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“I know he has,” said Tuck.
“He was blindsided by her lies.”
Tuck seemed to consider the statement. “There were signs.”
“Now you’re criticizing Dixon for loyalty?”
“I’m wondering why you’re so blindly defending him.”
“When you’re an honest person—” as Amber knew Dixon was “—you don’t look for deceit in others.”
Tuck’s gaze was astute. “But you saw it, too.”
Amber wasn’t going to lie. “That Kassandra had a scheming streak?”
“Aha.” There was a distinct ring of triumph in Tuck’s tone.
“I saw it, too,” she admitted.
He sobered. “I don’t know what that says about you and I.”
“Maybe that we should be careful around each other?”
“Are you out to get me, Amber?”
“No.” She wasn’t.
She didn’t find him particularly admirable. An admirable man would have shown up to help long before now. But now that he was here, she’d admit he wasn’t all bad.
“Are you going to lie to me?”
“No.”
“Will you help me succeed?”
She hesitated over that one. “Maybe. If you seem to deserve it.”
“How am I doing so far?”
“You’re no Dixon.”
“I’m never going to be Dixon.”
“But you seem to have Zachary’s number. I can respect that.”
It was a moment before Tuck responded. “How’d he get away with that crap with my dad?”
“He didn’t pull that crap with your dad.”
“He’s testing me.”
“We all are.”
“Including you?”
“Especially me.”
But Tuck was faring better than she’d expected. And she seemed worryingly susceptible to his playboy charm. She was definitely going to have to watch herself around him.
* * *
At home in the mansion, Tuck found himself retreating to the second floor, spreading work out in the compact sitting room down the hall from his own bedroom. Stylistically, it was different from the rest of the house, with earth tones, rattan and stoneware accents. He found it restful.
The big house had been built in the early 1900s, with hardwood floors, soaring relief ceilings, elaborate light fixtures and archways twenty feet in height. It was far from the most welcoming place in the world, full of uncomfortable antique chairs and somber paintings. And right now it echoed with emptiness.
Last week, they’d moved his father to a specialized care facility in Boston. His mother had gone with him to stay with her sister. His mother had asked her trusted staff members to come along for what looked to be an extended stay.
Tuck could have replaced the staff. But he was one man, and he had no plans to do any entertaining. Well, maybe a date or two, since he didn’t plan to let his responsibilities at Tucker Transportation keep him celibate. But the house still had two cooks, two housekeepers and a groundskeeper. He couldn’t imagine needing any more assistance than that.
For now, he headed down the grand staircase to meet his college friend, Jackson Rush, happy with both the opportunity for conversation and the break from office work. While Tuck had studied business at the University of Chicago, Jackson had studied criminology. Jackson now ran an investigations firm that had expanded around the country.
“I hope you have good news,” said Tuck as Jackson removed his worn leather jacket and handed it to the housekeeper.
“Dixon took a private jet from Executive Airport to New York City,” said Jackson.
“But not a Tucker Transportation jet.” Tuck had already checked all the company records.
“Signal Air,” said Jackson.
“Because he didn’t want my dad to know where he went.”
“That seems like a solid theory.”
The two men made their way into the sunroom. It was dark outside, not the perfect time to enjoy the view through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but the sunroom was less ostentatious than the library.
“So he’s in New York.” As far as Tuck was concerned, that was good news. He’d worried his brother had taken off to Europe or Australia.
“From there, it looks like he took a train to Charlotte.”
“A train?” Tuck turned his head to frown at Jackson. “Why on earth would he take a train? And what’s in Charlotte?”
“Secrecy, I’m guessing.” Jackson eased onto a forest-green sofa. “He wouldn’t need ID to buy a train ticket. You said your dad tried to stop him from leaving?”
