A Different Kind of Man (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Cox, Suzanne

  “I’m wondering why you’re so eager to give up your boss.”

  Michael glanced at his lawyer, who nodded then went back to his work. “Look, this DePaulo did some work for my boss, but he’s not my boss. He was doing dirty, you know, taking my boss’s money. So my boss sent him down here to work in his shipping business, but he had two guys kinda watching over him. These two guys turned up dead, and we want to know what’s going on. I come down here and find out DePaulo is selling guns to some crazy group and before I can get word to my boss the guy has two of his flunkies try to kill me. Why wouldn’t I want to turn him in?”

  Jackson shook his head. “Shipping business, huh? I know all about what happened between DePaulo and his uncle in Chicago. I was there. And I know his uncle is this boss of yours. So tell me something about the guns that go up north.”

  This time the lawyer glanced at his client, but Michael only smiled. “Sorry, all I know is DePaulo’s selling guns right here—if he’s taking them somewhere else, you’ll have to get that from him.”

  Jackson sighed and stood. “I’ll be back in a minute.” Outside the room, he stopped in front of the tiny one-way glass Matt had installed when he’d turned the storage closet into Cypress Landing’s version of an interview room. Matt and three FBI agents, including Rick Martel, Jackson’s former partner, all waited.

  Rick leaned against the wall. “What do you think?”

  “I think he’s not going to give up his boss in Chicago, but then I doubt any of us expected that.”

  Rick frowned. “You’re right. But what he’s saying makes sense. DePaulo comes down here, sets up a crystal meth lab and uses the drugs to pay off addicts who buy guns for him. We see that happening all the time and not just with the mob. DePaulo sells these guns for a whopping profit to the militia. That way the guns aren’t tied to anyone in DePaulo’s gang or the militia and everybody stays clean.”

  Jackson scratched his head. “You’re saying the guns we traced, the ones that were bought legally and reported stolen, were purchased by someone who was being paid with drugs to make the buy?”

  Nodding his head, Rick glanced at the man in the room waiting beside his lawyer. “Absolutely. DePaulo gives them just enough money to buy the guns and plenty of drugs as a payoff. He still sends guns up to his uncle but behind his back, he’s making all this money for himself, and I’m sure his uncle would want a cut if he knew about it. I think the boss is letting Michael tell all on DePaulo, to make things easier for Michael. But if DePaulo’s making money behind his uncle’s back again, we better find him quick, because I doubt the old man has any intention of DePaulo getting picked up by the police. He’s more likely to be some alligator’s lunch.”

  Thumbing through his notepad as if he’d find an answer there, Jackson sighed. “You’re right. We better start trying to track him down.”

  The three agents walked down the hall toward the office they were sharing with Jackson. Matt caught his arm before he could return to the interview room. “The other day you said you thought this DePaulo guy was behind what happened in Mexico.”

  Jackson nodded.

  “And it was just you and Emalea on this boat, right?”

  Leaning against the wall, Jackson nodded again. The sheriff studied him quietly for a minute, but he knew what was coming.

  “You’ve gotten involved with her, haven’t you? I know you’re not dating her or I’d have heard the gossip, but something happened between the two of you, didn’t it?”

  Jackson’s shoulders sagged. “I never intended it to happen. I fought it, ran from it, even. We just… We worked, like I never knew two people could.”

  Matt shook his head. “I’ve been in the same sinking ship before myself, when Cecile and I got together. You can bail water all day, but you’re going down.”

  “I’m afraid I sank completely to the bottom. But that’s where it stops.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Jackson stepped away from the wall. He’d made his decision where he and Emalea were concerned. Matt might as well hear it. “I believe what happened in Mexico was meant to happen to me. Emalea would have been collateral damage. Nobody, except possibly our closest friends here in Cypress Landing, have reason to think there’s any relationship between us at all. But if I keep seeing her, everyone will know. After they failed in Mexico, they could go after her. If I stay away from Emalea, they’ll have no reason to come looking for her.”

  Matt frowned. “You think if they believe she’s important to you, they’ll hurt her, because that’s what they did before.”

  Jackson’s hands balled into tight fists, and he fought the urge to punch the wall. “Damn right and I can’t let it happen again. Not to Emalea.”

  “Don’t you think she has a say in it?” Matt tapped Jackson’s chest with a folder he held.

  What did Matt want him to say? He had to see that if DePaulo knew Jackson cared about Emalea, loved her, she’d be in danger. Jackson had already proved one time that he couldn’t keep his loved ones safe by trying to watch over them. This was the only way. “She can’t have a say. I’ve decided and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her off their radar.”

  Matt watched him for a moment. “Even break her heart?”

  Jackson pinched the bridge of his nose. His boots were dusty. He needed to clean them. He needed… With resignation, he forced himself to break the dull silence.

  “Both of ours.” Just as he’d expected, the words hurt as much as the thought.

  THE SCENT OF DISINFECTANT and wet dog hair filled Emalea’s nose as she waited quietly at the counter to pick up Jade. She’d named the cat Jackson had given her Jade, because of the color of her eyes. Although she was beginning to think Lucy-fur would have been more appropriate. The animal was not a poster cat for friendly felines and her hands held the scratches to prove it. The cat had become much better lately, but the slightest change in routine made her unhappy and going to the vet had her positively enraged.

