An elderly woman approached him up the sidewalk with her walker. “Who are you looking for?”
He put on a friendly smile. “Aspen Northcott. She’s not listed anymore.”
“She moved out last week.”
His smile slipped. “Are you sure?” How had he missed this?
“Positive.”
Hell. “Do you know where she went?”
“No idea.” Her demeanor became decidedly less friendly. “Excuse me.” She edged past him to unlock the door. He held it for her while she went in, his mind spinning. Where the hell had Aspen gone? Probably already spending the money she hadn’t earned.
He stalked back to the car, livid and feeling sick to his stomach. Harry had left her the Outer Banks beach house, and it was worth a couple million. Enough to fix Steven’s problem. Could she have sold it already?
God, what if she had, and spent all the money elsewhere? His grandfather had changed his will after he was diagnosed with terminal cancer—and hadn’t told anyone about it. Meanwhile, Steven had still been operating under the assumption that he would inherit everything one day, because that’s what he’d been promised since he was in his teens.
He still couldn’t believe it. The old man’s money should have gone to him, not his fucking first-cousin-once-removed, but Aspen had fooled everyone and worked behind the scenes to get what she wanted as his grandfather deteriorated.
She’d preyed on a dying old man and taken everything from Steven. He was going to get it all back, no matter what it took.
He got into his car and sat there for a moment, his heart drumming fast against his ribs as a hint of fear crept in. The weight of his financial failures sat heavy on his shoulders, more and more every day, threatening to crush him.
He dragged a hand over his mouth, thinking fast. He’d had a run of bad luck with his investments since his grandfather became terminal, risking too much too fast. He’d built a life he couldn’t afford, banking on receiving that money soon after his grandfather died.
Now what?
They’ll kill me.
Sweat dotted his forehead and upper lip, having nothing to do with the hot California sun. He owed a lot of money. To dangerous people.
Some of them lethal.
His hand shook as he took out his phone and pulled up his lawyer’s number. He hated burning through any more money in legal fees, but he didn’t see what other choice he had. He’d already contested the will citing grounds of undue influence, and lost. His only chance now was to hopefully win the appeal he’d filed for. Otherwise he’d be forced to take more…extreme and permanent measures.
The ringtone droned in his ear while his mind raced to all the catastrophic end results staring him in the face. He and Gina were about to lose the house they loved. There was no more money.
And they could potentially lose a whole lot more than that.
He swallowed, his belly cramping, desperation twining through him with choking tendrils. He needed that money. Without it he was a walking target, and Gina too. They’d spend the rest of their lives scraping out an existence somewhere living month to month or even week to week, always looking over their shoulders, expecting someone to come for them at any moment.
“Steven. How are you?” his lawyer said.
“I’ve been better. Please tell me you have news about the appeal?”
“Not yet. Why, what’s going on?”
He couldn’t tell him. Couldn’t admit how bad things were, and how he’d squandered an obscene amount of money he didn’t have, expecting to pay it all off with the inheritance that should have come to him. “Aspen’s moved out of her place and no one seems to know where she is. Do you?”
“No, I have no idea, only that it’s possible she’s not in California anymore.”
Shit. He raked an unsteady hand through his hair, his palm damp. “Where the hell would she have gone?” Her whole life was here—such as it was. That conniving little bitch had packed up and fled to a different state to try and hide from him?
He’d find her no matter where she’d gone. And God, he was dreading telling Gina this when he got home. She didn’t take disappointment well.
“Don’t know. I can look into it, but—”
“No.” If he was going to spend more money on this shit show, it wouldn’t be to the tune of four-hundred-bucks per hour. “I’ll get back to you once I find out where she is.”
He ended the call and phoned the private investigator he’d hired months back—a distant relative of Gina’s—at a much more reasonable fee schedule than the high-priced lawyer who had gotten him nothing but more debt. “Aspen’s apparently moved out of the state,” he said when the man answered. “I need to know where she is. Exactly where she is.”
“I’m on it. In the meantime, you might be interested in some dirt I managed to dig up on her last night.”
Hope and excitement twined inside him as he listened to what the PI told him. “I’m not surprised,” he said when the man was done.
It made so much sense now. This had all been to cover up her mess. His fucking grandfather had fallen for her woe-is-me story and stepped in to make it all go away, even from beyond the grave. Shit.
“I knew there had to be a reason why she would run,” he muttered. At least now he had the leverage he needed. If Aspen wanted him to go away and stay quiet about what she’d done, she would have to pay him what he deserved.
“And you were right.”
Of course he was. He’d pegged her as a manipulative gold digger from day one. “Find her, and call me as soon as you have a location.”
If he couldn’t get the money through legal means, he’d get it by forcing her hand.
One way or the other, he was getting back what was rightfully his.
Chapter Three
Bowie checked his watch for the third time in the last hour. Time had been dragging by all morning, but when he heard the Morris driving alongside the garage, he instantly set his socket wrench aside and headed straight for the reception area.
Not because he was looking forward to seeing the driver, he told himself. He was just curious about her.
So curious that she’d been on his mind since yesterday.
He ignored the questioning look Barb gave him from behind the computer, all his attention on the door.
Aspen breezed in a moment later, this time wearing a red halter dress with white polka dots, complete with that fluffy thing women used to wear under the skirt to make it puffy. Her shiny black heels showed off bright red toenails, and her dark hair was pulled up into a ponytail, that shock of white in her bangs falling across her forehead.
She pulled off her sunglasses, one side of her mouth lifting when she saw him standing at the front desk. “Hi. Am I late?”
“Not at all.” Okay, so he was more than curious. Any woman who could pull off that kind of retro look with that much confidence meant she was comfortable in her own skin and knew exactly who she was. Bowie admired that. And he also appreciated the view.
He made sure he kept his eyes off the generous curves of her breasts outlined in the bodice of the dress, instead focusing on her arm tats as she walked over to hand him the keys. He caught her clean, citrusy scent again, and found himself breathing deeply to pull in more of it.