologizing, Scarlet.”
“To the wrong person, granted. But I called you because I want your advice.”
“It’s simple and you know it. No mystery here. You have to tell Sam what you’ve learned.”
She honestly hadn’t expected Michael to tell her anything different. She wasn’t a fool. And this wasn’t rocket science.
What it was for Scarlet was a complicated matter of the heart.
When she’d tasked Bayli with unearthing Sam’s dad’s name, she’d been fueled by inquisitiveness, sure, but it’d mostly been related to the art theft. Then the dam had broken at the Vandenberg estate and Scarlet had witnessed Karina’s vulnerability. Scarlet figured that at that point she should have called off Bayli’s hunt. But Scarlet had been caught up in Sam’s anger and then fixated on where the shock wave of a weekend had left the three of them.
Now she had this shock wave to ride out.
Michael said, “Sweetheart, you’re not one to hold back the truth. You need to tell him.”
“We’ve been playing phone tag, but you’re right.”
“Just don’t do it tonight.”
“Michael! You just said—”
“I know what I just said. But you’ll only get his voice mail. I spoke with him earlier about some things the three of us are going to have to figure out. He mentioned he was flying out to Texas tonight. There’s a show Andalusian for sale that he wants to look at before the Great Southwest Winter Series starts in February. I don’t know what the hell any of that means. But he’s on a plane right now.”
“Damn it,” she mumbled. Because the guilt was just going to keep on munching away at her. She did latch on to a divisionary topic, though. “So what did the two of you discuss that actually involves the three of us?”
“Mainly, when we’re going to see one another again. And secondarily … The seemingly serious nature of our involvement.”
“Seemingly?”
“Well,” he said before taking a sip of what she figured was probably brandy or scotch this late in the evening. “I can tell you how I feel and I can tell you how Sam feels, but neither of us is being presumptuous when it comes to your feelings.”
Scarlet could use a drink herself. But she didn’t leave the bed. She earnestly told Michael, “I’m hating my very lonely bedroom right now.”
“Think we’re all on the same page there.”
“Then I’ve got to get things straightened out with Sam. I’ll give him some time to wrap up his business before I drop another bomb on him.”
“Call me if you need me.”
“I need you.”
He let out a low growl. “Why don’t we meet in Montana for the weekend? You can tell Sam then everything you’ve discovered. Much better to do it in person.”
“Excellent idea. Though as a sidebar, my understanding is that you’re not a fan of the country.”
“I’ll survive. It’s worth the sacrifice.”
“Great. I’ll check in with Sam and see how he feels about it. If he’ll even be around.”
“Let me know the outcome. Now I’ve got some more work to do.”
“And I need sleep.”
Neither disconnected the call. That made her toes curl.
“Hang up, Michael.”
“Yeah.”
Obviously, there were things he wanted to say to her. But he was putting it all on the back burner until they were with Sam. The sensible way to go. It was just difficult for her to not instigate the conversation. Because Scarlet had a lot to say, too.
A few quiet seconds ticked by before he simply told her, “Sweet dreams, Scarlet.”
“Thank you. Good night.” She forced herself to tap the end button.
Scarlet returned the phone to the nightstand and switched off the light. She settled in the bed and closed her eyes, wondering how her discussion with Sam would go when she told him she knew who his deadbeat dad was and that Sam had a brother. She was relieved Michael would be there with them, not just for her sake but for Sam’s as well. A little moral support never hurt. And Scarlet’s news wasn’t going to be easy to accept.
Nor was her prying.
Sam was back at the ranch Thursday evening. He’d been on the fence post about the Andalusian but not the black Arabian when he’d caught sight of it—and had immediately made an offer. The horse would be delivered early next week and would be a nice addition to Sam’s show team.
He was feeling quite pleased with his latest acquisition and whistling a tune when his cell rang.
Sam grinned. It was Scarlet.
“Well, hello there, darlin’,” he said as he bent down to scratch Rudy behind the ears and then went to the fridge for a beer. “’Bout time we reached each other.”
“Crazy week. And I hear you were in Texas looking at a horse.”
“Bought one, actually.” He popped the top off the bottle and settled at the kitchen island. “So you spoke with Michael?”
“Last night. He suggested a date. In Montana.”
“I like his thinkin’.”
“Me, too.”
“So plan on it. I’ve got a few things to take care of around here over the weekend, but my evenings are free.”
“You’re getting ready for a competition?” she asked.
“Yes, we are.”
“That’ll be exciting to see all that goes into the preparation. I’m fascinated by what you do. And I didn’t get a chance to meet your horses.”
“They’re not all mine. I board for some folks. But I’d love to give you the grand tour, since we didn’t get to it the last time you were here. Not that I minded what we were doing instead.”
“I wouldn’t change a thing, even if I could. And maybe we can get Michael to take a look around as well. Get him into the stables or arena.”
Sam chuckled. “Don’t go countin’ on it. Although … you might provide just the right motivation to sway him.”
“I’ll be sure to put extra effort into it.”
Sam heard the mischief in her voice and it turned him on. Hell, everything about the woman turned him on. Even when she was several states away.
