“Maybe I can tell who wrote it.”

“You can’t. It was written with crayon in capital letters. Give me the gun in case I need it. The door will lock automatically when you let yourself out.”

She reclaimed the gun and dragged the blanket behind her as she climbed the elegant, winding staircase. She seemed too weary to move. He felt so bad about what she was going through that he almost offered to help her up to bed, but after the jolt he’d felt when he touched her, he knew he had to keep his distance.

Eventually, she reached the top and disappeared from view.

“Damn you, Skip,” he grumbled. “I wish you were alive so I could break your freakin’ jaw.” He’d never been in a fight, but for Skip he would’ve made an exception. No one deserved a leveling blow more than he did.

Cold air streamed in through the broken window. Ted rummaged around in the kitchen and garage until he found some tape and a piece of cardboard to cover the hole. Fixing it made him feel somewhat better. He told himself he should go home and climb into bed—his deadline was looming closer with each passing day. But then he realized that a rock the size of a baseball was sitting on the fireplace mantel. That had to be the one that was thrown through the window. It sat on a crumpled piece of typing paper that had obviously been wrapped around it.

With a final glance up the stairs to make sure Sophia wasn’t coming back down, he crossed the living room and smoothed out the paper so he could read it.

Look at the beautiful Sophia DeBussi. Broke. Alone. Despised. I’m laughing. What does it feel like to fall so far? It couldn’t have happened to a nicer person. But let me be the first to warn you. If you have our money hidden away somewhere, and you think you can lie low until the FBI quits paying attention, you’d better think again. Because if I ever find out you’ve been lying, I’ll see that you live to regret it.

Ted’s heart pounded as he reread those words. Was this an idle threat? Someone in town with a loud bark but no real bite? Or was it the opposite—someone who’d let his anger grow until he acted on it?

No wonder she’d been standing guard over her daughter and what was left of her house. She had to protect what she could. But a paintball gun wouldn’t stop anyone with real intent.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he hurried to the second floor. He’d never been inside Sophia’s home, but it wasn’t difficult to find the master bedroom. A set of elaborate double doors at one end of the hall gave it away.

He knocked, just in case she wasn’t dressed.

“Come in,” she said.

He found her lying on the carpet, curled up on one side with a blanket and a pillow. The furniture had been removed from this room, too.

“Who the hell would write this?” he demanded, showing her the note he held in his hand.

She didn’t bother to lift her head. “I have so many enemies these days you could take your pick. Maybe it was Chief Stacy.”

“I doubt he’d be stupid enough to threaten you.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that. He feels he can get away with anything.” She punched up her pillow. “Maybe he can.”

“You can’t stay here anymore. You realize that.” She didn’t even have a bed. Or heat. And it was only going to get colder....

She chuckled. “Oh, yeah? Where am I supposed to go?”

He thought of his guesthouse. No one was there at the moment. It was furnished. It had heat. She could easily get to work. And he could keep a protective eye on both her and Lex.

But then she’d essentially be living with him!

No, not living with him. It would be like having her as a...a neighbor. He could handle that, couldn’t he?

“How long until the bank takes your car?” he asked.

“You think we should move into my car?”

“No. I want to know what we’re dealing with.”

“We aren’t dealing with anything other than work-related matters.”

“Answer the question.”

She leaned on her elbow. “Why? There’s nothing you can do.”

“Just give me an idea.”

“Not very long,” she admitted. “A week?”

“You should have more time than that,” he said. “They don’t repossess until you’ve missed a few payments.”

“Skip wasn’t paying the bills before he jumped off the yacht.”

Ted felt even more disheartened. “Why am I surprised?” he grumbled. “So...how far behind are you?”

“According to the bill collector who keeps calling me, it’s been four months.”

Had he ever known anyone in a worse situation?

No. Never.

“Is that true for the house, too?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“How come you didn’t get the notices?” She’d told him before that she hadn’t known they were in financial trouble, so this must’ve been as unexpected as Skip’s initial disappearance.

“Until he died, everything went to Skip’s office.”

Ted couldn’t get over what Skip had done to his own wife and child. He shook his head. “Okay, back to your car. What will you do without transportation? Because the Mercedes will go first and, if you’re four months behind, it’ll be very soon.”

“I’ll walk.”

“To my house? That’s ten miles round trip. What about Alexa?”

“She’ll have to ride her bike to school. And we’ll have to ask Sharon to drive her out to your place every afternoon—at least until they move. After that? I can’t plan so far into the future.”

“You can’t leave her vulnerable to the little monster who’s been tormenting her at school.”

Sophia pushed herself into a sitting position. “I don’t know what you want me to say! That I’ll buy another car with the piles of money I have sitting around? There is no money, Ted! I’m doing all I can to get through this, but I don’t have a lot of options and no resources.”

“You could’ve told me you don’t even have heat!” he said.

“We have heat. We just can’t pay for it. I’m trying to keep the bill down, so they won’t turn it off before we get kicked out. Anyway, why would I complain to you? You’re my employer. I don’t want you to regret hiring me. My job’s the one thing that might save me.”

“I wouldn’t fire you just because you need help.”

“The problem isn’t that I need help—it’s that I need more help than anyone in their right mind would want to give me. I’ve crashed and burned in a very ugly and humiliating way. I don’t blame everyone for wanting to get as far from me as possible. You should do the same thing.”

“I don’t mind giving you a hand. That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?”

The fact that he still cared about her. That was what made this situation so impossible.

“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” he said and walked out. But just as he was opening the front door to leave, he noticed a pair of headlights coming toward him. The glare was so bright, he couldn’t see who it was, couldn’t tell the make and model of the vehicle. He ran out, but the driver spotted him immediately, threw the transmission into Reverse and burned rubber as he accelerated backward.

Ted jumped in his Lexus and tried to follow. Only one road led to and from the DeBussi mansion. He thought he could catch whoever it was, or at least get close enough to see if he recognized the car. But the vehicle seemed to disappear into thin air.

“Son of a bitch.” Smacking the steering wheel, he headed back to Sophia’s. It didn’t matter that she was his ex-girlfriend. He couldn’t leave her and her daughter alone, not under these circumstances.

19

“Mr. Dixon?” A hand jiggled his shoulder. “Mr. Dixon? Are you okay?”

Okay was a relative term. Ted had a crick in his neck. He knew that much.

Lifting his head, he squinted to bring Sophia’s daughter into focus. The bruise on her face looked worse than yesterday. But the cut looked better. She was ready for school, all scrubbed and polished. With her hair pulled back, she was the spitting image of her mother—fortunate for her considering the wide disparity in Skip and Sophia’s physical traits.