“Mom says that kind of change is virtually impossible.”
“She may be right. All I know is that after Elizabeth came along I got very angry at Dad. It infuriated me to see him ignoring her the same way he had always tried to ignore you and me. So I became even more aggressive about getting him to play the part of a father.”
“You've had some success in terms of Elizabeth. You know, Uncle Vincent's a lot more aware of what's going on in her life than he ever was with either one of us.”
“Only because I've learned a few tricks. I've formed a conspiracy with Grace, his secretary. She helps me get things onto his calendar. I nag him. I plead with him. I yell at him. And at best I've got maybe a fifty-fifty success rate. He still calls half the time at the last minute to tell me he can't make a school function because he's got a crisis at the office.”
“I'll bet.” David shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “But at least he's always been around, hasn't he? He didn't just disappear the way my old man did.”
“Oh, David, I know. I'm sorry for whining like this.”
As always when the subject of David's father came up, Jessie was consumed with sympathy and guilt. Her cousin was right. At least Vincent Benedict had stuck around to be nagged and harangued by his elder daughter. Lloyd Ringstead had vanished, never to be seen or heard from again. David had been only four.
“Forget it. Nothing more boring than old family history.”
“I suppose,” Jessie agreed. “But I'll say this much for Dad. He does have some sense of what you might call patriarchal obligation. At least when it comes to money.”
“Only because it's a means of controlling the rest of us,” David said bitterly. “He likes being in control.”
“I know that's part of it. Still, look on the bright side. I think he'll probably come through with another loan for you.” Jessie smiled and stood on tiptoe to give David a quick hug. “Don't worry. I'll talk to him.”
“Hatchard is right. I guess I shouldn't ask you to do it. You already did enough when you convinced Uncle Vincent I was never going to be the heir apparent to Benedict Fasteners.” David gave her a rueful smile. “You know, without your help I'd probably still be there busting my ass trying to please the old man. Even Mom wanted me to try harder.”
“You'd have been very unhappy spending the rest of your life running Benedict Fasteners. Anybody can see that.”
“Not anybody. You were the one who realized it first. Thank God for Sam Hatchard. Without him Uncle Vincent would probably be trying to mold you or Elizabeth into a corporate shark.”
“I'm not sure God is the one who deserves the credit for giving us Sam Hatchard.”
David grinned as he opened the lobby door. “You may be right. He's not what you'd call real angelic, is he? Don't worry, Jessie, you can handle him. My money's definitely riding on you.”
“Dammit, David, this isn't some kind of sporting event,” Jessie called out after him as he went through the doorway and out into the night.
But it was too late. Her cousin was already halfway down the path to the sidewalk. He lifted a hand in farewell but did not look back.
Jessie stood on the other side of the heavy glass door and stared bleakly out into the darkness for a few minutes. Then she turned and walked slowly back upstairs. She wondered how difficult it was going to be to wheedle the information she wanted out of Hatch and then get him out of her apartment. Something told her it was not going to be an easy task.
She was right. She knew she was in trouble the minute she opened the door and saw him sprawled on the couch, sound asleep. He had not even bothered to take off his beautifully polished wing tips.
Jessie slowly closed the door and leaned back against it. If she had any sense, she told herself, she would wake him up and hustle him out the door.
She definitely should not allow him to spend the night there on the couch. It would set a dreadfully bad precedent. A man like Hatch would use that sort of precedent to his own advantage, no doubt about it. One thing always led to another. Come tomorrow morning, she would have to give him breakfast.
Too dangerous by far. When all was said and done, there would be no way of getting around the fact that he had made himself very much at home in her apartment.
Jessie moved cautiously away from the door, considering the best method of awakening him. She came to a halt beside the couch and stood looking down at Hatch for a long while. The strength and willpower that were so much a part of him did not appear the least bit diminished by sleep. By rights he should have looked a little vulnerable, but he did not.
Jessie wondered if sharks actually slept.
There was no denying the fact that Hatch did appear exhausted. The man worked much too hard. Fourteen-hour days plus courtship time on the side.
She studied the strong, tapering fingers of one supple masculine hand as it lay on the black leather cushion. Everything that compelled her and repelled her about Hatch was embodied in his graceful, dangerous, powerful hands.
With a small sigh, Jessie turned away and went to the closet to get a blanket. She was going to regret letting him stay. She just knew it. But she could not bring herself to awaken him from his exhausted slumber.
She pried off the heavy wing tips and spread the blanket over Hatch's sleeping frame.
When she had finished, she went into the kitchen and put the dishes into the sink. Then she placed the empty wine bottle in the recycling bin Elizabeth had given her and headed for the bedroom.
Several hours later Jessie came awake on a rush of adrenaline. She sat bolt upright in bed, confused by two powerful stimuli. The phone on the bedside table was warbling loudly and there was a half-naked man standing in the open doorway of her bedroom. She did not know which had awakened her.
For a handful of seconds she could not move. She could only sit there clutching the sheet.
The phone rang again.
“Better get that,” Hatch advised, one hand braced against the door frame.
Jessie blinked and reached out for the phone.
