Читать книгу Unleashed - Lori Borrill - Страница 10

“GEORGIA, I’m so sorry.”

It was the umpteenth time Jessie had made the statement since running home that morning and confirming her worst fears.

It was true. Wade had been in their apartment. And though barely a sock had been upturned in their dresser drawers, everything she and Georgia had of value was gone.

Granna Hawley’s jewelry, Grandpa Hawley’s watch. Her ruby-studded class ring from Tulouse High and the diamond-chip necklace she’d gotten for Christmas from Treat Wayans, her first boyfriend from the eighth grade.

Jessie’s black velvet stash box had been emptied, Georgia’s kitschy pink piggy bank drained. But worst of all was the fate of her and Georgia’s most cherished possessions. Georgia’s was her mother’s diamond ring and Jessie’s was the army commendation medal that belonged to the father she barely remembered.

Her granna Hawley had given it to her on her sixteenth birthday, handed over with words Jessie would never forget. “This is the stock you came from,” Granna said, gripping the medal tightly in Jessie’s hand. “Your mother may have changed your name, but you’re still a Hawley through and through. And Hawleys are winners.”

She’d handed Jessie the medal, telling her to think of her dead father, to take it as a reminder of what she was capable of and to never lose sight of the proud blood that ran through her veins.

Jessie had taken it, then turned around and married Wade Griggs, criminal extraordinaire.

How was that for a Hawley winner?

“It’s not your fault,” Georgia replied, also for the umpteenth time. And though Jessie tried to believe it, she couldn’t reconcile Georgia’s words with the solemn look of pain in her eyes. Just like Jessie’s medal, that diamond ring meant everything to Georgia. It was one of the few things left from Georgia’s mother who had died when Georgia was a teen. It had been that common ground, the loss of a parent, that brought Jessie and Georgia together as friends back in high school. And no one knew better than Jessie how much the ring meant.

“I’ll get it back,” Jessie promised. “If I have to scour every pawnshop in the country, I’m getting it back.”

Georgia’s smile was shrouded in doubt, and the truth made Jessie’s heart bleed. Though neither wanted to say it, they both knew the rotten odds of ever seeing their possessions again. It would take a miracle, and miracles didn’t come by Jessie often—if ever at all.

“Did you call your lawyer back home?” Georgia asked, opting to focus on something that still held a ray of promise.

“He’s closed for the weekend. I left a message.”

She tried to hide the sense of doom from her voice, but feared she was doing a sorry job of it. As if losing their valuables wasn’t bad enough, Jessie had found the manila envelope she’d remembered so vividly. The one she’d been certain contained the signed copies of her divorce papers. And breathing a long sigh of relief, she’d opened the metal clip and pulled out the contents, gratified there was at least one thing she could stop worrying about.

But the envelope didn’t contain any divorce papers. It contained her granna’s will.

Jessie had torn apart her black plastic file box and everything else in their apartment, searching through every last shred of paper she’d saved over the years. She’d found the divorce papers, all right. But they hadn’t been signed by her or Wade. It had only been the copy she’d made before the documents were signed.

How she could have made such a mistake astounded her to the point of disbelief. And now, her only hope rested on the lawyer she’d retained. Surely his office would have a signed copy, and at least the matter of her divorce would end up no more than a temporary scare.

Georgia sprayed cleaner over a glass display case in their shop, Hidden Gems, and wiped the surface clean. Jessie and Georgia were among six artists who owned and operated the store, each offering their personal specialty in apparel and accessories.

Jessie sold her Beane Bags and Georgia made hand-painted silk scarves. Swan was an artisan in Native American, Aztec and Mexican jewelry, and Sonora had an eye for the latest trend in antique baubles. Candace made hats and Vickey constructed all kinds of wraps and jackets with her panels of exotic faux fur.

Among the six, Hidden Gems had recently gained notoriety in upscale fashion accessories, Jessie’s latest nod by Hollywood bringing them all a welcomed slice of attention. And though today wasn’t Jessie and Georgia’s day to mind the shop, the recent influx in business brought them down to help keep things clean and in order.

