Bobby Joe made his way to the chair Mary Beth had used. “I guess you’re not going to bankroll the business from here on.”

Parr straightened. “You’re my brother. I made a promise. But my commitment will end in six months.”

Bobby Joe looked up in surprise. “Good enough. But don’t you want me to promise something in return?”

“Yes. Leave Mary Beth alone. I know she doesn’t want you, but I’m not so sure she wants me.”

Parr got the last seat on the last flight of the day to Memphis. Darkness had fallen by the time the plane landed. He went straight into town and to his office.

There was no one there, but Gail seldom worked late. She was efficient in all that she did.

He rolled a chair over to one of the file cabinets and starting going through the paid bills. He preferred to retain hard copies of everything and had never signed up for online billing.

It was time he did. A few months were missing.

He got online and signed up for paperless, checking back a few months, looking for a date in spring.

Bingo.

He found one line of user data, one particular number, called only once, that told him everything he needed to know.

Parr heard the door of the office open very quietly and then shut.

Gail strolled in, her long legs covering the distance into the file room, and perched on a chair. Butter wouldn’t melt under her butt, Parr thought.

“Hello. You wanted to see me and here I am.” Her voice was throaty and low, like she was expecting this to be fun and games.

Bobby Joe had agreed to one last condition that Parr had remembered just in time: not to tell Gail that he was flying back to Memphis that same night.

“Yes. Thanks for coming in. I wanted to discuss a discrepancy in the records with you. I just signed up to get the phone bills online. Seems like some of them have disappeared. You’re usually so conscientious about that.”

She dialed down the sexy pose, sitting up straight. “Anyone can make mistakes.”

“You made a big one.” He held up the printout of the online phone bill and pointed to the line he’d marked with yellow highlighter. “You knew I’d recognize my mother’s landline number if I happened to look at the monthly bill. You only used your work phone—which I pay for—that one time. Guess you didn’t have your personal cell with you, but it’s not like I’m invading your privacy.”

She watched him warily, tapping the toe of one high heel on the floor.

“No doubt you noticed that my mother’s house phone doesn’t have a number screen. In fact, it’s so old it doesn’t have anything but a rotary dial.”

“I don’t remember. That was months ago.”