Seeing her tremble with fear made me want to protect her and make that moment perfect. I stood in front of the window at my penthouse, looking over the Boston skyline. So far all the lights had yet to give me any answers. This was all supposed to be so simple. That had been my thought when I hired someone to retrieve the address for Frank and Patricia Hall, but apparently the place was abandoned. So far Carlie had done a fine job of searching on her own. She’d refused to tell me how she learned her father was dead and how she found her mom, though. It didn’t matter, though. Her mother had cancer and had had surgery to remove part of her bowel. Helping Mrs. Hall was all that mattered. Using my resources—even if Carlie didn’t want my help—a colleague of mine at the hospital gave me some additional details. I hesitated twice before I called her up. She’d want to know—even if she didn’t want my help. The phone was merely a communication tool for booty calls. “Is this a bad time?”
