Zoya Hart has been eluding her gold-digging stepmother for the last few years. Knowing that this woman will do anything to gain control of her and her late father's company, Zoya finds herself hiding out on a farm. Now, with a PI on her trail, Zoya'...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Miles focused on his watch and fidgeted in the chair. This was his first face-to-face meeting with Marion O'Donnell-St. Clair. He'd worked the case hard for three months and didn't have much to report, but he was making progress. Trouble was, the more he found out about the woman the less he wanted to find the girl.
The estate oozed opulence. Outside, he'd entered through a wrought-iron gate and traveled a pebbled drive to a sprawling two-story Georgian style. The interior was just as impressive. Marble floors. Mahogany stairs curving twenty feet up to the second level. The Triple Crown molding probably cost more than he made in a year. Crystal chandeliers hung above him and in the adjoining room. If everything the former housekeeper said about the widow was true, he understood her desperation to find her step-daughter. A woman used to this lifestyle would do anything to keep it.
He'd gone back to see Stella Jackson one more time with the lame excuse of following up on a couple of points, but the truth was he liked her and was trying to figure out how to ask her for a date. He'd been out of circulation too long and she was the first female he found he didn't mind spending time with since his wife died.
"Mr. Landry?"
He looked up at the maid standing in the doorway. "Yes, ma'am."
"Mrs. St. Clair will see you now. This way, please."
She led him into a room with arched bookcases and oval windows with a panoramic view of a small lake. His current employer sat behind an ornate desk. Holy shit. Stella had mentioned the widow's beauty, but Miles wasn't prepared for just how beautiful.
Long blond curls cascaded to her shoulders while fringed bangs topped emerald eyes hooded by thick lashes. Full breasts peeked above the square neckline of her royal blue silk dress. And she smelled good, too. Something floral with a hint of cinnamon. Everything about her exuded sex and money. David St. Clair had been one lucky bastard. At least for a while.
She sat ruler straight as if on a throne. The only thing missing, a crown. Suddenly, he felt like the court jester.
She smiled and rose to her full height. Perfect hour-glass figure. "Come in, Mr. Landry." She offered her hand, and he took it. "It's so nice to finally meet you in person." She motioned for him to sit.
He released her palm and eased into one of the two dark green velvet chairs facing her.
She reclaimed her seat and shuffled through papers. "I appreciate you sending weekly reports. However, it seems you've made no new discoveries. Simply verified the prior investigator's findings. That's disappointing."
"True, but I'm on the right track. Once the cops dropped the case, nobody canvassed the website you set up when the girl disappeared. I'm in the process of tracking down every person who has visited the site. It's a tedious procedure, but I have two computer techs tracing each IP address. I think that's our best shot at finding her."
