Absolute Trust
Jeana E Mann
“Love cannot live where there is no trust.” — Edith Hamilton
Contents
1. Cash
2. Jagger
3. Jagger
4. Cash
5. Jagger
6. Jagger
7. Jagger
8. Cash
9. Jagger
10. Cash
11. Jagger
12. Jagger
13. Jagger
14. Jagger
15. Cash
16. Jagger
17. Jagger
18. Cash
19. Jagger
20. Jagger
21. Jagger
22. Cash
23. Jagger
24. Jagger
25. Jagger
26. Cash
27. Jagger
28. Jagger
29. Jagger
Epilogue
Also by Jeana E. Mann
About the Author
One
Cash
A few blocks away from Monument Circle in downtown Indianapolis, Gage picks me up in the Escalade. I hop into the passenger side, close the door, and lean back in the seat. His fingertips tap on the steering wheel. I’ve known this guy since first grade. He can’t hide his thoughts from me, and I know exactly what he’s gonna say before he says it.
“Can I tell you something?” he asks.
“No.” I slip on a pair of black Ray-Bans to diminish the bright midday sun.
As usual, he ignores my request. “What the fuck are you thinking?” Exasperation overpowers his usually even tone. “This girl isn’t worth the trouble. You’ve got your money. Let her go.”
“Not your problem, Gage.” As we wait on a side street for the traffic light to change, Jagger breezes through the intersection in the cross lane, and damn, she looks fine in the red roadster. I smile at the sight of her dark hair flying in the wind.
“Jesus,” Gage mutters. “First her sister. Now her. What is it about you and the Jones women?” He lowers the window to rest an elbow on the door. Warm air drives away the chill of the air conditioner. “Didn’t you learn your lesson after Calliope?”
“And what lesson would that be?” I lower my shades, daring him to continue.
“To keep your dick in your pants and quit mingling business with pleasure.” With a press of his index finger to a button, the double sunroofs slide open and sunshine pours into the interior.
“Again—not your problem.” I return the sunglasses to the bridge of my nose and close my eyes. The last few weeks have been exhausting—emotionally, physically, and financially. Jagger might be out of my life, but she has never left my thoughts. Having her on my payroll will alleviate the constant, primitive need to know where she is and what she’s doing.
We’re silent for a few miles, but tension emanates in waves from Gage. His smoldering irritation reminds me of third grade when I borrowed his bicycle and wrecked it. Because he was so much stronger than I was, I ended up with a broken nose and two black eyes. It had been our first and only fist fight in a lifetime of disagreements. Afterward, I promised never to abuse his property, and he vowed to hold his temper in check. Not a lot has changed since those times, except his muscles are bigger and I no longer live in a rust bucket car along the sidewalks of the Chicago streets.
“It’s my problem when you jeopardize our business.” His jaw flexes, a definite sign of trouble on my horizon. “You lost your head over Calliope, and look what happened. She stole your money and dumped you for a Russian mobster. I don’t want to see history repeat itself with her sister.”
“Jagger isn’t Callie. She won’t do that.” Of course, he knows which buttons to push—my ego and my pride. “Let’s drop it.”
He yanks the SUV to the curb, shoves the gearshift into park, and cuts the motor. “For months, I’ve been going along with your crazy fascination over Jagger. Now, you’ve given her your favorite car and invited her into the business—our business—and I gotta say, your behavior is fucking out of character. As your partner, I’ve gotta right to know where your head’s at.”
We glare at each other. Deep down, I know he’s correct. What started out as a vendetta against my ex-girlfriend has turned into a fascination with her little sister. Of all the women in the world, why does it have to be Jagger? The more I know about her, the more I want to know. She’s sassy and smart and unapologetic. “I like her, man. She’s got potential.”
“Potential for what? Disaster?” Gage grimaces. “Look. If you want to keep her around for sex, then by all means, have at it. Don’t mean you gotta cut her in on our deal.”
“You know how you felt about Chelle?” My sister’s name feels weird on my lips. Maybe because we never talk about her.
“Yeah.” Gage’s voice is quiet. His attention turns to the park across the street. The muscles of his throat constrict. “What’re you saying here?”
Expressing emotions has never been our thing. Especially when it comes to women. Feelings cloud a man’s judgement. Get in the way of the truth. Of all people, Gage is the only one who might understand. Although he never said as much, I know he loved my sister with all his heart. I exhale and straighten in the seat. “I think Jagger could be the one.”
“Fuck.” His big hands clutch the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. He shakes his head. I brace for a lecture. Instead, he turns the key, starts the engine, and pulls into the street. We’re almost home before he speaks again. “I want full disclosure. No more pulling rank. No more surprises.”
“You got it.”
In a rare show of affection, he reaches across the console to squeeze my shoulder. “I’m glad for you, man. You know I’ll never stand between you and your happiness. God knows, there hasn’t been enough of it in our lives.”