“Jessie? It's Alex. Alex Robin. I'm calling from your office. Sorry to wake you, but you might want to come on over here. I went out to get something to eat a while ago and when I got back I came upstairs to use the rest room. I found the door to Valentine Consultations open. Did you leave it unlocked?”
“No.” Jessie pushed hair out of her eyes and tried to think. “No, I'm certain I locked up when I left, Alex. I'm always very careful about that.”
“I know. Listen, I think someone's been inside here, but I can't be certain. Maybe you'd better check to see if anything's missing. You may want to call the cops and report a break-in. If that's what's happened.” Alex paused. “Nothing's broken or anything, as far as I can tell.”
“I'll be right over, Alex. Thanks.”
Jessie slowly replaced the phone, her eyes on Hatch's shadowed face. She realized he was wearing only a pair of briefs. Sometime during the night he had awakened and undressed. Talk about making himself at home, she thought. Give the man an inch and he took a mile.
“I have to go over to the office. Alex, the downstairs tenant, thinks someone might have broken in to Valentine Consultations.” Jessie pushed back the covers, belatedly realizing her nightgown was hiked up around her waist. Hastily she retreated back under the sheet. “Do you mind?” she asked acidly.
“No.” Hatch yawned and ran his fingers through his tousled hair. “I'll go with you. I had no idea the life of an assistant fortune-teller was so exciting. You keep worse hours than I do, Jessie.”
CHAPTER FIVE
It's damn near three o'clock in the morning,” Hatch muttered as he slipped the Mercedes into a space in front of the building that housed Valentine Consultations.
He was not pleased about having his first night in Jessie's apartment interrupted in this fashion. Granted, he had not been in her bed, but when he had awakened earlier and discovered he had been allowed to stay, he had known progress was finall
y being made. “What the hell was this Alex guy doing at the office at this hour?”
“He's a computer jockey,” Jessie explained as she yanked the door handle. “He works weird hours.” She jumped out of the car and dashed toward the darkened entrance of the building, fishing for her keys.
“Hold it, Jessie.” Hatch got out and slammed his own car door before following her up the walk. The lady was far too impulsive. He would have to work on curbing that tendency. “Not so fast.”
“Oh, for heaven's sake, Hatch. I let you come along because you insisted, but don't get the idea you're in charge around here. Save the dynamic-leadership act for Benedict Fasteners.” She started to shove the key into the lock and belatedly realized the door was already open.
Before she could turn the handle, Hatch shot out a hand and clamped it over hers. The small bones of her fingers and wrist felt astonishingly delicate. “I said, not so fast,” he repeated very quietly.
She glanced down at where his hand covered hers. He knew she was silently debating whether or not to test his strength. Her eyes lifted briefly to meet his, and he saw the annoyance in them. She had obviously realized she did not stand a chance of shaking off his grip.
“For Pete's sake, Hatch. The door is already unlocked. Alex must have left it that way for us.”
“Fine. I'll go in first.” Without waiting for a response, Hatch calmly shouldered Jessie aside and shoved open the door. He stepped over the threshold into the darkened hall and stopped, groping along the wall. He found the switch and flicked it. Nothing happened.
“What is it? What's wrong?” Jessie was trying her best to peer around him.
“The hall light is out.” A bad sign. His instinct warned him the smartest thing to do at this point was back out of the place.
“It's been out for ages.” Jessie tried impatiently to shove past Hatch's unyielding form. He did not move.
“Alex,” she called over Hatch's shoulder. “Alex, are you in there? Is everything all right?”
A low groan from off to the right inside the hall was the only answer.
“Alex.” Jessie panicked now, shoving furiously at Hatch. “Get out of my way, Hatch. He's hurt.”
“Damn.” Hatch moved slowly into the darkened interior as his eyes adjusted to the deep gloom. “I should have gone back for the flashlight.”
“There's a light switch just inside his office door. I'll get it.”
Quick as a cat, she darted around him the instant he ceased blocking the doorway. “Jessie, come back here.”
But she was already racing for the door of the office, which was just barely visible in the shadows. A flash of anger and alarm galvanized Hatch. Jessie was not just impulsive, she clearly lacked even an iota of common sense.
He moved forward to jerk her back, but he did not have to bother halting her mad dash for the dark office. Before he could grab her, she gasped, yelped, and promptly tripped over a man's prone form lying in the middle of the hall.
“Alex.”
The man on the floor groaned again and struggled to sit up. “Jessie? Is that you?”
Hatch watched as Jessie crouched beside Alex. Then he frowned as he tried to discern the outlines of whatever was housed in the darkness of the office beyond the doorway. There was no sound from within the room, but the hair on the back of his neck was stirring.
“Dear heaven.” Jessie was fussing over the figure on the floor. “What on earth happened? Alex, you mustn't move until we see how badly you're injured.”
“I'm okay, I think. Just got banged on the head. Didn't completely lose consciousness. Hurts like hell, though. Who did you bring with you?”
“The name's Hatchard.” The sense of uneasiness grew. Restlessly Hatch stepped around Alex's feet and moved into the doorway of the office.
“The light switch is on the right,” Jessie said.
