All He Ever Wanted

“Sure, but it’s a position in name only since we donate so much to the school.” Dalton pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced down at it, as if he’d just gotten a text. Then he gave the phone a little waggle to indicate he needed to go handle something. “I’ll see you later?”

This time, he didn’t give Griffin a chance to answer but beat a hasty retreat to the elevator.

He could have gone back in to work—he certainly had plenty to do—but instead he headed back to his condo so he could start the search for Matilda Fortino. Logic—as well as his gut—told him it was the first step in finding the missing heiress.

But for the first time in a long time—maybe in his life—he was questioning both. Was he seeking out Mrs. Fortino because she could lead him to the missing heiress or because she could lead him to Laney?

Of course, he knew where Laney was; at least, he knew where she worked. He hadn’t yet gone so far as to hunt down her home address. That alone said volumes.

It said almost as much about him as the lie he’d told to Griffin. Not only had he known when Laney applied at Tisdale but he’d been the one to step in and make sure she got the job. At the time, he’d told himself it was just because she was an old family friend. Of course, at the time he’d been married to Portia. Any fantasies he’d had about Laney had been distant blips from his youth.

But now, nearly a year out from his divorce, with his entire future on the line, he had to wonder. He wasn’t used to questioning his gut. But he also wasn’t used to lying. So which was it: Was he looking for the missing heiress or for Laney?

At 3:00 p.m., Laney Fortino stood in front of Tisdale Elementary School cursing the hot sun, the parents who were late for pick up, Dalton Cain and the lack of specificity of fortune cookies.

Her fortune with last night’s takeout had read: “Change is in your future.”

Then today, she’d gotten a note from the school secretary saying Dalton Cain was coming by to talk to her after school.

It was the first accurate fortune she’d gotten in her entire life, and it had done her absolutely no good. Why couldn’t it have said, “Dalton Cain is going to call” or even “Change is in your future, so tomorrow would be a great day to wear some kick-ass heels and that Betsey Johnson dress you bought on eBay. And your Spanx.”

Of course, she would never wear Spanx or heels to teach in—too much bending—and if the fortune had referenced Cain directly, she probably would have booked a flight to… oh, say, Tahiti, and been halfway around the world by now.

So instead, here she was, waiting for the last of the parents to pick up their kids, sweating in the blazing October sun in her vintage sundress she’d picked up at the thrift store and her bobby socks and Keds shoes. She was dressed like a Cabbage Patch Kid.

She didn’t actually care how she was dressed for Dalton Cain. It was just costuming, really. She might not care about how she looked, but she cared desperately what he thought about how she looked. She needed to make the right first impression.

Because there was only one reason why one of the richest, most powerful men in Houston was coming to see her. He must know her grandmother had stolen nearly a million dollars from the Cains.

Money that Laney hadn’t known anything about before she’d been granted power of attorney the year before.

Ever since discovering the extra funds in Gran’s trust, Laney had been racked with guilt wondering what to do about it. There was no way Gran had come by the money honestly. Laney knew roughly how much Gran had had when Laney had graduated from high school. No amount of frugality or clever investing could turn her meager savings into well over a million dollars in a decade.

Gran must have stolen the money from the Cains.

Laney couldn’t very well go to the authorities. It seemed unlikely they’d prosecute an elderly woman with Alzheimer’s, but what if they did? Laney couldn’t risk it. She certainly couldn’t go to the Cains and explain. Hollister was brutal and vindictive to his enemies and Caro was little better. Every time Laney tried to think of a way out of the conundrum, she pictured Gran being led away to jail in handcuffs.

She couldn’t even just give the money back. It was in an irrevocable trust, which Gran had set up to pay for her care at the assisted-living center. Laney couldn’t touch it. Her power of attorney extended only so far. So there she was trapped with the knowledge of a wrong she had no way to right. And terrified that Dalton Cain had somehow discovered the truth.

Either he was going to prosecute her defenseless eighty-three-year-old grandmother or he was going to make her return the money.

Neither option was acceptable, which meant Laney had to consider very carefully how she wanted to play this.

