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The woman gave her a name. Sean Pope.
As in Pope Mountain?
When she heard the name, a chill ran up her spine. It was as if the mountain was now aware of her presence and sending an emissary to meet her.
She contacted Sean Pope via his website, made an appointment with him to come set up the system, then woke up anxious on the day he was to arrive.
She kept telling herself to get over the nerves. She’d be dealing with clients one-on-one on a daily basis, and her appearance was immaterial. He wasn’t her boss. She’d hired him to do a job.
Because of the cold weather, and because the office wasn’t yet open, she wore jeans, a soft baby-blue sweatshirt the same color as her eyes, and her favorite pair of running shoes to work.
Her hair had grown out to the length it was before the accident—still thick and straight and the color of dark chocolate, except for the addition of a white streak that had appeared just to the right of the widow’s peak. She could have colored it, but she’d made peace with it, just as she had the scars. After a quick breakfast of coffee and cereal, she grabbed her coat, keys, and a tote bag, and headed out the door.
Amalie loved cold mornings, with the chill on her face and the scent of air without industry. No factories. No haze. No burning dump sites. Just the sun rising above the treetops as she drove her red SUV to the office and parked in the lot behind the building.
The back entrance into the building opened up into a long hallway, accessing the other businesses on the bottom floor. The walk up the hall to where her office was located was a distance, but it was well lit and warm, and she counted off the doors as she went.
The first on her right was an insurance company, then a Realtor’s office on her left, a travel agency on the left next to that, and her office, the last one on the right, but the first office for people coming in from the street.
The simple act of unlocking the door was empowering. She knew building a new business would take time, but she was good at her job. As soon as she was up and running, she intended to put an ad in the local paper and hold an open house. Free food was always a draw, and curiosity the second.
She turned up the thermostat, took her coat and purseto the back room, checked the bathroom to make sure the roll of paper towels and toilet paper were in place. She put a new bottle of fresh-linen-scented hand soap on the vanity, started a pot of coffee, and then checked to make sure the small, apartment-size refrigerator was working before going back to the front.
The big plate-glass window gave her a clear view of morning traffic already moving at a fast clip. The mountain loomed above it all. As time passed, she began to feel tense. It was a quarter to nine. Sean Pope would be arriving soon.
Please, God, I don’t need to see “that look” again on anyone’s face. Not this morning.
She sighed, mentally chastising herself for even thinking about how he’d react to her appearance. All she needed was for him to get her up and running. What he thought about her was immaterial, so she moved on to something she could control.
She turned toward the room, her hands on her hips, and began assessing the arrangement of furniture and the boxes containing her technology. She had a landline installed for business, and phone jacks in three places in case she needed to move the computers around, but something was off.
Maybe if she moved the long desk to the back wall, then moved the small desk to the front, like a reception area? Then she made herself calm down. This was just the beginning. Eventually, she’d figure it out and it would be fine.
Miami, Florida
Wolfgang Outen was a self-made man who’d hit billionaire status by never taking no for an answer and never giving up.
He was a striking man in his midfifties, with a full head of iron-gray hair. He was fit from daily workouts, accustomed now to the finer things in life. He had loved one woman in his life, and when she died giving birth to a stillborn baby girl, he left his heart with her in the grave, and her family cursing his name. He left without looking back, and went out to prove to himself that he had been worthy of her love. And over the years, he made his fortune and his bed, marrying and divorcing a second wife. Then four years earlier, he’d taken a third wife, Fiona Rangely—a hot blond in her late thirties.
But Fiona wasn’t just a pretty face. She had a degree in engineering and a successful career of her own, and as far as he was concerned, they were happy. The only thing he didn’t have in his life was a child, and no living kin, something he deeply regretted.
A month ago, on a whim, he’d ordered a test kit from Ancestry.com. As soon as it came, he supplied the test and mailed it back.
What he never saw coming was the uproar it caused when Fiona found the remnants of the kit in the bathroom trash.
“How could you do this to me? Why? Why? Am I not enough for you? How could you betray me like this?” and then she slapped him.
Shock rolled through Wolf in waves. Before he knew it, he had grabbed her by both wrists and was shouting. “What the hell’s wrong with you? That wasn’t a condom in the trash. I’m not fucking another woman. I just want to know if I have any family left in this world.”
“Why? Why? Am I not enough? You don’t need anyone else! You have me!” she screamed.
In that moment, he was staring at a stranger. He pulled her closer, gripping her wrists tighter, his voice barely above a whisper.
“You pull a stunt like this again, and you won’t have anything. You’re my wife, but you do not tell me what to do, just as I honor your career and your business and your choices! I am a grown-ass man, and if I want to look for long-lost family, then that’s what I’ll do. Do you understand me?”
Fiona blinked. She’d never seen this side of him before. But then, he’d never seen this side of her, either. And maybe he shouldn’t have. But it was too late to take it back.
Her eyes welled.
