Читать книгу The Lottery Winner - Emilie Rose - Страница 11
ОглавлениеJESSIE REFILLED THE last saltshaker and wiped down the table, then straightened and stretched the kinks from her spine. Her body ached from the unaccustomed exercise—but in a good way. She blinked her tired, gritty eyes. It was time to go home and remove these irritating contacts.
She stopped beside the final open window and let the peace of the empty dining room settle over her. Water lapped outside the building, and a gentle breeze drifted in. She loved the concept of a restaurant constructed on a pier so low to the water that the fish swam close enough for the customers to drop food to them and watch them gobble it up.
The music went silent, and the lights illuminating the water went dark, jarring Jessie into action. She closed and latched the window. If her brother found out she was outside the compound after dark, he’d never stop lecturing. But she should be safe. No one except her family knew she was in Key West, and it was only a half mile’s walk to where she’d parked her rental car at the opposite end of the well-lit boardwalk. She’d thought it better to keep the vehicle as far away from the restaurant as possible just in case Brandon’s paranoia wasn’t all in his head.
Miri came out of the kitchen, followed by the good-looking guy who’d been seated at the oyster bar most of the evening. Something about the way he’d scrutinized Jessie’s every move tonight had made her nervous. That uneasiness intensified now with him only two yards away. He wasn’t part of the kitchen staff, so who was he?
“You did a great job tonight, Jessie.”
“Thanks, Miri.”
Miri indicated her companion with a flip of her fingers. “Jessie, my nephew, Logan Nash.”
The one who drove the restaurateur nuts with his interference? He looked only a few years older than Jessie. His hair was as black as the cormorant’s wings and his eyes, as blue as the noon sky, stared at her with suspicion.
Jessie wrung the wet rag in her hands and nodded but said nothing and didn’t offer her hand. He nodded in return.
“Will you be back tomorrow?” Miri asked.
A wad of bills weighted Jessie’s pocket. Tonight’s tips would be enough to get by for a while. But for how long? Not six more weeks, for sure.
“I ask because someone is coming in for an interview in the morning,” Miri added when Jessie hesitated. “If she works out, I’ll have her shadow you tomorrow night.”
Jessie dug her nails deeper into the cotton. She’d promised to train her replacements. And Miri needed a buffer between her and the human cormorant. Should she risk it? Going back to solitary confinement after an evening of interacting with people sounded like torture. But no one should recognize her here. Not with her disguise.
She took a deep breath and answered, “I’ll be here,” before she could change her mind.
“Great, hon. You don’t know how much I appreciate it.”
Logan tugged the bank bag from Miri’s hands. “I’ll give Jessie a ride home on my way to drop off tonight’s deposit.”
Objections blossomed in Jessie’s head. Miri’s startled expression, which quickly transformed to one of worry, confirmed Jessie’s reservations. “Thanks, but I, um...have my car.”
“Miri’s is the only one in the lot.”
“I parked nearby.”
“I’ll walk you to it.”
His forceful tone made her hackles rise. It was one thing for her father or brother to boss her around—or, as they said, “strongly encourage”—but she wasn’t taking orders from a stranger. “I appreciate your offer, but I’ll be fine.”
“It’s almost midnight.”
“I have pepper spray.”
His nostrils flared in obvious irritation and his mouth opened, but Miri laid a hand on his arm. “Leave her be, Logan. After her busy night, Jessie probably needs to clear her head. I always do. Thanks for taking the deposit. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She crossed to the front door and held it open in a blatant invitation for Logan to leave.
Blue eyes drilled Jessie’s again. “You need to hit the clinic for a drug test before you come in tomorrow. All of our employees are tested.”
Jessie glanced at Miri, who shook her head. “I’ll manage my employees, Logan. Now go.”
His lips thinned. He looked ready to argue, but then said, “Good night.”
He left and the wind leaked from Jessie’s lungs. Only then did she notice her racing heart and damp palms. “So that’s him.”
Miri nodded. “I commend you on not getting into a car with a strange man, especially one who’s being a bossy britches, but you can trust Logan. He’s a good one. Just a little overprotective.”
