From where they’d had dinner, it was a straight shot to downtown Charleston. As he tailed Zoe, Ryan wondered if he’d have done something like this before his troubles with Kelly Briggs. He’d never considered himself naïve when it came to women, but after the way he’d misread Kelly, Ryan’s first impulse was to assume the worst. He wasn’t proud of his newly cynical perspective or the way it warred with his innate desire to give people the benefit of the doubt. Being suspicious tainted him somehow.
When Highway 52 became King Street and Zoe’s car continued straight on, Ryan suspected she wasn’t heading home but rather to one of the downtown bars. This was where things could get dicey. He’d have to follow her in to see what she was up to, all the while staying out of sight.
But even as Ryan pondered how to accomplish this, Zoe turned onto a side street and parked behind a retail building. Ryan kept going, but slowed to read the name painted on the windows of the darkened store. Second Chance Treasures. The place where Zoe said she worked. What could she possibly be doing there so late?
Ryan circled the block and found a place down the street where he could observe the parking lot and keep track of who showed up. After an hour, all remained quiet and Ryan’s curiosity morphed into frustration. The entire back of the building was windowless, offering no clue as to what could be going on inside. Additionally, Zoe’s car was the only one in the parking lot. Unless someone had arrived on foot before he’d showed up, Ryan had to assume she was alone.
Frustrated by the lack of action, he put his car back in gear and cruised past the front again. Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, he headed for his nineteenth-century Queen Anne house north of downtown.
He’d bought the home a couple of years ago after a major renovation had resulted in the replacement of the antiquated plumbing and electrical. Sitting on half an acre, the seven-thousand-square-foot home was way more space than he needed, but he loved the yard and the pair of one-bedroom apartments at the back of the property the previous owners had rented out. Ryan didn’t need the hassle of tenants or the extra income, but he appreciated having additional space, separate from the main house, where he could put up out-of-town guests.
After parking in the three-car garage, Ryan made his way across the backyard and into his all-white, ultra-modern kitchen. Most people looking for a historical house would’ve been annoyed that the home’s original character hadn’t been maintained inside. Ryan appreciated the marble countertops, professional appliances and updated fixtures. The single nod to the home’s age was the fireplace along one wall, painted white to blend in. For the rest of the home’s styling, Ryan had chosen white for the walls to play up the original pine flooring and selected furniture pieces with clean lines and neutral tones and paired them with large abstract art pieces.
When visiting for the first time, people were struck by the contrast between the historic exterior and modern minimalist interior. Not everyone approved, but Ryan hadn’t gotten to where he was by being swayed by other people’s opinions.
He poured himself a drink and collapsed onto the couch in his living room with the TV remote in one hand and a crystal tumbler of bourbon in the other. He surfed the local news and stopped when he saw photos of his sister and Lyle Abernathy.
How long would it take for Abernathy to start stirring up trouble? His constituents had grown sick of his antics and he’d been facing a primary challenge in his home district that he was almost sure to lose. That’s why he’d switched to Susannah’s district. That he’d brought his dirty politics with him made Ryan grind his teeth.
He shut off the TV just as his cell rang.
“Nothing much came up during my initial search on Zoe Alston,” Paul began, wasting little time on preliminaries.
“What does that mean?” Ryan asked, his suspicion intensifying at an equal pace with his disappointment. He’d counted on Zoe being as ordinary as she claimed.
“That she doesn’t have any current social media presence or obvious electronic trail.”
“So, she doesn’t exist? Does that mean she gave us a false name?”
“Not false,” Paul corrected. “She’s recently divorced and back to using her maiden name.”
“How recent?”
“A few days. The ink has barely had time to dry.”
A powerful wave of relief blindsided Ryan, making him slightly light-headed. Her skittish behavior made a lot more sense. As did the reason why she’d been so reluctant to go out with him. She wasn’t a spy, but someone who’d suffered a heartbreak. No doubt she wasn’t ready to bare her soul to a stranger.
“Whom was she married to?” Ryan asked.
“Tristan Crosby.”
“Sounds familiar.” The name rang a faint bell, but Ryan couldn’t recall where he’d heard it before.
“He runs Crosby Automotive. The family also owns Crosby Motorsports. The racing team.”
A lightbulb went off in Ryan’s mind. “Harrison Crosby drives for them.”
“That’s his younger brother.”
So, Zoe’s past was a lot more interesting than she’d admitted. And all her excuses about them being from vastly different worlds were a load of crap. Why not just explain that she wasn’t ready to date and leave it at that? Why the fabrication?
The questions renewed Ryan’s distrust.
“Can you do a background check on the owner of a store? Second Chance Treasures.” Ryan gave Paul the address. “And maybe the person who owns the building, as well.”
“Can I assume this is tied into your interest in Zoe Alston?”
“Yes. I can’t explain why, but there’s something up with her and I intend to get to the bottom of it.”