Page 65 of Spooked

Instead of hanging up, Bill Adams carried on talking. “She’s doing okay there? In her job?”

“She’s the best assistant I’ve ever had. Goal-driven and organised.”

“Good, good. Between you and me, we were worried about her while she was at college. She found it hard to settle, and then she wanted to go travelling around Europe. Europe! With all this great country has to offer, who needs to go toEurope?”

“Learning about a different culture can be a valuable experience.”

“She already backpacked around South America after high school. Spent a whole year picking macadamia nuts and teaching kids to speak English.” Bill Adams chuckled. “I’m just glad things are working out.”

“I’ll remind her to call you.”

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate it.”

Not quite what Brax had expected from Meera’s father, but Bill Adams seemed a nice enough fellow. He wrote a note to himself.Meera call father.Maybe he’d have that extra drink after all? Meeting the parents was something to celebrate, even if it was only a brief chat over the phone. Had he come across okay? Not too garbled? He’d gotten off on the wrong foot with Madeleine Dunn from the start, not that there was a right foot with that woman. Carissa’s mother was a bitch, genetics at work. For the first five years of his marriage, he’d received a Christmas card addressed to Braydon. Then the cards had stopped. Had she ever known his name, or was she on some permanent passive-aggressive power trip? Grey had a minor in psychology—maybe Brax should ask him?

He checked the internet and found that Carissa hadn’t been lying about the delays at Newark. Whatever was going on with the system, there were issues at JFK as well. He fired off a message to his lawyer, informing him of the delay and telling him not to bother coming in early. An email arrived from the real estate agent who was assisting with the property search—had Brax arrived at a decision yet? A yawn came as he considered his options. Was a week without sleep finally catching up with him? The warehouse was a definite no due to zoning issues, and Justin didn’t like the smaller property either, the one Brax had been most hopeful about. The old mansion… That was a possibility, but also a money pit. He wasn’t certain he’d have the funds after the divorce to do it justice. Plus it was a little way out of the city, more secluded but less convenient. Although it did have the benefit of space. Forested land, overgrown gardens, an old horse barn. It was the type of place he’d snap up as an addition to his portfolio, but not the centrepiece.

Keep looking, he wrote back.

CHAPTER27

BRAX

The ringing phone woke him.

Why didn’t Meera answer it?

Right, because it was his personal phone.

And the room was also dark.

What the fuck? How long had he been asleep? What time was it? He’d made it to the couch in his office, and someone had put a blanket over him—probably Meera before she went home. He squinted at the phone, his vision blurred because he’d forgotten to remove his contacts. Six a.m., and Alexa was calling. Damn, it was too early for another lecture. He let the brat go to voicemail, switched to his glasses, and then saw that Carissa had sent a text ten minutes ago. She was on a plane, finally. This time tomorrow, he’d be a free man. A poor man, but a free one.

Another text to his lawyer, and he closed his eyes again. Should he sell the apartment in San Francisco? If he did, he’d be able to buy a place in LA. But if Phoenix progressed as he hoped, he’d open at a second location in San Francisco in a year or two, and then he’d need a place to stay. Maybe he could rent the apartment out for a while? Or stay there with Meera for a month to decompress first? No, he wanted to take Meera to Paris. There’d be no stay at the Ritz, but two weeks in a nice hotel was doable. Somewhere near the Montmartre. The Montmartre was Brax’s favourite part of the city, an eclectic mix of old and new, of gaudy and traditional. The Sacré-Cœur and the Moulin Rouge. The vineyard in Rue Saint-Vincent and the art of the Belle Époque. The cobbled streets. The view from the top of the hill. Thefuniculairetaking visitors down to the red-light district of Pigalle.

How his life had changed in just a few short months. Things that had once seemed so important, suddenly they weren’t so vital anymore. Two years had passed since he visited France, longer still since he took a trip with no agenda, no people to see or places to be. When had he last done something impulsive? Something totally unplanned? Probably…nine years ago, not long before Ruby’s murder. He’d gone to pick up a burrito with Jerry, found the restaurant had been closed due to a health violation, and ended up on the summit of a volcano in Uruapan. Her idea, not his, but he’d gone along with it. He’d also twisted an ankle on the descent, and they never did get the damn burritos.

Upon reflection, those days in Blackstone House had been the best of his life. True, he’d never had any money, but he did have a hell of a lot of friends. And fun, even with Jerry. She’d kept herself to herself most of the time, and she’d had an unfortunate tendency to act like a cold-hearted bitch, but beneath the icy surface lurked a wild streak.

Whatever happened with Meera, he vowed not to spend quite so much time working in the future. When he was old and grey, he wanted to remember the adventures, not the inside of his office.

* * *

A knock at the door woke him, soft but insistent. Was it time yet? Had Carissa arrived? A glance at his watch told him that was impossible—at eight a.m., she’d still be in the skies above flyover country.

“Mr. Vale?” Meera opened the door a crack. “Are you awake?”

“Why are you here so early?”

“I…I’m worried about you. Did you stay here all night?”

“Yes, but at least I slept.”

“Do you want coffee yet? Something to eat?” She eyed the empty Scotch bottle on his desk. “Tylenol?”

“Just coffee.”

“There’s somebody waiting in reception to see you. I told her that you were unavailable, but she’s not taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

---