Calamity Jena

by Janet Elizabeth Henderson

  He jerked with surprise as Jena wound her arm through his. She rested her head on his shoulder, lending him her strength, giving him her comfort. It was too tempting to ignore, and Matt found himself leaning into her heat.

  “He was a lawyer. I thought about following him into the field, but I needed something a bit more active.” He shook his head. “All those hours behind a desk were my idea of hell. Now my idea of hell is getting called out three times a week to find Morag McKay’s scabby cat.”

  Jena chuckled, and he felt it vibrate through him, loosening something inside of him. Making him want. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, but it was there. A slow keening. A yearning. A need opening up and throbbing within him. He took another gulp of the awful coffee.

  “He was the local football coach. Under-sixteen squad. He used to joke he discovered Flynn.”

  “Who’s Flynn?” Jena’s voice was reassuringly soft.

  “My cousin, Harry’s older brother. Not sure if you’ve met Harry. He’s the computer genius who sometimes does work with Lake.”

  Jena nodded against him.

  “Well, Flynn is a professional soccer player. He’s with Barcelona right now. Top of his game. Dad would have been proud.” He grinned at the memory. “Dad said Flynn learned everything he knows from him.”

  “Men,” Jena gently scoffed. “Always taking credit for everything around them.”

  He could hear the smile in her voice. “We wanted my dad to be there for Flynn’s final game in the European Championship, but he wasn’t up to it. Flynn’s team won.”

  “You know.” Jena looked up at him. “Sometimes it isn’t the things people miss that matter, but the things they take with them. Your dad might not have been there for the most important game of your cousin’s career, but he got to carry the knowledge he played a part in it. He might not remember Flynn’s career, but remembering is different from soul-deep knowing. I bet deep inside, where it can’t be affected by his illness, I bet he knows all about Flynn’s success.”

  Matt felt the world shift at her words. He peered into those mesmerising honey-coloured eyes and time stopped for a few seconds. All he was aware of was the wonder he felt. The wonder of Jena and the gift she’d just given him. The gift of understanding. Of trying to ease the pain he rarely acknowledged—even to himself.

  “Okay.” His mother’s voice broke the spell and restarted time. “Let’s go home.”

  He watched as she cast an agonising glance back over her shoulder to where his father stared into space.

  “Better tomorrow,” she said, as though trying to convince herself.

  “It’s been a rough day.” Jena reached for his mother’s hand. “When days get rough for me, do you know what I do?”

  “No.” His mother was making an effort to accept the comfort Jena offered. “What do you do, Jena?”

  “Well”—Jena’s eyes sparkled with mischief—“I put on my favourite music, grab a pint of Chunky Monkey ice cream and dance round the house naked until I’m exhausted.”

  Hell, what an image. Matt’s brain overloaded. It took all of his self-control not to rush out and buy Jena ice cream then beg to watch. His mother threw back her head and laughed.

  “I’ve never heard of Chunky Monkey ice cream, and I think I’d freak the family out if I started dancing naked.”

  Jena shrugged. “That leaves plan B.” She grinned wickedly. “We gorge on the chocolate cake we didn’t get for pudding and watch Katherine Hepburn movies until our eyes bleed. Before you say you don’t have any, you don’t have to worry, I have everything she ever made. Trust me, no one can feel maudlin when they’re watching Katherine Hepburn and Cary Grant in Bringing Up Baby.”

  She linked her arm with his mother’s and led her through the nursing home. All the while she chatted about her favourite screwball comedies and held his mother’s hand tightly.

  As they reached the car, she looked over her shoulder at Matt and winked. And that was when it happened. Matt Donaldson decided he wanted Jena Morgan. Possibly more than he’d wanted anything in a very, very long time.

  Stunned by that knowledge, he drove his mother home, stopping on the way to pick up Jena’s movie collection. And then he sat with them into the early morning laughing at Katherine Hepburn movies and watching Jena worm her way into his family’s heart.

  Into his heart.

