Chapter 21 Arden
ARDEN
Arden pulled Baz’s truck over on the shoulder of the highway. She wasn’t used to driving something this big; it handled like a barge. She checked the phone for a signal.
She had found the keys in the truck under the floor mat. Guilt chewed on her, but even stronger was the knowledge that she had to resolve this, one way or another.
As much as she hated to admit it, Declan was right, in his own way. She had lied to them. She had brought danger to them.
And she was going to fix it.
She waited to try to make the call until she was far enough from Windrock that she didn’t think any of them were likely to catch up soon. When she opened the flip phone, there were two presets, just as Sloan had said.
Arden wiped some mud off the edge of it. She was very tempted to call Sloan and have him talk to Grant for her. At least she knew Sloan would be relatively friendly.
But she was done running. Done letting other people fight her battles for her.
She dialed Grant’s number, crossed her fingers, and waited.
It rang twice before Grant picked up. “This had better be important. I’m waiting on a call from the head of—”
“Grant? It’s me.”
A brief, startled silence. Then Grant spoke with all the smooth, fake charm that had once fooled her. “Well, there are you are, honey. Are you all right? Are you ready to come home now?”
Arden’s hand balled into a fist on her leg. Home wasn’t some lonely mansion in a gated community, and it definitely didn’t have Grant in it. Home was—she wasn’t quite ready to think about where and what home was for her now.
“I’d like to meet, Grant. Let’s get lunch somewhere in town.”
“My schedule is full. You can come to my hotel room tonight—”
“No,” she said shortly. Again the surprised silence. “There’s a diner in Wildcat Forks. We’ll meet there.”
“I told you to never interrupt me.” And there was the real Grant. “And you don’t give me orders.”
“Clear your schedule,” Arden told him. “I’ll be there in an hour, alone. Believe me, this is the most important meeting you’re going to have today.”
It was actually more than an hour, because it took her longer than she remembered to drive to the town, and then she had to find the diner again, a greasy spoon place called Sammie Jo’s. The phone rang several times as she drove. Arden ignored it.
Sloan’s black SUV was parked out front. Arden pulled in beside it.
They wouldn’t try anything surrounded by people, would they?
All Grant cared about was his public image.
Arden was starting to think she should have picked a different time, or a different place; it was past the lunch rush, and there was only one other car in the lot. But it was too late to turn back.
On the seat beside her was the envelope she had collected from her cabin, the one she had carried with her all this time. She shoved it under her jacket to hide it and got out of the truck.
The door of Sammie Jo’s had a little bell that tinkled.
Arden opened the door on a scene from another time, the plastic booths and red checked tablecloths and the counter with an old man drinking coffee and a cheerful-looking waitress busily wrapping flatware in paper napkins.
“Just sit down anywhere—oh hi, sweetie! I remember you.”
“Me too,” Arden said, smiling at her. “You told me where to find a place to camp out while I got my head together.”
“That’s right. Did it work?”
“It did,” Arden said firmly. “I know myself a lot better now.”
“Good for you, hon. Go ahead and find a table, and I’ll be with you in a minute.”
“Actually, this time I’m meeting someone. And I see them there.”
Sloan and Grant were seated in a booth near the window. Sloan, facing the door, had already risen with his usual efficiency. Grant got up more slowly, but he was on his feet by the time she reached them.
Arden barely paid attention to Sloan; her attention was riveted on Grant.
He hadn’t changed a bit. Still the same immaculate suit, the smooth waves of hair with every hint of gray dyed out—she hadn’t even realized that he was fifteen years older than her when they were first dating.
Once, he’d had a smooth, bright smile for her whenever he saw her.
Now his mouth was a grim line, and his eyes were fixed on her with cold enmity.
“Arden,” he said. “Sit down.”
Arden would have liked to remain standing on general principle, but that was going to make this conversation awkward.
Grant sat firmly down in the booth, moved over to make room for her, but she didn’t want to be next to either him or Sloan.
Instead, she dragged a chair from the nearest table and sat on that.
Sloan looked awkward, clearly unsure if bodyguarding was going to be called for, and if so, for whom. He sat down slowly as well.
Grant glowered. It was evident that this was already not quite going his way, and he didn’t entirely understand why. “So you’ve finally come to your senses and decided to stop camping out in that ridiculous gold mining town.”
“I’ve come to talk,” Arden said evenly. She tried to keep a tight control on her temper. Grant had always known exactly how to work her up, make her cry or yell, until she ended up feeling like the one who had to apologize. Not this time. “Sloan showed me the pictures he took.”
