His phone rang and he saw it was the front desk. “Hello.”
“Mr. Mulroney, Chandra Pellet is here for your appointment.”
Thirty minutes late. But he had to play nice. Pinching the bridge of his nose??—how had he forgotten about the meeting with the inspector???—he sighed. “I’ll be right up.”
Stone secured Grief in his private dog run attached to the office, then made his way down the hall. He spotted the inspector in a gray business suit and skirt, sitting ramrod straight near the fire. Her dyed-brown hair did little to hide she was well into her sixties and her prejudices. All poise and arrogance.
He groaned inwardly. She was so much like Brooke?—knew how the world and everyone else should function and had no compunction against telling them, too. Pellet?—yeah, he’d had too much fun with that name, though she pronounced it as pay-lay?—had been set against him from day one, even though nobody here knew who he really was. Still, the only way to win her over was to prove his character and not give her a reason to doubt him or connect him to the scandalized governor.
“Inspector.”
She stood, lifting her briefcase effortlessly. “Mr. Mulroney.” She gave him a tight-lipped smile as her shoes tapped over the tiles toward him. “I wondered if I’d have to wait all day.” She was trying to get the upper hand.
“Only if you were any later.” Okay, he shouldn’t have said that, but the woman had it coming, since she was a half hour late. “This way.” He started for his office.
“I think not.”
Stone stopped and glanced back with a frown. “Pardon?”
“I prefer to sit in the open with w?—others.”
Witnesses. Was that what she’d been about to say?
Stone frowned. There was no way she knew the truth. Was there? He was so close?—just had to toe the line a little longer, get the permits approved by this inspector, who also chaired the county planning committee.
He indicated toward the front of the lodge. “We can find a table in the restaurant.”
Nose in the air, she pivoted in a move that made him wonder if she’d ever served. Nah. The military would’ve knocked that arrogance out of her.
With his back to the wall?—in more ways than one?—Stone sat in the restaurant with the inspector, enduring her recitation of previously denied permits: the hunting license, which she found noisy and violent; the overnight trail ride, which she found dangerous and irresponsible; the zipline, which she declared a lawsuit risk and unsightly. Then she tackled his request to build an indoor athletic arena and a small daycare to draw more families.
“I must confess, Mr. Mulroney,” she said, drawing the glasses from her nose with that superior air, “I am a bit alarmed that … you are so focused on families??—children. A man like you should have other … interests.”
“A man like me.” Warmth trickled across his neck and shoulders.
She knows.
Not possible. How could she?
“Well, yes.” She shifted on the chair, and he found himself hoping she’d sat in the lumpy one. “I mean … It was no secret??—it was all over the news.”
“I’m sorry …?”
“Oh come. You don’t think the beard and hiding up here changes the fact your real name is Stone??—”
“Ma’am.”
“—Metcalfe.”
Hand fisting on his leg, he gritted his teeth. “I’m not hiding.”
“Then why the pretense?”
“To protect this lodge and avoid journalists hunting me down. You may have decided my guilt, but nobody knows what happened there exc??—”
“Except you and that woman.”
Stone gritted his teeth. When he’d left office, he’d vowed to never speak of it with anyone.
