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“I’m sorry. I assume you knew. Mrs. Sterling was here a few days ago.”
“My mother?” His blood chilled.
“No. I’m sorry, the other Mrs. Sterling. I’m afraid I don’t know her first name. She always has us address her as Mrs. Sterling.”
“Jessica?” She’d need Noah’s signature on the paperwork to authorize the flight.
“She and her friend said they had a nice time.”
“Friend?”
“A blonde woman. She slept most of the way. Too much sun, Mrs. Sterling said. I’m sure her name is on the manifest.” She moved off to finish her preflight checklist.
“Laurie?”
“Sir?” She looked over her shoulder from the galley area.
“What day was that?”
“Saturday, Mr. Sterling.”
“Do you know when Mrs. Sterling arrived?”
“No, sir. I wasn’t on that flight.”
A dozen thoughts slammed together, and he called Celeste with an update.
After he’d outlined the situation she said, “I’ll procure the manifest. Anything else?”
His stomach was caught in an iron vise. “Noah and his wife are members of the club. See if that information gets someone’s mouth to loosen up. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” He checked his watch. “And put surveillance on Noah and Jessica.”
“Consider it done.”
“Have you finished the interview with Lillibet’s friend?”
“Brianna, aka Elizabeth and Lillibet, was an out-of-work actress, making ends meet by taking shifts at the local coffee shop. She said she’d been hired for a gig, and all the friend knew was that Lillibet was supposed to make a—and this is a direct quote—shitpile of money for less than a month’s work. Before you ask,” Celeste went on, “I’ve sent someone to the coffee shop to ask about Lillibet and to see if anyone saw her talking with Jessica or Noah.”
He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation.
Within an hour, he had the manifest. Jessica Sterling and a Ms. Mumford—whomever the hell that was, another alias, perhaps?—had been the passengers. The bill had been authorized by Noah.
Celeste had included a note that she was taking no action until she heard from Rafe.
The trip was interminable. He tried to sleep, but each time he dozed, adrenaline jolted him awake. None of this made sense.
Or it did. In a sick, bizarre way that his brain refused to piece together.
As the plane approached the runway, Rafe glanced at his phone. Nothing from Hope. Fuck…
Once he’d uncurled his fist, he contacted Celeste for an update. Since he’d left Tampa, his cousin’s wife had played tennis with her ladies’ league before stopping for an after-workout coffee. From there, she’d gone home. If she was involved in something nefarious, she didn’t appear bothered by it. Noah hadn’t left the office, even for lunch. “I need one more thing.”
“You’re in charge of the clock,” she said.
“It’s Hope.”
Celeste was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry?”
“I screwed things up. She’s blocked my calls.”
“People, relationships, are special, Rafe. They should be treated that way.”
“Fuck.” He exhaled. “Is this your way of telling me you won’t help me?”
“Why, yes, it is.” Her voice contained a cheerful note that had been missing for days. “Ultimate happiness requires risk.” She hung up.
For a long time, he stared at the phone.
After Emma, he’d decided that he didn’t want drama. And the fact that his father was suffering ought to reinforce Rafe’s decision. It didn’t. Instead, it showed him what he’d been missing.
He loved Hope.
Love didn’t distract from life. It gave it meaning. Joy and pain. And he knew he no longer wanted to be on the sidelines.
He looked up a number for Hope’s office and reached Skyler.
“For you, she’s not in. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not any other time.”
“Even if I sent you a bottle of Dom Perignon?”
“What year?”
“Your choice. A vintage year, to be sure.”
“Ah. Damn you. But no.”
