Carlotta’s skin tingled from the electricity pinging between them. “Because you arrested my fugitive father, and things could get messy?”
“Oh, right.” He worked his mouth from side to side. “Do you think we could suspend our agreement for a while?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“I’m on my way to meet the hoity-toity dressmaker, and I could use a translator.”
“Jarold Jett is American, Jack. He speaks English.”
“But I don’t speak designer. I need a buffer.”
She laughed. “Okay. If I can bring my autograph book.”
“Get it.”
Carlotta walked over to Patricia. “Can you handle things here on your own for a while?”
“And keep all the commissions for myself? No problem.”
She balked, remembering the money the Alexanders had lost. “Patricia, I had no idea your parents were—”
“In fact, if you want to cover the fashion show later,” Patricia cut in, “that would be fine with me.”
At the woman’s matter-of-fact change of subject, Carlotta bit down on her tongue. “Okay.” Patricia had a right not to want to discuss the matter, not to accept her apology.
“Edward from the men’s department will be there. Check in with him.”
“I will. See you later.”
When she fell into step next to Jack, he asked, “Is something wrong?”
She gave a humorless laugh. “You mean something else? I found out this morning my coworker’s parents lost their home because of Randolph.”
“They invested with him?”
“Right.”
He sighed. “It’s not your fault, Carlotta.”
“It sure feels like it is.”
As they threaded their way back through the booths, the noise and flurry was cacophonous.
Jack winced. “I didn’t know things like this existed—a trade show just for weddings?”
“It’s big business.”
“A big scam, more like it.”
A woman wearing a voluminous white wedding gown and holding a tray offered them a taste of a wedding cake with edible golf leaf. They declined.
“Like I said,” Jack muttered, then gestured to a booth featuring caged cooing white rock doves available for release at ceremonies. “Do people actually do this stuff?”
“And more,” Carlotta said. “It’s the day most women think about their entire lives, so they want to make it special.”
“Special is one thing—spectacle is another.”
“Tomato, to-mah-to.”
He frowned. “Is that something you’ve always wanted—a big wedding?”
She shrugged. “I never really thought about it. When all the girls I grew up with were getting married, I was being a mom to Wesley.” And she hadn’t been invited to any of their elaborate weddings...had only sold them dresses for their bridal parties, and read about the galas after the fact in the society section of the newspaper. To lighten the mood, she teased, “Don’t you think everyone should get married at least once, Jack?”
“I’m not against marriage,” he said, surprising her. “I just think some people are more excited about the ceremony than about the person they’re marrying.”
“I agree it can get over the top. But some people think it’s important to have a lavish ceremony to make a statement, to include their family and friends, to make it mean something.”
“With a cop’s salary, I guess that leaves me out of the marrying business.”
“Whew,” Carlotta mocked.
He laughed. “So...you and Ashford parted ways, huh?”
She didn’t want to lie, so she sidestepped. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? Randolph’s reappearance is bound to cause Peter problems at the firm.”
“I suppose it could be awkward,” he agreed.
“Besides, right now I need to be available for my family...such as it is. Wesley isn’t taking this situation with Dad very well.”
“Wes has a lot on his mind.”
“How much longer will he be working undercover in the loan shark’s organization?”
He gave her a pointed look. “Which you aren’t supposed to know about, remember. And that’s up to the D.A.”
“The man who has it in for my family.”
“Don’t forget that Kelvin Lucas owes you for helping to close The Charmed Killer case.”
“You mean for not becoming his last victim? Actually, Lucas owes Randolph for that...and you.”
His face went hard. “I might not have arrived in time to save you. And don’t think I haven’t replayed that scenario in my mind a hundred times. After what happened to Maria, I don’t think—” He broke off, his voice hoarse.
Alarmed at his tone, she reached over to touch his arm. “Don’t go there, Jack. I’m fine.” But she understood why his captain had suggested he take some time off. She had a feeling the GBI agents weren’t the only people Jack had been short with lately. He needed to decompress after the shocking loss of his partner.
They exited the convention hall and walked across the plaza to a turnaround where taxis dropped off passengers. From the expression on Jack’s face, she knew he was still far away, picturing the scene where Maria had been found drowned in her bathtub, they’d later learned, at the hands of her violent ex-husband. Carlotta wet her lips, wanting to offer Jack some kind of comfort where his former partner was concerned.
“Jack, a couple of nights ago, I...went somewhere.”
“Where?”
“Um...to a place where we’re all living slightly different lives. If it’s any consolation, Maria was fine there...and I gave you information that would keep her safe.”
He gave her a dubious look. “Are you high?”
“No. Although I might have taken one too many pain pills the night I went to this...place. And I know it sounds crazy, but trust me, it happened. Wes was there, and my parents.”
“Your parents, huh?”
“I got to see what my life would’ve been like if they hadn’t left.”
Jack arched an eyebrow. “And?”
“And...it wasn’t as perfect as I’d fantasized, just different than my life now. I, um, was married to Peter.”
“Really? And how was that?”
“Fine.”
“Just fine? Hm.”
She ignored his teasing. “And you were there...and Coop...and Hannah. We didn’t know each other at first, but we did by the time I left.”
