Jake had expected him to say daughter, to just once put Kylie ahead of his damn precious career. Nothing, apparently, came before it.
“It wasn’t even hard to find out,” Riordan boasted. “You did a piss-poor job of hiding it. It took my investigator less than six hours to track Angela Baker and her brat from here to New Mexico. I have more information on you than you could possibly gather on me.”
Finally Jake found his voice. “I was ten years old when my mother legally changed our names—eleven when my stepfather adopted me and changed it again. I wasn’t hiding anything.”
“I wonder if my daughter would see it that way. I don’t know. I think Kylie would expect the man who’s screwing her to tell her who he really is first.”
Jake’s fingers curled into a fist. He would dearly love to punch that smug look off the bastard’s face—would like to make him damn sorry for using the word screwing in the same sentence with Kylie. But how much trouble would assaulting the senator on his home turf bring him? More than he needed.
“Kylie’s learning a lot of new stuff since I came to town,” he said mildly.
Riordan’s face flushed an unhealthy red, and a vein throbbed in his forehead. “She doesn’t believe your crap. I’m her father. She’s idolized me since she was old enough to walk.”
She had, but Riordan had never returned the favor. He should have adored his daughter, treasured her, not used her to achieve his goals. Not disillusioned her. “And now she knows her idol has feet of clay…and the morals of a common criminal.”
The red turned crimson and the vein looked ready to burst. It took a moment’s deep breathing for Riordan to get it under control, took another moment for him to summon up the brash, ballsy arrogance. “You think she’s on your side in this? You think she gives a damn what happened to your worthless father twenty-two years ago? You’re wrong. She’s on damage control. She’s playing you for a fool, Norris. She’s loyal to me—always has been, always will be. She’s been keeping me informed of your every move. I know what you know.”
“Right,” Jake said flatly.
“I know you talked to the bartender at Buddy’s yesterday. Went out to the Franklin house with the key Therese gave you. Met with those three bitches Phyllis called her best friends.”
Jake was ashamed to admit that, deep inside, he felt a moment’s doubt. He knew Kylie had talked to her father about him on Wednesday morning, again on Thursday and yet again on Friday morning. Though they’d spent most of Friday together, she’d had chances to call him—when she was alone in the Franklins’ bedroom, when she’d dropped Jake off at the motel to clean up, when she’d gotten ready for the bed. With a cell phone, the senator was never more than a button away.
“The cops you had following us could have given you the same information.”
“Me? Have cops follow you? I don’t have that authority. And even if I did, I would never abuse it that way. I’m a public servant. I would never take advantage of my position for personal gain.” Riordan was wearing his politician’s persona now, so sincere that even Jake would be tempted to believe him if he didn’t know better. But the sly look that entered Riordan’s eyes was more in keeping with what Jake did know. “Besides, I have no reason to rely on the police department to keep track of you. Kylie’s much more efficient.”
Riordan raised one brow. “You don’t believe me? How about a little proof? I know you found out about Jillian’s secret bank account. Over three hundred thousand dollars. Where do you think it came from? Blackmail?”
Jake’s nerves tightened, and his jaw clamped so hard that his teeth ached. Kylie wasn’t keeping her father informed. He didn’t believe it. Wouldn’t believe it. He’d seen how upset she was by all the negative things they’d uncovered. He knew how deeply this whole mess disturbed her. He’d pried her fingers from the steering wheel in the Pancake Palace parking lot, had practically pried her from the car. She couldn’t fake that kind of emotion.
Unless, like her father, she was one hell of an actor.
He hated himself for doubting her, hated Riordan for making him doubt her. She’d risked her entire relationship with the father she admired to help Jake find the truth.
Unless there hadn’t been any risk. If Riordan was behind everything she’d said and done…
But there was no way he would have condoned her having sex with Jake. He was her father, for God’s sake. Not a loving one, but still…even Jim Riordan’s ambition must have some limits, and surely prostituting his only daughter exceeded them.