Her default reaction to any of the Cains—especially Dalton—was bravado and indignation. Ten years ago—when she’d last seen Dalton—she’d been a completely different person. That girl would have dressed up in her most provocative outfit, dared him to call the police and then hurled insults and cuss words at him as they hauled her off to jail. But she wasn’t that brash, rebellious girl anymore.

The previous decade had taught her moderation and restraint. She was an elementary-school teacher, for goodness’ sake. So maybe it wasn’t a bad thing she looked like a Cabbage Patch Kid, all soft, cuddly and compliant.

No sooner had the thought passed through her head than a sleek cream sedan turned the corner onto Beacon Street and headed for the school. She couldn’t say how she knew, but she knew instantly that Dalton was driving that car. Maybe it was because she was familiar with most of the cars the parents drove. Or maybe it was the way the car practically oozed down the road.

The cream car slid into one of the visitor parking spots, and sure enough, out climbed Dalton. She recognized him instantly, even though the last time she’d seen him had been more than a decade ago when she’d moved out of her grandmother’s apartment right after she turned eighteen. Today he was dressed in tan slacks and a white oxford shirt. He paused and slipped his sunglasses down to look at her over their top, as if not quite sure he recognized her. She gave a little half wave, and then he walked toward her.

Beside her, Ellie—the last of her car-pool kids—squirmed. “Ms. Fortino, you’re hurting my hand.”

“Huh?” Laney glanced down. “Oh, sorry.” She loosened her grip then gave Ellie’s hand a little rub.

Ellie frowned as she nodded suspiciously toward the parking lot. “Who’s that strange man over there? He’s been waving at you. We should go tell Principal Shippey.”

“No!” Jeez, that was just what she needed. Ellie’s mom’s Buick finally—finally!—pulled to a stop in front of the school. “He’s an… old friend of mine.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

“Next time, karma, okay?” she muttered as she handed Ellie into her mom’s car. Just once, she’d like to meet Dalton Cain on even footing. But instead, she was meeting him in ruffled bobby-socks footing.

Stupid, comfortable Keds shoes.

Even though he hadn’t seen her in years, Dalton instantly recognized Laney Fortino. There was no mistaking the ink-black hair that tumbled around her shoulders. She still moved with the sort of slinky sensuality that should have been at odds with her schoolteacher clothing but somehow wasn’t. She had the same alabaster skin and same wide, smiling mouth.

She was dressed in a floral sundress that hit her midcalf and fluttered as she moved. A small girl stood by her side, her hand wrapped in Laney’s. The girl chattered, pointing down the street at a car pulling slowly to the curb. Though a few kids were still loitering at the edges of school property, most of the students seemed to have cleared out.

For a second, the sight of her standing there stopped him dead in his tracks. A jolt of pure desire shot through him. Laney had been one of those girls who had skipped over the awkwardness of adolescence and gone straight from girl to sex goddess—a role she’d reveled in because it irritated her strict grandmother and her benefactors, his parents. It had irritated him as well, though he’d tried not to let it show. Now, womanhood had softened the raw edges of her sexuality. Her sensuality was more subtle but more attractive as well.

Before now, he questioned whether he’d done her any favors when he’d helped her get this job three years ago. He wondered if she could temper her rebellious nature enough to teach first grade—in a wealthy, conservative private school, no less. The Laney he’d known as a teenager had scorned the wealthy and despised their hypocrisies. Now she was teaching their kids.

Watching her today, he’d have never guessed that flowing dress camouflaged her defiant nature—until she bent to speak to the little girl by her side. Then, the strap of her sundress slipped to reveal the swirling line of a tattoo on her shoulder. That was more like it.

She looked at him, the full lines of her mouth flattened into disapproval. Well, one thing hadn’t changed. She still hated him. He couldn’t really blame her after the way he’d treated her.

