by Cait Jarrod
Paul drummed his fingers on the table. “Is Sanjar looking for you?”
Jake shrugged. “Good question. FBI killed my alias right after Jennifer was killed, then I was moved to a safe house out of the country. Returning to Fredericksburg may not be wise, but I’m back.”
“Why did he kill Jennifer?”
“She wanted to leave his organization. I’m not sure why she wanted to leave. Maybe she became too involved with me.” Jake paused briefly. “On the other hand, Sanjar might have learned I was undercover, and she wanted to protect me. I dated her since the beginning of my undercover work on that case. I don’t know if he sent her in there to watch me, or if she saw me behind his back. Either way, I should have figured out she was Sanjar’s mistress. Man, I was stupid.”
Paul chewed on the information for a minute. “You’re telling me Sanjar is still roaming the country?”
Jake noted that Paul didn’t comment on the stupid remark. “You’re aware of him.”
“Jake, everyone in America who listens to the news has knowledge of him. Where is he?”
“Not in the US. Intel confirmed his presence in Asia. We’re optimistic he won’t abscond and reenter the States.” He had to say that. Truth be told, he feared Sanjar was right here in Fredericksburg.
“What’s your assignment now?”
“I’m freelancing, but I’m not at liberty to talk about it.”
Paul eyed him and lifted his chin. “What bull crap, Jake.”
“I know.” Jake studied his brother and wondered if Paul knew Pamela Young. When they were teens, although close, they hung with different crowds. “How’s business?”
“Great, opened four years now. I’ll probably expand and open another store. I’ll call it Athletes R Us two.”
Jake grinned. “Glad business is lucrative.”
“Jake, I’m still pissed at you.”
“Understandable.”
Chapter Five
Inside her office, Pamela stared at the closed door. Cocktail Hour would start shortly, and her nerves were still pulsating from her encounter with Jake. He had touched every erogenous zone she possessed, leaving her mindless. The phone rang on her desk. Breaking her daze, she glanced at the caller ID, Celine Marx, the fourth member of the BOFs. Celine never called the café’s phone unless it was urgent. Unfortunately, everything in Celine’s world was urgent.
“Hi Celine, is everything okay?”
Her dramatic friend’s words rushed out. “Pamela, my manager quit on me today. I don’t know how I’ll be able to get away in time for Cocktail Hour.”
“Celine…”
“Pamela, the store is swamped.” Celine owned a tourist shop a couple blocks away from The Memory Café.
“Take a deep breath, then slowly release it.” She waited to hear Celine do as she asked before continuing, “It will be okay. Fredericksburg Tourist is yours. Just tell everyone that you are closing in five minutes, and lock your door.”
“Pamela, it’s not that easy.”
She loved her friend, but Celine had gone through this same song and dance countless times. Tonight, however, Pamela didn’t have the patience. Celine’s overreaction to life’s events hit a nerve, especially since Pamela’s life was indeed in a shambles. “Celine,” Pamela checked the clock on the desk, “It’s 5:50. Close enough to closing time. See you in a few.”
Pamela hung up, slumped back in her chair, and hoped Celine wouldn’t give her too much opposition when she saw her at Cocktail Hour, the time the BOFs got together every Friday evening.
After a few moments of reprimanding herself for being so hard on her friend, she used the adjoining bathroom and changed out of her usual work clothes, pants and blouse, and into a sundress. When she decided on what dress to bring this morning for Cocktail Hour, Jake had flashed through her mind. Although he said he would come by later tonight after some family business, she hoped his shift with her started before she left the café.
Pamela emerged from her office, passed through the short hall, and surveyed the dining room. The restaurant was at full capacity. Thankfully, the break-in last night, which made the local paper, hadn’t deterred customers. On the way to the patio, she nodded at Agent Lever sitting at the bar, talked to a few customers in the dining room, then finally escaped outside to her friends.
Three people were sitting at the BOFs table. Steve was MIA, so who was the third person? She walked to the open chair and scanned the faces. The blonde-haired Celine waggled her fingers before turning her blue eyes to her wine. Paul flashed his dimples at her as his green eyes landed on her. She returned the smile, and her eyes alighted on dark hair and captivating blue eyes.
Her mouth fell open. Jake.
Paul rose, wrapped his arms around Pamela and followed with a kiss on her cheek, the usual for a BOF greeting. Since Celine did the same, Pamela deduced that she wasn’t mad at her for hanging up on her earlier. “Glad to see you were able to leave work.”
Celine smiled. “I hate being late for Cocktail Hour, but do you know what I hate more?” Celine’s cultured nails tapped her glass.
Pamela waited for her to finish.
“My friends hanging up on me.”
Pamela twisted her mouth in a wry smile. “I’m sorry. I thought we were done.”
Celine crossed her arms. “Mmm-hmm.”
“Sorry,” Pamela said softly.
