Split Decisions: A Southern Romantic-Suspense Novel - Charlotte - Book Two

by Carmen DeSousa

  He twirled her hair around his fingers. “What would you like to do?”

  “Well, I’d like to go to bed, but we have to discuss Johanna.”

  “Can’t we go to bed, then talk afterward,” he said in his seductive southern drawl.

  She couldn’t resist the giggle that escaped. “Somehow, I don’t think that’ll work.” Jordan wasn’t good about staying focused when his mind was on other things.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. Let’s go.” Flicking off the TV, he sat her upright. He stood up, then extended his hand. As long as they’d been together, it still sent a flutter through her when he offered her his hand and led her upstairs. After kissing the kids good-night and listening to their prayers, they readied for bed at their individual sinks.

  Jordan caught her as she rounded the corner, folding her into his arms. He kissed her on the lips, then leaned back to look at her face. “Before we talk about Johanna, tell me what’s going on with you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He huffed lightly, shaking his head. “You’re sad…I can feel it. I just wanna know why.”

  “I’m not sad.” How did he do that?

  “Well, maybe you’re not sad, but you’re not happy.”

  Shrugging out from under his arms, she crawled up on the bed and scooted to the headboard. Anytime they had large discussions, this was their MO. Jordan’s eyes were guarded as he slid in beside her. He held his back ramrod straight, as though he were preparing for an impact.

  Everything else took a back burner at his distressed expression. “Jordan, what’s wrong?”

  Clenching his jaw, he ran his hand through his hair. “I haven’t seen you like this. Just talk to me, okay?”

  Jaynee inhaled a deep breath, not sure how to begin. He was apparently thinking something awful, as if she wanted to leave him. It made her want to make him admit it, but she decided not to upset him more. How should she start? Not with the, you-know-I-love-you speech, that wouldn’t go over well. He would read too much into it. She had to structure her words perfectly.

  “Jaynee,” he implored. “I was a detective, remember?”

  How could she forget? He’d been shot at…at least three times that she knew of. Thank goodness he’d finally quit. But, once a cop, always a cop.

  “Jordan, I swear there’s nothing wrong.” She bit her bottom lip, not certain how much she should reveal. “I guess you’re right, though; I am melancholy. I wake up feeling dismal and empty.” The last word came out in a whisper; she hadn’t even wanted to admit it to herself. “But not when I’m with you. Only when I’m alone.”

  “But you were like that this morning?”

  She gulped and gazed down at her lap. “Yes.”

  He nudged up her chin. “And I was here.”

  “It’s not you; I love you. I swear it’s not you.”

  He nodded, but she could see he wouldn’t accept it. Jaynee scooted up on her knees in front of him. The last thing she needed was for him to doubt their relationship. Taking his head between her hands, she stared into his eyes. His gaze dropped, unwilling to maintain eye contact. He was so tough, and yet he could be so breakable. She would never let happen what had happened almost thirteen years ago. His lack of confidence had almost destroyed them. He’d actually told her to leave if that was what she’d wanted. It wasn’t what she wanted, not then, not ever.

  “I’m serious.” She dipped below his lowered head so that she could see his face. “You promised not to ever do this again. How can you doubt for a second how much I love you? If you’re such a great detective, look into my eyes and see that I’m tellin’ the truth.” He peered up then. “I love you. I will always love you. I’m just a little depressed, but I don’t know why.” She paused, and then emphasized each word. “But-it’s-not-you. Please comprehend that and help me figure out what’s wrong.”

  His eyes widened at her appeal. He’d always wanted to take care of her, and she’d just made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. “Okay…just one question, and please be honest.” He stared into her eyes now, his own personal lie detector. She hated when he did this. But wanting to settle his ridiculous fears, she conceded by looking him squarely in the eyes. “I know you love me. I don’t doubt you love me. But, are you still in love with me?”