Laney said something to the girl, giving her hand a pat. There was something intrinsically feminine and graceful about her appearance but certainly nothing refined or elegant. For some reason, he thought of his ex-wife then. Portia wouldn’t be caught dead in a fluttery floral sundress and… were those sneakers Laney had on? He’d been married to Portia for eight years, and he wasn’t even sure she had sneakers. For that matter, Portia wouldn’t be caught dead standing outside a school, holding a child’s hand.

Only after Laney had helped the little girl into the Buick and turned to face him with a sort of stalwart determination did he wonder why he was even thinking about Portia and Laney in the same thought. The two women were nothing alike. He’d been intimately and emotionally involved with Portia, but with Laney… He hardly knew how to describe his relationship with her. Not for the first time, he wondered exactly what he was doing here.

As Dalton stepped up onto the sidewalk, he pulled his glasses off and slid them into his shirt pocket. “Hello, Laney.”

“Um. Hi. Dalton.” Her words came out choked and awkward, as though she’d forgotten how to talk altogether. Jeez, between the sneakers and being suddenly struck nearly mute, this was so not her day.

She knew it was nerves—and fear—that had tied her tongue into knots. It had nothing to do with the fact that Dalton had grown into a man of such arresting attractiveness that she could hardly pull air into her lungs when he looked at her.

“Is there somewhere we can go to talk?” he asked, nodding toward the building.

“Yes. My classroom.” But instead of walking inside, Laney found herself just standing there, trying not to stare at Dalton. His face was still lean, his lips still full. His dark hair still curled slightly, as if in rebellion against the relentless structure he imposed on his life.

Then, unexpectedly, she found herself looking into his eyes, as if he’d been studying her in return. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she jerked her eyes away from his.

He kept his gaze on her. She could practically feel it. “You look good, Laney.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

She did not look good—not standing here in her thrift-store dress and her bobby socks, at the end of a long day of working with children. She’d once come home to find a Cheeto stuck in her hair. So she knew for a fact that she did not look good—at least not the way he looked good.

However, his relaxed greeting calmed her. Maybe he didn’t know about the money. If he did, wouldn’t he have started with that? But if he wasn’t here about the money, then why was he here?

Flustered, she turned and headed for the building. “I should warn you that I can’t talk long. I teach an afterschool theater class.”

At the door, Laney paused before swiping her card past the electronic lock, only to find Dalton right behind her. She jerked back a step, and he reached out a hand to steady her.

She looked up from his hand to his face. He was standing closer than before, and she sucked in a sharp breath. How had she forgotten how blue his eyes were? They were such an unusual shade of blue too. The color of the sky—not the rich, deep sky-blue you saw when you looked straight up but the muted, almost sea-blue of the sky at the distant horizon. Cain blue, Gran had always called it.

Dalton Cain—with his Cain blue eyes. She couldn’t let herself forget, even for a moment, who this man was—or that he had the power to crush her and Gran, if he ever had reason to do so.

Jerking her arm away from him, she asked, “What is it you want from me?”

“Why do you assume I want something from you?” he asked, his tone all innocence.

“Because when a Cain comes to visit, they always want something.”

“You don’t have a very high opinion of us.”

“No. I don’t suppose I do.”

And she knew it was ironic that she didn’t trust him. Of the two of them, she was the one who was aiding and abetting a thief. But what was she supposed to do? Let him cart Gran off to prison?

And suddenly, with that simple reminder, she didn’t want to let him into the school with her. She wanted to do this quick and dirty, to find out what he wanted from her and get out fast. She crossed her arms over her chest, tucking the key card under one arm in an act of silly defiance. “Don’t forget, I grew up in the Cain household. I would describe my opinion as accurate rather than low.”

She instantly regretted her words. This was so not the dialogue of the demure damsel in distress.

But then he winced with such exaggerated pain. “Ouch.”

She very nearly smiled, but she stopped herself just in time. She would not let herself be charmed by him. She knew all too well that Dalton could act like her best friend in the world one minute and not even know her the next. There was no way she would let herself get sucked into his mind games again.

“Oh, don’t pretend to be wounded,” she grumbled. “I haven’t spoken to you in nearly a decade. If you’ve shown up in my life after all this time it’s because you want something,” she said honestly. “So why don’t you stop trying to charm it out of me and just tell me what it is?”

