Feeling strangely melancholy, April perched again on the couch, seemingly unable, once the floodgates had opened, to stop thinking about him. For years she had felt as if she had no family, and not without cause. But her abrupt departure had left him all alone too. She groaned. “Next thing I know I’ll actually feel sorry for the old man.” And in that split second her anger left her, and tears she hadn’t been aware of holding back slid down her cheeks. The tears turned to sobs and April simply wrapped her arms around her waist and let them flow unchecked.
When she couldn’t cry over the past any longer, she stood and left the bungalow. Minutes later she entered her office and instructed a very stunned Carmen to place a call to her father in the States and, if she couldn’t get through, to keep trying until she did. Then she went into her office and began methodically organizing the matters on her desk, quickly deciding who would be best to handle each problem until she returned. She was going home.
Jack very gently placed the receiver back on the base, then stared across his paper-strewn desk at a clearly excited Franklin.
“So? Don’t drag this out. Was it the right Frannie this time?”
Jack raked his fingers through his already rumpled hair and took another sip of lukewarm coffee. He needed a shower, sleep, and a cold beer—preferably in that order. But that would have to wait. “Yes, it was.”
“Bingo! I knew you could do it!” Franklin spun around in his chair and let out a wild whoop. He stopped abruptly and braced his hands on the desk. “Will she talk?”
“Probably.” Jack looked away from the glazed excitement in his friend’s eyes. At the moment he couldn’t imagine ever having that much enthusiasm for anything ever again. Unless, of course, it was three days of uninterrupted sleep. Sleep. Even the scant hours he’d managed to see a bed since his return to L.A. two weeks ago had been a joke. Hard as he tried, he couldn’t shake the idea that he shouldn’t be alone in bed anymore. He missed April.
The haunted, hunted look that had entered her eyes when he’d blindly assumed she would step forward was the only thing preventing him from just getting up and walking out. Out for good. Out somewhere, anywhere. Anywhere where he didn’t hear April’s voice, smell her perfume, look up when someone with dark curly hair passed him on the street, even though he knew each and every time it wouldn’t be her. It would never be her. “Dammit!”
Franklin started at his outburst. “What, what?” After a moment of silence a knowing look came into Franklin’s eyes. For all his enthusiasm over bringing new light to the old charges against Markham, Franklin hadn’t been blind to Jack’s obvious reluctance to do the story. “You want me to talk to her?”
Jack thought for a minute, sorely tempted to just turn the whole thing over to Franklin. But he knew he wouldn’t. Not because he didn’t trust him to do the job, but because he had to trust himself enough to see this through. If Frannie would come forward, they could take care of Markham’s bid without having to do more than mention April’s initial role, and then it would be as heroine, not villain. And Jack was firmly convinced he was the only man for that job.
“No. I’ll do it since I made the contact.” He paused again, then said, “But I do want you to do one thing for me.”
“Name it.”
“When the story comes out, I want it under your byline.” Jack went on over Franklin’s very vocal objections. “Just trust me that it’s better this way. Okay?”
“Against my better judgment, okay. But I reserve the right to try and change your mind. Deal?”
A weary smile creased Jack’s face. “Deal.” Before they could begin to map out a strategy, the phone on Jack’s desk jangled. He scooped it up and leaned his forehead on his other fist. “Tango.”
When the other caller identified himself, Jack slowly lifted his head, his expression a mixture of wariness and restrained hope. He listened, answering yes and no when necessary, then hung up. Very slowly he allowed an honest smile to curve his lips.
“Who in the hell put that look on your face? If I didn’t know better I’d guess Ed McMahon.”
“Even better.” He spun his chair around and looked out of his office window at the barely visible noonday L.A. skyline. “That was April’s father. She’s going to be interviewed on television tomorrow morning, live.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. Hoisted by our own petard.” Franklin fell silent for a moment, then asked, “You don’t seem to be too bothered over being scooped out of the story of the year, or at least of the election—and by a former lover at that. You must be slipping, mi amigo.”
Jack spun around so quickly he had to grab the edge of his desk. His eyes had narrowed; his voice was hard and flat. “Franklin, we’ve been colleagues for eleven years and friends for over ten. But I won’t be held responsible for what happens if you ever speak of her with anything less than respect.”
Instead of being cowed by Jack’s threat, Franklin grinned and slapped his hand against his thigh. “So that’s the way the wind blows. I knew there was more to your surly moods and general grumpiness than too much work and lack of sleep. Those are the staples of life for you anyway. So, are you going to be there?”
“I’m in L.A. and the interview is in New York. I still can’t believe she contacted her father, much less left Mexico,” he added, more to himself than his friend.
“She and her old man made amends?”
“I don’t think I’d go that far. But from what Mr. de la Torre said, at least they’re talking again.” Jack stood and walked over to the small corner table to refresh his coffee. He took one sip, spit it back in the cup, tossed it in the trash, then turned back to his desk, swearing under his breath.
“Go to her.”
