Page 107 of Luck of the Devil

He drummed his fingers on the table. “If she disappeared after she left the bank, someone must’ve been waiting for her. They probably drove off before you made it outside. Did you ask the bank manager to see video footage?”

“No. She was sympathetic about the box, but I doubt she’d pull surveillance footage without a warrant.”

He nodded, his jaw tightening. I could see he was processing this, trying to put it together.

Silence settled between us. We were getting close to piecing everything together—I could feel it. But I couldn’t shake the sense that my father was one step ahead of us.

“You could report it to the sheriff’s department,” he said, slowly, like he didn’t like the idea but felt obligated to suggest it. “Impersonating your mother has to be a crime.”

“But did she impersonate my mother?” I countered. “The teller said she never gave her name, just asked to get into box one-seventy-two. Even if they find her, she could say she got the box number wrong.”

“They still might be able to find out who she is.”

I narrowed my eyes. “And if something happens to her, I’d be their prime suspect.”

He gave me a pointed look. “What would happen to her?”

I met his unwavering gaze. “If I bring the sheriff into this, we lose all control of the investigation.”

“True,” he said, thinking. “But they might be able to find her faster. Carter still hasn’t turned up anything.”

I shook my head. “No. We’re doing this ourselves.”

His eyes turned dark and serious. “Why?”

I swallowed hard, unsure how to answer. I knew what he was really asking: What are you going to do when you find her?

The truth was, I didn’t know.

And that scared the hell out of me.

“No sheriff,” I said, my voice low. My mouth had gone dry.

He held my gaze and said quietly, “Okay. No sheriff.”

I nodded, the weight of my decision settling in my chest. I wasn’t committing to vigilante justice. Not yet. But I wasn’t turning this over to the authorities either.

I had to see this through. And I wanted to do it with James.

“Well, you’ve got a stack of papers that could take down your father and we haven’t even gone through them yet.” James closed his laptop, the soft click of the lid punctuating his words. He slid out of his seat and sat next to me, close enough that the heat from his body brushed mine. “Let’s take a look.”

My breath caught, not just from fear of what we might find, but because James’s thigh was a mere three inches from mine. Solid. Still. I caught the faint scent of cedar and leather.

The room felt too warm. Too confined.

I cleared my throat, worried the quiver in my voice would give me away. I needed to focus, not lust after a man I could never have. “The original, signed copy of my mother’s will.” I flipped the first stapled stack over on the table.

“You’ll want to keep that safe,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “We’ll lock it up in my safe when we’re done here. Along with anything else that proves he’s shady.”

I nodded, then slid the stack of papers between us so we could read them at the same time. It was hard to concentrate with him so close, his shoulder brushing mine, but I reminded myself that I was trying to solve my mother’s murder, not get laid.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, forcing myself to refocus—to find my mother’s killer. Once I felt grounded, I opened my eyes and realized part of me wasn’t ready to face what might be in those papers.

But I couldn’t turn away either.

The top paper was a contract for the purchase of a company two years ago. The company, Copper Ridge, was sold to a corporation James and I had first heard about while investigating Hugo Burton’s murder—Larkspur, LLC.

I sucked in a breath, lightheaded. “Larkspur.”