Читать книгу Now That You're Here - Lynnette Kent - Страница 7

AFTER TWENTY YEARS fifteen minutes more or less didn’t matter much.

Jimmy Falcon pulled his shirtsleeve down over his watch, leaned an elbow on the bar and picked up his glass. If he had to wait for a woman, he didn’t know of a better way to pass the time than standing in his own club, sipping old whiskey while listening to hot jazz.

When he checked the time again, discovering that only fifteen minutes more had passed, he realized even waiting with jazz had its limits. Where was she? Had she decided not to show up after all?

Finally, he decided to wait outside, by the entrance to the club. Maybe she’d had trouble finding the place. He could flag her down when she drove by.

Then again, would she even recognize him, after twenty years? Would he recognize her?

The answer to that question hit him right between the eyes as he stepped through the door. In a night full of people, he couldn’t help but notice the woman on the other side of the street. She was tall, generous through the hips and long in the legs under her jeans. She could be anyone, from anywhere, but something about the set of her shoulders inside a soft pink T-shirt, the tumble of gold-red curls clipped on top of her head, created a vibration deep inside him.

Barely noticing the traffic, he got across as fast as he could and put a hand on her arm. “Emma? Emma Garrett? Why the hell are you standing here in the dark?”

As she turned toward him, her blue eyes widened, first with caution, then surprise, finally, laughter. “Jimmy! I was coming in to find you!”

Just like that, with a street full of people gaping at them, Emma Garrett took hold of him. Again.

She flung her arms around his neck, and Jimmy returned the embrace, cautiously at first, then with more enthusiasm. Twenty years since he’d last held her, but the fit felt like it was yesterday. They were nearly the same height; her full breasts pressed into his chest as she hugged him tight, then tighter still. She wore a different perfume than he remembered, but he liked it. He liked everything about having Emma Mae Garrett this close.

When he finally forced himself to ease back, Emma let him go until just their hands touched. He searched her face in the streetlight’s glare, seeing again the clear, pale skin, dusted with freckles, the deep peach of her mouth, the bright blue eyes. For a second he was seventeen again, starting the best summer of his life.

But the past was…just the past. With a wrench, Jimmy pulled his thoughts to the present. “This isn’t the safest part of town to stand around in after dark. Come inside.” Taking her hand, noticing its softness, he led Emma across the street and into The Indigo.

One of the edgier jazz bands was playing tonight, the music hard and loud. Smoke hovered in the air and he heard Emma cough as the fog caught her by the throat. The place was full, especially for a Tuesday. He threaded his way through the crowd without letting go of her hand, stopped at the bar long enough to order them both a drink, then headed for his office.

“Sorry about that.” He leaned back against the closed door. All they could hear now was the pulse of the bass and the drums. “Things get kind of loud out there.”

Smiling, Emma shook her head, and a curl of red-gold hair escaped to bounce on her neck. “It’s wonderful music.” Her English accent was as elegant as he remembered.

“You still like jazz?”

“I dropped it for a few years. Then came to my senses.”

“Nothing’s quite the same, is it?”

“Nothing.” They looked at each other for a second, while the air got tighter, harder to breathe. Jimmy thought about the beat-up truck he’d owned that summer two decades ago, about popping an Ellington tape into the player and sitting with his arm around Emma, watching the sun disappear behind the mountains. About the things they’d learned together in that truck, in the dark…

“Have a seat,” he said abruptly. Looking relieved, Emma sank into the recliner in the corner while he rounded his desk. Before he could sit down, there was a knock on the door.

“Drinks, boss.” Darren McGuire, the club’s server, set a tonic water on the table beside Emma and a whiskey at Jimmy’s right hand. “Anything else?”

Jimmy consulted Emma. “Would you like a sandwich? Nachos? The variety’s not great, but we can feed you.”

She leaned forward to pick up the tonic. “Actually, I haven’t eaten since my flight left New York at nine this morning. I’d love a bite—something simple.”

He nodded at Darren. “Ask Hank to give us the best he’s got.”

The young man raised an eyebrow. “That’s not much.” He caught sight of Jimmy’s frown. “I’m going. I’m going.”

Shaking his head, Jimmy dropped into his chair. “God save me from wisecracking waiters.” He took a drink of whiskey, just for something to do. After twenty years, after anticipating this meeting for five long days, he suddenly didn’t know how to act.

