They didn't speak, and a tension that neither acknowledged grew with every step that brought them closer to the assigned room. When they reached a door with her name on it, he took a step back and looked at her with shuttered eyes. "I'll wait out here."
"Whatever. I'm not rushing for you, though, so you might wanna get comfortable." She nodded at his book. "You may just get to finish that." Opening the door, she paused to glance at him over her shoulder. "You want to-" A huge yawn caught her unawares and she went with the flow, dropping her bag to stretch her arms in opposite directions as she inhaled a lungful of air, then expelled it in a long, squeaky, attenuated breath. "Sorry," she said once it passed. "You want to come in and grab a chair?"
Taking another brisk step back, he tipped his chin toward the corridor they'd just traversed. "I saw one down by those props. I'll go grab that."
"Suit yourself." She essayed an indifferent shrug even though her first inclination was to break into a happy dance.
She walked into the room but immediately stepped back out into the hall when he strode away. Slipping off her sandals, she watched until he was halfway down the long hallway, then grabbed her bag, eased the dressing room door closed behind her and raced down the corridor in the opposite direction. Reaching the exit, she glanced back and saw him leaning over a stack of old scenery. His shirt strained across his shoulders, his jeans pulled tight over his muscular butt, and for a moment she stood frozen, staring at him. Then she caught herself and pushed through the door before he could see her. She put her shoes back on and jogged around to the front of the venue.
A taxi arrived scant moments after she'd reached the arena's main entrance and she slid inside. "Hotel Teatro in Denver, please."
The morning rush-hour traffic doubled what should have been a twenty-minute ride back to Denver, but eventually the cab pulled up to the long sidewalk awning that protected patrons of the boutique hotel from the elements as they crossed the sidewalk to the ornate front entrance. A doorman came forward to open her door.
"Good morning, miss."
"Good morning." She relinquished her overnight bag to the bellman who came out for it, then followed him into the hotel. Pausing inside, she managed to take in the sweeping staircase, the rich use of marble throughout the lobby and the intricate ceiling without gawking. It was a near thing though, for first-rate hotels were still pretty new to her. Trying her best to project an image of a woman who frequented places like this all the time, she turned through the archway to her left to check in at the front desk.
In short order she'd been escorted to her suite and shown the amenities. She tipped the bellman, closed the door behind him and leaned back against the smooth wood with a sigh of relief. Then she pushed away and went into the bedroom to unpack. After calling room service she flopped down to watch a morning show while she waited for her breakfast to arrive. Propping her feet on the coffee table, she gazed around contentedly. This was heaven.
Not long after she'd finished eating, however, she began to grow antsy. For all that she'd been dying for some privacy, she was accustomed to being surrounded by people. And without someone to share it with she didn't quite know what to do with the entire day that stretched in front of her.
She supposed she could watch more television. But a little viewing went a long way and at the moment she wasn't interested in anything on the schedule. She could go shopping or work on the song that had been scratching at the back of her mind for a while now. Except shopping was more fun with a friend and the song still had some percolating to do before she could even begin to delve into it.
Then, just like that, it came to her what she wanted to do.
She wanted to see Gert MacDellar. Years ago John Miglionni had located Jared for J's sister and in tracking him down had gotten P.J. as a bonus. When they sent Jared home to Colorado Springs, John's office manager, Gert, had taken P.J. in until Mama could be convinced to take her back. She had discovered later that Gert had also seen to it that her mothergot convinced, and on Gert's schedule, not Jodeen's. For months Mama had bad-mouthed the older woman something awful as a blunt and bossy old broad. But P.J. had adored Gert for those very reasons. She had known exactly where she stood with her and Gert had treated her the way P.J. always imagined real families treated each other.
They'd kept in sporadic touch over the years but P.J. hadn't actually seen Gert in person since the day the crotchety old woman had carefully packed the new dresses she'd bought P.J. into a sturdy suitcase and driven her down to Mama's trailer in Pueblo.
Energized, P.J. called the concierge desk for a taxi.