“I’m sure Roger will have a copy of those divorce papers for you when he gets in on Monday,” Georgia said, carefully placing a collection of Sonora’s antique Bakelite jewelry back on the shelf.

“I hope you’re right,” Jessie said, the thought throwing another pit into the rocky bowels of her stomach.

She took a breath and tried to squelch it like she always did.

A magnet for misfortune, Jessie had learned years ago that busy hands made for clear minds. It was how she’d stumbled into the craft of making beaded purses in the first place. When her stepbrothers caught her up in their mischief or her stepfather’s schemes landed the family back in poverty, Jessie would hole up in her room, stringing beads and sewing sequins. For hours on end, she’d ignore the screaming matches going on outside her door by losing herself in the ornate patterns she’d create.

She’d use beads when she had the money, any material she could find when she didn’t. With as little as a roll of fishing line and a bag of screw-top soda caps, she’d learned to string bags and accessories out of anything she could tap a hole through. She’d loved the peace the tedious task brought to her often chaotic childhood. And to this day, when the world seemed to swallow her up, she strung beads to see it through.

Georgia sighed. “They’ll have those papers. Don’t you worry.”

But worry was all Jessie had left. As she looked around the store, she wondered how she’d be able to keep her partnership here if Wade had a right to half her income. None of this was cheap, and she was plum out of credit. She’d already extended herself to the hilt to pay rent in the city, and she knew as well as anyone that Hollywood trends left as fast as they came. She’d needed this windfall to get ahead and create a nest egg so she could reinvent herself once Beane Bags became yesterday’s news.

If Wade was entitled to half of it—

She gritted her teeth and shoved away the thought. Brushing a black felt hat with an added dose of swiftness, she considered all the things she’d do before she let that happen.

She’d burn her inventory and declare bankruptcy before she let Wade Griggs take another dime from her. And come Monday, she’d get in touch with the lawyer who would confirm her divorce and put all her worries at ease.

That would leave her only with the insurmountable task of trying to recover her and Georgia’s most sacred keepsake.

That familiar nausea broke through the anger and settled back in her stomach. They’d filled out a police report this morning, but even the patrolman who answered the call told them the chance of recovering their things was all but none. Wade had come in from out of state, and only if he were stupid enough to try to pawn the items anywhere near San Francisco would they have the slimmest opportunity to getting anything back.

She needed to know where he’d gone. She needed to somehow trace his steps since yesterday evening. In short, she needed one of those elusive miracles she never seemed to come across.

Or maybe a hero.

And as if that thought had been a summons, she looked up to catch the ring of the door and the sight of the one man who might qualify for the job.

Inspector Rick Marshall.

Straightening her stance, she felt a little flip in her chest at the vision of the only good thing that had happened to her in the last twenty-four hours. And oh, had he been good. Right now, she’d give anything to be in his bed, his hard body and her soft moves creating a symphony of orgasmic delight. It jumped her pulse just thinking about it as he snaked through the displays toward her.

Silhouetted against the sharp sunlight, he looked broader and more muscular than he had the night before, his calm, measured steps expressing that familiar, cool confidence that had attracted her at the bar. He wore a dark suit jacket in spite of the August heat. Coupled with the polarized Ray-Bans, he looked like Secret Service, or maybe FBI, that slick, dark hair, sharp, pointed nose and rigid jaw polishing off what should be the poster child for sexy, steel-bodied law enforcement.

She wondered if he had a weapon holstered under one arm. Something big and dangerous, like a shiny .44 Magnum or a dark, steely Glock.

The thought ramped up her heartbeat. She’d always had a thing for a man in uniform, and though her gut still hung heavy with worry, her mouth curved in a hopeful smile. Maybe Rick had caught wind of the police report they’d filed and had come to see if she was okay. Or maybe their encounter last night had him coming back for seconds. Either option would be a ray of sunshine on this bleary day.

“Well, if it isn’t SFPD’s finest,” she quipped, marveling over those firm set lips and the perpetual furrow in his brow. He looked so serious, like a man on a mission, and she wondered which playful move might soften those hard lines into a smile.

