“Jess.” Jamie said loudly, clearly shocked. She shook her head in disbelief. “That is so childish. I can’t believe you’re being such a brat.”
“I just need some time to think of what I’m going to say,” Jessie said defensively. “He probably won’t call anyway.”
“Yeah, right. You know what this is all about, don’t you?”
“Now you’re going to play the stripper psychiatrist, aren’t you?”
“Don’t be nasty. I’m just trying to help. I did minor in psych after all.”
Jessie propped her head up on one hand and braced herself for Jamie’s analysis. “Okay, Dr. Cinnamon Spice. What’s your diagnosis?”
“It’s so obvious.” Jamie rolled her eyes. “You don’t want to get your emotions involved because you’re afraid of getting hurt. After what happened with Mom and Dad, you don’t want to care about anyone because you think they’ll leave you. You’re rejecting Detective Cunnilingus before he can reject you. Very crafty if you want to spend the rest of your life alone with about a million cats.”
At the mention of their parents, Jessie’s expression turned cold and remote. She stood up stiffly and walked away from her sister to the cashier’s desk. Over her shoulder she said, in a carefully controlled voice, “That’s ridiculous. This has nothing to do with them. And I don’t want to be analyzed anymore.”
Jamie stood up and approached her sister warily. “Alright. I won’t say another word about it, but think about it. Why else would you be overreacting like this? You’re scared and you’re grasping at straws to protect yourself…”
“Jamie, that’s enough. You don’t know what you’re talking about. When was the last time you really committed to anyone anyway?” Jessie asked, turning around, she pointed at her sister and narrowed her eyes. “Sounds like you might be the scared one.”
Jamie shrugged noncommittally. “Maybe, but we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you and this great guy who obviously cares a lot about you. Are you really going to throw that away over a late phone call?”
Jessie sighed. “It’s more than that. And this discussion is over, right now, okay?”
“Okay. I’m done. I’ll stay out of it.” Jamie held her arms up in surrender.
Jessie smiled. “No, you won’t.”
Jamie smiled back. “No, I won’t.”
Chapter 16
Duncan looked at the phone in his hand in puzzlement. This was the third time he’d called Forgotten Treasures since the store opened an hour ago and he still wasn’t getting through to Jessie. The answering system kept picking up.
Had she slept in maybe, or just forgotten to turn off the system? Duncan felt a wave of unease pass over him. Was she okay? Had something happened to her last night? He’d meant to call when he and Theresa got home last night, but had realized too late that he didn’t actually have her home number. And she seemed to be unlisted, of course. He could have gotten her number through work, but he hadn’t wanted to bother them that late. Besides, the last thing he needed was a reputation at work for using the department to track down women’s phone numbers.
He’d even thought about leaving Theresa alone in his apartment after she’d settled in, and going to Jessie’s apartment. But it hadn’t seemed right to abandon his sister on her first night in a new place. Now, he wished he’d gone. Anything was better than worrying about Jessie like this.
Duncan slammed the phone down in frustration and sat down in one of the barstools positioned around the granite countertop in his kitchen. He picked up the receiver again and reached for his grandmother’s number, but something stopped him. He’d wait until Theresa was up. Calling Evelyn behind his sister’s back seemed sneaky somehow, so he set the phone back in the cradle. Hannibal looked up at him questioningly. Duncan threw the dog a piece of bacon from his plate to distract him. The poodle caught it in mid-air and chomped it down in two bites, then returned to staring at Duncan.
Duncan took a small bite of his eggs and looked out the window to avoid the dog’s strangely knowing gaze. Duncan could see his own reflection in the glass, including the dozen tiny scraps of toilet paper he’d had to dab on to staunch the bleeding from his shave that morning. Last night, Theresa had snuck into his bathroom and used his shaver on her legs without his permission. Today he looked like he’d taken a cheese grater to his face. Having a girl around the house again was going to take a lot of getting used to, but he didn’t find the idea nearly as distasteful as he had at first. In fact, the sight of his mangled face made him grin ruefully at his predicament.
