Brave Enough (Tall, Dark, and Dangerous #3)(49)

As I make my way back down to the first floor, I rack my brain for other places he might’ve left things. I can’t believe that there wouldn’t be anything of a business nature here. Not one scrap of paper, not one note. A laptop or computer. There has to be something somewhere. I just have to find it.

I meander through the house, hoping I’ll be inspired, but I’m not. I head outside and into the grass, following the curve of the yard around to the back of the house. I see the caretaker’s quarters with its open front door, although I don’t see Stella. She might be resting. Tag kept on the housekeeping services, just to a lighter degree, while we were gone. I imagine he might keep them on full time so that Stella doesn’t have to work in her condition.

As I eye her little place, I wonder if he’d have kept important things there. I can’t imagine why, though, since he wasn’t actually staying there with her.

Then I remember the cabin. The one that’s being renovated. The one that he was staying in intermittently before he took up residence at the main house. The remodeling was confined to the bath and kitchen, with only painting to take place in the other areas of the small structure. Nothing that would necessitate Tag moving all his stuff out. Maybe he left some things there. In a desk, maybe, or a cabinet or a drawer. If he did, it’ll be locked, no doubt. It would have to be, what with the way it was renting out to perfect strangers there for a while. But only important things are locked. And what I’m after would definitely be considered an important thing.

I turn and walk in that direction. According to Tag, the renovations came to a standstill because the old family friend who was acting as contractor was involved in a car accident. He had to postpone work for three months while he completed physical therapy after his knee surgery. I think that was only about two months ago, not long before I arrived, so the cabin should still be vacant. Private. Searchable.

I feel paranoid, like someone could but look at me and know that I’m up to no good. I glance guiltily left and right as I traverse the shaded path that leads to the cabin. I find no one watching me, but it does nothing to calm my nerves.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I reach the big oak that stands guard over the quaint little cabin. It has two small dormers and a rustic front porch that make it perfectly suited to the mountainous backdrop. The inside will be state of the art after the remodel is complete, but it will still retain all of its traditional vineyard charm.

The front door is unlocked, so I push my way in and close it behind me. It takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dim light, but when I do, I can see what great work has been done thus far. The kitchen has been outfitted with stainless steel appliances, tile backsplash and a skylight, and there are two slabs of granite resting on the island, as though someone stopped mid-project expecting to return the following day. Only no one did.

I take a minute to look around. It’s been years since I’ve been inside this place.

My casual browsing comes to a screeching halt when I reach the bedroom. Beneath the plastic sheeting, the same kind that has been placed over all the furniture, I see a small desk pushed into a corner. The construction dust is hardly noticeable, which is in sharp contrast to the thick coating that covers every other piece. Someone has come to this desk recently. Or maybe often. They’ve peeled back the sheeting to look underneath. I just hope whatever drew them here is still present.

Carefully, I fold the sheeting onto itself, revealing the wooden desk with its four drawers and matching chair. A laptop rests, closed, on the surface, making me wish that I had more time. I’ll need to have a better idea of where Tag is and when he left before I attempt to break into his computer. For now, I’ll have to settle for going through the drawers.

There is a key lying at the edge of the laptop, in plain sight. Even though it’s a long shot, I grab it and see if it fits the master lock for the desk.

And it does.

I pause, frowning. If he left it unlocked, or the key so easy to find, there can’t be anything of import here. But then I reason to myself that since the cabin has been empty of both guests and contractor for two months, maybe Tag just left it unlocked because he was the only person here.

Until me. And he probably never thought poor little rich girl, Weatherly, would ever catch on to his ruse.

Whether my logic is flawed or not, I know it won’t hurt to at least look while I’m here. So that’s what I do.

Going through the drawers, I flip through notebooks and papers, files and folders. There are all sorts of things about the running of Chiara, things any caretaker might track, but nothing suspicious. I find information about the passing of Joseph Barton, Tag’s father. The death certificate, the obituary, some pictures of their family in the early years. Nothing that I need, though.

I’m about to give up when I see an envelope sticking out from underneath that stack of papers. It’s simply labeled Jameson Gregory Randolph III.

The hair on the back of my neck stands up when I read that name. Jameson Randolph is the owner of Randolph Consolidated, the company that has been staging a hostile takeover of my father’s company. Why in the world would Tag be in possession of something that references him or belongs to him?

A week ago, I wouldn’t even have considered going through Tag’s things this way. A week ago, I had no reason not to trust him and every reason to give our marriage a real shot. But today isn’t a week ago. Today everything is different. Today I don’t have the luxury of trust. That’s why, with trembling fingers, I turn over the envelope and reach inside for the contents.