The Setup (15 page)

“You’re Shane Alexander—” Emily’s voice cracked.

For the first time, she looked her age, Jefferson thought. She was suddenly a love-struck adolescent. Why had she picked this, of all times, to be a typical teenager, he wondered, frustrated. The man was only a little removed from pond scum.

In the face of Emily’s adulation, Shane seemed to blossom. “Right you are, luv. Shane Alexander, at your service. Are you a fan?”

“I’m probably your biggest fan,” Emily told him with enthusiasm.

The look on Shane’s face was almost a leer. “I’ve always loved my fans.”

“That was always part of your trouble,” Sylvie
commented. And it was also the reason that they had broken up. Her eye caught Patty’s and she could see that the other woman was having the same thoughts. And that she was growing annoyed.

Good for you,
Sylvie thought.
Run while you have the chance.

Shane was pouring on the charm, something he was very good at. “Maybe you’d like to drop by my suite later and I could play something for you.”

Emily looked as if she was hardly breathing. “I’d love it.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Jefferson told her in no uncertain terms.

Emily looked at him the way daughters have been looking at interfering fathers since the beginning of time. “Dad!”

If it was a choice between being Emily’s friend and being her father, the role of father won hands down. It was his job to protect her. Especially from predators.

“She’s underage,” he informed Shane tersely. “And you, I hear, are engaged.”

Patty sniffed. “Not if he keeps acting like this.” Her carefully made-up eyes narrowed at Shane. She’d obviously exhausted her supply of patience. “Look, why don’t you just take your daughter so we can go back to L.A.?”

Shane held up a hand to silence Patty. “Would you like that, honey?” he asked Daisy Rose. “Would you like to come and live with your dad?”

Daisy Rose was squirming in her chair, no longer a precocious child, but a little girl who looked uneasy.

“Leave her alone,” Sylvie ordered.

Shane pointedly ignored her. “Would you like to come live with your dad?” he repeated.

Daisy Rose looked as if she were shrinking into herself. Her zest, the very essence that made her so much like her mother, evaporated before their eyes. Jefferson curbed the desire to pull the other man to his feet and drag him away so that he no longer posed a threat to Daisy Rose’s peace of mind.

The little girl turned her wide eyes toward her mother. “Mama?”

Sylvie tucked her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, baby, you’re not going anywhere.” She looked defiantly at Shane.

“I’m her father.” Shane raised his voice. “I have some rights.”

“Daisy Rose, would you take Emily out to the courtyard and show her the swimming pool?” Jefferson asked. He looked at Emily. “She just got here and she hasn’t seen it yet.”

Because she sensed Daisy Rose’s mounting distress, Emily dutifully played along. “Please?” she said to the child.

“Okay.” Hopping off her chair, Daisy Rose took Emily’s hand and guided her over to the French doors leading out to the courtyard.

Sylvie shot Jefferson a grateful look. She waited until her daughter and Emily were out of earshot before resuming the verbal battle. There was no way Shane was getting her daughter.

“Sorry, Shane, but this time it’s not about you. It’s
about Daisy Rose and what’s best for her.” She leaned closer, her teeth all but clenched as she kept her voice low. “And that doesn’t include living with a drug addict.”

“
Former
drug addict,” he countered with alacrity. “I’ve been clean and sober for almost three years now. It’s a matter of record,” he added proudly. “Shows how serious I am about getting her back.”

“To get her
back,
you would have to have
had
her at some point,” Sylvie reminded him. “And you never wanted her.”

“You never gave me a chance,” he parried.

“Liar.”

This was going to get ugly at any minute, Jefferson thought. “Custody battles,” he cut in quietly, “usually end up being ruled in favor of the mother.” He looked at Shane. “Especially when the father has made no effort to contribute any financial support.”

Shane drew himself up, squaring his shoulders. “I gave her money for the kid.”

Jefferson heard Sylvie’s sharp intake of breath. He put his hand over hers, quieting her, without looking in her direction. Instead, he showed the other man the futility of his lies. “And you kept records of that?”

Trapped, Shane looked away. “No, but—”

“And your drug addiction,” Jefferson continued in the same quiet, forceful tone. “You went into rehab to kick that?”

“No,” Shane declared proudly, “I did it all on my own.”

Jefferson honed in on the obvious. “So there’s no record of that, either.”

Shane’s expression darkened. “No. Hey, look—”

“You can spend the time and money fighting this, Mr. Alexander. A lot of time and money,” he emphasized. “But the odds are against you from the start. In the end, you’ll wind up losing. The case and the money.”

Shane’s expression had turned malevolent. “What are you, some kind of hotshot lawyer?” he demanded.

