That Night on Thistle Lane. Carla Neggers

left his princess and chased after his mystery man, if, indeed, that was who he’d spotted.

      There had to be a way to find her.

      He decided he didn’t want to deal with email and voice mail and “accidentally” dropped his iPhone in the water-filled bathroom sink.

      The people who truly needed to reach him would figure it out.

      He got dressed, appreciating his normal black trousers and black shirt. No more hiking clothes, no more swashbuckler cape. He went down for breakfast and tried to act as if he’d had a good night.

      Once he had coffee, he decided he probably shouldn’t have tossed his phone into the sink.

      He’d run into people last night from his MIT days. Rumors were circulating about what was next for him now that NAK had gone public. One account had him staying on as CEO, another shifting into research and development. Focusing on his Central Coast winery. Getting deeper into venture capital, starting a new business, devoting himself to philanthropy, moving into academia.

      None of the rumors were true, if only because Noah had no idea what was next for him beyond whole-wheat pancakes and warm Vermont maple syrup for breakfast.

      He’d finished his pancakes when Dylan and Olivia wandered into the restaurant and joined him at his table. Waiters quickly brought out fresh place settings. Olivia had on lightweight jeans and a green linen top that matched her eyes. Dylan was in jeans and a hiking shirt, as if he hadn’t thought about being at the Boston hotel this morning. Noah hadn’t, either. He just generally wore the same thing.

      Olivia sat next to Dylan. She looked radiant, comfortable in her own skin in a way she hadn’t on Noah’s brief trip east in early spring.

      He’d been assaulted by black flies then, he remembered.

      “Loretta called,” Dylan said. “She said she emailed you and left you a voice mail and thought she’d hear back by now.”

      “Phone’s broken.”

      “Dropped it again?”

      “In the sink. Water damage.”

      “Ah.” Dylan shifted his gaze to Olivia. “Noah breaks a lot of phones.”

      “You get distracted and drop them?” she asked.

      Noah ignored Dylan’s obvious amusement at her question. “You could say that.”

      Dylan grinned. “He gets pissed off and kills his phone.”

      “Not often,” Noah said, keeping his attention on Olivia. “Dropping my phone in water is an indulgence but the alternative is to get distracted by the thing.”

      “It’s how his mind works,” Dylan said, leaving it at that. “What does Loretta want with you?”

      Noah glanced past him and looked out tall windows as Boston slowly came to life on a quiet, sunny Saturday morning. “I guess I’ll call her and find out.”

      “Noah?”

      He heard the concern in his friend’s voice and shifted back to him. “It’s all good, Dylan. No worries.”

      Dylan was clearly unconvinced. “Loretta has no official role with NAK. She’s my lawyer and business manager, and my friend. You two aren’t cooking up a surprise party. Something’s wrong. What?”

      “You’re moving on. I don’t want you to worry about this stuff.”

      “What stuff?” Dylan asked, eyes narrowed, alert. “What’s going on, Noah? You might as well tell me. I’m not going to quit badgering you until you do.”

      Badgering was one of Dylan’s qualities that had been most helpful and necessary during the past four years. It also could be inconvenient and, occasionally, annoying. But Noah saw that he had to tell him.

      He shrugged. “Some guy’s on my tail. He was here last night. At least I think it was him. I could be wrong—”

      “But you’re not.” Dylan took a breath. “Early fifties. Six feet tall. Dark hair with a lot of gray. Black suit. No costume.”

      Noah wasn’t surprised Dylan could describe the man. Between his years on the ice and at NAK, he missed nothing. He’d honed his natural instincts about people, their motives and character. He’d turned down a larger role with NAK, but he’d been indispensable in transforming Noah’s ideas and technical skills into a viable—and ultimately highly successful—company.

      “Did you talk to this man you saw?” Noah asked.

      Dylan shook his head. “He was watching you dance with your princess. Was she with him?”

      “Why would you think that?”

      “She left the ballroom right after he did. I tried to follow her but she disappeared before I could catch up with her. I didn’t see the older gentleman.”

      “Did you recognize him?”

      “No,” Dylan said without hesitation, then turned to Olivia. “What about you? Did you see this man?”

      She set down her coffee cup. “I spoke with him briefly. I think he’s the one you’re talking about. He asked what I knew about the woman Noah was dancing with.”

      “How did you respond?” Noah asked, keeping his tone neutral.

      “I didn’t, really. I just said I was there to enjoy the evening. I had the feeling he knew you, Noah. I didn’t think anything of it. We spoke for less than a minute. Then he moved on. Is he a problem?”

      “He’s an unknown.” Noah poured himself more coffee from a small silver pot. “He might not be a problem at all. I spotted him a few times in San Diego.”

      “How many is a ‘few’?” Dylan asked.

      “Three. At a restaurant where I was enjoying a nice fish dinner with a friend.”

      “One of your actresses?”

      Noah ignored him. “Then at the fencing studio. Third time was outside our offices. I ran into Loretta and we agreed she’d see if she could find out who he is and what he wants.”

      “Why not use one of your own people?”

      “Who are my people nowadays, Dylan?”

      Dylan tapped his fingers on the white tablecloth. “Noah, is there any reason this guy would bird-dog you? Personal, professional—anything?”

      Noah pushed away his untouched coffee refill. “Not everyone needs a reason.”

      “What does Loretta say?”

      “She’s stumped. I hoped it’d turn out to be a case of too much time on my hands. Then I saw this strange man again last night. It’s too big a coincidence for me to spot him in San Diego and then in Boston.”

      Dylan sat back. “I’ll talk to Loretta and take care of this.”

      Noah shook his head. “No, Dylan. Thank you, but Loretta and I are handling this on our own.”

      “Any ideas who he is, what he wants?” Dylan asked.

      “No.”

      “Is he stalking you or what?”

      “I wouldn’t say stalking.”

      Dylan took in a sharp breath. “Maybe you should involve NAK security. You’re worth a lot of money. Your company recently went public. You’ve made a few enemies in the process.”

      “I don’t think this is about money, enemies or power. It feels different.”

      “Personal?”

      “Maybe.”

      “An ex-girlfriend’s father?” Olivia asked. “Something like that?”

      Noah smiled at her.