Conspicuously, she waited in the car while he went inside to throw a couple of clothing changes and some sundries into a paper bag. He’d hadn’t a clue where an overnight case might be. By the time he came back, she’d popped the back so he could toss his bag in next to hers. She didn’t say a word about it being paper.
Cole held his hand out for her keys. “I can drive.”
She clutched them to her chest. “My car, I drive.”
He wasn’t sure how to read that. He wasn’t sure how to read her. But he for damn sure knew they were going to talk about the other night at some point during the three-hour drive. Jami wasn’t the type to leave it alone.
He was surprised she’d let it go this long.
* * * * *
They didn’t speak at all. Jami removed Cole’s CD from the player and popped in Tom Jones, but she was too self-conscious to sing along with “What’s New, Pussycat?”
She’d wanted Cole on the trip, yet now she didn’t know what on earth to talk about. She couldn’t say, “Hey, I know you lost your daughter, and it’s a terrible, horrible, awful thing, but you really need to clean out her room and move on because it can’t be good for your mental stability to let it hang this way.”
Hmm, no. Couldn’t say that.
Nor could she venture the notion that returning to his music might give him an outlet that Easy Cheesy couldn’t. He was a brilliant musician, not a backwater fry cook.
Nope, couldn’t say that either.
How about, “Let’s give making love another chance because it was so good I think going all the way would be miraculous and change our lives completely.”
Uh...no.
The things she couldn’t say kept her from saying anything at all.
Still, by the time they reached Highway 99, about forty-five minutes of driving, she’d had it with the silence. “It’ll be too late to go to my mom’s.” She didn’t want to try explaining Cole to her mother. “So we can get a hotel room in Emeryville.” She stopped, thought about it. “I mean, two hotel rooms”—dammit, this was embarrassing—“you know what I mean.” Her face was burning up. “I checked on the Internet before I packed up my laptop, and the Legion of Honor opens at nine thirty. I wrote down the directions off the website, too.”
Whew. At least that was all out.
“That sounds fine.”
Then nothing. He continued staring out the passenger window.
Jami wanted to scream. Letting him come along had been a bad idea. “Do you really think Andrea’s okay?”
He didn’t even look at her. “Yeah, sure. She’s not a stupid kid.” And again, nothing else.
They passed Turlock after twenty-five more minutes of silence, and she had another thought. “Where would she stay tonight? No hotel manager is going to rent a room to a sixteen-year-old.”
This time he looked at her, the lights of an oncoming semi flashing in his eyes. “You can’t do anything but what you’re doing, so stop thinking about it. Whether you worry or you don’t worry isn’t going to change a thing.”
That was profound. She could apply that philosophy to him. His guilt couldn’t bring his daughter back. Giving up his music wouldn’t change what happened.
“About Sunday night—”
He cut her off. “I apologize for letting things go that far. It wasn’t right to use you that way.”
Okay, now that was a ragged, rusty blade between the ribs. He’d used her? She knew damn well he hadn’t used her. He’d wanted her, not just any woman. She opened her mouth.
He dug himself a deeper hole. “Not that it wasn’t great, because I haven’t been with a woman for a while, but we should—”
She jumped on his words. “What? We shouldn’t do it again? Get carried away? Shouldn’t finish what we started?” Okay, okay, what they’d done—or hadn’t done—wasn’t what she wanted to discuss. She’d wanted to talk about his daughter’s never-been-touched-in-seven-years room. “I’m sorry. That sounded snippy. I don’t think we should talk about this now since I’m driving.” And if he pissed her off anymore, she’d crash the car.
“Okay.”
Dammit, he agreed way too quickly.
They were coming up on an exit with food and lodging signs, and she pulled off for a pit stop. She was drying her hands in the bathroom when she caught her reflection in the mirror. God, she’d forgotten to freshen her makeup before they’d left Isadora’s.
Not that it mattered. Cole had been using her. She wished she hadn’t brought up Sunday night.
“But isn’t that what you always do?” she said to the mirror. “You’re so afraid of what you’re going to hear that you don’t say anything at all.” That’s what she’d done with Leo. She hadn’t forced the marriage issue because she was terrified he’d do precisely what he did, dump her. She put her hands to her hot cheeks. “You’re so pathetic.”
The toilet flushed, and the third stall door flew open. Good God, she thought she’d been alone.
“Must be a man or your mother, right, honey?” The woman’s skin was weathered to the texture of burlap, her tan deep, the crow’s feet at her eyes earned by years out in the sun.
Jami could only nod dumbly and mouth the word man.
“We’re all pathetic when it comes to men or our mothers. I wouldn’t let it get you down.” The lady washed her hands at the second sink.
“Um, thanks.” Jami threw her paper towel in the trash, picked up her purse, and held the door open on the way out.
Cole, loitering by the rack of bagged chips, straightened when he saw her. Hair lightly dusted with gray, scrumptious blue eyes, a T-shirt stretched over his chest, black leather jacket, jeans, and boots, he was enough to steal a girl’s breath.