“Actually, I am.” Taking out a card, he placed it on the table and pushed it over to Shane. Nowhere on the card did it state that he was a corporate lawyer, only that he worked for the firm of Pierce, Donovan and Klein. Shane took the card and read it, then snorted as he tossed it back down on the table.

“And you’re
her
lawyer?”

Jefferson smiled slowly. “Among other things, yes, I am.”

For a moment, Jefferson thought that the other man was going to challenge him, or at least vent. Instead, he laughed, shaking his head.

“You’ve gotten sharper, Sylvie.”

Still on her guard, she looked at him warily. “I’ve had to.”

Disgruntled, Shane turned to the woman at his right. “You’re too young to be a mother, anyway, Patty. What do you say we start you on something simple, luv? Like a pet bird?”

Patty rose to her feet, contempt on her pretty face. “You’re a real loser, you know that, Shane?” With those words, she turned on her heel and hurried away.

“Hope you didn’t spend too much money on those wedding invitations,” Sylvie commented.

Shane shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. It was all her money anyway.”

She nodded. “Things are beginning to come together.” He was marrying the girl for her money. Money had always been Shane’s driving force, his god.

“Guess I’d better go, too. See what it’ll take to make her come around.” He paused as he rose from the table. “Any objections if I say goodbye to Daisy Rose?”

She wanted to say yes, that he should leave without a single glance in Daisy Rose’s direction. But he
was
the girl’s father. She couldn’t be unreasonable. Besides, Emily was with her. Daisy Rose was safe.

“As long as it’s just goodbye,” Sylvie qualified.

He saluted, a cynical expression on his face. Then, under Sylvie’s watchful eye, Shane made his way outside to Emily and Daisy Rose.

“I wonder if I just made a mistake,” Sylvie murmured under her breath.

“He won’t steal her,” Jefferson told her. “Emily knows tae kwon do.” When she looked at him quizzically, he explained, “I wanted to make sure she could take care of herself if I wasn’t around.”

“I’ll have to remember that for Daisy Rose.”

As they watched through the French doors, Shane stopped to say something to the little girl. But then he turned his attention to Emily. His entire stance changed. When the rocker tossed his streaked mane over his shoulder, Jefferson’s parenting instincts kicked in.

I
N AN INSTANT
, Jefferson was moving across the restaurant and out the doors like a bullet.

Surprised, Sylvie quickly rose from the table and followed. “Jefferson? What’s wrong?”

Jefferson didn’t waste time with words. His entire focus was on reaching them before that poor excuse for a human being had an opportunity to put his hands on his little girl. He could see it coming, feel it coming. Emily had blossomed early and looked older than her years, and Shane Alexander was the type who preyed on young, impressionable females.

He didn’t make it in time. Just before he could get to Emily, he saw the other man touching her. Granted, Shane had only placed a hand indolently on her shoulder, but it was a body part. The preening peacock had invaded her space. Instead of talking to Daisy Rose, Shane was putting the moves on Emily, Jefferson thought angrily.

“What room are you staying in? I could come up and give you a private concert,” he heard Shane saying to Emily.

It took no imagination to figure out just what the bastard was suggesting.

“Hey, Alexander,” Jefferson called to him.

“Yeah?”

The former guitarist for Lynx didn’t have an opportunity to say anything else. His jaw came in contact with a closed fist. The next second, he was on the ground, stunned, hurting and more than a little humiliated.

“Stay away from her,” Jefferson warned him, as Daisy Rose gravitated to her mother’s side.

Emily looked less than happy about her father riding to her rescue. “Dad, I can take care of myself,” she informed him haughtily.

“What was that all about?” Sylvie hissed against his ear as she scooped Daisy Rose into her arms. Not that Shane didn’t deserve that and more, but this kind of a display wasn’t exactly the best for business.

“About putting someone in his place,” Jefferson replied, his voice calm again. “And being a father.” Because he was and always would be a gentleman, Jefferson extended his hand to the downed musician. “In case it makes a difference, she’s sixteen.”

Shane looked at the hand warily, then accepted it. Back on his feet, he held his jaw, nursing it tenderly. “She looks older,” he said sullenly.

“Well, now you know,” Jefferson replied. His eyes were steely. “You might want to do yourself, and everyone else, a favor and leave.”

Shane muttered something to himself, then withdrew. Sylvie was certain he was cursing them all.

Emily was looking at her father with wonder, and a tinge of admiration shimmered beneath her world-weary facade. “I didn’t think guys like you got physical, Dad.”

He winked, draping an arm around her shoulders long enough to draw her in and give her a quick, bracing hug. “Guys like me are full of surprises.” And then he looked at his watch. It was getting late. School had let out and by now Sophie was undoubtedly wondering where Emily was. “Let’s go call your grandmother and tell her where you are. She’s probably letting her imagination run away with her. And for once, her imagination isn’t going to do this situation justice.” Emily had the good grace to blush. Grinning, Jefferson looked at Sylvie. “Will you be at the gallery later?”