After Theresa had hurriedly slipped on some jeans and a sweatshirt at the club last night, they’d stopped for something to eat at a tiny little hole-in-the-wall restaurant in China town. There, Theresa had amused and shocked him by eating enough food to make a sumo wrestler groan. He’d also surprised himself by matching her dish for dish. It was the first time in a long time that he could remember actually being hungry. He attributed his renewed appetite to relief at having his sister safely sitting across from him and away from that Diego character. He’d also slept the sleep of the dead last night and woke up feeling refreshed and rested for a change. Usually he was groggy and downright nasty until he stumbled into the kitchen for his first cup of coffee.
He’d taken a personal day from work this morning. He’d never done that before. He hadn’t even called in sick when he’d had a mild case of pneumonia a few years ago. His work was too important to him. But today he decided to take some time to get Theresa settled in and get to know her a little bit.
Also, he didn’t feel quite comfortable leaving his sister alone when Diego was still out wandering around. He’d talked to Percy, the manager of the club last night, and apparently Diego was very angry about losing his latest meal ticket. Until Duncan could come up with some charges against the man that weren’t related to Theresa, he would try to make sure she wasn’t wandering around unescorted. His grandmother would kill him if the press got hold of the story that Theresa had lived with a pimp for two weeks and worked in a strip club. If the man had harmed Theresa, he would have been the first to slap on the cuffs, but Diego hadn’t, at least not physically. Which made Duncan wonder if the slimy little worm was smarter than he had suspected.
In the mean time, Duncan would concentrate on his new role as big brother, starting with breakfast. His domestic skills on his very best day were meager, but he’d managed to make a real meal of scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, and orange juice without breaking anything but egg shells or lighting anything on fire. He usually grabbed a donut or a bagel at work, but today he was trying to make a good impression. He’d actually walked to the corner store for ingredients very early this morning. Usually his fridge was a complete wasteland of beer and condiments. But for Theresa’s benefit he’d at least make an effort to eat like a human. Unfortunately, she wasn’t up yet to enjoy the fruits of his labor.
His thoughts turned once again to Jessie. He’d been like a mad man last night. What had he been thinking, dragging her into the Ladies Room like that? She was a virgin. Decent men didn’t seduce virgins in the bathrooms of strip clubs, did they? He had no reasonable explanation for his behavior. Temporary insanity was the only plausible excuse.
It hadn’t gotten much better later that night. Lying in his giant four-poster bed after getting Theresa settled into her room, Duncan had contemplated what it would be like to have her there next to him. Not just under him, or better yet, on top of him, but with him. His wife had preferred to sleep in her own room, so he’d spent most nights without someone to share his bed. In truth, he had been relieved to give Kerry her privacy. She’d never been particularly cuddly or sensual, and he’d had to tiptoe precariously around her moods.
He’d been alone so much that he’d forgotten what it was like to have a warm body next to him in the bed, or hear someone else breathing softly as he fell asleep. He hadn’t realized exactly how lonely he was until he’d pictured Jessie’s face, with her shy smile and soft
brown eyes, on the pillow beside him.
Clearly, he hadn’t been himself since he met her and he was beginning to think that was a good thing. No, make that a great thing. Just the thought of her last night made him feel overheated. She’d been so responsive to his touch, so wild during her climax, so sweet and mortified afterward. He regretted that last part, but the rest made him hunger for her like he’d never imagined possible. She consumed him. He felt like he’d contracted some bizarre, tropical disease that made him constantly fevered and hard. He’d read somewhere about a condition that actually did do that, called Priapism after some Greek God of procreation. Of course, one of the drawbacks of the disease was that the victim usually went insane from unrelieved desire. Duncan didn’t think he’d have that problem, at least judging from the number of times he’d nearly lost control over the past two days.
