That was Charlotte. Stubborn to the core. Even her hair had a mind of its own.
He clenched his jaw, caught between a groan and a laugh. After what she’d been through in the past twenty-four hours, she belonged in bed. They both did. He’d tried to get her there, but he’d known she wouldn’t rest until she’d stopped in to see Luc.
She pulled a chair closer to the IV pole and reached for Luc’s hand where it lay on the covers. The nurses had cautioned her not to disturb him—talking to the police earlier had sapped his strength—so she didn’t try to wake him up. She simply didn’t want him to be alone.
That was Charlotte, too. Her sense of loyalty to her family ran deep. It defined who she was. It had been one of the things that had kept her and Jackson apart, but in fact, it was one of the things he’d always loved about her.
There was a soft chime from one of the elevators down the hall. Jackson turned his head in time to see Charlotte’s sisters step out of the car. Melanie spotted him first and hurried forward. “Jackson!” She grasped his arm as she stretched up to kiss his cheek. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” She focused on his bruises and shuddered. “You are okay, aren’t you?”
“More or less.”
“I still can’t believe everything that’s happened. Where’s Charlotte?”
“In there,” he said, nodding toward the glass-walled room on the other side of the corridor.
Melanie turned. “I can’t believe that part either. Is it true? Luc’s our cousin?”
Sylvie and Renee reached Jackson together, each engulfing him in a firm hug before they echoed their youngest sister’s questions. Charlotte had given them only the bare details over the phone, so Jackson added what he knew.
He could see varying degrees of anger on their faces, which was understandable in view of how Luc had deliberately set out to hurt the family through the hotel. Like Charlotte, they might accept Luc as part of the family, yet it was going to take time for the gulf he’d created to heal.
Sylvie glanced at the police officer who sat in a chair outside the entrance to the ICU. “Jackson, is Luc going to face charges?”
“It’s possible,” Jackson replied. “He didn’t ask for a deal before he talked to the police. His priority was saving our lives.”
Melanie stepped up to the glass and studied Luc. “We all make mistakes,” she said. “It takes courage to admit them.”
“Luc was shot because he tried to change,” Sylvie said, moving beside Melanie. “He wanted to do the right thing. He told the truth even though it got him arrested.”
“That has to count for something,” Melanie said.
Unlike her younger sisters, Renee didn’t say anything in Luc’s defense. Her expression was hopeful but guarded as she looked at Jackson. “He’s going to be all right, isn’t he?”
Jackson turned to assess the young man on the hospital bed. His face was pale and his body lax. Along with the IV that was connected to his arm, he was hooked up to monitors that tracked his respiration and heart rate. He didn’t bear much resemblance to the handsome blond concierge Jackson had first met a week ago.
According to the E.R. doctors, Luc had been close to death by the time he’d reached the hospital. Jackson’s initial guess had been right—the bullet had nicked Luc’s liver, and the massive internal bleeding had nearly proven fatal. Somehow, though, Luc had found the will to live through surgery. Now that the damage had been repaired and the blood he’d lost replaced, he was expected to make a full recovery.
Then again, Luc’s survival wasn’t that unexpected. After all, he was related to the Marchands. Strength seemed to run in the family.
“He’ll make it,” Jackson said. He looked at Charlotte. “He wants a second chance, and that gives a man a lot to live for.”
As if she could feel his gaze, she glanced toward the glass. She smiled and rose from the chair.
Her sisters surrounded her as soon as she stepped into the corridor. Jackson stayed where he was, not wanting to intrude on the reunion. Charlotte’s eyes were moist again—she’d been crying on and off for most of the night—but these were healing tears.
It was just as well that they’d made this detour instead of going straight to Charlotte’s house. He’d seen the aftereffects of trauma far too often and he knew that victims needed love and reassurance to heal emotionally as much as they needed physical comfort. A phone call from the police wouldn’t have been enough for Charlotte’s family, either. They needed to see her in person.
The elevator chimed again. Anne Marchand stepped out, but she wasn’t alone. A tall silver-haired man moved beside her. Dressed in pyjamas and a burgundy dressing gown, William Armstrong nevertheless managed to look as dignified as if he were wearing one of his typical suits.
Jackson strode toward them. William had been allowed out of bed for a few days now but only for short, supervised walks. “Uncle William. Do the nurses on duty know you’ve left your floor?”
Anne put her arms around her fiancé’s waist. “See, William? I’m not the only one who’s worried. There was no reason for you to meet me.”
“There was every reason,” he said, taking another careful step forward. He had one arm draped around Anne’s shoulders, but most of his weight was on the cane he gripped in his right hand. “I’ve been here over a week. You’ve already had to face too much on your own.”
Jackson assessed his uncle’s condition, automatically gauging his color and the rate of the pulse he could see in the vein on the side of his neck. There was a slight tremor in William’s arm from the effort of leaning on his cane, but his steps were steady. He was right—it had been more than a week since his surgery. As long as he didn’t overdo it, the walk would be beneficial.