She had a few in her arsenal—a couple already proven successful.

But as he drew closer and pulled off his shades, she saw the ire in his eyes. He wasn’t as pleased to see her as she was him, and she quickly surmised that in her panic last night, she probably should have stopped to leave a quick note. He clearly wasn’t happy, and when he stopped to loom ominously over her, she flattened her smile and cleared her throat.

“Look, Sheriff, about last night—”

“I’m not a sheriff,” he said, hardly moving his lips.

Oh, yeah. He was angry, all right, and the cause of her quick pulse shifted from lust to annoyance.

For criminy sakes, he’d made it clear right from the start. Last night was a one-time thing. Two ships passing in the night. No expectations, no hard feelings. So the fact that he’d tracked her down simply because she hadn’t kissed him goodbye seemed pretty absurd.

“Fine, Inspector Marshall, then,” she said, gripping a hand to her hip and jutting up her chin.

She silently huffed. Oh, she so did not need this, nor did she feel obligated to explain. But having her fill of problems for one day, she offered an apology anyway.

“Look, I’m sorry for ducking out on you like that. I—”

“I just want my car back.”

His teeth were clenched tight. Those damning blue eyes bore holes through her thoughts and his words tripped her back a step.

“What?”

He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Tell me where I can find my car and we’ll forget the whole thing happened, Ms. Beane.” Then glancing sideways toward Georgia, he added, “Or should I say, Mrs. Griggs.”

Jessie’s jaw dropped and Georgia stepped up to her side.

“She’s not Mrs. Griggs,” Georgia defended.

He flashed her friend a cool stare. “No? I’ve got a number of aliases to choose from. How about Sugar Jessica Hawley? Jessica Griggs? Or my favorite, Sugar Beane?”

Jessie gaped. “You looked me up?”

“I pulled your prints from my bedpost.”

Heat ran up her cheeks, only half of it from the memory of how those prints ended up on his bedpost. But as this scene began to sink in, she chose to focus on the half that came from being royally ticked off.

“How dare you!”

Georgia wedged a shoulder between Jessie and Rick, stepping in as Jessie’s protector as she’d been doing for the past decade. “Do you run rap sheets on all the women you sleep with?”

“Only the ones who steal my car.”

Jessie pushed in front of Georgia, nearly toppling over Candace’s display of felt and feather hats, to press her nose close to Rick’s chest.

He was taller than she’d recalled, too, but she hadn’t let things like that intimidate her yet.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then let me refresh your memory.” His frown deepened and those stormy eyes turned dark as rain clouds. “My car was stolen, and the last woman I saw it with has a long list of criminal charges starting with grand theft auto and conspiracy to commit fraud.”

“Every one of those charges against me was dropped.”

“Maybe the Colbrook County police need to reopen their files.”

Jessie gasped, not knowing whether to spit or cry. Ever since she rolled out of this man’s bed twelve hours ago her life had gone from top of the hill to bottomless hell, and it seemed to be sinking farther. It was bad enough she was about to lose everything she’d worked hard for over the last year, now she was being accused of a crime?

Then a dark sense of familiarity washed through her, shoving her from a state of shock into the reality of the situation.

Oh, she’d been here before. She’d stood right in front of the law and had the same accusations thrown at her almost two years ago. Back then, she’d been ignorant and stupid, her innocence working against her and costing her everything she had.

She was smarter now.

This whole scene had Wade Griggs written all over it, and having charted these waters before, she knew exactly which mistakes she would not repeat.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she threw her shoulders back and stood firm. “If you’re accusing me of a crime, I demand to see a lawyer.”

“Yeah,” Georgia echoed, but their partner, Swan, didn’t seem to be thrilled with the idea of a fight.

She stepped out from the main counter, rushing over to the three of them while a dozen bangle bracelets sounded like wind chimes around her wrists. Flashing a forced and nervous smile, she cocked her head toward a small group of customers perusing Georgia’s scarves.

