by The Saint
Courtney banished the painful memory and stabilize her erratic pulse long enough to look at him– really look at him–and saw how much he had changed. The hostile, street-wise punk had grown into a disturbing, dangerous-looking man. And even that might have been an understatement.
His features, the same but more dramatic, had matured. The planes and angles that had made him so appealing six long years ago were even more defined, more attractive now. But his dark eyes, keen and compelling, wielded more of a threat than any weapon he could have pulled on her.
"Yeah, me."
What the hell was she doing here? Trained not to react, Jake commanded his body to still. But he could stop his mind…from remembering her. No man could forget that face. No matter how many years had passed. No matter how hard he tried.
And God knows Jake had tried.
Tonight all he could do was brace himself. But looking at Courtney now, he realized nothing could ever have prepared him for this moment.
"Hello, Sweetness." Jake’s voice rang hollow, lingering in the air between them like fog hovers over a graveyard.
"Jake,” she countered, rattled by the endearing, familiar term he had spoken with such resentment.
His gaze narrowed. Courtney hadn't really changed much. She seemed taller, and the clingy, black dress she wore hinted at more of a woman's body than he recalled. Silk stockings and heels showcased long, shapely legs. Her brunette hair was shorter, shoulder length now. Not the tumble of dark curls that had cascaded to her waist. Her incredibly full mouth remained soft and ripe with promise, her pale blue eyes every bit as large and thickly lashed as he remembered. Satisfied by the fear he saw in them tonight, he finally took a breath. "Long time no see."
After all the years of rehearsing exactly what she would say, Courtney couldn't believe the only word that came out of her mouth was his name. How unlike her. For the first time in her life-after-Jake, Courtney was actually speechless. The irony of Jake Ciora showing up tonight–another night that was bound to change her life forever – chilled her to the bone. She was already teetering dangerously close to the edge of a harrowing, emotional cliff. Stressed to the max. A loaded gun in her purse. Her father's murderer lined up in the cross hairs. And now, Jake?
As hard as it was for Jake to believe, and even harder to accept, seeing Courtney again had rocked his entire world. And that really pissed him off. Just because he noticed her face had gone pale and her hand trembled slightly didn't mean he gave a damn if she passed out right in front of him. On the other hand, Templeton's reaction would be a whole different story. Pulling Courtney from beneath the buffet table, feet first, might be a little hard to explain. And he sure as hell did not want to draw Dirk’s attention to her.
Annoyed, Jake yanked away Courtney's conspicuously empty plate and handed her a glass of wine. "Drink this." He found it amusing that the direct order alone brought some color back to her cheeks. Spunk. He liked that in a woman. "You look like hell."
Damn him. Courtney's knees hadn't knocked this hard since…since that night the two of them had been handcuffed and carted off to jail. Or, worse than that, the fateful day several weeks later when she had gone to find Jake and discovered he had left town. She may have turned her back on him the night they had been arrested, but he was the one who had literally disappeared off the face of the earth.
Without a trace.
No family.
No forwarding address.
Courtney would never forget how desperate she had been to try and find him. Funniest thing about the low points in her life…their common denominators had been Jake Ciora.
"You're right." She stepped forward and downed the Chablis in one gulp, then handed Jake the empty glass. Legs no longer made of Jell-O, she challenged the flicker of surprise in his eyes. "Seeing you again is definitely enough to drive me to drink."
Jake might have laughed at her cheeky attitude, if Courtney had not taken that one lousy step toward him. Because now, she stood just close enough. One whiff of her familiar, soft scent had the impact of a sucker punch, and that was no laughing matter. In fact, it irritated the hell out of him.
Courtney wanted to turn and walk away, but for the moment, Jake made leaving impossible. The fact that her life had chosen this moment to come full circle infuriated her. For whatever reason, despite his brooding eyes and thunderous expression, Jake Ciora was back. And as bizarre as that was–and it was totally insane – Jake, she reminded herself, was not her problem tonight.