Yet even if Jackson had wanted to object, one look into William’s eyes told him his uncle wouldn’t have listened. Jackson recognized that expression. This was a man in love. If William thought Anne needed him, he would be with her no matter what the cost.
By the time they reached Luc’s room Renee had gone inside to take her turn sitting with her cousin. Anne released William to pull Charlotte into a hard embrace. They clung to each other in silence, parent to child, woman to woman, confirming the bond they would share for life. Yet when Anne finally pulled back, her joy at seeing her daughter safe was clouded by grief. “Oh, chérie, I was so worried.” She looked at Jackson. “About both of you.”
“I’m sorry about Pierre, Mama,” Charlotte said. “I wish the news was only good.”
“Shh, bébé, don’t fret. I would have heard about my brother soon anyway. William had people looking for him.”
“I’m not going to call off their investigation yet,” William said. “I’m sure you’ll want to learn all you can.”
“Thank you, darling. You know me so well.” Anne moved her gaze to the window. She studied her nephew for a while. “I hope to know Luc someday, too. I liked him from the beginning.”
“We all did,” Charlotte said. “He’s a charming young man.”
“I wonder if some part of me recognized Pierre in him.”
“He doesn’t look anything like your brother, as far as I can remember,” William said.
Anne continued to regard Luc. “I know, but it’s more than that. There’s a certain air about him that I recognize in here,” she said, tapping her fingertips to her chest. “It’s hard to explain. It’s almost as if…” Her voice hitched. “This is going to sound silly.”
“What, Mama?” Charlotte asked.
“Well, regardless of what Luc had planned to do when he came to the hotel, this was how things were meant to happen. Perhaps fate was trying to bring Pierre’s son home to us all along.”
At Anne’s comment, Sylvie moved away from where she’d been standing near the window and slipped her arm around her mother’s shoulders. “Of course fate had a hand in this, Mama. After all, it is Mardi Gras. Anything can happen.”
Charlotte pressed her fingertips to her temples. “I completely forgot
what day it is.”
“Well, you have been rather busy,” Sylvie said.
“There’s so much to do,” Charlotte said. “Julie must be swamped. And if you’re here, Sylvie, who’s managing the art gallery?” She twisted to look at Melanie. “Doesn’t Robert need help with the preparations for the ball? That menu you planned is so ambitious. And Renee should be coordinating the event team. This is the most important night of the year for us.” Her outburst stopped as quickly as it had started. She glanced down at her soiled clothes, then looked at Jackson. “It’s Mardi Gras.”
He’d been wondering when reality would set in. He’d hoped to get her home first, for her sake as much as for his. Her adrenaline had already worn off and her body would be needing sleep. His motives for wanting to get her alone weren’t entirely selfish.
Who was he kidding? Of course his motives were selfish. He wanted to grab her and kiss her until she forgot about everything except him. Or, better yet, throw her over his shoulder and carry her away from her family and the hotel, have her all to himself again.
But if he wanted a second chance with Charlotte, that wasn’t the way to go about it. He took a steadying breath, determined to keep his voice level even if it killed him. “Yes, it’s Mardi Gras.”
“You need to see Yves.”
Her remark caught him off guard. “That can wait.”
“No, it can’t. This is why you came home.” She looked at her mother. “I’m sorry, but you’ll all have to manage without me today.”
“Of course, chérie,” Anne said. “After what you’ve been through, no one expects you to go to work.”
“Good, because I have other priorities.” She caught Jackson’s arm. “We’ll have to call Yves and Marie and tell them to wait for us. We can stop by my house and change clothes on the way.”
“Charlotte, I don’t need Yves to run the test. I know what the result will be.”
In spite of the weariness that tinged the corners of her eyes, her expression turned fierce. She said goodbye to her family and walked to the elevator with him, her cloth slippers slapping briskly against the floor. She didn’t speak again until she had punched in the button for the lobby and they were on their way down. “We’re not giving up. Things worked out for the hotel, they’ll work out for you.”
“That’s what I’m hoping, but it has nothing to do with my hand.”
“It does. I know how much this means to you. We’ll do whatever it takes—”
“Charlotte, look,” he said, holding up his right hand.
“Mon Dieu!” she whispered. “It’s so swollen. What’s wrong? How…?” She sucked in her breath. “The tape! You hurt yourself when you tried to get loose, didn’t you? Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”
Jackson had planned to wait until later before he revealed what had happened. Charlotte had needed to focus on her family and she’d already had enough shocks to deal with.
But he knew her well enough to realize she wouldn’t be put off any longer. He reached past her to press the emergency stop on the elevator, and the car jerked to a halt. “Take a closer look,” he said, squeezing his hand into a fist.
“Your knuckles are red. They look so sore.” She touched her fingertips to his hand. “We should have gone straight to Emergency instead of going to see Luc. Maybe it isn’t too late….”
Her words trailed off as she finally took in what she was seeing. “Jackson, you made a fist.”
“I was showing off.” He dropped his hand and shook it out. “I can’t do it for long. It aches like hell.”
“It aches? You can feel it?”
