She’d heard her son, Bryce, mention Remington’s, but she’d never been there herself. It wasn’t the type of place she would normally go to, and neither would any of her friends or associates. Which was exactly what she wanted.

Jo nodded and put the SUV in gear. The air-conditioner was running, and it was cool. It should have been refreshing, but Lydia was too focused on other things. She wrung her hands, thinking about the phone call she’d received when she’d been near the pool.

Mackenzie Potts had called, ostensibly to apologize for her words the previous evening. At first, she’d sounded sincere, and had told Lydia she shouldn’t have mentioned anything about JD. But the woman wouldn’t let it go, saying that if something was going on with her husband, she’d want her friends to let her know.

Lydia snorted at the thought, and the driver glanced in the rearview mirror.

“Ma’am?”

“I’m sorry, I’m upset,” Lydia said.

Jo hesitated. “Anything you want to talk about?”

Hell yes, Lydia thought, shocked at the intensity of her feelings. Her mind went back to Mackenzie. She wasn’t sure what to believe, whether the woman really cared about what JD might’ve done, or if she only wanted to pile on from last night. Because she had pointed out more, had said that something had gone on with JD years ago, that there was talk of something illegal. Lydia had no idea why Mackenzie wouldn’t have said something at the time, but she wasn’t going to ask that now. She also didn’t know how Mackenzie had gotten this information.

However, Lydia wasn’t going to give the woman the satisfaction of knowing that she was getting under her skin. Nor was she going to say that Mackenzie’s phone call was a slap in the face, the final thing that made her drag herself from the denial she’d been in.

It was all right there. She’d heard JD with Kline, and she knew he was up to something bad. She desperately wanted someone to talk to, but who? She had friends, but no one as close as her mother had been. Who could she trust that wouldn’t turn on her, creating more rumors, fueling the likes of Mackenzie?

The thought of her mother made Lydia choke back a sob. That brought another concerning look from the driver.

“Do you need a moment?” she asked. “I can pull over and give you some privacy.”

“I’m fine,” Lydia said, knowing her tone didn’t match the words.

Jo kept driving, but she kept an eye on Lydia. Then she spoke again.

“Ma’am, forgive me if I’m overstepping my boundaries, but you don’t look okay. I was worried about you when I saw you by the pool.”

Lydia’s head jerked up. “What did you think I was going to do?”

Jo shrugged. “I don’t know. But you kept getting closer to the edge.”

She laughed bitterly. “I wasn’t going to . . . harm myself. I was . . . deep in thought. There are some things going on, and I’m not sure what to do. You don’t know this about me, but I like the water. It’s calming for me. That’s why I was out there.”

“And then you received a phone call?”

“Yes. I . . .”

Lydia didn’t know how much she should share. She felt drawn to this woman, and she couldn’t explain why. Was she being foolish, not seeing something about her driver? Kline seemed to think so. But then, she couldn’t trust him.

She again went over her list of friends, pondering who she could talk to. She dismissed each person for one reason or another, and a hopeless feeling crept into her brain. She didn’t know what to do. The driver remained silent, focused on the road. The miles flew by, and then they pulled into the Remington’s parking lot. Lydia stared out the windshield. The place was big, with a brick-and-stone exterior, plenty of windows, and tables under covered patios. No, not the type of place Lydia would go. She scanned the parking lot, not recognizing any vehicles.

“Do you want me to drop you off at the door?” Jo asked.

Lydia met her gaze in the rearview mirror, and she made a sudden decision.

“No,” she said. “Park the car and come inside with me.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Jo pulled into the first space she could find, and as she hopped out, she looked to see if they’d been followed. She hadn’t seen anyone, which was good. As she hurried around the front of the vehicle, Lydia was already getting out of the back seat.

“Let me help,” Jo said as she shut the back door.

Lydia barely acknowledged that, already heading toward the bar entrance. It was as if she didn’t want anyone to think she had a driver with her. Jo caught up and opened the door to the bar. Lydia stepped inside, Jo at her heels.

Remington’s was open and spacious. Several people sat at stools at a huge bar that dominated the room. People filled booths and tables to the left and right of the bar, their conversations echoing loudly throughout the space. Large TVs mounted to the walls and in upper corners of the room showed a wide selection of sporting events. Lydia stood by a hostess stand, hands clasped in front of her.

“Do you come here often?” Jo asked, trying for casual conversation.

Lydia shook her head. “I wanted someplace different, where . . .” She didn’t finish the sentence.

Where no one would know her, Jo thought to herself.

A hostess approach with a big smile. “Hello, ladies,” she said. “Would you like a table, or would you prefer to sit in the bar?”

Lydia pointed to the right. “A booth, if you have it.”

“Of course,” the woman said. She grabbed two menus from the stand. “Follow me.”

Lydia’s back was ramrod straight as she followed the hostess between tables toward the back of the room. As she paused by a booth, Jo instinctively moved past Lydia so she could sit where she had a visual of the bar entrance. Lydia slid into the booth, and Jo sat opposite her.

“Your server will be with you in a moment,” the hostess said, the smile still etched on her face.

Lydia nodded, and the woman walked away. Music played loudly, forcing people to raise their voices. Fried food smells wafted through the air. Lydia looked around at her surroundings, and then at Jo.

“My son, Bryce, told me about this place.” Her embarrassed laugh was almost drowned out by the noise. “I can see why he likes it here. He likes sports, and he enjoys having a drink or two while he watches a game.”

“It’s not what you would normally choose,” Jo said.

“No.”

Lydia seemed about to explain why, but a server—a stocky young man with curly hair—walked up. He plopped two thin, cardboard coasters on the table, along with menus. Lydia pushed hers aside and looked at him.

“A dry martini, please,” she said.

“Of course.” He glanced at Jo.

“Water for me,” she told him.

“Of course,” he repeated.

He turned and walked away, and Lydia studied her fingernails. Then she looked all around again. Jo waited on her. The woman was uncomfortable, her mouth pinched with strain, her hands fidgeting. She tipped her head when a new song came on.

“I recognize this one,” she said. “It was something the boys would have playing in the car. I have no idea who the artist is, though.”

Jo didn’t know the song. “I missed out on a lot of cultural things when I was in the military. I was too focused in other areas.”