If she also felt a brief jitter of unease, she shoved it aside. Maybe it was reckless to waltz into Jared's business, but-what the hell-he was safely stashed out at the amphitheater. Besides, it had been a tough week. She was due to catch a break.
If she had second thoughts when her ride pulled into the small parking lot that fronted Semper Fi Investigations' converted Arts-and-Crafts-style house, it had nothing to do with J. Maybe Gert wouldn't want to see her. Yes, she had responded to P.J.'s occasional letters, but maybe that was just old-lady good manners. Gert probably wouldn't even recognize her, and then P.J. would have to introduce herself and everyone would feel awkward and-
"You will get out now?" the cabbie asked in his musical accent.
"Yeah." Taking a deep, controlled breath, she opened the door and stepped out. The taxi immediately reversed in a tight, fast turn, rocked to a halt, then shot out of the lot. It was already at the corner light by the time she climbed the stairs to the covered front porch. A discreet chime sounded when she opened the door.
Going from bright sunshine to dimmer indoor lighting blinded her and for a minute she simply stood on the threshold. Then an irascible voice said, "Close the door. We're not paying to air-condition the great outdoors."
P.J. laughed, her nerves settling. That was the Gert she'd known, and she could see her now, seated behind her enormous oak desk, sporting the same blue-tinted up-do and cat's-eye glasses she'd had the last time P.J. had seen her. "You said the same thing to me fifteen years ago."
"Then you don't learn very fast, do-" Cutting herself off, the elderly woman with the ramrod posture rose to her feet, her hand going to her bony chest. "P.J.?" She rounded the desk and strode over, stopping right in front of her. "Well, my God. Itis you."
"Hello, Gert. It's been a long time but you haven't changed a bit."
"And you're all grown-up. But that voice is the same. I should have known it from the first word out of your mouth." She reached out a hand as if to touch P.J.'s face, but then let it drop to her side. And that glimpse of uncertainty made P.J. lose her own.
Closing the distance between them, she gave Gert a hug.
The old lady squeezed her fiercely in return, then held her at arm's length to conduct a comprehensive appraisal. "You might not have grown any taller, missy, but you grew up real pretty. You finally have a little meat on your bones."
She grinned. "That started in your kitchen with the brownies you made. You still have that Felix the Cat clock on your wall?" She'd loved Gert's house. It had been a seven-room ode to the forties and fifties.
"Yep. Everything's essentially the same. Thank you for the tickets to your concert, by the way."
Pleasure lit her up from the inside out. "You're coming, then?"
"Well, of course I'm coming. I wouldn't miss seeing you in action."
"Mac, have you seen the Pedersen file?" A tall sun-streaked brunette with a faint British accent strode into the room. "The blasted thing has disappeared." Seeing P.J., she halted midstep. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize anyone else was here." Then her dark eyes went wide. "Omigawd. You're Priscilla Jayne!"
It always surprised her-and thrilled her a little-to be recognized. She stepped forward, her hand extended. "Yes. How do you do?"
"This is Jared's niece, Esme," Gert said, then to the young woman added astringently, "Try not to drool."
"You won't remember this
," P.J. said to the brunette, "but I met you once, a long time ago."
"I'm afraid I don't, but Mum's told me about it."
"How is your mother? I have a song called 'Mama's Girl' that makes me think of her every time I sing it."
"Mymum? Not your own?"
"No. Well."Good going, Morgan. You couldn't keep your mouth shut? Then she squared her shoulders and met Esme's gaze head-on. "I was a thirteen-year-old who'd been thrown out of my house when I met your mother and saw how much she loved you. It made a lasting impression on me."
Esme reached out and touched her arm. "I'm sorry. That was frightfully rude of me. Mum would be really honored to know you feel that way." Her gaze dropped to P.J.'s denim and froth skirt. "What a smashing piece."
"Isn't it great?" Running her hands down the garment she'd bought on the Los Angeles shopping trip, she smiled. "I was telling my friend Nell just last week that Gert started me on my love affair with skirts and dresses."
"You knew Mac before today then?"
"Yes. I lived with her for a short period. She bought me my very first non-hand-me-down dress."
