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“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.”