The gallery. With its empty space. How long could she stall before she absolutely had to go to her family—and the police? What if she was too late? She could keep the gallery closed for today, citing some vague excuse connected to the blackout. But what about tomorrow? Oh, God, life was getting too complicated for her.

Shifting Daisy Rose to her other hip, she nodded. “Yes.”

He placed a hand at Emily’s back to escort her toward the hotel. “I’ll see you there, then.”

It wasn’t a vague statement, it was a promise, Sylvie realized. He meant what he’d said about helping her.

“Okay,” Sylvie heard herself murmuring.

Hope, right now, was not springing eternal, but it had found a small toehold in her life. After all, Jefferson had just helped her eliminate Shane as a threat by posing as her lawyer. Maybe he could help her with the stolen painting.

He sure couldn’t help her with her third problem, she thought, since he was the cause of it.

“I like him.”

Daisy Rose’s small, firm voice brought her back around to the moment. It took Sylvie a second to process the words and sentiment. She set her daughter back on the ground. It amazed her how uncomplicated life was through the eyes of a child. Daisy Rose was not afraid to make attachments. Sylvie envied the little girl. And maybe, she added silently, she could learn from her, as well.

“Yeah,” Sylvie murmured under her breath. She could see Jefferson heading toward the elevators with his daughter. Everything about them said they cared about each other, through thick and thin. You had to admire a man who loved his daughter that way, who earned that kind of love from his daughter.
Love.
The word shimmered before her. Taunting. Tickling. “Me, too.” And, if she were being honest with herself, that scared her. A lot.

E
MILY GLANCED
over her shoulder at mother and daughter, still standing by the pool. “She’s pretty.”

Jefferson nodded as he pressed for the elevator. “Yes, she is.”

There was nothing but innocence in Emily’s eyes as she asked, “Do you like her?”

Jefferson glanced at his daughter in surprise. “Emily…” It was meant as a warning, telling her to back off.

Instead, Emily dug in. A small flash of impatience crossed her face. She took after her mother there, he thought.

“It’s not that complicated a question, Dad. Yes or no.”

“On the contrary,” he countered. “Questions like that are always complicated. The
subject
is complicated.”

Emily sighed. “Stop being a lawyer, Dad. Just tell me. Yes, or no?”

The elevator arrived and he ushered her inside. Mercifully, after the car emptied out they were alone for the short ride up to the third floor. His logical side said it was much too soon for that sort of pronouncement. But there was another side—a side that Sylvie had drawn out of him—that had a different opinion.

“Yes.”

Emily nodded as if she’d already come to a similar conclusion. “So, what are you going to do about it?”

He stared at her as if she had just lapsed into an unfamiliar language. “Do about it?” he echoed.

“Yes, do about it,” she repeated. With dating skills like this, it was a wonder he’d ever connected with her mother, Emily thought.

The doors opened again and they were on his floor. “I’m going to enjoy it while I’m here.”

There was too much finality in that to please Emily. She didn’t relish the idea of going back to square one. “And then you’re going to go home?”

Jefferson led the way to his suite. “That was always the plan.”

Emily moved in front of him, walking backward so that she could face her father while presenting her argument. “But that was before you met Sylvie. Before you punched out her ex-lover.”

He stopped at his door. Where had this dramatic flare come from? he wondered. Emily had always been so level-headed. “I hit him because he was coming on to you, Emily,” he reminded her.

She was willing to concede that, if he was willing to concede that she was right, as well. “Yeah, but you also hit him because he got you mad. Because he was Sylvie’s ex and he was making things difficult for her.” Her grin grew wider. “You were a tiger back there, Dad. Don’t you want to be a tiger again?”

After unlocking the door, he held it open for her. “Where is all this coming from?”

Emily walked in and glanced around. As far as rooms went, this looked like a homey one. She liked the blue and white bedspread. “The heart, Dad. You know, I’m not always going to be sixteen.”

They had had this conversation before. “Yes, believe it or not, I do know that.”

Her frown told him that she was ignoring his
sarcasm. But she pressed on. “And that means that you need to get a life of your own so that I don’t feel guilty about having one of mine.”

He struggled to hide his amusement. “Have you been watching Dr. Phil again?”

Emily rolled her eyes. “This is just common sense, Dad. I don’t want you to be alone.”

It was hard keeping a straight face. “When the time comes, I’ll get a cat,” he promised.

“You’re allergic to cats,” she reminded him. “I like Sylvie. She seems cool.”

He agreed silently. But it was one thing for him to be contemplating a future with Sylvie, another for his daughter to be drawing up blueprints for it. Besides, he didn’t want her disappointed if things didn’t turn out.

