Chapter Fifty-Two

Margo Angelhart

Iput Peter Carillo out of my mind as I drove to Logan Monroe's elite golf resort, Saguaro Springs, just west of Scottsdale and north of the 101, though the lack of a Scottsdale zip code didn't mean it was any less fancy. The main hotel had three floors where every room was a suite. Multiple buildings on the edge of the green that blended into the surroundings each had four to eight condos or townhouses, which catered primarily to wealthy snowbirds.

I'd been here exactly once—fifteen years ago for my senior prom.

Saguaro Springs also offered golf memberships, spa services, indoor and outdoor swimming pools, and had three bars and two restaurants for members and resort guests.

Arizonians loved their golf. My dad tried with all of us, but only Lu and Jack took up the sport. Jack to socialize and hang with friends, Lu because she was competitive and liked to win. So did I—which is why I didn't play golf.

When Brittney first hired me and I researched Logan, I learned he had bought the resort three years ago with an investor group that included two retired baseball players and a former Arizona congresswoman. They'd gotten a steal because the previous ownership group had mismanaged it. They'd done major renovations and apparently it was now in the black. No small feat. I didn't know how hands-on Logan was, but he maintained a townhouse on the far side of the golf course that he used for friends and family—and now himself.

Even though temperatures were starting to creep up, it was still a respectable eighty degrees at ten in the morning, so the morning golfers dotted the landscape with their twosomes and foursomes, covered carts providing relief from direct sun when needed.

I hesitated, bumps rising on my skin, telling me someone was watching me. Could just be someone playing golf, maybe someone I knew, maybe staff. I looked around the area a second time, didn't see anyone acting suspicious or staring at me.

A private patio led to Logan's door. Putting aside the odd feeling, I knocked.

Logan came to the door. Dark circles under his eyes told me he hadn't slept much. "Did we have a meeting?" he asked, confused.

"I wanted to check on you. Everything okay?"

He motioned for me to follow him inside. The ground floor of the townhouse was a single room set up as an office, with sliders that looked out at the golf course. He went up the stairs and I followed. The second floor had a large great room, full kitchen, and what appeared to be two bedrooms off the living area. A small deck in the front, a larger one in the back. He'd been working at the kitchen counter—his laptop was open beside three phones, and a stack of what appeared to be proposals, all bound and professional. The one he seemed to be in the middle of reading was neither bound nor professional-looking, but had a clear sheet cover like I used in school for essays.

"You're busy," I stated the obvious.

"Just going over potential projects."

"I really don't understand what you do."

He shrugged. "A lot of different things. These," he waved to the stack, "are ideas that people want funded. Most are blah. But I'm considering one of them."

"And you just give them money?"

"A bit more complicated than that, but close enough."

He sat on the couch; I stood by the window and looked out. A foursome was fifty yards away, two men and two women, all over sixty. They were doing more talking than golfing.

"Is Jennifer okay?" Logan asked. "Did she talk to the police?"

"All went well," I said. "And Jack will stick with her until we know more about the threat from her father—or from Brad Parsons. Have you talked to Brittney?"

"Last night when I told her I wouldn't be home. She's been calling and texting me all morning."

"Can I see?" I asked.

He pulled yet another phone from his pocket and handed it to me. Nineteen phone calls between yesterday at three—about the time I was talking to Logan at his office—and this morning. He'd answered only the first call yesterday, and made one outgoing call to Brittney last night at seven, right before we left Bisbee.

I opened his text messages with Brittney. Most were from her. There was a slew of them yesterday asking when he was going to be home, insisting that they needed to talk, that she had a bad feeling something was wrong. It was after that series that he had called her. After the call, she texted him multiple times asking why he wasn't picking up his phone, she was worried, she was going to call the police if he didn't talk to her right now. He'd responded once at 10:10 p.m.

I'm tired and have an early morning meeting. I will talk to you tomorrow.

She responded immediately.

I love you, baby. I miss you.

He hadn't responded. Yep, he definitely believed that Brittney was involved with Brad Parsons.

Then the messages started up again this morning, along with several unanswered phone calls.

I handed him back his phone.

"I called Gavin last night after the conference call with Jennifer," Logan said. "I told him everything—he needed to know because Desert West is his business, and he needs to protect himself and his employees. He and Ron had already taken some steps, but they're hiring a forensic auditor—someone recommended by your mother—who should be able to figure out exactly what happened and how much money was stolen. I hope they'll be able to prove that Parsons did it. He's not answering Ron's calls."

"You told him about Jennifer's family?"

"No details, just that she had a major family upheaval and she'd tell him when she could." Logan paused, looked at the wall, not at me. "Gavin said he suspected that Brittney and Brad were still involved, but he didn't want to say something in case he was wrong. I don't understand why he wouldn't tell me—did he think I was so weak and thin-skinned that I couldn't handle it? Did everyone know except me?"

"We trust the people we love," I said. "It's as simple as that. That's not on you."