The direct approach usually worked best. “So…your e-mail was kinda mysterious. You said when you were coming here, but not why.”

After a pause, while she stared into her glass and he stared at her, Jimmy said, “Emma? Do you want some gin with the tonic? Vodka?”

She jumped a little. “Oh. No. This is fine. I’m simply trying to decide how to begin.”

“Sounds bad.”

“It is, in a way.” Her gaze came to his face. “My father had prostate cancer. He died three months ago at home in England.”

The ground dropped out from beneath Jimmy’s feet for a minute. It was always a shock when someone you knew—and liked—was gone. “That’s…I’m sorry. He was a really good man.”

“Yes.” She looked at her hands, set down the glass of tonic.

Another long silence. “Are you here because of your dad?”

“Yes. I don’t know why I’m making this so difficult.” She drew a deep breath. “Before he died, my father asked me to find you. And when I found you, he wanted me to bring you a bequest.”

“He shouldn’t have bothered.” Jimmy resisted the urge to loosen his tie, though his collar felt a little tight all at once.

“But he did.” She reached into her large leather purse and drew out a polished wooden box, four inches square, two inches deep. “The gift is inside. I don’t know what it is—there’s a seal I didn’t want to break.” She showed him the blob of gold wax over the catch on the side.

“Emma, I don’t need—”

She got to her feet and crossed to the desk, picked up his hand and placed the box on his palm. “It’s yours. He wanted you to have it.”

He felt her touch deep in his chest. “Okay, okay. We’ll see what’s inside.”

“This isn’t any of my business.” She backed toward the door. “I’ll leave you alone.”

“No way.” He reached across and caught her wrist. “We’re doing this together. Sit down.”

He waited until she took the straight-backed chair on the other side of the desk, then pulled out his pocketknife and flipped open the blade. The sharp tip slipped easily underneath the seal and pried it off in one piece.

He closed the knife and set it aside, then sat staring at the box. Walnut, he thought, inlaid with two lighter woods in an angular, mazelike pattern. “Well, here goes.” He thumbed the hook free and eased the top back on its hinges.

Clean, soft sheepskin filled the shallow cavity, cushioning a silver disk as wide as the box. He picked up the medallion for a closer look. Inlaid with gold and silver and different shades of turquoise, the piece felt heavy in his hand.

“What is it?” Emma asked softly.

Jimmy shook his head. “Hell if I know.” Fine engraving combined with the inlay to create a sunrise over mountains.

Emma stirred. “There’s something in the lid.”

Laying the disk on its nest, Jimmy pulled the folded sheet of paper out of the box’s top and spread it open. Bold handwriting in fountain-pen ink covered the page.

Jimmy,

You may remember Joseph Hobson, an elder of your tribe on the reservation in South Dakota. After a chance meeting in Africa as college students, he and I corresponded for many years; my work with the Sioux language and traditions owed much to the friendship between us. When I left the United States and returned to England the last time, he knew we would not see each other again in this life. This medallion was his parting gift to me. He did not know where or by whom it was made, only that he’d received it from his father, who got it from his grandmother.

I’ve been unable, over the years, to pursue any useful research on this amazing work of art. And now I’ve run out of time. I feel strongly that the medallion has a purpose in the lives of those who hold it, and equally strongly that I must convey the purpose to you. I would be pleased to think you and Emma worked together to discover its significance. May your effort bring you what you most desire.

Until we meet again, I remain your friend,

Aubrey Garrett

Without a word, Jimmy passed the note across the desk to Emma. She read silently, then sat for a minute with her fingertips against the letters, as if she could connect with the writer. Her lips trembled slightly, and her blue eyes were bright with tears.

His own throat tightened. “I know you miss him.”

“Oh, yes.” She pressed her lips together. “That’s why I felt compelled to deliver the gift as he asked.”

“Did you know about—” he pointed to the medallion “—this?”

Emma shook her head. “Dad didn’t mention it to me. I was studying in France during his last trip to the reservation, about six years ago. And I never noticed it when I visited. His house was always such a jumble of books and papers and artifacts…” She took a deep breath. “It’s taken me this long to get the place orderly enough to sell.”

