Love Me Sweet (Bell Harbor, #3)

“It’s cute. It suits you.”


“Thanks.” She’d take a little time later to appreciate that compliment, and be grateful he didn’t know who she was, but right now her main concern was finding Donna the sticky-fingered landlord, and her forty thousand dollars. Technically it was thirty-nine thousand eight hundred and fifteen dollars. And eleven cents. She’d counted it this morning when she packed.

“Listen,” Grant said, “I don’t think that bag is here. I think our best bet is to get in the car and head south. If your sister calls and says we should be going someplace different, we will.”

“You want to just get in the car and drive? Didn’t you just tell me a few hours ago that was a bad idea?”

“This situation is a little different, and unless you have any other suggestions, I think it’s worth a shot. The sooner we catch up to her, the better chance we have of getting your money before she can spend it, and like you said, she can’t have gotten far. With any luck we’ll track her down right away. Worst case scenario, she and my aunt will probably stop at a hotel somewhere and we can catch up with them then.” He reached up one hand and rubbed the muscles corded along one side of his neck. “Let’s just pray to God it’s not a hotel with a casino.”





Chapter 10




THE LAST THING GRANT CONNELLY wanted to be doing right now was putt-putting down Interstate 196 along the Michigan coast during the worst fucking winter in fifty years. In a Volkswagen. This soup can on wheels couldn’t go much faster than seventy miles per hour, and even if it could, the snow had kicked up again, making it nearly impossible to see. The wind buffeted them around like a bull tossing a rodeo clown, and the heater was virtually useless.

This was going to be one miserable trip, and they didn’t even know if they were headed in the right direction.

Elaine was grim over in the passenger seat. She’d brought her knitting but the needles were silent and still in her lap. The more dejected she looked, the worse he felt. They’d stopped back at his house to grab a few overnight things in case they were gone more than a day, which was looking more and more likely. They still hadn’t heard back from her sister, and every mile on the road could actually be taking them away from the money. Maybe they should have stayed put in Bell Harbor, but he needed to be doing something.

“I don’t know how to tell you how sorry I am,” he said for about the fifth time in an hour.

“It’s not your fault,” she answered, tucking her pale blue scarf into the neckline of her brown coat. “How could you know she’d take it? Maybe it wasn’t even her.”

He gripped the steering wheel so tightly his fingers were numb, or maybe they were numb from the cold. All he knew was that he could barely feel them. What he did feel was frustration. Deep down, he knew his mother had taken that backpack. It was the only logical explanation. She’d been in the house, and the odds of some other random burglar just happening by on a Sunday afternoon were about zero.

Fast on the heels of his frustration was guilt because this was just the type of situation he would have left to Tyler to deal with in the past. Now it was up to him to fix. Tyler was on his honeymoon. Scotty, Aimee, and Wendy had all left town too. Elaine was Grant’s responsibility, so finding Donna and getting that money back was his job, whether he’d asked for it or not.

“It never occurred to me she’d take it,” he said, “but I told you that first night my mother likes to gamble, so maybe I should have seen this coming. It just makes me so mad. I have zero tolerance for people who lie or steal and she’s done both.” He glanced her way. “My brother says it’s psychological. Like, a compulsion brought on by stress, but I don’t think it matters why she does it. She has to realize she can’t just take stuff.”

Elaine shifted in her seat.

He kept on talking, nervous and wanting to fill up that space. “Regardless, you’re being an incredibly good sport about this, Elaine. If I were you, I’d have called the police. Shit, I think we should call the police anyway and she’s my own mother.”

She looked out the window. “We can’t call the police.” Her voice was quiet, almost as if she wasn’t talking to him so much as just lamenting that fact, and it nearly made him slam on the brakes as his brain sorted through the facts.

He was an idiot.

The only reason somebody losing forty large would refuse to call the police was if the money wasn’t theirs to begin with. Jesus. He was on this highway to hell to get back stolen money that had already been stolen, and Elaine was no better than his mother. He’d been suspicious that first night, but he’d tucked the concern away because Elaine was cute and quirky. And because she did yoga and had a mouth made for kissing.

A full minute passed before he could make himself ask.

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