A Different Kind of Man (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Cox, Suzanne

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” she finally responded. Emalea didn’t want to admit that she did indeed think Jackson could be dream material, not even to herself.

  JACKSON DREW CIRCLES on his notepad as he held the phone to his ear, waiting for Rick Martel to pick up. He’d called his old partner as soon as he’d gotten back from New Orleans. Someone there needed to know DePaulo had surfaced down south. But Rick had been out of town on a case, and Jackson had decided to hold onto the information until his friend returned. The phone clicked on the other end.

  “This is Martel.”

  “Rick, it’s Jackson.”

  “Hey, man, how are things down on the bayou?”

  Jackson smiled. Rick, a full-blown city boy, had been horrified at the idea of Jackson moving to someplace as remote as Cypress Landing.

  “Actually, things are really good here.” A bit of a stretch, but… “I was in New Orleans the other day and you’re not going to believe this, but DePaulo was there. He crossed the street right in front of me.”

  On the other end, Rick was silent for what felt like several minutes. “Did he see you?”

  “Oh yeah, he saw me. If his hand would have been a gun he’d have shot me.”

  Jackson heard Rick’s sigh through the phone.

  “Tell me you didn’t harass him or, worse, try to beat him up.”

  “Of course not. I told you that’s behind me. I was a little crazy for a while, but I…”

  Jackson paused and ran the last few minutes of their conversation through his mind. “You knew, didn’t you? You knew he was here and didn’t tell me.”

  “Look, Jackson, nobody needed you down there following him and causing trouble again. New Orleans is a big city and far enough away from Cypress Landing, I figured you weren’t likely to run into the guy.”

  “You figured wrong. What’s he doing here?” He had to wait patiently as Rick obviously debated whether or not to give him information. He heard his friend’s resigned grunt.

  “I guess I might as well tell you, or you’ll go down there and try to beat an answer out of him. After he skimmed money from his uncle, the old man wasn’t going to bring DePaulo back to Chicago and let him sell guns. From what we’ve gathered so far, it looks like he’s down there helping with the purchases of guns to send north. Notice I said helping. I don’t think his uncle was willing to let him handle much money. But you stay away from him. The New Orleans office has an eye on what’s happening down there.”

  Jackson shook his head as if Rick could see him. “I’m not going to New Orleans, but I might not have to.” He filled Rick in on the guns and the two dead bodies. He could imagine Rick scrambling to take notes and dragging his fingers through his hair.

  “I’ll check into this on my end, but you stay away from DePaulo. He won’t appreciate you causing trouble for him, again. Personally I think he’s going to try and build his own little gang and maybe challenge his uncle for a chunk of the business. I believe that’s why he risked skimming that money, to make his own working cash. If he thinks you’re going to get in the way of that he’ll be more than happy to get rid of you.”

  Jackson stared at his notepad, now covered with marks. He wrote DePaulo’s name in the bit of white space left then roughly scratched it out, tearing the paper. “I came here to start my life over, Rick. I’m not looking for trouble, but I’ll deal with it if it comes looking for me.”

  Jackson dropped the phone onto the desk after he’d said goodbye. He hadn’t lied. He wouldn’t go after DePaulo, not like he’d done back in Chicago. But DePaulo had better stay out of Cypress Landing because this time Jackson would make sure he didn’t get off so easy.

  “GUESS YOU HEARD what happened yesterday in front of Mrs. Wright’s store.” Kent fiddled with the frayed arm-rest cover on the ancient chair in the counselor’s office.

  “No, I haven’t heard a word.” Emalea leaned back in her own equally threadbare chair.

  “I figured you being friends with Mrs. Wright and all, she’d tell you.”

  “Kent, I may be friends with Cecile Wright but neither she nor anyone else except the school counselor knows you’re a client of mine. It’s confidential and I would never tell unless it was necessary for your safety. So, do you want to tell me what happened?”

  Kent shrugged while Emalea waited patiently for the story to come.