  When she gave her name and asked for the cat, the girl at the front desk dropped her pen, her mouth rounding in surprise—or dread—Emalea wasn’t sure which. Instead of bringing Jade to the front the way she had other people’s pets, the girl took Emalea’s cat carrier then marched to the back as if on a mission. After a few minutes, the most awful racket she’d ever heard emanated from the back room. Someone cursed while Emalea tried not to fidget at the counter.

  Returning to the waiting area, the girl held the carrier at arm’s length, her hands covered with long leather gloves. Emalea lifted the carrier to peer inside. Jade hissed, swiping the small barred window with a splotchy paw.

  “We’ll send you a bill and she’s due back in a month for another set of shots.”

  Emalea turned her attention back to the girl. “Oh, okay. Do I need to make an appointment now?”

  “No, you can come anytime but please call the day before.”

  “You’ll need a day’s notice to schedule her?”

  “No, I want to know the day before so I can take off.”

  Emalea didn’t have a response for that. Thank goodness Jade didn’t understand the words because they surely would have hurt her feelings. Poor kitty, she’d just been traumatized as a kitten so now she was defensive. Inside the cage, the kitten growled. Maybe she was more psycho than defensive, but everyone dealt with trauma in different ways. Time and the right company helped cure the wounds. She smiled, thinking of Jackson as she put the carrier on the seat beside her.

  AN HOUR LATER Emalea was leading Jade on a mad chase with a piece of string when she heard a car door slam. Pushing aside the blind, she was surprised to see Jackson striding up the steps.

  “Hi!” She threw open the door before he could knock and he stopped short in surprise.

  “I got finished at work a little early, so I decided to drop by. Should I have called?”

  Her arms went around his neck and she touched her lips to his briefly before pressing harder. He kissed her back gently but
not with passion, then set her away from him.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  She frowned. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “It’s not.”

  He took her by the hand leading her to the couch. Seeing Jade nearby, he bent to pet her only to be rewarded with a hiss and a red scratch on top of his hand.

  “She’s not a very friendly kitten.”

  Postponing what was coming, Emalea lifted the animal in her arms. “She’s fine when she gets used to you. But they hate to see us coming at the vet’s office.”

  “I can imagine.”

  Jade growled, not caring to be held, so Emalea set her on the floor and the cat promptly disappeared from the room.

  Jackson watched her pad away. “Where’s she going?”

  “To hide under the bed.” She sat on the sofa, but Jackson remained standing in the middle of the room.

  “That must be nice,” he murmured.

  “What?”

  “To be able to hide under the bed when you get scared and come out when things are safe.”

  She pulled at a thread on her cutoffs. “Why do I get the feeling we’re not talking about the cat anymore?”

  A booted toe rubbed her floor and for a moment he resembled a little boy who was trying to get the nerve to confess to breaking the neighbor’s window. She imagined a lot more than a window might be broken before Jackson finished.

  After a protracted silence, he spoke. “I guess I’m not just talking about the cat. Emalea, I don’t know how to say this except plainly. We can’t keep seeing each other.”

  She laughed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “That you can’t be a part of my life.”

  When he didn’t laugh with her or add an absurd remark to the statement, Emalea’s smile faltered then disappeared. “You’re serious, aren’t you? This isn’t a joke.”

  “I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

  More than a few emotions erupted within her, most she didn’t want Jackson to see. She hadn’t expected he would get home from Mexico after telling her he loved her and just dump her like a pile of dirty clothes.

  “I guess it was a vacation fling after all.” A harsh note of anger and hurt shook her voice.

  “No, that’s not it at all. Don’t you see that you’re in danger by being close to me? I won’t let you get hurt.”

  “You can’t always keep people from getting hurt. What makes you think what happened to your wife and daughter will happen to me?”

  Jackson wiped his hand over his mouth, smoothing the hair that surrounded it. He repeated the process twice more before he spoke. “It already has. We just got lucky.”

  “Do you believe people were trying to hurt us in Mexico?” Emalea almost said he must be crazy, but she knew he based his fears on the cold facts from his past.

  “I think they wanted me dead and if that meant you had to be dead, too, then so be it.”

  Emalea stiffened. She’d always been able to take care of herself. Did Jackson think one incident would send her into hiding? “I’m not afraid. Besides, what’s to stop them from coming after me even if we’re not seeing each other?”

  He took a step toward her. “Right now, no one except your closest friends know there’s ever been anything between us. We were together on the dive boat, but I could have been with anyone. There’s no reason for DePaulo or anyone else to think of hurting you to get to me. I plan to keep it that way. I didn’t expect you to be afraid. But I’m afraid, Emalea, not for myself but for you. I won’t stand by and let you get hurt or even killed.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself for a moment, fighting the urge to shiver. She wasn’t sure if it was from anger or pain. “It should be my decision.”

  Jackson shook his head. “You don’t realize the danger. If you did, we wouldn’t be having this discussion.”