Jimmy refolded the note and put it back in the top of the box, which he closed and latched. Then he covered Emma’s hand with his own. “I’m grateful your dad thought about me. And I’m really glad for the chance to see you again. Can we spend some time together? How long will you be in Denver?”

“I…don’t have any definite plans for the next few weeks. I’d be glad to stay for a bit and help you with the research.”

A warning bell sounded in his brain, just as a knock shook the door. “Food, boss.”

He welcomed the interruption. “Come in.”

Darren set a paper plate on the small table beside Emma’s drink. “Hope you’re not vegetarian. It’s ham and cheese.”

Her smile was a gift. “That’s perfect. Thank you.”

Backing out into the hall, Darren looked a little star-struck, the way he did when he met one of the jazz players he idolized. “Any time.” He left the room without a single smart remark.

Emma returned to the recliner and picked up half of the sandwich. “I don’t have to be back in England until just before the Michaelmas term starts. October,” she explained at his puzzled look. “And this is August. We should be able to check out a number of reliable sources and references in that length of time.” She bit into the sandwich and began to chew. Hard.

Jimmy took hold of his drink, then leaned back in his chair. “That’s not how I define seeing each other. We’ve got twenty years to catch up on. We’ll need quite a few dinners together, lunches, maybe a trip into the mountains…”

After a silent minute Emma put down her sandwich. “You do intend to discover the history of the medallion, don’t you?”

He shrugged, trying for detachment. Staying cool had always been hard with Emma around. “I don’t need to know any more than that it came from your dad.”

Despite his attempt to be gentle, her eyes flashed with indignation. “But he wanted us to find out the rest!”

“He was dying, Emma, and probably in a good deal of pain. Did you never think he might not have been…rational?”

“He was completely rational until the very end.” She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Certainly he was sound of mind when he wrote that letter.”

She’d backed him up against the wall, with words if not in fact. But Jimmy fought on. “If it didn’t matter enough for him to have done something in six years, why does it matter now?”

“What reason could there possibly be to avoid learning everything we can?” On her feet again, she came to the desk and leaned forward, her graceful, long-fingered hands pressed flat against the oak-paneled top.

“Because—” Jimmy took a couple of seconds to get his voice and his feelings under control “—researching that piece won’t involve just reading books and museum catalogs.”

“I’ve been involved in historic research professionally for fifteen years. I know what kind of investigating is required. We’ll need to talk to people, perhaps visit the reservation.”

“Exactly.” He pulled in a deep breath. “And I’m not going back. Ever.”

Of all the reactions Emma had anticipated from Jimmy Falcon, this was not one. She stared at him in confusion, until the words began to make sense in her brain. “You won’t go back to the reservation?”

“No.” He sipped his drink, avoiding her eyes.

“When were you there last?”

Under the rich golden tone of his skin, his cheeks flushed a dull red. “The day after high-school graduation.”

She needed another moment to fully understand. “You haven’t seen your family since then?”

“There wasn’t all that much family to begin with. My aunt died just a couple of years later and my cousins left the rez for I don’t know where.”

The flaw in his argument was obvious. “If no one is there that you know, then where’s the threat in going back?”

“I didn’t say there was a threat.” Now he looked directly into her face. His gaze, so warm and welcoming only a few minutes before, had cooled. “I said I won’t go back. I don’t want to go back. I left that part of my life behind when I left the rez, and that’s where I want it to stay.”

She straightened and surveyed the man across the desk. From his well-cut black hair to his gray shirt and midnight-blue tie, he was the picture of success. There seemed to be nothing left of the wild Indian youth she’d known. The picture she’d retained in her mind all these years showed him balanced barefoot on the edge of a cliff, his hair long and straight and gleaming black under the midday sun, his brown chest bare and his muscular arms widespread like the wings of a hawk. Newly emerged into manhood, his energy and courage and mystery had enthralled her completely. They’d had one summer together, the kind of romantic interlude every teenage girl dreams of.

But that summer belonged to the past, and perhaps the Jimmy Falcon she’d loved did, too. After all, twenty years apart would make strangers out of anyone. This Jimmy certainly seemed like someone she didn’t know.

And Emma was suddenly too tired to push the issue further. However they spent their time together, she might find a way to change his mind about the medallion. Or perhaps she would pursue the research by herself. If that was all she could do for her dad now, then she would.

