by Nic Saint
“Thanks,” she breathed, and kissed him tenderly. “You have a way of making a girl feel welcome, you know that?”
He cupped her chin in his hand and suddenly grew serious. “I hope you’ll like it here, honey, but in case you don’t, never hesitate to tell me, all right? No need to feel obligated. The moment you want to bail, feel free to do so.”
She smiled, comfortable in his arms. The thought of bailing out was the furthest thing from her mind, but she loved that he gave her the choice, let the decision lie with her and didn’t force her hand.
“Thank you, Jackson,” she said with all her heart. She didn’t think she’d ever met a more considerate and decent man than him, and felt a song well up in her heart for the first time in months. The heartache and the pain she’d harbored was slowly evaporating, and she knew it was all thanks to this man.
He was almost too good to be true…
Chapter 10
Walking through town, hand in hand with Jackson, Chloe thought she’d never felt this good ever, or at least not in a very long time. Back in New York she’d always been Jack Thornton’s little girl, one of the rich set, and had only met other little rich girls in the private schools she’d attended.
Competition and envy had featured prominently in her life, for no one was as rich as her daddy was, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do for his little girl—nothing he wouldn’t buy. She’d always had her heart’s desire, and yet she’d realized over the last couple of months, she’d never been truly happy.
When all her friends had suddenly evaporated from her life, she’d understood that true happiness didn’t depend on having the coolest car, the nicest dresses or the latest fad. Real friends and a warm home to return to were far more important than all of that.
She was blessed to have a family that loved and cherished her, who did everything they could to keep her safe from harm, but the friends she’d had, and the boyfriends she’d dated had all been cut from the same cloth: the envious, resentful kind. The kind of people to whom Chloe Thornton was a potential source of things they coveted: money, expensive gifts, and prestige. They weren’t really her friends, she now saw, they were friends of Chloe Thornton, the little rich girl. And when her name became tainted by the scandal, friendships that had lasted years were suddenly terminated. Just like that.
It had cut deep, and had changed something in her. If anything, it had matured her, had forced her to reevaluate everything she’d ever held sacred.
Jackson didn’t like her for her money. He didn’t even know she was a Thornton, as she’d introduced herself as Chloe Harris. He liked her for who she was. As a person, not a potential source of wealth.
They ambled downtown, and she marveled at how well liked her boyfriend was. Wherever they turned, people greeted him with warmth and genuine interest.
“You must be a great chief of police,” she commented when they passed the convenience store and were hailed loudly by two old-timers reclining on a bench in front of the store. “Everybody seems to adore you.”
He merely hitched up his shoulders in an almost imperceptible gesture. “I guess I’m doing okay.”
An old lady exited the laundromat and when she saw Jackson, her wrinkled face lit up. “Hey there, Chief. How was your cruise?” Then her keen gray eyes flitted to Chloe and she added, “Looks like you a had a great one. She one of the mermaids you fished out of the ocean?”
“Not a mermaid, Mrs. Flagstone. One of my co-passengers. Chloe will be staying with us for a bit. She’s an interior designer.”
Mrs. Flagstone’s eyebrows rose. “Interior designer, huh? You really know how to pick em, don’t you, Jackson? What was the last one again? Some kind of model, wasn’t she? One of ‘em thin ones?”
“Anjelica was a paralegal.”
“Right,” said the old lady, dubiously pursing her lips. “A model. Like I said. Not much good to anyone.”
“She did help out at the mayoralty,” reminded Jackson.
“Fat lot of good that did,” she scoffed. “Prancing around half nekkid, shaking that bony ass of hers and driving the menfolk crazy. I was sure glad to see her go.”
Jackson cleared his throat. “Yes, well…”
“Good riddance!”
“Don’t you worry about me, Mrs. Flagstone,” interjected Chloe. “I won’t be driving any menfolk crazy around here.” She patted Jackson’s arm. “Only man I’ll be driving crazy is this one.”
