by Julie Momyer
“I’m here to see Mr. Gordon.”
“Do you have an appointment?” She tucked a thin ribbon marker in the pages, closed the book, and set it aside.
Before Jaida could answer, the woman slid a date book in front of her and flipped the cover open.
“I’m afraid you won’t find my name in there,” she said. What would she do if she refused her?
Ms. Childers straightened, her spine not touching the back of the chair. “I’m sorry, dear, but Mr. Gordon doesn’t see anyone without an appointment. I can make you one now if you’d like.” She reached for a pen.
Jaida shook her head. “It really is a shame when a woman has to make an appointment to see her husband.” It was the lack of sleep she told herself. She hadn’t meant to say it, to strike a blow to Spencer, but there was no taking it back now.
Ms. Childers gave her a doubtful look. Her lightly penciled brows rose in silent question. It looked like she wasn’t the only one who had kept their marriage a secret.
“Mr. Gordon is your husband?” It sounded more like an accusation than a question.
“Yes, he is.”
“May I ask your name?”
“Jaida,” she said, hesitating when it came to her surname. The name Gordon would be a given. She didn’t need to explain her use of another name, or her reason for taking it on.
“Please.” She gestured to the russet suede chairs in the far corner. “Have a seat. There’s a pot of fresh coffee and blueberry muffins from the bakery right over there.” She pointed, indicating a little nook on the other side of the waiting room.
“Thank you,” Jaida said then sat in the chair nearest to the woman’s desk, which was still a good stretch away. Her stomach churned. She’d had enough coffee on the drive over. A muffin might quell the shakiness overcoming her, but she didn’t think she could hold it down.
Ms. Childers picked up the phone and their eyes met. She turned away with her head dipped low and her hand cupped around the mouthpiece. The woman didn’t believe her. Wasn’t she in for a surprise? Did she think she was some lunatic with plans to bribe Spencer or sue him for alimony?
Her palms were clammy, like the skin under her arms. She wove her fingers together and clasped her hands in her lap. Why was she so nervous?
She blew out a breath and straightened. Ms. Childers couldn’t have spoken more than a few words before she hung up the phone and looked at her from across the room. Jaida moved to the edge of the seat, preparing to rise. Would he see her? She couldn’t imagine him turning her away.
A door across the hall opened, and Spencer stood in the doorway. She automatically came to her feet when he saw her.
“Jaida.” He gave her a brusque nod. The light from the window behind him gilded the blond in his hair like a halo. She half smiled at the image.
He held the door for her, stepping back in silent invitation. She entered and her hand grazed his. She wanted to reach for it, wanted to absorb the comfort and strength she knew it held, but she held back, afraid he would refuse her, just as she had refused him.
She breathed in. “It smells like citrus,” she said.
He shut the door, his hand sliding from the knob and into his pant’s pocket. “Air freshener.” He gave her a quizzical look, his penetrating gaze asking her what she was doing here.
She shrugged in response and tried to smile, but it felt false and he saw right through it. Her nerves tightening, she slid her fingers together then pulled them apart. She ran them over the desk’s marble top. The wood base was a warm cherry, and it complemented the chocolate suede couch on the other side of the office.
“You outdid yourself, you know. Everything is so well done.” She touched the aluminum shade on the desk lamp. It was a Pablo Pardo design. She lifted her eyes, daring a glance in his direction. He still hadn’t moved away from the door.
His silvery-green gaze was fastened on her, but he didn’t respond, didn’t take part in her weak attempt at conversation. And the way he watched her only served to heighten the anxiety unraveling her on the inside.
She tried again. “I haven’t been here since the real estate agent walked us through.” The building was in poor condition back then, inferior next to the neighboring structures. But Spencer had a vision, and he had more than fulfilled it.
“I’m glad you appreciate it.”
She heard the familiar clicking and looked down at his left hand. His fingers were wrapped around the pen, the end of it at the mercy of his nervous thumb.
She looked into his eyes. “Old habits die hard.”
“Why are you here? Is this your way of getting even? Letting my staff know that I have a wife who wants nothing to do with me?”
It was the calm he had greeted her with, but the storm was just beginning to brew. He moved away from the door. “I apologize, Jaida. I’m sorry I told your friends about us. Are you able to call it even now?”
“That isn’t why I came. I…I just needed to see you.” She lowered her face and closed her eyes. She’d been caught up in the moment and didn’t think before she spoke.
“Why?”
She looked up at that, a mixture of hurt and offense tightening around her heart. “What kind of question is that?”
“A reasonable one. Why did you suddenly need to see me? You made it known you didn’t want me around. What changed?”
“I am your wife.”
“Do you tell that to the men you’re with? That you’re my wife?”
She jerked her chin up. “Do you think that matters to them?”
“I would think that it should matter to you.”
Her hands started to shake, and like an electrical current the trembling spread up her arms and through the rest of her body. She remembered the gnarled hands that reached for her, the hideous faces that mocked and tormented her.
Fear flashed in Spencer’s eyes. She was scaring him. Did he think she had lost her mind? Maybe she had.