“About that drug test...I’m trying to avoid a paper trail right now.”
“I suspected as much. Forget it. After the way you hustled tonight, I know you’re not using anything.”
“If you have any doubts about me working here—”
“I don’t.”
“Thanks.”
“Want me to give you a ride to your car?”
Jessie shook her head. “It’s okay. I’m just down the boardwalk.”
“I’d feel better if I watched you till you’re out of sight.” After locking the front door she led Jessie out the rear to the patio. She pulled out her phone and punched buttons. Seconds later Jessie’s phone vibrated against her hip. “Now you have my number. Save it and call if you need me. For anything, hon, and at any time. Day or night. Be careful. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Then Miri sank into a chair. She reminded Jessie so much of her mother sitting on the patio and watching as Jessie walked to the end of their long driveway to wait for the school bus that it made her eyes sting.
“Good night, Miri. And thanks for...understanding.”
“There’s nothing wrong with needing a second chance.”
Jessie didn’t correct her. She backed away and waved then turned and strode off before she gave in to the overwhelming urge to hug the restaurant owner, confess all and ask her advice. But it was better if Miri didn’t know. Knowing could add her to the list of people adversely affected by being connected to Jessamine.
For the first time since being forced from her job, she felt a sense of purpose. She couldn’t protect her mother from the chaos at home, but she could protect Miri from her mess here and from her overbearing nephew.
It wasn’t until Jessie slowed to turn off Highway 1 that she realized she’d said no to Logan Nash. Funny how easy it had been to say the word to him. But he’d definitely gotten on her bad side, and like a student who seemed destined to cause trouble, he needed watching.
* * *
FOR THE FIRST time since arriving in Florida, Jessie awoke refreshed and eager to start her day. Attributing her good night’s sleep to the hustle at work, she started a pot of the exotic coffee provided with her rental, showered and dressed while it brewed, then grabbed her mug, her caddy of art supplies and her easel and headed out onto the deck.
Her brother had called twice while she was in the shower, and she debated calling him back. But for once she didn’t want to talk to him. Calling meant she might have to lie about where she’d been last night or what she’d done. Instead, she texted him to let him know she was okay and slipped her phone back into her pocket.
A flash of movement caught her eye. A trio of Key deer, none any bigger than her at-home neighbor’s rescued greyhounds, strolled through the backyard a dozen feet below. The four-legged family had become part of her morning routine.
Except for the waterfront space, the rental property was completely fenced in, but the deer somehow found their way in and back out again on a regular basis. Back home in South Carolina, the deer invading her daddy’s orchard were considered a nuisance and were dealt with accordingly, but here Key deer were a protected species. And they were welcome company. She would miss them once she returned home.
On her first day on the island she’d learned that the animals liked people food when she’d left her lunch on the table beneath the palms and gone inside for two minutes. She’d returned to find them eating her sandwich. Captivated, she’d fed them her apple, then later when she’d slipped into the library to research them, she’d discovered she’d broken the law. Feeding the deer was illegal, for their own safety. She hadn’t fed them since, but they always showed up looking hopeful. It made her wish she’d replaced her camera. It, along with her laptop, had been stolen in the first break-in, and searching for new electronics hadn’t seemed important with everything else going on. But she’d sketched her visitors multiple times.
“Sorry, guys. No food again today.”
Their big brown begging eyes filled her with a load of guilt that she tried to ignore, then the buck led his little group off into the dense green foliage bordering the fence. Juggling her load, Jessie carefully descended the stairs and dug her toes into the still cool crushed shells, then glanced toward the private pier and stopped in her tracks. The cormorants were back doing their creepy statue imitations. She couldn’t bring herself to join them. Instead she set up her chair and easel in the shade beneath the coconut tree and picked up her binoculars.
One of the birds turned his head and stared at her very much like Miri’s nephew had last night. A shiver skittered down her spine. “I’m naming you Nash,” she told the vile creature.
