The Temptation (Filthy Rich Americans 5)

I swallowed thickly, and my voice fell to a hush. “I think Jillian’s alive.”

Surprise coated his handsome face, but then a skeptical look swept through and washed it away. He wanted to believe, but he was wary of hope. “What makes you say that?”

“Jillian had a lot of friends, but her younger sister Tiffany is her best friend. They aren’t just close, they’re inseparable. If anything was wrong, Tiffany would know about it, and if Jillian was planning something, well . . . she’d tell her sister.” I focused in on the faint dark blue line that ringed his irises. “As we sit here, the Lamberts are planning Jillian’s memorial service. Everyone is devastated, especially her parents. Ansel’s a mess. But you know the one person who isn’t falling apart right now?” I paused for effect. “Tiffany.”

His eyes clouded. “That doesn’t mean anything. She could still be in shock or processing it.” He tacked it on under his breath. “People deal with grief in different ways, trust me.”

A strange pang flitted through my heart, reminding me this man was no stranger to grief. He’d lost both his mother when he was young and then his stepmother only a few years ago.

“Can I?” I asked. “Trust you?”

Maybe he leaned closer so he could hear better, or perhaps he’d done it to provide reassurance, but his proximity made the booth feel intimate, and my heart beat quicker.

“Because most of the people in Cape Hill can’t be trusted,” I added, “and I’m about to go out on a limb here, Mr. Hale.”

He considered my statement thoughtfully before speaking. “You can trust me. If it helps, Jillian did.” His voice was steady and quiet and genuine. “And it’s Vance.”

I nodded in acknowledgement and opened my mouth to speak, but his face abruptly contorted.

“I mean, I thought she did,” he said.

The tightness in my chest waned a single degree. “I know what you mean.” He’d been as blindsided by her disappearance as I’d been. “She didn’t tell me everything, but I thought something like this . . . I’d know.”

“Yeah.”

We sat in our shared silence for a long moment, and I found it oddly comforting. It was nice not to be alone in this sadness.

It came from me in an uneven voice. “I heard you were the last person to speak to her. Can I ask what you talked about?”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, his fingertips tracing the sharp angles of his jaw. “Nothing important, and nothing to give me any idea what she was planning. She sounded . . . happy.”

But he’d said it with dread, like her being happy was a bad thing—

Oh, no. He thought she’d sounded relieved. Like a difficult decision had been made and her struggle was about to be over. It sat as a heavy stone in my stomach, weighing me down so badly I wondered if the booth would collapse beneath me.

I barely had enough breath to push it out. “I need to know exactly what you talked about.”

Distrust made him cold. “Why?”

Because I need to know if this is all my fault.

“Wayne Lambert has a safe,” I blurted. “And Jillian hired me to get inside it.”

His eyes went wide. “What?”

“I don’t know how you feel about him, but Mr. Lambert is—”

“An asshole.” Vance stated it like it was common knowledge. “He’s loud and rude, and thinks he owns everyone in this town.” The look that flashed through his eyes was superiority. “Which, I can assure you, he does not.”

While I shouldn’t like it, I found his arrogance undeniably sexy. In fact, I found everything about him unfortunately appealing. But I wasn’t interested in a dick measuring contest between two of the wealthiest families in the state, if not the country. The Hales were old money and used to have considerable power, but everything changed when Macalister went to prison.

In his absence, Wayne Lambert had tried to fill the void, and he’d been rather successful at it. It meant his already overinflated ego grew even larger.

“He is an asshole,” I agreed. “He acts like his family is his property, and nobody has it worse than Jillian.”

The man beside me stiffened with what seemed to be anger. “Yeah, I’m aware.”

“She does exactly what her father tells her to do, and then he has the balls to say she has it so easy. He came from nothing, pulled himself up by the bootstraps, and built an empire.” My tone turned as cold and sharp as a knife. “She’d never be able to do something like that, what he did.”

“He won’t let her,” he said. “She tried once and applied for a showing at Fashion Week, but Wayne swooped in and put a stop to it.”

“How?”

“He threatened to cut her off if she went through with it. He was sure she was going to embarrass the family.”