"So, Jake, what brings you here?" she asked, ending their ridiculous stand off.
He countered the challenge in her sparkling blue eyes with a bitter sneer. "Don't you mean how did someone like me get invited?"
Courtney refused to be baited. Nothing, not even Jake, could shake her from her purpose this evening. "No." Her voice was practiced, controlled. "If I had meant that, I would have said it."
"I could ask you the same question," he shot back, realizing the college girl had grown up, after all. He would never forget the way she looked the night they were arrested. How she had been forced from the car to the pavement, her long hair tangled and damp, her flawless cheek smudged with dirt. Stained with tears. And he had been helpless. But the one thing she had never understood was that he would have laid down his life for her. No questions asked. No regrets. But that, Jake reminded himself, had been a helluva long time ago. "Why are you here?"
Courtney shrugged. "I'm here, because Leonard Wallis invited me. That makes me a guest." Not too original, but technically the truth. "And, you?"
Wallis? Courtney was with that mousy computer geek? Confused and definitely unconvinced by the pairing, Jake stepped forward and ushered her clear across the room to a far more private corner. He had done his homework. Accounted for everyone else in the house. Every one except Courtney St. Claire.
Comfortable that no one was within earshot, he decided to pull her chain. Just for the hell of it. Maybe then, she would leave, and he could find out what the hell was going on from O’Shea. In what appeared to be the strictest of confidence, he told her, "I'm here because my parole officer took the night off."
She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it.
At her annoyed expression, he merely winked and leaned closer. "Not really. Actually I killed my parole officer last week. That's why I don't have to report in any more."
She stared him down, refusing to play.
"Okay." He held up his hand as if to swear. "Truth is, I'm out on bail. Bank robbery." Ever since she'd bumped into him, Jake had watched her mentally attach a price tag to everything he was wearing. "How else could someone like me dress like this?"
"Very funny." She wasn't laughing.
"You think I'm kidding?" When she didn't respond, he did. "So, you don't think I'm kidding?"
"About having a parole officer?" For whatever reason, she had dismissed the idea of bank robbery and murder.
"Yeah,” he challenged.
"Parole officer, huh?" She eyed his impeccable, Armani suit one more time. The question remained.
Had he gotten his money legitimately? Or not? "I don't know, Jake." And she was being honest. "You tell me."
He kept an eye on Dirk. "That's what I thought."
"What?" She couldn't hide the challenge in her tone.
Tired of playing with her, he didn't even try to strain the bitterness from his comment. "You were never really sure, were you, Sweetness?"
She bristled, but kept her voice low. "You mean before, or after we were behind bars?"
"I told you," he began through gritted teeth, "that arrest wasn't what it looked like."
Momentarily forgetting herself, Courtney planted a hand on one hip. "Well, it was a little hard to tell anything from my limited perspective that night. Face down on the sidewalk, I mean."
His gaze narrowed. "You should have trusted me, Sweetness."
Overwhelmed by old hurts and regrets, and the knowledge so many lives might have been different, she shot back, "You
should have left a forwarding address."
Jake sneered, "Like you ever came looking for me."
"As a matter of fact I did." Courtney could hardly bear resurrecting that day. The hurt had been so deep. The regret so brutal. The irony so life changing. "But as it turned out, I was too late. You'd already gone."
He pinned her with his gaze. "You should have believed that I borrowed that car."
Unintimidated, Courtney wagged her finger in his face. "You shouldn't have borrowed the damned car."
"You're absolutely right, Sweetness. I should have never borrowed a car to impress someone like you."
Courtney blinked. To impress me? She swallowed hard, but didn't trust herself to speak.
Unable to read her expression, Jake spotted Templeton heading their way. "Excuse me a minute." Instinctively running interference, Jake decided to cut him off.
Without thinking, Courtney reached out to grab his arm. She felt her purse strap slide the entire length of her sleeve…past her wrist…over her fingertips…and drop to the floor in what seemed like excruciating slow motion. There it lay, like a black, satin grenade that had been tossed between the two of them. Courtney’s heart stopped. Her eyes met Jake’s as he bent to pick it up. She lunged but was only able to snag the shoulder strap before his agile fingers wrapped around the clutch.