Two
Jagger
Two federal agents are sitting in my living room. Emeline’s back is ramrod straight as she sits on the sofa. To her credit, she seems calm on the outside, but I know her well enough to recognize the panic in her hazel eyes. This is all my fault, yet I can’t help wondering how I got here. Six months ago, I had the world by the balls: a great job, friends, a home of my own. Today, a ruthless gang leader holds the keys to my kingdom, I’m the prime suspect in an extortion/homicide case, and my business is on the verge of bankruptcy. Fuck. Me.
“Surveillance captured you inside the Hellwater Hills Country Club on the night of Hubert Spillman’s death.” Special Agent Dodd holds up his phone to show a crystal-clear video of the foyer at the high society venue. There’s no denying the girl in the blue dress is me. He and his partner, Agent Dodd, stare expectantly at me. “Care to explain why you were there?
“Not really.” I stare back at them in polite refusal. A few months ago, these two men would have intimidated the hell out of me. Since I met Cash Delacorte—not so much. I channel Cash’s impassive expression and controlled mannerisms to get me through this unexpected visit.
“You aren’t a member there, and you didn’t have an invitation. What were you doing?” Dodd asks. He throws an arm over the back of the chair and crosses his legs, like he’s here for afternoon tea instead of an interrogation.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like something to drink?” Without waiting for an answer, I head into the adjoining kitchen and pour a glass of water, using the time to gather my composure. Technically, I didn’t do anything to Hubert. I just happened to deliver the news that sent him into cardiac arrest. Which brings up an interesting point. The last I knew, heart failure didn’t qualify as murder. I return to the living room and take a seat on the sofa next to Em. “How was he murdered?”
Agent Dodd casts a sideways glance at his partner. “We aren’t able t
o divulge that information at this time.” There’s something unsettling about the sharpness in his features.
“Mr. Spillman was being blackmailed. We found a flash drive with photos of Mr. Spillman and various male sexual partners at the scene. Do you know anything about that, Ms. Jones?” Warren’s tone is more sympathetic than Dodd’s. When I don’t budge, he smooths a hand over the front of his shirt, and I can’t help but compare his generic clip-on tie to Cash’s sleek black silk one. “We want to help you, Jagger. Tell us what you know. Did Cash coerce you into doing this?”
Although my facial features remain neutral, a battle of epic proportions rages inside me. Hell, yes, this is Cash’s fault. If it weren’t for his appearance in my life, I’d be living in blissful ignorance, making jewelry at my store, and enjoying anonymity. He brought this problem to my doorstep. However, my feelings of loyalty lean more toward Cash than the agents. I take another sip of water. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Jagger.” Emeline speaks for the first time since my arrival. I shoot her a warning glare. Her mouth snaps shut. After a long exhale, she sinks back into the couch cushions. Immediately, I feel guilty.
“I bet if I run the plates on that Jaguar in the driveway, I’ll find it belongs to him.” The confident smirk on Dodd’s face makes my stomach churn. I say nothing. Calliope taught me years ago that the best defense is silence. An eternity stretches past. “All right. Have it your way.” He pulls his phone from his pocket, dials a number. “Hey. I’m going to need you to run a license plate for me.” I watch him disappear through my front door on his way to the driveway. My fingernails cut half-moons into the flesh of my palms.
“Jagger, listen to me.” Warren shifts forward, rests his elbows on his thighs, his expression earnest. “Cash Delacorte is one shady dude. He won’t think twice about putting a bullet between your eyes when he’s done with you. I’m begging you. Tell us what you know. I’ll do everything in my power to get you a plea deal. Just talk to me.”
“Why should I trust you? You hid your identity from me in Vegas.” I cross my arms over my chest. “What were you doing there anyway? Were you following me or following Cash?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.” The lines around his mouth tighten.
“Are you charging her with anything?” Emeline snaps out of her funk. She moves to the edge of the sofa cushion and leans forward.
By the subtle lift of his eyebrows, her question catches him off guard. “Not yet, but she’s a person of interest. It’s just a matter of time.”
I open my mouth to speak, but it’s Em’s turn to silence me. She holds up a finger. “Don’t say another word, Jag. If these guys have more questions, they can direct them to your attorney.” She drops a hand onto my shoulder and squeezes. “Now, Agent Warren, please collect your partner and leave.”
Dodd returns. “Car’s registered in her name.” He narrows his eyes and faces me, a scowl on his face. “How the fuck can you afford a car like that? We’ve checked your finances. You’re close to broke.”
Warren sighs and stands. “Enough. Let’s go.”
“We aren’t done here.” Dodd takes a menacing step toward the sofa.
“She wants a lawyer.” Warren drops a business card on the coffee table, taps it twice. “If you decide to talk, give me a call.”
The instant the door closes behind them, Em jumps up from the sofa and clutches the top of her head with both hands. “Oh my gosh, Jagger. What is going on?”
I head to the door and lock it then lean back on the wood, certain my knees are about to give out. “I’m not sure. Agent Warren was at the hotel bar in Vegas. He hit on me. I thought he was just some random guy.”
“Who is this Mr. Spillman? Were you at the country club?”
“Cash took me there to make an exchange with Mr. Spillman. I had no idea what was going on. It was supposed to be a simple job to repay my debt.” I realize how lame it sounds the moment the words leave my mouth.