“You don’t know anything about her,” he pointed out. “
I
don’t know anything about her.”

The objection was a trivial one to Emily and she waved it away. “Did you kiss her?”

When had their positions reversed? He gave her a look that told her she’d gone a little too far. “That is none of your business.”

Emily nodded, drawing her own conclusions from his answer. “Okay, you kissed her.” And then a sly, wicked look slipped over her face. “Maybe even more—”

Jefferson stared at his daughter. He had a good relationship with Emily, but that kind of information had no place in it. “Emily!”

Unfazed, she kept to her point. “And that means
that you know about as much as you need to about Sylvie.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “The rest you can learn along the way.” She crossed to the window and looked down onto the courtyard. It was charming. Everything about this place was charming, especially the fact that there wasn’t any snow.

“I always wanted to live in New Orleans. Mom used to tell me the greatest stories about it.” Turning from the window, she said, “And Grandma misses living here. She only came up to Boston because of Mom and then stayed after Mom died because of you and me. If we moved here, she’d be back in a heartbeat. She still thinks of this as home. We could keep the family intact—and expand it.”

“Wouldn’t you miss your friends?” he asked, once he ceased being stunned.

There was no particular boy in her life and she saw this as a huge adventure. “I could still visit once in a while, and so could they. Besides—” she grinned “—I’m resilient. I’d make new ones.”

“You’re taking an awful lot of things for granted, Emily. Adults don’t move that fast.”

“Maybe they should.” She paused. Knowing her father, he was probably worried about providing for her. She didn’t see that as a problem, either. “I’m sure you could get work here. You’re too good not to.”

Picking up the receiver, he held it out to her. “Call your grandmother.”

She took the receiver, still looking at him. “And we’ll discuss what I just said later?”

“Later,” he echoed.
Much later.

S
YLVIE STARED
at the wall in disbelief, feeling like someone who had just walked into the Twilight Zone.

It was back.

The painting was back.

She hadn’t been able to get back to the gallery for almost an hour. What she’d been doing, after entrusting Daisy Rose to Melanie, was watching Shane and Patty, his just-this-side-of-legal-age, possible wife-to-be, check out. They’d been arguing, their voices growing louder as they departed.

All she cared about was that they were gone. She would have offered the hotel limousine to take them to the airport if it meant that Shane would leave sooner. Once the dueling couple had gone through the revolving doors, she had breathed a sigh of relief.

At least one threat, the most important one, was gone. From all appearances, she didn’t have to worry about a custody battle over Daisy Rose. Jefferson had put the fear of God into Shane, who had neither the money nor the patience for a long, drawn-out court fight. If he couldn’t get something by snapping his fingers, he lost interest. And anyone looking at him could see that the man had never had any real interest in being a father. The only reason he’d been here in the first place was to please his fiancée, who apparently was well off.

One problem gone, another to deal with….

The painting.

She’d walked into the gallery, mentally rehearsing what she would say to her grandmother. Head
ing straight for the empty wall, she found it wasn’t empty anymore.

Shaken, still staring at the brilliant colors in the Wyeth, Sylvie sank down on the small bench she’d strategically placed before it so that visitors could sit and drink in its beauty and tranquility. A feast for the eye. The crate containing the two paintings she’d loaned Maddy had arrived within the past hour and Luc, bless him, had taken the delivery, verified that the paintings were in fact there, even offered to hang them for her.

She’d hesitated, then given her permission. She’d been bracing herself for some comment from him when she’d returned to the gallery. Surprised to find that the doors were once again locked, she’d opened the one that led from the hotel lobby and walked in.

To see this.

The three paintings were hanging exactly the way they had been before she’d taken the two larger ones down for Maddy.

Sylvie sighed, shaking her head. Had she just imagined the whole thing? Had she been so shaken up, her world so completely rocked last night by Jefferson that she’d begun hallucinating and just imagined her grandmother’s Wyeth was missing?

No, Jefferson knew that the painting was missing—that it had been taken. He’d been the one to ask if she wanted him to call the police.

She wanted to ask Luc if the painting was there when he’d hung up the others, but she didn’t know
how to do that without raising his suspicions. Maybe someone had just taken it as a Twelfth Night prank.

Taking a deep breath, she ran her hand through her hair. Sylvie felt light-headed, almost to the point of passing out. She wondered if this was what having a nervous breakdown was like.

But then, if she was having a nervous breakdown, would she feel like singing? And she’d felt like singing since this morning.

Deal in realities.

The reality was that the painting was exactly where it was supposed to be and so was Daisy Rose. She should have felt like celebrating three times over. What else could she possibly ask for?

You know what else you could ask for,
a small voice whispered in her head.