He took a long drink from his beer, then asked, “What are you up to this evening?”
“I just left dinner with Jewel, Rogen, and Vin. Nice night. I’m on my way home now, with some asshole tailgater trying to push me down the road.”
“Pull over and let him go around you.”
“I think he’s too close to me for that.” Panic suddenly edged her tone.
Sam tensed, his gut clenching. “Scarlet—”
“Shit! He just put his high beams on and they’re glaring in my rearview mirror!”
Sam set his beer aside and got to his feet. “Scarlet, for God’s sake, pull over.”
“I’m just looking for a sp—” She screamed. “He slammed into me!”
“Scarlet!” Sam’s heart leapt into his throat.
She screamed again.
Sam could hear metal mangling and glass shattering as Scarlet cried out in terror.
And he was helpless to do anything about it.
“Son of a bitch!” he yelled. “Scarlet! Talk to me!”
“I—uh … Oh, God.” Her voice was strained, her breathing jagged.
No!
Fury and fear ripped through Sam. “Scarlet! Say something!”
In the background Sam heard another voice. “This is OnStar. What’s your emergency?”
“I’m upside-down,” Scarlet croaked out. “And I’m stuck.”
Sam listened, his pulse hammering in his head, as Scarlet apparently attempted to free herself from the seat belt. He gripped his cell so tight it was a wonder he didn’t crush the device. His other hand balled at his side. Horror clawed at him.
He didn’t say anything, not wanting to impede the emergency call, but Jesus Christ! He didn’t know how badly hurt she was. Where she was. How difficult it was going to be for someone to get to her.
Sam paced the kitchen as the dispatcher contacted 911 and relayed the accident details to them and Scarlet’s location pinpointed from their GPS capability.
“I’m going to pass out from all the blood rushing to my head if I can’t get out of this belt,” she said.
“Just hold on, darlin’.” Sam’s eyes squeezed shut briefly. This was the absolute worst torture. Reliving the nightmare. Not being able to do anything to save Scarlet just like with Cassidy. “Can you still hear me?”
“You’re on speaker on my cell,” she said on a broken breath.
A heartbeat later Sam heard sirens wail. “Thank God! Someone’s on their way.”
“Yes. I can see the lights.”
“How hurt are you?” Sam asked, trying to keep his anxiety from echoing over the phone.
“I’m bleeding,” she said, her voice weak and raspy. “My forehead. And the shoulder harness pulled too tight when the belt locked up. It dug into the side of my neck. Other than that, I think I’m okay.”
“All right. Just try to stay calm.” He said that as much for himself as for her.
“I’m a little worried,” she shakily confessed. “There’s a lot of blood. It’s running into my hair. My bangs are soaked.”
There were more voices in the background, a bit of commotion. The sound of a door opening was a monumental relief to Sam. Scarlet explained to the first responder that she was stuck. Sam stayed on the call as they talked her through how they were going to get her out and then went about extracting her from the belt and the vehicle. Then there was silence.
Sam was ready to jump out of his skin. He waited for what seemed like an eternity, pacing and trying not to picture Scarlet cut up and covered in blood. It was an agonizing wait before someone came on the line.
“This is an EMT,” he told Sam. “We’re taking Miss Drake to the hospital. I’m going to have to disconnect you.”
“Yes, of course. Just … Tell her I’m on my way.”
“Will do.”
The EMT dropped off. Sam immediately called Michael.
“Calling about—”
“Scarlet’s been in an accident,” Sam instantly interjected. “She’s on the way to the hospital in River Cross right now. I’m going to California.”
“I’ll pick you up in Kalispell,” Michael told him, alarm in his voice.
“It’ll take you four hours to get here in your Lear, Michael.”
“Yes, but do you really think you’re going to get a flight to San Francisco out of that airport at this time of night? And nonstop? Not likely. It’ll take you just as long if not longer than if I pick you up. And if there’s a municipal airport in River Cross we can land there and save the time it’d take to drive from the city.”
“Good point.” But what the fuck was he going to do for four hours to keep from going crazy over Scarlet?
“Look, just hang in there, all right? I know you’re rattled.”
“I was on the phone with her when someone ran her off the road. I’m guessing he took off, because he didn’t help her.”
“Shit.” Michael’s tone was razor sharp. “How bad is it?”
“She rolled the vehicle and was hanging upside down for a while. Belt jammed. Or her fingers were too shaky to release the latch. She’s bleeding, but she was conscious.”
“Goddamn it, that must have been a bitch for you to go through.”
“Without there being a fucking thing I could do for her!”
His nerves were shot to shit and his panic didn’t abate.
“Have a drink and take a few deep breaths,” Michael told him. “I’ve got to make all the arrangements. I’ll call you from the air.”
“Fine.”
“Sam…”
“I’ll be okay. Just get a move on it. I don’t want to waste time.”
“Neither do I.”
Sam hung up. Bypassed his beer and poured a stiff drink instead. Prayed like hell Scarlet would be all right—and that she’d call him as soon as she could.