She filled her palette then quickly painted in the background. From this distance, the island was a blur of greens and the water blues and grays. Then she picked up a finer brush to begin the focal point. Her fingers flew across the canvas, adding detail to the birds and the long and narrow dock. As the sun climbed overhead and forced her to squint, she wished she’d brought her sunglasses outside, but she rarely bothered early in the morning. The lenses muted too many of the colors.
The rumble of a boat motor penetrated her concentration. She watched it until she was able to identify it as a regular fishing boat rather than one of long, low speedboats or diving boats that often cruised by. There was nothing remarkable enough about it to make her interrupt her work. She’d love to hire someone to teach her to dive, but her brother’s warnings and her cash situation kept her from putting thought into action.
The craft passed less than fifty yards from the end of the dock, startling the cormorants into flying away. The driver and passengers waved—most boaters did, she’d discovered—and she waved back. Eager to claim her turf before the birds returned, she grabbed her gear and hustled down the sun-bleached planks to the wider rectangle at the end.
Waves from the boat’s wake gently rocked the floating platform. She set her gear on the fish-cleaning table. The water lapping at the pylons was clear. She could see the bottom and the crab trap someone had left behind. One lone crab beat against the metal cage. Grabbing the rope, she hauled it up, opened the door and tipped over the trap. The crustacean scuttled over the edge of the boards to freedom. She pitched the wire cube back into the water with a splash. No way was she boiling a live crab and listening to it beat against the pot until it died. She shuddered.
Two cormorants swooped overhead. She waved her arms, and thankfully they landed on the dock next door—a safe two hundred yards away. She settled her canvas against the easel. The picture was coming together so quickly that it reminded her of the old weekly public television show she used to watch as a child. The instructor had whipped out a painting in an hour. She wasn’t that fast, but there was definitely something freeing about painting here with no interruptions and no audience.
The sun’s glare was intense, and once again she wished for her sunglasses. Tomorrow she’d remember to bring them, but she didn’t dare leave today or the birds might return. She checked her watch. Another hour before she had to shower and report for work.
If she was lucky, Logan Nash wouldn’t show up tonight.
* * *
SUE SLID A disposable takeout container onto the bar in front of Logan. “Miri said to tell you to take your dessert and go home. What did you do to tick her off?”
He shifted on his bar stool and drummed his fingers on the envelope containing the rejected forms. “I tried to get the new waitress to fill out her employment forms.”
He’d left his office early, bringing with him the necessary paperwork, and he’d waited out front, planning to corner Jessie before the restaurant opened and insist she complete the sheets. But Miri had spotted him and run interference, insisting that if he couldn’t stop hounding Jessie then he needed to go home.
He couldn’t figure out why his aunt was so determined to protect the waitress. So here he was again—stuck on a bar stool for an entire night watching the brunette’s suspicious behavior and learning nothing.
“What do you think of your new coworker?” he asked the sixty-something waitress who’d been with Miri since the day she’d opened Fisherman’s Widow.
“Jessie? What’s not to like? She hustles. I don’t have to cover her tables. She runs my stuff when I get behind before I even have a chance to ask. And she has the patience of a saint training the gal, who is not the brightest bulb in the box, if you catch my drift.”
He’d come to the same conclusion about the new trainee. But he wasn’t interested in her. “Where did Jessie say she’s from?”
Eyes narrowed beneath Sue’s penciled brows. “She didn’t say. In case you missed it, that flood of cruise ship passengers ran us off our feet tonight. No time for chitchat. I’d tell you to ask Jessie yourself, but you need to respect Miri’s wishes and quit trying to chat up the new employee, Logan.”
“I’m not interested in her that way.” He debated telling Sue that Jessie hadn’t gone for the required drug test or filled out the employee paperwork. The newest hire had done both. But dissing one employee to another was undoubtedly a violation of some kind. “Just keep an eye on her.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, we’ve been too busy for me to mind anybody’s business except my own. You should do the same,” Sue delivered then sailed out the front door.
He lifted the lid of the box. Key lime pie. One of his favorites. But eating it would have to wait. Jessie’s trainee and the other waitress had left before Sue. That meant Jessie and Logan were the only ones left in the public area of the building. He had to act fast if he wanted to get what he needed from Jessie before his aunt interfered again.