One touch and Jake immediately recognized the familiar shape as easily as if it had been wrapped in Saran Wrap. His head snapped up. Brown eyes locked with blue. What in the hell was Courtney doing with a gun? A damned concealed weapon? Was she trying to get herself killed?
Courtney’s blood ran cold. Jake knew. He didn’t need to say a word. His stunned expression said it all. She took the split-second advantage and tugged the strap hard enough to yank the purse from his grasp. With Dirk approaching, she casually stepped behind a potted lemon tree to watch Jake meet Templeton more than half way.
"Jake, bring the car around. Something's come up."
She listened unobtrusively, cringing as the connection between Dirk and Jake became sickeningly clear. Jake shrugged. "What about the party?"
"Hell, all they're here for is political contributions and donations. As long as I feed 'em, pop the cork on a few bottles of booze and write 'em a check, they don't give a damn if I'm here, or not."
Jake nodded. "How soon do you want to leave?"
Dirk checked his watch. "Ten minutes."
"Okay." Jake turned around and discovered, for the second time in his life, Courtney St. Claire had walked out without a word.
* *
Jake hurried after Courtney and spotted her outside. Posture perfect, she moved with confidence and grace, walking along the well lit sidewalk just fast enough to indicate she was more than anxious to be on her way.
He hugged the darkness surrounding Dirk's expansive house, to move undetected through the lush, landscaped lawn. Silent. Sheltered by thick evergreens and fragrant pines, he was able to stay close enough to watch her and, more importantly, to observe.
The unmistakable hunger in her eyes he recognized earlier was busy gnawing a hole in his gut. Civilians did not have that look. They had no reason. But Courtney had it. And the subtle desperation he detected in her could definitely get them both killed.
Even now, in the light pooled beneath the street lamp she appeared driven. It was evident in the set of her shoulders, the arch of her back, the tilt of her chin. For whatever reason, Courtney had pulled off her little escapade this evening. She knew it. And now so did he.
Jake watched as she stopped and quickly drew her keys from her purse. One backward glance was all she took before unlocking her car door and slipping inside.
That's when Jake saw Courtney's shoulders droop. The action itself might have seemed meaningless, barely detectable to the untrained eye. But her reaction was damned significant to him. As soon as she planted both hands on the steering wheel and momentarily rested her forehead there, he knew.
Courtney St. Claire had been up to something this evening. No doubt about it. But what? Her visible letdown told Jake exactly what he needed to know. Playing with the big boys–for whatever reason– had been scary as hell, and her composure had been right where it should be. Skin deep. Seeing that at least provided some relief. In fact, it was probably the only thing that prevented him from blowing his cover right now and driving her home.
Courtney's heart sank as she struggled to pull herself together. For God's sake, Jake was not an invited guest. He was Dirk Templeton’s driver, who, thanks to the inexcusably stupid stunt she had pulled, also knew she had a gun in her purse. Courtney's stomach rolled at the thought of Jake working for Templeton.
Eerily reminiscent of six years ago, Courtney had gotten her answer again tonight. Apparently Jake Ciora was still no damned good.
CHAPTER 2
>"Are you trying to get me killed, O’Shea?" Even vengefully waking the lieutenant at one in the morning wasn't vindictive enough to cool Jake off.
All-too-familiar with Ciora's temper, Brian yawned before offering a sleep-muffled, "That depends."
"Depends on what?" Jake paced the length of the twelve-foot phone cord and back, waiting for an answer.
"On what the hell you're talkin' about."
The moment Brian didn't jump back in his face, Jake wondered if the lieutenant was as clueless about Courtney's presence at Templeton's as he had been. Uncertain, he accused, "For starters, why the hell did you send in a civilian on this case?"
“What?”