Esme turned to the old woman. "You never told me that Priscilla Jayne lived with you."
"Yes, there's a surprise, dear. That I don't tell a twenty-one-year-old girl everything about my life."
P.J. grinned and gave Gert's hip a little bump. She knew the old lady's gruffness rubbed some people the wrong way, but she loved it. Because she knew it for what it was: a very thin layer over a solid-gold core.
"Is that what brings you here? A visit with Gert?"
"Yes."
"Did you know my dad, too?" Without awaiting an answer, she whirled off down the hall. "Daddy! You'll never guess who's here!"
"You might not surmise it from her constant chatter," Gert said wryly, "but she's a very bright young woman."
P.J. hadn't really considered the fact that she might see John, and her heart took a funny skip. She'd had such mixed feelings about him as a kid. Mostly she'd admired him and felt grateful to him for getting her and J off the streets. But a big chunk of her had been pea-green jealous of the way Jared had hero-worshipped the man who would become his brother-in-law.
But when he sauntered out of his office, fifteen years older but still lean and tall and easy in his skin, she smiled, her momentary unease dissolving. His black hair was dusted gray at the temples and was no longer worn in a long ponytail. But he hadn't lost an iota of the cool she remembered and still carried the same air of confidence and competency that even her thirteen-year-old self had known defined him.
"Well, look who's here," he said with a warm smile. "Little Priscilla Jayne Morgan, all grown-up."
"Hello, Rocket."
"Omigawd," Esme said. "Nobody calls him Rocket anymore."
"Except your mother and Jared," John said dryly, hooking an elbow around his daughter's neck and scrubbing his knuckles over her scalp. "And Coop and Ronnie and Zach and Lily and all their assorted kids."
She grinned. "Yeah, except for them."
Sliding his arm down to circle her shoulders, he hugged her to his side and directed his attention back to P.J. "So where's Jared?"
Her heart gave another of those funny skips but she gestured vaguely. "Out at the amphitheater. It's so big that the security walk-through should take up half the morning." Which wasn't exactly a lie-a walk-throughwould take half the day:if such a thing existed. She flashed him an insouciant smile. "Besides, there's nowhere safer than with you, don'tcha think?"
"I suppose that's a point. Congratulations on your success, by the way. Tori and I have been loving the hell out of watching your career rise." His cell phone rang in his pocket and he pulled it out to check the screen. "Excuse me for a minute. This is a call I have to take." He loped back down the hall and disappeared into his office.
Esme came back to P.J. and for a moment simply stood gazing down at her. "You're so tiny."
"Compared to you and your father and Jared, I am," she agreed. "I feel like a munchkin."
"I didn't mean that rudely. It's just that your voice is so big I assumed you would be, too." Esme gave her a crooked smile. "Which merely proves that axiom about whatassume makes of you and me, I suppose. Speaking of Jared-"
"Did your mother get the tickets I sent?"
Esme's face lit up. "Yes! How lovely of you. Mum had already bought some, but not in such a premium area! My best friend Rebecca is so jealous. We gave our old tickets to her and her parents."
Conversation around Esme never lagged, and P.J. found it easy to allow the young woman to take it where she would. She squeezed in chats with Gert in between Esme's topics and found herself having a perfectly lovely time. When the front door opened behind her she was seated in a chair pulled up to Gert's desk, her feet propped up on a pulled-out file drawer while she sipped iced tea from a tall, frosty glass. As she laughed a big belly laugh at an acerbic comment Gert had just made, it occurred to her that this was the most relaxed she'd felt all week.
A condition that promptly imploded when Jared's irate voice growled, "Security walk-through, my ass! What the hell do you think you're doing?"
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Priscilla Jayne Concerts Playing to Sellout Crowds
"HEY, UNCLEJARED!" Esme rushed over, her face alight with her habitual enthusiasm.
"Hey, pipsqueak." He leaned down to give her a fleeting peck on the lips, but barely broke stride in his unwavering advance on P.J.
