by Janet Dailey
"Tonight's journey brings me here." He swung the long car into the partially lighted parking lot of a restaurant. "Have you eaten here before?"
It was a nondescript building with a pink neon sign spelling out the word restaurant. It was a busy place as evidenced by the numerous other vehicles parked in the lot and the crowded tables visible through the windows.
"I'm not sure," Jessica admitted.
"It isn't surprising if you haven't." His remark seemed to be a sardonic comment on her more prosperous background. The engine was turned off, but Brodie made no attempt to get out of the car. Instead he gazed at the building, alive with sounds and people. "When I was a boy, my father brought me here every Friday, payday. It was a weekly treat, the one night we ate out. As I grew older, it was a place to hang out with my friends. I checked earlier this afternoon to see if it was still in business, but I can't vouch for the food. Are you game to try it?" His look held a hint of challenge.
Jessica wondered if he thought she was going to become snobbish and indicate that the place wasn't good enough for her. If he did, he didn't know her very well.
"Why not? All those people can't be wrong." She glanced at the filled tables inside.
Brodie opened his door and stepped out. Jessica didn't wait for him to walk around the car and open her door. She did it herself instead and joined him at the front of the car, to walk to the restaurant entrance.
"I have another confession to make," Brodie said as they wound their way through the tables to an empty booth against the wall.
"What's that?" Jessica slid onto the bench seat.
He sat opposite her. "This is also where I brought my dates, especially the more beautiful ones, so I could show off in front of the guys." He was smiling as he answered, a mocking glint in his eyes.
But she didn't return the smile. "Is this where you would have brought Jordanna if she'd agreed to go out with you?"
"More than likely." Brodie nodded, his gaze narrowing fractionally.
"Are you fulfilling a fantasy, bringing me here as a stand-in for my sister?"
"Probably," he admitted.
Jessica was certain the truth was more positive than his answer. A waitress brought them menus, and Jessica opened hers and began studying it. The fare ran the full gamut from sandwiches to salads to full-course meals, breakfasts and desserts. She hadn't made up her mind when the waitress returned.
"Have you decided?" Brodie asked.
"Not yet." She didn't glance up from the menu. "Go ahead and order."
"As I remember, the most popular item on the menu was a hamburger, french fries and a malt. I'll have that. Coffee instead of the malt," he told the waitress.
Jessica closed the menu. "I'll have the same, with the malt, chocolate."
When the waitress moved away, Brodie said, "You didn't have to order that."
"I happen to like hamburgers and french fries," she defended her choice.
"I remember times when I had to wait for my date to order so I would know whether I could afford to have anything. It was always a nightmare wondering if some girl was going to order an expensive steak and if I had enough money to pay for it." His mouth quirked into a dry half smile. "At sixteen, I didn't know what Chateaubriand was, let alone how to pronounce it." He opened a fiat cigarette case and offered it to Jessica. "Cigarette?"
"Thank you." She took one and bent her head to the gold lighter in his hand. A yellow flame curled around the tip of the cigarette and Jessica leaned back, blowing a stream of smoke into the air. She watched Brodie light his own cigarette, noting the expensive gold lighter. "That's a far cry from penny matchbooks."
"What would you know about penny matchbooks?" Brodie mocked cynically.
"A lot of firms use matchbooks for advertisement. It's my job to know the cost of such items." She didn't claim more intimate knowledge than that.
"What's your position with the agency?"
Jessica sensed an implication that her job was a superfluous one. "Uncle Ralph doesn't practice nepotism, if that's what you're thinking," she told him firmly. "True, he did offer me the job because I was his niece, but if I'm not any good, he isn't going to keep me."
"No businessman would be successful if he didn't have that attitude." Brodie neither admitted nor denied that her correction was justified as he repeated his question. "What do you do?"
"I handle the older, more established accounts so I can gain experience before attempting to solicit new accounts," she said, and resented the way he made her feel so defensive.
"Your uncle is missing a bet. If you came into my office with a proposal, I would have a great deal of difficulty looking at you and turning it down."
His look was suddenly very male and very suggestive. Jessica flamed under it and changed the subject to hide the hot confusion rushing through her.
"What do you do? You didn't say earlier."
"I take things that are broken or run-down, repair them and make them run smoothly again." He flipped the ash from his cigarette into the metal ashtray that was blackened by previous smokes.
"What kind of things?" she asked curiously.
"Companies, mostly manufacturing firms."
"So now you own a whole string of successful companies," Jessica concluded.
"No. I buy controlling interest in a faltering company, make it successful again, then sell it for a handy profit."
"What did you do? Go back to school and take a business-management course?"
"No. A long time ago I learned that ninety percent of everything you need to know in life is common sense. The other ten percent I could buy." Brodie studied the smoke curling from the tip of his cigarette, half-burned down. "I was irritated and impatient with school. You learned all the subjects and no one taught you how to apply them in life."
"Is that why you quit?" Jessica wanted to know.
"I quit because I thought I was smart. Later, I didn't go back because I didn't want to find out how ignorant I was. Over the years, I've had to educate myself, but it wasn't easy," he stated.