He grabbed the envelope and headed for the outside dining area, where Jessie was boxing the last of the condiments to bring inside for the night.
She glanced up when he pushed the door open and stilled. Brown eyes tracked his progress across the planks with something akin to dread.
He held out the manila envelope and a pen. “You haven’t filled out your paperwork. You can’t be employed here without filling out an I-9 and a W-4.”
She ignored the offered items. Her breasts rose and fell on three breaths. Something he shouldn’t be noticing. “That’s between Miri and me.”
“I’m her accountant. I’m required by law to have this information on all employees. I need it for payroll.”
She blinked thick lashes. Slowly. As if buying time. “I’m not on her payroll.”
That knocked him back a step. “What does that mean?”
“I work for tips.”
“You’re busting your tail for eight hours a night with no expectation of a paycheck? What are you after? Cash under the table?”
His sarcasm turned down the corners of her mouth. It wasn’t until she pressed her lips together that he realized how full they were. “No. Just tips.”
“That’s ridiculous. It’s not even close to minimum wage.”
“I’m a friend helping a friend. Is that so hard to believe?”
His suspicion multiplied tenfold. “Why?”
“Why help Miri?”
He nodded. And waited. And waited.
“She’s a very nice person. And she’s hard to say no to.”
Good answer, but she’d taken too long to come up with it for it to be genuine—a clue he’d been too dense to notice when his wife had started hiding things from him. “What are you getting out of it?”
“I told you.”
“Tips are taxable income. I still need your information.”
“My accountant will deal with it in April.”
She had to be another one of Miri’s projects. He dropped the pen and papers on a nearby table and caught her wrists. Ignoring her gasp, he rolled her hands thumbs out to examine her inner forearms. No ugly track marks marred the ivory skin that clearly showed undamaged blue veins beneath the surface.
And then her warmth leached into his palms and up his arms. It spread across his shoulders then sank through his chest and gathered into a ball of heat in his gut. Desire? No way. Then he noticed her calluses. Not heavy ones, but Jessie definitely used her hands on a daily basis.
She yanked free and wiped her palms on her hips as if he’d dirtied her. “What are you doing?”
With effort, he hacked through the haze that had befuddled his brain. “Looking for signs that you use.”
“Use?” Her brow pleated. A beat of silence passed. “Drugs?”
Her wide eyes and shocked tone didn’t fool him. “It wouldn’t be the first time Miri helped someone get clean. They usually stay at her house, and it usually backfires. I end up having to help her evict them.”
“I’m not staying with her. And I don’t and never have used drugs.”
“Then why are you avoiding the drug test and paperwork? What are you hiding?”
Her cheeks flushed. She averted her face, but he didn’t believe for one moment she was that fascinated by the dark waterfront. “I told you. I’m just a friend with time on my hands.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Worried eyes focused on him. “If Miri hires known drug users, then why are you so insistent on me taking the test? Wouldn’t it be a moot point?”
He bit back a curse. She was a wily one. Then the piped-in music went silent, a signal that the kitchen had been cleaned to his aunt’s exacting expectations and it was time to lock up. He gritted his teeth. He’d learned nothing about Jessie’s motives or agenda. Sure enough, the kitchen door swung open and Miri walked out. She scanned the empty dining room, spotted them outside and headed in their direction with the kind of scowl he knew boded ill—for him. She plowed open the back door with a flat palm.
“Sue was supposed to send you home,” she told him.
“I’m waiting for you to lock up.”
“Since when do you hang around until I close?” Her gaze fell on the envelope, and her expression grew even fiercer. Miri had been a great substitute mom. He’d rarely seen her lose her temper, but when she did, it was a sight to behold. From a distance.
“Logan, butt out of my business.”
“I’m covering you—legally.”
“We’re not breaking any laws. But you’re tempting me to take my iron skillet to your head. Now go home before I ban you from my restaurant.” Her scowl could curdle milk. “You ready, Jessie?”
“Yes. I’ll, um...I’ll set these in the cooler on my way out.” Jessie ducked her head, grabbed the box of condiments and swept past him, her long dark braid swinging like a pendulum above her hips. Nice hips. Curved, but not round.
