Chapter 11
“Sir?” Worthington asked, his features creasing with concern. “Is everything all right?”
Grant snapped out of his daze and pressed the button to reset the phone. He jabbed at the line for his security team head as he shook his head. “No, everything is not all right.”
His mind raced through possibilities. The threat against Julia wasn’t just a shadow looming, it had cast a pall over everything. The implications were far-reaching, ranging from personal safety to business stability.
“What happened? Is there anything I can do?”
“I’m calling Max. Someone just threatened Julia.”
“Oh, my word,” Worthington answered. “Shall I call the police, sir?”
“No.” Calling the police may do more harm than good. If they wanted money, he’d pay it. But he had to know what he was dealing with. The line trilled before Max picked up.
“Mr. Harrington. I’ve got Mrs. Harrington under surveillance, but no word yet. As soon as–“
“Fine, Max, I need you to trace a call I just received. Get to my office now.” He didn’t wait for a response before he slammed the receiver down and returned his gaze to the photograph.
The threat could have come from anyone. A business rival, someone unhappy with their current contract, or even the person who had sent Julia the threatening note just before the gala. They hadn’t had much luck tracking down the people involved in Evelyn’s disappearance.
He curled his hand into a fist as frustration filled him. His emotions wavered from fear for her to upset over her current location. Was she with someone else at this moment?
He dug his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through the contacts until he found Julia’s name. His shaky thumb hovered over the call icon, a war of emotions raging within him. Calling her now meant facing a reality he dreaded, yet the gnawing uncertainty was unbearable.
She meant too much for him not to. He hit the button, and the line dialed. His fingers tightened on the device as her cheery voice filled his ear. “Hi, you’ve reached Julia Stanton. I can’t take your call right now–“
Grant’s fingers lingered on the device as he ended the call, a turbulent mix of fear and betrayal churning below the surface. As his chest tightened, he tossed the phone onto the desk. It clattered against the mahogany, breaking the tense silence of the room.
“Perhaps she is still driving, sir,” Worthington offered.
Grant rubbed his neck as he stared at the phone. Maybe. Or maybe she was otherwise engaged.
Max’s arrival pulled him from his rumination. The man tapped on his Bluetooth earpiece as he strode into the room. “Call was untraceable. May I ask the nature?”
Grant shoved the picture toward him. “I received this a minute before someone called and threatened Julia.”
Max glanced at the photo. “Any idea when this was taken?”
“Night of the Crescent City Gala.”
“So, several weeks ago,” Max said with a nod as he studied the envelope, searching for any distinguishing marks.
“What difference does that make?” Grant leapt from his chair, pacing the floor behind him.
“Well, timing is everything. A picture several weeks old doesn’t suggest they have eyes on her right now. Who delivered this?”
Grant’s pace quickened, each step echoing in the room until he stopped, curling his fingers into fists until his knuckles whitened.
“Speedy Courier,” Worthington answered. “The name tag said Pat.”
Max typed the information into his phone. “I’ll get a call going to them to see if we can find out who ordered the delivery.”
“Because that worked out so well the last time.”
“We can’t track cash transactions or off-the-books ones. You, of all people, should know that.”
Grant scrunched his features as the veiled comment didn’t miss its mark. He’d made some shady handshake deals in the past in the name of advancing his business. Were they rearing their ugly heads again at the worst possible moment?
“What did they say on the call?” Max asked.
“That it was someone I owed and unless I wanted anything to happen to Julia, I’d pay. Instructions to follow.” Grant scrubbed his face as he leaned back in his chair.
“Male, female, any recognizable speech patterns?”
“They used a voice changer. Hung up right after they made the threat.”
“Doesn’t give us much to go on. Any chance you were able to reach Mrs. Harrington? Have her come home while we sort this out?”
“She’s not answering her cell.” The words sounded hollow as he reminded himself of where she was.
“I’ve got Reynolds on her. You want me to have him intercept?”