“I don’t know,” Jack answered shortly, irritated with the uncustomary indecision that plagued him whenever the decision at hand had to do with April. “I know what this is costing her, and I’m afraid my presence there is the last thing she needs right now.”
“She doesn’t have to know. You’ll know. That’s what counts.” Franklin stood and leaned over the desk to lay a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “And don’t give me any crap about the time zones. That’s why they call them ‘red-eye’ flights.” He chuckled at the rueful look Jack shot him and added, “And I bet if you flash your red beauties at the ticket counter, the agent will let you on for half price. At least you can get some sleep on the plane.”
And just like that Jack knew he was going. Franklin was right, April didn’t have to know he was there. But in case she needed him—for what he didn’t know—he had to be there.
But first he had to make a few phone calls, call in a few favors, then pay a visit to a certain Frannie Stine-White.
April nervously adjusted the mike attached to her collar. She shivered despite the bright lights aimed at her, forcing her mind to review what she wanted to say.
As part of the agreement for the interview, she’d set some strict guidelines as to the content of the questions. The interviewer was well aware that if she tried to direct the conversation into areas April had expressly stated she wouldn’t discuss, she’d simply stand up and leave. And she knew there was nothing an interviewer feared more than dead airtime.
She glanced across the small soundstage at her father, still unable to believe he was here. As she’d expected, his Latin heritage had held him in good stead. But upon closer inspection, April had seen the lines around his eyes, the sadness in the tight corners of his mouth. She was still a long way from coming to terms with what he had done to her, but loneliness had apparently been a two-way street, and time had been a teacher to him as well as her. She had hope, and for now, that was enough.
The interviewer, a perky blonde who had all of America extolling her many virtues, took the seat next to April’s and adjusted her own mike. “Don’t be nervous,” she said, adding a wry smile. “I know, easier said and all that, but I’ve done this many times. I promise I’ll make it as easy on you as I can.” She turned for a last minute touch-
up from the makeup woman.
April used the moment to flash a quick smile at her father and then schooled her features into what she hoped was a polished smile befitting the CEO of a successful resort. She quashed the untimely surge of need for a specific light-eyed smile. You don’t need Jack to hold your hand, she lectured herself as she allowed one of the crew to adjust her chair slightly. This is your decision and yours alone, and it’s the right one. And he’d known it all along.
“All set?”
April tucked her sudden need for Jack into the back of her mind—admitting it would never fade completely—and faced the camera. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Jack kept to the far reaches of the brightly lit studio, hoping the lights would go down soon. He forced his gaze away from April and turned to the woman standing beside him.
Small-statured with light brown hair and a ready smile, Frannie Stine-White had been a pleasant surprise. The intervening years had been more than good to her. Her job as a lobbyist on Capitol Hill for a labor organization had given her immeasurable self-confidence. Jack couldn’t have picked a better witness if he’d trained one himself.
When he’d approached her about coming forward, she had seemed almost relieved to talk to him. Appearing on national television had been another matter entirely, though. As weary as he’d been, it had taken all of Jack’s considerable charm to persuade her to come to New York. He’d had to promise her anonymity if she agreed to be interviewed. The network had been more than eager to grant that request and any other.
She’d refused payment of any kind, simply wanting her story to be told. No charges were going to be pressed. Her goal was the same as April’s—to keep Markham out of the White House.
The network had tried to get Jack to talk, but he had given them a very firm no and they’d been wise enough not to push.
“Are you okay?” he asked her in hushed tones.
“I guess. Do you think I’ll have a chance to speak with April when this is done? I’d really like to tell her how much I appreciate being given the chance to tell my story, and to apologize for not being able to before.”
Jack understood Frannie’s need to see April, but he couldn’t guarantee anything. He told her as much, then escorted her to the private room the network had set up for her portion of the interview.
After she’d gone, and after receiving whispered assurances from her that she would be fine, Jack finally allowed himself to look at April again. The effect she had on him hadn’t lessened over time. In fact, if the heat that now rocked his body was any indication, it had actually increased.
It took considerable restraint to stay put and not go to her. He knew she’d been told about Frannie. He could only hope his orders had been followed and that his name had been kept out of it. He’d asked that she be told Frannie had come forward on her own. He wasn’t taking any chances that she’d misconstrue his actions in some way and cancel the interview.
The lights dimmed and the interviewer introduced her special guest. The next fifteen minutes were the longest ones of Jack’s life. When the lights came back up, the crew applauded April, and he even noticed a few people making suspicious swipes at their eyes. He wasn’t surprised; his own felt a bit gritty.
Suddenly, as if she’d sensed his presence, she looked directly at him, or at least in his direction. Jack’s gut twisted with mixed feelings. Part of him wanted to storm over to her, pull her into his arms, and kiss her until she agreed that they belonged together no matter what. But the part of him which understood that her rejection of him in the bungalow that day went further than just her refusal to risk pride by coming forward, made him step farther back into the shadows.
He watched intently as she scanned the area, then let out a sigh of relief when she was finally distracted by another crew member. Jack pictured for the thousandth time the sudden perception that had crept onto her face just before she’d said good-bye. She’d known then that he hadn’t resolved the questions still plaguing him regarding his own future. And because he had no right to force her to make a decision until he’d made a few of his own, he’d let her go.