“Excuse me,” Swan said in her most pleasant and patronizing tone. “This sounds like a conversation that needs to be taken in the back.” Then lowering her voice to below a whisper, she added, “Our customers are getting curious.”

Rick placed a hand on Jessie’s arm and replied, “I have a better idea. We’ll take this down to the station.”

Every part of Jessie wanted to kick him in the shins and scream bloody murder. This was just like last time. Accuse first, ask questions later. But in this case, it was worse. This time, she’d opened a soft spot for her accuser. She’d shared a blissful and passionate evening with a man she’d thought was gentle and kind.

Sure, they hadn’t gone through old scrapbooks and swapped schoolyard memories, but they’d connected on a level more intuitive than that. Maybe it had only been a one-night stand, but the fact that her lover could be so warm and intimate one minute then turn on her the next stung deep and hard, and the fighter in her wanted to open a wound in return.

But Swan was right. Even the look in Georgia’s eyes echoed that. This was their business, the livelihood that supported them all, and creating a scene in the middle of it wouldn’t do anyone any good. Jessie had enough troubles. She didn’t need to add five angry partners wanting to throw her out of the co-op. So swallowing her hurt and pride, she jerked her hand from his grasp and stepped toward the counter where she’d left her purse.

“Of course,” she said, using a haughty tone that came out sounding like Miss Hathaway from the Beverly Hillbillies. Raising her voice so the customers could hear clearly, she added, “I’m sure Mr. Marshall and I can straighten out this matter over coffee.”

Grabbing the orange Beane Bag that she only now remembered still held her green lacy bra from the night before, she took clipped steps to the double glass doors. Holding her head high and her mouth shut, they’d moved down the street well past the eyes and ears of Hidden Gems.

Then she turned on her heels and jabbed a finger into his chest. “If you ever come into my place of business and embarrass me like that again, I promise you’ll rue the day you met me.”

He clasped her forearm and steered her across the street. “I already do.”

Now that was just cruel, and a mix of hurt, frustration and anger erupted in a sting of tears at the backs of her eyes. Was she a magnet for jerks? Back home, she’d blamed youth and ignorance for the mistakes she’d made. That and the fact that her stepbrothers usually chased the good guys away. But she was in California now, away from the influence of her family and wiser than her years. So why was it the first man she’d opened herself up to could be as bad as all the rest?

“Then I’ll find a way to make it worse,” she muttered, part in frustration, part in vengeance. How many more knocks could she take today before she finally split in two?

“You do that,” he said. “But in the meantime, you’re going to tell me where the hell I can find my car.”

“I told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“We’ll see about that.”

He led her up to a silver sedan then stopped at the passenger side door. She noted it wasn’t a typical squad car. There were no lights, no caged backseat with the interior door handles missing and bulletproof glass to protect the driver from hardened criminals like herself who might come at them with an emery board.

Jerking her arm from his grasp, she stepped close to his chest, trying to ignore that familiar rugged scent that had her hot and bothered the night before. Her forehead just reached the tip of his chin and the memory of her lips closing over that smoothly shaven throat left her mouth dry.

She stiffened her bottom lip and spat out, “Aren’t you going to cuff me?”

The slight quirk of his brow said more than he’d ever admit. Maybe he wasn’t completely immune to the night they’d shared. But as quickly as it flashed by, the set jaw returned and the stony cop was back.

“Do I need to?” he asked.

She tried not to be sarcastic and sour, her smarter side recognizing that honey went a lot further than spite.

The smarter side lost. She was too mad.

“According to you? Probably. You seem to think I’m capable of all kinds of heinous acts.”

He opened the door and offered a hand. “I’ll take my chances.”

She slapped it off and climbed into the passenger seat, wincing when he slammed the door and rounded the car to take the seat next to her.

This was officially her second escorted trip downtown in as many years. Her first ride had been to the Colbrook County jail and was the opening scene to a nightmare that became twelve of the most rotten months of her life.

Would this trip end up any better?

Glancing over at the ice block of a man sitting next to her, she couldn’t help but fear the worst.