  Instantly, her eyes wanted to withdraw at his absurd question, but she held focus. “Jordan, I love everything about you. I love the way you know something about everything, the way you watch TV and laugh all by yourself. I even love that ridiculous noise you make when you’re brushing your teeth. I love that you’re a great father…that your favorite day of the week to make love is Sunday, and I love that I can’t even be sad without you noticing. Yes, I am still in love with you, you absurd, insecure man.”

  “I’m sorry, but that does make me feel better. Now. Why are you depressed?”

  The word depressed obviously hadn’t thrilled him. She hadn’t meant to use that word. She’d been denying it to herself even. She curled up into his arms, her head against his chest. “You’re gonna laugh.”

  “I doubt that,” he mumbled, still serious.

  “I feel old, as if this is it. The best I’m ever gonna look, the best I’m ever gonna feel. And you, you look incredible. I always see women checking you out, even at church.”

  He released a short forced laugh as he tilted up her head. “Are you crazy? Guys are constantly checking you out. You don’t see it because you don’t give them the time of day—thank you for that by the way. But, darlin’, you look fantastic. And you know I can’t keep my hands off you. Is this because you’re turnin’ forty?”

  “I knew you’d laugh.”

  He brushed her hair away from her face. “Well, I don’t understand why that would make you depressed? You know how much I’m attracted to you. Isn’t that all that matters?”

  “Yes,” she admitted, sighing. She knew she couldn’t explain it. Her head dropped as she felt her eyes starting to mist. Her stomach felt like an empty pit, as if a gaping hole kept stretching deeper and wider that she didn’t know how to fill, as though something were missing. Her heart tightened in her chest, and a feeling of sorrow rushed through her for no reason whatsoever. It had never happened when Jordan held her; she was getting worse.

  What’s wrong with me? she wondered.

  Jordan smoothed back her hair. “Is there more?”

  “No.” She sighed again, pushing back the feelings.

  “That doesn’t sound very convincing.”

  She nuzzled against his bare chest again. “Can we talk about something else or nothing at all?” Nothing at all would be good. Tomorrow she’d figure out everything.

  “Okay…” He threaded his fingers with hers. “Are you okay with this thing that Johanna wants to do? Have you checked it out?”

  She couldn’t believe he’d let the subject drop, but felt relieved. She shrugged. “It has good reviews and bad, like most businesses. But from the moment I told him we wouldn’t pay a dime, he didn’t squabble. He’s so assured of her getting contracted, he’s willing to take a chance.”

  Jordan’s eyes narrowed. “Contracted doing what?”

  “They do everything…modeling, acting, singing.”

  “And do you want this? You’d have to accompany her everywhere.”

  She felt her lips curl up at the prospect. She did want this. “Yeah, I think it’d be fun.”

  “A chance to offer her the opportunities you never had?” he hedged.

  This is what happens when you expose your heart and soul. “I’m not interested in living vicariously through my daughter, if that’s what you’re insinuating. But yes, it would be nice for her to have choices I never had.”

  Jordan’s expression turned again. His features saddened as if she’d thrust a knife into his heart. He couldn’t hide his emotions any more than she could.

  She pressed her hand against his cheek. “Jordan, I’m talking about before we met. Of course, as much as I hated my life before you, i
f I hadn’t made every stupid decision…if every bad thing hadn’t happened…I never would have met you. And you, my love, are the absolute best choice in my life.” She pressed her lips to his, hoping to end this discussion.

  Somewhat mollified, he pulled her down until they were horizontal. Conversation over, she guessed.

  He nibbled his way to her ear. “Prove it.”

  ***

  Monday morning arrived, and Jaynee got out of bed feeling lighthearted after the previous evening. Her husband, however, rolled over and pulled the cover over his head.

  She laughed. “That’s what happens when you stay up all night, pleasing your wife as if you were in your twenties.”

  “Humph, I’d like to see a twenty-year-old…” he grunted from underneath his makeshift tent, the remainder of his words muffled, but she got the gist.

  She trotted downstairs to brew coffee, woke the children, helped with breakfast preparations, and then constructed lunches for five people. From there, who knew, but she felt optimistic. She had several ideas for a new book bouncing around in her head, and that always kept the bleakness at bay.

