SEAL’s Redemption by Leslie North

8

The next day, Hope sat in the passenger side of the new rental car Logan had gotten for them—the one he’d picked up after returning the rental car his agency had arranged for him and clearing out his desk at work. She’d asked him about that, but he hadn’t been too forthcoming with the details.

In the past day, she’d done some digging into Mick Kleypas, the chauffeur, but hadn’t been able to find much about him. He had a spiffy, professional-looking website, but no social media accounts. There was a section on his website, however, that listed testimonials from clients, so she’d mined that for names and had also called the number listed for his office, pretending to be a prospective new client. She had asked for names and phone numbers for references.

His receptionist had explained that most people used their chauffeur service as a one-off deal for rides to and from the airport or wedding parties or whatever, but she was happy enough to send along the names of three regular clients who used their services routinely.

Which explained why they were now sitting at the curb in a rented compact car staring up at a colonial-style mansion belonging to Doug Roberts.

She checked the address on her phone, then glanced over at Logan behind the wheel. “This is it.”

“Great,” he said with zero enthusiasm. He reached for the door handle and gave her a pointed stare. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” She started to argue, but he cut her off. “I mean it, Hope. We had an agreement.”

“Fine,” she huffed and sat back as he exited the vehicle, then jogged up the neatly manicured walkway to the front door. Logan knocked and moments later, a stout older man in his late sixties answered. They spoke for several seconds, during which Logan asked him the questions he and Hope had gone over beforehand—about how long he’d lived in Baltimore, how he’d come to know about the chauffeur service, and if he knew anyone by the name of C. Parsons, the last name of the list of three Hope had received, and the one person she hadn’t been able to track down yet.

From a distance, she saw the conversation play out, but couldn’t tell how it was going. At the very least, Doug seemed willing to answer questions. He and Logan talked for maybe five minutes before Doug returned inside. Logan walked back to the car and climbed in, a gust of autumn air chasing after him.

“So?” she asked, clasping her hands in her lap.

“So, he’s not our guy.” Logan jammed the keys into the ignition, cranked the engine, then stared out the windshield. His close-cropped brown hair was too short to get ruffled, but she still felt the crazy urge to slip her fingers through it to see if it felt as soft as she’d remembered from earlier when they’d kissed. Her mind then went to the kiss itself, and fresh heat sizzled inside her because, yeah, that had been a good kiss.

Focus, girl!

With more effort than she cared to admit, Hope shook off those naughty thoughts about Logan and his lips and where she might like him to use them on her next, and forced her attention back to the case. “Why do you say that?”

He told her about Doug’s answers. “He’s not American—he’s from Sweden and has only lived in the US for the past three years. He has no personal ties to Baltimore, just got a place here for business. He’s not even here most of the time—he usually stays at his house in Florida. He was only back this week to take care of some business in the area. So yeah, he’s not our guy,” Logan repeated before shifting the car into drive then looking over at her at last. “Where to next?”

Hope sighed and checked her phone again, rattling off the address. “Ann Hildestad. Let’s hope she’s a better lead.”

They nosed out into traffic and headed across town to another ritzy neighborhood filled with gigantic houses and manicured lawns. They pulled up in front of the address, and Hope noticed a For Sale sign in the front yard. A new idea occurred to her. Maybe they could use that sign to their advantage. Plus, she could get out and stretch her legs, which sounded great since her butt was numb from sitting in one spot for too long.

“How about if we pretend to be a couple interested in buying the house? From what I could find on the internet, Ann had to be in her eighties now, and she might feel more comfortable talking to a couple rather than a strange man.”

“Hope…” he started, then sighed. “Fine. But you stay behind me, just in case. Got it?”

“Got it.” She grinned and climbed out of the passenger side and walked up to the door with him. They knocked and waited until Ann answered.

She was short and slightly hunched, with rosy cheeks and white hair. The sort of woman who would’ve made an excellent Ms. Claus in a Christmas parade. She smiled at them as she answered. “Hello there. What can I do for you today?”

“We saw the For Sale sign and wondered if we might look at the house,” Hope said, smiling in return, her arm through Logan’s. “We’re getting married in a few months and are looking for a place of our own.”

“Oh, how marvelous.” Ann stepped back and gestured them inside. “Please, do come in. I’m always happy to show people around. And congratulations on your impending nuptials.”

“Thank you.” Logan’s posture was stiff and his polite expression a bit too wooden. Hope nudged him with her elbow and gave him a look, and he exhaled slowly, a bit of the tension in his shoulders relaxing. He looked around the foyer and nodded. “Nice place.”

“Thank you,” Ann said, indicating they should follow her as she began their tour. “My husband passed away last year, so I’ve finally decided to downsize.” She led them from the living room through to a formal dining room, then a spacious, eat-in kitchen with a large granite island at the center. “I love the idea of passing this home on to a lovely young couple like you two.”

They finished touring the first floor, then the second before ending up in the foyer again at last. Ann seemed perfectly nice and completely authentic. A nice, rich old lady who used the chauffeur service to get around because her eyesight was failing. Hope chatted with her a little more and discovered Ann was also in the Baltimore Ladies Association, and she had been at the hotel for the meeting the last night that Diana was seen, but that was the only connection she found between the older lady and Diana Lauren. And even that link was a tenuous one. Plenty of people had been there that night.

Hope and Logan left and went back to their car, with a card from Ann’s real estate agent in case they wanted to put in an offer. She didn’t have the heart to tell the old lady there was no way in the world she could ever afford the lovely home.

“Well, that was another dead end,” she said once they were both back in the car and buckled in.

“Yep,” Logan said, scowling as he pulled away from the curb.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, having a pretty good idea. He’d been in a foul mood since his phone call with his former boss. “This is about leaving your job, isn’t it? Want to talk about it?”

“No.” He didn’t look at her as he said it, just stared straight ahead at the traffic, still going way slower than necessary after the accident. “I don’t want to talk about it.”