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contact. It didn’t help that he was so much taller than her. Or that he wore Saville Row while she’d changed into khakis and a sleeveless cotton blouse since she was on her way to David’s.
    But somehow she found the strength to meet his superior, smug, smarmy smirk. As he raised an eyebrow, taking in her attire and surroundings, she remembered why she’d left him. Funny how much harder it was to remember why she’d ever loved him.
    “So. This is the bustling practice that seduced you away from Philadelphia. Charming.”
    “What do you want, Hunter?”
    “Thought I’d serve this in person.” He handed her a sheaf of legal papers. “Notice of appearance.”
    She skimmed them as he sauntered to the porch swing and took a seat, making himself at home.
    “Masterson hired you? But why?”
    “Maybe he was impatient about how slowly things were moving with his hometown team.” He shrugged, the fabric of his jacket falling flawlessly back into place, and stretched his legs out. “Or maybe he cares enough about his grandson to hire the very best, no matter the cost.”
    “The whole case is ridiculous and you know it. Look at the precedents on grandparents seeking visitation. Troxel v. Granville , for starters.”
    “There’s no West Virginia precedent. And won’t it be fun setting one?” He slipped his Gucci sunglasses on and stood in one fluid motion. “Just like old times, right, Elizabeth?”
    She stared at him, her stomach churning in a familiar rumba of anxiety. It took everything she had not to flinch when he bent down and kissed her on the cheek.
    “See you in court. Judge Mabry wants us there ten o’clock tomorrow.”
    He sauntered to his Mercedes and was gone. Still she stared after him, speechless—without any idea of how the hell she was going to defeat him in court. Because the only time Hunter Holcombe had ever lost a fight was when she’d walked out on him.
    And she knew damn well that he wasn’t going to let that go unpunished.

NINE
    Once past the protestors we stopped at a security checkpoint. Beyond it was a parking lot surrounded by a twelve-foot-high fence topped with razor wire. We were waved through and continued to follow the road as it wound around the outside of the parking lot and continued to follow the river, only now the view to the water was a bit obscured by the security fencing.
    The zigzagging road itself was also a security measure, artfully disguised. Much nicer than a gamut of concrete barriers.
    I spotted another alligator lounging in the mud against the other side of the fence, as well as several beautifully graceful birds. Herons, cranes, egrets—I wasn’t sure. They all had long legs, slim necks, and carried themselves like ballet dancers, seemingly unafraid of the gators as they waltzed through the water. We passed beneath some trees, rounded a curve, and stopped at the second security post at the inner perimeter fence, where I caught my first glimpse of the plant.
    It wasn’t anything like I’d imagined, not even after looking at the schematics Grandel had shown me. Instead of the concrete bunker I’d expected, it was all chrome and glass, laid out hugging the contours of the land as the river curved behind it. The rooflines were also curved, but in an old-fashioned way like a conservatory, not jarring like Disney’s Epcot Center. There was a large central dome with branches coming off either side—one side for the turbines, I remembered from the plans, the other for the reactor coolant pumps.
    The lawn surrounding it on three sides was filled with plants. A field of lavender mingled with yellow wildflowers lay to the side of the walkway leading from the parking lot, roses clustered closer to the front entrance—almost hiding the third security checkpoint—and flowering trees with bright purple, pink, and white flowers were scattered throughout.
    “Welcome to Colleton Landing,” Grandel said, the pride returning to his voice. “With each fence there are