Sixteen

F rom the moment he stepped out of the house this morning, the hair prickled on the back of Wyatt's neck. Someone had their eyes on him. That feeling trailed him like a puppy the entire drive. It had been like this since his last meeting with Devlin. A sixth sense that someone was shadowing him, watching him. He didn't like it, and he hoped he'd catch whomever it was. Maybe have a little talk.

Still no information on Anna's whereabouts. If she arrived in Boise, why didn't he know? Was she okay? Why did he feel it was his business to know? Was that creepy? Was it because he'd kinda started the whole thing—whatever this "thing" was? Or was there some other reason?

Things were hectic at the office, meetings, acquisitions, property transactions, including the sale of the diner. If he were the suspicious type, he'd conclude Devlin was trying to keep him occupied. Two meetings today and an important one in the morning.

He stood at the window. The eagles by their nest. Were they tired too? It had been a long day. He wanted a breather, time to find Anna, maybe connect more dots, maybe even reconnect with the girl herself. Instead, he was jumping at his shadow, dashing from meeting to meeting.

His phone vibrated on the desk. He eyed the flashing contact.

Martha Jones. Why was she calling?

He hadn't worked with Atticus since before Greta died. Was this another Devlin distraction scheme?

He swiped to answer. "Wyatt Stone."

"This is Martha Jones." After a pause. "I need a favor."

"You need an attorney? For a personal or professional legal matter?"

"No, actually, it's more of a personal request, nothing that requires your legal skills. I just need someone I can trust, and I'm in a pinch. Oddly, you're the only person I could think of who might be able to help me out."

"It depends on the favor. I'm swamped with meetings this week. What is it that you need?" Martha Jones calling him for a favor made no sense. Had to be Devlin behind it.

"I have a guest—Anastasia Stanten. She's here to see Atticus, but he's been ill and was unable to see her today. She's tired from her journey, has a hotel room, and doesn't want to stay at the house tonight. I can't leave the house to take her to the hotel. I didn't want her to go by taxi if there was another option. We trimmed the staff while Atticus has been so ill, so I didn't know who else to call."

Anna? This was about Anna? He fumbled the phone. "Anastasia Stanten? She's there—at Atticus's house?"

"Yes, she's his great-niece. Lila—Did you know Lila? Anyway, she's related to Atticus, and I need to get her to the hotel and then back again tomorrow morning."

"I don't know, Martha." A face-to-face with Anna? Was he ready? He eyed the distant nest and fingered through his hair, his heart racing ahead of him. "Is she expecting me?"

"No, no, of course not. But she wants to leave bad enough that it won't matter who takes her."

Ouch.

"Can you do it?"

"I'm about to leave the office. I'll wrap up a few things, then head that way. Just remember this next time we're trying to negotiate something."

"Sure, sure, whatever it takes. I appreciate it. I didn't know who else to call."

"I'm coming to the place on Warm Springs?"

"Yes, as soon as you can. The day may have been too much for her."

What?

"Give me thirty minutes. You might let her know, though, so it isn't a complete surprise."

"Thank you. I won't forget this favor."

He strode to his office washroom, and his face heated as he splashed a hint of cologne and freshened up. He flashed back to the day in the diner, half a year ago. Anna, no longer the young girl in his dreams, but a beautiful woman he couldn't forget. Brown eyes so deep the image drew him into a trance, hypnotized by the possibilities.

Anna Stanten was in Boise, and he was going to meet her. Was he dreaming, or had his dream come true?