It made a lot of sense, and she was glad to see Sloane following her gut—but not going off on her own.
"Kate?" Allen's voice broke through her thoughts. "Is everything okay? What is it?"
Kate looked up from her phone and saw the concern on his face. She walked over to him and kissed him softly. "Any chance you'd be cool with me leaving for another hour or so? Sloane might have something."
Allen's expression shifted from concern to something that looked like resignation mixed with mild irritation. "Like, an actual hour or an Agent Kate Wise hour?"
"Well, I just don’t know yet. Sloane's checking out a lead right now. I just want to make sure she's okay and see if her new theory pans out."
Allen was quiet for a moment, then nodded. "Fine. But I'm making you a deal. If I'm asleep when you get home, don't even think about waking me up. I need my beauty sleep.”
“Uh huh. But what if I wake you up in ways that have proven very effective in the past?”
He reddened in the cheeks a bit and said, “I may be able to forgive that.” He kissed her softly again and said, “Go. Go get the bad guys. But be careful.”
Kate smiled despite the tension building in her chest. “Always.”
"And Kate? Next time Sloane has a breakthrough, maybe she could have it during business hours?"
"I'll mention it to her."
Kate grabbed her keys and her badge from where she'd left them on the counter. She could hear Allen already moving toward the living room, probably planning to watch television until she got home or he fell asleep, whichever came first.
As she headed for the door, Kate sent Sloane a quick text:"On my way. Don't go in without backup. Wait for me."
She hit send and grabbed her coat from the hook by the door. Grove Avenue was about fifteen minutes away… closer to twenty-five with evening traffic. If Sloane had just left the field office, Kate might be able to catch her before she got to Latrobe's place.
Kate opened the front door and stepped out into the cold evening air, already moving quickly toward her car and daring to feel that maybe this lead would pay off.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Jennifer Grisham turned the letter opener over in her hands, studying the engraved name that ran along its slender silver blade.Mary Latrobe.The letters were elegant, scripted in a way that suggested someone had paid good money for this little vanity item. Jennifer traced her thumb along the edge. It was sharp enough to do real damage if wielded with intent.
She set it back down on the desk and looked around the home office. The space was small but meticulously organized, every surface covered with cheerful reminders of Mary Latrobe’s travel agency success. A framed photo showed Mary standing in front of Cinderella's Castle at Disney World, her arm around a beaming client. Another showed her at Epcot with a group of smiling women holding Second Act Success certificates. Travel brochures were stacked neatly in a wire rack, each one featuring destinations Mary specialized in booking for her growing client base.
Disney trinkets crowded the shelves. A set of Mickey Mouse ears hung from a hook. A collection of resort pins filled a shadow box on the wall. Even the desk lamp had a base shaped like Tinker Bell. Everything was bright, colorful, and optimistic in a way that made Jennifer's stomach turn.
Eight months. That was how long Mary had been riding this wave of success. Her boutique travel agency had taken off after she completed Crawford's program, specializing in group trips for women over fifty who wanted adventure without the hassle of planning it themselves. Disney trips, European river cruises, wine country tours. Mary had found her niche and was thriving in it.
Jennifer picked up the letter opener again. She had been thriving once, too. Her bakery had beenthesuccess story Crawford loved to parade around for a few weeks. It had beenfeatured in every promotional video, quoted in every testimonial packet, photographed for the program materials with her signature lavender scones and her bright smile. Women from Second Act Success had filled her shop daily during that first year, eager to meet the baker who had turned her passion into profit. They bought scones and muffins and asked for advice, and Jennifer had loved every minute of it.
Then the attention shifted as new success stories emerged. And it had shiftedfast.Mary and her travel agency. Someone else with a consulting business. Another woman who had opened a yoga studio. Crawford moved on to fresher faces, newer testimonials, and Jennifer's bakery slowly faded from the spotlight. She’d never actually suffered or been in any real danger of going out of business, but she still feared she’d never reach that peak again.
Sales had started to slip three months ago. Not dramatically, but enough to notice. The morning rush was smaller. The afternoon crowd thinner. The special orders that used to fill her weekends had dried up. She was still profitable, technically, but the trajectory was wrong. She could see where this was headed if nothing changed.
And then there was David. Her husband had started working late more often. Coming home with excuses that sounded plausible but felt hollow. She had found texts on his phone two weeks ago, messages to Carrie, the girl who used to work the counter at the bakery until Jennifer had to let her go. The messages were innocent enough on the surface, but the frequency and timing told a different story.
Everything was slipping away. The success, the attention, the marriage. Jennifer had worked too hard to let it all crumble now.
She heard movement in the adjoining room where Mary kept her filing cabinets and travel resources. Papers rustling, a drawer sliding open. Mary was gathering materials for theirappointment, probably pulling brochures and itineraries for Iceland. It was, after all, where Jennifer had said she’d like to go… even though she had no intention of travelling anytime soon.
The appointment had been easy to arrange. She’d sent a casual text message yesterday afternoon asking if Mary had any availability for an after-hours consultation. Jennifer had mentioned wanting to get away, maybe Iceland, somewhere she could clear her head. Mary had responded within minutes, always eager for new business—especially, Mary had said, for a fellow second Act Success sister. She’d asked if 8:00 was okay, at her home office.
No problem at all.
Jennifer glanced at her watch. It was now 8:10; some of the appointment time had been filled with Mary’s trivial bullshit small-talk. Mary had welcomed her in ten minutes ago, apologized for not being quite ready, and disappeared into the other room to gather materials. Jennifer had said she didn't mind waiting, that she was in no rush. She'd settled into the guest chair across from Mary's desk and waited for her opportunity.
And, of course, had plucked the letter opener right off of the little stand it had come with. So pretentious…
