finding new ways to make things operate smoother.
The tour took them through the rest of the house. Each closed door they passed, he wondered if Black’s wife sat behind it. Isadora Black, thirty-eight years old. Her family owned orchards in California and a vineyard in South America. She came from money and married into money.
Did Black have a reason to believe she’d try to strip him of his wealth if they were to divorce? Boone wouldn’t know without more information about the woman—and speaking to her seemed impossible for the moment.
But how long did they have to find her and free her? A lot of gears would need to be oiled to keep their lies running smoothly. One misstep from either him or Lauralee could result in disaster.
Thornburne pointed to a hallway. “Mr. Black’s personal suite. The camera you asked about is there.” He gestured to the ceiling.
“Smart to have eyes on his room.”
Thornburne grunted and continued to lead him through the house.
Once they stepped outside onto the ranch again, he pulled in a deep breath of fresh air and felt a bit of that turmoil inside him calm. Out here, he was in his element.
When a shorter man, stocky with muscle, stepped out of the barn, Boone instantly recognized a kindred spirit. Men like Thornburne weren’t friends of his—but this man could be.
It’d be good to have an ally here.
With a smile and nod, he approached the man. “Brodie Marks. How are ya?”
The man strolled up to him with a likeable smile creasing his eyes. “Pretty good now that it’s about time for my lunch break.”
Thornburne interrupted, “Marks is our new head of security, Butch. Marks, this is Butch Flaherty, our ranch foreman.”
They shook hands. The rough, callused feel of Butch’s hand took him home to Stone Pass and his own father’s grip. Some men were cut from the same cloth, and Boone’s ability to read people told him this man was one of the good ole boys who kept a place like this running in tip-top shape.
If they walked into that barn, he’d bet one of the Wyntons’ purebred horses that he’d find it pristinely clean, and every man on the ranch probably respected the hell out of him even though he made them work hard.
Butch changed his grip on Boone’s hand and looked him in the eyes. “Seems you’ve done a spot of hard work in your life.”
They broke apart, and Boone chuckled. “My family’s got horses and some Angus. I’ve spent many an hour in the barn or rustling cattle.”
Butch cocked a brow at Thornburne. “You sure he’s head of security? Seems like he’d have a place with me here.”
“Well, maybe you won’t mind if my wife and I have a look around the barn in our off hours.”
“You’re most welcome to.”
Boone saw a friend in the foreman…but he also figured he could get him talking easy enough, maybe wring some information from him about the billionaire and his wife.
“Come by when you can, and I’ll be happy to show you around the stables too.” He turned and pointed across the rolling land to the large white structure that butted up against a good-sized paddock.
After a thorough tour of the property on foot, they jumped in a Jeep and headed out to the oil rig. He met the guards and talked shop for a bit. But he was eager to return to the house…to check on Lauralee, but also to have a longer look at those security screens.
He hadn’t seen a hint of Mrs. Black’s presence on the ranch, and Black most definitely wasn’t granting her privacy. No, there would be cameras on the woman.
Question now was how to get past the systems the billionaire had set in place and reach her.
* * * * *
Lauralee’s first job had been scraping gum off the bottom of stadium seats after football games. Picking up the odd piece of trash had broken up the monotony of the work. And the best moments were finding a dropped dollar bill and pocketing it.
Between high school and her college graduation, she’d held various other summer jobs—making pizzas or asking what kind of sauce they wanted with their nuggets. One blissful summer in her junior year of college she’d worked in the university library dusting and rearranging books in the air conditioning.
Then her internship, and now WEST Protection.
But she’d never, ever in her life pictured herself as a domestic worker. Her shower at home in Stone Pass had soap scum. She had