by Debra Jupe
He sighed inwardly. So much for reverse. Apparently he’d just volunteered to help her for the long haul.
Chapter 4
Katie guided Jack to a renovated urban part of the city where she’d recently moved into a two-story loft style condo. He parked inside the building’s covered lot as she directed. They took an elevator to an elegant lobby, and then she steered him down the hall, and to her front door. She inserted her key into the lock to let them in.
Jack released a low whistle. “Nice digs.” He stopped and picked up a hand-painted vase on an entry table. “Wedding coordinating must pay well.”
“It does all right. I was allowed to dip into my trust to pay for the rest.” Katie walked further inside, shook out of her suede coat, and laid the garment across the back of an overstuffed chair. “I’m sure you lived in some nice digs when you were in Dallas. From what I understand, the job you had wasn’t too shabby.”
He shrugged, replaced the pot, and followed her, stepping down a stair into the open living room. “You may remember I didn’t grow up with much.” He released an exhale full of resignation. “The nicest place I ever lived during my youth was in the bunkhouse on your family’s ranch.”
“You were welcome to live in the main house, you know. You chose to stay with the hands.”
“I knew I was more than an employee to your parents, but I felt comfortable where I stayed. And because of my limited access to luxury, I chose something modest by most standards when I had a chance to get a home.” He aimed a mesmerizing gaze in her direction. A massive lurch punched her chest. She’d ignored the catch all afternoon, but the compression became too overwhelming. He stared right through her. Green eyes stood out, contrasting against his dark hair and the scruff spread across his chin. “Comfortable, though. A good place to chill at the end of the day. The only thing that could be considered excessive about the house was it sat on a lake.” He grinned. “Total relaxation.”
“You sound as if you enjoyed living there. Do you still own the home?”
Jack’s gaze dropped. “Technically I do, but like my pricey car, I gave it up when I got involved with, um… too many expenses. I’ve rented it out.”
“Sorry. I keep bringing up a sore subject, I know. I don’t mean to.”
“It happened. Nothing will change that, but yeah, I’ve talked the issue to death. Sometimes I’d rather pretend like the situation didn’t exist.”
“Can you do that? Act as if you’re still living your old life?”
He released an awkward chuckle. “Haven’t been too successful so far.” He placed his hands on hips, and looked at her with a tight smile. “How ’bout you find those papers so I can take you to your car.”
“I’ll be back in a second.”
Katie hurried upstairs and on into her bedroom. As she treaded across the carpet, she caught her reflection in a full length mirror attached to the outside of her closet door. She stopped to study her image, turning from side to side, wishing she wore something more alluring than a pair of faded jeans and a comfortable sweater.
Then he may not be so quick to take her to her car. The guy might be close to the skids, but he maintained a forceful presence that overtook her entire home.
Old feelings, one-sided, youthful feelings she’d done her best to squelch over the years exploded, followed by a zing of exasperation. In a matter of hours, she’d become reabsorbed in this irresistible man.
For an instant, she forgot about her brewing troubles and traveled back in time to a more hopeful period when she believed one day Jack Pharrell would notice her. She shook her head. She shouldn’t be so delusional.
Continuing through her bedroom and onto to her closet, she opened the door. The guy was never aware of her, at least as girlfriend material, throughout the entire time they’d known one another. In fact, he’d made it clear he didn’t like her one bit back in the day. What happened ages ago should have been enough to stifle her dreams, since he’d smashed her heart into tiny pieces. Yet she’d managed to suppress the painful memory. She couldn’t recall crying or experiencing any symptoms of grieving over his rejection. She’d acted as if the episode never happened. She may’ve blocked a smidgen of anger because of his careless dismissal. At some point, she’d need to deal with the disgrace, and all the other crap his slight caused. Just not now.
