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"It won't be a problem."
"Maybe you should step away. Let your team handle this."
"I believe I told you the same thing when you were falling for Avery while you were running for your lives. You didn't listen to me then."
"That was different." Wyatt smiled. "Or maybe it's not. Savannah says you've been concentrating on the judge's stepdaughter. I saw a photo of her. Very pretty."
"She is attractive," he agreed. "She's also helping me. So, it's all good. If at any time I think I'm losing my objectivity, I will bow out, because justice needs to be served."
"Then we're good. Are you going to Bree's for brunch today?"
"Yes, but I'm just going to drop in for a short time. I have a few leads I want to follow up on. In the meantime, let's see if your surfing skills have gotten any better."
"They're as good as yours any day," Wyatt snapped back.
"Prove it," he challenged.
"You're on."
They surfed for almost an hour, conversing only briefly during ocean lulls, but mostly just enjoying the challenges of the waves.
When they hit the beach, he headed home to change, as Wyatt did the same. He wanted to stop in at the office before he went to Bree's and do some work or at least get some balls in motion that could keep rolling after brunch and while he was driving down to Palm Springs.
He called Callie from the car, but she didn't answer. It was only eight. Hopefully, she was still sleeping. She needed to rest, because he had a feeling it would be another long day.
Chapter Eleven
Callie wokeup around nine on Sunday, feeling much more energized than she'd felt the day before. She'd actually been able to sleep without seeing Arthur's dead body or hearing her mother's hysterical weeping.
After taking a shower and putting on faded, ripped jeans and a soft, cozy blue sweater, she made herself breakfast, thinking about Flynn's scrambled eggs from the day before, as she whipped up an egg white omelet with tomatoes and mushrooms and mixed in some roasted potatoes she had left over from a few days earlier. Flynn had done a nice job with his scramble. The man clearly had many talents besides being a federal agent. He was a good cook and a really good kisser.
She smiled to herself at the memory. It had been a long time since she'd felt so thoroughly wrapped up in a man's kiss where she hadn't been thinking about anything except making it last as long as possible. Usually, her mind was ahead of her emotions, warning her not to go too fast or too slow, thinking about random things like whether or not the guy was too tall or too short or if she had time to go to the gym or for a run before she went to work in the morning. But with Flynn, she'd been consumed by his taste and his touch, the heat of his breath, the feel of his arms around her. She hadn't been able to think of anything or anyone else. The only word going through her head had beenmore. She'd wanted more of him. More of everything.
But that couldn't—shouldn't—happen. He was too attractive, and she already liked him way too much. He was still in a position to hurt her mother. Until her mom was completely in the clear, she couldn't let herself forget that.
Today was a new day, and she was determined to help Flynn get leads that would move him off her mother. And maybe some new clues would also clear her own lingering doubts about her mom. She wanted that more than anything.
She drank two cups of coffee while she ate her breakfast. Her caffeine addiction was getting worse by the minute, but it was helping her focus.
Opening up the large binder that contained Arthur's trust, she read through the first several pages. What was most interesting was that the trust had been updated four weeks earlier. She wondered what had changed in this version. She could probably find out, but it would take a fair amount of reading and probably a call to the attorney.
What she could see was that the bulk of Arthur's estate was going to the family foundation, which had been put in place by his parents and distributed money to various charities. Arthur was also leaving money to several museums, one of which was the Piquard. There were several other businesses called out for endowments, including the Art Co-op of San Diego, and the Vazquez Studio. Arthur's love of art would continue after his death.
Moving on, she saw that her mother would receive a million-dollar flat payment as well as the condo in Hawaii. Her mother could remain in the Pacific Palisades home for one year and then it would be sold with the proceeds going back into the foundation. The management of the foundation would go to Arthur's sister in Australia.
There was no mention of the house in Palm Springs.Why was that?If the trust had been redone four weeks ago, that property should be in it somewhere.
As she continued to read, she saw mention of several LLCs and corporations where Arthur was apparently a member or an owner. She ran through the list of names, wondering what on earth all those companies did, but the names were very generic, like Brixton Holdings, JC Corporation, MMD Investments, and Haxton LLC.
Maybe she should turn this binder over to Flynn so he could decipher all of Arthur's relationships, although she suspected they probably already had this information. But they hadn't known about Palm Springs.Why? Because it wasn't listed under Arthur's name?That begged the next question.Who was on the deed to the house?She could go back to Arthur's home and try to find the deed, but she didn't relish the idea of walking through that house again.
Putting the binder aside, she got on her computer. Thinking about the threatening text her mother had gotten on her phone made her wonder if there was anything going on in her mom's email. She'd had her mom's passwords memorized for years, so it was easy to open her mail account.
There were two or three dozen unopened emails. Most seemed to be spam. But one subject heading jumped out at her. It said:How I See Arthur.
Opening the email, she caught her breath at the photo of a woman painting what appeared to be Arthur's portrait, only he wasn't wearing clothes in the picture. The shot of the woman revealed her bare back, her long black hair pulled around to the front of her body, her tanned skin.
There was a brief message under the photo.You need to let him go, Juliette. He's mine.