It was almost as if Riordan read his mind. “Kylie and I have a very close relationship. Of course, you wouldn’t understand that, seeing that your father’s spent more than half your life in prison. Since her mother died, we’ve become even closer. There’s nothing she wouldn’t do for me. Hang out with a second-rate writer. Pretend to believe his outrageous accusations against me. Sleep with him.”
The senator shrugged expansively. “I would have drawn the line there, but Kylie is devoted to my career. I told her Wednesday, ‘You do whatever it takes to make that man believe you’re on his side,’ and the very next night she invited you into her bed. Three times, I believe she said.”
Jake’s stomach knotted and his palms grew damp. He couldn’t fill his lungs without a struggle, couldn’t hear for the buzzing in his ears. Maybe Riordan had made a lucky guess. Maybe Roberts had reported to him that Jake had spent the night there—though he hadn’t seen any officers tailing him that night or the next morning, until No-Neck had caught up with him at the motel, wanting to know where he’d been.
In his experience, women just didn’t discuss the details of their sex lives with their fathers. But Kylie’s relationship with Riordan was unlike any father/daughter relationship he’d seen.
“What’s wrong, Norris? At a loss for words?” Riordan chuckled. “You’d think, dealing with scum like you do—coming from scum like you do—you’d have a better sense of when someone’s feeding you a line. Guess it’s tougher to tell when you’re thinking with your crotch instead of your head.”
He made a show of looking at the Rolex on his left wrist. “I’d better get going or I’ll miss my tee time. You want some advice? Forget this book, forget your worthless father and go back where you came from. This town ran you off once before. We’d be happy to do it again. Only you won’t get off so easy this time.”
Hefting the golf bag over his shoulder again, he strode off to the garage, keyed a code into the box on the near end, then ducked under the electric door as it raised.
Jake edged back into the recess of the door, coarse wood biting into his back. For a moment he just leaned there, controlling his breathing, blocking the racing thoughts from his mind, but the focus lasted only a moment.
Jim Riordan was a liar. He would do anything to protect his reputation and his political ambition. He’d already sent at least one innocent man to prison, had already broken his marriage vows with at least one affair. Why in hell would Jake believe anything he said?
He wouldn’t. Didn’t. There was another logical source for each of the bits of information Riordan had. In spite of No-Neck’s dumb act, the police might have known Jake was at the mansion that night. One of Phyllis’s friends could have mentioned the savings account to her husband, who’d passed it on to Riordan. Therese had likely told her cop boyfriend about giving them the key to the house. Anyone could have seen them at Buddy’s.
All more likely than Kylie reporting to her father that they’d had sex, when and how many times. Unless Jake didn’t really know her at all.
It had been less than ninety-six hours since they’d met. Not much time to go from attraction to hostility to desire to intimacy and a whole lot more. Not much time to know just how far he could trust her.
Not much time to fall in love with her, either, but he was too damn close to doing just that. His only defense was that it had been an intense four days. He felt as if he’d known her forever. He found himself at odd moments thinking abou
t forever. Sharing his work with her, his home, his life. Having a family with her. Making the most of what destiny offered with her.
He smiled thinly. He wanted “forever” with a woman whose father he had to destroy in order to save his own. Destiny had one hell of a sense of humor.
But what he wanted wasn’t the point. For several reasons, the book had to come first. He was contractually obligated to deliver a manuscript by next summer. He’d promised Charley he would find out the truth. He’d promised himself, regardless of what the truth was. If he proved Charley’s guilt, it was better than not knowing.
But instead he’d virtually disproved it. He had a real chance at getting his father out of prison, at giving back the freedom Riordan and his pals had stolen. He could give Charley a shot at a normal life, could undo at least some of the wrongs done him.
That was what mattered. All that mattered. He couldn’t let anything or anyone interfere with that, not even Kylie. Not if there was the slightest chance what her father said was true.