  At 6:45, Jordan meandered into the kitchen; the promise of coffee worked like a charm.

  Wrapping his arms around her, he dipped his head to her ear. “Would you like me to call in sick? I get along pretty good with the boss,” he said through a chuckle, his warm minty breath encircling her, sending chills down her arms.

  Jordan owned a construction company, which had grown over the years. He didn’t have to go into work; he had two partners. But he’d said he couldn’t let them do all the work. Besides, if I don’t work, he’d mentioned once, you’ll get sick of me.

  Well, that wasn’t true. Even though she enjoyed her alone time, she missed him when he was gone. But it was the only way she would get any writing accomplished. She couldn’t concentrate when the family was home. She hadn’t written all summer, she realized; that must be her issue.

  She turned in his arms. “If you want to, but I feel pretty good. Can I take a rain check? I have several ideas I wanna attempt.”

  “If you insist, but call me if you change your mind.” He grabbed his coffee, two blueberry muffins, and his packed lunch, affording her another kiss before leaving.

  Her youngest sons gagged and choked on their food, her oldest tossed Jordan a lifted chin as a grown man would do, and Johanna blew her father a kiss.

  The moment the door closed, Johanna bounced in her seat. “Well…what did Dad say? Can I go?”

  “Yes, Johanna, we’ve decided to allow you to go, as long as it doesn’t interfere with your grades or family life.”

  “Yay!” she squealed. “Thanks, Mom! You’re the best!”

  The best, the words echoed in Jaynee’s head for a couple of seconds. “Come on, troupe. Let’s go.”

  ***

  After dropping the kids off at school, she headed toward her favorite coffee shop, deciding to attempt some writing. The Coffee House overflowed with its early-morning caffeine junkies.

  The owner, Veronica, caught her eye from behind the counter. “Mornin’, Jaynee, haven’t seen you in forever. Kids back in school?”

  Jaynee nodded. “Yeah…how’d you know?” Veronica wasn’t only her barista; she was one of her biggest fans.

  Veronica topped off another customer’s coffee with whipped cream, then leaned over the counter. “It’s been the same for years. I miss you over summer vacations and holidays.”

  Jaynee offered a smile. “I didn’t know you were paying attention. I’ll have the usual,” she requested, approaching the counter.

  “I always take notice of my beloved clients, in particular those who also happen to be one of my favorite authors. When you writin’ another book?” she asked designedly.

  Jaynee shrugged. She understood what Veronica was after. An opportunity to announce she knew her so that people would question her. She loved to introduce her to her closest friends, whom she’d talked into buying her books.

  She didn’t understand it. She wasn’t anything special. She’d published six novels in thirteen years. Most popular authors nowadays had anywhere from ten to a hundred.

  Jaynee accepted and paid for her vanilla latte, hot. It didn’t matter that it was August. She always drank her morning coffee steaming and her afternoon coffee iced.

  While sipping her coffee and nibbling on a muffin, she checked her personal email. A couple of links to her personal Facebook page, comments on her recent addition of family pictures, and messages from her mother.

  Although her mother had retired from the entertainment business, she’d retained her stage name, and most of her five thousand friends were actually fans. Jordan hated that when she made comments on their children’s pictures strangers could see them, so she’d asked her to comment in private. Her mother balked, of course, but in the end, agreed. She knew Jordan wasn’t someone to trifle with.

  When they’d first met, her mother loved Jordan. But after realizing he wasn’t willing to placate her, she’d turned cold. It didn’t bother Jaynee. She knew her mother’s personality; everything had always been about her. She tolerated her because she was her mother, and other than her uncle’s family, she was all Jaynee had. Thinking about her mother always depressed her. She needed to stop lamenting and write, or she’d be back where she was yesterday.

  The first words were always the hardest. How to commence. Set a scene? Introduce the main character? Jaynee knew what she wanted, but not how to begin, so she started web surfing.

