“Come on, Babe, let’s get you into bed.”
After brushing my teeth and slipping into a T-shirt, I climb under the covers. I am just about to switch off the bedside lamp when my regular cell phone rings. The call is from a private number.
I answer, “Hello.”
“Jada McLean?” asks the man at the end of the line.
“Yes. Who is this?”
“Listen and listen well. I will give you one week. You can talk to no one about this. If you want these charges to disappear, I can make that happen. You will need to come up with ten million dollars by then. Do not call the police or your DA boyfriend. Trust me, I’ll know, and you’ll live to regret it.”
The call ends. I can barely control my trembling hands, and I can feel my heart pumping in my chest. They said talk to no one. For a split second, I consider keeping my mouth shut. Then I leap off the bed and run, banging on Jonathan’s door.
“Jonathan!”
Seconds later, he opens the door.
“Hey. What’s wrong?”
I woke him from his sleep.
“Someone just called me on my phone. They told me not to tell anyone, but they’re giving me a week to come up with ten million dollars and they’ll make the charges disappear.”
“What? Did you recognize the number?”
“It was from a private number.”
“Was it a man or a woman?”
“A man.”
“I should call the Chief of Police.”
“Johnny, no. He said I shouldn’t tell anyone, including you. He said he’d know.”
I am shaking. I’m afraid if I make a mistake, it could somehow cost me. How, I’m not sure.
“Jada. The police need to know about this.”
“What if they find out? He didn’t say what he’d do, but he said I’d live to regret it.”
“Look, I know you’re scared, but you need to let me handle this.”
I feel sick to my stomach. He holds my hand, walks me to his bed, and gestures me to sit.
“Jonathan, please don’t call the police.”
He hesitates. He squats in front of me.
“Jada, I have to contact the authorities.”
“What if these police are dirty and they’re leaking information to someone?”
“That’s farfetched.”
“Please, don’t call,” I beg. My palms are completely drenched with sweat.
He gazes at me for a moment then says, “Look, I have a friend at the FBI. Maybe I could get him involved and ask him to be discrete.”
“That might be better. Just please don’t call the police. I don’t know what this person will do. They may very well know we’re together right this minute.”
He scrolls through numbers on his phone then walks over to the bedside table and picks up the Johnnyphone. He calls the number and waits.
“Luke. This is Jonathan Kole. I have a situation that I’m hoping you might be able to help me with. Please call me as soon as possible. My number is 415-575-7288. It’s urgent.”
He sits next to me on the bed and pulls me in his arms. “Come on. Watch TV with me. Try to relax.”
I watch the images flash by for hours, but I’m worried, wondering who called and hoping and praying like hell that Jonathan’s contact might be able to do something about my case.
I hear Jonathan’s voice. I force my tired eyes open and glance at my watch. It’s 4AM. Evidently, I fell asleep.
“Yes. Please be discrete… I don’t want to appear like I’m interfering, but she was with me when this happened… You’re the only unbiased party in this so far… Do what you can… She’s scared. They told her she’d live to regret it if she spoke to anyone, so you understand why. Thanks.”
He ends the call. I don’t think he realizes I’m awake.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hi. I’m sorry I woke you.”
“That’s okay. Was that your FBI friend?”
“Yes. He’s going to get one of his agents to have a look at the case. They may contact you.”
“Did you tell them to be careful with the police?”
“I did. They handle these types of cases all the time. They know what they’re doing.”
I hope so.
“Trust them to do their job.”
I process what he’s saying and hope to God that he’s right.
“Try not to worry,” he says, encircling me in his arms. “Let’s go back to bed.”
I awake to an empty bed. There is no sign of Jonathan. It’s eight in the morning. I still feel exhausted. After that phone call last night, I didn’t get much rest. I feel like shutting my eyes and going back to sleep in his oh-so-comfy-bed, but I don’t want to be a rude houseguest.
I straighten the sheets on the bed before leaving the room. When I enter the mezzanine, I hear voices below. One is Jonathan’s. I suspect the other might be Delores, the housekeeper. For the first time, I get to fully appreciate the views. The blue lake sparkles against the backdrop of blue skies and snow-white peaked mountains. It looks like the house is so near the slopes, he might even be able to go skiing from here.
I head into my room, shower, and change into white leggings and a white off-the-shoulder tunic sweater. I’m beginning to get hungry. I head downstairs.
Delores is exactly how I imagined that night when I spoke to her on the phone. She’s a polite Spanish lady, probably in her late fifties. The kind, lovable, mother figure type. After kissing me lightly on my cheek, he introduces us. I think I remember her face from Charles’s funeral.
I sit next to him at the kitchen island. She places a mug in front of me and offers coffee or tea from the two pots she holds, one in each hand. I am thankful for some coffee. Perhaps it will help wake me. She then disappears from view.
“Are you hungry?” Jonathan asks.
“Famished.”