He shouldn’t be noticing.
Miri shot him one last warning glare then followed her. When Jessie returned from the kitchen, Miri rested a hand on her shoulder and leaned closer. “Let me get rid of him and I’ll walk you out,” Logan heard Miri whisper conspiratorially.
Yeah, they definitely had something going on that needed monitoring.
“Thanks, Miri, but there’s no need. I parked closer tonight,” Jessie replied with a quick glance in his direction. He averted his gaze and pretended he hadn’t been eavesdropping. Then she hustled out the front door. He held it for Miri then waited while she locked it.
“I’m not kidding, Logan. You’re overstepping your bounds.”
“I hear you, but—”
“There is no but. Go home.”
He wasn’t going to talk sense into her tonight. He kissed Miri’s cheek. “See you tomorrow.”
He pivoted toward his car.
Follow Jessie home.
The idea stopped him midstep. He palmed his keys and rolled the thought around in his head. He was already paying I as much as he could afford to track Elizabeth and Trent. If he wanted info on Jessie, he’d have to get it himself.
He stared into the gloom of the streetlights and spotted Jessie heading toward Margaret Street. Traffic was light but not so light that he couldn’t blend in. Miri got into Jack’s old truck and drove away in the opposite direction.
He hustled to his car and waited until Jessie was a block down before starting the engine. A vehicle passed him, then a second. He pulled out behind them, going slowly as if searching for a parking space but keeping Jessie in sight. She slid into a small sedan. Hanging back, he let another car pull out and get between them, then he followed Jessie’s vehicle onto Highway 1.
“This is nuts,” he muttered after she passed several mile markers. “I’m acting like a stalker.”
But Miri’s safety depended on him protecting her from further harm—financial or otherwise—and there was something about the new waitress that didn’t add up. A furtiveness that worried him since he’d seen, ignored and been burned by a similar situation.
The car between them peeled off. Finally, Jessie signaled and turned left. That posed a problem. There would be less traffic off the highway, making it harder to remain undetected. But at least he was familiar with the area since he often explored the Keys. She kept her speed slow. The street was long and straight. She’d be onto him if he stayed behind her. The first road to his left was horseshoe shaped. If he took it, he’d come out farther down the main road. He might lose her, but it was a risk he had to take. He turned and hit the gas. She passed in front of him just before he reached the stop sign. He braked and watched her taillights. Her indicator flashed by a driveway near the end of the road. He waited until she disappeared through the fence before rolling forward.
An electronic gate slid closed, blocking her driveway. Making note of the house number, he drove past and circled back, pulled off the road and killed his headlights. Each of the houses on that stretch was surrounded by tall fences of either stone or block. That worked in his favor by concealing him. He checked both directions to see if anyone was watching. It was all clear, but he felt like a criminal. With his heart racing, he exited the car and ambled up to the iron gates to look through the white bars. Nice house. But not movie-star expensive. Still, an acre of waterfront property wasn’t cheap. Jessie’s car was the only one parked beneath the house. She climbed the stairs to the front door and tapped in a code, then disappeared inside. Lights came on.
To the left of the house, he spotted a hot tub beneath a thatched roof with a pool beyond it. A lamp-lit pier stretched out into the water.
He scanned his surroundings again and spotted the discreet real estate agent’s sign. A rental, but still an expensive place, and not something a waitress could afford unless she had a rich husband or a sugar daddy. He’d noticed she wasn’t wearing a ring.
How could Jessie afford a house that rented for thousands each week? Her calluses and demeanor led him to believe she wasn’t a socialite, and her shoes were the same brand he saw in big-box stores—not designer or high-end. He ought to know—his ex had worn both. Besides, if Jessie were rich, why would she be so damned good at waiting tables?
Tonight’s investigation was only leading to more questions. Something about Jessie didn’t add up. He had to find out how she was paying for her expensive accommodations—for Miri’s sake. If Jessie’s money came from swindling others or selling drugs, then he’d have to stop her before she snookered his aunt.
