“Speaking.”
“I’m Detective Harlow.”
Conner felt his legs weaken and sank onto his recliner. He thought all this was behind him now. “What can I do for you, Detective?” It was a fight to keep his voice even. He was shaky, both from fear and utter frustration. He’d done the right thing, even though it wasn’t his mess to clean up. No charges had been filed.
Without so much as a clinical apology for the late hour, she dove right to the point. “I was wondering if you have any information about the whereabouts of your fiancée, Veronica Westin.”
“She’s not my fiancée anymore, Detective. Hasn’t been in months.” Conner welcomed Boomer as he shoved his head under Conner’s hand and demanded pets. The pup knew Conner needed to keep his hand busy. “I haven’t seen Veronica since we parted ways. I haven’t kept in contact with her, either.”
“Her call records indicate a number of text messages sent to you as recently as last week,” Detective Harlow said.
“I last saw her the day after Christmas last year.” The same day he forced her to come with him to the nonprofit’s office she’d worked at for two years to admit what she’d done. To pray they’d accept his generous donation to make up for what she’d stolen and couldn’t repay. He dropped her off at the airport and washed his hands of her as he drove away. “That’s the same day I blocked her number. If she’s been reaching out, I have no knowledge. I assure you, I have no interest in ever speaking to her again.”
“You’re absolutely sure she hasn’t contacted you in any other way?”
“It has to be midnight where you’re at,” Conner said, not as successful as he’d hoped in hiding his annoyance. “What is it you want, Detective?”
“Actually, I’m in Anchorage.”
“Anchorage?”
“We have reason to believe your fiancée—”
“Ex-fiancée,” Conner quickly corrected.
“—is in Alaska.”
Conner rubbed his temple hard. He wasn’t an investigator by any stretch of the imagination, but he’d watched enough crime dramas to sense something was off about all this. If they were looking for Veronica and suspected he was harboring her, he wouldn’t be getting a phone call. He’d have an unannounced visitor hoping to catch her off guard. “I haven’t seen her since December twenty-sixth, Detective.”
“If you do, you’ll call me at this number?”
“Sure.” Before the call ended, Conner managed to slip in one last question. “What exactly has she done?”
“Nothing she hasn’t done before. You should’ve turned her over to the authorities when you had the chance.” With those ominous words, the call went dead.
Dread filled Conner’s stomach, twisting it in knots he hadn’t experienced since Veronica confessed to stealing twenty-five thousand from a children’s charity. Which left him to wonder two things. How much had she stolen this time? And how much would it mess up the good thing he had going in Sunset Ridge when she no doubt tried to drag him down with her?
3
SADIE
Sadie balancedtwo full drink carriers in both hands as she kicked the door of her sedan closed. She was half an hour early, despite the coffee run, and quite proud of herself for it. She couldn’t wait to see the look on Marc’s face when he realized she beathimto the clinic. He’d underestimated her, as always.
“Need a hand?”
Her heart went all aflutter at the soothing sound of Conner’s voice, warning her she’d have to be on her best behavior if she wanted this to work. With any luck, Conner would be so busy with patients she’d hardly see him. “I’ve got it, thanks,” she said over her shoulder, sensing his approach from behind.
“Coffee smells wonderful,” he said with a slight yawn as he came into her sightline. Lines tugged at the corners of his eyes that suggested sleep the night before was scarce. “We have a coffeemaker in the break room, but I think it’s older than Marc.”
“Let me guess,” Sadie said. “He refuses to replace it even though it’s on its last leg?”
Conner’s easy smile turned her insides to melty goo. Even tired, the man was a swoon-hazard. “You nailed it.”
She forced herself to look away as he unlocked the clinic door, determined to focus on the mission. If it killed her, she’d prove to Marc that not only was she no longer unreliable and immature, but she’d picked up some valuable skills at her last job that might even impress him if only he gave her the chance.
As Conner flipped on the lights, Sadie set the drink carriers on the front counter. Other than her brother, who drank his coffee blacker than the Alaska night sky in the darkest days of winter, she wasn’t certain what anyone else preferred. She’d ordered a variety of Black Bear Coffee’s most popular drinks and hoped for the best.
“What’s your poison?” Sadie asked Conner. “I have a caramel macchiato, a white chocolate mocha, an Americano—”