“Left?”
“To come back here, of course.”
“Of course. Through a wormhole in the space-time continuum.”
“Laugh if you will, but it happened. I just thought you’d like to know that somewhere, Maria is fine.”
He looked unconvinced. “If you say so.”
She gripped his hand and locked gazes with him. “I do say so.”
He startled at her seriousness, then squeezed her hand. “Okay.”
“You believe me?”
His smile was sad. “I want to.”
It was the most he’d ever revealed himself to her. Ironic, considering he’d recently promised to take a step back from her...and considering he’d just arrested her father. Wesley’s suspicions about Jack reared in her head. Was he being vulnerable...or manipulative? After all, he knew how to play good cop and bad cop.
A black limousine pulling to the curb dragged her attention away from Jack. When the driver opened the rear door, a well-dressed man with salt-and-pepper hair alighted, managing not to touch anything. He was handsome, stocky and tanned, and glanced around with an air of “I have arrived.”
“That’s your man,” Carlotta said, then glanced at Jack with an unsettling sense of distrust. And you always get your man.
Chapter Seven
“HELLO, MR. JETT,” Carlotta said, stepping forward with a smile. “I’m Carlotta—I work for Neiman’s. And this is Jack Terry, he’s with event security.”
Jarold gave Jack a once over glance. �
��Good. You look like you can keep the riffraff away from me.”
Carlotta swallowed her judgment over the man’s declaration—maybe he’d been stalked or assaulted in the past.
“My personal assistant couldn’t get on my flight,” he continued, “so she won’t arrive until tomorrow.”
Jack offered the man a curt nod. “I’m supposed to tell you your trunks arrived.”
“I certainly hope so,” the man said, then made a face. “Traffic was hideous.”
“I know,” Carlotta said sympathetically. “That’s Atlanta. The good news is traffic inside the Wedding Expo is heavy, too. It’s a great crowd.”
He ran a finger around the inside of his shirt collar. “Goodness, is it always this humid?”
“Yes. But it’s great for the skin, so cleansing.”
He seemed disarmed by her good cheer, then gave a begrudging smile. “I can see that from your lovely complexion.”
She grinned and extended her arm toward the entrance. “Shall we go inside where it’s cool?”
“By all means,” he said agreeably, then called back to Jack. “You, there—bring my bag.”
Jack rolled his eyes, but picked up the man’s Louis Vuitton suitcase which, from the way he strained, wasn’t packed with wedding veils. He dutifully followed them inside and trailed patiently while she and Jarold Jett strolled past booths, making their way to the newly constructed runway in the rear of the hall. Along the way, several people shouted the designer’s name and waved and some people rushed up to gush, touching his arm and shoulder.
“I’m wearing one of your dresses on my wedding day!”
“I never miss your show!”
“I love your perfume!”
The man visibly recoiled from the contact, and when one over-eager fan moved in for a hug, Jack stepped in and asked her to give Mr. Jett some space.
Jett was cordial to the fans, though, and Carlotta could tell he enjoyed the attention. Still, he moved ahead with his hands curled close to his body.
“Brides can be a little intense,” Carlotta offered in an attempt to calm him.
He nodded. “Have you ever been married?”
When she thought of how young and naïve she’d been when she’d been engaged to Peter, her face warmed. “No. I’m single.”
“As beautiful as you are? That’s a tragedy.”
She laughed. “Thank you. And...it’s complicated.”
“Does it have something to do with the behemoth carrying my suitcase?”
Her surprise must have shown because he scoffed.
“I saw you holding hands when the car pulled up, and I saw the way he looked at you.”
“Oh...Jack and I are just...friends.”
The man cocked an eyebrow. “Has anyone told him?”
She chanced a glance back to Jack who couldn’t hear what they were saying. He gave her a wry wink.
Push...pull...push...pull...
“I’m planning my own wedding,” Jarold offered.
“I know,” she murmured. “I’m a fan of Designer Wars. I was watching when you announced your engagement to Sabrina Bauers. Congratulations.”
A loving look came over his face. “She’s too good for me.”
Carlotta managed a smile back. From what she had heard of the supermodel’s diva behavior, she was sure the woman would agree.
When they reached the fashion show area of the convention hall, Jarold nodded with surprise and approval. “Yes, this will do nicely.”
Indeed, the coordinators had done a beautiful job of setting up a T-shaped runway with voluminous bunting and bows and soaring silver-colored curtains all around. Enormous flower arrangements adorned the stage and sparkling chandeliers studded the floating ceiling. It was as spectacular as any movie set.
“There are two things the South does to wonderful excess,” Carlotta offered. “Funerals...and weddings.” Even though the fashion show was more than an hour away, the audience seats had already begun to fill.
“I confess I had my doubts about coming,” Jarold said. “But now, I’m quite looking forward to the week’s events.”
Behind them, Jack coughed. “You’re going to be here all week?”
“Yes.” Then Jarold looked concerned. “And I hope you aren’t getting a cold.”
Jack wiped his hand over his mouth as if to erase what he wanted to say.
Carlotta fought a smile and withdrew her autograph book. “Mr. Jett, if it isn’t a terrible imposition, may I have your autograph?”
