Page 116 of Riding the High

“This marriage certificate, Cole. Did you have it sent here, to your office?” she asks.

I think for a moment as a memory flashes through my mind of doing just that. Because I remember thinking in my half-drunken stupor it would be better to have it come to the office instead of home.

“Yes, I didn’t want to risk Mabes seeing it,” I tell her. She looks thoughtful. “What is it, Ginger?” I ask.

“It may be nothing,” she says, chewing her bottom lip. “But what mailbox is yours?”

“Second one in. Abbott’s is before mine,” I answer her, mentioning a deputy.

“Goddammit,” Ginger mutters under her breath. “He took it.”

“What?” I ask.

Her eyes flit to mine. “I saw him. When I brought Mabes here for lunch. I don’t know why but I remember thinking he looked … suspicious.” She keeps talking as she stands and starts to pace. “He pulled mail out of that slot and I couldn’t see if he took anything. But it was odd because, after just a few moments, he put the stack of envelopes back and left.”

“Motherfucker,” I breathe out.

Ginger stops pacing and looks at me. “He’s been stealing your mail, Cole. He has our marriage certificate, maybe the photos you said we had coming?”

I scrub my jaw and lean back in my chair. She puts her hands on her hips.

“Teamwork, baby.” She smirks. “If you can prove it, there’s your option three.”

I stand and look out the window, gathering my thoughts.

“You’re a genius,” I tell her. “And, in case I haven’t made it clear to you, you’remygenius.”

She giggles as I grab my ID badge off my desk.

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“To get my proof,” I say.

I turn to leave but, instead, I stop and walk back to kiss her.

“I love you. Thank you for being in my corner,” I say.

“I love you too, Cole, and I’ll always be in your corner,” she whispers, filling me with every bit of encouragement I need to nail this fucker to the wall.

As I blast through my office door and down the hall, I make sure to tell Bev to put a hold on that press conference.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Cole

“What are you doing here, Cole?” Gemma asks, arms folded across her chest. The front door sits partially open. “I’m in the middle of making dinner.”

She flips her hair over her shoulder. She’s nervous, but I don’t want her. I want her slimy boyfriend.

“Where’s Brent?” I say, my jaw set, my tone easy. I’m nothing but calm and she can sense it. It’s making her uncomfortable.Good.

“He’s … sick,” she says, her voice faltering.

“Uh-huh,” I say as I push the door open and breeze through it. “This will only take a second,” I assure her.

I stalk through the house I know well—the house I lived in miserably for years. And when I hear the sound of eighties rock coming from the backyard, I follow it.

Sure as shit, looking not the least bit sick, is Brent, drinking a beer and working on a dilapidated dirt bike.

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