The corner of his mouth bumped up. “You find me charming?”

She rolled her eyes. “I think we both know you can be very charming when there’s enough at stake. After all, you are your father’s son.”

His smiled faded, along with the spark in his eyes. “Okay. You want to know why I’m here? I need to talk to your grandmother.”

Damn. All the electric awareness vanished as quickly as though a circuit breaker had been blown. If he wanted to talk to Gran, then he must know.

Maybe he didn’t have proof. Maybe that was why he wanted to talk to Gran. Maybe he intended to badger the truth out of her. Laney couldn’t let that happen.

On a good day, Matilda Fortino barely knew who she was. As for the bad days… well, those were the days she spent trapped in her own mind, trapped in the memories of the distant past, filled with recriminations and regrets.

If Dalton went to see her, who knew what might come pouring out? She might confess to everything, assuming he didn’t already have proof.

Suddenly Laney—who’d never backed down from a fight in her life—felt like running. She waved her key card across the pad and the door into the school beeped. Just as she reached to open it, Dalton placed a hand on her arm. “Will you bring me to see your grandmother?”

Laney gave Dalton what she hoped would be one final look. She slipped back into the cool sanctuary of the school as she answered, “No.”

Two

Dalton shoved his foot between the door and the jamb seconds before it closed and locked him out.

Laney had her hand on the inside brass handle, and he felt her give it a tug before she glanced down to see his black leather shoe wedged there.

“Just hear me out.”

Time seemed to stretch as he waited for her response. She wasn’t going to listen to him. She’d slam the door in his face, he was sure of it. After all, they both knew she was right to be wary of him. Despite the difference in their ages, they’d been friends when she’d first moved into the Cain household when she was eleven. For two years, she’d shadowed him like an eager puppy. Then, abruptly and without explanation, he’d cut her out of his life the summer before her freshman year. He’d given her plenty of reasons to hate him now.

Her gaze darted all around the empty school hall before returning reluctantly to his. He saw her jaw clench and her mouth pinch in annoyance before he felt the pressure on his foot let up.

“Fine.”

“Thank you.” He opened the door the rest of the way and stepped out of the mid-afternoon sun into dimly lit air-conditioning. This was obviously a side entrance, leading into a broad hall with classroom doors branching out on either side. The walls were covered in murals painted by clumsy childish hands. The few blank stretches of wall were plastered with the kids’ art “framed” by construction paper. Despite the obvious attempts to brighten the atmosphere, the building showed its age.

Laney all but trotted down the hall, passed the occasional open doorway. “My classroom is over here.”

She moved with a speed and efficiency that belied her frilly dress and perky ruffled socks. All traces of the warmth she’d shown to the little girl in the car line had vanished.

Dalton considered himself something of an expert on reading business opponents. He was a master at the subtle art of analyzing someone’s mood and temperament based on their body language and facial expressions. It was a skill that came from many years of studying people.

He needed none of those skills to read Laney today. His presence here had her freaked out. Something he’d said or done had spooked her. But what?

By the time he caught up with her, she was pushing open the door to one of the classrooms. Like the rest of the building, the room was neat and well maintained but obviously showing its age. It had been years since Dalton had been in an elementary school—twenty-one years, to be exact, since his own stint as an elementary student. He’d forgotten how undersized that world felt. The tables barely reached his knees. The chairs looked sized for dolls rather than people. There were bookcases in one corner with a cluster of beanbag chairs. Caddies of art supplies sat at each trio of desks. One adult-sized desk sat in the corner.

Laney turned when she reached that desk. An owl stuffed animal sat beside the computer monitor. She ran her fingers across the toy’s white fluff, then blew out a breath before turning back to him.

“The afterschool class I teach has an assistant that oversees snack time. But I’ll need to be there when the class starts in fifteen minutes, so you’d better tell me why you’re really here.”

Her tone was terse, and she looked as though she could barely squeeze the words out through her clenched jaw. Again, he wondered what had her so freaked out. He didn’t remember Laney being a naturally nervous person: feisty, yes, jittery, no.

