by Nancy Bush
“Yes.” He still held her hand.
“You know, you should learn to lie. It would make things easier.”
“What things?”
“Any thing,” she answered.
She was shivering as they approached her car. Jesse released her hand and watched her fumble with her keys again as he casually leaned against the fender of a black Dodge charger that looked like some high school junior’s fondest dream. April frowned. She didn’t know anyone who worked for Hollis’s who owned a car like that.
“Why are you getting in your car?” he asked.
“I have to get home.”
“You’ll ruin your engine. It’ll die before you’ve driven a mile out of Portland.”
“Well, what would you suggest I do, then?”
“We could talk. There are some things we need to discuss.”
She allowed herself one glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He almost looked respectable, she thought. He still wore jeans and his leather jacket, but his shirt was white, its collar open. His damp hair was a bit shorter now than ten years earlier, she thought. It lay gracefully against his collar. With a faint smile curving his mouth, and with his eyes regarding her lazily, he looked sexy and approachable, as if his appearance was a studied attempt at chic nonchalance.
“You’re not exactly my idea of a great conversationalist.”
He acknowledged that with a slight inclination of his head. When he showed her the invoices, he decided grimly, she was going to think that even more.
“You know, you look like you were made to stand beside that car. It could be a pose.” April swept a hand in front of her as if imagining a poster. “Levis, black leather and rain, a Dodge charger, it all looks good on you.” She leveled a look at him. “I think you should give up the motorcycle and buy one of those cars.”
His laughter took her by surprise. It was deep and arresting, rumbling in his chest. “It is my car.”
April stared. She thought he was kidding.
“Or should I say, it’s the department car – courtesy of a narcotics bust. You like it?”
“Oh.” April turned back to her own car.
“Hey.” He came up behind her, moving his hands down her arms. The small of her back pressed alarmingly against his belt buckle. A shiver shimmied up her lower spine. “Don’t go. I don’t want to think of you stranded out there.”
April shook her head. His sexual energy sizzled. “Stay away from me,” she said.
“I need to talk to you.” He sighed. “I’ve got to show you something.”
“I’m afraid to ask what.”
“April.” He turned her around, his hands on her shoulders. “Those invoices I took the other night? Some are dummies, fakes. They’re not in the computer. They’ve got your initials on them, and Jordan’s.”
She blinked uncomprehendingly. Her mind was on the hard span of his chest. Dimly she realized that he was revealing something important. “Well, then I signed them. Didn’t I?”
“I don’t know.” He shook her, gently. “Listen to me. Something big’s going down at your store.”
Her head cleared, her thoughts icy cold. “You do think I’m behind it, don’t you? Well, I guess if you believe in the obvious, I’m the choice.”
“It’s too damn obvious,” he admitted flatly. “But because of you, I’ve been second-guessing myself.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t want it to be you.” He snorted in self-deprecation. “I’ve been driving myself crazy over this. It’s too close. Too personal. I don’t trust myself.”
Tentatively she glanced up at him through her lashes. What was he saying? “You mean you don’t want it to be Jordan,” she corrected.
“Damn it, April.”
She rarely played coy; she couldn’t ever remember playing coy. Right now, however, she wanted to draw his feelings out so badly that she would have resorted to murder if it would have helped.
She didn’t have to.
“I want you,” he said softly.
She stared at him, her lips parting.
“I want you,” he repeated, as if she’d suddenly gone deaf. The anger in his voice amused her.
They’d come full circle, from her wanting him to him wanting her. It was sweet revenge – and dangerously intoxicating. April witnessed the simmering flame of passion in his eyes.
And then she thought about Eden. Jesse’s daughter.
“I’ve got to get home,” she said tightly, turning her chin away.
He swore, softly and succinctly. For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to release her, but then he practically flung her away. “Fine. I’ll drive you.”
“No.”
“Yes.” He simply removed the key from her hand, then unlocked the door to the Dodge charger. “Save the BMW. This baby’s seen a lot of wear. If we ruin the engine, it’ll be in the line of duty. Get in.”
April wasn’t that eager to be left on her own, so she did as he’d ordered, annoyed at his arrogance nonetheless. Then she was struck mute by the smells and textures inside the low-slung car. Jesse’s scent enveloped her like a warm memory. The seats were smooth, black leather, worn but intact. The throb of the engine tingled her nerves. She could feel the stereo’s resonance in her bones.
“This reminds me too much of high school,” she remarked.
He backed out of the car park. “I suppose you’re right.”
“You love it, don’t you?”
“I’m not the BMW type,” he admitted.
April closed her eyes. No, he wasn’t the BMW type. He wasn’t her type. She sank back into the leather seat and ignored him.
The rain had lessened to a depressingly incessant drizzle. Water sprayed upward in silver jets as Jesse maneuvered out of the car park and to the center of the street, where the river was merely three inches deep rather than six. He drove cautiously, stopping at the first traffic light, which still changed from green to red, even though the road was virtually empty.
“Which way?” he asked.
“West Hills.”
“Ahh…”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” April asked coolly as Jesse nosed the car toward the northwest.
“Where in West Hills? You want me to take Burnside or Sunset?”
