And then some.
In spite of the late night, Karen awoke at her usual early hour Sunday. For a time she indulged herself and simply lay there, watching Jamey in the thin morning light. He was sleeping soundly, though she had little doubt that any sound out of place would penetrate his slumber and bring him wide awake in a heartbeat. Living on Serenity did that to a person. But it was a quiet morning, and there were no sounds out of place, nothing to disturb his sleep or her pleasure in watching him.
In all the years since Evan’s death, she had never contemplated an affair. After all, he had been her husband, her best friend and her one true love, and making love with any man who wasn’t him would constitute a betrayal of that love...or so she had thought. But she’d been wrong. Making love with Jamey hadn’t diminished her love for Evan in any way, just as all those years loving Evan didn’t diminish what she felt for Jamey. She had no regrets, no guilt, no remorse—just an incredible feeling of being alive in a way she hadn’t been in six years.
Reaching out, she touched his jaw, rough with morning stubble. Even in sleep, he looked like a man with problems. The incidents with Ryan Morgan last night had angered and, in some small way, frightened him. Reid troubled him deeply. Probably what they had done here in her bed, no matter how much he’d wanted it, had disturbed him as well. After a while, the losing can be worse than the having, he’d said. It becomes easier to be alone.
She understood his reasoning. Losing Evan, the children she had hoped would brighten their future, and her sister Kathy had been almost more than she could bear, but she still had the rest of her family and a bunch of very good friends. Jamey had lost his parents and too many of his friends. In a very real sense—even though he still fought for his little piece of it—he’d lost the neighborhood that was his home, that was a tremendous part of who and what he was. He had a bad marriage behind him, relationships that hadn’t worked out and a son who probably did hate him almost as much as he wanted to love him. Now here he was with her, fully expecting her to give up, walk away from Serenity—away from him—and never look back.
But it wasn’t going to happen.
At last, with a sigh, she got up, gathered work clothes from the dresser and went into the bathroom to prepare to face the day. If she’d had any idea last evening that she would wake up with six feet of gorgeous male sprawled across her bed, she would have told Shawntae to forget about working at the park this morning and she would pull the armchair closer and spend the next hour or two simply watching him. Then, when he awakened, she would crawl back into bed with him and concentrate on making the heat rise to unbearable again.
Instead, she left a note folded on the jeans he’d discarded on the floor last night, telling him that she was at the park, inviting him to stay where he was and reminding him of that offer a week ago to fix her breakfast some morning. Then she went downstairs, where she found Jethro looking fat and happy in front of a newly emptied food dish, had a quick snack of brownies and soda, then left the house.
Last night had apparently been quiet in the park. When she arrived with Jethro and the utility cart in tow, she found little new damage—a few bits of trash scattered about, a half-dozen empty beer cans and a new form of graffiti on the back wall. There was no profanity, just pictures apparently done by different artists. On the right side was a gun, drawn much larger than life, with sparks flying from its barrel and, a few feet away, a bullet speeding to its small, defenseless target. The target was a much cruder representation, a stick figure with arms and legs spread-eagled, with a round face and bright red corkscrew curls sticking out in all directions.
As messages went, she would rate this one as effective. It made goose bumps rise on her arms and created a chill that made her shiver in spite of the morning heat.
For a long time she simply stood and looked. Then she picked up Jethro, pushed the cart to one side of the gate and headed back to her house. Making an effort not to disturb Jamey upstairs, she went to the kitchen, where Michael Bennett’s business card was tucked in the molding of the cabinet door closest to the wall phone, and dialed his home number. When he answered on the second ring, she identified herself, then said, “I’m sorry to bother you so early on a Sunday morning, but you said if I needed anything...”
The call was short. He said he would come over; she agreed to meet him at the park. Acknowledging that she would feel more comfortable waiting at the house, she went back to the park for that reason. She wasn’t going to let Ryan Morgan scare her; no matter how many threats he made, no matter how many windows he broke, how many little drawings he and his goons painted on the walls.
