by Kara Lennox
Things needed to change, and watching Jamie walk out his front door had convinced him of that. She had used their professional association as an excuse for pulling back. But that wasn’t why she couldn’t embrace the idea of the two of them together. He’d asked her point-blank what she wanted to happen next, and she’d backed away as quickly as she could.
His theory was, she couldn’t see herself fitting into his life, as it currently stood. He never left the estate—well, very rarely, and only if sorely pressed. He had servants doing everything for him. He had polo ponies for pets. He had no social life, no friends except the ones on his payroll.
He had panic attacks when he couldn’t control things around him, like at the prison. He hadn’t wanted to put a name on what had happened at the Conklin Unit, but that’s what it was.
He was paranoid.
Well, no more. Things were going to change. He was going to start living a more normal life. And somehow, he was going to convince Jamie McNair that she ought to be a part of it.
He knew it would be difficult. After his disastrous trip to north Texas, the very idea of getting in a car and driving off the estate made him queasy. But whatever it took—therapy or hiring a coach, maybe convincing Randall to push him—he’d do it.
Laramie was grazing in a small paddock off the stable. Daniel grabbed a handful of oats and lured the animal to him, then looped a halter around his head and led him into the barn. He bridled the gelding, but didn’t bother with a saddle.
When he’d been a kid, he’d had a pony that he loved to ride bareback all over the estate.
He jumped onto Laramie’s back with no saddle, and the horse just stood there and turned his head as if to say, What are you doing? But Daniel nudged him with the lightest of kicks to the horse’s flanks, and he moved forward, obedient beast that he was.
They rode around the estate, walking at first, then cantering and finally at a full-out gallop, dodging trees and jumping walls, and—though not on purpose—trampling a flower bed. Daniel hugged the horse’s barrel-shaped body with his knees and leaned low over his neck, guiding him more with his thoughts than the bridle.
He felt truly free.
Daniel rode hard until he was gasping with exhilaration and the horse was lathered with sweat. After cooling him down with a few minutes of walking he returned to the barn, intending to give the horse a rubdown himself rather than turn him over to a groom.
Instead, he found…Jillian. She’d taken the golf cart and followed him after all.
“Have you gone insane?” she asked.
“What? I can’t ride my own horse?”
“He’s a polo pony. You were riding him like he was a wild mustang.”
“And it was a helluva lot of fun, too, wasn’t it, fella?” He gave the horse a pat and led him into his stall, placing a blanket over him so he wouldn’t get chilled.
Luis, his groom, appeared out of nowhere. Sometimes Daniel didn’t appreciate how truly skilled his staff was—there when he needed them, invisible when he didn’t.
“I’ll take him,” Luis offered.
“No, that’s all right. I got him all sweaty, I’ll rub him down. But give him an extra measure of oats tonight, okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Call me Daniel. Please?”
Luis raised one eyebrow. “Okay…Daniel.”
“You have gone insane,” Jillian persisted. “Your crazy horseback riding around the estate is just one symptom. Asking the servants to address you by your first name is another. But what I was really talking about was Jamie McNair. You had sex with her, didn’t you?”
Now how the hell did she know? He’d thought Jamie’s concern about the servants was unnecessary, but it appeared he was wrong. He removed Laramie’s blanket and began going over his slick coat with a dandy brush.
“Whether I did or didn’t, it’s none of your concern, Jillian,” he said sharply.
She stood staring at him, unconvinced and silently disapproving, as he worked. He grabbed a hoof pick and went to work on one muddy hoof while the horse munched some hay.
Jillian leaned her head and shoulders over the stall door. “You did have sex with her. God, Daniel, what were you thinking? And to shut me out as if I mean nothing to you. Who wrote to you practically every day when you were in prison? Did she?”
“Jillian. I want you to stop and listen to yourself. You are a valued and trusted employee, one I’ve relied on heavily for years. Relied on too much, apparently. But you’re off the deep end here. I like Jamie. I like her very much, and I intend to keep seeing her. Stop acting like my mother.”