But seeing her again without talking to her, without touching her, had taken a far bigger toll on him than he’d expected. She laughed in response to something one of the crew said and Jack felt his control slip past the point of danger. He knew then, without a shred of doubt, that his decision had been made. Quietly slipping out the side door, he hailed a cab to take him to the airport.
April turned the corner past the covered parking lot and headed toward the main gate about a quarter mile down the paved road. The newspapers her father had promised to send detailing the demise of Markham’s career should be arriving today and she didn’t want to wait in her office for them to be delivered. At least she told herself that was the cause of her restlessness. “I’m not going to think about him today,” she muttered, then smiled ruefully. She’d made herself that promise every morning for the past two weeks, and she hadn’t succeeded yet.
Forcing her thoughts back to the papers she was expecting, she permitted a small smile to cross her face as she anticipated reading about the very public scrutiny Markham’s private life was under right now. Doing the right thing, rather than revenge, had been her motive in speaking out, but she knew she’d be less than human if she didn’t admit that a small part of her relished his downfall, at least for one afternoon’s worth of reading.
Her smile faded a bit, becoming more tentative as her thoughts turned to her father’s impending visit. She wanted him to see what she’d done with his late father-in-law’s once-fledgling business, though she suspected now that he’d kept track of her all along. Their reconciliation had a long way to go, but his solid support during her brief visit to the States had provided a strong base on which to build.
Unavoidably, her memory of her trip to New York made her think of Jack.
She couldn’t help but wonder what he thought of her coming back to do the interview. She realized now how strongly she’d hoped he’d contact her, or somehow let her know he’d seen her and approved of what she’d done. She’d been tempted to try and at least track down Franklin to see if he knew where Jack had been assigned, but in the end she had spent a week with her father, then flown back to Mexico.
Even in that short time away, she’d realized that Paradise Cove had truly become home to her, not just a safe haven. And as long as Jack was trotting the globe, trailing after another story, and her life was in Mexico, running the resort, she had no right to try and involve herself in his life again.
Head down, her mind wandered helplessly back over the weeks they’d spent together. Her gaze was focused loosely on the ground in front of her feet, so she heard him before she saw him. A harsh grunt reached her ears, but it didn’t register that someone was coming toward her on the road until she heard the string of expletives that followed. She looked up, and the sight that greeted her eyes stopped her dead in her tracks, made her afraid to even breathe for fear that she’d break the spell she must surely be under.
Her first impulse was to rub her eyes, certain the heat and her constant thoughts of him had conjured up a mirage that just looked like Jack. But in a split second his crystalline-green eyes were locked on hers and she knew he was really there. So close it would take barely a dozen steps to reach his side, to touch him, taste him.
But she didn’t do any of those things, couldn’t. The visceral impact he had on her senses kept her still as a stone. He was stripped to the waist; the golden hair curling against the darkened skin of his chest did little to stop the beads of sweat which trickled over his ridged abdomen before being absorbed into the waistband of his dusty jeans. His hands were still braced on the tailgate of the truck, and she found herself intensely aware of the vein that snaked its way down his biceps.
She’d dreamed about his coming back every night for weeks; what he’d look like, what he’d say, what she would say. But now that he was here she couldn’t recall a blessed word. I
nstead she said the first thing that came into her mind. “I see your taste in transportation hasn’t improved.”
A smile teased the corners of his lips, but he didn’t move so much as a muscle when he replied, “Is there another way to go down here? At least this time I almost made it to the front gate.”
He stopped talking and simply stared at her; the thirst that must have built up after pushing the truck even a short distance under the searing midday sun seemed to be quenched as he drank in her appearance. His gaze left no inch of her uncovered, and she felt the oddest sensation of being naked before him. She also found it didn’t bother her in the least. That knowledge gave her the strength to start walking again, slowly closing the distance between them.
“Why don’t you leave everything here and I’ll send down one of the carts to bring you up.”
“I guess you didn’t learn much either, huh?” The teasing edge was still there as he moved around to the side of the truck and lifted a large duffel bag and the ever-present silver case and set them on the ground at his feet. She simply stared back at him, and he added, “I’ll leave the truck, but—”
“No one touches my equipment,” she finished. “I learned more than you think.”
“Good; I was banking on that.”
April stopped a few feet away, the change in his tone making her feel suddenly vulnerable and unsure. She knew what she wanted. She wanted Jack. But until she knew what he wanted, she had to keep her barriers intact. If she let him past them this time, she wouldn’t survive his leaving again. “What are you doing here?”
“Officially? I’m here to do an in-depth study of the local Indian cultures and their descent from power in modern times.”
April’s eyes widened. “That’s a pretty big task. Isn’t that a bit outside of your usual field?”
“Maybe. But I became fascinated by the culture while I was here and in Oaxaca, so I did a little research and managed to convince a good friend of mine who happens to owe me a favor or two that this would be a worthwhile project.”
Tango in Paradise Page 15
