His Saint (Forever Wilde 5)

“Stop disparaging the man I like,” I said in a firm voice. “It’s insulting to me as a connoisseur of fine male forms.”

Augie’s jaw dropped. “It’s like I want to be both jealous and proud. You’re so fucking confusing. And weird.”

I felt myself smirk. “You’re not the first to say it.”

He stepped into the closet, moved clothes to either side along the hanging bar, and began to climb.

“What the hell?” I stood and followed him toward the closet.

“Stay back!” he barked. “Don’t come in here.”

I stopped halfway there and watched as his entire body disappeared into the ceiling of his closet, leaving a clear view of the ladder rungs built into the back wall.

After making his way back down, he turned and presented me with a wooden box about the size of my sock drawer. We settled back down next to each other on the bed with the warm covers pulled up. He pulled off his necklace so he could use the key to open it.

As he pulled the lid open, he explained. “I already checked it after Grandfather asked about it last week. I didn’t see anything besides the love letter packet.”

The box opened on a slant, creating a sloped writing surface covered in a thin smooth layer of tan leather surrounded by shiny gold-leaf details. There were a few visible drawers and sections that I imagined were for ink pots and quills as well as paper, but I was surprised when Augie unlatched the leather-covered writing surface and lifted it up to reveal a storage space underneath.

There, bound in old ribbon, was the stack of love letters.

“See?”

“Wow,” I murmured. “If I think that’s amazing, I can’t imagine how much it interests you with your love of antiques and history.”

“Right? It’s so cool. To have something this special that’s actually attached to my own family’s history.”

“Are there any other hidden compartments? Someplace your grandfather could have hidden information.”

“Nothing big enough to hide a letter or paper,” he said. “There’s a spot, but it’s only big enough to hold a tiny pocket portrait or locket—something like that.”

He closed the writing surface and opened up the equivalent panel on the other end. Nothing was in that side of the large storage area, but then Augie reached a finger deep inside the space under the hinge and did something that made a click sound.

A tiny panel door popped open below one of the ink pot cubbies, revealing a dark space with the barest glint of something silver in it.

We both leaned in closer to see what it was, fully expecting an old key or piece of jewelry.

It was neither of those things, but I recognized it right away.

Jackpot.

Chapter 29

Augie

It was a USB drive.

Seeing something so modern inside the two-hundred-year-old box was jarring. Just when I wanted to sputter out, “What the hell?” Saint was reaching for the little device with an excited grunt.

His fingers were too big to get a good hold on it, so I batted his hand away. “Skinny comes in handy sometimes,” I muttered, reaching for the little thing. “I never even thought to look in here earlier. Just glanced in the main storage areas in case someone had shoved in… I don’t even know. Papers? It didn’t occur to me anyone else really knew about this tiny spot. I’m an idiot.”

I handed the drive to him and peered into the tiny space to make sure nothing else was lurking there.

“Do you have a computer here?” Saint asked.

I stood up and grabbed my bathrobe from the back of the bathroom door. “Yeah, let me grab it. It’s brand-new, so I haven’t had a chance to set it up yet.”

After retrieving the new MacBook from the box on the kitchen counter, I returned to the bedroom and plugged it in. It took a while to load and process my credentials, but then we were in.

Saint inserted the USB drive into the side of the machine and clicked a few buttons. Suddenly, my grandfather’s face appeared on screen in a video.

“There’s a video file, some photo files, and a few documents. I figured the video file might be a good place to start,” Saint explained.

He hit the Play function to begin.

My grandfather appeared in his study, and I recognized his longtime friend and attorney, Nathan Olsen, moving around in the background, setting paperwork in front of him.

“The purpose of this video is to document my true wishes for property disbursement after my death.” Grandfather’s voice was its typical clipped business style, but Mr. Olsen interrupted to state the date and time into the camera. The video had been taken ten months previously.

“Upon the death of my sister Melody, I inherited her portion of a string of commercial property in Hobie, Texas. I assume she left it to me since I’m the real estate investor, but now that Augie has decided to open an antique shop, the building should belong to him. I have established this property at 820 West Vine Street into a trust for my grandson August Bailey Stiel to ensure the future security of his business in Hobie. This string of three properties was originally owned by our parents. Upon their deaths, one parcel went to Melody, one to me, and the third went to the family business. In the process of creating Augie’s trust, my attorney discovered the parcel owned by the Stiel Corporation had been donated through the Stiel Foundation to a community housing non-profit organization.