Page 5 of The Photograph

Her steps are muffled by the deep carpet as she nears me. “I’ve started the interview process for my replacement.”

Shit.I keep forgetting she’s leaving.“You sure you can’t stay longer? If it’s about money…”

Ann’s lips curve up as she touches my arm. “Gabe, you know it’s not. I promise I’ll find someone good, smart, and competent.”

After a quick nod, I open the door to let her through and make my way across the sleek floor to my penthouse apartment while she walks to her desk.

I stride to the hallway on the far side of the building to my apartment located on the opposite side of the floor. After settling on the leather sectional, I dial my cell as I cross my ankles on the black marble coffee table. The investigator answers on the first ring. “Drummond, what have you got?”

“She lives with her older sister who left for Europe for work a couple of months ago. She volunteers for a couple of charities and gravitates around rich married men for her work. And she’s either very discreet or the men are. The only paper trail I could find involves Mort Gaylor…”

At the mention of the familiar name, I sit up. I’ve often crossed paths with Mortimer Gaylor, an IT genius, owner of a telecommunication empire.

“…according to my sources, after Mrs. Gaylor hired her to decorate the nursery of their new home, her husband and Ms. Thorne got close. Gaylor also made two other payments to Ms. Thorne equaling three times the amount of her contract.”

I clench my jaw. The Gaylors seemed like a solid couple. And they probably would have remained that way if she hadn’t shown up and shaken her ass at him. “Good work. Send me your findings and a recent picture.”

When the call ends, I lean back on the couch.How does she do it? Sure, she’s a looker, but how can intelligent grown men still fall for that old con?How did Mike fall for that?

My brother’s no dummy. At the time he met her he’d had his first job and wanted a break to tour the country. We weren’t wealthy, but our parents left us with a comfortable inheritance we were able to build on.That’s probably why the greedy little Aelin Thorne…

Like every time I think of my brother unconscious in his hospital bed fighting for his life, my chest contracts with renewed rage. I pull the picture engraved in my brain from my wallet and stare at the woman I made my mission to destroy.

****

A step behind the manager of the Italian restaurant, I enter the private salon where a single square table draped in a white tablecloth is set in the center of the windowless room.

My friend, Cal, seated in one of the comfortable padded armchairs at the table lifts his chin in greeting before returning his attention to the pretty hostess standing beside him. As I approach our table, the curvy young woman cinched in a tight black dress giggles at something Cal says before swaying out the private room.

Cal gets to his feet, and we backslap. “Gabe, it’s been too long, brother.”

“It has.”

After we sit across from each other, Cal leans back in his seat. “Heard business’s good, so what else is new?”

Damn Cal.“What makes you think something’s new?”

Cal’s brow raises and he scoffs as the waiter sets our drinks on the table. “Because we’re in your favorite place in a private room.”

I take a swig at my beer. “I found her.”

Caleb’s forearms hit the table. “The girl from the picture? How?”

Rolling the bottle between my thumb and forefinger, I look at my oldest friend, the only person who knows about my search for Aelin Thorne—now that I know her name.

“My investigator found her a couple of months ago. She’s the interior designer I’m going

to hire to redecorate Holloway.”

Caleb narrows his eyes. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

We both lean back as our calamari is served. Cal winks at the hostess who blushes before leaving us to our meal. “Happy accident. Ann and Smithson picked her designs.”

My friend shifts back in the red velvet seat and studies me. “Are you sure it’s her? All you have to go by is an old picture and—”

I’ve looked at that picture every day for the last ten years.“I’m sure. It’s her,” I say through gritted teeth.

The server sets a couple of pizzas and an oval dish brimming with pasta on our table. Cal grabs a slice of pizza. “What are you going to do?”

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