  18

  Jena spent Monday in the hardware store learning the ropes. She’d stayed up too late watching movies, then crashed in Heather’s guest room. Now she was feeling a bit worse for wear. Although she also felt content. She’d never spent time hanging out with her own mom, so it had been a novel experience hanging out with Matt’s. Novel and good. Being around the Donaldsons had shown her what it was like to have a real family. It was as wonderful as she’d imagined—even with the fight in the dining room and the achingly sad visit with his father.

  “You really want to know this stuff, don’t you?” Gordon’s question snatched her from her thoughts. He scratched his thick grey beard as though she perplexed him.

  “Of course I do. I have a whole house to fix. I need to know this stuff.”

  “Aye, there is that, though I’m thinking you enjoy it too. You act like you’ve caught the DIY bug, lass.”

  She grinned at him. “I don’t just like DIY. I love it.” She practically danced on the spot as she cleaned the shelf in front of her. A shelf that had been filled with assorted nails, all of which she now knew had a specific purpose. “You take something old and you make it new. Something unattractive becomes attractive. It becomes useful. I’m not sure I’d like to build something from scratch, but I like the thought that my house will be a home when I’m through renovating it. How cool is that?”

  “Very cool indeed.” Gordon chuckled. “Didn’t you do work around the house with your dad when you were little?”

  “Don’t have a dad.” Jena put the nails back on the shelf. “Not one I ever met, anyway. Far as I can tell, I’m the product of a one-night stand between my mom and a talent scout from a New York agency. Mom really wanted to be signed. Instead she got me.”

  A dark cloud gathered in his eyes. “Hell, lassie, that’s some story.”

  “You don’t miss something when you’ve never had it.” She winced at the lie. She might never have had a father, or really a mother who gave a damn, but she’d sure spent a lot of time as a kid wishing for them.

  “Not sure about your thinking there, Jena,” Gordon said. “Brenda and I couldn’t have any kids, and we still miss the gap they left. Otherwise it would be ‘Stewart and Son’ above the door.” He looked wistful. “I imagined a wee boy with a tool belt and a penchant for hammering everything in sight.”

  Jena’s throat closed. She blinked hard. “Guess you’ll have to make do with teaching an American woman who owns a pink tool set and still struggles to hit things with a hammer.”

  His face paled. “Tell me you’re lying. You don’t really work with pink tools, do you?”

  She shrugged. “Got them cheap through an Avon catalogue.”

  Gordon muttered a string of words in horror. Jena wondered if he was cursing in Gaelic.

  “You finish the shelves. I’ll sort out some proper tools for you.” He pointed at her. “You’re throwing out that pink crap.”

  Jena bit back a laugh. “How about I make Matt use them instead?”

  “That works for me too.” He considered her for a moment with a strange look in his eye that Jena feared may be pity. “Do you want me to show you how to tile a backsplash when you’re done there?”

  “Awesome!” She bounced on the spot before giving him a quick hug that left his face red.

  “I’m thinking that’s a yes.”

  Jena wasn’t listening; she was already trying to figure out what colour of tiles she’d use in the kitchen. Since she’d been bullied into renovating the room, she may as well do it exactly the way she wanted.

  “Do we sell tiles?” she asked. Her face flushed when she
realised that she’d said we instead of you. “I mean—”

  “Yes, we do,” Gordon said. “Mostly we have them in a catalogue people can flick through, but there’s a wee selection in the back room.”

  “The junk room?”

  “That’s not junk. It’s overflow.”

  “Seriously? People are supposed to shop in there?”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “Yes. It is.” She put her hands on her hips. “I’ll sort that room next.”

  As Jena turned her attention back to her work, she realised that, for the first time in a long time, she felt happy. Sure, her house was a dump, her bank account was teetering on empty, she’d had to sell her car to pay for new roof tiles and her cheating ex was hounding her. Yet despite the chaos that was her life, she felt good. She’d found something she loved doing, in a place she loved being. She was making friends, getting to be part of a family—if only for a little while. People were keen to get to know her past the persona who danced wildly on stage at night. It felt good. She felt good. Coming to Scotland was the best decision she’d ever made.