Jake braced the receiver between his ear and his shoulder and was futilely digging through a dresser drawer for the cigarettes he had given up three weeks earlier as he continued, "And if that wasn't bad enough, you brought in–of all things–a woman who knows me."
"I’m tellin’ ya, Lad, I didn’t bring in anyone." O’Shea cut him off. " So, tell me what you’re palaverin’ about."
"Okay." Jake slammed shut the drawer and momentarily savored the I told you so he was about to deliver instead of a cigarette. He let O’Shea have it. "How's this for starters? Then you tell me why there was one unconfirmed guest at Templeton’s house tonight?”
“How, the hell should I know?” O’Shea barked. “Who was it?”
“You tell me.” Jake dropped the bomb right on target. “Does the name Courtney St. Claire ring a bell?”
"Courtney St. Claire?" O’Shea boomed, both bare feet hitting the floor at the same time. “Not my Courtney.”
“So you do know her.” Satisfied he'd nailed the bull's eye, Jake waited a beat. "I knew it." His tone was smug, and he meant it.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Brian snapped. "You think I’d be sending’ my goddaughter–“
"Your what?” Oh, this was getting better by the minute. His Courtney was O’Shea’s goddaughter.
“Impossible,” O’Shea muttered, struggling to remember her married name.
“Mom Cathleen? Brother Michael?” Jake recited.
“Holy Mother of God.” O’Shea sat back down on the bed. “Don’t you worry about Courtney, Lad. I’ll be gettin’ to the bottom of this first thing in the mornin’.”
"You'd better, Brian. My ass is on the line big time, and after tonight so is hers.”
Jake paced the confines of the dingy sleeping room he'd called home for the past six months, while working undercover on this case. Like a sentinel, he routinely stopped to part the blinds and glance out the window. Always watching. On guard. Alert. The street below was dark, deserted–a mirror image of what his life had become.
"Sweet Jesus," O’Shea sighed.
Curse or prayer, Jake wasn't sure. Not that it mattered. "What in the hell was she doing there?"
"I have no idea, Lad."
Hearing the distress in O’Shea’s voice, he broke the news gently. “It gets worse, Brian,” Jake said in a low, even tone. “Templeton said she’s in.”
“Like hell,” O’Shea exploded.
“Evidently Templeton hired her to clean up some kind of virus that infect
ed his system. Shut the whole damn thing down. Said Lenny read about her computer company in the Trib.
Brian had been so proud of that article. Until this moment. “Jesus, Joseph and Mary. “
"If we can’t get her out without blowing this whole operation wide open, then you’d better lay down the law–nine to five at Templeton's office, Brian. No more. No less." This time Jake cut him off. "Do her job and get the hell out."
"Don't you think I know that, Lad?"
"You do. She doesn't. It's as simple as that." Jake raked a hand through his hair in frustration. "Look, I joined this undercover unit to work alone. No partner. No one to worry about but me. And you, of all people, should know why." He took O’Shea's silence as understanding. "I didn't spend six months setting up Templeton to have some wild card strut in and get us both killed." He had already sworn no one else would die.
"I gave you my word your identity would remain anonymous, and it has," O’Shea snorted defensively. "Courtney won’t know you're a cop working on the inside, so there's no way in hell she can blow your cover."
"After her little stunt tonight, it's a damned good thing. But what about her?" Jake drove home his point. "She's in over her head – big time – and the fact that she socialized with Templeton tonight proves she doesn't have a clue who she’s doing business with."
Jake heard O’Shea’s weary sigh. “You'd better yank your little maverick back into the herd, and fast, Lieutenant. Because I can't guarantee her safety if you don't." And I don't want to die trying. But I will.
**
"Are you lookin' to get yourself killed, Lass?" O’Shea raged.
"Of course not." Courtney braced herself. “How was I supposed to know you had Templeton under surveillance?”
“You weren’t.” Brian sighed. “But now that you know, I want you out.”
Courtney shook her head. “I can’t do that.”
"Then have you forgotten you've got a daughter to raise?" Brian blustered.