“Hmm, that is definitely one nice problem to have,” the woman said, then lowered her voice for Jami’s ears only. “Just give him some good makeup sex, and everything’ll be fine.” With a smile, she sidled by Cole, looked him up and down, grabbed a bag of chips, and when he couldn’t see her anymore, she made a gesture—a very rude gesture that suggested something Jami could do to Cole’s body with her hand—and punctuated it with a thumb’s up.
Makeup sex?
If bringing Cole along on this jaunt was a dumb idea, then makeup sex would be a mistake of monumental proportions. Then again...it might be what they needed to settle things between them and give her a chance to help him let go of his daughter.
* * * * *
Without much protest from Jami, Cole took over the driving after they’d stopped in Modesto. It gave her a chance to call Mrs. Bagotti, confirm that she had alerted the police, and learn if there was any news. The report from Mr. Bagotti hadn’t been good; Andrea got off the bus the stop in Merced, and he’d lost her from there.
After the call was made, Cole didn’t relinquish the driving and had them in Emeryville—which was just on the other side of the Bay Bridge from San Francisco—a little before one a.m.
“There’s a Marriott over there,” Jami pointed as they came up on the MacArthur Maze, the familiar name for the tangle of freeways and overpasses that headed over the bridge, north to Sacramento, south to San Jose, and east to the central valley, which was the way they’d come.
Back in the days when he was doing a lot of gigs, he’d been up to San Francisco and Oakland often, but the area was a hell of a lot different since rebuilding the freeways after the ’89 quake. At least the traffic was light at this time of night.
He pulled off the highway and wound through the side streets, using the lights of the high-rise hotel to guide him.
“Unless you’d like to go somewhere cheaper,” she added, as if suddenly remembering he worked as a cook at Easy Cheesy.
“I can afford a night at a Marriott.” What he couldn’t afford was another night with her this close. He’d ask for rooms on opposite sides of the hotel.
“Maybe we should drive up to the Legion of Honor in case she’s sleeping on a bench.”
“Jami.” That’s all he said,
just her name.
“I’m merely wondering what I would have done if I were her, that’s all.”
He pulled into the parking lot. “You would never have run away in the first place.” He glanced at her long enough to catch her gape.
“Now what makes you say that?”
“You’re not impulsive enough to run away.”
“I ran away to Masterson, didn’t I?”
“As I recall, you told Frank your mother and your sisters know where you are.” He negotiated the SUV into a spot. “You packed all your favorite clothes. You’ve got your computer so you can check your e-mail, and your cell phone so you can be in constant contact. That’s not running away.”
“It’s still impulsive.” She snorted. “What about this, jumping in my car in the dead of night to drive to San Francisco?”
He wondered why she sounded annoyed. Wasn’t it a compliment to tell a woman she wasn’t impulsive or irrational? “You did that on Andrea’s behalf, not your own.”
She huffed, but didn’t reply.
“Look, my point is that you’ve talked to Mrs. Bagotti, she’s called the police, they know our theory about where the kid went, and I’m sure they’ve already had a car drive through the area.” He turned off the engine, and the doors unlocked automatically. “Let’s check in and argue about it later.”
Once out of the truck, he opened the back for their bags.
She snorted. “You’re not going to take that paper bag in?”
“Yeah. Why not?”
“Because they’re going to look at us like we’re transients, especially when we’re checking in at one o’clock in the morning.”
He flashed his gaze over her. Neat as a pin. She wore a blue blazer over a lighter shade blouse, jeans that hadn’t faded yet, and boots she polished regularly.
“Trust me, they’re not going to think we’re transients.” He handed her Isadora’s canvas bag and her computer case.
He was right. At the front desk, the male clerk didn’t look askance at either his bag or the time. The lobby was empty except for a janitor and the soft drone of a floor waxer buffing the faux marble tiles.
“We had a red-eye flight, and they lost his luggage.” Jami still felt the need to explain.
Cole had to smile. What the hell did she care what this guy thought? He plunked down his credit card. “Two rooms, one night, please.”
The guy’s fingers clicked on his keyboard. “Connecting?”
“No.”
Jami looked at him, so did the clerk, the overhead light winking off his glasses. Okay, that came out a little louder and sharper than he’d intended.
She fished her credit card out of her wallet. “Here’s my card for my room.”
He wasn’t getting her attitude. First she’d brought up Sunday night, then when he’d apologized for treating her badly, she’d said she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. But when he stopped talking about it, that pissed her off more. Now she was angry because he said they didn’t need connecting rooms, when she was the one who, back in the car, specifically said they should get two rooms. He didn’t get women in general, and this woman in particular.
The clerk processed both cards, waited for them to sign, then slid over two pocket holders containing card keys. “The elevators are right around the corner.” He pointed over his shoulder with his pen. “Would you like me to call a bellman to help with your luggage?”
Smartass. “Thanks, but we’ll manage.”
Their rooms turned out to be right across from each other. They weren’t connecting, nor would he be able to hear through the wall as she got ready for bed. Thank God. He should have had more willpower than to fear a connecting door. He’d given himself the one night, it had been incredible, but all things incredible had to end. The nightmare confirmed that.
