Convincing Jamey

by Pappano, Marilyn

  She sighed softly, then remarked, “I saw you talking with Reid this afternoon.”

  “Yeah. He started your mural today.” He rocked a couple more times. “He’s going to move into the empty apartment next to mine.”

  She raised her head from his shoulder to look at him in the failing light. “Really.”

  “He’s made enemies of his only friends, and he had nowhere to go, and the place has been empty for years, so...” He shrugged as if it were nothing.

  Gently, she eased down again. “We might turn you into a father yet.”

  “I doubt it.” After another brief silence, he added, “Maybe a friend.”

  Her smile was small and secretive, but its pleasure was no less intense. She hoped he and Reid did become friends, but she also hoped that someday they would find a familial relationship they could both appreciate. And she deeply, sincerely, desperately hoped there was a place in it for her.

  “I have a suggestion.”

  She closed her eyes and breathed deeply of the rich, humid air. “What?”

  “Ever since you looked at me on the veranda this afternoon and smiled—you know the smile—I’ve wanted to take you upstairs, undress you, lay you down on the bed and...” Ducking his head, he whispered in her ear wicked words that made her desire flare to life, that fueled incredible heat inside her while, at the same time, sending a shiver of goose bumps over her skin. Finishing his indecent proposal, he waited for her response, his expression improbably innocent.

  “Come upstairs and tell me that again,” she invited. “You can show me exactly what you mean.” Wriggling free of his arms—causing him no small discomfort in the process, if the swelling under her hip was anything to judge by—she swung her feet to the floor, stood up and smoothed her dress. She bent to scoop up Jethro and was halfway to the door when the sound of a car stopped her. The engine was too finely tuned to belong on Serenity. This car purred like a powerful tiger and was sleek, long, black.

  A limousine on Serenity Street. The sight reminded her of a silly children’s book, about the fantastical sights a child had seen on a particular street, but she resisted the urge to smile. She could think of only one man who would come to Serenity in a limo, and there was nothing the least bit amusing about him.

  Beside her Jamey stiffened and reached protectively for her. “Hold that thought, sweetheart,” he said dryly. “You’re about to meet the great Jimmy Falcone.”

  The driver stopped so that the back door of the car was perfectly in line with the gate. A burly, broad-shouldered man in a suit climbed out of the back, held the door for his boss, then swung the gate open. He and a third man followed Falcone up the sidewalk to the bottom of the steps.

  Gangster, wise guy, mafioso, crime boss. Drug dealer, murderer, corrupter, destroyer. She neither knew nor cared which label he preferred. Probably businessman, she thought with disgust. She’d seen photographs of him before, but in person he looked different. He wasn’t tall, several inches under six feet, and he wasn’t oily. His suit was pure elegance and cost a fortune. So did the single ring he wore on his right hand. The tie was no doubt silk, the shoes Italian. But all that money couldn’t buy class. It couldn’t disguise evil.

  His first words were addressed to Jamey. “You’re O’Shea. I’ve heard about you.”

  Jamey offered no response whatsoever beyond a slow blink.

  “And you must be Ms. Montez. There used to be a police officer here in New Orleans named Montez. He died a few years ago. You knew him?”

  The son of a bitch knew she knew him. He probably knew everything about her. “He was my husband.”

  “I’m sorry. It was such a sad case—that poor girl. That man deserved to die.”

  She wasn’t touched by his sentiment. “Why are you here?”

  “I understand you’ve been having a little trouble with one of my employees down here—a young man by the name of Ryan Morgan. I understand the police have several warrants for his arrest. I want you to know that he won’t be bothering you anymore. It seems he ran into a little trouble of his own this afternoon. His body was found by the river a short while ago. Someone shot him.”

  A few hours ago Karen never would have believed that she could feel shock, sympathy or anything other than fear and disgust for Ryan Morgan, but she would have been wrong. A great shudder swept over her, and she clutched the puppy a little tighter, making him squirm. “Why?” she demanded. “Why did you kill him?”

  Falcone looked surprised. “You misunderstood. I didn’t shoot him. Someone did. God knows, he had a great many enemies and not enough friends.” The injured innocence vanished from his voice. “He threatened a lot of people, you included. He even turned on his own people, on Vinnie and the Donovan boy.”

  “He threatened your profits,” Jamey said, his voice sharp and accusing. “Morgan used to boast that you didn’t do business with anyone who couldn’t control his territory, and you did a lot of business with him. So this is how you handle an employee whose performance suffers?”

  Falcone ignored him. “As I said, Ryan Morgan had many enemies. The police will probably never discover which of them decided to take care of him once and for all. I should think that would make you happy, Ms. Montez. He won’t be bothering you anymore.”

  “You’ll forgive me,” Karen said sarcastically, “but I don’t celebrate anyone’s death.”

  “Given the opportunity, he would have killed you without a second’s remorse.”

  “Given the opportunity and the motivation, you would kill me without a second’s remorse.” She sighed heavily, feeling as if the world’s cares were pressing on her shoulders. “If you came here expecting gratitude, you wasted your time. If you came for some other reason, kindly state it and leave.”

  “I just wanted you to know that Morgan is out of your life and there will be no further trouble. You leave my people alone, and you’ll be left alone. That sounds fair enough, doesn’t it?” He waited a moment, but when no response came, he nodded once, such a courtly gesture from a cold-hearted killer, and returned to his car, his two goons at his heels.