Grant’s mind whirled at the question. He desperately wanted to ensure she never got to the destination he suspected of her. But he also wanted confirmation. Stopping her this time wouldn’t solve the issue. He needed to know what he was up against. “No. Let her go, but keep a close eye on her.”
“Is that wise, sir?” Worthington asked.
“Picture’s old. Call said to expect instructions. My guess is they’re not moving on this today,” Max said. “They won’t do anything that’ll stop them from getting whatever it is they’re after. Best thing you can do right now is make sure you have some liquid assets to work with in case they put us on a short clock.”
Grant bobbed his head as he focused on the picture of her in the sapphire dress. Could this be a disgruntled business rival? Or whoever was responsible for the unexplained events surrounding Evelyn Carter? “Just figure out who is doing this.”
“We’re on it, sir. We’ll get to the bottom of it.” Max offered him a nod before he strode from the room, tapping his Bluetooth again and speaking into it.
“Things just keep going from bad to worse,” Grant said as Worthington closed the door.
“Would you like something stronger than coffee?”
Grant snapped his gaze to the man, appreciating his ability to anticipate his needs. “Bourbon.”
With a nod, Worthington crossed the room to the drink cart. “Perhaps another phone call to Mrs. Harrington would help.”
Grant stared at the phone, unable to lift it from its spot. He wished the suggestion would work, but he doubted she’d answer.
“Well,” Worthington said when he failed to answer, “let’s hope she’s home safe and sound very soon.”
Grant nodded, but his mind raced through a maze of doubts and fears. The bourbon, usually a solace, seemed like a meager balm for the storm raging inside him.
His eyes focused on the phone as the burn of the alcohol warmed him. He willed it to ring, wanting to see Julia’s name appear on the screen. But the black display never lit, and the phone never rang.
“Why haven’t they found anything on DG Industries?” Grant asked, his voice hollow.
“My understanding is that this is a shell corporation. Designed specifically to hide identities.”
Grant let his head thud against the chair’s high back. “I know that. But we can’t figure out who is doing all of this if we can’t find any information on them. It’s out there. Maybe I need to make a change on my security team.”
“Mr. Sterling came highly recommended,” Worthington answered.
“I don’t care. If he can’t get results, it doesn’t matter.”
“You’re frustrated. Rightfully so. But that does not mean someone else would have solved this.”
Grant slid his eyes closed and shook his head. “You’re annoying when you’re right, Worthington.”
“It’s a shame I tend to be right so often, then.” The man offered Grant a weak smile.
Grant sipped the bourbon, his mind trying to vet through the likely culprits. To pass the time spent waiting for any news, he jotted down a list of people they should look into further. Those business associates who would play by these rules and had dangerous connections.
He watched the time pass by, marked by the slow ticking of the mantel clock, the only sound in the tense room.
Finally, the shrill ring of the phone split the silence. His heart hammered as he stared at the receiver before snatching it. “Yeah?”
“The good news is it appears Mrs. Harrington is on her way back to her car,” Max said.
“And you have the information about where she went?”
“I’m on my way up. I’d prefer to deliver the news in person.”
Grant slammed down the receiver, his fingers curling into fists again. Delivering the news in person meant it wasn’t good. His stomach turned over as he prepared for what he was about to hear. As each second stretched, he filled with more and more dread along with that last gasp of unspoken hope that his fears were unfounded.
Max stepped into the foyer a minute later and strode to the office, closing the doors behind him after he entered. He clutched a folder to his chest as he offered Grant a serious look.
Grant stared at the manila folder, his stomach turning over. “Well?”
Max offered him the folder before he expounded on the contents. “She went to The Regency. As you can see from the photographs, she removed her rings before she entered. She exited shortly after with a man, unknown identity at this time.”
Grant stared down at the pictures of his wife with her arm threaded through another man’s. She grinned up at him as they walked.
“They went to a coffee shop and spent about forty-five minutes there together before they returned to The Regency. She went to his room for about forty minutes, then left.”
