Her Sister's Secret (Mills & Boon Vintage Superromance) by Linda Style

in his book before sliding it toward her. “My name’s John. Everyone calls me Johnny. My wife Gretta and I run this establishment,” he announced, straightening his shoulders.
    “Pleased to meet you. I’m Whitney Sheffield.”
    “I know. Rhys called to tell us you were coming back and that you needed a good room. He said you’re a photographer on an assignment.”
    Well, that took care of any further explanation on her part. Although it bothered her that Gannon had called ahead on her behalf, it had saved her some time. The two men obviously knew each other fairly well, and remembering Mabel’s warning, she’d have to be careful with her questions.
    “My wife isn’t here right now,” the man apologized, “but she’ll be back soon. In the meantime we’ll get you set up. You can meet Gretta tomorrow morning at breakfast.” He peered over the top of his glasses at her. “Unless you don’t get up for breakfast?”
    “No, no.” Whitney shook her head. “I mean, yes, of course I get up for breakfast. Well, at least coffee,” Whitney corrected, then gave him her credit card to complete the transaction.
    “You can get room service between 6 and 10 a.m.,” the innkeeper said on the way up the stairs. “There’s a menu in your room. All you have to do is pick up the phone and let us know.” He winked, smiling, his soft words making her feel more welcome than she had anywhere in a very long time.
    Johnny unlocked the door and told her to look around while he brought up her suitcase. Whitney stepped into the spacious suite to do exactly that, but just as she reached to pick up a figurine from the top of the dresser, she heard a noise behind her. She pivoted to see a tall woman standing in the doorway. She wore a long black knit dress, cowboy boots and silver-and-turquoise bracelets on both wrists. Her dark hair, artfully highlighted with an equal amount of silver, was precisely cut in a chin-length bob.
    “Hello.” The woman came forward. “I’m Gretta. I got back a little earlier than expected, so I came up to meet you.”
    Whitney clasped the woman’s outstretched hand and decided instantly that her eyes, an unusual azure color, were her best feature. “Nice to meet you, too. I’m Whitney Sheff—”
    “I know. Welcome to Estrade.” Still smiling, Gretta brushed a dark thread from Whitney’s shoulder as a concerned mother might.
    “Just hit that red button and you can get right through to either Gretta or me,” Johnny said, entering the room behind his wife. He deposited Whitney’s suitcase on a wooden luggage rack against the wall. “We can get you anything you need. Hit nine and you can dial out directly.”
    Almost at a loss for words at their graciousness, Whitney thanked them, and once they’d left, she pulled out her cell phone, punched in Albert’s number and waited.

 
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER FIVE
     
     
    “ALBERT, IT’S WHITNEY. Got anything new for me?”
    “Hey, Whit, I was worried about you. You find the slime?”
    “I’m okay, Al, and yes, I did find Gannon. Plans have changed a little, though.”
    “Changed? How?”
    She explained, then asked, “Any luck on the birth certificate?
    “Tough one, Whit. No record in Orange County.”
    “Damn, I thought that’s where Morgan lived there when she had the baby. What now? Have you tried outside Orange County?” Whitney paused, paced the room in front of the bay windows. “Maybe you should try a couple other counties or the neighboring states.”
    Albert sighed, a gurgle of exasperation in the back of his throat. “It would help, ya know, if we had even an inkling of what alias she used, or a social security number, an address—anything. It’s impossible to run a trace without a few facts.”
    “But can’t you just run some kind of private investigator check? Isn’t all that information available at your fingertips?”
    “Ah…” Albert hedged. “Sometimes. But even with the big database providers like DBT and