  When the boy finished retelling the incident, he rested his elbows on his knees. She chewed her lip wondering how deep to dig, right now. “Why didn’t you hit Gary back, Kent?”

  “It would have been disrespectful to Mrs. Wright. Besides it’s not right to be fighting in the middle of town like that.”

  She wondered how he’d come to that conclusion when his cousins seemed more than happy to break into a fight anywhere, but she had begun to learn that Kent didn’t really fit in with his cousins. “You know, Kent, not many guys would have worried that they would be disrespectful for being in a fight if another person threw the first punch.”

  The boy leaned back and crossed his arms tightly over his chest. “My dad says I’m a chickensh— Well I won’t repeat it, but it’s not nice. I’ve had to fight a few times. I’m pretty good at it, but I don’t like to hit people. I’ve seen enough of that to last the rest of my life and I hope…” His voice trailed off as if he realized what he was saying and who he was saying it to.

  “Would you like to talk about that?”

  “About what?”

  “Seeing people get hit.” Emalea’s stomach quivered slightly as it always did when she had to question a child about abuse. She had hoped she’d been reading too much of her own past into Kent’s situation, but now she knew he was very likely living the same nightmare she had suffered.

  “If I talk to you, there’ll only be more trouble for me.”

  “How’s that?” Honestly, the answer hadn’t been a surprise. She could remember feeling the same way, but she wanted to get him to express what he was feeling, in hopes that he might survive the whole thing with fewer scars. He grasped the arms of the chair, his fingers clutching as if holding on for life.

  “I won’t repeat what you say to me.”

  “Unless it’s to keep me safe, that’s what you said.” The words came from between tightly pinched lips. “You might think if you told, you’d be helping keep me and my mom safe, but it wouldn’t. You can’t make life safe for us.”

  If Emalea could have taken him home with her that instant she would have. She’d even have picked up his mother and carried her away, too. His mother’s mind-set, which kept her with this man—and kept Kent imprisoned with her—could not be changed in an instant. Sometimes it could never be changed. That kind of emotional connection with an abuser was a survival strategy for a victim.

  “Are you afraid for your life, Kent?”

  His shimmering eyes met hers. “I’m more afraid for my mom. For me, I’m mostly afraid I’ll end up being just like my dad.”

  Emalea wanted to make him see that another life waited for him. If he could realize that, see that it was just within his grasp, maybe he’d have a chance. “Is there one thing you can think of that would make your life safe, Kent?”

  He stared past her shoulder for so long Emalea thought he might not have heard the question. At last his eyes met hers.

  “Only if my dad was dead, but I guess you wouldn’t ever understand that.”

  “You’re wrong, Kent. I understand exactly.”

  Ms. LeBlanc left her chair to stand by the window. He watched her, unsure what to say. “I…I guess you’re not supposed to tell me stuff about yourself.”

  She lifted one slat of a blind and peeked outside. After a minute, she turned to lean against the wall, watching him with narrowed eyes.

  “How much time have you got?”

  He shrugged. “I’m good for a while longer.”

  She moved to her chair, resting her elbows on the armrests and leaning her head back. “Get comfortable, Kent, because this won’t be pretty.�
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  He almost told her he didn’t want to know. His one help in this whole mess sat in front of him, ready to tell him things he’d been afraid to reveal about himself.

  Wriggling in his chair, he stayed focused on the bright green eyes across from him, then gave a slight smile. “Okay. Shoot.”

  EMALEA USED LAKE SEWELL to do dive training because the water was clearer than most other lakes in the area and a large section had been reserved exclusively for swimmers and divers. Her truck sat on the knoll just above the edge of the lake, along with a row of other vehicles, including Jackson’s. The group of new volunteers numbered eight. Normally she only trained two or three at a time, so she had been especially appreciative of Jackson’s offer to help. She really hadn’t been looking forward to dividing the group and using two separate Saturdays.

