“He wants to stand for you. Why don’t you give him a chance?”
“Because I don’t want someone to stand for me, Pete. I want someone to stand with me. And I don’t know if he’s capable of doing that.”
Chapter 10
Sandy didn’t come to him. Trey didn’t realize how much he’d expected her to show up and talk through things until the night went by and she didn’t darken his door. He was still at his desk, looking out at the green as the sky began to lighten with dawn.
What did that mean? Was she still angry? Had they just retreated to their corners? Or were they really through?
He hadn’t wanted to listen. Not with her entire family looking on. Having an audience while she explained why he wasn’t worthy was more than he could endure. But he’d really believed she would come to him, if only to try and dissolve things completely. Maybe it was good that she hadn’t. In his hurt and anger, he might have let her.
Trey was still furious. She’d said she wanted more than a part-time relationship. Well, he wanted a marriage that was more than name only. He wanted her to trust him, to rely on him. He wanted her to need him. Maybe he’d been kidding himself that they ever stood a shot. She hadn’t been willing to share the load at nineteen, and she was no more prepared to do so now. Really, he was a fool to have expected otherwise.
Sandra Campbell Crawford didn’t need him. She didn’t need anybody. The question was, did he love her enough to live with that?
She deserved everything. She said she wanted everything, but she didn’t. Or maybe she didn’t know what everything really was.
It wasn’t a decision he’d be making until he’d calmed down and had time to think, to sleep. As neither of those things would be happening any time soon, he spent some time catching up on details of the London project, answering email from Tess, who’d hit the ground running and taken the reins as if she’d been born to them. He supposed she had been. She was his daughter, after all. The precious baby girl he’d never have had if Sandy was anyone other than who she was.
But it wasn’t the past he was still angry about. It was the now. Checking the time, he shifted focus for the meeting he’d arranged last night.
Waylan wasn’t staying at The Babylon. Trey hadn’t really expected he would be. If money were truly his motive, the boutique hotel was hardly the budget-friendly option. But he wasn’t registered at the Mockingbird Motel, either. Trey had checked as soon as he left Helen’s house. That left the B & B or somewhere else. Before the end of the day, he’d know a helluva lot more than where the bastard was staying. He just wasn’t certain what he’d do with the information.
The intercom buzzed. “Mr. Kane to see you, sir.”
“Send him in.” Trey rose and circled his desk as the office door opened.
A barrel-chested man with a curiously silent walk strode past Louis, a to-go cup of coffee from The Daily Grind in his hand. If Louis had any opinion about the fact that Trey had called the former spook in, he kept it to himself and shut the door.
Kane crossed over and offered his hand. “Mr. Peyton. A pleasure, as always.”
“Thank you for coming so quickly.”
The man had been out of the country when Trey called the night before. He had no idea which country and hadn’t asked. Those were the sorts of details Kane chose not to share and Trey knew better than to ask.
Kane settled into a chair. “What can I do for you, sir?”
Trey hesitated. He was crossing a line here—one he’d deliberately avoided for three decades. Sandy wouldn’t thank him for his interference. But deep in his gut, he knew something was wrong with the entire situation with Waylan. Protecting her was the most important thing, whether she appreciated it or not.
“Standard NDAs apply?”
Kane inclined his head. “Of course. Who’s the target?”
“Waylan Crawford. White male, forty-nine, about six feet tall. Formerly married to one Sandra Campbell Crawford, current mayor of Wishful. They divorced about eighteen years ago. I can provide you with a very, very old address. I don’t know where he’s based now, but as of last night, he was here in Wishful.”
“Anything in particular you want to know?”
“Everything. Financials, known associates, job history. I want to know everything this son of a bitch has been up to for the past thirty years.”
Kane lifted a brow, the equivalent to a shock on his usually impassive face. “Thirty years, sir?”
“We go back a long way.”
The other man studied him with the kind of flat, assessing stare Trey felt certain he’d used in interrogation. “This isn’t your usual kind of request.”
“No. It’s personal. I believe he’s a threat to my wife.” No reason to keep that a secret. Kane could ferret the information out in less than five minutes, if he’d a mind to.
“I didn’t realize you’d remarried. Congratulations, sir.”