Their spat forgotten, he stretched out his hand, beckoning her. She stepped into his arms and pressed her face to his chest. He was her lifeline, and she clung to him, her fingers digging into his back. Don’t let me go.
But Spencer didn’t hear her silent plea. He stepped back and lifting her chin with his fingers, he angled her face toward him, his own need exposed and as raw as her own.
It was she who made the first move, touching her lips to his. He responded, his ardor unexpected. Instead of pushing her away, he welcomed her, his hands capturing her waist and drawing her closer.
Yes, this was it. This was what she needed. This was what she wanted. She missed him. Missed what they had. Missed what she had kicked, and scratched, and fought so hard to free herself from.
He dragged his fingers through her hair whispering her name over and over again. His lips moved to her jaw, her neck and then without warning, he gripped her shoulders and pushed her away.
“Stop,” he rasped.
“I don’t want to.” She tried to shrug from his grip, to get beyond the barrier he’d erected with his arms, but he was too strong for her.
“It’s no longer about what you want. I thought love would be enough to bring you back.” He pressed his lips into a tight line and shook his head. “But I was wrong.”
He watched her then slowly lowered his arms and moved away, placing himself behind the safety of his desk. Her mouth went slack. What was he doing? Why was he ruining this?
“Are you asking for a divorce?” The thought terrified her. But why should it? She’d been living without him. What difference did a piece of paper make?
His eyes glistened. Fear gripped her when he didn’t answer. Was that it? A divorce? He said he never would, but everyone had their limits. Had she pushed him beyond his?
“No, Jaida. I’m not asking for a divorce. I’m asking you to love me.” He waved a hand to where they stood clinging only seconds ago. “And that’s not what this is about. Is it? Not for you anyway.”
The truth was a rapier—razor sharp
and precise—and it cut to the quick. She dropped her gaze to her bared toes peeking up from her sandals. Spencer was right. He was always right when it came to her.
She closed her eyes. “I wish it was Spencer.” I wish it was.
23
Spencer was still reeling from the whirlwind that ripped through his office, nursing a fresh gash to an old wound. Jaida would never know the carnage she left in the wake of her hit-and-run, but he was feeling it all over.
She came here seeking comfort, or at the very least, a distraction from whatever it was that had her spooked. He’d never seen her so shaken. She was teetering on some unseen precipice, and she was afraid…afraid enough to come running to him.
He rounded the corner of his desk and softly closed the door she left open when she fled. He stood there a long moment, his palm pressed to the back of the door, remembering the apology she offered before taking flight. It was sincere. And that alone was a bitter pill to swallow since she was lamenting the fact that she didn’t love him.
She doesn’t love me. His hand fell to his side. The admission was long overdue. She may not love him, but true to form, she had no reservations about tempting him with the physical. They were still married, and he had every right. But once she mastered control of her fear she would bid him farewell and be on her merry way leaving him to pick up the pieces all over again. No thank you.
Spencer lowered himself to the couch, easing the burden of weight from his limp knees. She had noticed the orange-scented oil warming in the outlets enough to comment on it. Citrus, she’d called it. But the only fragrance stirring in his nostrils was the scent of her perfume. It was on his clothes and his hands, and he didn’t welcome the reminder. He got up, went to the bathroom, and washed it from his skin, then cupped his hands and splashed his face. What was he going to do about her?
Pray for her.
Spencer’s gaze darted to the ceiling and he laughed to himself. What good would that do? He’d made a career out of praying for her, and nothing had changed.
Pray for her.
He sighed, dried his face, and sat back down at the reprimand. Hunched on the edge of the couch, he dropped his head to his hands. Help my unbelief. What good was praying if he didn’t believe?
He prayed for his wife and for himself, his head lifting at Rebecca Childers’ voice amplified through the intercom.
“Landon has the car waiting at the front door.”
Spencer rose, slipped his arms into his jacket, and picked up his briefcase. “Tell him I’ll be right down.”
*
Jaida hurried down the hall avoiding eye contact with anyone in her line of sight, but she wasn’t fast enough to escape her co-worker’s notice. Aimee called her name from behind. She pretended not to hear the receptionist and kept moving toward her office where she could close herself inside.
Why had she thrown herself at Spencer like that? Her face flamed, and she ducked her head down, walking faster. She ran to him because he made her feel safe. It made sense at the time. But now that her head had cleared…now that he had refused her…
Aimee caught up to her and stepped in her path. “Didn’t you hear me?” She was walking backward, the sound of her heels clicking hard against the tile. “You don’t look so good. Are you okay?”
Jaida kept her eyes on the floor, blinking away any trace of moisture. “Everything is fine.”
Aimee sounded skeptical. “Okay, whatever you say.” She handed Jaida an envelope, her name inscribed in calligraphy across the front.
“It’s an invitation to my bridal shower.”
Bridal shower? Jaida stopped at the news and looked up at her. “I didn’t know you were getting married. Eric?”
Shy, little Aimee blushed, her cheeks matching her strawberry blonde hair. “It was quick. The decision to marry, I mean, and you haven’t been around much.”
