When her words did not land with the expected amount of surprise, Lila’s face fell. “You already knew?”
Chloe and EV exchanged a look.
“I was passing through the lobby when he arrived.”
Against expectation, EV’s bald statement must have lacked a certain angst, because Lila frowned at her.
“What?” EV returned the frown. “I told you I got over him a long time ago. You still see us as a pair of dewy-eyed teenagers deep in the throes of first love. You bailed before things turned really ugly.” EV stalked over to a padded barstool facing into the suite’s galley-style kitchenette. After a few seconds, Lila retorted, “I had a lot of my plate at the time,” then joined her while Chloe pulled bottles of water from the fridge.
The subtext running under the conversation was about as subtle as a tornado in a trailer park.
EV had felt abandoned in her time of need, and so had Lila. Chloe was torn between wanting to give them privacy, and an intense desire to hear every tiny detail. Curiosity won out. She settled on the couch behind them and stayed quiet.
“I wish I’d gone ahead and taken that year off from college right after you lost Alexander. Probably would have saved us both a world of trouble.” EV said wryly, hating to bring Chloe’s late father into the conversation.
EV laid it all out for Lila—how Remy’s carefully constructed facade had developed cracks; how, during the college years, they’d fought bitterly. Finally, EV described the miscarriage, and how, after secretly burying their baby, Remy had walked away without a backward glance.
“This is a lot to take in all at once.” Lila drained the bottle of water; she took a deep breath. “I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me?” Tears shimmered on her lashes.
“You had your own tragedy to contend with at the time. I didn’t want to add to your grief by sharing mine.”
“All this time,” the tears spilled over. “I thought…I’m not sure what I thought, but it wasn’t nice. You were so distant, and I had this little baby to raise all alone. I was so angry with you for being so detached when I needed you most.”
“That’s part of why you left Ponderosa Pines, isn’t it? I always thought it was just about losing Dad—not being able to face being there without him.” From behind them, Chloe voiced her thoughts.
“Saying it out loud would have made it too real.” EV admitted. “You know we’re two of a kind—always were. Control freaks more stubborn than one of Zellner’s prize mules.”
“But we still look damn good for our age.” EV toasted Lila’s observation with her plastic water bottle.
“I’ve got a confession to make.” Lila said.
“Another one? Should I have broken out the wine?” Chloe moved back into the kitchen section to rest her elbows on the counter. She wasn’t about to miss whatever was coming next.
“I invited Remy because I thought you needed the closure.”
Twin snorts from Chloe and EV put a frown on Lila’s face, until Chloe gave her a short explanation for why Dalton had arrived so precipitously.
“There’s more. We believe Remy was behind the blackmail attempt on Evan Plunkett. Nate has some evidence, but not enough for a conviction, and we can’t figure out his motive. So…”
“So, you’re sending EV in as Mata Hari.”
“That’s the plan.”
* * *
Amid the quiet hum of dinner conversation, and the tinkling of silverware, EV strolled into La Sirene with an air of casualness that didn’t match the flare of ice traveling along her knotted nerves. Perfectly-cooked meats in butter-laden sauces scented the air like caloric sin. None of them held the least appeal to EV at the moment. She’d just found the fatal flaw in their plan.
The broad strokes of the scheme had been to go to the restaurant and talk with Remy. The step that fell in the middle of those two actions was the one giving her trouble. As predicted, Remy had called Lila to announce his arrival in a manner that suggested the success of the entire event had depended upon his being there. He had not, however, brought up the subject of EV at all. That omission had led them to stage this impending fiasco of an impromptu meeting. Arguing that it played right into his hands, EV had been outvoted and summarily dispatched here with the vague instructions to engineer a chance meeting.
Was she supposed to saunter over to where he dined alone and plunk herself down in the opposite chair? Or, maybe she should just stand here in the doorway like a complete idiot until he noticed her.
Looking for a third alternative, EV scoped out the room. Cream-colored linens and stemware polished to a fare-thee-well gleamed under vintage Lalique. Remy’s popularity among the staff was evidenced by his less-than-ideal placement between the swinging kitchen door and the short hallway leading to the restrooms just beyond. If he treated his waiter like he had the unfortunate soul at the front desk, he was likely to get a sneeze burger for dinner.
Watching the ballet of waitstaff moving in and out the door gave EV the ghost of an idea. When the waiter with the sour expression pushed the empty desert cart into the kitchen for a restock, she gave it a full two minutes, then slowly began to make her way toward the restroom area. If she timed it right, she could stage a small scene right near Remy’s table.
As it was, she had to pick up her pace when she heard the unmistakable sound of wheels and something bumping the back of the door. The next few seconds required a delicate performance. Lining herself up in the aisle between tables, she played a game of dessert cart chicken. When the waiter dodged left to go around