  As the volunteers listened to her give her usual spiel on search-and-rescue diving, Jackson stayed in the back, appearing more than willing to let her run the show.

  “You four go with Mr. Cooper.” She pointed to four divers on her right. She thought the lone woman in that group might even squeal with joy at being placed under Jackson’s care. The other woman, left with her, wrinkled her brow in apparent protest. Jackson wore an unzipped yellow neoprene vest, revealing much of his impressive body, so she could understand where the two women were coming from. She was having a little difficulty concentrating, too. The vest flapped open, and she saw the flash of a nipple. Her breath caught in her throat and, before she could stop herself, she’d taken a step toward him. With effort, she spun around so she wouldn’t have to look directly at him, at least until she could manage a moderate amount of control.

  Jackson, completely oblivious to whatever effects he might be having on the women, simply pulled his hands from the pockets of his swim shorts and began prepping his dive gear. Everyone had to pair up with a dive buddy in their group to check each other’s gear. When the short blonde sidled up to Jackson, he explained that he and Emalea would be going over their equipment together, just to keep the buddies even among each group. She pouted openly, making Emalea wish for a quick and painless end to this particular training session. Next time there would be no gorgeous, sexy men allowed.

  Still wearing shorts and a T-shirt over her swimsuit, Emalea carried her bag next to Jackson’s and began attaching her BC jacket and the regulator she would breathe through to the air tank. When the task was completed, she peeled her shorts off, leaving her long T-shirt covering her to mid-thigh. She stepped into her neoprene wet suit, nearly working up a sweat getting the thing to her waist.

  “Planning on a drop in temperature?”

  She didn’t bother to look at him. “The lake is still cool to me this time of year.” She spoke while pulling her arms from the sleeves of her shirt. She slipped the wet suit onto her upper body, forcing her arms through the tight sleeves.

  When she finished zipping the wet suit up to her neck, she pulled the T-shirt over her head and noticed Jackson staring at her. “What?”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man or woman put a wet suit on and reveal so little skin.”

  She tossed her T-shirt on top of her bag. “It’s a special talent.”

  He ran a finger down the arm of the gray and black wet suit. “Next time, give a guy a break and don’t try so hard. It could easily make my day.”

  She knew she really couldn’t feel through the thick neoprene, but it seemed as if his finger were actually on her skin. She needed a diversion, so he wouldn’t see how his touch affected her. A few feet away she spotted one.

  Emalea nodded her head to the left where the woman she had assigned to his group had shucked her clothes to reveal a barely there bikini. “Now there’s something to make your day.”

  He sighed. “That’ll make my day a pain in the neck. I’ll bet you gave her to me on purpose.”

  “I didn’t, but I’m glad she’s in your group. If she hadn’t been, she might have tried to drown me later for shortchanging her. You could zip that vest up. It would help the situation tremendously.”

  He rubbed his palm across his bare chest. “Emalea, are you admitting to eyeing my exposed chest?”

  “No, I’m saying your little groupie over there is excited because of it.”

  “Are you sure you’re not hoping to see a little more of me?”

  She tried to concentrate on setting up her dive gear but he expected a reply. Finally looking up from her equipment, she did her best to frown at him. “No, I’m not trying to see more of you. Right now I’m busy.”

  “Later?”

  His flirting should have made her uncomfortable, but instead she wanted more. He continued to show her he was nothing like she had expected, which made her want to push the limits of their friendship.

  “Hmm. I think I would be interested, later.”

  Fingers closed around her upper arm. “Emalea, I might take you up on that.”

  “We’ll see. But first you have to deal with your little group over there.”

  Jackson groaned. “I’m only doing this because it’s you.”

  “Yeah, well we’re only having this problem because it’s you.”

  A few minutes later, she smiled, watching Jackson pry himself loose from the girl so he could get his group started. She turned to her own trainees and began her instructions. Her group waded into the cool water while, on the bank, Jackson manipulated the blonde’s gear trying to get it placed correctly; the three guys with him fell all over themselves hoping to lend a helping hand.