Duncan couldn’t wait to see Jessie again, but there was a problem. How was he going to explain to his sister that he was still technically married, but pursuing a relationship with the demure bookstore owner? He’d sent off a telegram to Kerry in Monte Carlo yesterday requesting her to sign the divorce papers he’d had forwarded to her two years ago, but so far, there hadn’t been any response from his estranged wife. That didn’t really surprise him. Knowing Kerry, she would much prefer to retain her current wife status. He’d never bothered to push the issue before because he didn’t really have any reason to be single—at least not until he’d met Jessie.
It wasn’t that he thought Theresa would be appalled by his complicated marital status, she probably wouldn’t care that much. He was the problem. He didn’t want to set that kind of vaguely slimy example for her. Didn’t want to appear like the type of guy that would carry on a relationship with one woman while technically still committed to another. He knew many people did this without a thought, but he didn’t want to be one of them. Theresa had seen so much—too much. It was important for her to also see that not everyone was morally bankrupt.
Duncan was leaning over and putting a plate together from the leftovers when Theresa strolled in, yawning and pulling at the seat of one of his T-shirts to cover more of her thighs. She smiled at him, patted Hannibal’s head, and sat down at the counter across from him, bringing her legs up to her chin. Grabbing a piece of bacon, she said, “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”
Duncan thought about insisting that she go back to her room and put some more clothes on, but didn’t want to look like a prude. He usually walked around in his boxers, but even he’d made a concession to her presence by donning knee-length khaki shorts and a Vancouver Canucks T-shirt this morning. It wasn’t just that her state of undress made him uncomfortable, he was also pretty sure it was inappropriate to be around a scantily clad teenager, even if they were related. Instead of ordering her to her room, he made a note to buy her several sets of oversized, plaid, flannel pajamas, and smiled back at her. “Well, first things first, we should phone Grandmother and let her know you’re all right.”
All the color drained from Theresa’s face. She set the bacon down and looked up at him with huge, pleading, dark blue eyes. “Can’t we wait?” She asked, holding out a hand to grasp his wrist tightly.
Duncan patted her hand awkwardly. “No, I’m sorry, Theresa.” He couldn’t bear to call her Terry. It was just too close to Kerry. “We can’t. If it hadn’t been so late when we came home last night I would have called her then.” Theresa pulled her hand away and looked at the floor, her full bottom lip pouching out in an impressive pout. Duncan sighed and continued. “Every second we delay just means more worry for her. She’s an old lady. We don’t want to make her more anxious than necessary, do we?” Duncan became aware that he sounded vaguely like Mr. Rogers.
Theresa glared up at him. “Yes, WE do, actually. She deserves it,” she said with her teeth clenched and an indignant sniff.
At a complete loss, Duncan sat back down in his chair next to her and gave Hannibal a confused look. The dog just stared at the plate of bacon and whined. “You don’t mean that. What did she do exactly?”
“She betrayed me,” Theresa wailed as she wrapped her arms around her knees and buried her face in them.
Duncan tried valiantly not to laugh at her theatrical tone and body language. Maybe she was cut out for the theatre. He smothered his choked laughter with a cough and asked the expected question, trying to sound appropriately serious. “How did she ‘betray’ you exactly?”
Theresa peeked up at him from over her arms and gave him a dirty look. “She destroyed my life.”
Duncan was losing patience now. He was used to interrogating criminals, not young girls. He suddenly felt nostalgic for the intimidation tactics he used at work. Keeping his tone even and sympathetic, he asked, “Theresa, what did she do?”
“She bought my boyfriend.” Theresa said flatly.
Duncan looked at her incredulously. He must have misunderstood. Why would Evelyn have to pay anyone to date an attractive girl like his sister? “What? How did she do that? You mean she paid someone to date you?”
Theresa stared at him like he was the village idiot. “NO! Why would she have to pay someone to do that? What am I? Quasi Modo?”
Duncan held up his arms apologetically. “No, that’s just what it sounded like you meant.”
“It’s not!”
“Well, what did you mean then?”
“She paid Cameron—the love of my life—to dump me.” Theresa said. Her eyes became glassy with tears that quickly overflowed and trickled down both cheeks dramatically.
