Billionaire Protector - Alexa Hart Page 0,68

didn’t care that she knew me. “Tim! Why is Valerie not wearing a damn shirt?”

“I was just having a little fun, K. Jesus. You’ll get your boy. I get my fun. That’s the deal.” Tim’s voice had returned to a nearly normal tone, but he was still holding his groin delicately.

K? You’ll get your boy? The deal?

I nearly fainted as I realized what was happening here.

Kate knew me...

But I didn’t know her at all.

13

Penn

“Penn, please come to my office.” Dad had used the ranch-wide intercom, which no one ever used. He hadn’t needed to, because I was only in my room, fresh out of the shower, trying to spiff up a little for Anne.

But the fact that he had used it at all was alarming.

I walked briskly from my wing to his and entered his office without knocking, which was just one more thing that almost never happened in the Hardick household. When Dad was in his office, you knocked. Period.

The worry on his face immediately made me forget about the damn door.

“What?” My heart was beating incredibly fast.

Something bad. It’s something bad.

“I have some information back from the P.I. You’ll want to sit down.” He nodded toward the chairs, and I instantly sat.

“You have info back already? It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours yet.” It didn’t quite seem possible.

“That money that you’re so embarrassed of, Penn? It gets results. You might want to consider that the next time you think of the Hardick estate with loathing.” Dad’s words were severe, but his tone wasn’t.

Something else was more important.

“Foster care records take a little bit to crack, as they’re not supposed to be cracked at all. But police records. Piece of cake.” Dad pushed a small manilla envelope toward me.

Police records.

I grabbed the folder and tore through it. One, two, three reports of domestic abuse and a restraining order filed for, but then retracted by the filer, Miss Valerie Anne Johnson.

“Valerie?” I said the name out loud, shaking my head. “This has to be someone else, Dad. Why would your guy assume this was Anne? There’s gotta be like a bajillion Anne Johnson’s in Tennessee alone.”

“Do you think there are a ‘bajillion’ Anne Johnson’s with a history of experiencing domestic assault in Tennessee who also have a son named Murphy?” Dad slid another document toward me.

Murphy’s birth certificate. The year was right, though I’d never known his last name was “Fisher”. I scanned it over, finding that his father was listed as Randall Fisher.

Randall was the accused abuser on the police forms as well.

“Okay. Okay so this is her. She’s just going by her middle name. She probably wanted to start over. Christ, I can’t imagine what she went thr –”

“This.” Dad slid another official document toward me. Randall Fisher’s certificate of death. Accidental.

Clipped to it were newspaper articles from late last winter, detailing the demise of Randall, who had apparently fallen into a deep gorge off the trails of the Great Smokies. The second article announced that the investigation was over, and Valerie Johnson was no longer considered a suspect.

They thought she killed him? Did she kill him?

“Now this.” Two more police reports, but this time for missing persons. Valerie Johnson and Murphy Fisher, filed by Timothy Fisher.

“Who’s Timothy Fisher?” My voice was flat.

“Randall’s brother.”

“He’s looking for her.”

“Well,” Dad leaned forward, his concern seeming to grow with each passing second. “He was. In February. Nothing since.”

“You think she’s running from him?” I stared at his mugshot, which spoke volumes about the type of guy Mr. Timothy Fisher was. Mean. Cold. Angry.

“I do.”

I met my dad’s gaze. “Do you think she killed Murphy’s dad?”

“Honestly, Penn, I wouldn’t have blamed her if she did. But no, I don’t believe that. Her guilt would have been proven easily enough. I believe she tried to escape, and something went wrong. For Randall.” Dad’s eyes narrowed then. “However, I do believe that Timothy Fisher is convinced she killed his brother. And I also believe, based on his lengthy record, that he isn’t the type of man who could calmly sort that out.”

“He’s hunting her down for revenge.” I’d momentarily stopped breathing altogether.

This was who and what Anne – or Valerie – was scared of. This skeezy looking son of a bitch.

“We’re supposed to meet tonight. She wanted to tell me... things. I guess probably some of these things.” I looked at all of the papers in disbelief.

“That’s fine, Penn. But if there’s a vengeance crazed criminal searching for her, she’s not safe. And by