Meg moved about the empty room, her head deep in thought. “A family is a huge step.”
“Sometimes family just happens. Look at you and me. I love my brother but always wished for a sister. And here you are.”
“Do you even want kids?”
Gabi ran her hand along the window ledge. “My biological clock, as they say, has been ticking for some time. Before Hunter, I’d given up on relationships altogether and pushed booties and bottles from my head.”
“Women have babies without active fathers all the time.”
Gabi met Meg’s gaze. “I know that. My father passed away when I was in my teens, leaving Val to step into his role. What if I’d decided to have a child on my own and something happened to me?” She shook off the empty thought of a child growing up without any parent. “I couldn’t take that risk.”
“You have us.”
“I know. With Hayden falling into our lives, Hunter and I will both determine very soon if we’re parent material.” The thought should scare her, but for a reason she couldn’t say, it didn’t.
Meg stopped moving and hugged her. “Tell me the whole story, when no one is listening,” she whispered.
Gabi nodded.
When Meg stood back, her eyes were dusty with tears. “Val and I . . . we . . . I think I might be pregnant.”
Gabi’s jaw dropped. The hair on her arms stood on end and every happy cell in her body sang. “You think?”
Meg shrugged. “I’m meeting Judy later with the pee stick. Seems wrong without Val here . . . but.”
Gabi shrieked like a teenager laying claim to the star quarterback on the football team. She hugged Meg too hard. “I’m so happy.”
“I don’t know yet.”
She waved her off. “A woman knows.”
Meg laughed. “You sound like your mother.”
“My mother knows. She knows everything. Oh, Margaret . . . I’m so happy for you.”
“Your mom has been eyeing me lately.”
Gabi hugged her again. “When is Judy coming over? We need to celebrate.”
“It might be a false alarm.”
Yeah . . . it could be. Gabi didn’t believe it was.
“Italy was a bust.” Remington sat across from Hunter in a bistro in Hollywood. “The owners of the vineyards surrounding the property that still belongs to your wife had nothing to say about the property owners. Other than nasty things that I couldn’t completely translate, the general feel was one of disdain. As for Picano’s family . . . there is a mother who refuses to acknowledge that she had a son and a grandfather who was just as mortified that anyone asked about him. A younger sister, however, seemed to know she had a brother once . . . a rich one. But from what I could tell, she knew nothing about money in any account.”
“How could you tell they didn’t know about the money?” Hunter asked.
“No connections. Picano cut family ties early on. The only one who even cared I was asking around was the sister. If I had to guess, Picano still had a relationship with her at his death. But she was a college student when he died. She’s in debt to the tune of forty grand . . . a drop in the hat of what is in her brother’s account. If she had access, my guess is she wouldn’t have the debt.”
Hunter agreed. “So no family involvement.”
“Exactly.”
“Which leaves those he was dealing drugs with.”
Remington shook his head. “Dealing . . . no . . . smuggling. Different ball game. The amount of drugs this douche bag was shoveling proved he was working directly with the main guy. Whoever this guy is.”
“I need a name,” Hunter told him.
“Don’t we all. The guy they caught alive, Steven Leger, slipped and fell on a knife in prison before he made trial. Picano’s onboard staff were just as lucky with their short lives. Whomever Picano was smuggling with didn’t take prisoners.”
The chill in the room dropped to subtemperatures. No prisoners . . . he had arms that reached into the prison system and took out his enemies. How easy a target would Gabi be if this man wanted her dead?
“I need to step up Gabi’s security,” he muttered to himself.
“What’s that?” Remington asked.
“Nothing . . . listen, we need to find this man from a different angle. Drug smugglers from this part of the world are rich, right? Most of them are part of known cartels. We look into the players and reference those who dealt with people like Picano—”
Remington lifted both hands in the air and shook his head. “You don’t pay me enough, Blackwell. As it was, I felt eyes on me the entire time I traversed that forsaken country. I don’t need a target on my back by peeking into a multitude of drug runners. I’d tap into all those politicians you’re becoming so chummy with. Chances are someone in your circle knows a name or two.”
“Isn’t that what I pay you for?”
He shrugged. “Your friends won’t talk to me. I can tap into security files, but that wouldn’t be legal.” Remington lifted a mocking brow. “You’re not suggesting I do that, are you?”
Hunter wouldn’t direct the man to an illegal act . . . not with his words, in any event. “Would I ask that of you?”
Remington’s smirk said it all.
Even if Remington had a name, Hunter would need to use his connections to keep the drug smuggler away from his home. The thought of reversing the passwords that locked him out crossed Hunter’s mind. Chances were, however, Mr. Smuggler would avoid touching the money to prevent a trace. Or worse, look for deeper pockets and silence money. The last thing Hunter’s reputation needed right now was that of a man who gave in to blackmail.