It sickened him that he might not be able to trust her. That he had to treat her as untrustworthy whether it was true or just another of her father’s lies. Charley had too much to lose.
He had a lot to lose, too, some part of him protested. Kylie was the first woman he’d ever felt this way about. If he lost her…
He’d have a chance to make it right or to learn to feel this way about someone else. He was relatively young. He had a lot of time left. Charley, on the other hand, was fifty-eight years old. He never should have spent a day in jail, much less twenty-two years, and damned if Jake was going to risk his best opportunity to get out.
Grimly he went inside, leaving his oatmeal bowl in the sink, moving quietly to the living room. He packed away his computer and the piles of paper stacked around the sofa. He buttoned his shirt, put on his boots and socks, carried everything to the door, then returned to the sofa.
Kylie hadn’t moved except to snuggle closer to the fat pillows that lined the back of the couch. The throw covered her at an angle, its fringed edge dragging the floor. Crouching, he straightened it, tucked it more securely around her, then brushed his fingers lightly over her hair, across her cheek, to her shoulder. Even in sleep, she smiled, freed one hand to cover his and murmured his name.
His gut knotted. He was making a mistake. Kylie wasn’t like her father. She wasn’t taking his side.
But she was Riordan’s daughter, and Jake knew too well what a child would do for a parent, right or wrong be damned. He was walking away from her on the off chance that her loyalty was greater than her honor. It was the worst wrong he’d done in a long time and he knew it, but he was doing it anyway. For Charley’s sake.
Maybe someday she would forgive him. But he knew for sure that if he trusted her and she betrayed him, he would never forgive himself.
Gently he worked his hand free of hers, gave her shoulder a small squeeze, then stood and walked out.
Kylie knew the instant she awoke that Jake was gone. It wasn’t just the stillness in the house. It was a change in the aura. She didn’t feel his presence and she missed it.
Stretching, she rolled over and realized she lay on the couch instead of her bed. She’d sorted through Bert and Jillian’s tax records until she couldn’t stand it anymore, she recalled, and had lain down just to watch Jake work for a while. He’d looked so serious, sitting there on the floor, computer in front of him, papers all around him. At some point he’d kicked off his boots, unbuttoned his shirt and combed his fingers through his hair a dozen times or so, giving him an adorably tousled appearance. She could have just lain there and looked for hours if she hadn’t fallen asleep.
The papers were gone now. So was the laptop. No empty water bottles lined the coffee table. In fact, there was no sign that he’d been there at all except for the elusive fragrance that drifted on the air.
Pushing back the throw, she got up and padded off looking for a note from him. It wasn’t on the coffee table or the refrigerator. There was nothing on the door, propped on the bed pillows or against the bathroom mirror, and no message on her answering machine.
Why had he left without a word? That didn’t seem in keeping with the Jake she knew. If he’d had someone to interview, he would have invited her along. If he’d simply gotten hungry and gone out for breakfast, he would have awakened her to go, too. After all, she’d gotten more sleep than he had.
Could it have something to do with the senator? Could he have noticed Jake’s truck parked beside the hedge and ordered him from the property? Could he have done something more sinister?
Heart rate steadily increasing, Kylie went to the night table, thumbed through the phone book, then dialed the Tepee Motor Court. The clerk connected her to Jake’s room, where the phone rang six times before she hung up. She retrieved her cell phone from her purse in the foyer, keyed through the screens until she found Jake’s cell phone number under Incoming Calls and pressed dial. After four rings, it went to voice mail. “This is Jake. Leave a message.”
She swallowed hard. “Hi, Jake. It’s Kylie. I was just wondering what’s up. Give me a call.” Grimacing, she disconnected, then combed her hair back from her face. Would she sound as insecure to Jake as she had to herself?
It was no big deal. He’d probably gone back to the motel to shower and change clothes and he’d taken everything with him to keep it safe. Hadn’t she told him she wasn’t comfortable having the Franklins’ records in her house or car? He hadn’t left a note because he was a man, and men didn’t think of those things, and he’d probably thought he would be back before she knew he was gone.