  Without warning, bleakness saturated her core. Emptiness filled her insides, making her feel as though she would break down and cry. She Googled inconsequential things: the weather, recipe ideas, anything to occupy her mind.

  But the questions that plagued her remained. Who am I? What do I want? Why am I miserable inside when everything in my life is perfect? Why do I feel as though I’m missing a significant part of myself? What more could I possibly want?

  She had everything she’d ever wanted.

  Deciding to search for an answer that didn’t exist, she typed in her pseudonym, Jaynee Jordan. Pages popped up indicating her profile, her novels, her picture. Was this her?

  Not satisfied, she typed in her married name, Jaynee Monroe. Only a few entries: her Facebook page revealing a couple of profile pictures, her name as co-owner of Jordan’s company. But mostly links about the attempted murder and subsequent coma of Detective Jordan Monroe’s wife.

  The reminder of the shooting sent a chill through her, but it had happened almost thirteen years ago, and she’d always been adept at suppressing painful memories. She’d done it her entire life.

  Staring at her laptop, she realized she was Jaynee Jordan, author of a few novels, and Jaynee Monroe, wife of Jordan. What else was there? What else did she desire?

  She attempted another entry, Caycee Jaynee Evans, her entire maiden name. But before she could put the second ‘E’ on Jaynee, Google’s drop down box filled with suggestions for Caycee Jayne. Ever inquisitive, she clicked return without putting the last ‘e’ on her name, allowing Google to run its search. The page exploded, stating millions of results were available.

  After clicking on the first link, Jaynee gasped.

  Chapter Two

  (Caycee)

  From his vantage point on the restaurant’s second floor, he could see everything Caycee did. She was sitting alone, but she wouldn’t be for long. A new man had already noticed her and got up to make his move. It happened the same way every time. They’d see her, recognize her, and then move in for the kill. Of course, they could never appreciate the woman she was, the woman she could be if only she would recognize what true love was.

  Yet here she sat, dressed to kill, looking for love in all the wrong places. And this was her favorite place. As prestigious as it was, the restaurant catered to all lifestyles. Many a businessman would visit this establishment. The proprietors enforced no dress code other than pants and a collared shirt, and even that rule coul
d be broken if someone of influence walked in, or if they drove up in an expensive enough vehicle.

  The five-star institution served the finest steaks and largest potatoes on the strip, and after dinner, a cigar bar awaited patrons. Because of this, highly influential and down-home businessmen alike dined as equals.

  She could go anywhere, but she always started here. As if waiting for someone to appear, as if the man-of-her-dreams would arrive and sweep her off her feet. The man she wanted never showed, so she returned every night, waiting it seemed, as imposters propositioned her.

  Eventually a brave charlatan with nothing to lose would approach. Tonight, he was a man over average height, just shy of six feet. Approximately two hundred pounds, well built, with light brown hair, he looked like her normal preference. After slipping off the ring from his left hand and tucking it into his pocket, he made his move.

  Hours passed as they laughed and toasted oblivious. And then, when there was nothing left to say, they left the restaurant together, his arm wrapped around her shoulders protectively, off to their next stop, which would be some jazz bar or the like.

  By two a.m., she’d lost interest and turned down the man’s offer of festivities elsewhere. He wasn’t the one, and so, she would return tomorrow or the next evening. Always within sight, always out of reach.

  What would happen if she found the right one, would it end then? Would this obsession be over? Would a normal, healthy life present itself? Was it insanity to mourn for what he’d never had?

  ***

  Coming here two to three nights a week was tiresome. It was only to watch Caycee make a fool out of herself repeatedly. She would sit within range of the bar, flipping her shoe on and off her heel, tossing her hair over her shoulder, and then casually letting it fall again while pretending to read some article in a news journal. All feminine subterfuge meant to attract some unsuspecting man into her lair. Caycee didn’t need money; she had plenty. But she liked having someone take care of her. She enjoyed the idea that she could overwhelm a man until he became so infatuated, he would offer her the world. Then, she would chew him up and spit him out.