Chapter 10: The Airport Hour

Brody's POV

My hand was still warm when she left the room.

I stood at the desk and looked at the place where her palm had been on the photograph.

Then I picked up the phone and called security.

"Hold the text," I told the head of security. "Don't answer it. Trace the number. And I want whoever dropped an envelope on thirty-one this morning."

"Yes, sir."

"I want it before lunch."

I hung up and sat down.

I had been trying not to think about the airport for nine days.

I had gone there with a coffee for her, from the cart by the ferry, because she took it with too much milk and made a face every time.

I had stood at the gate for an hour.

When the last plane to New York pushed back, I threw the coffee in the trash and told myself I'd been a fool.

She had made the rule. She had kept it better than I had.

And on Monday she had walked into my boardroom wearing a badge with her name on it, and I had said "Welcome to Kincaid Hotels."

I rubbed the scar and tried to breathe normally.

My own rule was the only thing in that job I was sure of, and I had a reason for it.

The family trust had a clause I had never mentioned to anyone but Regan.

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