Celine smiled and held up her wine glass. Pamela retrieved the glass in front of the empty chair, returning the gesture. Celine clicked Pamela’s glass, said, “Forgiven,” and they both sipped.
Sensing Jake’s eyes on her, she turned toward him. He grinned and pulled out the empty chair next to his. “Nice dress.”
She watched his lips move. Her mind quickly flashed on their kiss earlier, followed by her words—we can’t do this again. Butterflies came to life in her stomach.
He must have detected her apprehension, since he patted the seat beside him. She accepted the chair, drank her wine, gulped was more like it, then refilled her glass, and waited for some clue as to why Jake was sitting with two of her best friends.
Two sets of eyes stared at her. Not Jake’s; he observed the street, probably waiting for another motorcycle. Had he told her friends about last night, she pondered, as she tasted some wine, drinking only a sip this time. Tired of their scrutiny, she set her glass on the table a little harder than necessary. Wine splashed over the sides. “What?”
Paul leaned forward. His eyes shone brighter than usual.
Given Paul’s light attitude, he must not have mentioned what happened last night, so what made him appear so happy? Pamela nibbled on her bottom lip. Had he finally gotten lucky? She kept waiting for him to confess that he had a fling while he was at one of his extreme sport competitions.
She was about to ask him, when he said, “Now that I have Celine and you here, do you remember when I told you about my brother, the one that I haven’t seen for some time?”
Pamela nodded. “Yeah, you said he was a scumbag.”
Jake chuckled.
Paul tilted his head toward Jake. “Meet scumbag.”
Pamela’s eyes grew wide.
“You’re Paul’s foster brother?” Celine asked.
Jake nodded. “Since I turned thirteen.”
“His mom and mine were best friends.”
“Were?” Pamela asked, “Your mom’s not with us anymore?” She knew that was a nosy question. Unfortunately, she spoke before thinking.
Jake shook his head.
Pamela’s hand reached out. “What happened?”
His eyes focused on her hand covering his. “Cancer.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too,” Celine added.
Jake slid his hand away from her warmth and waved, dismissing the sympathy. “Don’t be. It was a long time ago.”
Celine tapped her sculpted fingernail on the stem of her wine glass and looked from Pamela to Jake. “Do you two already know each other?”
Pam
ela picked up her glass and downed the contents. Paul immediately filled it from the decanter Sue had set on the table earlier.
Not knowing how to reply to Celine, Pamela looked in Paul’s direction. “I thought you were going to tell me some juicy gossip concerning a certain competitor.”
Jake sent Paul a sidelong look.
Paul groaned. “There’s nothing to tell.” He swallowed some beer. “Niki and I are just friends. Now, Pamela, let’s have it. I can think of only one reason that you could know Jake.” Paul paused as if something just occurred to him. When he continued, his voice was deep, gravely, and very angry. “Considering how mysteriously Jake arrived in town.” He shot Jake a glare. “It won’t be good.”
Pamela sucked in a deep breath, trying to figure out a way to tell her friends. Paul gulped some liquid, and Pamela knew he was trying to ward off his anger. “Oh geez.”
“Just tell us, Pamela.” Celine demanded.
“Someone thinks I have bearer bonds that I don’t have.”
With a mouthful of beer, Paul choked.
Celine patted Paul on the back, and said, “What are you talking about? Who thinks you have them, and what does Jake have to do with it?”
All eyes turned to Jake.
“I thought you retired,” Paul said, setting his beer glass on the table and dragging the back of his hand across his chin. “Is she the freelance case?”
Jake held up a hand. “I can’t tell you much, and Pamela you need to keep the information to yourself as best as possible. We don’t want anything to jeopardize the case.”
“The case?” Paul asked.
Jake clasped his hands together on the table. “I can only confirm what Ms. Young said. Someone believes she is in possession of bearer bonds. She’s not aware of having them. We’ll have to search her residence and business.”
“If she says she doesn’t have them, she doesn’t.” Celine defended Pamela immediately.
Pamela liked the way Celine thought. She followed up her friend’s comment with a nod. She couldn’t believe it. Jake was Paul’s missing brother. She shook her head, and then drank half the glass of wine.
“If you’re working on a case concerning Pamela, should you be drinking?” Paul growled, still glowering at Jake.
Jake’s eyes narrowed.
Obviously, Jake didn’t like being questioned. “Paul, for your information, I’m not officially on the clock at the moment. I took this evening off so we could get together. I had no idea you’d be bringing me to The Memory Café to have a drink with the precise woman I’m protecting.”
Paul stiffened as the words sunk in. “Protecting from whom?”
Pamela wanted to tell him. In her mind, the more people who knew Sanjar might be after her, the safer she would be. Pamela slumped in her chair. Why would a terrorist think she would have bearer bonds? It didn’t make sense. With her arms crossed, she sought out Jake’s eyes, but he was eyeballing Paul. What else did he know?