She wondered again about his actions today. He confused her. If he didn’t care for her in the past, why did he insist on coming with her? More so, what were her motives in agreeing to accept his generosity? Granted, if she didn’t come up with a solution to her unemployment status, she’d be hard up for cash soon. She was allowed only so much of her trust. Therefore it was difficult to turn down free legal advice.
She shouldn’t worry over the whys because she had other issues to focus on. Plus, he had his own stuff to deal with. She couldn’t go there.
Reaching the closet’s rear, she maneuvered around to a small alcove niched into the wall where her two drawer metal file cabinet sat. She squatted and opened the bottom, the place she kept her important documents, and began to flip through the papers.
“Hey, do you mind if I use your bath—whoa.”
Katie flinched and did a half-spin on the tips of her toes. She tipped sideways, throwing out a hand to catch herself but was too late. She plopped unceremoniously onto her rear. Slowly, her gaze lifted.
Jack’s frame filled the doorway. A T-shirt hugged the ripped muscles across his torso, the soft sweat material curved over his butt, and down the stretch of his lengthy, solid legs. Her heart assaulted her ribcage, throbbing in triple time. The heat level inside her closet shot up and passed the danger mark.
His look traveled over the small room. The dim light altered his eye color from one shade of jade to another, sparking her racing heart to jump from her chest and lodge into her throat.
“Wow, this is like a mini warehouse.”
He wasn’t too far off. She loved her new place, and the closet space was her pride and joy. Lined with full shelves from top to bottom, left to right on one side, the other had double bars filled with her hanging clothes, a shelf in the extreme, highest peak was for seasonal storage.
He walked farther in, opened and closed a built-in drawer, then peered across the extended length of the gap. “Damn. A window inside a closet, I’ve seen it all now. I can die a happy man.” Jack’s attention altered and fixated on her. “What are you doing down there?”
His dazzling green stare remained constant. He seemed surprised to find her on the floor, which gave her hope that he missed her buffoonish tumble.
“Um, waiting for you to check out my closet.” She shoved the drawer shut and held a file out to him.
“Glad I didn’t disappoint.” He stepped closer, took the folder, and offered her a hand. “Need a lift?” The slight quiver of his lips indicated he was trying to hold back a smile.
She ignored the grin and stared at the strong fingers extended toward her. A fresh, angry scrape slanted across the inside his palm, making her wonder what he’d done to cause such an injury. Her speculation over the wound was brief as her concentration shifted to her immediate matter. Should she decline his offer? Or take a risk and possibly lose her ability to speak forever, and use the opportunity to discover if his hand felt the same as she’d imagined.
She ran a finger under her sweater collar before she grasped his outstretched palm. Immediately, she committed his rough, warm touch to memory. The contact lasted seconds, but still there was enough time for the fluctuation to snake through her body and deliver an earth-quaking jolt.
He hauled her to her feet, only to immediately release her, and took in the giant wardrobe again. He stared at her with raised brows. “Really?”
She gathered her wits and gave him a proud smile. “This was originally a sitting room built off the bedroom. I did the design and Pops converted it for me.”
He eyed a wall of boxes. “Are those shoes?”
“Of course.”
; “A lot of footwear for only two feet.” He dropped his gaze back to her. “Do you need them all?”
“How can anyone have too many shoes? I can’t believe you even asked me that.”
He grinned. “My IQ must have dropped from huffing so much leather and canvas.”
“Way into a negative.”
“You’re talking to a man who’s never had more than five pairs at once.”
Katie gasped.
“I didn’t realize having a low count was a problem.” He gazed at the boxes again. “With shoes anyway.” He opened the folder and swiftly scanned each page before he looked up. “Ready?”
They left her place and drove to Aaron’s in near silence. His attorney persona took over, and their conversation about anything else ceased. The only personal interaction occurred when he asked for her number, promising to phone her once he was finished. He pulled beside of her jeep and put his truck in park. They exited from the pickup and met at the tailgate.
Katie observed him with an uncertain smile. “Thanks for helping me today.”
