Page 115 of A Legal Affair
He’d spent the most incredible weekend with Daniela, a weekend in which they went horseback riding, dined by candlelight, slow danced under the stars, talked into the wee hours of the morning, and made love so often it was impossible to discern where one body ended and the other began. He couldn’t get enough of her, in bed or out of it, and that was an unprecedented experience for him.
All too soon Monday had rolled around, signaling the approaching end of their time together in their own private paradise. As Caleb drove Daniela home that evening after a candlelit picnic, he was already thinking of ways to get her alone again.
And when he woke up that Tuesday morning bereft of her warm, enticing body curled against him, he knew he had to get her into his life on a permanent basis, whatever it took.
The weekend had also brought clarity on his future with the university. He was tired of sneaking around with Daniela, tired of the constant pressure and guilt of living a lie. It was time to man up and face the music. Time to come clean to his bossabout his secret affair. Kinsale and his family were enjoying an extended holiday vacation in Scotland. When he returned next Tuesday, Caleb intended to speak to him. He would accept whatever decision the dean made.
When his father called and casually asked him to drop by the ranch after his last class of the day, Caleb thought nothing of it.
But the moment he crossed the threshold of his father’s study and saw the grim expression on Crandall’s face, he knew he wasn’t going to like what he heard. And that was putting it mildly.
“Have a seat, son,” Crandall offered, waving him into a chair. There were pronounced lines of strain around his mouth that hadn’t been there last night, when Caleb picked him up from the airport after taking Daniela home.
He eyed his father warily as he sat down. “What’s going on, Dad?”
“This morning I received a visit from the private investigator I hired to run surveillance on Hoyt Philbin.”
Caleb’s jaw clenched at the mention of the former mayor, who’d been on a relentless campaign to ruin Crandall for as long as Caleb could remember.
When his father fell silent, Caleb prompted tersely, “And?”
Crandall pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly, looking as if he’d rather scale Mount Vesuvius during a volcanic eruption than deliver the bad news weighing heavily on him. “He came to report information on the private detective agency that Philbin hired to dig up dirt on me. The name of the agency is Roarke Investigations, a local outfit run by two former law enforcement officers and their younger sister.” He paused, his lips thinning to a flat, hard line. “Her name is Daniela Roarke.”
Caleb stared at his father as if unable to absorb what he’d just heard. “What are you saying?” he inquired evenly. “Are youtelling me that Daniela Moreau is actually Daniela Roarke, aP.I.?”
Crandall studied him in silence for a moment, then nodded grimly. “She’s not a law student, son. Apparently she’s working undercover as part of an investigation to expose me for some wrongdoing Philbin is convinced I’m guilty of.” His tone hardened. “My guess is that she—they—were hoping to get to me by luring you into sharing confidences about my alleged criminal conduct. Daniela was the bait they used.”
Caleb kept his expression carefully blank, because Thorne men weren’t prone to fits of hysteria or extreme outbursts of emotion. But inside he was screaming, raging at the world as a secret hope slowly shriveled and died inside him.
He hid his wrath behind a flat, terse tone. “I want to see the photos.”
His father frowned. “I really don’t think?—”
“It’s too late to protect me now, Dad. The horse has already left the barn. It can’t get much worse. I want to see the photographs.” Because a small, foolish part of him—the part that had allowed him to fall in love with Daniela—was still in denial. He needed indisputable proof of her betrayal.
Slowly Crandall slid a thick manila folder across the desk at Caleb.
Wordlessly he took the folder and opened it. Inside were typed reports nestled between black-and-white photographs that consisted mainly of Hoyt Philbin entering a nondescript, single-story brick building on various dates and times.
Jaw clenched in mounting fury, Caleb sifted quickly through the stack, then froze when he came to what he was looking for. There, right before his very eyes, was a close-up shot of Daniela emerging from the same building, wearing the brown bohemian skirt and sexy lace-up sandals that had sent his imagination into overdrive. The picture had been taken just last Wednesday, theday she visited his office after class and claimed she’d missed him.
The day he offered to introduce her to his father.
She’d probably left campus that afternoon and driven straight to the detective agency to share the good news with her partners in crime. What a coup that must have been for her, to land such a prime opportunity less than two weeks after going undercover. She must’ve realized, then, what a gullible fool Caleb was, to have played into her hands so easily. Judging by the triumphant smile on her face in the photo, the joke was definitely on him.
He’d been played for a fool, and he had no one but himself to blame. He—who’d always been taught not to trust beautiful women, who’d had more than his fair share of dealings with gold diggers who were only after his father’s wealth and prestige—should have known better. Instead he’d allowed himself to be tempted and seduced by a woman who should have remained off-limits.
He’d been so mesmerized by her that, as of that morning, he’d planned to ask her to marry him.
Oh, yeah, the joke wasdefinitelyon him.
With the manila folder still clamped in his fist, Caleb got abruptly to his feet and strode purposefully to the door.
“Don’t do anything rash, son,” his father called out warningly.
Caleb didn’t break stride as he left the room. He was past hearing, past caring and—soon enough, if he was lucky—he’d be past feeling at all.
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