“Absolutely.” His mouth quirked. “A paper autograph book? You don’t see these anymore. Now everyone wants a selfie.”
“It’s old school,” she conceded.
He shuddered. “Lately I’ve been signing tablets and smartphone screens with those nasty little stylus pens or, worse, my finger.”
She nodded with understanding. “I assume you have your own pen?”
“Of course,” he chirped, removing a slim black pen from his inside jacket pocket. “Waterman—also old school.”
He inscribed a message and his name with a flourish, then drew a wedding dress doodle to fill the page.
Carlotta turned it around to read. To Carlotta, May you have your own happily ever after with your perfect man. Wondrous wedding wishes, Jarold Jett.
“Thank you.” She gave in to a little thrill at the thought of having a personal memento to take home, something she would relish again and again. “I will cherish it.”
She escorted Jarold to the secured area behind the runway where makeshift changing tents had been erected. The space was a whirlwind of commotion, with coordinators and helpers running around, pushing racks of gowns and tuxedos under plastic and pallets of shoes and accessories.
Carlotta made sure Jarold was delivered to the tent that contained his trunks of merchandise. An assistant was already steaming the luxurious creations. Carlotta handed him off and said goodbye, assuring Jarold she would be watching the show.
Jack set the man’s suitcase where he was directed, averted his gaze from the half-dressed models donning wedding gowns, then cleared his throat. “Where should I wait for you, sir?”
“Take this.” Jarold Jett handed him a clear plastic bag containing a flat black disc the size of a coaster.
“What is it?” Jack asked.
“I’ll buzz you after the fashion show. It also lights up.”
Jack scowled down at the large beeper. “I’m not TGI Friday’s.”
“Tomorrow when my assistant arrives, she’ll provide you with an app so you can track my whereabouts via my mobile phone. This will do until then.”
Carlotta waited for Jack to throw the buzzer back at the man, but to her amazement, Jack simply looked away, seemed to resign himself, then looked back. “How am I supposed to know where you are when this thing goes off?”
The designer gave him a haughty smile. “Look for the crowd of people gathered around me.”
Jack’s mouth tightened and he nodded, then left the tent.
Carlotta followed, surprised he had given in to the man’s demands with such little resistance. Outside she caught up with him.
“Hey...what was that?”
His eyebrows climbed. “What was what?”
She gave him a light punch in the arm. “You, rolling over like a puppy.”
“Just trying to get through this assignment.” He looked away. “The extra cash will come in handy.”
Carlotta frowned. That was the second time today Jack had insinuated he didn’t make enough money. Was he having financial problems?
“You must have a big mortgage,” she said in a teasing voice. She’d never seen where Jack lived, and he’d never talked about it.
“Nope. But I haven’t exactly been saving for a rainy day, either.”
“Are you expecting one?”
He blinked. “Expecting what?”
“A rainy day.”
“Oh. Who knows what the future holds?”
Carlotta arched an eyebrow. �
��Are you okay?”
“Fine. Did you get your autograph?”
She nodded and withdrew the book to show him the inscription.
His mouth quirked. “Perfect man, huh? That’s a lot of pressure.”
She surveyed the sexily imperfect man before her. “It’s a figure of speech, Jack.”
He gestured toward the exhibition hall. “Since Mr. Big Shot doesn’t need me at the moment, I think I’ll make some rounds and check in with the other security officers.”
“Okay. Will you be back to watch the fashion show?”
He made a face. “That’s not really my scene, but I guess I’d better stay close to Jett.”
Something in his tone made her squint. “Has he received threats?”
“Allegedly. Could be a promotional stunt, though.”
“Hm...I haven’t heard about it in the tabloids.”
Jack gave her a pointed look.
“Not that I read the tabloids,” she rushed to say.
He looked dubious.
“Well...maybe a quick scan at the grocery checkout, but who doesn’t do that?”
“Me.” He quirked a brow, then strode away.
Carlotta watched him, her senses on alert. Was it her imagination or was Jack’s body language tense? His shoulders seemed pulled in, his chin lower than usual. And although he was never quick to smile, he seemed more withdrawn.
And there was the money thing.
Carlotta worried her lower lip. Granted, losing a work partner and closing a grueling serial killer case was bound to take its toll, even on a man with Jack’s fortitude. And maybe the loss of Maria had made him feel a little less invincible, had forced him to think about the future and financial security.
She sighed...it seemed everyone she knew was more burdened these days. Was this how adulthood progressed? Mounting pressure until one’s body finally gave out?
She pushed aside that cheerful thought and went in search of her Neiman’s contact. She was supposed to be working, after all.
And keeping her distance—mentally and physically—from Jack.
Chapter Eight
CARLOTTA FOUND EDWARD KING, her Neiman’s contact, in one of the tents, fussing with the shirt collar of a male model dressed in a sleek charcoal gray suit. The handsome forty-something black man was totally old school, always well groomed and dressed to the max. He was a Neiman’s veteran, had worked nearly every department, and was widely rumored as the person who would someday have Lindy Russell’s job if and when the woman ever stepped down or moved on.
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