When she returned to the park, it was no longer empty. Reid stood inside the gate, as she had done earlier, looking at the wall. As she came to a stop beside him, she lightly touched his arm, startling him, making him jerk away. “Sorry,” she apologized, then tried to make light of the painting. “It’s better than the usual obscenities, isn’t it?”
He stared down at her. “This isn’t a joke, Karen. When I came in and saw that and saw your stuff... Why the hell did you come back?”
“I went to the house to call a friend of mine who’s a cop. He’s going to meet me here.”
“Why don’t you meet him at your house, where you can at least lock the damn door?”
“Jamey’s there. He was angry enough last night. I don’t want him to know about this.”
He gave her a narrowed, speculative look, then, with color creeping into his face, he turned away. He knew, she thought, a little embarrassed and a whole lot curious. He knew that his father had spent the night with her, that they had shared a bed and a lot more. How? She had seen her own face in the mirror this morning, the same unchanged face she saw every morning. How had Reid guessed, and would anyone else—like Michael, who had been Evan’s best friend and partner, who had felt a love and loyalty for Evan so intense that Evan’s death had almost killed him? Not that she was ashamed. She wasn’t, not in the least. But didn’t everyone deserve the chance to fall in love in private?
“About last night...” She touched his arm again. He wasn’t startled this time, but he still pulled away. Was it because of her new relationship with his father, because in the macho posturing of the young men of Serenity, last night had officially made her Jamey’s woman? Or was he simply unused to casual, friendly contact? She doubted that a woman who could neglect, then abandon her son, as Meghan Donovan had, had ever displayed much affection for him. Other than young women like the miniskirted Tanya who had clung to him as if he were the grand prize in a contest that she had won, he’d probably never received much physical affection, if any at all. “Thank you for coming by last night.”
He scowled. “Yeah, right.”
She let her gaze settle on the brick wall again, but she didn’t really see the drawings. “Jamey’s been a lousy father—there’s no denying that—but he regrets it. He just doesn’t know how to tell you, how to show you.”
His glower intensified, but he didn’t say anything scornful or mocking.
“Your grandfather wasn’t much of a father, either. He didn’t set an example for Jamey to follow, and Jamey set a bad example for you to follow. When you have children—”
He gave her a sharp, disbelieving look. “Why the hell would I do that?”
“It may be an accident,” she said with a shrug. “No form of birth control is a hundred percent effective, you know. Or someday you might meet a young woman, fall madly in love and decide that your lives won’t be complete without children of your own.”
He looked at her as if she were speaking a foreign language. Maybe she was, she thought sadly. No one had ever loved him—not even his mother and father, the two people whose love and devotion every baby should be guaranteed—and it was doubtful that he had ever loved anyone. How could he imagine a woman who would change that, who would become more important to him than his own life, who would treasure him more than her own life? How could he even begin to understand the love two
people could share, that filled all the empty spaces, eased all the hurts and made each a better person? When all he’d ever known was rejection and resentment, abandonment and betrayal, how could he ever consider bringing another helpless, innocent child into the world?
She sighed, an unhappy sound that faded away as a car came to a stop behind them. Turning, she saw Michael and Remy Sinclair climbing out. She glanced back at Reid, who was heading for the back gate. “Reid, come over for dinner tonight, will you? About seven?”
He glanced at the two men, then at her and shook his head.
“I’ll fix something anyway, in case you change your mind.”
He disappeared through the gate, and she walked out on the sidewalk to meet her friends. “Remy.” Stretching onto her toes, she gave the tall, blond man a hug.
“Karen.” He was gazing distractedly at the back gate. “Was that Reid Donovan?”
She nodded. “I suppose you’ve heard of him.” After all, Remy was the Bureau’s authority on Jimmy Falcone and all his people. He’d been in charge of the FBI’s investigation into Falcone’s organized crime activities until the bastard had almost killed him five years ago.
