Authors: Julie Momyer
Jaida rested her shoulder against the steel doorjamb, a cup of hot coffee in each hand. Lance had yet to see her standing there. He sat hunched over his desk. The phone was pressed to his ear, his mouth drawn into a rigid line, his other arm a shield spanning the width of his chest.
He leaned forward, and in the time it took for her to exhale, his expression went from annoyed, to irate, to furious. He shouted into the receiver. “I can’t work with you breathing down my neck.” The string of colorful words that followed belonged to a side of him she’d never seen before. But how well did she actually know him?
Jaida straightened. She leaned her head back and took a peek down the hall. Auggie’s door was closed. She promised she would do this, but it didn’t look like a good time to probe.
Besides the negative atmosphere in here, she was still operating below par from running into Spencer. She wouldn’t be at the top of her game. Not that she had much game to begin with.
She turned to leave, but before she managed a full pivot, one of the cups slipped through her fingers and fell to the floor. The lid and hot paper cup parted ways. She jumped back at the spreading puddle and looked up, eyes wide. Lance was staring back, panic paralyzing his features when he saw her standing there.
No good-bye, he offered no closure to the other party before he hung up. Just exactly who was on the other end of that line, and what did he think she heard?
He pushed back from his chair and rounded the desk, then quickly turned back and picked up the phone again. “Yeah, can you get some paper towels in here?” He looked down at the spill and the oversized cup lying on its side. “Better make it a mop.”
He hung up then and looked at her. Jaida shrugged and smiled. “I brought you some coffee.”
“I see that. Did you want me to lap it up like a dog?”
She stared at him, struggling for words, unsure how to take him. Was he joking? Or was he angry?
He flashed his trademark smile then, the tension from her shoulders melting. “It’s all good. Job security for the custodian,” he said.
She skirted the mess on the floor and handed him the other cup. It was hers that she’d so gracefully dumped.
“Come on in.” He pulled out a chair beside his desk and she hesitated. Did she really want to do this right now? May as well. Couldn’t very well turn tail and run without raising suspicions.
He raised the cup. “Want to share?”
She shook her head. “I’ll survive. But I’m not so sure about you. You having a bad day?”
He sighed and sank into the desk chair. “Guess you heard?” He looked at her then as though gauging her reaction. Was he trying to determine how much she’d overheard?
“I saw more than heard,” she said. “Problems with work?” How did she ease into this and walk away with information Auggie could use?
He leaned back and eyed her, his gaze suddenly shifting to the door. She turned. Jerry Schultz, full-time custodian, filled the doorway. His blue shirtsleeves were rolled up over his beefy arms. He went to work swabbing the spill with a wet mop.
“Sorry about that,” she said.
He shoved his black-rimmed glasses up on his nose, grumbled something about unions, and then waved her off. “Now, don’t go falling down. It’s wet,” he warned as if she didn’t know.
She turned back to Lance, apologizing again.
He sipped his coffee. “No big deal.”
She crossed her legs and smoothed a hand over her pant leg, the black fabric a magnet for cat hair. “Still no luck locating the money?” She took a stab. Is that what had him lathered up?
The corner of his mouth hitched. “What would you do if I kissed you right now?”
He set his cup down and moved from the chair to his desk. Perched on the edge, he was inches from her face. Her heart pounded. What was he doing?
She drew back, and he leaned closer. “Go on, tell me what you would do.”
She moistened her lips, her heart in her throat. “File a sexual harassment claim.”
He looked surprised. “Would you really?”
“Maybe.”
“And maybe not.” He laughed. “You’re way out of your league, Jaida. I’m better at this than you are.”
What was he saying? “Better at what?”
“Pumping people for information. Just a tip, sweetheart, your mark can’t be onto you, or it won’t work.”
She felt her face flame and she stood. “Not all of us have ulterior motives.”
“Not all of us.” Lance rose, his height topping hers by several inches. “But you do. Don’t you?”
“I only came by to drop off some coffee. You’re the one who invited me in. Remember?”
“You’ve been avoiding me. Running scared. What changed? Why would you seek me out now?”
She tightened her jaw to keep her mouth from gaping. How did he know? She wasn’t cut out for this. Subterfuge, deception, lies. Inept at faking it, she couldn’t keep track of it all. This wasn’t a career for her, it was a means to an end, and she was failing at that as well.
Before she could respond, he said, “I like your hair like that.” Was it sarcasm? Self-conscious at her lack of skill with hair, she tucked a stray into the sloppy chignon.
He smiled. “Etiquette requires that you thank me for the compliment.”
She glared, wanting to smack that grin off his face. “What about the insult? You insulted me first. What does etiquette dictate for that? An apology?”
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll apologize, and you can thank me. Then we both will have done Miss Manners proud.”
She rolled her eyes and turned to leave, but Lance stopped her, his hands gripping her forearms. “I’m sorry. Honest. I’ve had a rough morning. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
Sorry? Maybe. Perceptive? Definitely.
She waved a hand and pulled away from him. “It’s fine. Really, it’s fine.” She just wanted to get away from him.
“You’re angry with me because I didn’t come to your rescue earlier aren’t you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Auggie sounded pretty miffed.”
She hadn’t seen him hovering in the hall with the rest of the staff when Auggie went off on her. But then after the blinds had been pulled, and the door shut, who knew what staff members hung around hoping to get an earful of gossip?
“What exactly did you do to get on his bad side? Shoot his dog or something?”