“My father is ill,” he began.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, but he could tell the condolences were by rote.

“You don’t have to do that.”

Her brow furrowed. “What?”

“Pretend to be sorry that his health is declining.” His words came out stiffer than he meant them to be. He was trying to let her off the hook, to create a common ground between them. She may not have as many reasons to hate his father as he did, but she surely had plenty.

Instead, his words ended up sounding slightly accusatory—and cold… something his father would have said. Why was it that he could talk to almost anyone except Laney?

“I…” Her frown deepened as her mouth pressed into a line of confusion. “I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect.”

Shoot. He was making this even worse than it was. “I know.” Why did it feel like there were many things he wanted to say to her and none of them were the right ones?

Instead of fumbling through any more explanations, he pulled out a copy of the letter and handed it to her. “A week ago my father received this.”

Laney looked from him to the paper he held out. “What does it have to do with my grandmother?”

Was it his imagination, or did her voice tremble slightly? “Please read the letter. Then I’ll explain.”

She nodded. Her frown only deepened as she read. She glanced up after a few seconds. She must have been disconcerted at how closely he was watching her, because she turned away to finish the letter, her hand fluttering nervously by her hair as she read.

She was a quick reader, and soon she looked back at him and said, “I’m sorry, but I still don’t see what this has to do with Gran.”

“Hollister Cain wants this girl found.”

Laney extended the letter back to him with a sigh that sounded almost relieved. “And the girl’s mother seems rather determined to keep her hidden,” she pointed out with an arched little smile.

Dalton found himself smiling back, despite the bizarre circumstances. “Yes, but this is Hollister we’re talking about. Little things like other people’s wishes don’t bother him much.”

“Hold on a second,” Laney said abruptly. “You don’t think…” She physically recoiled. “You don’t think my mother wrote the letter? You don’t think I’m the missing heiress?”

The expression of disgust on her face was so strong he nearly laughed. “No, of course not. Anyone who’s seen a picture of your father couldn’t mistake you for anyone’s daughter but his.”

She chuckled—and again he wondered at the relief he heard in the sound. Then she gestured to her nose. “Right. The Fortino nose. It is hard to miss.”

Her nose was distinctive—a little larger than most women probably preferred and with a patrician bump—but it fit her face, blending seamlessly with the rest of her features. He’d grown up in a world where a woman’s facial imperfections were stamped out like cockroaches. He loved that she’d never had her nose done, which wasn’t exactly the smooth segue that would lead them back to the questions he needed answers to. So he went for direct instead.

“No, it never occurred to me that your mother might have written the letter. But your grandmother was the Cain housekeeper for nearly thirty years. I thought she might know something.”

“About your father’s romantic indiscretions? I can’t imagine why she would. That hardly fell under her purview.”

“No. She wouldn’t have time to manage the house if it had.” He quickly explained his reasoning. “She worked for my father longer than most Cain Enterprises employees. If my father had any secrets, she knew them. If my parents fought, she overheard it. If there’s anyone with dirt on my family, it’s your grandmother.”

As he spoke, Laney looked down at the owl again. She ran her hand over the pretend feathers and gave the wing a little tug.

When she didn’t meet his gaze, he continued, “I visited the assisted-living center she’s at. They wouldn’t even let me in without your approval. I need to talk to her. You have to let me see her.”

Laney’s shoulders stiffened. “I no longer have any connection to your family. I don’t have to do anything.”

It was his turn to clench his jaw. He wasn’t Hollister’s son for nothing. He knew when to grovel. “Will you please grant me access to your grandmother?”

“No.” She held up a hand, warding off the arguments she could see percolating. “She doesn’t know anything. She can’t give you any information.”

Finally, she turned and met his gaze. Her own was clear and determined, but he didn’t let that bother him.

“I can make it worth your while,” he said.

“Of course you can. You’re a Cain. You Cains are experts at making lavish promises.”

“I may be a Cain, but I’m not my father. I plan on keeping any promises I make.”