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Looking back, she could see Max’s hand at work behind the scenes—the phone calls summoning the attorney, the stall tactics, all the while shielding her from unnecessary worry. It was a thoughtful gesture; at the same time, she would rather have known what was going on instead of learning about it at the last minute.
The faint murmur of voices came from the entryway. Stiffening, Sloan listened intently but failed to detect Trey’s voice among them.
Vargas entered the dining room, carrying a small silver tray with a business card on it. He offered it to Sloan. “There is a lady at the door who wishes to speak with you, senora.”
She went through the motions of examining the card, but little registered other than the official insignia for the state of Texas and the woman’s name, Anna Grunwald. “Thank you, Vargas,” she began, then saw the quick warning
shake of Bennett’s head. Sloan quickly altered what she had been about to say. “Please tell her I’ll be right there.”
“Si, senora,” Vargas replied while Bennett nodded approval behind him.
When the servant passed him to retrace his steps to the entrance, Bennett murmured something to him in Spanish. Sloan had been kept ignorant of too much to allow this to pass without questioning him.
“What did you say to him?” she asked.
“I told him to walk slow, like an armadillo out for a midnight stroll.” There was a hint of self-satisfaction in the smile that touched his mouth, giving Sloan the impression he was pleased that he had come up with an excuse to gain more precious seconds.
Those seconds passed with excruciating slowness. Then Vargas reappeared. “I delivered your message, senora.”
“Gracias,” Sloan murmured in thanks.
Again Bennett signaled that she should wait. But the strain of that was already more than she cared to tolerate. Ignoring him, she walked out of the dining room, maintaining a steady but unhurried pace.
Approaching the spacious entryway, Sloan caught her first glimpse of Trey. She thought she had steeled herself for it, but she was surprised to feel that old familiar fluttering of her pulse. And she realized that love was an emotion slow to die, regardless of how badly it had been abused.
The minute Sloan walked into the entryway, a rather benign-looking, immaculately clad woman with gray hair stepped forward to meet her. “You must be Mrs. Calder.” Her grandmotherly smile matched her rosy cheeks. “I’m Anna Grunwald. I see the servant gave you my card.”
Sloan had forgotten she was still holding it. “Yes, he did. How do you do, Mrs. Grunwald?” Even as she extended a hand in greeting to the woman, her glance skipped to Trey and the silver-haired man in business suit and tie standing next to him.
Trey had his head tipped down, the muscles in his jaw and cheek tautly defined. There was an almost glacial coldness about him that froze her out. She felt the chill of it despite the distance between them.
The older man with him acknowledged Sloan’s glance with a courteous nod, then stepped forward. “We haven’t had the pleasure of meeting, Mrs. Calder. My name’s Wyatt Breedon,” he declared in a drawl as thick and smooth as Texas oil. “Your husband engaged me to represent him.”
Before Sloan had a chance to respond, Anna Grunwald inserted, “These two gentlemen have accompanied me strictly as observers. I am the one you will have to satisfy.” The firmness in her statement carried an undertone of warning.
“What is it you wish to know, Mrs. Grunwald?” Sloan pretended she was unaware of the purpose of the woman’s visit.
“I have been shown official records that indicate you recently gave birth to a child,” the woman began.
“A son, yes.” Sloan nodded.
“Where is your son now?”
“Asleep in his crib.”
“Here in the house, I assume.”
“That’s correct. Why do you ask?” Sloan tipped her head, feigning curiosity.
“Merely to verify that this is the residence in which the child is now living. Now, if you will be good enough to show me where he is,” the woman stated with a no-nonsense lift of her head.
“Of course. The nursery is this way. Please follow me.” Her glance strayed to Trey, but his own gaze was fastened on the matronly woman in the wine-colored suit. Sloan couldn’t help feeling a little stung that he had yet to look at her as she pivoted sharply to lead the way.
But Trey had no need to look at her. Never in his life had he been more aware of her presence than he was at the moment. Her perfume trailed in the air behind her, enveloping him in her scent. The warm cadence of her voice struck deep and strong to vibrate through him. And he didn’t have to look to remember the taste of her lips or the feel of her body beneath his hands.
Yet, despite all the ways that she was familiar to him, she was the still the stranger who had plotted with Rutledge and taken his son from him. Being this close to Sloan, it was something Trey had to constantly remind himself of; there was Sloan, and then there was his illusion of her. They had turned out to be two very separate things.
Ahead of him, Sloan turned into a room that opened off the wide corridor. He saw Anna Grunwald halt two steps inside the room. “And who are you?” he heard her challenge someone. It was a second before Trey located the man she addressed. He was at one of the small bureaus, stowing something in one of its drawers.
