Standing in front of the gray stone garage that matched the house, he punched in the code to bay number three and waited for the door to slide up. A black, fully loaded, extended-cab Sierra Denali 2500 GMC pickup gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the open garage door.
Linc tossed his briefcase into the backseat, opened the driver’s door, slid in behind the wheel, and fired up the big diesel V-8 engine. He didn’t want to be late for his two o’clock meeting with Carly Drake.
It was Friday. After the meeting, he planned to work the weekend from the ranch, which he did as often as he could.
Linc hit the gas and headed for the Drake Trucking yard at the edge of town, not too far away. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to say, only that he’d let Carly know her problems were solved.
Linc was sure she would be grateful.
* * *
Sitting behind the desk, Carly pressed the phone against her ear.
“You’ve always been a loyal customer, Mr. Jensen. But I’ve been going over the freight contracts for the last few months and I don’t find anyrecent deliveries for Jensen Manufacturing. If there’s been some sort of problem, I’d certainly like to get to the bottom of it.”
“The freight hauling business is highly competitive,” Mr. Jensen said. “I found cheaper prices somewhere else, that’s all.”
“Was the service as good? Because you know you can count on Drake to get your products delivered on time and in excellent condition.”
“Times are tough, Ms. Drake—”
“Carly, please.”
“Like I said, Carly, times are tough. I had to make a decision and I couldn’t get hold of Joe.”
“Well, I’m here now and available whenever you need me. And we’ll match whatever terms you got on your last contract.”
Silence fell. Carly closed her eyes and crossed her fingers.
“I feel bad about Joe. He was a really good guy. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ve got a couple of loads coming up the first of the month. We’ll see if Drake can do as good a job without Joe as it used to do when he was there.”
Carly grinned. “Thank you, Mr. Jensen. I promise you won’t be disappointed.” The line went dead and Carly leaned back in her chair. Her hands were shaking and she was perspiring. The ceiling fan rotated above her. She lifted her hair up off the back of her neck to catch the breeze, took a deep breath, and slowly released it.
She had made calls all morning and again after lunch. Jensen Manufacturing was her first real success.
She glanced at the clock. Crap, it was almost time for her two o’clock appointment. She’d hoped to have a chance to run back to the house and change into something more professional than jeans. No time now.
Instead, she hit Google Chrome, typed in Cain’s name, clicked up one of the many links that mentioned him, and began to read, starting with Wikipedia.
Lincoln Cain, no middle name. Entrepreneur, developer, investor, philanthropist. Born in Pleasant Hill, Texas, on July 4. He was thirty-five years old, six years older than Carly.
Co-owner of Texas American Enterprises. His partner’s name wasBeaumont Reese. She’d heard of Beau Reese, son of a wealthy Texas family, famous for his flashy lifestyle and his expensive hobby—driving Formula One race cars, kind of a Texas Paul Newman. Though apparently he just drove for fun these days. When she had a little more time, she’d Google Reese, too.
Carly glanced down the page. There was a ton of stuff about Cain. One sentence caught her eye: net worth estimated at over five hundred million.Oh. My. God.
Mother deceased. No mention of his father. She went back to the Web links, spotted the wordprison,and clicked on the link. It was an article inPeoplemagazine.
She didn’t have time to read it all so she skimmed the page, paused halfway down the article. An entire section was devoted to Cain’s teenage years, which mentioned a stint in juvenile detention when he was a junior in high school and another stay as a senior.
At age eighteen, he’d been arrested for the attempted armed robbery of a convenience store along with two other youths, all three were apprehended at the scene. Having just turned eighteen, Cain was sentenced to two years in prison while the other two kids, still seventeen, received lesser sentences and their juvenile records were sealed. Cain had never revealed their identities.
According to the article, after prison Cain had turned his life around and set himself on a course that had made him the multimillionaire he was today.
A knock at the door ended her reading. Instead of bursting in as she usually did, Donna waited for permission, which meant Lincoln Cain had arrived.
She shut down the computer and answered the knock. “Come on in.”
Donna opened the door, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright, the same effect the man had had on Brittany. “I’m sorry to bother you, Ms. Drake, but Mr. Cain is here to see you.”
