A Lover's Vow. Brenda Jackson

one he had known she would get around to asking. “Do you think he’s someone who could have killed his wife?”

      Ben didn’t say anything for a minute. “I only met him that one time, Jules, and the meeting lasted a little more than an hour. But it’s my belief that the only way he could have done such a thing is if he’d been pushed, and I mean pushed really hard. I never knew his wife, so I can’t say what he was dealing with. But, according to what Jace and Shana shared with me on the ride to Delvers, the brothers have proof that it was their mother, not their father, who was having an affair.”

      Jules already knew that. The way the story went was that one night, while working late at Granger Aeronautics, Shana and Jace had discovered a secret compartment inside a sofa in Sheppard Granger’s office. The secret compartment held a file containing proof of the affair.

      What Jules had found just as fascinating was why her sister and now-brother-in-law were in his father’s empty office in the first place. Both Jace and Shana had sealed their lips on that part, but Jules figured they must have been giving that sofa one hell of a workout.

      “Throwing that into the mix,” Ben interrupted her thoughts to say, “a jealous husband might do just about anything. He might have snapped.”

      Jules rolled her eyes. “Maybe right then, but not a few months later.”

      Ben shrugged his wide shoulders. “Maybe not. But maybe he wanted a divorce, and she refused to give him one.”

      Jules drained the last of her lemonade. “What if Sheppard Granger’s suspicions are true and whoever sent that email meant business? That means Shana could be in as much danger as Jace. It also means there might be more behind Sylvia Granger’s death than her affair. That may have just been a cover-up for something bigger.”

      Ben didn’t want to hear that, although the same thought had crossed his mind earlier. Before he could formulate a response to his daughter’s comments, his phone rang. He stood up, grateful for the reprieve. “Excuse me for a minute. That might be Mona.” He quickly left the room to answer his mobile phone, which he’d left in the living room.

      When he reached it, he frowned, not recognizing the phone number. “Hello?”

      “Ben, this is Sheppard Granger. Is there any way you can pay me a visit? Today, if possible? I might need your help.”

       Eight

      Dalton walked into McQueen’s and glanced around. It was happy hour, and the place was certainly lively. He walked over to the bar and slid into a seat, thinking that just a few months ago, he and his brothers would have been enjoying a drink together after a long day at work. Now Jace and Caden were biting at the bit to get home to their wives.

      “What are you having, Granger 3?” Myron, the bartender and owner of McQueen’s, asked. Myron was a fun-loving guy who managed a nice place. The drinks were good and the food exceptional. Myron had started differentiating between Dalton and his brothers by referring to Jace as Granger 1, Caden as Granger 2 and Dalton as Granger 3.

      “The usual.”

      Myron grinned. “Your usual is coming right up. Where are Grangers 1 and 2?”

      Dalton shrugged. “Home with their wives, I suppose. Probably ran red lights to get there.”

      “Marriage has a way of doing that to you,” Myron said, placing a glass of scotch in front of Dalton. “So don’t hate them.”

      Dalton frowned. “I don’t. I just didn’t expect the changes so soon. Jace, Caden and I were apart for years, living our lives in separate places, but now we’re back in Charlottesville, what do they do the first chance they get? Get married. If that’s not bullshit, I don’t know what is.”

      Myron shook his head, grinning. “Doesn’t sound like bullshit to me but good common sense. Remember, I’m also married—and happily. I played your game for years, different woman every day of the week, a flavor of the month. But at some point that crap gets old. I wouldn’t trade being married.”

      Dalton figured he didn’t want to hear anything else Myron had to say. He wasn’t in the mood. Taking his drink, he said, “I’m grabbing a table. Talk to you later.”

      Crossing the room, he saw several women checking him out, some brazenly, not even trying to hide their interest. Surprisingly, he wasn’t in the mood for them, either—women throwing themselves at him, probably needing a good fuck as much as he did. So why was he having a pity party when he could probably go somewhere and have an orgy? He felt the answer soak deep into his skin, and he could taste it on his lips. Because he only wanted a certain woman. One who was more edgy than soft, sharp than dull, one who invaded his dreams every night like she had a damned right to be there.

      He slid into a booth and took a sip of his scotch, loving the taste. He needed it tonight. His brain was on overload. Last night had been a jolt to his system, and something was still kicking inside him. Anger. Frustration. Horniness. All three. He hadn’t liked giving in to Jace’s suggestion that they give their father time to decide how he would deal with them. Shit, they weren’t children but grown-ass men. What was there to deal with?

      “Mind if I join you?”

      He glanced up and stared into Stonewall’s face. He took another sip of scotch. “Does it matter if I mind?” he asked flatly.

      “Not really,” Stonewall answered, sliding into the seat across from him. “Now that you know what my job entails, there’s no longer a reason for me to be discreet or keep a low profile.”

      Dalton wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad. The fact that he’d been followed around for a little over a month without his knowledge still didn’t sit well with him. The USN had taught him how to be on his guard, expect the unexpected and be ready. But over time, once he’d put the agency behind him, he had stopped looking over his shoulder. Now it seemed he would have to start doing so again for an entirely different reason.

      Stonewall summoned a waitress to take his drink order, giving Dalton a chance to study the man more closely. He figured Stonewall was in his midthirties and worked out a lot, probably hitting the gym every day. Dalton could tell that even while talking to the waitress, Stonewall was scoping out his surroundings and had taken stock of every single person in McQueen’s, somehow making a mental note while not missing a beat. And he was doing so with evident ease and efficiency, which led Dalton to believe he was well-practiced at it.

      As soon as the waitress left, that assumption led him to ask, “How long have you been doing this?”

      Stonewall’s gaze shifted from the backside of the waitress walking away to Dalton. His eyes were filled with male appreciation, and Dalton knew that the smile touching the man’s lips had nothing to do with the question but with the woman he’d just ogled.

      “Why do you want to know?”

      Dalton shrugged. “Let’s just say I’m curious.”

      At that moment, the waitress came back and smiled at them both before placing Stonewall’s drink before him. This time, they both watched when she walked off. Knowing they were looking, she put a deliberate sway in her hips for their benefit.

      Dalton grinned. “I love coming to this place.”

      Stonewall nodded. “After my first night of tailing you, it became obvious that you do.”

      Dalton took a sip of his drink and watched as Stonewall did the same. Just to make sure the question he’d asked earlier wasn’t lost in the shuffle, he leaned forward in his seat. “So how long have you been working for Summers?”

      Stonewall took another sip of his drink. “Off and on for about ten years, while working on my degree.”

      “Degree in what?” Dalton asked with a raised brow.

      “Education.”

      Now