Chapter 30

The moment Kaylastepped inside the lobby of the Hilton at Biltmore Park Town Square on the south side of Asheville, her phone chimed with a text.

To the right of the bar.

Nodding to the ponytailed host, she entered Fork Lore, an upscale restaurant that specialized in Southern fare and locally-sourced food. According to their website. Kayla knew nothing of the place and wondered why her mother had selected an eatery so far from their offices.

The CFO of Krowne Hotels and Resorts sat at a small table, nestled between two giant planters with towering tropical plants. After the obligatory cheek peck, Kayla took the seat across from Jillian, then bypassed the glass of red wine to reach for the ice water, already sitting in a pool of condensation.

”Sorry I’m late.” Kayla took a drink. “As you heard, the delay was unavoidable.”

“I certainly did. We’ll get to that later.” She placed her hand over Kayla’s. “Thank you for meeting with me at the last minute.”

She frowned at her mother’s bare finger. “Where’s your wedding ring?”

Jillian removed her hand. “I took it to the jeweler to have the setting checked and cleaned.”

“Didn’t you do that just a few months ago?”

“It’s been longer than a few months, darling.”

Kayla didn’t think so, but she would concede the point.

“Now, knowing your time constraints,” Jillian said, “I took the liberty of ordering you a wedge salad.”

Although she appreciated her mother’s thoughtfulness, Kayla hated the bleu cheese dressing that normally flowed over the lettuce like white, clumpy lava. Hopefully, she had instructed them to put it on the side or had chosen a substitute.

“Thank you, Mama.” She rested her forearms on the table and leaned in. “Now tell me why the clandestine location.”

“I don’t know what you mean. I thought you’d be delighted to get away from downtown.”

“Maybe for dinner, but this is the middle of a very busy workday. All of which you know and would point out if our roles were reversed.”

Jillian re-draped the linen napkin over her lap. A delaying tactic, while she no doubt grappled with how to respond.

The food arrived, buying her more time.

“Here we go, ladies.” The server set a plate down in front of Jillian. “Smoked salmon for you and,” he placed a rimmed plate before Kayla, “a wedge for you.”

Thick white dressing dripped over the sides of the quarter cut chunk of iceberg lettuce.

Great.

She imagined herself scraping off the disgusting dressing, but it had soaked into the nooks and crannies of the cut sides.

“With a ranch substitute,” he continued.

Relieved, Kayla picked up her fork and knife, suddenly starving.

“Thank you, Mark,” Jillian said. “We’re all set.”

Once the server departed, Kayla said, “You remembered.”

“Of course, you are my daughter. I remember everything about the past thirty-five years.”

Kayla lifted an eyebrow. “Everything?”

Jillian’s eyes narrowed. “All of the important bits.”

Kayla shook her head, smiling. “Can we get back to why you’re acting like Evelyn Salt? I know it’s not so you can ask me about the investigation. We could have done that downtown.”

Jillian finished chewing a bite of salmon. “Your father and I would like to engage a private security firm on your behalf.”

Had they somehow found out about the vandalism to her car? Kayla shoved the question away. Only three people knew about the etchings. And none of them would have informed Jillian or Gordon Krowne.

She finished stabbing lettuce, tomato, and bacon onto her fork. “Why would you want to hire bodyguards for me?”

“To protect you, of course. I—we take threats against our family seriously.” She toyed with the stem of her wineglass. “I’m even more keen on the idea after overhearing your conversation with Mr. O’Connor.”

“Tommy is scared, not violent.” She hoped. “I will deal with my client.” She gave her overprotective mother a pointed look. “Understood?”

Jillian cut her broccoli into perfect bite-sized pieces. “Very well.”

Kayla evaluated her parent’s body language for a good five seconds before letting the subject go. “As for the other, the police have yet to confirm that I was the intended target.”

“While they’re confirming, a murderer is running around Asheville, who may or may not want you dead.”

Kayla could see it then. A mother’s terror.