“Your mother?” Jillian looked downright shocked.
Daniel had a hard time remembering that Jillian had a crush on him. He wanted to come down hard on her inappropriate behavior, but he didn’t want to hurt her.
He finished off Laramie’s grooming with a quick rubdown.
“Speaking of Jamie, I invited her to the party.”
Jillian sighed. “Okay, Daniel. I didn’t want to do this. But how much do you truly know about your new girlfriend?”
“Quite a bit, actually. I had her investigated pretty thoroughly before I decided to ask for her cooperation. I found nothing in her background to suggest she is anything but what she claims to be.”
“Did you happen to look at her birth certificate?”
“Did you?” he shot back, looking at his assistant over the horse’s neck. How would she get access to such a thing?
“I haven’t been doing work for you and Project Justice without learning anything about investigation,” she explained.
“No, I haven’t seen her birth certificate. But yes, I know she was born out of wedlock. Please. Who cares? Her mother was a cleaning lady, and look how far Jamie has come.”
“It’s her father I’m concerned about.”
Her father. Something had bothered Jamie whenever the subject of her father came up.
“What about her father?”
“His name is Chet Dotie. Ring any bells?”
Daniel dropped the cloth he was holding.
Chet Dotie. The son-of-a-bitch Harris County assistant district attorney who had prosecuted him for Andreas’s murder.
Dear God. Jamie’s father had sent Daniel to death row.
ON FRIDAY EVENING, Jamie stared into her closet, looking over the grim wardrobe possibilities. She had nothing appropriate for a glittery affair at Daniel’s estate, and in truth she didn’t feel very festive.
She’d been fired. She’d never lost a job before, and even though she’d considered the possibility ever since she first spoke to Daniel, it felt a lot worse than she’d imagined it would.
Her whole identity was wrapped up in her work as a prosecutor. Although sometimes the work was dreary, she’d always felt she was performing a necessary function in society—getting violent offenders off the street, or at least demanding a price from those who didn’t follow the rules.
Without her job, who was she?
For two days she’d wandered around her apartment like a ghost, living on peanut butter and microwave popcorn, watching Oprah and Dr. Phil and Dr. Oz, all of which only served to make her feel worse.
She would have to look for another job soon. But where else could she go with her background?
She could probably get a job with a criminal-defense firm—they were always looking for former prosecutors who were ready to switch sides, since they knew the ins and outs of the system already.
But that life wasn’t for her.
Depending on how this thing with Gables played out—and how vindictive Winston Chubb was—her job options could be very limited.
The same thoughts had been chasing around in her head for two days now, and she was sick of them. Maybe the party would do her good. At least the food and drink would be better than what she’d been subsisting on.
Since new clothes weren’t materializing in her closet, she grabbed a plain black dress. She could jazz it up with some jewelry, h
er highest heels and a pair of textured stockings. If she put her hair up and wore dark lipstick, she’d pass.
As she dressed, she wondered what fantastic, stylish creation of a dress Jillian would wear. Jamie bet it would be flashy and sexy.
It didn’t matter. Jamie wasn’t in competition with Jillian. As spectacular as the lovemaking between Jamie and Daniel had been, she knew it wasn’t to be repeated. She didn’t belong in his world and would never feel comfortable there. Daniel wasn’t ready to be an equal partner to any woman. Those control issues of his weren’t going to disappear overnight; he wouldn’t magically be “cured” by the love of a good woman.
She was happy, though, that he thought enough of her to invite her to his party. He didn’t think of her as merely a conquest or a means to an end. She genuinely believed he liked her, which had to mean she was better than the zero she’d felt like since losing her job.
When she’d finished her toilette, she inspected herself in the mirror and decided she looked pretty good. The glittering vintage rhinestones at her ears and around her neck—about the only thing of her mother’s she’d kept—elevated the outfit to evening wear.
