Page 76 of Dalliances & Devotion (The Truitts 2)

With all her strength she forced her lids open. Grim lines marred Meg’s face. She needed to stop frowning like that, those wrinkles around her mouth would set in forever.

Darkness edged around the sides of the other woman, framing her body, creeping closer to her mass of unkempt hair, not even properly pinned back and—was that blood in it?

“When this is over, you really need to let me teach you about cosmetics...and to create a proper bun.”

Meg might have said something, but the black waves turned into full clouds that wiped across her vision and plunged her back into sleep again.

* * *

No Walker.

No Walker.

No Walker.

David pounded his fist against Jay Truitt’s desk as papers swirled around him. The name was in none of the pages of the dossier. It was the surname of the bailiff, just like Mrs. Truitt said, but it only appeared in a piece of her old correspondence, not anywhere else. So he couldn’t have seen it before.

But he had. He knew he had.

The man who tried to shoot Amalia was of no help. He wasn’t talking and instead cooling his heels in the Wilmington jail. The preliminary information indicated that he was from Indianapolis, like the man caught in Bedford. He had a note on him too. No name, just the Centerville address and the words two hundred dollars.

Based on all the information he’d gathered, Louis Walker did not have two hundred dollars to pay anyone. Not even close.

“Still nothing?” Will leaned against the door, surveying the area.

“No.” David tugged at his hair. “The answer has to be in here somewhere.” And he had to find it, role in the mission or not. He had to.

After all, Meg said it was the best way to help Amalia—do his job and let her do hers. He ran his hands over his shaggy scruff. Last time he’d checked on her, Amalia’s face had been so pale. She’d moaned, but hadn’t opened her eyes or even acknowledged he was in the room.

“Well, you’re not going to like this.” Will threw another file on the table. It landed with a crack.

“What’s this?” He rubbed his temple, not touching it.

“Information from Pittsburgh.” Will’s voice was neutral.

David snatched it and flipped it open, skimming the pages, before staring at Will, mouth open. “Unrelated? Completely unrelated? So no new information.” He pounded the desk again so hard that the paintings of some long dead Truitt ancestors on the wall rattled.

“I’m sorry, David.” Will sank into a chair. “Where do we go from here?”

“Damned if I know.” He took off his spectacles and wiped them against his most certainly too tight shirt. He unbuttoned another button. “I just can’t put together the pieces.”

“Can we talk it out?” Will shrugged as he kicked his legs up on the edge of the desk. “I mean I know telling you to let the rest of the team handle it isn’t an option now so we might as well work together. Perhaps if you say it out loud, maybe it’ll spark something.”

“I don’t know.” David pounded the table again. “I just think I’m missing something. I was so sure it had to do with her charity. She believed that. At least I think she did.”

“She most certainly did.”

The two men swiveled around to find Thad now leaning in the door frame, his nut-brown hair, so much like Amalia’s, flopping against his forehead. “That’s why she hasn’t asked my parents for money yet.” He sauntered into the room and sank into the seat next to Will.

“What?” Will frowned. “What charity?”

Thad waved a tired hand at him. “It’s for women who can’t afford divorces. She puts funds in the trust and lawyers with clients who need it can apply to receive them. Neither the giver nor the receiver knows each other’s identity. She’s been doing it ever since she ended her relationship with Ethan. She cares about it more than anything. Has made her do some damned foolish things too.”

“Because she was desperate and afraid you’d all disapprove.” David gritted his teeth.

“Which is ridiculous, but very much like my sister, who’s rather skilled with people but blind when it comes to herself. Especially her own worth.” Thad scowled. “Not that it isn’t our fault in many ways. We left her alone too much, made her feel too much like a burden, like she was taking up too much space.”

The three sat in silence for a long moment. Poor Amalia, because that’s exactly what it was, wasn’t it?

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