The old lady grinned. “Hope you do. He could use some cheering up. Gloomy soul, aren’t you, Jackson?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You look more cheerful already. You have this… glow.” She directed an approving glance at Chloe. “Keep it up, young lady. Jackson here is a real catch, if you ask me. I’d go after him myself if I wasn’t pushing eighty.”
Chloe fastened her grip on Jackson’s arm. “Afraid he’s taken now.”
Mrs. Flagstone nodded. “Then hold on tight, dear. They broke the mold when they made him. Ain’t too many like him around. Not here, not anywhere, I’m afraid.”
“Thanks,” mumbled Jackson, visibly uncomfortable with all this high praise.
As they were strolling past the newspaper—the letters ‘The Heartford Telegraph’ imprinted on the door—she said, “you didn’t tell me you were Heartford’s most eligible bachelor. I bet lots of girls won’t be happy now that you brought me home to live with you, huh?”
“Mrs. Flagstone likes to exaggerate,” he grumbled. “The truth of the matter is that we practically have no marriageable women in Heartford. The ones that are here were all brought in by advertisements.”
“Mail-order brides, huh? I thought you were kidding about that. Didn’t that go out ages ago?”
“Nope. Still the only way to get the women out here to the sticks.”
“Like me, huh?”
He gave her one of his trademark grins. “Yep. Exactly like you.”
“Snatched off a boat and lured here under false pretenses?”
His eyebrows rose. “False pretenses? Nothing false about this place, Chloe. In Heartford what you see is what you get.”
With him it was the same way, she thought. There was nothing artificial about Jackson Rappaport. No deception and no lies or deceit. He was an open book to her. Even after only knowing him for a week, she knew everything there was to know about the man, and what she knew, she liked. It was exactly as Mrs. Flagstone had indicated: he was the real deal. An honest, hard-working, decent guy.
She suddenly wished her brother Roland was here. He would like Jackson. He was a man after his own heart. In fact, he reminded her a bit of her oldest brother: valiant and true, he would keep her safe from harm and cherish the ground she walked on.
She leaned in and rested her head on his shoulder. “I like it here, Jackson,” she murmured. Then she looked into those clear blues of his. “I like you.”
His lips twitched up into a smile. “I like you too, Chloe.”
And for the first time in months, she truly felt happy.
Chapter 11
Jackson stepped into the police station and was glad to find his second-in-command Beverley Jensen presiding over his desk. The sandy-haired deputy really fit the part, he thought, and if he hadn’t liked his job so damn much, Beverley would have filled the position in a heartbeat and he’d have been the first to congratulate him.
As it was, however, the holidays were over, and it was back to business. The moment he crossed over to his deputy’s desk, the young man looked up, face serious as befitted an interim chief of police.
Jackson gave him a grin, and watched Beverley’s expression shift from stern and brooking no nonsense to a wide smile that split his boyish face.
“Chief! I thought you weren’t due back until the day after tomorrow?”
“Just thought I’d drop by. See how things were going.”
Beverley laced his hands behind his head and leaned back. “Things are going swimmingly, Chief. In your absence I wrote one speeding ticket, two for drunk a
nd disorderly and one domestic disturbance—Jack and Diane were at it again.”
“A genuine crime wave, huh? It’s a miracle you managed to handle it all in your lonesome.”
“A miracle indeed,” confirmed the young deputy. “But now that you’re back, I’ll finally be able to take it down a notch.” He gave him a cheeky wink. “What’s this I hear about some pretty lady you snatched up on that big boat? You drugged her and tied her up and stowed her in your luggage?”
Jackson scratched his scalp. First the mermaid story, now this. He took the ribbing in stride, though. Nothing could diminish his quiet happiness. “News really travels fast.”
“Faster than the speed of light, Chief. You know how it is.”
“For your information, buddy, she came of her own free will.” He sat down on the corner of the desk. “Wouldn’t want people accusing me of kidnapping or anything.”
