Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“He cleaned her out, too.”
She nods stiffly and swipes at the river of tears on her cheeks. “She was sitting on a wealth of old money, an inheritance passed down through generations in my family. She trusted him because I trusted him. It’s all gone.”
The son of a bitch left her homeless and broke and stole from her dying mother. Who the fuck would do that?
Any one of the selfish, ruthless men buried in the ravine.
The pound of my heart thrashes in my ears.
Did her money end up in my father’s hands? Did it pay off his debts and fund the drilling on Julep Ranch? My mind spins to connect the dots, but the answers can wait.
“I’m so sorry, Maybe.” I gather her in my arms and rest my forehead against hers. “I would do anything to take away your pain.”
“You’ve been…” She clings to my shoulders, her breaths shredding between tears. “You’ve been so good to me, Jarret.”
She glances down at her lap, and I follow her gaze to the envelope. Whatever it contains seems to be her greatest torment. I don’t know if it’s evidence against her husband or my family or something else entirely. My fingers twitch to yank it away, but I won’t push her. She’s so fucking brave and strong I refuse to take that from her.
“When I discovered the state of our finances, I was scared for him.” She releases me and faces forward, her voice flattening. “I assumed he was in trouble and needed the money. He left behind his clothes, his personal belongings, and his computer. I was going to call the cops, but then…” She grits her teeth. “I figured out his computer passwords and pried into his life. Emails with your dad. Documents on his hard drive. There was so much I didn’t know about my husband.”
My thoughts drift back to one of the first conversations I had with her, when I asked her how we got on her radar. “You said you were following a lead on a different project, and it led you to my father.”
“The project was my missing husband. The lead was Dalton Cassidy.”
“Conor and Lorne’s father?” My head jerks back. “He’s been dead for…”
“Four years. I heard about him but never met him.”
I swallow around a hot ember. “How did your husband know Dalton?”
She lifts the envelope and holds it out to me as a fresh wave of tears soaks her cheeks. “Please, don’t hate me.”
I accept the envelope and touch my lips to her grooved forehead. “I could never hate you.”
“Open it.” She grips the ends of her braids, twisting the strands around her fingers.
I guide her hands to her lap and turn my attention to the documents. As I lift them from the unsealed envelope, my eyes lock on the header, honing in on three words.
Petition for Divorce
As I read the names, my heart stops, and the papers crinkle in my clenched hands.
Petitioner: Maybelline Cassidy
Respondent: Rogan Cassidy
The room tilts, and the air evaporates from my lungs. “Cassidy?”
“Quinn is my maiden name. When Rogan left me, I changed my name back.” She hugs her torso and stares at the floor. “I need to find him, Jarret. If I can serve the papers and talk to him—”
“Slow the fuck down!” My voice comes out louder than I intended, making her flinch. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around the names.”
She closes her eyes and sucks in a serrated breath. Then she drags her gaze to mine. “Rogan Schroeder. That’s the name he used in his email correspondence with your dad.”
“But his last name is Cassidy?”
“Yes.” She inches away.
I drag her back by her arm. “How—? Look at me, Maybe.” I wait for the connection of her eyes and ask in a softer tone, “How is he a Cassidy?”
“He’s Dalton’s son.”
Ice hits my stomach, and my head spins with dizziness.
Is it possible? A surface investigation on Rogan Schroeder showed he lived alone in Texas. The ID in his wallet confirmed his Texas address. But given his line of work, it makes sense he used a false identity and fake driver’s license.
“Rogan’s older,” she says in a shaky voice. “Almost forty. Dalton knocked up Rogan’s mom after high school and stuck around long enough to give Rogan his last name. Then he bailed and married Ava O’Conor. During the year I was with Rogan, he made some snide comments about how his dad started a new family and owned all this rich land while he and his mom struggled to make ends meet.”
“I didn’t know.” I set the papers aside and brace my elbows on my knees, rubbing my face. “Conor and Lorne…”
“Rogan knows about them, but they don’t know he exists. Dalton wanted it that way. He paid the required child support and kept in touch with Rogan, but he wasn’t around.”