“Burnside. What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You figure it out.”
April made a sound of contempt and stared out the side window. West Hills wasn’t the only prestigious section of Portland. Jesse, in his own way, was a worse snob than she could ever think of being.
From that moment on, the only words that came out of April’s mouth were directions up the wet and slippery streets to her cliffside home. By the time they reached the crest of the road, Portland’s lights had winked out below them, covered by dense, gray clouds.
“That one.” April pointed to her house. Through the flapping windshield wipers she could see the row of lights lining the brick driveway like dutiful sentinels.
Jesse pulled in and waited as April, her fingers on the door handle, struggled for something to say. “Thank you for the ride,” she finally said tersely.
“You’re welcome.”
Through the warm yellow glow of the front window, Eden appeared, a soft blur as she pressed her nose to the pane. “My daughter,” April said unnecessarily.
Jesse nodded.
It seemed that everything these last ten years had come down to this moment. Father and daughter. It was too dangerous to let them meet. Yet if she didn’t seize this chance, would she ever have another?
She struggled to tell him. She actually opened her mouth. But cowardice won. With another murmured thank-you, she ducked out of his car and dashed to her front door.
Headlights swung away as he backed onto the street. To add to April’s misery, she felt hot tears mingle with the rain on her cheeks.
Chapter Ten
The paper trail of evidence snaked across Jordan’s desk, as if it were leading
to the truth in some strange board game. Jordan stared blankly down at the invoices. “Yes, those are my initials,” he said, looking first to April, then to Jesse. “Why?”
“Are you sure you signed those?” Jesse asked.
“You want me to swear on a Bible? It says JT, clear as day. Does anyone else in the store have my initials? What’s it to you, anyway ?” Jordan gave his brother a considering look.
April stood a little apart from them. She felt detached from this ugly scene. She didn’t believe Jordan was at fault; neither did Jesse, come to that. But Jesse had to be sure. The evidence was damning.
She’d called her father the night after Jesse had brought her home, and told him about the invoices. She hadn’t cared whether Jesse had wanted her to or not. And she hadn’t mentioned Jesse’s name. Her father, like herself, had felt Jordan’s initials on the invoices were too pat. The theif would not have incriminated himself in that way.
Now she said, “My initials are on those invoices, too, Jordan. I didn’t sign them.”
Jordan’s gaze swung to April. She could practically see the high-speed calculations traveling through his mind. “Someone’s been ordering inventory without permission?” His glance sliced back to the invoices with new interest. “Someone’s been shipping inventory without permission? What is this?”
Jesse hefted an unopened cardboard box bearing Hollis’s logo onto Jordan’s desk. He pulled out a pocket knife and deftly slit the box open. Then he took out the Styrofoam packing, removed two small stacks of children’s stuffed toys, then lifted out a full-length, silver fox coat.
Jordan stared in amazement as the lush furs slipped through Jesse’s fingers. “Mother f—” He managed to cut himself off.
“It was shipped from the store to Hollis’s warehouse near the docks,” Jesse explained. “The warehouse is somewhat remote. Most of Hollis’s inventory is shipped by truck, so the dock warehouse isn’t used as much. But from the warehouse it magically disappeared. Someone walked away with it.” Jesse’s face was stone. He knew more about the store’s operations than he cared to.
“How come you know so much?” Jordan asked softly.
“Because it’s my job.”
Jordan stared at him. “You’re a cop?” Jesse didn’t respond, but Jordan understood. “You’re here, investigating me?”
April couldn’t bear to hear the edge of betrayal in Jordan’s voice. “My father ordered the investigation. Jesse took the case because he was afraid someone else might not get to the truth.”
“I was afraid your record might work against you,” Jesse pointed out quietly.
Jordan exhaled shakily. “My record is ten years old. Juvie! The records should be sealed. And I wasn’t exactly criminal. I never stole anything.”
Jesse shook his head. “You went joyriding in old man Tamblin’s Cadillac. That’s grand theft auto. You were damn lucky you were underage.”
“We returned the car.” Jordan gazed at Jesse as if he’d never seen him before. “A cop. A detective?”
“Jordan, look at those initials. Think,” Jesse urged in a low voice. “Did you place these orders?”
Jordan examined the invoices one by one. “Yes, I did.”
April felt faint. Blood drain from her head. “Jordan,” she whispered, shocked.
Jesse merely looked thoughtful. Jordan’s narrowed eyes were cool and angry as he met his older brothers. The corners of Jesse’s mouth lifted. “Who brought them to you?” he asked.
“So you don’t think I’m a criminal?”
“Little brother, if you were a criminal, you wouldn’t let the evidence point directly to yourself.”
“You got that right.”
They smiled at each other, and Jordan remarked, “A detective. Does Bettina know? Of course she knows. I could kill the both of you!”
April plopped herself onto the corner of Jordan’s desk. “Will somebody tell me what’s going on? I feel like I walked in on the last half of the movie.”
“Jordan here’s been duped,” Jesse explained. “Someone handed him invoices with your initials, and he scratched his own across them, adding authenticity. It should be a simple matter to find out who.”