“I didn’t come here to argue with you,” she told Jimmy. “Let me call a cab to take me to the hotel and you can get back to work.”

He locked the box and medallion in a desk drawer, then got to his feet with a kind of controlled jerk. “I’ll drive you.”

Their trip to his office through the crowd in the club had been erratic and distracting. She hadn’t noticed his gait then, but she did now. As he came around the desk, he limped. Badly.

“What happened to your leg?”

Jimmy choked out a laugh. “Don’t beat around the bush, Emma. Let’s cut to the chase.” Resting some of his weight on his hands, he leaned back against the desk. “I was a cop a few years ago, and I showed up in the wrong place at the wrong time, during a gang fight.” His tone was casual, but the disability obviously bothered him.

“That must have been very difficult to deal with.”

“It’s okay.” He shrugged. “I found something new to do.”

She tilted her head toward the door and the main room of the club. “Successfully, judging by the crowd.”

He glanced at the plate the server had left. “But not by the food. You didn’t eat more than a bite of your sandwich.”

Emma hesitated, and he nodded ruefully. “It wasn’t very good, was it?”

An apologetic smile didn’t soften the truth. “Not very.”

“Hard to ruin a ham sandwich and chips. But decent cooks won’t stay in this part of town.”

“So the music must be fantastic.”

Now he grinned, with pride. “Yeah.”

“And you have a responsibility to be here.” She turned to pick up her now practically weightless purse. “I think I should take a taxi back to the hotel.”

He shook his head. “I think not.” That seemed to settle the issue, for Jimmy, at least. “So, can we have dinner together tomorrow night? About seven?”

Her annoyance at his attitude regarding the medallion leaked away. “I’d like that.”

“Good.” Music flooded into the office as he opened the door. “After you.”

There was—always had been—an air of command about him she couldn’t ignore. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” He returned her smile with the same appreciative grin that had snared her when she was eighteen. And did so again now.

On their way through the crush of people in the main room, he stopped at the bar and exchanged words with the woman making drinks, a pretty blonde with a figure Emma envied. What she wouldn’t give to be five foot five with a waist that small!

When they stepped outside, Jimmy touched her lightly on the shoulder. “I’m parked down here.” Emma turned obediently to the left, trying to ignore how she reacted to that simple, impersonal contact.

Under a street lamp only a few yards away, he stopped beside a sleek, black Jaguar XJE. Emma paused at the front bumper. “Very nice. But…” She glanced down the street. “Don’t you worry that such an expensive car will be stolen or damaged?”

“I’ve got a loud burglar alarm, and a steering-wheel lock.” Jimmy opened the passenger door. “Besides, it’s just a car. Expensive, but easy to—”

The sound of garbage cans crashing and voices yelling interrupted him. A writhing mass of bodies tumbled out of the blackness of a nearby alley, almost under Emma’s feet. Obscenities and curses drowned all the other night noises. Something flashed in the streetlight. The blade of a knife.

Jimmy opened the car door and pushed her inside. “Lock the door. Use the phone and dial 911.”

Hands shaking, she did as he said. But being locked in the car didn’t prevent her from witnessing the brawl. Time seemed to stop, though the whole episode lasted a minute at most. The violence broke into two battles—in the nearest, a thin man in black had hold of a younger man around the knees while the other assailant tried to get a grip on the victim’s throat. Unnoticed in the fury, Jimmy stepped in and grabbed the neck of the would-be strangler’s T-shirt, pulling backward, diverting his attention from his prisoner. Freeing one leg, the youth kicked out at the face of the man in black. The blow connected and the man fell back against a wall, blood spurting from his nose.

Thanks to Jimmy’s interference, the young man also managed to escape from the hold on his throat. He swung at his attacker and fell to his knees, breathing hard, only to be hit from behind by the man he’d just kicked. Face pushed into the pavement, he flailed his arms and legs, but the weight on his back didn’t budge.

The second man turned on Jimmy just as the other fight came apart. One of that struggling pair ducked, rolled away from his assailant—the one with the knife—and came to his feet right outside Emma’s window. The entire scene froze at that instant, went completely quiet. No one moved, except for the boy lying facedown. He couldn’t see the gun now trained on everyone involved in the confrontation.

Everyone…including Jimmy.