Duncan wasn’t laughing anymore. He wished he could be surprised by Theresa’s revelation, but it sounded like pretty typical behavior for Evelyn. According to his wife, the matriarch had used a similar technique to sabotage his engagement to Kerry ten years ago. “How did you find this out? Could it be a mistake?” Duncan asked gently, wanting to comfort her, but unsure what was appropriate, he buttered some toast and put it on her plate.
Theresa took a shaky breath and rubbed a fist across her eyes. “No, it’s not a mistake. I saw the check stub myself.”
Duncan narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “And how did you see that exactly? Don’t tell me she left it lying around.”
“No, I went through her desk.” Theresa said defiantly.
“Theresa—.”
She interrupted him, sounding desperate. “I had to. I needed confirmation. He dumped me and I was miserable. When some girl I hardly knew—she’d been after Brandon for months, the cow—called me up and told me why he’d done it, I needed to know for sure.”
“He told her?”
“He told a bunch of people.” Theresa wailed. “That’s part of why I had to leave. He was bragging about it because he suddenly had enough money to cut a demo.” As an afterthought, she said, “He was in a band. That’s why Grandmother just had to get rid of him.”
Duncan could just imagine Evelyn’s horror at discovering that Theresa was involved with a musician. He pictured a young punk with a blue Mohawk, and a multitude of piercings and tattoos. Not exactly the future grandson-in-law she had in mind, he thought almost grinning at the irony. The old lady had been dismayed when he’d introduced Kerry because his bride-to-be had been raised in a trailer park. He couldn’t imagine the epileptic fit she’d have over Cameron. “Did you confront her? Did she have an explanation?”
“No, I just left the check sitting out on her desk, packed a bag and left. I couldn’t stand to live with her anymore after that. I took the first bus west and called my girlfriend Nathalie who’d moved to Calgary the year before. I stayed with her for a while, but then things turned bad.”
Duncan was afraid to ask. “What happened?”
Theresa sighed and said, matter-of-factly, “Her boyfriend made a pass at me. I scratched him to get away and he told her I did it when he rejected me. She believed him and I was out on my ass. Again.”
Duncan shook his head in disbelief and fingered the scratches on his own neck. So much had happened to her in
such a short time. She’d gone from leading a pampered, but very controlled existence with Evelyn to surviving by her wits on the streets. It was amazing that she was so casual about it. Wouldn’t most teenagers be traumatized? Or was she? Should he get her into counseling? A psychiatrist? He had no idea. “What happened then?”
“Not much. I stayed with different people I’d met through my friend. One of them played guitar on the street for money. He showed me how to panhandle.” Noting his horrified expression, she said, “It wasn’t bad really. Most people are pretty polite and civilized about it.”
“So nothing terrible happened. Nothing scary?”
“Not really. Nathalie’s boyfriend was drunk when we had our little confrontation and he was kind of scary, but I handled it. Then, living with Diego had some weird moments. When he had my papers made up, I told him how old I was and he seemed disappointed when I told him my real age.” Theresa looked genuinely puzzled.
He was glad she was puzzled. She was better off not knowing that Diego’s usual victims were much younger than seventeen. In fact, Duncan was pretty sure that her age had prevented her from real harm. As a rule, the men Duncan had encountered who liked little girls were usually intimidated by older women. “Did he say how old he thought you were?” Duncan asked, dreading the answer.
“Thirteen. Can you believe he thought I was that young?” Theresa sounded scandalized.
Duncan tried to disguise the disgust and anger on his face. Thirteen? That animal had approached her because he thought she was thirteen? Under the table, he clenched his fist until his short nails made angry half-moons in his palms. Right then, he vowed to make sure that Theresa would be the last girl that pervert cultivated. Thank God she was too old for Diego’s twisted taste.
Looking at her now, Duncan could actually see why Diego had mistaken her for a much younger girl. For one thing, she was tiny—5’2 at the most, with a very lithe and small-boned frame. Without the gaudy makeup, and high heels from last night, she could easily pass for thirteen. Especially with her shoulder-length yellow hair in short braids as it was now.
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