No, shooting his dog would have been forgivable. Of the two evils, letting Gale walk was a greater indiscretion. Lance perked up, his attention fully concentrated on her now. She had gone and done it. He was right. He
was
better at this than she was.
Did he know she was being chewed out over the tape? “It was just a disagreement,” she said. “Nothing that can’t be fixed.”
“Are you sure? I mean, I could go to bat for you, take a guilty plea on your behalf, even.”
She eyed him. “You’d do that?”
“Sure, why not? But I would need to know what it was I was pleading guilty to.”
Something told her he already knew.
Did you take that tape?
She searched his face, his eyes, for any indication, but she only saw what he wanted her to see.
It was a dance between them, each one trying to take the lead, but she kept stumbling over his feet, looking like a clumsy fool. Just when she thought she had the advantage, he would sweep her over the dance floor with practiced grace, taking her in a direction she didn’t want to go.
“I don’t think your employers would be happy with their internal affairs liaison admitting to…”
He grinned. “To what?”
She’d only intended to bait him, not give herself away. “Never mind. I have to go.” Had to leave before he had it all figured out. His uncanny ability to read people could prove entertaining on a Las Vegas stage, but in real life it was a threat.
“What’s the hurry?”
“I have Auggie’s dog to bury. Remember?” She took a step and forgetting Jerry’s warning, her feet went out from under her. Once again, Lance caught her before she hit the floor, his hands cupping her elbows.
“Now, don’t go falling down,” he mocked. “Floor’s wet.”
She shrugged out of his hold and straightened her shirt, shutting out his laughter that followed her all the way down the hall.
Jaida
leaned back in the chair and from the seclusion of her patio she took in the glory of another sunset. She was alone. Alone was safe, it wasn’t so bad, not the death sentence she once imagined it to be.
I’m alone, Spencer, and I’m fine without you
. She finished off the last bite of her corndog and licked the trace of mustard that clung to the corner of her mouth. It was a lie. She wasn’t fine. Or it wouldn’t hurt so much to learn he’d been avoiding her. She crumpled the wax paper square around the empty stick and tossed it on the table. The truth was, she missed him.
He was right though, about all of it. She’d made her choice. It was her wounded pride that took offense and stormed out, yet she blamed him. She rested the soles of her bare feet against the edge of the empty chair in front of her and pulled the pinkish-red cardigan tight around her, the lightweight cotton warding off the evening chill.
A wise girl doesn’t love.
And a wise girl leaves before she’s left.
It lessens the sting of rejection when she isn’t loved back. The breeze tousled her hair, and she swept it away from her face. She sank down deeper into the chair and yawned. Spencer would have left, eventually. Everyone leaves.
Jaida wove her chilled fingers together. She rested her hands on her stomach and stared off into the horizon. A showoff flaunting its splendor, nature performed for her, singing its own praises. The lit-up sky could put the most elaborate fireworks display to shame.
The sun kissed the pale sky adieu, and it blushed pink with pleasure. For the finale, the fiery golden orb sank, melting into the sea and leaving behind a shimmering puddle of 24-karat liquid brilliance.
Jaida applauded.
The phone rang. She got up and went inside to answer it.
Private Caller.
It was probably a telemarketer or someone collecting for charity. Letting it go, she headed for the stairs then turned around at the next ring. What if it was Ray?
The possibility sent her rushing to the phone.
Stay calm and even-keeled. Show no emotion.
She swallowed then lifted the receiver. “Hello.”
“Hello, Jaida.”
Her stomach twisted into a knotted ball, the sound of his voice stirring untapped wells of anger. Why was
he
calling?
“Jaida?”
Just hang up.
“I’m here,” she said, immediately wishing she’d regarded her own warning. “What can I do for you, Mr. Gale?”
“Mr. Gale?” he asked sounding almost affronted. “Why so formal?
His chuckle grated like nails on a chalkboard. “What would you prefer I call you?” William, Bill, Billy?
“‘Dad’ would be appropriate, don’t you think?”
She’d stepped right into that one with both feet. The thought of this man’s blood running through her veins sickened her.
His money wasn’t the only thing Marcus Dennison left her. Days before his death he came to the agency, found her at her desk and without warning, dumped the terrible news on her. William Gale was her father.
She had never seen the man before that day. She didn’t know who he was, or if she could trust him. He stood in her office looking like a spooked rabbit, his eyes jumping around in his head while he spilled it all—names, dates, and details about Gale’s offshore accounts. He knew then that he didn’t have long.
His blue suit jacket was rumpled. It looked as though he’d slept in it, his wiry gray hair askew. She gave him her email at his request, and he pulled his phone from his jacket pocket, transferring the information as she stood watching.
The recollection roused her own fear, and her face flamed in anger at the injustice of it all. “What do you want from me, Mr. Gale?”
He laughed. “You’re just like me, you know. Chip off the old block. You want it straight, no beating around the bush.”
“I am
nothing
like you.” She denied the comparison, but deep down she feared the very same thing, saw the signs that said it was true.
She pressed her eyes closed.
God, don’t let me be like this man.
He was silent for a beat. She could hear the creak of his chair swiveling on its base, the hum of his steady breath. And then he spoke. “I want to make a deal.”
A deal? “What kind of deal?” she asked. Was it a bribe to get her off his back? What could he want from her, and what was he offering in return? Adrenaline rushed. Could he actually be suggesting…?
“My money in exchange for your mother’s name.”