* * *
Cassie lay down after Stephanie left. She felt exhausted and weak. I can’t do this to you, Ian. I won’t be your weak link. It’s my battle to finish.
Martin slipped into the room. “How ya doing, Gator? Can I get you anything?”
“I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.” She turned teary.
“No tears. Everything is okay.” Martin pulled the blanket over her. “Try to sleep. I’ll be right here if you need me.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
The sprawling ranch home was set back from the road. Kieran pulled his car up to the front door, surprised at the low-tech security. The doorbell was greeted with the shrill barking of dogs. Cheyenne Whitman opened it with a chain attached. “Mrs. Whitman, I’m Kieran Chase. Is your husband at home?”
“No. Your brother chased him off.”
“My brother had nothing to do with your husband’s disappearance. Would you speak to me about the Helping Hearts dinner?”
Her huge sigh accompanied the drop of the chain. Kieran followed her into the living room where toys were scattered on the floor, and two little white dogs nipped at his ankles. “Can I get you something to drink?” Cheyenne believed in southern hospitality.
“No, thank you, Mrs. Whitman. I’m just trying to piece together the events at the dinner.”
Cheyenne lowered herself into a chair. “I assume you’re here because of your brother. I heard about Cassie’s death, but I don’t think I can tell you much. Garett and I left before anything happened.”
Kieran placed his hands on his knees, leaning forward just enough to enter her personal space. “Tell me, Cheyenne, why did you leave early?”
“Our little girl needed us.” She looked away.
Kieran moved just a little closer. “Now, you know that’s not the truth.”
Cheyenne pushed back in her chair, trying to stand. “I think you need to leave.” Her large belly held her down.
“Garett get a little too chummy with Cassie?” he questioned.
Cheyenne’s eyes blazed as her face grew red, and she swung at Kieran, who caught her wrist. “Now, darling, you aren’t mad at me.” He offered a hand to help her stand.
Bursting into tears, Cheyenne took it. “Garett still loves her. I’m his wife, the mother of his children—and he loves that woman.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He told me so. On the way home, he told me. He said he loves me, but he still loves her. He said he owes her. For what? She broke their engagement. I am the one his parents approve of. I carried the babies, and I’m carrying the namesake. She’s dead, and he still loves her.”
“When was the last time you heard from him?”
“I haven’t seen him since he took me home after Robby Bynum’s funeral.”
Kieran took her hands in his. “I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve to be treated like this. If you hear from him, would you call me please?” He handed her his business card.
Cheyenne threw open the door. “I don’t compete with anyone, especially not a ghost. My husband better get that through his head—or he won’t have either one of us.” She slammed the door on Kieran’s back.
* * *
“You saw what I did. It’s there. This is unraveling. You told me it was taken care of,” Betty Bynum screamed at her husband. “I’ve put up with your sickness to achieve this goal—and now you and those other connivers are going to ruin everything.” She threw a vase at him. “Fix this.”
Senator Bynum dialed a number. “I need to see you—now.”
* * *
After cuddling with Cassie until her stomach settled once more, Ian ducked out of the house under the pretense of heading to the office. Whitman, Tyler, and Bates, LLC, occupied a modern building on the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal. The building was part of historic Georgetown; cafés and art galleries dotted the blocks around it. He took the elevator up from the underground garage to the third floor. Standing at the glass and chrome reception desk, he said, “Ian Chase to see Bradford Whitman.”