“Great. I made reservations at the Ritz nearby.”
“That will be a treat. I haven’t been.”
“Let me get ready. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
His hair is wet, and I can smell his aftershave, so I assume he’s going to throw on attire that is more appropriate—more appropriate than the loose-fit linen shirt and washed-out, worn, ripped jeans he’s wearing.
I take the opportunity to dab on a touch of makeup, I slip on pair of blue suede loafers, and I think I’m ready to head out the door.
“Did you sleep well last night?” Jonathan asks as we drive down the street.
“Barely. I’m exhausted.”
“Then why didn’t you sleep in?”
“I didn’t want to be a bad-mannered guest.”
“You had a rough week… We both did. The only reason I got up is because I heard someone enter the house. Then I remembered I forgot to tell Delores she didn’t need to come in today.”
“She’s a sweet lady.”
“My family has known her for years. I think I’ve known her from about the age of twelve. She used to work at the house where we used to stay during our vacations.”
“So she knows you very well.”
“She does…”
We arrive and park. Soon, we sit at what appears to be the best table in the room. Located by the window, it has lovely Sierra Mountain views. After the host hands us the menus and disappears, I can’t help myself.
“So who’d you lambaste to ensure that we got this fantastic table?”
He smiles at me.
“Impressed?”
“Not if you attacked the host to get it.”
“FYI, that host you felt so sorry for, her name is Mandy, and I paid her a healthy tip just so she could help me to get your attention.”
“You lie.”
He laughs, nodding at me. “It’s the truth.”
“Well, Mandy dearest made some serious money in tips that day. I paid her extra for your rudeness.” I blush.
I still can’t believe it. Neither can I believe the lengths he went to get me to notice him.
“I was waiting for Megan while she went to the bathroom when I saw you walk in. You were beautiful… You seemed so sure of yourself, proudly asking to be seated in your party of one. I thought that was cute. I can’t say I know any woman who would attend Sunday brunch by herself.”
“So you couldn’t figure out a nicer way to get my attention?”
“Well, for one, women always want what they can’t have.”
“Is that right?”
“I guess what I wasn’t anticipating was that the woman I was so attracted to had just gotten her heart broken. You really did put me in my place. I wasn’t prepared for that.”
“I’m sorry, Counselor. Did I embarrass you?”
“As a matter of fact, you did.”
“I thought I pissed you off. You had that little twitching thing going on by your temple.”
“You’re one of the few people ever to notice that. I was slightly angry, also shocked, then embarrassed, but when I had some time to process what you had said… I think I empathized with you.”
Images from that period travel through my mind.
“But then you were a jerk at dinner at David and Kat’s. What was that all about?”
“I think the lawyer side of me enjoyed arguing with you. I can’t say I’m used to the smart mouth and innuendo outside of the office. But then you insulted my sister—”
“She was supposed to be your fiancée, remember? Besides, I said she was smarter than she looked. Some would take that as a compliment.”
“Yeah… I got over that.”
“Do you know I was thinking about apologizing for that? Until you called me a rich bitch.”
“I did not.”
“Well, you certainly implied it in your tone.”
“I regret what I said to you that night. I’m sorry, you didn’t deserve that,” he says, gently smiling at me.
“You apologized already.”
“I thought I’d completely burned my bridges with you by the end of that night, until my father called me and said his new client had a crush on me.”
“Oh my God. He didn’t.”
“He did… He said you didn’t know it yet, though.”
I’m sure my cheeks are inflamed, and I’m thankful when the server arrives to take our order. I haven’t even looked at the menu yet. I quickly peruse through it, place my order, then she leaves.
Jonathan continues right where he left off.
“I think my father liked you from the moment he spoke to you on the phone.”
“I spoke to him at one of the lowest points in my life… I’m not sure what I could have possibly said to him that would make him feel that way.”
“I think it was your blatant honesty.”
“Well, frankly, I think dishonesty is a complete waste of everybody’s time.”
“Too bad the rest of the world isn’t like you.”
“Your dad was a sweet man. I’m starting to realize he probably got to know me very well during that period. He knew some of the most intimate and personal details of my life…”
I am saddened as I realize the man that we’re talking about is dead. I know this must be enormously difficult for him.
I look over at Jonathan. I can tell his mind has drifted elsewhere. I slip my hands over his. The mood has changed. It’s more serious now.
“You know, the last conversation I had with him before he died was about you. He was very protective of you.”
“I wasn’t aware of that. I remember being in my room and thinking that you were having an argument. Did you?”
“We did,” he murmurs, tearing his eyes away from mine.
My heart sinks as I realize that the last conversation with his father was a fight. That can’t be easy.
“I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”
“He told me to be careful with you… He said you were vulnerable… If I wasn’t careful, I’d hurt you, and you didn’t need that. Then he gave me a long lecture about appearances versus the truth.”
“That hardly qualifies as an argument. You and I have had that very conversation.”
