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CAROLINE

Luke leans against the SUV with folded arms and a stern expression. If I didn’t know better, I’d interpret his stance as giving off jealous boyfriend vibes. But I do know better, and Mr. Alpha is fulfilling his protector role.

I don’t see a weapon on his waist, but he’s on guard.

I catch my reflection in his sunglasses as I approach the vehicle. Distorted in the reflection, I appear small and childlike, with flat blonde hair and an egg-shaped face.

Behind me, Dorian stands in front of the open gate. I wiggle three fingers in a stilted wave. Dorian stands straight, arms at his side, his expression unreadable, the elusive titan guarding his estate.

I don’t recognize the driver of the SUV. There’s an Uber sticker on the front windshield. Is it really an Uber, or is the flannel-wearing driver one of Arrow’s and the black Chevrolet Tahoe a clandestine facade?

Luke puts my luggage in the back and comes around to the open door. I expect him to close it, or say something, but he stands there with a blank expression.

What is his deal? We went on two dates, and one of those was in a coffee shop. He gestures, and it hits me. He’s not riding up front.

I slide across the bench seat, buckle my seat belt, and whip out my work phone. Dorian remains at the gate. One of his security men stands by his side now, but they don’t appear to be talking. As we drive away, I twist in my seat and watch him standing there, watching us drive away.

“So, you’re back with him?” Luke asks.

Direct. I’ll give him that.

“It’s complicated.” That hasn’t changed.

“Explain.”

I look to the front of the vehicle. The driver has earpods in his ears, which means nothing. He could use them as hearing aids.

“Is he moving to California?” Luke asks.

I scope Luke from head to bent knee, evaluating my colleague. We aren’t in the relationship space where his questions are remotely warranted.

“Are you moving to Colorado?”

With a fast flick, my phone comes to life. “Like I said, it’s complicated.” With a pointed look, I add, “And personal.”

I can feel his accusatory gaze while I peruse headlines. I set the phone down on my thigh. I should’ve known better than to date a colleague. Damn, Stella. “You’re looking at me like you are an injured party.”

With that comment, his scowl breaks, and he shifts in his seat. “I get it,” he says, voice lower than mine, presumably so the driver doesn’t hear. “We weren’t an item. It was casual. But I don’t feel you’ve been honest with me. It’s a sore spot.”

During dinner, he shared that his ex cheated. My actions played into his insecurities. I grit my teeth in frustration. I should’ve never agreed to a date.

“I’m sorry.” Dammit. This is on me. “Yes, you’re correct. There’s still something between Dorian and me. It’s quite possible there always will be. We were married. I don’t know what will happen, but yes, we’ve agreed to see each other and see where things go.”

My head swirls with the admission, and I press back against the headrest, settling the dizzy sensation.

When I flew here, I came to clear Dorian’s name, and I held the expectation it might be the last time we were in the same space.

Three days later, I haven’t cleared his name, but I’ve alleviated some suspicion, and I’ve agreed to date him.

We ride in silence for the duration of the trip to the airport. I’m tempted to send a personal text to Sophia, but I refrain. Luke is sitting too close, and it’s too likely he’d read the screen.

So instead, I fill the time reading through project updates.

China, Russia, and North Korea all deny involvement.

Privately, they’ve each offered to assist in the investigation.

Publicly, leaders from each country have stated the United States is falsely casting blame and disseminating false information.

It’s the perfect subterfuge and the expected play. Time and again, we have possessed irrefutable proof of their attempts at infiltration and hacks, and they’ve always denied culpability.

This idea that it’s one or two people orchestrating it all is a wild card. It doesn’t make sense.

The SUV pulls up to a small private airport.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“We’re flying back on a private plane. Seems we’ve hit the big leagues,” Luke answers, sounding slightly less disgruntled.

The awaiting jet is small, and Telluride isn’t my favorite place to fly in and out of. Personally, I’d prefer Denver, especially after the helicopter incident, but no one asked me.

Luke retrieves my luggage and a black duffel. He takes both items and charges up the steps to the aircraft. A uniformed pilot smiles. He’s an older man with thin white hair and kind eyes. I’d bet he’s semi-retired, and flying these private planes is as much a hobby as a job.

“Welcome. Do you have any special needs?”

“No, I don’t. How’s the weather?” I haven’t checked, although if I’d known about the small plane plan, I would’ve studied it closely.