Over the years, there had been instances of overzealous activists, disappointed clients, ego-bruised politicians, or lobbyist haters who crossed the line.

For each incident, Jillian had gone through a battery of emotions, but never fear. Simmering anger fed her actions, which always boiled into satisfying retribution.

One time, her mother made a mouthy politician pay for his sin by holding her annual masquerade gala on the same night as the councilman’s biggest campaign fundraiser of the year. He barely took in enough money to pay the electric bill.

When a trio of extreme activists hacked into and plastered gruesome pictures on Kayla’s business website, Jillian had notified their employers. All three hactivists lost their jobs.

Jillian’s extreme actions had forced Kayla to stop telling her overprotective mother about the darker side of lobbying in order to protect her attackers from their moments of poor judgment. But an unknown shooter at large was a scenario Jillian Krowne didn’t have a retributive response for.

Setting down her knife, Kayla reached across the table and took hold of the older woman’s hand. “Mama, you don’t need to worry about me.” She nodded toward the hotel’s reception area, at the large man standing erect near one of the enormous columns. “I have Mason.”

To her surprise, tears crowded in the corner of Jillian’s eyes. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen her mother’s iron grip slip.

“Mason can’t be with you twenty-four-seven.” A note of pleading took hold of her voice. “Please let me do this for you. For us. I can’t lose you.”

Kayla’s heart twisted in a tight rope as she watched her freedom disappear. “All right, Mama. But I can take care of it myself.” She would talk to Mason, or maybe Ash, about a reputable company.

Ash.

As annoyed as she was with him the previous evening, she found it impossible to remain so today. All she could think about was how every part of her yearned to mold itself around him. Absorb his warmth, his strength, his everything.

“Where’d you go, Kayla?”

She blinked.

“I asked if you’re sure? I have time to do this for you.”

Kayla straightened and resumed her methodical shaving off bites of salad. “Positive.”

“You’ll take care of it today.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jillian smiled. “Thank you, sweetheart. I’m sure it will only be for a little while.”

With Ash on the case, Kayla tended to agree.

She glanced at her mother’s barely touched plate. “Aren’t you going to eat your salmon?”

“I’ll take it home and eat it tonight. Seems I’ve ruined my appetite by making a mid-morning stop at Percolator.”

“Currant scone?”

“Guilty.”

They shared a smile.

“Do you have pearl studs?” Kayla blurted out.

“Of course.” Jillian frowned. “Why do you ask?”

“Have you seen them lately?”

“What a bizarre question. Do you need to borrow them?”

“Please answer the question, Mama. It’s important.”

“I wore them two nights ago.” She tilted her head to the side, assessing. “Why? Does this have anything to do with the murder investigation?”

A large hand constricted around her chest. “Why would you think that?”

“I know you, daughter. The location of my jewelry would be the furthest thing from your mind, under normal circumstances.”

“Forget I asked. Ash wouldn’t be happy if he learned I’d been sleuthing.”

Amusement fluttered across Jillian’s features. “It’s not like you to customize your actions to please a man.”

“I’m not being careful for him. It’s the case I’m worried about. I don’t want to screw up anything.”

“It’s best that you not form too deep an attachment to the agent.”

“Not that I am, but why the warning?”

She waited for her mother to explain, but the boardroom-savvy woman merely stared back with calm authority.

“Speaking of the agent,” Kayla said, suppressing the automatic, teenage-style revolt bubbling in her stomach, “are you in agreement with Sybil and Elsie? About the method with which I should keep tabs on the FBI’s investigation?”

Jillian folded her linen napkin and placed it on the table. “No, I’m not.”

“You were unusually quiet at lunch the other day.”

“As I said, I know my daughter.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” she said with quiet emphasis, “I raised you to use your mind to develop solutions to a problem. Not boudoir tricks.”

Kayla’s heart hammered in her chest. “But?”

“To my regret, I failed to teach you one important lesson.” Jillian reached across the table to cup her cheek. “How to protect your heart.”