He stopped in front of her, his hands firmly in his pockets to keep from doing her bodily injury. When he'd realized she was no longer in her dressing room-that she hadn'tbeen in the room the entire time he'd been sitting guard outside of it-his gut had turned into a mass of screaming nerve endings. She'd willfully put herself in danger on his watch.
That he wasn't happy about it was an understatement. "Say goodbye, P.J."
She looked up from her conversation with Mac, meeting his gaze dismissively. "When I'm ready."
He knew that stubborn look, but he was royally pissed and that trumped mulishness hands down. He wasn't about to take no for an answer. "Say. Goodbye," he commanded through gritted teeth, hauling her to her feet.
"Jared," Esme said uncertainly and Mac's eyes narrowed. But his willingness to carry little Miss Escape Artist out the front door-thrown over his shoulder like a sack of spuds if necessary-must have shown. P.J. turned to Mac.
"Thank you for treating me to the most fun I've had all week," she said warmly, rising onto her toes to plant a kiss on the older woman's cheek. "You come see me tonight after the show." She turned to his niece. "You, too, Esme. It was so good to see you again. Tell your mama I'm looking forward to seeing her tonight, as well." Projecting her voice to reach down the hallway, she said, "You can come, too, Rocket. If you absolutely must."
John's laughter floated out of his office.
Jared said his own goodbyes, then marched P.J. out the agency door, across the porch and down the steps to the Jeep he'd retrieved on his only detour between the amphitheater and here.
Tense silence filled the Jeep as he drove them out of the parking lot. The more he thought about the worry she'd caused him, the more his neck muscles tightened. If he hadn't finally called John to admit he'd lost her, he'd probably still be tearing the venue apart looking for her.
To his surprise, P.J. broke the silence between them. He'd have sworn she'd rather choke than cave first. "Take me to the Teatro."
Okay, so it was a command rather than an attempt to escape his displeasure. Clenching his teeth against the urge to snarl, he said in a neutral tone, "You're going back to the amphitheater with me."
"No, Jared, I'm not. I'm already checked into the hotel. Take me there."
"You are not staying at a goddamn hotel," he barked. "I won't have it." Hearing himself, everything inside him stilled.
Then the nerve endings that had begun to settle down recommenced their hot, mortified dance of agitation. Jesus. He sounded exactly like his father at his autocratic
worst. He might have been channeling the old man from the grave, so closely had his tone come to the one that had hounded his adolescence.
Sucking up all his ire, he stuffed it away. Then he took a deep breath and blew it out. But it didn't matter what he did, because he recognized this for what it was: one wrong comment, one sideways glance away from blowing sky high. He drew more air into his lungs.I am a glacier peak, impregnable and remote.
"We've been through this before," P.J. snapped. "Same song, same dance. Read my lips, Hamilton. You don't get to dictate where I can or cannot stay. I need a break from living with a busload of people and I'm taking one. Drive me to the Teatro. For the next few days you can consider it my home base."
What he considered was just flat out disregarding her wishes. But maybe she could read his mind, because she said flatly, "I'm tired and cranky and you do not want to blow me off. Because I'm warning you, J, I'll pick up the phone and call Wild Wind so fast it'll make your head swirl. And who do you think they'll choose if I demand that either you go or I will?"
He drove her to the Teatro.
He was so angry, though, he could barely see straight. Unleashed emotion was unlike him, and he drew in several deep, silent breaths, trying to get a handle on it. Refusing to let his temper show, he turned his car over to a valet and walked P.J. to the hotel entrance, his clasp on her elbow courteously loose.
"This really isn't necessary, you know," she said, extricating her arm as they entered the lobby. "You can leave me here."
"I need to know where your room is so I can see about getting one nearby. You may have forgotten the threatening note you received last week, but I haven't."
"Of course I haven't forgotten it. But neither have I heard another word from the whack job who sent it."
"And let's hope that continues. But we don't bet your safety on the assumption. You don't have to spend time with me while you're here." He gave her his best ask-me-if-I-give-a-damn look, the one he'd perfected on his father. Then he let his eyes go hard. "But I will do my job."
Coming Undone m-4 Page 16