“I think these were put on my desk,” Jordan said, frowning. “I’ll figure it out.”
For April it was a moment of intense relief. It wasn’t Jordan. She turned to Jesse, her expression mirroring her joy, and she heard him suck in a soft breath at what he saw in her face. His eyes darkened.
A muffled tread sounded outside the office. Bemused, April turned her head. Jesse was going to make everything right, she realized, and it eased her fears.
A shadow fell across the doorway. Peter Hollis, his hair now completely silver and cut in an expensive, distinguished style, walked quietly into the room. His expression was a mixture of puzzlement, suspicion and disbelief. Behind him, Chris Daley appeared, glancing nervously from Jesse to the man who had made Hollis’s famous up and down the West Coast.
“Mr. Hollis, this is Detective Sergeant Jesse Cawthorne,” Daley introduced.
The two men exchanged glances and the atmosphere in the room subtly altered. Some things never change, Jesse realized, witnessing the confusion that swept briefly across the older man’s face. His own expression turned stony. He thought back to that afternoon on Hollis’s patio, remembering Peter’s teeth-gritting hospitality.
Recognition flashed in Pete’s gray eyes. “We’ve met,” he said tersely, his smile grim and hollow.
For the second time in Jesse’s life, April swept to his aid like a vengeful crusader. Her hand touched his sleeve. She didn’t say a word, but he could feel the dynamic clash of wills between father and daughter as if it were a physical thing.
This man hates me, Jesse realized, and wondered why.
Thirty minutes later April stared out the window of her own office and closed her ears to the sounds of her father’s furious pacing. He strode back and forth, volleying accusations at her from both ends of the office, making her feel like a ship on a storm-tossed sea.
“I’m not blaming you directly, April,” he declared for the fourth time. “It’s hard to know what the protocol should be in a situation like this. But that man ruined your life. It’s taken you years to recover. How—” he waved his hands in total lack of comprehension “– how could you let him near you?”
“He came to do a job,” April said was brittle patience. “He came to find out who was stealing from us. You asked for the police department’s help.”
“You can’t tell me you didn’t have something to do with his working on the case!” her father said contemptuously.
April flung him a dark look. Knowing she was burning all bridges, aware that it didn’t matter anyway, she said, “Actually, he came to help his brother, Jordan Taylor.”
Her father blinked rapidly several times. “Jordan Taylor?”
“We were in Jordan’s office when you confronted Jesse.”
The look on her father’s face melted some of April fury. He was plainly shattered, disillusioned. As if she’d brutally conspired against him.
“He’s Cawthorne’s brother?”
“I didn’t tell you before because I knew you’d go berserk.” April let him absorb that information. It wasn’t Jesse’s fault that she’d become estranged from her family. It had been her father’s snobbery, prejudice and plain lack of understanding that had driven her from home.
Her father was, if possible, even less receptive. “What kind of circus do you think you’re running down here?”
“Sales are up, Dad,” April reminded him, feeling the smile fade from her face.
“And so is crime.” Glittering points of anger shone in his eyes.
“Not because of Jordan – or Jesse.”
His nostrils flared with outrage. The coldness she’d nearly forgotten he possessed seemed to freeze the very air in the room. Without a word he crossed purposefully to the door, looking like a man on a mission.
“Dad.” A
pril was after him like a shot.
He stopped short of Jordan’s open door, his shoulders shaking ever so slightly. April anxiously peered around him. Jordan was talking to Jesse, who was lounging in a chair in a deceptively lazy position. His long legs stretched out before him, his face gave no clue to his thoughts.
“Jordan Taylor?” her father said perfunctorily. “You’re fired.”
Surprise flitted across Jordan’s face, followed by comprehension. He didn’t say a word. Before he could stop himself, he turned slightly in Jesse’s direction.
Jesse slowly climbed to his feet. It was one thing to attack him, another to attack his brother. “Your sense of justice escapes me.” His voice was ice.
“Clear out your office and be gone by five,” Peter ordered Jordan. “And Cawthorne, you’re not on this case any longer.” He turned smartly on his heel, making no effort to disguise his loathing. April stared after him, aghast. He had to stop because she stood directly in his path. She thought for a moment that he would push her aside, but he waited, warily, for her to speak.
A million thoughts passed through her mind. She was angry and scared. In the end she opted for neutrality, hoping to smooth over a no-win situation between men as pride-filled as her father, Jordan, and most of all, Jesse. “Don’t be rash,” she cautioned quietly.
April saw emotion quiver in Peter’s flushed cheeks. He looked ready to burst with displeasure. Defeated, April stepped aside. Her father strode toward the glass elevator. April met Jesse’s stony eyes for an instant, silently begging him to understand. His face was granite.
She twisted on her heel, catching her father before the elevator doors could slam shut. He didn’t acknowledge her presence. His gaze was directed at the beveled panels as the elevator began its smooth descent.
“You can’t fire Jordan,” she said flatly.
“This store is my life,” he answered, as if continuing a previous conversation. “It’s all that matters to me except for you, your sister and your mother. And Eden,” he added after a moment. “If you quit, you’ll make me choose between you and it. I don’t want to have to do that.”