Grant flipped through the pictures, his heart stopping as he stared at an image of their hands clutched together. He flipped to another of her mid-laugh, her eyes sparkling. In another photo, her hand rested gently on his arm, her head thrown back in laughter. The next showed a shared look of understanding, a connection that seemed effortless.
She looked so comfortable with him, so easy. The way she leaned into him, the uninhibited laughter, it was all a stark contrast to the careful, calculated interactions they’d had.
Another showed them on their walk back to the hotel. They paused outside the steps, embracing, Julia’s lips pressed to his cheek.
He stared at it, sizing up the competition. The man looked nothing like him, dressed in a flannel shirt and hiking boots. What connection did they share? What drew them together?
One question loomed in his mind over the others: could he compete?
Julia appeared relaxed in every photo, genuine and happy.
His eyes lingered on each photograph, the images searing into his memory. A maelstrom of jealousy, hurt, and a gnawing sense of inadequacy swirled within him. Each laugh, each touch captured in the pictures provided a stark reminder of what he feared he could never have.
His mind flicked to a time when she’d seemed to share a genuine laugh with him, those few fleeting moments where an unexpected tenderness had slipped through the business-like arrangement. The gentle touch on his forearm as he fought a murder charge, the simple adjustment of his bowtie as they faced a hostile group together. But now each memory was tainted.
“Sir?” Worthington offered.
“Get out,” Grant growled.
“Mr. Harrington–“ Worthington answered.
“I said get out!” He slammed his fist against the desk. Max and Worthington shuffled from the room.
“Keep searching for information on that phone call,” he called as the doors closed.
Once the latch clicked shut, the floodgate of emotions opened. He bit into his lower lip before he tossed the pictures across the room and rose, clutching the edge of the desk as they continued to burn through his mind even after he’d thrown them away.
Her words from the night before echoed in his head in an endless torment. “I love you, too.”
His chest tightened as his vision blurred. How had this happened? How had he allowed himself to fall for a woman who was unattainable?
And how could he fix it?
He collapsed in his chair as the door opened again, and Worthington slipped inside. Silently, he collected the photographs strewn across the floor and neatly stacked them in the folder. Grant rubbed at his forehead.
“Perhaps a simple conversation, sir,” Worthington said.
“Is she home?”
“Not yet, though it should not be much longer if she was going to her car.” Worthington lingered at the corner of the desk. “You’ve handled crises before, sir.”
“This one’s different.”
Grant tried to imagine the conversation playing out when Julia arrived. He’d ask her who the man was, and why she met him despite already knowing those answers. She’d tell him it was none of his business. Or worse. “I love him, Grant. Our marriage…it’s just a business transaction.”
“Perhaps this feels different because you feel differently.”
He rubbed his chin with a shaky hand as he tried to formulate a response and a course of action. He stared into a void, his mind a churning whirlpool of thoughts and emotions.
The ringing of his cell phone interrupted both. It buzzed across the desk, breaking the tense silence.
He glanced at the caller. Sierra. He couldn’t handle a call from her right now, so he let it go to voicemail. A second later a text message came through. Where are you? 911 Emergency. Call!!!
His forehead creased at the message. What else? He wasn’t certain he could handle much more as he snatched the phone and placed a call to his daughter.
“Daddy!” Her shrill voice irritated him, though he detected an unusual note of panic breaking through her normal composure.
“What is it, Sierra? I’m busy.”
“It’s Julia!”
His heart skipped a beat and he sat up straighter. Had Sierra caught her with the other man? “What about Julia?”
“She was hit by a car.”
Grant’s heart seized, the words echoing in a hollow chamber of disbelief. His grip tightened on the phone, a lifeline in the sudden storm. “What?” he choked out, his voice barely above a whisper as he struggled to silence the tide of panic rising within him.
“We’re at St. Mary’s Memorial. Just get here.” The line went dead, cutting him off from any new information. A profound sense of helplessness washed over him as the walls of certainty he’d built around himself crumbled.