If Anderson had told her that Compton had been a shrewd businessman and had carefully built his portfolio by buying and selling properties, Kate probably wouldn't have thought much about it, and she doubted she would have been repulsed. Lots of clever, driven men and women made their fortunes wheeling and dealing, and Kate would have a.s.sumed Compton fit into that category. But seeing what he had done, and how he had done it, on paper, made all the difference. He used deceit and false promises, anything, it seemed, to get what he wanted. He certainly didn't have any scruples. The number of lives, the dreams he'd destroyed over the years, the jobs and security of faithful employees he'd s.n.a.t.c.hed away . . . all that meant nothing to him, nor did the families of those who were dependent on the income of the companies he closed. The human element wasn't his concern, and compa.s.sion wasn't in his nature.

The only thing Compton MacKenna ever cared about was money, and how to make more.

What he had done wasn't criminal. But it was immoral. And he had gone to his grave proud of his accomplishments. Had he compiled this testimonial to his conquests just to impress her?

Dear G.o.d, he believed she was like him.

Reading his financial history validated her initial decision. She could not and would not spend a single dollar of his money on herself, her family, her company, or her future.

Compton MacKenna was a selfish, cruel man. She was not like him, and she meant to prove it. Whatever she decided to do with the money had to be perfect, and when she was done, she hoped Compton would roll over in his grave.

Shoving the binder aside, she reached for the envelope and opened it. Her mood immediately improved. There were ten photos, all black and white.

Her father had been a handsome boy. He looked dashing in his school uniform. He was definitely a child of privilege, she thought, as she studied one photo of him in a polo outfit standing so proudly in front of a horse. In another photo he was about four or five years old, and he was standing on a lawn, smiling into the camera. In the background was a house-no, not a house, a mansion. Had he lived there?

There weren't any photos of him with his parents or other relatives. She thought that was odd and wondered if there were other pictures of her father packed away somewhere. She made a mental note to ask Anderson to find out.

She was just tucking the last photo back into the envelope when Dylan joined her.

"You ready?" he asked.

"Almost."

She put the envelope and binder in her overnight bag.

Dylan was folding linens and placing them back on the bed with the pillows he'd already picked up. He noticed what she was doing and asked, "Don't you want to take that binder in the car so you can look it over?"

"I've already looked through it."

"Were you impressed? I got the idea that whoever put it together for you thought you would be."

"I wasn't."

She checked the bathroom and closet to make sure she hadn't left anything behind, but Dylan had already straightened them. Even the damp towels in the bathroom had been folded and left on the vanity.

They stopped for breakfast at the hotel coffee shop, but neither one of them was very hungry. As soon as they were back in the car, he checked the map again so he could avoid highways as they made their way toward Silver Springs.

"I should call Anderson," she said. "I don't want him to plan on seeing me at three."

"But you might see him at three," he said. "It all depends on how we work things out."

"We're going back to Savannah? Won't that be dangerous? That's a terrible idea. I'm warning you now. If we walk into that office and I see a basket of flowers anywhere in the vicinity, I won't be responsible for my actions. I'll do something terrible. I just know I will. I don't know exactly what that will be, but I a.s.sure you I cannot endure getting blown up again, and I won't let you get hurt. No, it's out of the question. We simply can't go back there. My mind's made up."

He did try to interrupt her during her tirade, but she was on a roll and wouldn't be stopped. When she finally had to take a breath, he said, "We don't know yet if we have to go back to Anderson's office. He might be able to bring the papers to us."

"Oh."

"Oh? That's it?"

"I might have overreacted . . ."

"Might have?"

She reached behind her seat for the briefcase. "If you had mentioned this sooner, I wouldn't have gotten upset." She found the file folders she was looking for and pulled them out.

"What's all that?" he asked.

"Loan papers my mother signed. I want to read them again. The other folder is from one of the hospitals. In the last year of her life she spent more time there than at home."

Kate took the next twenty minutes to read each paper, each bill, and each receipt, and she at last understood. Tears clouded her vision. What little insurance her mother had, had run out, and in desperation she'd signed away everything so that her daughters wouldn't be saddled with her debt.

The hospital bills alone were astronomical. How she must have worried, but in silence, telling no one and keeping the heartache and fear inside.

Tears streamed down Kate's face. She turned away so Dylan wouldn't notice. She found a tissue in her purse and quickly wiped the tears away.

"Kate, do you want to tell me what's going on?"

"I need information," she said. "And fast."

"All right."

"Do you think Anderson is ethical? If he's going to become my attorney, I'll need to know he has scruples. Is there a way to find out quickly?"

"I've already got someone looking at him. We'll know something soon."

"I like him. But he did represent Compton MacKenna, and that worries me."

"He's an attorney and obviously a good one or your uncle wouldn't have hired him. It's naive to think Anderson had to like or respect him or any of his other clients."

"There are other people I want checked out. Who would give us the name of a good investigator?"

"I could do it for you. This is about your company, isn't it?"

"Yes," she said. "But you've got enough to deal with, and I need this information soon."

He didn't argue. "Let me think about it," he said.

She put the folders in the briefcase and sat back. Her mind was racing with details she needed to take care of.

"After you sign those papers, what are you going to do with all that money?" he asked.