“Should be smooth flying all the way to Santa Barbara,” he answers. “Ah, here’s Sheryl.”

A woman speed-walking along the tarmac in a tight navy skirt and matching crewneck sweater approaches.

“We pulled this together on short notice,” he explains. “Not a problem at all, of course. Happy to do it. If you need anything during the flight, anything at all, you let Sheryl know. It’s a well-stocked plane. Chances are, she can meet your needs.”

Sheryl, Bob, the pilot, and I exchange pleasantries, then climb the few steps onto the plane. Unlike some private planes I’ve been on, this one is a standard configuration with a row of wide leather seats on each side of a standard aisle.

Luke claimed the seat furthest to the back. It’s likely part of his training, positioning himself where he can observe everything. Unlike me, he didn’t meet and greet before boarding.

I take a seat in the second row, and Sheryl and Bob disappear behind a walnut door.

Luke can’t possibly read my screens, so I remove both of my phones. On my personal, there’s a text from Dorian.

My Ex

Who is that guy?

I grin.

Me

A colleague.

My Ex

If he’s security, he needs to be replaced. He was looking at you, not me.

Me

Might that be in your head?

My Ex

No.

Me

BS. He wore reflective shades.

Sheryl enters the cabin and returns my smile, but I’m smiling at my phone, not her.

My Ex

Trust me.

I request sparkling water and return to my screen.

I’m intrigued by his newfound brother. It’s curious that his father never mentioned him.

I can understand why he’d avoid scandal when he was an up-and-coming business magnate.

But now? Few remember him, and those who do wouldn’t be surprised.

While he might have wanted to avoid scandal, he didn’t succeed.

His father was never plagued with the Epstein variety scandal, but affairs, often with married women, were par for the course.

Is that why his father kept his brother a secret? Is Geoffrey’s mother still alive? Is there a husband out there who believes Geoffrey Cromwell is his son?

Dorian was born some twenty years after Geoffrey. Does Dorian’s mother know the truth? For so many years, I begged Dorian to visit his mother, but he always refused. He said he had no desire to meet a woman who chose money over her son.

I’ve always doubted that story. Halston forced her away, I’m certain of it.

I once researched his mother with little success.

I found her New York Times engagement and wedding announcements and an article in Town and Country with photographs of the wedding, but little else.

Unlike Halston’s other wives, Dorian’s mother shied away from the spotlight.

My Ex

Still there?

Me

Y

My Ex

Leaving from Telluride?

I roll my eyes.

Me

Tracking me?

My Ex

With your permission.

I waffle with my response. If I’m honest, I like that he cares.

My Ex

It’s important. If you need something, call me.

My Ex

Trust your instincts.

Me

I always do.

My Ex

I still love you, you know…

I type out a warning message… We’re taking things slow, remember? But then delete before hitting send. Instead, I highlight his message and hit the heart key.

I don’t know what I’m doing.

I text Sophia to check in with her.

Me

Homeward bound. Luke???

SF

He requested the assignment.

SF

Insisted.

Me

The assignment? I wasn’t in danger. I could’ve gotten myself to the airport. You knew that.

SF

Have you taken off yet?

I snap a photo of the snowy mountains through the airplane window and send it to her.

SF

We needed to get you out of the compound. We’ve triangulated too many communications with his IP address.

She isn’t thinking this through.

Me

He’s a tech guy. If he were breaking the law, you’d be tracing those communications to Iceland.

The second I hit send, awareness alights. She should be suspicious. A kernel of suspicion formulated last night, but in the light of day, I’m positive.

Me

He’s being set up.

SF

Or you refuse to see the truth.

No, he’s definitely being set up. And given Halston’s state, it’s someone who has access to Halston’s office.

Possibly someone on his medical staff. They could jump on his computer.

Any passwords that were needed, they could get by using his biometric readings.

Halston’s so easily confused, it might not even register that someone is holding a phone up to his face.

But why set Halston up? If an investigation opens, Halston will easily be cleared. No, the purpose isn’t to set him up. It’s only to use his accounts. His access.

It might appear Dorian is to blame, but just like Dorian easily deflected accusations when I spoke with him, I’d bet he can easily prove his innocence in a court of law.

I switch back to my exchange with Dorian.

Me

Have you done background checks on the staff at your father’s home?

My Ex

Of course.

Me

Can you send them to me?

My Ex

***

Me

Someone with access to your father’s office is setting you both up. It’s the only explanation.

My Ex