I note Jesper sitting at a table near the corner, his gaze trained intently on a book in his hands. He’d gone in thirty minutes before us. That way, he was here and settled before we came in. No one should suspect we’re here together.
Harlow finally shifts her attention to me and offers a single, tight nod, so I cross the shop and head to the small round table. As I sit across from her, Delta lies down at my side, and Harlow removes her glasses. She’s in her early sixties, but thanks to what must be multiple plastic surgeries, no one could tell. Her brown eyes are red-rimmed, and her lips tremble just a bit as she takes a deep breath. Is this fear or grief over the loss of her friend?
“Dylan Hunt, I presume?” she asks, offering me her hand.
“Yes.” I don’t take her hand, so she drops it. “Thank you for meeting with me.”
“Yeah, well, you didn’t leave me much choice.”
Since I threatened to turn the text messages over to her son in exchange for Emma’s safety, I can’t exactly blame her for the frustration in her tone. But when she refused to meet with us, I had to do something. Right now, she might be the only person who can give us the answers we need.
“Would you like something?” Tucker asks her as he sets two paper cups of coffee down.
She points to the one already in front of her. “I’m fine.”
“We’re sorry about your loss,” Tucker starts. “Felicity Karver was your friend?”
“My best friend,” she replies. “Since college.”
“It must have been rough—marrying men from rival families.”
She glares at me. “We fell apart for a time but grew close again over the last few years.”
“Since the death of your husband?” I press. It can’t be coincidence that he died six months ago and now his son is trying to marry Emma.
“What can I say? As soon as his thumb was ripped off of me, I was desperate for my roots. Is this why I’m here? To talk about the loveless marriage I spent most of my life in?”
“No.”
“Then let’s just get this over with, shall we? I don’t have all day, and the longer I’m away, the more suspicious it looks.”
Fine. “Why does your son need to marry Gio Karver’s daughter?”
“Need to marry her?” She shakes her head. “You have it all wrong. Gio needs Heath to marry the girl.”
“Why?”
“A few months ago, Gio got into some trouble. He was having an affair, and that twisted son of his learned about it. He put the woman in the ground, and her husband came forward with evidence that would have proven the Karvers were responsible. Heath stepped in and quieted the matter.”
“Meaning he murdered the woman’s husband and paid off anyone who would’ve talked,” I surmise.
“Exactly.” Harlow leans back in her seat.
“Why didn’t Gio just take care of it?”
“Because he’s so broke he can’t see straight. What he does have is currently being monitored by the feds,” she sneers.
Interesting. “Then explain to us why your son agreed to marry her? If he doesn’t need to, why settle down into marriage with a woman who has no interest in it?”
Harlow eyes me, then shifts her attention to Tucker before returning it to me. “You two are in over your heads. This is so far beyond what you can even begin to wrap your mind around.”
“Try me,” I growl, ignoring the insult. It’s not the first time I’ve been underestimated, and it won’t be the last.
“Your dear Emmaline—or Gwendolyn, as Felicity called her—will be the sole heir to the Karver family once the rest of them are out of the way.”
“I thought you said Gio is broke,” Tucker counters.
“He is—on paper. But the man has his sticky fingers in millions of dollars’ worth of real estate, as well as connections to high-power drug manufacturers. Heath wants to take full control of the entire empire. Emmaline allows him the opportunity to do that. Once the rest of the Karvers are out of the way, she’s the last living blood relative. Which means?—”