  “To me it’s not sounding like much of a discussion. It appears you’ve already made the decision for both of us.”

  “I have. I’m doing everything I can to keep you safe. If that means not seeing you again, then I’ll do it.”

  Emalea leaped to her feet. Crossing the room in long strides, she threw open the door. “If that’s the way it’s going to be, then I suggest you get started right now. Though I have to tell you, in a town this size, not running into each other could be next to impossible.”

  He came to the door slowly, pausing to rest one hand on the frame, refusing to meet her eyes. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  “Does that include hightailin’ it back to Chicago?”

  She waited for him to deny it but he didn’t. “It might. I’m just sorry it has to be this way.”

  She lifted her hand, wanting to reach out to him, but let it drop to her side. A heaviness in her chest and her throat made the words stall then explode in a crumbled rush. “It doesn’t have to be.”

  “I’m sorry, but it does.”

  “You’re just using this as an excuse.” She found a bit of anger buried deep within the hurt and she pulled at it, using its strength to keep from breaking down in front of him. “It’s not me you want to safeguard at all, is it? It’s you. You don’t want to risk loving and losing again. Well, Jackson, there will always be a risk of losing those you love, even if you weren’t in law enforcement. Be honest about who you’re trying to protect here.”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Emalea.”

  She gave his arm a shove, loosing it from the door frame. “Don’t be. I’m glad I learned how wishy-washy you are now rather than a few weeks or months from now.”

  He crossed the space to his truck in seconds. Pausing, he stood with the door open, staring at her. He leaned away from the door as though he might change his mind and come back. But he hammered his fist against the metal, then climbed behind the wheel.

  Not willing to watch him drive away, she slammed the door. For the second time today, tears threatened, but this time she didn’t bother to bite them back. They came in a flood. She slid to the floor, leaning her head against her knees. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. When Lana had said Emalea would find the perfect man one day, she hadn’t believed her. But Jackson had proved her wrong. He was perfect for her. He’d shown her every man couldn’t be smacked with a label. No man would ever equal Jackson. No one would ever measure up.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  A BARGE WITH A TUGBOAT hustling behind glided in slow motion atop the brown-black water of the river. Around Jackson, people and events floated along in a languid motion, moving from one day to the next comforted by the near palpable air, while he bounced like the silver ball of a pinball machine, his direction determined by whatever lead he came across. He longed to be a part of the community that surrounded him, to stroll along the streets where his biggest investigations were stolen bicycles and random acts of teenage pranksters.

  From Jackson’s vantage point, on a bar stool at Sal’s, the opposite bank of the Mississippi rose green and dense. What was going on at the militia encampment? Once this case ended, they would still be there. Even though the town would seem quiet, a restlessness would always be brewing just under the surface.

  Nursing a lukewarm beer, he wasn’t exactly sure if he was off duty or not and at this point he didn’t really care. Since he’d gotten back from Mexico, he’d been working around the clock. Not that he minded. Constant work helped him to avoid seeing and thinking of Emalea. It also meant he didn’t have to answer the question of whether or not he would remain in Cypress Landing after he closed this case.

  The mug in front of him disappeared and was immediately replaced by a full one, its frosty sides releasing vapor into the warm air.

  “Havin’ a rough day?”

  He nodded at Mick, who refilled a bowl of peanuts.

  “Been busy out on the river today.”

  Jackson glanced toward the water where a small boat raced along with the current. He turned back to the big man. “Anything in particular?”

  Mick e
yed the few customers in the bar then shrugged. “Couldn’t say.” He walked from behind the bar to carry a drink to one of the tables. When he came back, he slid a bowl of peanuts toward Jackson.

  “There—” he tapped the bowl “—that might be good for you.”

  Staring into the bowl, Jackson imagined he saw a flash of white among the red-brown husks. He ate several peanuts until a small folded piece of paper was visible. Catching it in his fingers he pretended to brush his hand across his chest, dropping the paper into his shirt pocket. He sat a few moments longer then pushed away from the bar.

  “See ya, Mick.”

  “Yeah, man. Take care a yourself. Seen Doc around lately?”

  Jackson paused at the door. “No, I haven’t seen her in a while.”

  Mick shook his head. “Hate that. I thought the two of you might make a couple one day.”

  Jackson wiped his hand over his head. “I…I guess not.” He hurried to his truck before he opened his mouth and started whining about his woman problems to Mick. The whole idea was to keep people from thinking Emalea was important to him. If he stayed in Cypress Landing that might be a difficult task.

  MEGAN JOHNSON SPRAYED glass cleaner on the front door at Picture Perfect, then began to wipe it fiercely with a paper towel.

  “Hi, Megan.”

  Emalea wasn’t sure how to word what she needed to ask and not breach confidentiality. “Where’s the boy who usually helps you do this?”

  The girl stopped, letting drops of cleaner run to the sill. She glanced up and down the street then took a step closer to Emalea. “Ms. LeBlanc, I know Kent comes to talk to you once a week. He told me but said for me not to mention it ’cause his dad would get really mad if he knew. He said his mom had given permission.”

  “That’s true, Megan. You haven’t told, have you?”

  “No way. I’d never do anything to hurt Kent.”