“Yeah, I have a file on him,” Remy replied, none too pleased.
“I’ve arrested him several times,” Michael added while he studied the drawings.
It was time to change the subject, Karen decided, and remarked in careless, unconcerned tone, “I don’t think it really looks like me.”
“Funny.” Michael pulled her cap off, spilling her hair down her shoulders, then looked from her to the painting and back again. “I think it looks exactly like you: little, skinny and red-haired.”
“Who did this?” Remy asked.
Before Karen could answer, a shocked gasp came from the sidewalk near the end of the fence. Shawntae stood there, staring at the wall. Beside her, J.T. was trying to free himself from his mother’s tightening grip to go to Jethro, and behind her more bad news was coming down the street in the form of Jamey. Even from a distance she could tell he was annoyed, most likely by her insistence on coming out here after last night’s run-in with the Morgans.
“Oh, Karen.” Shawntae stopped near the gate. “I didn’t hear a thing last night. I thought everyone had stayed away. Oh, no...”
Feeling a headache coming on, Karen stuffed her hair back under her baseball cap, then pulled a can of black spray paint from the cart. “I don’t know who did it,” she said with a scowl, “but I’m going to get rid of it.”
Remy caught her arm as she headed through the gate. “Not so fast. Michael’s going to get some pictures.”
She gave Jamey, less than a block away now, a faintly desperate look. Maybe she shouldn’t have called Michael. Maybe she should have simply painted over the scene the minute she’d seen it, and then no one would know about it but her and the artists. Reid wouldn’t have been concerned, Michael and Remy wouldn’t be looking like worried cops at a crime scene, Shawntae wouldn’t be staring in shock, and Jamey...
“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, ignoring the others, focused only on Karen. “Didn’t last night teach you anything? Didn’t Ryan’s message get through that thick skull of yours? You admitted yourself that he’ll be looking for you when you’re alone and then you traipse off...” His gaze moved at last to the back wall, and he broke off and stared. After a moment, he swallowed hard, blinked and looked down at her again. He looked as if he wanted to take her in his arms, to hold her tightly, keep her safe and never let her go. She wished he would. She could use a strong dose of security right now, and not even Michael and Remy, who were both surely armed, or Shawntae, J.T. and Jethro could provide it as easily or effectively as Jamey.
But he didn’t reach for her. He didn’t hold her. He simply looked at her.
“Your reference to last night...” Remy glanced over his shoulder as Michael took a camera from the trunk of the car and went into the park. “I assume you mean the broken windows at the house and the damage to her car?”
Jamey nodded.
“What happened?”
In an unnaturally subdued voice, Jamey repeated the same details Karen had given the dispatcher last night. He named names, including the two witnesses she had left out: Alicia Gutierrez and Reid.
“You figure the Morgans did this, too?”
“Them or their punks,” Shawntae said with disgust.
“Why didn’t you call the police, Karen?” Remy asked, ignoring the other’s woman amused snort.
“You think the police would come to Serenity Street in the middle of a Saturday night for anything less than multiple homicides?” Karen blew her breath out in a heavy sigh. “I did call. They said an officer would be by, but no one came.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve considered taking their advice about leaving.” This came from Michael, returning from the wall with three developing Polaroids in one hand.
This time the snorts, varying from amused to derisive, came from Karen and Jamey as well as Shawntae. Michael’s response was a faint smile. “I didn’t think so. Well...I’ll take a report on both this and the vandalism at your house. I’ll need a statement from you—” he nodded toward Jamey “—and addresses for Donovan and the girl.”
“Reid lives with the Morgans. You can’t talk to him there,” Karen protested. “It would be too risky for him. Besides, he’s not home. He left the park just as you were arriving.”
“Then if he shows up for dinner tonight, let one of us know,” Remy said with a hint of sarcasm. “Maybe we could make an appointment with him then.”
