But somehow Mr. Knight knew about the Ricker family and perhaps the fact that she’d been researching them. Instead of a new story, this interview might be exactly what she needed for her current one.
She held out her phone, and Lucas slipped it into the pocket of his blazer. Then a gray-haired man wearing a black suit and tie stepped out of the Escalade, the buttons on his jacket straining to contain the bulge underneath.
“How are you, Jack?” Lucas asked.
“As good as the day I was born.” Jack clapped him on the back. “Mr. Knight’s been counting down the minutes until you arrived.”
“We had a bit of a delay—” Lucas glanced at Quenby.
“I hope all is well?”
Lucas shrugged. “Well enough.”
Quenby turned her attention to the chauffeur. “Could you please tell me where we are?”
“You must be Quenby Vaughn.” Jack extended his hand.
Reluctantly she shook it.
“My boss is anxious to meet you.”
Cool wind rustled the pine trees beside them, showering the asphalt with needles and cones. “I’m anxious to get my phone back,” she said. “And for someone to tell me the name of this island.”
“Solstice Isle,” Jack said with a smile. “I can’t help with your phone situation, though. Mr. Knight confiscates them for almost all of his meetings.”
“What is your boss trying to hide?”
“Not hide so much as protect.” Jack opened the rear passenger door. “And it’s more about the who than the what.”
“This woman he’s trying to find?”
“Perhaps.” Jack motioned for her to get inside the car and Lucas followed her. Seconds later the Escalade pulled away from the plane.
The car’s interior might have been plush, but there wasn’t nearly enough room for both her and Lucas inside this vehicle.
“Let me text my editor,” she said, edging as far away from him as possible. “And then I’ll hide my phone until after this meeting.”
Lucas eyed her as if he wasn’t certain he could trust her with her own phone. So she reached out and snatched his, clutching it at her left side.
He stuck out his hand. “Give that back.”
When she refused to return it, he tried to reach around her, but she elbowed him away.
Jack glanced in the rearview mirror. “Children?”
“Give me my mobile,” Lucas insisted.
“Not until I contact my editor.”
Lucas retracted his hand. “You are remarkably juvenile for a journalist.”
“And you’re remarkably arrogant, even for an attorney.”
Jack laughed. “Do I need to pull over?”
She sent her text to Chandler, then deleted it from Lucas’s phone and tossed the thing back to him. He immediately started working on it again.
“Are you exempt from the no-phone rule?” she asked.
He didn’t look up. “I don’t need an exemption.”
“I have to take notes during the meeting.”
“Mr. Knight is equipped with plenty of pens and even some paper,” he said, his gaze still focused on the screen.
She drummed her fingers together. “Maybe I don’t remember how to use a pen.”
“It’s like riding a bicycle, Miss Vaughn.” He stopped momentarily to glance at her. “You do know how to ride a bike, don’t you?”
“I don’t believe that’s any of your business, Lucas.”
His eyebrows climbed at the use of his first name, but he didn’t reprimand her. What was it about this man beside her that made her want to revert to those awful middle school years when she thought everyone was better than her?
They were from vastly different backgrounds, but no matter her own insecurities, she and Lucas Hough were indeed equals. Grammy Vaughn told her this often during those tumultuous years—every boy and girl was shaped in God’s image, equally loved as His creation. Unlike earthly parents, God didn’t reject His kids. Instead He offered them a way home.
In her freshman year of high school, with tears in her eyes, Quenby had accepted God’s gift of salvation, and His love began to strengthen her. In her junior year, she found theater—or rather, theater found her when the drama teacher asked her to try out for The Sound of Music. She’d liked slipping into character, both on and off the stage. God loved her—she knew that—but it was still much safer to mimic a character so others would like her too.
After two years of theater, Grammy encouraged her to pursue journalism, and she discovered that she could lose herself in other people’s stories on paper. Unlike roles in theater, there were always more stories to read. More to write.
When she looked out the window, the evergreens reminded her of the dark forest of Fangorn in The Lord of the Rings, hundreds of Ents with arms linked together as one so no human could destroy them. Then the filter of sunlight through them turned into a flood as their vehicle emerged from the canopy of trees.
She leaned forward to talk with Jack. “How many people live on Solstice?”
He glanced in the mirror again. “Including Mr. Knight’s staff?”
She nodded. “The entire population.”
“There are eight of us.”
She leaned back. “So your boss doesn’t like people . . .”