The question reminded her of yet another errand. "I need to go to a bank in Silver Springs."

He thought she meant she would transfer the money there. "Anderson will do that for you."

"You don't understand. I need to get a loan."

Chapter Thirty.

Dylan had the uneasy feeling that he was forgetting something. He kept replaying conversations in his mind and going over various details again and again, and still he couldn't figure out what was bothering him.

He knew he was missing something, but what? What wasn't he seeing?

Kate noticed how preoccupied and withdrawn he had become. It didn't take long for her to catch on that he didn't want to talk-his abrupt one-word responses were a dead giveaway-and for over an hour neither of them said a word. The silence wasn't awkward, though. Had she become that comfortable with him, she wondered, that she could feel so at ease?

They had reached the outskirts of Silver Springs. When he suddenly took an unexpected turn, she asked him where they were going.

"Somewhere safe," he answered. "And quiet."

"It's quiet at my house now," she said. "We could go there."

He shook his head. He bypa.s.sed her neighborhood and continued down Main Street to the Silver Springs police station.

He drove around the corner to once again park in the back lot.

"What are we doing here?"

"I need to check in," he said.

He got out of the car and came around to open the door. "I don't understand," she said. "Why do you have to check in?"

He offered her his hand. "Even though this is a temporary a.s.signment, I'm working for Chief Drummond, and I answer to him, so it's my job to keep him informed. I don't want to do that over the phone. I was also thinking that the chief could be a big help to you with your company problems."

"He could? How?"

"You said you wanted an investigator to check out the weasel. Drummond's got the resources, and I know he won't mind helping. You'll have to explain why you want the information, but he'll keep whatever you tell him confidential. I know how worried you are."

"It would be wonderful if I could get something in my life straightened out. Thank you," she said, overcome with grat.i.tude.

"The chief's helping me out, too," he said. "I've already called him several times and given him names to run for me. Hopefully, he'll have something by now."

She was smiling. "You must have really impressed him. I remember what Nate told you about the chief."

"Yeah? What was that?"

"He said he was tough . . . or difficult . . . and because he was retiring soon, he didn't care who he offended."

"He is retiring," he said. "I don't know how old he is or how long he's been at the job, but I'll tell you this. He hasn't lost his edge. After I met with him to get the badge and gun and we talked, I made a couple of calls of my own. I wanted to know that, if I had to, I could trust him."

"And can you?"

"Yes," he said emphatically. "He's got an impressive record, and he's a good man. I respect him," he added, "and I definitely trust him."

"Okay. Then I'll trust him, too."

They started to cross the parking lot, but Kate turned back. "I'll need my briefcase. The chief might want to look at some of the papers in my mother's file . . . if he has time to help."

"He'll make time," he a.s.sured her as he retrieved the briefcase.

After he'd handed it to her, she whispered, "And you're certain he'll keep this confidential?"

"I'm certain," he said. "You shouldn't be embarra.s.sed about-"

She interrupted. "I'm not embarra.s.sed. I'm just trying to protect my mother's reputation. I know you think I'm being silly. My mother wouldn't care. I just don't want anyone to think less of her." They started toward the path again. "I'm glad the chief is helping you," she said.

"I'm trying to take some of the load off Nate's shoulders," he explained. "He'd do whatever I asked him to do, but he's overworked as it is. He's trying to track down Jackman, who seems to have vanished from Las Vegas, and he's also keeping a tail on Roger and the two brothers. I doubt he's asking for any outside help. He's new to the Charleston department, and I know he wants to prove himself. The FBI is focusing on the bomber, and from what I understand, they've got a couple of solid leads there. They're also searching for Jackman, and according to Nate, everyone's still tripping over everyone else. It would look real good on his record if Nate brought Jackman in." He glanced at the station and said, "It will be less chaotic here."

Chief Drummond must have spotted them from the window. The back door swung open and he beckoned to them.

"Don't you listen to your messages?" he asked Dylan in lieu of a greeting.

"I was just about to do that," he replied.

"When you do, you'll hear me tell you to call me. We've got a real interesting situation here," he announced.

He tipped his head to Kate and said, "Good morning, Miss MacKenna."

"Good morning to you too, Chief Drummond, and please call me Kate."

"All right then."

Southerners, Dylan was learning, were always polite, no matter what the circ.u.mstances.

"You have a situation?" Dylan asked, trying to get his attention.

"Real interesting," he said. He stepped out of the way so Kate and Dylan could go inside first, then made sure the door locked behind him.

"A fella came in here about a half hour ago. Said his name was Carl Bertolli."

"Carl's here?" Kate asked.

The chief nodded. "You heard right. He's here." He led the way up the stairs to the first floor.

Kate waited impatiently for him to explain, but he didn't seem to be in any hurry as he proceeded down the back hall and pushed open the door to his office.

She hurried inside and turned to face him. "Why is he here?" she asked.

"He said he drove all this way to pay you a call, Kate, but you weren't home, and so he decided to come on down here and turn himself in. Please, take a seat."

She dropped into one of the chairs facing his desk. "But what is Carl turning himself in for?" She was thoroughly confused.

Drummond made himself comfortable in his old squeaky chair. He folded his hands on his desk and said, "He told me he was responsible."