  When the bell over the door rang, announcing a new customer, Jena turned towards them with a genuine smile.

  It froze on her face as though she’d been doused with quick drying cement.

  “Jena, honey!” The squeal was excited. The greeting enthusiastic. Pity Jena had nothing to do with either emotion.

  She was suddenly engulfed in a cloud of cheap perfume and immobilised in a vice-like embrace.

  “You were so smart moving to Josh’s hometown. That’s my girl. Always thinking of ways to help her mom’s career.”

  With weary resignation, Jena patted her mother’s back in a semblance of a hug.

  “That’s exactly why I did it, Mom, just for you.” She knew her mom would completely miss the sarcastic tone.

  “I know!” Her mother stepped back from her and clapped her hands in glee. “Now where is he? I have my guitar in the car. I’m ready to go.”

  Matt picked up lunch for Jena after a morning dealing with the insanity of Invertary. He’d split up a fight at the old folks’ home over a dominoes game gone bad. That was followed by a call from Morag McKay insisting Betty had stolen her cat—again. Matt was beginning to hate Morag’s cat. And quite possibly Morag as well. Lastly, he’d swung past the pub where Claire’s new boyfriend was having coffee with his criminally insane boss. He hadn’t spoken to Grunt; instead he’d spent half an hour staring at him. He was certain Grunt got the message. The one where Matt promised a painful death if he kept spending time with his sister.

  After doing his brotherly duty, he’d stopped at the new café on the outskirts of town. It had won Matt over the first time he’d popped into the place. The woman who owned it knew how to cook. She also sold the best sandwiches on the planet. The bread was made in store, the ingredients were organic and the dressings were mind-blowing. He eyed the bag on the seat beside him and wondered if he should have bought a couple extra for later.

  He let the peace of his hometown soothe the frustrations of his morning. The midday sun blinked through heavy grey clouds that promised afternoon rain. A lone boat bobbed on the loch, and even from the top of the high street Matt knew it was the Murdoch family out fishing. Part of him hated that he had to leave the place he loved to have a career—one that didn’t involve filing reports on missing cats.

  He pulled up in front of the hardware store to find Lake waiting for him.

  “Trouble?” Matt grabbed the bag of sandwiches from the seat beside him.

  “No, but I have news. Harry’s in the shop.” He nodded towards his security shop, Eye Spy.

  Matt put the sandwiches back in his car. Taking food anywhere near his cousin was a mistake. Harry had hollow legs and a constantly growling stomach.

  They pushed through the door into the security shop. The front of Lake’s business was set up as a normal shop, selling things like alarm systems, webcams and window locks. The back and the converted apartment above the shop were used as offices and meeting rooms for his security business. He was fast gaining an international reputation for providing quality personal security, and for being able to solve situations that sat outside the normal interests of the law enforcement agencies. Things they didn’t have time for, or were hampered by borders and conflicting national laws. There was a waiting list for his services, and he was taking on staff as fast as he could manage. It didn’t hinder his reputation any that the UK’s boy wonder of cybersecurity had set up shop in Invertary and seemed to like working with Lake. Matt’s cousin Harry said it was as though he got to play James Bond for real.

  “Hey.” Harry looked up from his laptop long enough to acknowledge Matt had arrived. It was more than he usually did when there was a computer near him.

  “What did you find?” Matt sat on the old armchair that belonged to Betty McCloud—the town’s resident evil genius and Lake’s octogenarian mascot. “Where’s Betty?”

  “Getting her hair done.” Lake flashed a rare smile.

  Matt froze before grinning. “The whole three strands of it?”

  “She said she wants it to look nice under her hairnet.”

  They grinned at each other as Matt felt something prod into his backside. He fished around behind him and came out with a set of false teeth. With disgust he stood, threw them on the chair and marched to the sink to wash his hands.

  “I think I’ll sit at the table,” he told a laughing Lake.

  As Matt sat down, Harry looked up from his keyboard and seemed surprised to find his cousin in the room. “Hey,” he said again.

  Matt rolled his eyes. “What have you got?”