No, she hadn’t. She’d been so wrapped up in her life that she hadn’t seen anything else going on around her. “I’m really sorry, Aimee.”
“Jaida, come in here,” Auggie yelled from his office. She rolled her eyes. She just wanted a few minutes to herself. Was that too much to ask?
His light was off, and he was sitting in the dark, his olive complexion pale from the glow of the computer screen. Without looking away from the monitor he instructed her to close the door.
She did as he asked then sat down beside him, leaning in to get a better view of the open file. Was he going to fire her? She had expected it sooner.
She scanned the screen for her name, the names of their superiors, and the reason for her termination, but it wasn’t her name that popped up on the page. It was Lance Palermo’s.
Auggie clicked the mouse cupped under his palm. “I have some information that you’re going to want to see.”
She watched the list of names and addresses rolling down the screen. What was this about?
She gave him a sidelong look. “I’m not being released?”
He leaned back and looked up at her, the chair creaking from his weight. “You thought I called you in here to fire you?”
“You have good reason to.” She violated policy and lost the evidence because of it. “I would have fired me.”
“That’s because you’re not as charitable as I am.”
She shoved his shoulder. “Not charitable. Desperate. Admit it. You need me.”
He squinted at her. “Have you been crying?”
She shook her head and sniffed. “Allergies.”
He opened his top desk drawer and handed her a box of allergy medicine. She shook her head, refusing it. “I’m good.”
“You sure?”
She nodded. “Now, why am I here?”
“About that. I told you I was doing everything I could to get us out of this mess.” He jutted his chin at the screen. “And this is part of what it’s going to take. I don’t have enough proof to try Lance Palermo in court.” He shot her a calculating glance. “But this isn’t court, is it?”
He rolled the mouse on the pad, clicked ‘print’ then rifled through the papers in front of him. Pulling one from the middle, he handed it to her. It was a duplicate of a digital photograph.
“That’s our good friend, Lance doing a little business with William Gale,” he said. She took the next two pages he waved in her face. With each line she read, her stomach sank a little lower.
Lance works for my father? She wanted to laugh at the irony and cry over the betrayal. Did he know she was his flesh and blood? His daughter?
It explained a lot. This was how Gale managed to stay one step ahead of her these past few weeks. Lance was tipping him off.
There were two pages worth of reported money transfers between Gale and Lance. She lifted her face and saw Auggie watching her. “The dates go back about thirteen weeks.” Just about the time Gale kicked off his campaign.
“Must be hurting for funds.”
“Maybe.” Or was Lance here for more than the money? If he’d been hired to silence her he’d had plenty of opportunities.
She handed Auggie the papers and squeezed her temples with her thumb and forefinger, willing away the migraine that was forming. Was it time to quit? Time to give up the search for her mother and let someone else pursue Gale? He still wanted his money back. And maybe even her life. Giving up everything she wanted wasn’t going to stop him.
“So, Lance was never a cop or special forces? How did we miss that?” She’d been completely fooled by some con artist for hire.
“No, no, no. I didn’t say that. He is what he says and more, along with the credentials to back it up. But he’s as dirty as they come.”
She reached for his bottle of Tylenol, uncapped it, and popped two in her mouth. Auggie handed her his can of tea, and she washed them down.
She took another drink and shook her head. “I just can’t believe it. Where did you get all this information?” For as good as Lance was supposed to be he wasn’t covering his tracks very well.
“Computer
forensics. Lance cleared out everything, but I hooked up with a pro—a former CIA agent, and he’s the best there is at breaking encryption codes, hacking, you name it. This guy can resurrect the dead, including post-mortem emails.”
He spun the computer so she had a better angle on the screen. He pointed at the fifth paragraph from the top. “Take a look. This has Lance linked with some real bad boys. Criminals that make Gale look like Mr. Rogers.”
“You got all of this out of the computer in his office?” Lance couldn’t be that sloppy.
“His home computer.” He grinned. “And don’t ask me how, because I would have to kill you.”
She rested against the edge of the desk. “Have you confronted him?”
“No, and I’m not going to.” He leaned back in his chair and spun it until they were face to face. “I don’t want you saying anything either. Not yet.”
“What about Mr. Baseel?” Had he shared this information with him?
Auggie shook his head. “I don’t want Baseel to know anything either.”
“What do you plan to do then? Nothing?” She thrust her arm up in the air and straightened, turning her frustration on him full force. “Why did you go digging around in his business if you were just going to roll over?”
“Calm down. You’re getting all bent out of shape for nothing. I’m not rolling over. I’ve got someone watching him. Baseel would fire him if he found out. And if you were thinking clearly you’d recognize the advantage of keeping him on.”
“Sorry, but I don’t see how this is a good thing.”
He began to spell it out for her. “Palermo has a direct line to Gale. We can tap into his communications with him. If that doesn’t get us what we need, it looks like he may or may not have a felony or two under his belt, and if we have to use a little police department muscle to convince him, we just might get him to cooperate.”
He had it all neatly planned out, but he was the one who wasn’t thinking clearly. “Those felonies as you call them are so vague no cop would touch it. And Lance would know that.”