“I can feel everything.”
“My God.” Her eyes widened. “You hit Fergusson with your right hand. That’s why your knuckles are red.”
“I had to. I was hanging on to his gun arm with my left. I couldn’t let him get off another shot.”
“But how…?” She reached for his hand and held it gingerly between both of hers, just as she had countless times during the past week. “This is incredible.”
His fingers still felt as if they were surrounded by glass shards, but the warmth of Charlotte’s touch soothed the pain, so he didn’t pull away. “Yves said there could have been bone fragments in the way that might have been interfering with the healing process.”
“Yes, I remember! Do you think…?”
“The best I can figure, all the straining I did while I was trying to get out of the tape ripped something loose inside the scar tissue.”
“Oh, Jackson, this is just marvelous.” Her voice broke. Once again her eyes brimmed with tears. “I’m so happy for you.”
“I’ve still got a long way to go before I can even think about picking up a scalpel. This is just the start.”
“You’ll make it. I know you will.”
“So will you, Charlotte. Your hotel is safe now. I understand how you love that place.”
She wiped her cheeks on the back of his hand. She didn’t reply.
Jackson knew they should be happy. Against all odds, they’d both won.
Yet Charlotte was starting to tremble again, and her tears were flowing faster.
“Don’t cry, Charlie. Whatever happens today, you won’t lose the hotel. It could take a while, but with the right lawyer, you might be able to get back some of the million Remy transferred to Blount’s bank. Your insurance agent will have to pay your claim for the fire, too. Everything’s going to be fine.”
She licked a tear from the corner of her mouth and smiled, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. She turned and pressed the button to restart the elevator. “Yes, we’re both going to get what we want.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHARLOTTE WOKE UP WITH her pulse pounding. The shade was drawn and the bedroom curtains were closed—she couldn’t see any daylight—and for an instant she thought she was back in that windowless closet in Blount’s warehouse….
But then she felt Jackson’s breath stir her hair, and the length of his body warmed her back as his arm slid around her waist.
And she knew without a doubt that she was home.
“Finally,” Jackson murmured. He moved her hair aside and kissed the back of her neck. “It’s about time you woke up.”
She exhaled shakily. “The room’s so dark. What time is it?”
“It’s still afternoon. Last time I checked my watch it was almost three.” He kissed his way to her ear. “I meant to ask you, why don’t you have an alarm clock in your bedroom?”
“I tried, but I always ended up turning it off and going back to sleep, so I keep it in the kitchen now.”
“Ah, I should have guessed. It’s that morning-person issue again.”
She arched her neck as he kissed her earlobe. Of all the things she wanted to talk about, the time of day wasn’t one of them.
Yet neither of them had felt like talking when they’d finally reached her house. A bath, then bed had been all she’d had the energy for. Even their lovemaking had been quieter than usual.
Or maybe she hadn’t said anything because she’d been putting this off. She’d known it was going to hurt.
She closed her eyes, trying to recapture the resolve she’d felt this morning. “Jackson?”
He eased her onto her back and kissed the corner of her jaw. “Mmm?”
“You’re still going to see Yves, aren’t you?”
“I rescheduled the appointment for tomorrow.”
“When did you do that?”
“I phoned him while you were sleeping.”
“Did you tell him about your hand?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Did he agree with your diagnosis?”
He gave her a gentle bite on her shoulder. “Charlie, could you pay attention here? I’m trying to seduce you.”
Oh, she knew what he was trying to do, and he was doing a good job, too. It didn’t take much for him to make her body respond. What harm would there be if she stayed where she was and let this happen….
No.
That’s what she’d been doing all along. She wriggled out from underneath him to switch on the lamp, then slid out of bed and pulled on her robe. “Please, just answer my question. It’s important.”
Sighing, he stretched out on his side. The sheet bunched at his waist, leaving his chest bare, revealing every ripple of muscle as he flexed his arm and propped his head on his left hand. Charlotte was close—oh so close—to sliding back into bed when he held out his right hand. “Yves doesn’t want to agree until he sees it for himself.”
“He’s optimistic, though, isn’t he?”
Jackson chuckled. “He whooped so loudly when I told him, my ear’s still ringing. Marie is convinced it was because of her gris-gris. I didn’t tell her I never took it out of the package.”
She watched him move his fingers. Although his motions were stiff, they were strong. The wonder of what had happened was still difficult to fathom, yet the truth of it was undeniable. Jackson was healing.
She tied the belt of her robe and knelt on the mattress to face him. “It’s the best news we could possibly hear.”
“Hey.” He rubbed his knuckle beneath her eye. “You’re not going to start crying again, are you?”
“I never cry.”
“Sure. You don’t yell either.”
“No, that would be rude.”
“And you’re too much of a lady to head-butt a cop three times your size while you’re wearing a chair taped to your back, right?”
Hearing him joke about the nightmare helped to put it in perspective. She smiled. That was her Jackson. He always knew what she needed. “You’re the one who saved our lives. If you hadn’t managed to free yourself…”
Unmasked Page 19