“So you really hit it off, huh? What did you do, lay that good old charm on her and sweep her off her feet?”
“Something like that.”
“Never knew you had it in you, Chief. After the debacle with that model.”
“She was a paralegal,” he automatically intoned for the gazillionth time.
“Potatoes, potahtoes. I heard she’s a looker, this new one. Real catch.”
“She’s…” Jackson’s eyes traveled to the ceiling, imaging Chloe as she had lain in his arms that morning, her body bedewed with droplets of sweat after they’d made love for the second time in one night. “She’s very special.”
Beverley laughed. “Special, huh? Is that what you kids call it nowadays?”
“Come to dinner tonight. You and Beverly. I’ll introduce you guys.”
The deputy’s eyes lit up at this unexpected treat. “Sure thing, boss. I’ll call Beverly and tell her not to cook.” Then he frowned. “Who’s preparing dinner? You or the little lady?”
Jackson shrugged. He hadn’t thought of that. “I guess it’ll be me.” He didn’t even know if Chloe could cook. They hadn’t really discussed any of the more practical issues living together would entail.
Beverley’s face fell. “I, erm, perhaps will tell my wife to whip something up then? We can put it in the oven at your place.”
Jackson raised an eyebrow. “O ye of little faith.”
Beverley pursed his lips. “There’s several scorched dishes that come to mind when the words ‘Jackson’ and ‘cooking’ are mentioned, Chief.”
Jackson grimaced. He was big enough to acknowledge his failures as a chef. “Yeah, you’re probably right. But please don’t trouble Beverly. I’ll pick something up from Gracie’s on my way home.”
Gracie’s was about the best food place in town, and had been Jackson’s mainstay for years. Without Gracie, the bachelor would have succumbed to hunger a long time ago.
Beverley’s smile made an abrupt comeback. “Gracie’s it is, Chief.”
“Right,” grunted Jackson, then directed a pointed stare at his second-in-command. “Can I have my desk back now, buddy?”
Instantly, the deputy sprang to attention and was on his feet in a flash. “Of course, Chief. Right away.” He patted the chair and gestured with a sweeping hand at the desk. “She’s all yours, Jackson. Take her away.”
As Jackson lowered his bulk onto the creaking chair, adjusting the ‘chief of police’ sign on the desk and placing it just so, he emitted a contented rumble. Things were finally back to normal and all was right with the world.
Ten minutes later he’d filed all of Beverley’s reports after reading them through, and he eased up from the chair, about to take his customary morning stroll through town to see what was up, when the door to the station swung open and a tall, dark man stepped in from the street.
Not recognizing the stranger, he frowned. “Can I help you, mister?”
The man slowly turned to face him, and he thought he looked familiar somehow. Like a ghost from the past. He couldn’t place him, though, but the sight of the man still gave him the chills.
Approaching the desk, the man’s dark green eyes were serious, his eyebrows drawn together in a deep frown.
“Chief Rappaport? Chief Jackson Rappaport?”
“That’s me.”
The man nodded briefly and without invitation lowered himself into the opposing chair. “I’m Roland Thornton. Perhaps you remember me.”
At the mention of the name, a shock galvanized Jackson’s system, but years of experience dealing with the dregs of society had taught him to conceal his emotions and he did so now. “Can’t say that I do, Mr. Thornton. Have we met?”
Roland’s lips curled up into a cold smile. “We have, Mr. Rappaport. On more than one occasion, in fact. I think last time we met was about ten years ago? Soon after, you went off the grid.”
Jackson threw the other man a dark frown. “How did you find me?”
Roland waved a deprecating hand. “I have my ways.”
Jackson nodded. “I remember.” Roland, the security expert of the Thornton brood, always did have a way of finding people. “Why now, Roland? Why now after all these years?”
“My business is not with you, Jackson. I’m here for my sister.”
This surprised Jackson greatly. “Your sister? She’s here?”
Suddenly a flicker of anger flared up behind those remarkable green eyes. “Don’t give me that bullshit, asshole. You know as well as I do that she’s here. The question is, where are you keeping her?”