  Harry turned his lean body away from the desk he was working at and faced the other men. “Frank Di Marco is in it up to his neck.” He stretched his long, jean-clad legs out in front of him and crossed his arms over a Big Bang Theory T-shirt.

  “Meaning?” Matt prompted before the laptop stole Harry’s attention again. Sometimes his genius cousin forgot the people around him couldn’t read his mind.

  “He might be telling people he owns the strip club, but he only owns about twenty percent of it. The other eighty is owned by the Rizzoni family. I found some mumbling about what Frank did for the Rizzonis to get their backing—no one gave details, but it looks like he was involved in a couple of things. The most serious being a bank heist and a money-laundering scheme. He’s also been linked to the disappearance of a guy called Tony Markam.” Harry ran his fingers through his overly long hair. “I think it’s safe to say the disappearance is of the indefinite kind.”

  Matt felt the blood leave his face. “He killed a guy?”

  Harry shrugged. It was Lake who spoke. “We don’t know for sure. We don’t think so. He’s not known for being violent. All we know right now is he’s involved.”

  “Very involved. As in up to his neck involved,” Harry added.

  Lake nodded. “It’s possible he was dragged along as a witness to the act. It’s a standard way to gain loyalty. And to intimidate. There’s no doubt he’s in deeper with the mob than we first thought.”

  Matt rubbed a hand over his face. He leaned forward and put his arms on the table.

  “If he’s in that deep with the New Jersey mob, what’s he doing chasing down an ex-girlfriend in Scotland?”

  Harry’s eyes went hard. “The rumour is the Rizzonis aren’t happy about the way Frank is running the club. Frank promised to turn the place around. Instead, after a year in charge, the club is losing more money than it was before Frank took over. He spent more time screwing the dancers than he did working. He’s on a deadline. As far as I can see, they need the club to be a huge success—there are rumours of commitments from the family to launder money through the club for partners elsewhere. If Frank can’t make it work, they’ll find someone who will.”

  Lake cleared his throat. “If they don’t have a use for Frank, then they don’t need him around. He knows too much and he isn’t a family mem
ber. He’s a liability.”

  “We think this is a do-or-die situation,” Harry said. “Literally.”

  Matt spread his hands wide in exasperation. “Again, what has this to do with Jena? Shouldn’t Frank be in the States dealing with his problems?”

  “He’s dealing with them here. He needs Jena to save the club,” Harry said. “If she dances, the crowds will come.” He thought about it. “Hopefully not literally, because that’s gross.”

  Matt felt his eyes go wide. “She’s a stripper?” He knew she was a dancer of some sort, but hadn’t given it much thought.

  “Nope, she isn’t stripper. She’s a go-go dancer. She’s famous in Atlantic City, a bit of an institution. She’s known nationally too. But that’s for her pole dancing. She’s won lots of competitions.” Harry blushed at the thought. “Not erotic pole dancing. I don’t think they have competitions for that. Do they?” He looked to Lake, who shook his head slowly, as if questioning Harry’s sanity.

  Matt gave Lake a pleading look. “Help me out here. I’m missing something. I don’t see a connection, unless Frank plans to hold dance competitions.”

  “Go-go dancers are hired by normal clubs to get the crowd going,” Harry said. “They get really popular, like DJs. They have their own following. Some of the more popular ones have fans and websites. Jena was huge. She was in demand. Made a bomb. Which, as far as we can gather, she spent propping up Frank. Strip clubs have been after Jena for years. The demand to see her dance while stripping is high. Any venue that has Jena stripping would be sold out. It would save Frank’s club to have her headline there. Probably save his life as well.”

  There was silence for a minute.

  “He can’t force her to leave with him,” Matt said.

  “Physically removing her from Scotland is nigh impossible. But we don’t know what else he might try.” Lake folded his arms. He stood army straight, taking up more space than he should reasonably take. “Threaten her. Blackmail. Intimidate. Seduce. If I were in his position, I’d use it all. He needs Jena. He’s already told his partners he’s bringing her back to save the business. His reputation is on the line. He’s desperate. Desperate men are unpredictable.”