Arden pulledBaz’s truck over on the shoulder of the highway. She wasn’t used to driving something this big; it handled like a barge. She checked the phone for a signal.
She had found the keys in the truck under the floor mat. Guilt chewed on her, but even stronger was the knowledge that she had to resolve this, one way or another.
As much as she hated to admit it, Declan was right, in his own way. Shehadlied to them. Shehadbrought danger to them.
And she was going to fix it.
She waited to try to make the call until she was far enough from Windrock that she didn’t think any of them were likely to catch up soon. When she opened the flip phone, there were two presets, just as Sloan had said.
Arden wiped some mud off the edge of it. She was very tempted to call Sloan and have him talk to Grant for her. At least she knew Sloan would be relatively friendly.
But she was done running. Done letting other people fight her battles for her.
She dialed Grant’s number, crossed her fingers, and waited.
It rang twice before Grant picked up. “This had better be important. I’m waiting on a call from the head of?—”
“Grant? It’s me.”
A brief, startled silence. Then Grant spoke with all the smooth, fake charm that had once fooled her. “Well, there are you are, honey. Are you all right? Are you ready to come home now?”
Arden’s hand balled into a fist on her leg. Home wasn’t some lonely mansion in a gated community, and it definitely didn’t have Grant in it. Home was—she wasn’t quite ready to think about where and what home was for her now.
“I’d like to meet, Grant. Let’s get lunch somewhere in town.”
“My schedule is full. You can come to my hotel room tonight?—”
“No,” she said shortly. Again the surprised silence. “There’s a diner in Wildcat Forks. We’ll meet there.”
“I told you to never interrupt me.” And there was therealGrant. “And you don’t give me orders.”
“Clear your schedule,” Arden told him. “I’ll be there in an hour, alone. Believe me, this is the most important meeting you’re going to have today.”
It was actually morethan an hour, because it took her longer than she remembered to drive to the town, and then she had to find the diner again, a greasy spoon place called Sammie Jo’s. The phone rang several times as she drove. Arden ignored it.
Sloan’s black SUV was parked out front. Arden pulled in beside it. They wouldn’t try anything surrounded by people, would they? All Grant cared about was his public image. Arden was starting to think she should have picked a different time, or a different place; it was past the lunch rush, and there was only one other car in the lot. But it was too late to turn back.
On the seat beside her was the envelope she had collected from her cabin, the one she had carried with her all this time. She shoved it under her jacket to hide it and got out of the truck.
The door of Sammie Jo’s had a little bell that tinkled. Arden opened the door on a scene from another time, the plastic booths and red checked tablecloths and the counter with an old man drinking coffee and a cheerful-looking waitress busily wrapping flatware in paper napkins. “Just sit down anywhere—oh hi, sweetie! I remember you.”
“Me too,” Arden said, smiling at her. “You told me where to find a place to camp out while I got my head together.”
“That’s right. Did it work?”
“It did,” Arden said firmly. “I know myself a lot better now.”
“Good for you, hon. Go ahead and find a table, and I’ll be with you in a minute.”
“Actually, this time I’m meeting someone. And I see them there.”
Sloan and Grant were seated in a booth near the window. Sloan, facing the door, had already risen with his usual efficiency. Grant got up more slowly, but he was on his feet by the time she reached them.
Arden barely paid attention to Sloan; her attention was riveted on Grant. He hadn’t changed a bit. Still the same immaculate suit, the smooth waves of hair with every hint of gray dyed out—she hadn’t even realized that he was fifteen years older than her when they were first dating. Once, he’d had a smooth, bright smile for her whenever he saw her. Now his mouth was a grim line, and his eyes were fixed on her with cold enmity.
“Arden,” he said. “Sit down.”
Arden would have liked to remain standing on general principle, but that was going to make this conversation awkward. Grant sat firmly down in the booth, moved over tomake room for her, but she didn’t want to be next to either him or Sloan. Instead, she dragged a chair from the nearest table and sat on that. Sloan looked awkward, clearly unsure if bodyguarding was going to be called for, and if so, for whom. He sat down slowly as well.