"My parents were married for forty-five years before my dad died. That's what I wanted."

It's what I wanted, too. I had my parents as an example, and I would rather be single than settle for someone I didn't think would stick.

"I think I'm supposed to say maybe you should go to counseling, or give her a second chance."

He tilted his head and looked as if he were confused. "Supposed to say?"

"Jack thinks I have no tact. And if you want to give her a second chance, go for it. But the woman tried to set you up—she hired someone to put you in a compromising position because, I believe, she wanted to use the photos in a divorce. She gave me a copy of your prenup. She gets more money if you cheat."

Even though I was in the clear to share with Logan because Brittney had lied to me, I was still uncomfortable. "I guess I should go," I said, feeling awkward. "If you need me for anything, you have my number. Remember—be careful. We don't know what's going on with Parsons right now, and last I heard, the police haven't talked to him yet."

Logan's phone vibrated on the table. He sighed as he reached for it. "I'm going to have to talk to her sometime. And I need to get some things from the house—I'd rather do it when she's not there, but I might not have a choice."

I wasn't going to let him go alone. There was too much we didn't know about Brittney and Brad Parsons. Parsons set a fire and risked lives to conceal his involvement in embezzlement. Would he be willing to go even further?

But I didn't say that to Logan. He picked up his phone, answered. "Yes."

He sounded weary and irritated at the same time.

Brittney spoke so loud that I could hear most of what she said.

"Logan! Finally! I need to see you... Please?" Some of her words were too soft for me to hear, but I understood the tone.

"I'll be home in an hour," he said. "I'm packing for a business trip."

I didn't know if he was lying or not.

"When?"

"Tonight."

"Baby, we have the dinner with the McCarthys tonight."

"You'll have to go without me." He rubbed his eyes. I gathered he hadn't told her he'd asked his attorney to file divorce papers.

"I'll join you."

"No," he said without explanation. "I need to go." He ended the call. "I can't do this."

"Can't do what?"

He tossed his hands in the air. "Everything."

"Of course you can," I said firmly. "You're a self-made multimillionaire, and you can't tell your wife that you're leaving her because she cheated on you?"

"I've never done emotional confrontation well. She'll be served with the papers this afternoon."

"Maybe," I said, "you should stay here until after?"

"I'm giving her the house. I don't want to go back after she knows. There's a few things that are important to me that I need to get in case—well, in case she gets emotional."

I raised an eyebrow. Emotional or violent, I wanted to ask, but didn't.

"I'll go with you."

"You don't need to do that."

I did. I'd witnessed too many volatile situations and Brittney was a wild card. "Domestic situations sometimes turn bad real fast."

"Brittney isn't violent. I don't want to make this harder on her than it is."

"Harder on her?" I asked, flummoxed. He was thinking about his lying, cheating wife and worrying about how she was going to take the split?

"Have you been through anything like this?" Logan asked.

"I've never been married."

"A bad breakup?"

I thought about Charlie, when he told me his ex-girlfriend had moved back to Phoenix. He cared about me, and he didn't know if it would work out with her, but when he saw her, all the same feelings returned and he couldn't in good faith continue to see me knowing he had feelings for another woman. He was mature and honest, and I waited until I was home alone to cry. With Rick? I definitely didn't act as mature. He chastised me for giving Sam advice without consulting him, without telling him about the cyberbully, and reminded me that I was not her mother. I walked away and hadn't spoken to him until this week.

Was it a sign of maturity that I'd been so angry and hurt that I just buried it?

"Personally, no. My breakups have been more or less straightforward. But my brother went through a tough divorce, and he has a son, making it ten times worse for everyone. All you can do is what you can do—but you need to do it. Something my dad always says, meaning ignoring a problem doesn't solve anything."

"I thought Brittney was the one. I didn't have many serious girlfriends because I'm busy and don't like dating. It's exhausting. I meet investors and idea people all over the world." He motioned to the huge stack of proposals next to his computer. "I love what I do. I'm really good at finding businesses on the cusp and turning them around. It takes time and Brittney seemed to accept that I'm gone half the year."

Probably because she was screwing Brad Parsons, but I didn't say that.

"Was it all a lie?" he asked, more to himself than me.

But I answered anyway. "You don't know what was in her head when she said yes to your proposal. What you know now is based on her actions. If you want to see a marriage counselor, fine. But I'll tell you this: if my husband hired someone to honey trap me—whatever the reason—I would absolutely walk away. If you want to give her a second chance, you're a better person than me." Or an idiot, but I didn't say that, either. "I'm coming with you. Just in case."

"Maybe stay outside? I don't want a confrontation if I can avoid it."

"Fine," I reluctantly agreed. "But I've observed a lot of splits and it rarely goes as planned. And another thing? You should lock all your financial accounts, then change your passwords and install two-factor authorization. Bank accounts, investments, anything you have that she can get into."

He gave me a sad smile. "I already did."

Okay, he wasn't an idiot.