“But she told you.”
Gabrielle cocked her head. “Maybe. In a roundabout way.”
The woman was maddening. He was paying her. She was representing him. Not Missy—probably short for Melissa—Bolin.
“I’m here to help you collect information that could impact the potential charges against your father and thus might affect you,” she told him. “Your personal business is your own.”
Yes. But he didn’t want it to be. He wanted her to share it with him. All of it. Down to the soap he used in the shower.
The thought brought him up short. And, though he wasn’t proud of himself, he did what guys sometimes did. He went on the attack.
“Why don’t you date?” he asked her.
“Funny question from a ladies’ man who hasn’t been on a date in weeks.”
“I just broke up with Jenna.” And she knew why he had.
“I’d expect you to be playing the entire field at this point. You used to flirt all the time when you were out with Marie and me.”
His past behavior had earned him the comment.
“Jenna would be humiliated if I started being seen with other women so soon after dumping her.”
Even though, on that last night, she’d begged him to break up with her. She’d met someone else. Someone she was in love with. She was just waiting the appropriate amount of time before she started seeing him publicly.
“Anyway, quit trying to divert a question by putting it back on me, counselor. My love life has nothing to do with the fact that you haven’t been out in more than a year.” If she’d just hurry up and get herself hitched, it would decimate this growing threat that he might screw everything up between them due to his sudden feeling that she was the only woman alive.
“It’s been about two months.” Her dry reply didn’t thrill him.
“Two months? Who did you go out with? I didn’t know about it.” And now he was jealous?
“You don’t know a lot of things about me, Connelly,” she said, her words softened by the grin she gave him. “He was a cop. A detective. I met him in court. We went out a few times.”
“But it didn’t work out.” Too bad.
“He wanted to get serious, and I’m serious about my work.”
She hadn’t been in love with the guy. Just like she hadn’t loved any of the other men she’d dated since he’d known her. The thought gave him an odd sense of security.
Because she was a good woman. Honest, morally upright. The kind a man could count on to be true to him. The kind he’d want to take home to his parents. To raise his family.
His thoughts were off-the-wall. Out there. Aged. Chauvinistic. Because in reality, there was no hint of old-fashioned family values in his life. He was plagued with the surreal knowledge that at eight o’clock the next morning, he was going to meet his sister. After thirty years of thinking himself an only child, born to parents who’d loved and been faithful to each other. Putting up with his father’s harsh, autocratic ways had been bearable because he’d been so certain that, at heart, his father was a good man who loved him.
And had adored his mother. A man his mother had adored. Enough to give him a second chance when he’d gambled away his fortune.
Whatever. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He was a grown man with his own life. It was up to him what he made of it. And it was time to get on with doing it.
* * *
GABRIELLE HAD GIVEN Missy their itinerary. They knew where they were staying. Missy had chosen the restaurant for their initial meeting Saturday morning.
The plan was to have breakfast and then go on to Missy’s to sort through Walter’s files. Liam could keep them or dispose of them. Missy just wanted them out of her house.
If all went well with the meeting between Liam and Tamara, they’d spend Saturday evening together before Gabrielle and Liam’s flight back to Denver Sunday morning.
Sitting next to Liam in the middle seat of a fairly empty plane to Florida, Gabrielle concentrated on the details of their trip. Doing a mental rundown of times. Locations. Goals.
A pretty young flight attendant stopped beside his aisle seat, asking if they wanted anything. He ordered them each a coffee and Gabrielle faltered. His arm was up against hers. Brushed hers as he placed her steaming-hot cup on the tray table she’d lowered from the seat back in front of her.