“I know her name. I’m just saying, her mother doesn’t care about her. She just wanted cash, and I gave her as much as she’s ever getting.”
His brother’s photo should be on a billboard outlining all the reasons not to have one-night stands with strippers.
“I’m trying to cover all the bases,” Noah said. “Have you heard from her lately?”
“Not a peep since she lost custody. What did the cops say?”
“Someone picked the lock on the patio door. They checked the yard, found footprints, but no sign of who it was or what they wanted. Whoever it was took off when the alarm sounded. I assume he—or she—hopped the fence. I just need to know if I should be watching for Violet or…anyone else. Maybe an enemy, or?—?”
“I don’t tell people where I’m from.”
That was a strange thing to say, and why would Jasper hide his past?
Not only that, but Jasper sounded tired. Not the kind of tired that came from too much bourbon and not enough sleep. More…weary, which didn’t make any sense. The guy spent his life hobnobbing with the rich and famous, hopping from party to party, yacht to yacht. What could he possibly have weighing him down?
“Are you okay, Jaz?” Noah asked, practically against his will. He didn’t appreciate Jasper’s life choices, but he was still his little brother. “You don’t sound like yourself.”
Jasper laughed, the sound hard. “Don’t worry about me, bro. I’m fine, and nobody’s coming for her.”
That last sentence landed too heavy. Until a few months before, Noah hadn’t known Charlotte existed. Nobody had cared about her at all. At least Jasper had brought her home, even if he wasn’t doing his part as a father.
“You’ll call if you think of anyone who might?—”
“I’ll call. And Noah?” All humor and irritation seemed gone from his voice. “Take care of her.”
Right.
Noah jabbed his phone to end the call, irritation spiking.
What did Jasper think he was doing? Noah was killing himself trying to take care of Charlotte.
He was the only person in the world who could be bothered.
CHAPTER FOUR
Aweek had passed since that horrible moment on Magnolia Street, a week with no prospects at all.
Delaney crossed the town’s main thoroughfare and entered the park in the center of downtown Driftwood, phone pressed close to her ear, trying to hear the woman from the agency over the traffic.
“…to say there’s nothing right now.”
Delaney’s hopes blew away on the breeze. “I’m flexible.” She hated how desperate she sounded. “Anything part-time or weekends, or even?—?”
“Sorry.” The woman’s voice carried a note of genuine sympathy that somehow made it worse. “There aren’t many in these parts who can afford a nanny, and most folks hire people they know.”
Wasn’t that how Delaney had gotten her jobs back in Shadow Cove? Her first employers had been friends of her parents. After that, her reputation had grown naturally. She’d never wanted for clients in a town where the Wright name was well-known and well-respected, a town where she’d proved herself capable over and over.
Nobody in this little hamlet in Virginia knew her or her family. To them, she was a stranger, an outsider. A Yankee, to boot. She tried to ignore the suspicious looks she got from shoppers and clerks at the local grocery store every time she opened her mouth.
“We just don’t have any other placements available at the moment,” the woman said. “I wish we did.”
Delaney moved aimlessly, deeper into the park. She’d walked a few blocks into town that morning to search for a job, but she hadn’t seen a single help-wanted sign. The call from the agency had given her a surge of hope.
Now, she felt more dejected than ever.
“How long before something might open up?”
“Could be a week, could be a month. You know how these things go.”