He held her stare and spoke quietly. “Katie, I mean Katherine.”
“Katie is fine.”
“Katie. I know you think you’re off the hook because you didn’t commit this crime, but you need to take this investigation seriously. Hazel might have been a dishonest businesswoman and a bitch too,” he paused, “still she was also a prominent citizen in the community. The police are under pressure to make an arrest. Sometimes they don’t fit the clues to the crime, and instead they fit a person into the evidence to satisfy the public. What I’m trying to say is innocent people are sent to prison every day, so be aware.”
The corners of her trembling lips rose. “I’ve watched Dateline.” She tried to keep the moment lighthearted, but a troublesome dread seeped within her.
“Um and…” He hesitated and cleared his throat, as he raked a hand through his hair. “About the last time we spoke. It’s been years, but I wasn’t exactly truthful earlier, and I wanted to say—”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jack,” she interrupted, her tone snippy.
She didn’t intend to sound rude, but after the day she’d had, she couldn’t handle an apology from remorse, or worse, pity. Granted, the mammoth sized, invisible mountain remained between them, but given their circumstances, she’d only be dealing with him one more time. She saw no reason to rehash the most painful disappointment during her youth. Part ways, deal with it alone, and get on with life.
“Okay, then.” Jack reached for a strand of her hair and gave it a light tug.
The lock sifted through his fingers as he continued to gaze deep into her eyes. “Be careful Katie. Be very careful.”
****
Vanessa King eyed the murky, isolated street. Icy gusts lifted scatters of debris from an opened dumpster, whirling litter into the blackened sky. In the distance a train moaned off key, adding to the desolate neighborhood’s eeriness.
Conscious of her surroundings, she clutched her handbag to her side and continued toward a deserted looking structure. A bleak neon sign flickered, “The Old Wagon Wheel Bar” above a near-obscure door.
She slinked passed the entrance and stopped inside, frowning as she took in the setting. The dim room was stuffy, hazed from cigarette smoke, and full of people, proving the abandoned outside appearance a ruse. Remnants of a decade old country tune sporadically rose above the noisy chatter. Every chair surrounding the center tables was filled. The booths located to the right were also occupied. Along, bar constructed from sheet-metal stood on the left. Round vinyl stools were tucked under the overhang, each contained an inhabitant as the rowdy hoards vied for a space in between the raised seats.
Looking neither left nor right, she pressed amid the packed crowd, sidestepping the throngs of mostly male patrons. She ignored their leers and suggestive comments until she reached the rear of the room. She rushed to slide into the lone empty booth. The primeval wooden table and bench seats were etched in abundant of artwork, random declarations of love, and numerous accusations of some woman named Amber something, being a bitch.
A waitress with over-processed blond hair, wearing cutoffs and a tight t-shirt covering oversized breasts, bra questionable, ambled over to her. Smacking a wad of gum, she tapped her pencil eraser against her pad. “What’ll it be?” she asked in a smoker’s graveled voice with a trace of attitude.
“Diet soda.”
The waitress scribbled onto her notebook. “Ain’t seen you round here before.”
Vanessa didn’t respond to the woman’s curiosity, nor did she bother to look in her direction. She kept her gaze averted, careful not to make eye contact with the many men and few women who seemed too interested in her. She wasn’t afraid.
She didn’t want to invite any interaction with these losers. The server shot her a seething glare and gave a haughty “humph” as she hurried away, presumably to fill Vanessa’s order.
She glanced around, taking in the atmosphere. Situated in a darker area toward the rear were several pool tables. A strobe light silhouetted streaks of the player’s reedy cues intermixed with shadowed longnecks tipping back.
Vanessa turned away. She detested these types of places. Tough guy wannabe’s and their so-called women were nothing but a bunch of imitators. No ambition except to hang out, drink, and brag to their counterparts. Bored with low class ambiance, she stared at the scarred table, waiting for her soda to arrive. Her mind drifted to Jackson Pharrell.