She looked somber…but elegant.
When she arrived at Daniel’s estate, she got into a long queue of cars waiting to be let inside the gates. A guard was checking the credentials of each potential guest, apparently, making sure they were on the list.
This was a far cry from the parties she was used to, the kind where someone in the office shouted they were watching a game on their wide-screen TV that evening, and whoever was in earshot was welcome as long as they brought beer.
When she pulled up to the guard, he smiled. “Evening, ma’am. Can I see your invitation?”
“I didn’t get one. Daniel invited me personally.”
“Oh, right. You’re Jamie. Sorry for the misunderstanding. You can go right in.”
A valet was set up in the driveway. Jamie was happy to surrender her humble car and step into fantasyland, pretending she was someone else for a few hours.
And it was a fantasyland. Daniel’s foyer—already impressive without any added effects—had been transformed into a glittering gallery of ice sculptures depicting trees and snowflakes, a full-size ice sled, a candy cane with a ribbon. Every once in a while, a handful of Hollywood-style snow would fall, sprinkling down on the guests who had paused to ooh and aah over the ice.
A uniformed man asked to take Jamie’s coat, which she gladly surrendered. The wool tweed didn’t go with her hastily assembled cocktail attire.
As she handed off the garment she spotted Jillian standing near the fountain—now a frozen waterfall—greeting the guests like a queen-bee hostess, just as Jamie had predicted. She wore a deep red satin dress, cut low, and a string of what were no doubt real diamonds around her long neck. Tall black heels and elbow-length gloves completed the picture.
When Jillian spotted Jamie, her smile fell away. But then, consummate little actress that she was, she pasted on a pleasant expression. “Jamie. So glad you could make it on short notice.” She took Jamie’s hand in both of hers, gave it a quick squeeze, then released her and moved on to the next guest.
Poor Jillian. She probably had no idea the ax was about to fall on her world. Jamie would try to think charitably of her, now that she knew what it felt like to have the rug pulled out from under her.
Jamie followed a designated path that led into the living room. Although living room seemed much too tame of a term for such a huge space. The Christmas tree in here dwarfed the one in the library. It had to be twenty feet tall, lightly flocked and decorated with blue-green lights and silver balls.
She’d gotten only a swift impression of this room on earlier visits here. Now she couldn’t help but admire the strange assortment of time periods that, against all logic, blended seamlessly—an Oriental rug here, a modern geometric one in complementary colors there. A chilly but sophisticated marble table was softened by a tapestry table runner and brass candlesticks; a warm sandstone fireplace was the backdrop for a modern brushed-nickel sculpture.
Daniel’s interior designer must have a split personality. The final effect was impressive, but she much preferred the traditional warmth of his library.
A trio of musicians had set up in one corner, playing soft jazz. Another servant was passing around a tray of appetizers. It was Manuel, who’d brought in their snack the first night she was here.
“This one is a Grand Marnier crème puff,” he was telling one of the guests. “And this, a marzipan truffle.”
“I wonder how Daniel stays so trim,” the woman guest enthused after taking a bite of one of the bite-size desserts. “Mmm, outstanding.”
“I’ll tell Chef Claude you said so.”
Another server practically shoved a glass of champagne into Jamie’s hand. She wasn’t much of a champagne drinker, but it would at least give her something to do. She gave the golden liquid an experimental taste and was surprised at how smooth it went down. This was probably an expensive brand, something that normally wouldn’t have touched her tongue.
She was so out of her element, and she didn’t know anyone here except Daniel—if he was even here.
He’d said he didn’t like crowds, and this definitely qualified. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was hiding out somewhere—in the library or his Batcave-like basement, perhaps watching the festivities on a computer monitor. He would make a quick appearance, greet his guests and wish them a happy holiday season, then vanish like smoke.