“Or maybe you could leave him alone. He saw the same thing Jamey did, heard the same thing I did. You don’t need to interview him. You don’t need Alicia, either. She’s Ryan’s girlfriend. She’s going to have his baby any day now. Bringing her into this will just cause problems for her with him.” Reaching out, she clasped Jamey’s hand tightly in her own. “Jamey’s the most reliable witness you’ll find on Serenity. He knows everybody, and he’s not intimidated by them. Take his word for it. Don’t cause trouble for Reid and Alicia.”
Remy and Michael exchanged glances, then Michael shrugged. “Okay, Karen. We’ll do it your way this time. Jamey, want to step over here?”
Jamey stood beside the car, hands in his hip pockets, and watched as Karen and Shawntae sprayed third and fourth coats of paint over the graffiti. Next to him, Michael Bennett—the cop who had made the seafood gumbo, who had been Evan Montez’s partner—closed the notebook he’d taken from the glove box and turned his own gaze on the two women. “She’s got a stubborn streak a mile wide.”
Jamey responded with a brief word of agreement.
“She said you’re not intimidated by the people down here.”
He never had been before. He had had run-ins with every punk on Serenity until he’d built a reputation as a man to avoid. Even Jimmy Falcone, who’d taken over every business on the street, legitimate or otherwise, had left him and O’Shea’s alone. But that was before last night. Before Karen. Before he’d had something to lose. Now he felt pretty damned intimidated. Powerless. Furious.
“Can you look out for her?” the other man asked. Bennett had introduced him as Remy Sinclair, an FBI agent. That Sunday afternoon by the river, Karen had mentioned that Sinclair, along with Smith Kendricks, had been close to Evan, so close that the two of them had notified her of her husband’s death.
“Can I handcuff her to the bar?” Jamey asked dryly. “She equates being careful with cowardice. She believes in her God-given right to be here. She honestly feels that she can make a difference by not backing down or showing fear—which, down here, means taking your life in your hands. The kids come down here and trash the park every night; she’s here between six-thirty and seven every morning to clean it. In front of a crowd last evening she accused Morgan of picking on women because he was too much the coward to confront a man. She’s made friends with his girlfriend and his best friend. She’s in his face, literally or figurat
ively, all the time. So far they’ve only threatened her property. Someday they’ll go after her.”
“Any chance they’ll back off and leave her alone?”
Jamey shook his head. “The last do-gooder we had down here didn’t back down, either, until she found herself alone with a fifteen-year-old bastard who was pretty good with a knife. She got carried out in a body bag. Karen’s convinced it won’t happen to her, but she’s made enemies a lot faster than she’s made friends.”
“So what would persuade her to leave?”
He looked at her, laughing as J.T. and Jethro ran in circles around her, tangling the mutt’s leash around her ankles. “Nothing that I can think of.” God help him, he had tried.
Bennett put the notebook, camera and photos on the back seat, then sighed. “I’ll see if I can get a few patrols in here. A lot of the guys remember Evan. They’ll try to help her out because of him. In the meantime, try to rein her in a little—which I know is easier said than done.”
Amen to that, Jamey thought with a scowl.
“Karen, we’re finished here.”
She came out to the sidewalk, smiling as if she didn’t have a care in the world, and slid her arm around Jamey’s waist. Even though he automatically slipped his arm around her shoulders, her action took him by surprise. He had figured she wouldn’t want any public displays of affection, especially in front of Evan’s best friends. That was why he hadn’t touched her when he’d first arrived, why he hadn’t gathered her so close and so tight that no one could ever hurt her. It had been harder than he’d imagined to not claim her, to not make a silent declaration to her cop friends and anyone who might be watching out their windows that she belonged to him, that messing with her would bring far more grief than anyone on this street could handle.
“Thanks for coming out, guys. I’m really sorry to bother you on a Sunday morning, especially when there’s really nothing you can do.”
Convincing Jamey Page 18