“Ah.” Grant’s smile reappeared, smooth as a snake’s slinky glide. It was the smile that meant he thought he had the upper hand. “So you understand what your new so-called friends are.”
“Yeah, they’re shifters,” Arden said. There was no sense in playing dumb about it. “I also know you have no problem with shifters yourself. You sponsor anti-shifter bills because it plays well to your constituents, not because you personally hate them.”
Grant shrugged. “So? It’s not like it matters. I didn’t think you’d want to associate with them, or them with you, if they knew about your history.”
Arden dropped her gaze, ashamed, then looked up swiftly when the waitress arrived carrying a plastic glass of water.
Both Grant and Sloan had nothing but drinks in front of them, Grant a cup of coffee and Sloan a Coke.
As the waitress put Arden’s water glass in front of her, she said in a slightly pointed tone, “Anything else I can get you, hon? You happy here?”
Are you in trouble? was the clear implication.
“No thanks, I’m fine,” Arden told her.
After the waitress left, Grant said, “You can’t possibly be enjoying yourself in this one-horse town. You used to prefer the finer things in life.”
“Yeah, because you introduced me to them. When you met me, I was a struggling college student who could barely afford ramen.” Arden stopped and took a deep breath.
She could not allow Grant to control this conversation.
More calmly, she said, “But that doesn’t matter.
I’m not here because I miss fancy furniture and nice restaurants.
I’m here because you and Sloan—” She gave Sloan a pointed look, letting him know he wasn’t going to be left out of this conversation even if he wanted to be.
“You two have pictures of one of my friends. I want those pictures destroyed.”
Grant huffed a small, sharp-edged laugh. He still thought this was going his way; Arden knew the signs. Sloan looked less certain.
“Sure,” Grant said. “Once you’re back home with me, we’ll delete all the copies.”
“That’s not how that’s going to go,” Arden told him.
Grant looked at her as if a chair had suddenly spoken to him and told him that it didn’t want to be sat upon anymore.
Arden reached under her jacket and removed the envelope. She placed it on the table beside her water glass.
She had to admit it didn’t look very impressive. It had been carried around in her backpack for weeks; it was crumpled and dirty and a little water-stained on one corner.
“Sloan?” Grant said. “What exactly did you give her? You said she didn’t take the dragon pictures with her.”
“She didn’t. That’s not from me.” Sloan was looking at her in the way Grant wasn’t—curious, and a little impressed, even. He had guessed she had something up her sleeve, even if he didn’t know exactly what yet.
“This is my insurance,” Arden said. She swallowed and placed a hand on it.
“When I left you, Grant, I took some things with me. Every dirty deal, every shady under-the-counter bribe—I don’t have proof of all of it, Grant, but I have enough.
Maybe not enough to put you in jail, but I can definitely end your career if I send this to the newspapers.
You tried to blackmail me, but let’s just say . .. Grant, I learned from the best.”
Grant stared at her.
Then he lunged and grabbed the envelope away from her.
“What the hell is this? What game are you playing? Why the hell would you just give me—” His face changed; he placed the envelope beside him on the booth seat, on his other side.
“Anyway, whatever you think is in there, you made a big mistake coming here with it.”
“I would have, if I only had one copy, but I’m not that stupid, Grant.”
“Sloan,” Grant said coldly. “Restrain her. She’s coming with us whether she wants to or not.”
Arden tensed, but Sloan didn’t move.
“Sloan, I said—”
“I heard you, sir,” Sloan said quietly. “And I’m going to pretend I didn’t, because I’m sure that you telling me to kidnap your ex-wife isn’t something either of us wants to happen.
” He shot a sideways glance at the waitress, who kept giving them looks, and the other customer, sipping coffee and reading a newspaper at the counter. “Especially in front of witnesses.”
Arden realized she must not have inhaled in a while because her lungs were screaming for air, and sucked in a deep, shaking breath. Her hands were trembling. “Thank you.”
“Yes,” Grant said dangerously, “thank you, Sloan.”
“Always looking out for your best interests, sir.”
Arden cleared her throat. “I don’t plan to go public with any of this, Grant ... if you destroy the photos that Sloan took and finish signing my divorce paperwork.”
Grant’s hand shot out and closed around her wrist. Arden jerked in surprise.
“If you think you’re just going to walk out of here after threatening me, you’re very much mistaken.”
“Let go of me,” Arden said between her teeth.
At that moment, the door slammed inward, the bell’s tinkle more of a clash, and a wonderfully familiar voice bellowed, “Get your hands off her!”