He’d never had a dream quite so bad that his mind simply refused to remember it.
“Breakfast tomorrow,” he said, “then we’ll check out and head over the bridge.”
“Maybe we should have stayed in the City so we could avoid the commute.”
“Jami.”
Her door open, she held onto the jamb. “I know, I worry too much. It’s just...”
The hall was quiet, not even disturbed by the faint sound of a TV, footsteps on the blue-toned carpet, or the hum of the ice machine. “Just what?” he murmured, when she didn’t go on.
“I shouldn’t have gone on and on about the sketchbook and making her dreams come true.”
She was so close and yet so far. He wanted to erase the guilt from her mind. But guilt was not so easily brushed aside. “They’d have had the fight at some point anyway. Once we find her”—he made sure he sounded positive—“we can get her parents to talk with her.” He shrugged. “Who knows, maybe without this, they never would have resolved it.” He ended his speech on the high note that Andrea’s troubles would get resolved. He wasn’t sure at all that they would find her before something bad happened, but he lied for Jami.
He wished he was as good at lying to himself.
Chapter Twenty-five
Cole was so not convincing last night. Jami knew he was as worried about Andrea as she was. Yet he’d been right about one thing; they couldn’t spend the night driving around San Francisco streets looking. The police were more effective for that.
After a night spent tossing on the bed, when Jami called Mrs. Bagotti in the morning, there was still no good news. Not bad either, simply that Andrea hadn’t been found. The police, however, had taken a photo last night, would scan it into their system, and e-mail it to the folks at the Legion of Honor.
She and Cole needn’t have come. Except that Jami had to do something. See, that was impulsive. Look at all the impulsive things she’d done recently. She was making great strides. But toward what? Cole had a point. She could be impulsive when someone was in trouble, like Andrea, but otherwise, she sat on her duff and did nothing. Until she got fired or dumped. She was not proactive, and certainly not together like her sisters. Just like that, she’d depressed herself.
“I’ll drive,” Cole said, after they had a quick breakfast of cereal and toast down in the hotel coffee shop.
Jami didn’t even argue. She’d always been petrified of big-city driving. Being that there was two of them, at least they could hit the commute lane and avoid the toll plaza, but then they’d had to merge into gridlocked bridge traffic.
Jami simply couldn’t let the impulsive thing go. “I think walking the Great Wall of China is a pretty spontaneous idea.” Except that she hadn’t done it.
“It certainly is,” he agreed.
“Telling you about my past lives was funny and impulsive.”
He turned his head slightly and slid his eyes her way. “Highly amusing.” Was highly amusing good, if didn’t smile when he said it? “What else is on your list?”
“I...well, I haven’t finished it.” She hadn’t even thought about it, or where to go after Easy Cheesy, Isadora’s house, and Masterson, let alone the places she wanted to go before she died.
I want to be a mom. Her only real goal in life, it wasn’t a bad desire at all, but having children couldn’t be the only thing a woman did. Could it? Sometimes it led to overprotectiveness and adult children who lived in their parents’ basement or renovated garage.
Whatever. It did seem to be a problem that she didn’t have anything to put on her list. The Great Wall of China and driving across Canada had been spur-of-the-moment things to encourage Andrea.
Since Cole didn’t question her further, concentrating on the bridge traffic as they passed Treasure Island, she studied him a moment. He handled the wheel capably, long fingers, big hands. Just as he’d handled her capably on Sunday. She imagined the way he played her in bed was the way he played his guitar, testing how far he could go, flirting with the notes, teasing out the melody.
“What would you put on your list, I wonder?” She spoke so low she was sure he wouldn’t hear.
Cole heard her
, despite the noise of the other cars, tires thumping over the bridge macadam, and the occasional car horn.
“There isn’t anything I want to do before I die.” His long fingers wrapped tighter around the wheel, and his hands tensed.
God, what a pair. She had no idea what to put on a list, and he didn’t even want to start one.
For him, it was worse. His daughter’s bedroom still had all her stuff in it, and he hadn’t played another note because something in him died the day she had. A man who was already dead didn’t need to make a list.
* * * * *
It was a bright day, and the sun sparkled on the water and glittered in the windows of the buildings. The bridge dumped out onto the freeway, and Jami looked at her directions.
“You should stay on this until Ninth Street.”
Except for calling out the turns, not another word passed between them. Cole simply did what she told him to, until they arrived at their destination.
“Let’s drive around Lincoln Park.” She fluttered a hand indicating the causeway. “The museum doesn’t open for another ten minutes. Maybe we’ll see her waiting around out here somewhere.” A breeze from the open window shivered through her hair.
What would you put on your list? In the space of mere seconds after her question, a hundred things rocketed around Cole’s brain. I’d get my daughter back. I’d take the best care of her. I’d never let her get hurt again. Except they weren’t things he could do before he died. They were simply wishes. They were all he had. Yet glancing at Jami every time she told him to turn here, stop there, or do this, that, or the other, he had the oddest sensation that there were places he would give anything to take her to see and hear.
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