That all sounded logical, but she couldn’t wrap her mind around “logical,” not after the past few days. Someone had already run him off the road and taken a few shots at him. What if their scare tactics had escalated? What if they’d been waiting when he’d driven out the gate? What if—
“Stop it!” she admonished. “You’re worrying for nothing.” She would shower and get dressed, and if she hadn’t heard from him by then she would call again or drive to the motel.
An hour later she was in the process of doing both—dialing the number as she turned onto Main Street. Her palms were growing damp when the ringing ended abruptly. There was a moment’s silence, then a hoarse, “Hello.”
Relief flood through her. “Jake, it’s Kylie.”
Another silence. “Yeah. I figured.”
“Did I wake you?”
“Yeah.” Bedsprings creaked in the background, accompanied by a soft slither of sound. Bedsheets against bare skin.
“I’m sorry. I woke up and you were gone and I was worried.”
“Sorry. I just needed to sleep.”
His voice was husky, dazed, and his yawn sounded genuine, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. There was no reason he couldn’t have slept at her house—unless he was too old-fashioned. Hadn’t he wanted to leave early Friday morning so no one would know he’d spent the night?
“Okay. I’m sorry I woke you. Call me later, will you?” Without waiting to see if he agreed, she hung up, stopped at a red light, then sighed. There was no point going to the motel now that she knew he was all right. She didn’t need to run any errands, didn’t have any chores awaiting her at home, really didn’t have anything at all to do besides catch up on her work. She didn’t want to spend the next few hours focusing on the senator’s career, but even more she didn’t want to hang around the house waiting on Jake’s call.
The front door of Riordan Law Office was locked, the reception area lit only by the sun that filtered through the blinds. She locked the door behind her, ignored the light switches and went down the hall to her office. There she practically skidded to a stop.
The lamp on her desk was on, and her father sat at her desk, rifling through the drawers. A week ago she wouldn’t have thought anything of it. This morning she couldn’t stop suspicion from flaring. “Can I help you find something, sir?”
His ga
ze flickered over her. “That’s hardly appropriate attire for the office,” he said as he removed her date book from the center drawer and flipped through it.
She glanced down at her caramel-colored trousers and rust sweater set. Though she usually wore dresses or suits with heels to work, this was far from the most casual outfit she’d chosen, and he knew it. “Let me run right home and change into something more appropriate,” she murmured sarcastically. Crossing the room, she sat in the chair that fronted her desk.
He tossed the date book on the desk on top of folders he’d removed from the file drawer. A moment later an envelope of photos of a college friend’s newest baby landed there, too, along with a few magazines.
“If you’re looking for something that has to do with Jake, you won’t find it,” she said evenly.
“I found these.” He picked up a box from the floor and dropped it on the desk with such force that it slid to the edge, nearly toppling into her lap. Inside was the complete works of true-crime writer extraordinaire, Jake Norris. She’d been so busy since placing the order that she’d forgotten about them.
“I wanted to see if I agreed with your assessment,” she said, nudging the box back from the edge.
Giving a snort, the senator shoved the pile in front of him and knocked the box to the floor. “You’re not paid to have an opinion, Kylie. I tell you what to think, and you think it.”
She refused to pick up the box, or to rub the sudden emptiness that had appeared in her stomach. She had always thought they had a good working relationship, that he’d meant it when he said he valued her intelligence and her input. Did he really think of her as some sort of mindless drone who let him do all her thinking for her?
“Where is Norris?”
“Call Chief Roberts and ask him.”
The senator’s face turned dark. “I cannot believe what an idiot you are. Some half-breed Indian trailer-park trash pays you a little attention, and you start believing everything he says. You’ve betrayed me, your mother, the Riordan name. And the funny thing is, you don’t even know who he really is.”
More Than a Hero Page 17