Unwillingly Jessica felt a glimmer of admiration. Nothing he had said resembled bragging or boasting, just a simple statement of facts. She suspected he was as hard on himself as he probably was with everyone else.
"How did you get started, buying companies and so on?"
"A guy in Knoxville needed some help in his welding shop, but he couldn't afford to pay me the going wage. He offered me a working partnership and I accepted. A year and a half later, a larger welding company bought us out. He stayed on to work for them. I took my money and bought into a repair shop where the same thing happened," Brodie explained With marked indifference. "The third time I realized I didn't need a partner and I didn't need to physically work myself. All I had to do was clean out the deadwood, hire people with the skill to do the work, and modernize methods."
"As simple as that," she said with skepticism.
"Yes, it's as simple as that," he agreed.
The waitress stopped at the booth to serve their food. A slice of raw onion rested on a lettuce leaf beside the hamburger on her plate. Jessica glanced at it before adding mustard to her bun.
Brodie noticed her hesitating look. "Go ahead and have the onion. We can buy some breath mints when we leave."
She had never been with any man who was quite so straightforward. The bluntness of his manner flustered her, plus the fact that he seemed capable of reading her every thought. Jessica merely shook her head in refusal of his suggestion. After swallowing a bite of hamburger she sensed her frustration amused him and attempted to divert his attention.
"You mentioned earlier that you wanted to ask me about some of the old crowd. Who, for instance?" she questioned.
The people he named were ones she either knew or knew about. Jessica suspected he had deliberately chosen people he knew had been friends of either her brother or sister.
When they had finished their hamburgers, Brodie ordered another cup of coffee. Jessica refused the cigarette
he offered her and stirred her malt with the straw.
As he bent his head to light his cigarette, she studied the black sheen of his hair. Devil black, she had called it once. It contrasted sharply with the vivid blue of his eyes. His lean, hard features had become encased in a mask that permitted few expressions to flit across its surface.
There were lines crowfooting from the corners of his eyes and grooves slashed into the tan skin on either side of his mouth. It was the compelling face of a self-confident man certain of his ability and his masculinity; two rare characteristics.
His gaze lifted from the cigarette to catch her staring at him. Jessica sipped her malt and tried not to react to the almost physical touch of his look.
"Has the place changed much since you used to come here?" she asked to erase the silence.
"Not much." He glanced disinterestedly around the interior of the restaurant. "It's been repainted and they've moved the jukebox to a different wall. But it's basically the way I remember it."
"It must remind you of a lot of good times," she suggested.
"Yes." Brodie seemed momentarily absent, lost in his thoughts. Then he came back to the present. "it also reminds me of what I never want to go back to being." He took a drink of his coffee and leveled his gaze on her. "We never had much when I was a kid. Our furniture, our car, practically everything we ever owned was secondhand. I was determined that when I grew up, I was going to have the best," he stated.
"Do you have the best now?" Jessica had difficulty meeting his look.
"Not in everything, but I'm working on it." He crushed out his cigarette. "Are you ready to leave?"
"Yes." She pushed her malt aside. It had thinned out to a milky consistency.
Outside in the car, Brodie started the engine. "Would you like to go for a short drive?"
Jessica was tempted to ask their destination but decided against it. The question would have mirrored her distrust, something she preferred to conceal.
"That sounds fine," she agreed instead.
Once they were in the mainstream of traffic, Brodie punched a tape into the stereo tape deck built into the dash. A delicate symphony of strings came from the concealed speakers. He cast her a sideways look.
"I hope you don't object to classical music. I've discovered it's soothing, though I don't pretend to understand the finer techniques of its composition."
"I don't mind. Leave it on."
It had been years since she had listened to a symphonic orchestration, probably not since music class in school, but Jessica found that Brodie was right. The music was quieting and it eliminated the need for conversation—which was a recommendation in itself. She relaxed against the molding backrest of the cushioned passenger seat and listened, watching the blur of passing streetlights.
For a time she kept track of where they were until at some point she lost her sense of direction. It didn't seem really important that she know precisely their whereabouts. There were people and other cars around, homes and businesses. She supposed Brodie was simply taking a tour of the city by night. She closed her eyes for a serene moment, then opened them to study the upholstered ceiling of the car's interior.
The signal blinked in the car to indicate that he was turning onto another street, but Jessica didn't glance out of the window to see where they were going. She was intent on the intricacies of a piano solo coming from the stereo. The car turned again, this time onto a rough surface that bounced her back into an interest in her surroundings.
Brodie was stopping the car in a deserted lot. The nearest building seemed to be some kind of a warehouse. Beyond it, the night's darkness cast eerie shadows on more peculiar-looking objects. Jessica looked back to the empty road. On the other side, a patch of moonlight glittered on water.
Immediately she cast a wary look in Brodie's direction. The darkness shadowed his face, as well, not that she thought his expression would have told her anything. But she didn't need to see to feel his eyes watching her.
"Where are we?" she asked with an attempt at calm. "Is this the place where you used to park with your dates?"