  EMALEA HAD JUST FINISHED stowing her dive bag in the back of her truck when Jackson and his four volunteers waded onto the bank for the last time. He yanked his BC jacket loose with the tank still strapped on and dropped the whole contraption in the grass. The fins and mask landed on top of the pile. On his way up the hill, he unzipped the rather tight vest. His expression, though priceless, reminded her of a thundercloud.

  He put one hand on the tailgate of her truck. “Do not, under any circumstances leave me here alone.”

  “Afraid of the sharks, Jackson?”

  “I’ve been known as a patient man but, honestly, I can’t take much more.”

  “Jackson!” They both turned in the direction of the female voice.

  Emalea snorted. “Your fan club is calling.”

  He pointed a finger at her. “You heard what I said. Don’t leave.”

  “All right, all right, I’ll be over there.” She motioned toward the lake. “Maybe I can enjoy a little sunshine and you can finish whatever it is you still have to do.”

  Spinning on his heel, he strode away, the neoprene booties on his feet making squishing sounds. She almost felt sorry for him, almost. Grabbing a blanket from behind the seat, she found a spot near the lake’s edge and tossed her T-shirt and shorts aside. On her back, staring at the blue sky, she couldn’t get rid of the smile that kept forming. The busy class had left her tired so she shoved the hem of her silver-gray tankini top under her breasts to sun her stomach. In a matter of minutes she dozed off.

  Emalea sat up with a jerk, her hand bumping against Jackson, who sprawled beside her. She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep and she didn’t remember him lying down on the blanket.

  “Is she still here?” Jackson’s eyes remained closed and Emalea scanned the grassy area only to see skimpy-bikini girl stretched provocatively on a blanket several yards away.

  “Yes, she is. Poor thing’s all alone.”

  “If she is, it’s her own choice. Every one of those guys would have paid to stay with her the rest of the evening.”

  “I believe she had her hook baited for another fish.”

  His eyes opened and his hand closed around her wrist. “That’s too bad because this fish is otherwise occupied. That,” he continued as he fingered the hem of her bathing suit top, “is a sexy bathing suit.”

  “Oh please, how can you say that after having a string bikini in front of you all afternoon?

  “Because this is sleek
and sexy as opposed to nonexistent.” His finger trailed farther down, stopping when his forefinger touched her navel ring. “And this is the thing that would drive a man over the edge.”

  “A holdover from when I lived in New Orleans. By the way, I think you’ve made your point, she’s leaving.”

  He continued stroking the silver ring. “Who’s leaving?”

  “Get real. You know I mean the woman in the little bathing suit.”

  “I only know what I’ve been doing and saying has had nothing to do with her and everything to do with you.” He rolled onto one elbow, pulling her down beside him.

  “What are you trying to do, Jackson?” She feigned an attempt at struggling before she dropped to her side.

  “I’m not really sure myself, but I’ll keep going until it starts to feel wrong or you say stop.”

  “Remember we’re in a public place.” Her imagination played several scenarios of what could happen when they were this close. Things that would likely have gotten Emalea and Jackson arrested if they’d occurred right here.

  “I wasn’t planning anything that couldn’t be done in public, but if you have other ideas maybe we should consider them.”

  She tried to decide whether or not Jackson was serious while he rolled up a damp towel for a makeshift pillow and lay face-to-face with her, neither one speaking, bodies only inches apart. Putting away her doubts and misconceptions had been like releasing the flood-gates on a dam. For once, she was with a man she was really attracted to and she wasn’t afraid.

  “Your hair’s never going to get dry like that.” His sun-warmed skin grazed her arm, as he leaned over her to ease the elastic band from her hair.

  She touched a scar at the top of his shoulder.

  “What happened?”

  “A very uncooperative suspect tried to keep me from arresting him.”

  “Did he?”

  “Stop me with a knife? You’ve got to be kidding. He managed to cut me just before I took it from him.”