The attorney nodded thoughtfully. Whitney didn’t tell him that Miranda’s ID hadn’t shown up on security checks. She didn’t want him asking how she’d obtained the information.

“You needed to see me?” she asked.

“Yes. I want to clear up a few details. Let’s order first. I’m starving. I had to be out here early for a deposition and missed breakfast.”

Whitney picked up the menu beside her napkin and quickly selected an ahi tuna salad. She wondered why the attorney couldn’t have cleared up a few details over the phone. Rod signaled and the waitress came over. They both ordered salads.

“I had my investigator go over the titles to both properties. Did you realize your former husband has taken out a second mortgage as well as a home equity line of credit?”

“No, I didn’t,” she replied slowly. “But I’m not surprised. We were tight for money when we split. He’s starting a new practice. That requires a big financial commitment.”

The lawyer didn’t respond. He looked at her with an expression that said he expected her to continue.

“I’m not responsible for these loans, am I? We are divorced, right?”

He gave her an encouraging smile. “We double-checked the court records. You are divorced. It’s not uncommon for couples to divorce then settle property matters later.”

“Will I be responsible for loans he took out after-”

“What counts is the day the divorce papers were filed. Subsequent loans are his problem.”

Whitney smiled to herself. Ryan had never been good at managing money. Let him sweat this one out with his Miss America wannabe.

“Did you realize your ex had a gambling problem?”

She bit back a startled gasp. “No,” she managed to say after a moment. “I had no idea. Are you sure?”

“My sources-always reliable-tell me he’s into the casinos for half a mil.”

“Half a million dollars.” The second the words were out she knew she’d raised her voice. She added in a lower tone, “I don’t believe it.”

“I’ve represented the tribes on several matters. They’re as computerized and businesslike as Vegas. If they say Ryan Fordham owes half a mil, he owes the money.”

“I see,” Whitney said, the light slowly dawning. How many times had Ryan gone out in the evening? He’d claimed to be checking on patients. Now she knew the truth. When he hadn’t been cheating on her, the skank had been gambling.

“I guess I’m not responsible for his gambling debts, if they were incurred after we filed. Right?”

“Correct, but it explains why he’s so anxious to settle the property dispute. I doubt if he can scare up another cent.”

Whitney couldn’t feel sorry for her ex. She’d walked away from the marriage without much more than her maiden name. She’d lost her job, but Ryan hadn’t cared how she survived. She’d taken a house-sitting job, then she’d been forced to turn to Miranda.

“You said the property near Temecula has Environmental Protection Agency restrictions on it.”

“Yes. Ryan insisted we buy the land because development is moving in that direction and it would be valuable one day. When we were finalizing our divorce, he discovered the property had been a landfill. It can’t be sold without an expensive cleanup and decontamination.”

“Our preliminary check didn’t reveal any EPA restrictions, but I’m told that isn’t too unusual. A lot of those reports are given to county agencies that don’t have the manpower to disseminate the information to all appropriate agencies. Often the EPA reports don’t turn up until a transaction is in escrow.”

“Ryan went to a Realtor and found out about the problems.”

“Realtors often know-”

“Whitney,” Trish Bowrather called from a few feet away.

“This is my friend,” Whitney managed to tell Rod, even though she was surprised to see Trish. “I left a message that I would be here. She has an art gallery nearby.”

Trish stopped beside Whitney. Today the gallery owner was dressed in coffee-colored linen with gleaming black onyx accessories. “I heard about the fire and I was so upset.”

“I’m okay. I was out with the dogs. They were safe. That’s all that matters.”

“That’s why I trust my Brandy to her,” Trish told Rod as she turned and offered him her hand. “I’m Trish Bowrather.”

“Rod Babcock,” the attorney replied, rising. “Join us. We’ve just ordered.”

Trish shook her head. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just wanted to see for myself that Whitney was okay.”

Whitney had the impression that the lawyer was intrigued by Trish. “You’re not interrupting. I think we’re finished with business.”

“Yes.” Rod pulled out a chair for Trish while telling Whitney, “I’ll need to check a few more things before I’ll allow you to sign the papers.”

Whitney hid her disappointment. She wanted to put the past where it belonged-behind her.

“Do you have a place to stay?” Trish asked as soon as she was seated.

“In the maid’s quarters at the main house.” Whitney knew she didn’t blush, but she hoped her face didn’t give away how she felt about Adam.

“Sounds small,” Trish said. “I have a client who’s going to be in the south of France for at least six months. He’s looking for someone to take care of his place.”

“Thanks,” Whitney replied with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. Adam cared about her, and Whitney liked knowing he was close by. She didn’t want to move, but it might be for the best.

Rod waved over their server and Trish quickly ordered a salad. “I hope you’re still coming to my opening Friday night.”

Whitney nodded without enthusiasm. She’d forgotten all about the showing of the Russian’s works.

Trish turned to Rod. “I own the Ravissant Gallery on Prospect Street. I’m showing Vladimir’s works Friday night. He’s the hottest artist on the local scene. Why don’t you come?”

“Well, I…” Rod hesitated. Whitney had the distinct impression he was charmed by Trish but wanted to be persuaded.

“It’ll be a lot of fun. Liquid Cowboy is catering the food.” Trish produced an invitation from the elegant black bag she’d deposited beside her chair.

“How can I refuse?” Rod asked with a smile.

He was too sharp an attorney not to be able to slither out of this if he’d wanted, Whitney decided. She wondered if Trish had really dropped by to check on her or if she’d come because she knew it was an opportunity to meet a wealthy prospective client.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

IT WAS LATE afternoon before Whitney could get an appointment with Jasper’s vet. Dr. Robinson specialized in small breeds like Chinese cresteds.

The little guy squirmed as the vet ran her forefinger over the bump. “This is right where we implanted his ID chip. According to the records that was almost three years ago when Throckmorton-”

“He answers to Jasper. His ridiculous AKC name is Sir Throckmorton VonJasperhoven.” Whitney realized the vet was about her age. She would be working with animals, too, if she hadn’t set aside her aspirations for Ryan’s career.

The vet consulted her chart. “Jasper was chipped at eight weeks. That was right after Mr. Hunter purchased him. I didn’t insert the chip, but I’m sure our records are correct.”

“It’s odd that it would be infected now, isn’t it?”

Dr. Robinson shook her head. “It isn’t infected. It’s just irritated.”

“Do you think they rechipped him for some reason? He was flown internationally a lot. He recently won best in show at the Frankfurt International Dog Show.”

“I’m not familiar with international regulations. It’s possible he received a new chip, but I think it’s more likely that this is a skin irritation typical of Chinese crested dogs.”

Whitney nodded, thinking she’d overreacted by bringing in Jasper. “This breed is prone to skin problems, right?”

“You’re right.”

“Aren’t many of them on special diets because of allergies?”