  As they drove away, Karen closed her eyes and bent her cheek to Jethro’s fur. She had no tears to shed for Ryan Morgan. She felt coldly empty inside, coldly guilty. She wasn’t responsible for his death. All she’d done was come here, try to make a home for herself, offer a little needed advice to Alicia and a little desperately needed friendship to Reid. It wasn’t her fault that Ryan had objected so furiously to her presence here. It wasn’t her fault that he’d chosen to work for a man like Jimmy Falcone. It wasn’t her fault that he’d died the same way he’d lived: violently.

  “Come upstairs.” With his hands on her shoulders, Jamey steered her inside and up the stairs to the bathroom, where he pulled Jethro from her arms and set the dog on the floor. “Take a bath. Cool down a little. I’m going to lock up, then I’ll be back.”

  She followed his advice automatically, giving little thought to her actions. She bathed, shampooed her hair, put on a clean T-shirt—not Evan’s ragged NOPD shirt, but one of Jamey’s white ones—and went to stand at the bedroom window. She heard Jamey come up the stairs, followed by the sound of the bathtub filling again and, soon after, his footsteps behind her. She didn’t turn, but continued to gaze at the sky, where heat lightning shimmered in the darkness. “Maybe you were right,” she said softly. “Maybe I should have stayed in Landry.”

  She heard a drawer open. In the last week he’d brought many of his clothes over, including a pair of red gym shorts that were his only concession to modesty these hot nights. They were boringly plain—cotton, faded, well-worn—but most nights she thought he looked sexy as hell in them. Tonight she didn’t even turn to enjoy the sight.

  “Do you think staying in Landry would have prevented Morgan’s death?”

  “It might have. He wouldn’t have been so angry these last few weeks. He wouldn’t have lost control of the neighborhood. He wouldn’t have drawn Falcone’s displeasure.” />
  He came to stand behind her, picking up the towel she’d laid on the windowsill, using it to blot the water dripping from the ends of her hair. “Darlin’, I don’t know how to break this to you, but Ryan Morgan had been angry all his life. These last couple of weeks were no exception. He was a bitter, angry, resentful young man who’d alienated virtually everyone in his life. You didn’t change anything. You didn’t make matters worse. It was just easy for him to blame you because you were new. You were an easy target because you were smaller, more vulnerable, a woman, a stranger. People around here wouldn’t stick up for each other. He never dreamed they would stick up for you.”

  Thunder sounded faintly in the distance, and from somewhere across the room, Jethro shot across the floor and wriggled his way between her feet. Balancing her weight on one foot, she used the other to rub his stomach. “Maybe I should forget about Kathy’s House. That was what Falcone was suggesting, wasn’t it? That I could live here in peace if I didn’t try to change anything. After all, what goes on in this neighborhood isn’t really any of my business, is it?”

  “Like hell it isn’t!” Jamey dropped the towel, gripped her arms and turned her to face him. “You came here to help people, to reclaim Serenity, to take it from the punks and turn it back into the community it used to be. Look at what happened today, Karen. You wanted to work miracles? Well, you got your first one today. Those people have never stood up to anyone, but they stood up to Morgan and his gang. You made a hell of a start, but you can’t quit now. What kind of message would that send? That when things get tough, you give in and give up?” He gave her a frustrated little shake. “They’ve already learned that lesson, Karen. They’ve been giving in and giving up all their lives. They need someone to teach them another way. You can do that.” He broke off, drew a deep breath, then finished, “We can do that. You and me. Together.”

  She stared at him, at the stubborn set of his jaw, at the intensity that blazed in his blue eyes, and slowly the burden that had settled over her started to ease. “You sound like a dreamer, Jamey O’Shea.”

  He stared back. “Maybe I’m becoming one. You know, I’ve been spending a lot of time with this crazy redhead lately. She’s making me a little crazy.”

  A faint smile touched her mouth, then faded. “Exactly what kind of partnership are you suggesting?”

  “The permanent kind. Always and forever. Till death do us part.”

  Karen felt as if her heart had stopped beating in her chest for one long, stunned moment; then it started again, and she managed one more little smile. “I thought you’d given up on marriage.”

  “I thought I had, too, until I met you. I’d given up on a lot of things until I’d met you.” His hold on her arms became a gentle caress, relaxing, arousing. “What do you think, darlin’? Is there room in Kathy’s House for one more?”

  She twined her arms around his neck. “I don’t know. I’ve got a pretty full roster of volunteers for Kathy’s House. However, in Karen’s house, there will always be a place for you.”

  He drew her close and kissed her, a slow, easy, all-the-time-in-the-world sort of kiss, then pulled back and gazed down at her, so heart-achingly serious. “I love you, Karen.”

  “I knew you did,” she replied, feigning nonchalance, although her heart just might burst with the sheer pleasure of hearing the words. “I’ve just been waiting for you to realize it.”

  His laughter was warm and sweet. “You’re awfully sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

  “No. I’m sure of us. You and me. Together.”

  He kissed her again and again, each kiss a step closer to the bed. He lowered her down gently, drew her shirt over her head with utmost care, removed his own clothing and stroked, kissed, explored, caressed and loved her—oh, yes, loved her—so sweetly, so slowly, so thoroughly. Finally, when her skin was slick, when her muscles were quivering, when her heart was racing and her body was trembling, he joined with her intimately.

  “You and me,” he repeated between kisses. “Together. Tonight and forever.”

  ISBN : 978-1-4592-7251-4

  CONVINCING JAMEY

  Copyright © 1997 by Marilyn Pappano

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