"No, I couldn't afford the gasoline to drive this far." He turned and for a minute his profile was etched by the moonlight. "It would have been a good place, though, private with the moon reflected in the lake."
"Lake?" Was that body of water Lake Chickamauga or the Tennessee River?
"Yes, Lake Chickamauga," Brodie confirmed.
"What are we doing here?" If he wasn't revisiting one of his old haunts, then what was his reason for coming here? Jessica felt her heartbeat accelerate in uncertain alarm.
"There's something I want to show you."
With that, he opened his car door and stepped outside. When his door closed, Jessica remained rooted to her seat. She had no idea what he intended to show her and cared even less. Danger signals were ringing in her ears. She hated to admit she was frightened, but she was. After all, he was virtually a stranger.
Her car door was opened and Brodie's hand was extended to help her out. She stared at it, swallowing hard.
"Come on," he urged.
"Where?"
His throaty chuckle did little to ease her mounting fear.
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Chapter Four
"I'M GLAD YOU THINK IT'S FUNNY," Jessica declared in a burst of irritation.
"Earlier you asked why I'd come back to Chattanooga. I told you only the major reason. I decided to show you the contributing factor. Do you want to see it?" It was a challenge.
All her instincts cried a refusal, but Jessica couldn't show cowardice. Reluctantly she placed her hand in his and stepped from the car.
They had walked several feet toward the darkened building when a voice called out, "The place is closed. You'll have to come back tomorrow during regular business hours."
"You're Art Mason, the security guard, aren't you?" Brodie questioned.
"Yeah?"
"I'm Brodie Hayes. I met you late this afternoon. I want to show the young lady around the place," he stated in a voice that expected his wishes to be granted.
"Sorry, Mr. Hayes," the voice answered immediately. "I didn't recognize you, what with it being so dark and all."
"That's one of the first changes I'm going to make, Mr. Mason," Brodie walked forward, his hand on her waist drawing Jessica along with him. "We're going to have more adequate lighting for the nighttime."
Changes? Had he bought the place? What was it? Jessica stole a glance at his face, but it told her no thing. She could only surmise that her guess was accurate.
A uniformed man in his fifties emerged from the shadow of the building. "That sure will be a welcome change, Mr. Hayes. As it is now, a man's got to have cat's eyes to be able to see anything."
Keys rattled on a metal ring as he bent to unlock the front door. He opened it for them and touched the bill of his cap when Jessica walked past him.
"There's alight switch just inside the door on the left wall, Mr. Hayes," the guard instructed, and shone his flashlight into the building.
Except for that stream of light, it was pitch-black inside the building. The squeezing pressure from Brodie's hand instructed Jessica to stand still, and she waited in the inky blackness until a click illuminated the interior, momentarily blinding her. Then he was by her side again, taking her arm.
"Thank you, Mr. Mason."
"When you leave, just honk your horn and I'll know to lock up," the man said, and closed the door.
A series of offices were in the front of the building. Brodie bypassed them to lead Jessica down the hallway to the rear section. She looked around for something that would identify the business.
"Is this your new restoration project?" she asked.
"Officially it will be at nine o'clock tomorrow morning when I sign the final purchase agreement," he told her.
"Forgive me for being so ignorant, but what is this place?"
"Have you heard of Janson Boats?" Brodie opened a door to a blackene
d area. "Stay there a minute until I find the light switch," he added without giving her a chance to answer his first question.
Jessica waited. "Janson Boats?" She frowned while he disappeared into the shadows. "I think one of our clients was just talking about the company not too long ago. They manufacture houseboats, don't they?"
"That's right." A light was switched on to light up a massive assembly room with large square-shaped boats in various Stages of construction.
"The Janson family started it and sold out about five years ago," Jessica recalled aloud What she had heard. "Our client was a friend of the Jansons's. He was saying they were lucky to get out when they did because the company has been steadily going downhill."
"Janson had a thriving business when he sold it. The new owners traded on the reputation he'd established. They began cutting corners, constructing inferior boats and charging higher prices. They siphoned every dime they could out of the company and into their own pockets. Now that they've skimmed off the cream, they've decided to unload the company and take what they can get."
Brodie was wandering through the assembly room. Jessica followed, picking her way through the debris scattered about the floor, dodging ladders and assorted equipment. The framework skeleton of a boat loomed beside them, and Brodie stopped to examine it.
"Do you know anything about building boats?" She eyed him curiously.
"Not a single thing, except maybe the bow from the stern," he admitted.
Jessica frowned. "Then how will you ever make it a successful concern again?"
Brodie glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled dryly. "That's the ten percent I can buy—money for the man who knows how to build boats."
"But who will you hire?" She wasn't convinced it was as easy as he was implying.
"When I heard the company was in trouble, I nosed around. It seems Janson isn't enjoying his retirement. What's more, he's upset at the way his name has been damaged by the company's practice. I talked to him yesterday and offered him a position as president of Janson Boats, and he accepted."
"Why?"
"Because he wants to work and he wants to see the company become successful again," Brodie explained with commendable patience.