Jackson gritted his teeth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And if you think you can barge in here and start laying down the law you have another thing coming. I suggest you get the fuck out of here before I throw you out.”
Roland suddenly reared up, the chair slamming to the floor, and pointed an accusing finger at the police chief. “You took my sister, fuckface! And I’m not leaving until you hand her over! Where is Chloe?”
Jackson’s face fell. “Chloe? You mean Chloe Harris?”
Roland planted his hands on the desk and lowered his glowering face to Jackson’s, mere inches apart. “Don’t play games with me, you piece of Montesquieu scum. You took my sister. Now I want her back.”
Chapter 12
Roland hit the floor hard, and when his arm was yanked behind his back, he winced. Whoever this Jackson was and whatever his reasons were for abducting his sister, he was chief of police of this Podunk town and that was clearly an advantage to the piece of shit.
“Now are you going to be nice and quiet or do I have to slam your ass in jail?”
He craned his neck to take in his adversary. “You’ll be sorry you ever laid a hand on me or my sister, punk. You Montesquieues think you can do whatever the fuck you want but you’re wrong. You’re going down. You and that whole stinking family of yours is going down in flames.”
Jackson sighed and jerked him to his knees. “My name is Rappaport, Mr. Thornton. I told you this once but I’ll tell you again in case it didn’t get through your thick skull. Rappaport. Not Montesquieu.”
Roland grinned, and licked at his swollen lip where the police chief had busted him one. “You can change your name all you want, but you’ll always be Harlan’s son to me, asshole.”
Jackson studied him dispassionately for a moment, then gave him a hard pull that landed him on his feet. “Look, I know you don’t believe me, but I had no idea Chloe was a Thornton.”
“You’re right. I don’t believe you. You knew exactly who she was. I don’t know how you found out she’d be on that cruise liner but you did, and then you targeted her and like a fool she fell for your bullshit.”
Jackson laughed. “You know, for all your smarts you’re really a moron.”
Roland merely glowered at the man. “Tell that to your brother Ty. I could have killed him when I had the chance a couple of weeks back, but I didn’t. But maybe you’re right. Maybe that was moronic of me.”
To Roland’s satisfaction, the name wiped the smirk right off the other man’s face.
; “Yeah, I know all about your little game, Jackson de Montesquieu. Did you and Ty dream this up together or your old man did?”
Jackson shook his head, as if to clear it from some horrible memory. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I haven’t seen my brother in years.”
“Well, you’ll see him soon, then.”
Jackson looked up with a jerk. “What?”
“Don’t act so surprised. Method acting is not your thing and you’re no De Niro or DiCaprio.”
Jackson swallowed, and Roland wondered about the display the man was putting on for his sake. In his experience, the de Montesquieues weren’t usually so coy about their evil schemes. “Ty’s on his way here?”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t know. Of course he’s on his way here. Should be here any moment now. So you’re faced with a choice now, Jackson. Either you let me go and I’ll return home with Chloe, where she’s safe. Or you can be an accessory to murder.”
“Murder,” repeated Jackson, visibly blanching beneath his beard.
Again Roland wondered about the man’s acting skills. “I revise my statement. You are a great actor. Yeah, murder. Wouldn’t be the first time Ty got his hands dirty.”
Jackson’s gaze swiveled to Roland. “If I remember correctly, nor would it be yours.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” grunted Roland.
Jackson barked a curt laugh. “Roland Thornton, the family’s enforcer. They say you iced more men than most killers on death row.”
Roland merely smiled.
Jackson led the other man to a chair and told him to sit and be quiet. He had to think. Chloe Harris was Chloe Thornton? Fuck! Why hadn’t she told him? Now he understood why she was all torn up inside. He’d read the stories about her and her brother. Not that he believed any of them. He was an expert in detecting the evil hand of his father behind lies like these, and knew it was just another episode in the war that raged between the two families.