“He warned me not to hurt you.”
“Is there a reason he was worried that you’d do that?”
“I think he was upset with me when I didn’t marry Lacy.”
“Lacy?”
“My ex. I think he might have thought that I had commitment problems.”
“But didn’t you tell me you two were engaged?”
“Yes, we were. She wanted to get married in the middle of my campaign. For me, the bigger problem was she wanted to immediately get pregnant.”
“Don’t you want kids?”
“I do. But I didn’t want to have kids when I knew I was about to take on the biggest job of my life.”
“And she didn’t understand that?”
“No. She really wanted a child. In retrospect, I think that was more important to her. She neglected to tell me that she stopped taking the pill.”
“Did she get pregnant?”
“No.”
“How did you find out?”
“I saw a discarded pregnancy test in the trash… and after much beating around the bush, she admitted it to me.”
“Things ended because of that?”
“Partly. I couldn’t trust her. I couldn’t make her happy. In addition, I don’t think she wanted to, or understood my career goals. I wanted to wait until a couple of months after the election to get married, but she didn’t want to.”
“It might have increased your approval rating.”
He chuckles lightly. “Sometimes, I think you’re my campaign manager. Anyway, she gave me an ultimatum, and I don’t do well with those. Our relationship ended after that.”
“What was the ultimatum?”
“That we go down to city hall that week or it was over.”
“A bit extreme…”
“She’s married now and pregnant with her first child—six months after we broke up.”
“Wow. Sounds like she really wanted a baby…”
“For sure.”
“Didn’t your dad know any of this?”
“Not all the gooey details. We were very close, but I didn’t go as far as discussing explicit details of my relationships… at least not that one.”
“So you think he was disappointed in you?”
I realize I’m treading on sensitive territory here. He looks at me for a second then closes his eyes, massaging his temples.
“Jonathan, you’re wrong.”
“How would you know?”
“Because I spoke to your father every day, sometimes twice or three times a day. Your father became a close friend. Trust me, our conversations weren’t always about my case. Sometimes, he helped me keep my sanity, sometimes he gave a listening ear, and sometimes, during my lonely moments, he’d indulge me just so I’d have someone to converse with. He was proud of you. All of you; your father could go on for hours talking about his family.”
Momentarily, he looks into my eyes.
“What about you? Do you want kids?”
I guess that means he doesn’t want to have this conversation, and because this is all so fresh, I table it for now despite knowing he’s wrong about this.
“I might,” I finally respond. “My biological clock may have expired by now, though. Who knows? Richard and I discussed trying to get pregnant after we got married, but…”
Our breakfast arrives and that conversation ends. We eat in silence for a few moments, but when the French chef comes by, we carry on a short conversation. It lightens the mood. After breakfast, he slips his arm around my waist as we take a walk around the property.
Before we head back to the house, we meet up with my realtor at my old residence to pick up his SUV. The temporary bridge is now up. He entrusts me to drive his Bentley, and I follow him as he leads the way home.
It’s about noon when we enter the silent house. Not even the dog
s are home. I sit at the island while Jonathan pours each of us a glass of water from the refrigerator.
“You spoiled me this morning. I really had a great time. Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure,” he replies, walking over to me. “So what would you like to do for the rest of today?”
“I have no clue. What would you be doing had I not been here with you this weekend?”
“Stuff you wouldn’t want to be doing.”
“Like what?”
“Well, I have a room full of gym equipment that I have to assemble downstairs. Then I’d probably go biking. Then maybe dinner with some friends if they were in town.”
“Great. Let’s do that then, all except the dinner with friends. I’m not up for socializing.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not. I’ll run upstairs and change.”
I return five minutes later. He has those worn jeans on and a black T-shirt that clings to his broad shoulders.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks.
“Sure… besides, if I get tired, I can always admire the view.”
He walks over to me, circles my face in his hands, and kisses me tenderly on my lips. I tip toe to reach his. He lifts me by my hips and places me on the kitchen island. Kissing me once more, I feel rhythmic throbbing in my chest. I return his deep kisses, placing my hand gently on his profile as our penetrating kiss grows more urgent.
I want to touch him. I want to feel his hands on my body, but I’m so afraid I’ll screw up what little we might have.
I need to have sex. I need to feel the weight of his body on mine. But I fear that my mind and my heart may not be ready for what my body so desperately craves.
He trails kisses down my neck, and I am so thankful when he raises his hand. I think he’s going to release the buttons of my shirt, but instead, he places his palms on my breasts, caressing my form, tracing his hand over my body.
A loud thump interrupts us, and there is silence no more. We’re both startled when Delores, Micky, and Maggie enter the room. The dogs playfully run to us, sniffing and begging for attention. She looks at Jonathan and smiles, then me. Her face is rosy red.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb,” she says quietly.
Jonathan blushes too and can barely find the words to respond.
Love, Lies & The D.A. Page 18