What an intriguing man. Tara had relayed his history on the ride to the wedding rehearsal, plus her coworker updated her on the current troubles. Vanessa also Googled him after she left work.
Even with his problems, he was handsome enough, after he cleaned up, of course, for her to overlook his trailer park upbringing. She knew this mess he was involved in would blow over soon, and he’d return to being a respected attorney.
Then he may be a perfect addition for her future plans.
The door banged, hitting the inner wall. A blast of cold air raged throughout the bar, rushing to the far end where Vanessa waited. She jerked her chin toward the entrance, forgetting about Jack. The entire place went silent, leaving only the wail of the jukebox to fill the room.
A large bearded man, dressed in faded, denim jeans, a sleeveless vest and a bandana wrapped around head stood in the doorway. Multitudes of tattoos twisted over his exposed skin, disappearing underneath his clothing. He stepped past the entry, barreling across the hollowed plank floors, the crowd parting like the Red Sea to allow him through. His footsteps reverberated, triggering glasses sitting on the tables to rattle as he passed. He caught Vanessa’s stare at once and held it as he strolled straight to her. Despite his bulky size, he glided graceful into the other side of the booth. The waitress hurried over the moment his butt cheek tapped the seat, her order-pad clutched between her hands.
“Whiskey,” he commanded without a peek at her.
The woman nodded and disappeared. The crowd relaxed as everybody resumed to what they were doing. Neither he nor Vanessa spoke until she returned and placed their drinks in front of them.
“I take it you’re Winston?” Vanessa lifted her soda and sipped neatly.
“Everyone calls me Winnie.” He stared at her. “And you must be Vanessa.”
She wiped the condensation off her glass and glimpsed around the bar again.
He smirked. “You don’t need to worry about this place. People might be curious, but they mind their own beeswax.”
“Do you have it?”
“Niceties out of the way and we’re down to business.” His grin widened. “I like that.” A giant hand glided inside his frayed vest and drew out a manila envelope. He held it level with her face, but out of her reach. “Cash first.”
She didn’t argue, though her mouth flattened as she opened her purse and removed a thick packet. She gradually slid the money-filled container over the course tabletop. His fingertips met the package halfway and drag
ged the payment to him. Oblivious to the crowd, he laid his envelope in front of him and opened Vanessa’s to count the bills.
“It’s all there. The extra one fifty for the rush job is included.”
“Gonna build that into the regular price, cuz these types of requests are always wanted fast.” He flashed another toothy grin through his thick shock of whiskers and handed her the other envelope. “Your signed receipt is in the back.”
She peered inside to examine the contents. “Everything looks authentic. Even the signatures appear valid.”
“Take an expert to say they ain’t.” Winnie laughed. “And some of them won’t get it right.”
Vanessa smiled slyly and nodded as she resealed the top. “Good.” She stuffed it into her bag, and slipped across the bench seat, prepared to leave.
“I hope whatever you’re mixed up in isn’t too much out of your league.” He nodded at the forms she’d jammed inside her purse. “Those could get you into a shitload of trouble if you’re not careful.”
She stopped and skeptically surveyed him with a cool gaze. “I just paid you a large amount of money to make sure that it doesn’t.”
“Shouldn’t.” He shrugged. “But shit happens.”
“You have your compensation. Consequently what occurs after our transaction isn’t your concern. Though let me emphasize, after the hefty payment you require, I do not expect any shit to take place.”
He howled a laugh. “You speak the truth, lady. Shit or no shit, whatever happens is none of my beeswax.” He patted his coat pocket, where he’d stored his payment. “I got what I need.” He raised his glass and downed the drink in one shot. “Nice doing business with you.”
Chapter 5
Katie secured the door’s lock, her fingers trembling. Thoughts of the day screamed in her head as her heart jumped hurdles. Jack Pharrell. Here, in her loft, driving her around town, and accompanying her to the police station.