An older woman in a floor-length blue sequined gown, her silver hair pointing every which way, was making the rounds holding a piece of mistletoe, kissing any man who would stand still long enough. Jamie suddenly recognized her and realized she did know one of the party guests.
Celeste, her forthright chauffeur.
Celeste whirled around and paused in front of Jamie. It took a moment for the light of recognition to glow from behind her thick glasses. “Jamie!”
“It’s me, all right.”
She handed Jamie a piece of mistletoe, then snatched it back. “Wait a minute. You don’t need that. I understand you got all the kisses you can handle.”
Good heavens. Just as she’d feared, she and Daniel had become the center of gossip among his employees.
“I can’t imagine what you’re talking about,” she said primly.
A good-looking younger man—one of several Jamie had spotted among the guests—put an arm around Celeste and led her away. “Celeste, Daniel will have your hide if he finds out you’re harassing an esteemed member of the district attorney’s office.”
Guess he hadn’t gotten the memo.
“Oops,” Celeste said as she allowed herself to be led away. “Forgot about that.” She laughed loudly and teetered precariously on her four-inch heels.
Someone tapped Jamie on the shoulder and she turned, not knowing what to expect. But it certainly wasn’t Daniel in a tuxedo that molded to his body like black paint flowing over granite—and an expression on his face like a pot about to boil over.
“Daniel.” Any further words froze in her throat. He looked so good and…so angry.
“I thought about telling the front gate not to let you in. But then I realized I wanted to see you.”
“What are you talking about?”
Jillian chose that moment to interrupt, bubbling over with enthusiasm. She had a tall flute full of a ruby-red liquid clasped between her hands.
“Daniel. Claude asked me to personally give this to you. It’s cranberry juice and raspberry liqueur. He said you requested something without much alcohol.”
“Not now, Jillian.”
The dismissal caused his assistant to flinch, but she didn’t give up. “He was quite insistent. You know how he can be.”
Daniel seemed to be struggling to get hold of his temper. He took the flute from Jillian. “Fine, you’ve given it to me.” He immediately set the drink down on the nearest table.
Jamie wanted to make
her escape. This wasn’t what she’d come here for. She’d wanted a few hours of escape and maybe, just maybe, she’d fantasized about another stolen tryst, or at least a kiss, with Daniel.
But now that he’d gone on the attack, she had to know what she’d done to infuriate him so.
Daniel gave Jillian a withering glare, and finally she got the message and skulked away.
“When did you plan to tell me that it was your father who put me in a cage for six long years?”
Oh, no. Somehow, he’d found out.
And now, everyone would know. Because all conversation in the room had ceased, and everyone was staring at them.
“Could…could we continue this conversation someplace more private?” she asked, mortified that he would purposely air their conflict so publicly.
“What, you don’t want everyone to know that your father is the man who worked so tirelessly so that I could die? It was the case that made his whole career, you know.”
“He has nothing to do with this, with us,” she said desperately.
“Then why didn’t you mention it? ‘Oh, by the way, Daniel, funny coincidence. My father prosecuted your trial.’ It wasn’t because you had some ulterior motive, was it? Like defending dear old Dad’s reputation even as you were trying to save yours?”
“Daniel, stop.”
“Were you hoping I’d slip up and admit I was guilty after all? They can’t re-try me for the same crime, but you could have restored the image of the man you so looked up to, the man you emulated to a T.”
Jamie had no arguments left. He was right about her belief that he was guilty—at least, at first. Before she got to know him.
A handsome man with short, dark hair and a military bearing insinuated himself between her and Daniel. “Don’t you think that’s enough, Daniel? Or would you like to have her publicly flogged?”
“She’ll get a public flogging, all right. Just wait till the media gets hold of this story. And Jamie, you can forget about me sugarcoating your errors and omissions. You’re going down.”
It was too late for that. Had he not learned about her dismissal? She thought he knew everything.
The man between then deftly guided Daniel away. “Leave her be, Daniel. It’s over.”