Her glare softens. “I’m sorry. It’s just—those were FBI agents, Jag. This is serious.”
“I know. I know.” I pace in front of the window. “Everything is such a mess. I have no idea what to do.”
“I’m calling Tony to cancel our date.” She grabs her phone from the coffee table. “You and I need to figure this out.”
“Are you crazy?” I reach for the phone, but she holds it above her head. “What if he knows about this investigation? If you cancel, it might look suspicious.”
“He doesn’t know anything. He would’ve told me.”
“Maybe you need to ask him. Not directly. Just hint around.” Inviting an officer of the law into my private life might not be the smartest move I’ve ever made, but I need to know what I’m dealing with. “He might be more sympathetic than you think.”
“And ruin the only relationship I’ve had in two years? I don’t think so.” Despite her objections, she returns the phone to the coffee table.
The worried pinch of her forehead renews my guilt. I give her a quick hug. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Do whatever you think is best.” The last thing I want is to ruin her happiness. Unlike me, she’s the sort of girl who needs a boyfriend to feel complete. I’m in no position to judge a person for chasing their dreams. “Come on. I’ll do your nails. I’ve got a new color that will look great on you. Tony will love it.”
Three
Jagger
The next morning, when I come out of my bedroom, Tony is leaning against the kitchen island, watching Em cook. Not that I’m surprised to see him. The thump of her headboard against the opposite side of my bedroom wall kept me up most of the night. However, this is her first guy to stay for breakfast. It’s a big deal. One I don’t want to ruin for her. The letters IPD—Indianapolis Police Department—are printed on the T-shirt stretched across his buff chest. She slides a plate of pancakes toward him. His bicep flexes as he forks three onto his plate. “Girl, you’re going to be the death of me with all these sweets.”
“You’ll be fine.” By the light in her eyes, I can tell she really likes this guy. I’m happy for her. After the many problems with her ex-husband, she deserves a good man. She smiles, a flush coloring her fair cheeks, and places the butter dish on the counter. “A few pancakes won’t ruin your abs.”
“Looks like I’ll be running an extra mile today.” His gaze dips to her mouth. “Unless you want to help me work it off later.”
I hesitate at the doorway, unwilling to intrude on their moment. Although he seems to care for her, I can’t help worrying that she’s moving too fast. Tony rounds the island to take her in his arms and plant a kiss on her forehead. Em’s gaze reaches mine over the top of Tony’s shoulder.
Did you ask him? I mouth the words in silence.
No, she mouths back. Aloud, she announces my presence. “Morning, Jag. You’re up early. I made pancakes. Want some?”
“I’m good. Thanks.” I cover my mouth with a hand to hide my yawn.
“You look tired.” Em searches my face.
“I didn’t sleep very well. Stress, I think.” Nightmares of Kyle gave me a fitful night. Dreams of Kyle pushing me down the stairs, and the sickening sensation of falling into a bottomless abyss. I shudder and tighten the belt of my robe around my waist.
“Morning, Jagger.” Good humor glows on Tony’s clean shaved face. “Are you sure you don’t want some? I’ll never be able to eat all this food.” With a plate in his hand, he slides onto a barstool.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Carbs go straight to my ass.” Weight control has always been an issue for me. They smell great though.” My mouth waters to prove the statement.
Em perches on the stool next to Tony and nibbles on a piece of toast. They make a good-looking couple. A twinge of envy tweaks my composure. I want that for myself, but at this rate—I’m going to die alone. In prison.
“You should go for a run with us. Nothing burns fat like jogging. Not that you need it.” His gaze bounces between us, catching Em’s
intense stare at me. “Did I miss something? You guys are acting weird.”
“No. We’re fine.” I drag my palms over my thighs. Em sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and looks away. Judging by the wrinkles on her forehead, the secrecy is killing her. “We had a tiny disagreement yesterday.”
“Yep. No biggie.” Em waves a hand through the air then rolls her eyes at me the second he glances away.
“That’s some car you’ve got in the driveway.” He speaks between mouthfuls of food, pausing to drag each bite through the thick syrup. “Where does a girl like you get something like that?”
“Her boyfriend bought it for her.” Em blurts out the statement, causing me to flinch. She presses a hand to her lips, horrified by her word vomit.
While Tony glances down at his plate, I scowl. What the fuck? I ask silently. She grimaces in apology. Aloud, I say, “He’s not my boyfriend.” The idea of Cash as my boyfriend brings a flash of heat to my face. God help me. I’d be a liar if I denied the notion crosses my mind now and then.
Em narrows her eyes. “He bought you a freaking classic car. If that’s not the definition of a boyfriend, then I don’t know what is.” Her disapproving tone tells me everything I need to know about her opinion of the gift, leading me to wonder if she actually wants Tony to find out so I’ll give up this craziness with Cash.
“Hold up. He bought you a car? That car?” Tony lets out a low whistle. “Damn, girl. I saw one of those go for over a hundred and fifty grand at an auction on TV. Sounds like he’s your boyfriend to me, too.”
Absolute Trust Page 1