The rush of thudding footsteps, however, came from the left. A body hurtled forward toward the door. Hatch had a fleeting impression of a slight, wiry form covered from head to toe in black. Something metallic glinted in the upraised fist.
“Shit.” It had been years since Hatch had last confronted a man who was wielding a knife. He still remembered the occasion with great clarity. The memorable event had taken place, as such events often do, in the alley behind a tavern that catered to truckers and cowboys.
He'd thought those days of barroom brawls and dirty alley fights were behind him. Hell, he was supposed to be white-collar now, he reminded himself. He had the silk ties and handmade shirts to prove it.
After all the years that had passed since his last brawl, Hatch was vaguely surprised to find that his reactions were automatic. He feinted to the side and lashed out with his foot, catching his assailant on the leg as he went past. The blow was off-center but it was powerful enough to destroy the man's balance.
The knife glinted evilly as the attacker whipped around, struggling to regain his feet.
“Outta my way, you fucking bastard.” The voice was high-pitched and raw with desperation. It was also muffled by the black cloth of a stocking mask. “Get outta my way. I'll cut your fucking throat for you.”
“Oh, my God, Hatch.” Jessie's horrified shriek filled the darkness.
Hatch followed up on the small advantage he had created by getting his attacker off-balance. He snapped out another kick and slashed at the knife arm with the edge of his hand. The blade fell from numbed gloved fingers and clattered to the floor.
There was a sharp, shrill gasp and another vicious curse. Then the assailant turned and fled through the hall, nearly colliding with Jessie. The running man leapt over Alex's prone form and vanished out the door into the night.
“Hatch, are you all right?”
“I'm okay, Jessie.” A primitive surge of anger flared in Hatch as he realized his quarry was escaping. He ran out into the hall and got as far as the outer door before he realized it was hopeless.
Frustrated, he stood on the front step of the building, restlessly searching the shadows of the dark street. There was no sign of anyone, no sound of running footsteps. Nothing.
The light in Alex's office snapped on behind Hatch. Reluctantly he turned to see that Jessie was on her feet, staring at him with eyes made huge by concern.
“Are you sure you're all right?”
“Yes.”
“There's a knife in here.”
“He didn't get a chance to use it. I'm okay, Jessie.”
“You're sure?”
“Dammit, I'm sure.” Hatch heard the frustrated fury in his own voice. He made a grab for his self-control and his temper. It was not an easy task. It occurred to him that he was dealing not only with the adrenaline of the short-lived battle but also with a fierce anger that was focused one hundred percent on Jessie.
Apparently the little idiot did not yet realize that if it had not been for Alex lying there on the floor, she would have dashed straight into the office and wound up being the one confronting the bastard with the knife in his hand. Hatch longed to point that out to her in an extremely blunt fashion, but told himself that now was not the time.
“What about you, Alex?” he said to the injured man.
“I'm okay too. I think. Like I said, I didn't completely lose consciousness. I've just been dazed for the past few minutes.”
“I assume you're the one who called Jessie?”
“Yeah. Sorry about that.” Alex found a pair of hornrimmed glasses beside his leg and put them on. They sat somewhat crookedly on his nose. Then he gingerly touched his head. “Didn't realize anyone was still around or I would have called the cops first. I wasn't even sure there had been a break-in. Nothing seemed disturbed upstairs. Thought maybe Jessie had just left the door unlocked.” He gave Hatch a questioning look. “Guess we'd better call the police now, though, huh?”
“Yes,” said Hatch. “I think that would be a very logical next step. Although I doubt there's much they'll be able to do.”
Jessie swung around, clearly start
led. “What do you mean? There's been a break-in and an act of violence.”
Hatch gave her a pitying glance. “Jessie, get real. It happens all the time in the big city.”
She frowned. “Yes, well, it's never happened to me.”
“You just got lucky. Where's the phone?”
“Over on the desk near Alex's computer.” She tipped her head slightly to the side. “Hatch, are you angry?”
“What the hell gave you that idea?”
Three hours later Hatch opened Jessie's refrigerator door and rummaged around inside until he found the skim milk. He closed the door and started opening cupboards until he located a box of cereal. Then he started searching for bowls and spoons.
He was putting breakfast together on his own because Jessie, who had recently emerged from the shower wearing a pair of snug-fitting black leggings and a voluminous orange sweater that fell below her hips, was not much help at the moment. She was still chattering away excitedly about the break-in. It was obvious she was viewing the whole thing as a grand adventure.
Hatch realized he was still seething. Every time he thought about what had nearly happened earlier, his gut went cold. As furious as he was, he was also vividly aware of the fact that he would have liked nothing better in that moment than to haul Jessie over to the couch and make concentrated, determined love to her.
He had wanted Jessie for some time, but never so intensely as he wanted her right now. It was the aftermath of the fight, he told himself. Rampaging hormones or something.
But deep down he knew it was because some primitive part of him actually thought that if he claimed her physically he might be able to control her in other ways. Control her so that next time she would follow orders in a crisis. Control her so that he could keep her safe.
Follow orders? Jessie Benedict? Who was he kidding?
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