“I can’t say anymore,” Jake said. “I can tell you that agents will be near Pamela at all times.”
Paul’s jaw tightened. She could see the pulse in his neck throb, but he said nothing more.
“What in damn blazes is going on here?” A deep voice boomed through the evening air.
Pamela jumped, along with Celine, and they all eyed the man filling the entrance to the dining room.
“Dad.” Excitement along with apprehension ran through her. She loved her dad’s surprise visits, but the reason for this evening’s visit would have everything to do with the episode last night. Undoubtedly, someone told him. She scooted out of her seat and closed the distance between them. She hiccupped. Crud, her dad wouldn’t only question her about last night, he’d lecture her on the perils of drinking.
“Baby girl,” Donald Young said, easing his daughter into his arms. “I heard about the Peeping Tom and came right home.”
At least, he didn’t mention her wine breath. Pamela pulled back and looked up at her father. “You drove all night?”
He nodded.
“How’d you find out?”
He rubbed his fingers over his jaw. “A birdy told me.”
At that moment, Marge appeared, looking sheepish. Despite her guilty look, Pamela quickly dismissed the idea that Marge was the birdy. By the time Marge had found out, her dad would have already left Florida, but she probably filled him in on the details. She glanced at the table. No one there would have called him.
Her father put an end to her guessing game. “The security company calls my cell as well as yours. On the way, I called Fredericksburg Police Station. An officer I know gave me the details.”
Pamela hiccupped. Her dad had a lot of influence in Fredericksburg. It would be easy for him to find out information. She looked over her shoulder. Surprisingly, Jake stood just behind her. “Dad, this is…”
“I know who this is,” Donald interrupted. “How are you, Jake?” He shook Jake’s hand firmly. “I haven’t seen you in years. I see you cut your hair. Glad to see it. Did you ever marry?”
Jake withdrew his hand. “No, sir, I didn’t.”
“Humph, I thought you had your sights on some girl you met in Maryland.”
Pamela looked up at Jake. An odd expression crossed his features.
“Things didn’t pan out, sir.”
Donald smacked Jake on the back. “They rarely do.” Donald retrieved two chairs from another table, one for him and one for Marge.
“We need food,” Celine suggested as she looked around for Sue.
“I’ll get some. Be right back,” Marge said, as she headed toward the kitchen. A few minutes later, Marge and Sue brought out a tray with several plates of food, the specials for the day.
The food served, the friends along with Donald and Marge settled into a casual conversation. Donald updated them about Grand Ann’s hip replacement and Grand Ben’s restlessness. Pamela still couldn’t believe it had been a year since her grandparents moved to Florida for the warmer weather. Her father, the sweetheart that he was, helped with the move and stayed to make sure they were okay. She missed all of them.
Pamela watched Marge pat Donald’s arm after he made a joke. She smiled. The affection between the two was unmistakable, and she wondered if Marge would ever become her stepmother. She hoped so.
Her eyes landed on Jake, sitting even closer to her. Her dad knew him, which when she thought about it, made sense, but the fact that he was almost married didn’t settle well with her. It was probably the wine talking. Two glasses and she was toast.
Pamela hiccupped.
“You’re full of surprises, Agent Gibson.”
Jake’s eyes met hers over his glass. He set his glass next to the empty decanter. Next, he added her empty wine glass to the collection. In a monotone voice, he said, “It’s just Jake.”
She stared at the empty glass and debated arguing to get it back. At that moment, she hiccupped and gave up on the thought. She shifted her eyes, trying to focus on Jake’s face. He was a little fuzzy, the effect of the alcohol.
“Too bad Steve isn’t here,” Donald’s voice boomed, gaining the table’s attention. He leaned back in his seat, stretching an arm on the back of Marge’s chair. “You’re still at the Bureau, Jake?”
“Retired, sir.”
“Do you know Steve Anderson?”
“Can’t say that I do.”
“Steve would find out what happened last night in short order.”
“Dad,” Pamela started, then stopped, realizing she couldn’t tell him Jake was looking into the situation. A hiccup exploded instead. “Darn it.” She slapped a hand over her mouth.
Donald eyed his daughter across the table. “You’ve had more than a glass of wine?’
Pamela lowered in her chair, trying to hide from her dad’s parental glare, and waited for the lecture.
“You can’t drive home.” The lecture had started. “You blow a point eight, and the police will lock you up, then what will happen to your café?
I’ve told you time and time again.”
“I’m driving her home, sir,” Jake interrupted.
Donald eyed him, then his half-empty glass, in the center of the table. He focused back on Pamela. “Sorry.”
Pamela gave a weak smile and tried not to jump out of her seat to kiss Jake for saving her once again.
Donald’s examining eyes landed on Jake. “You’re dating my daughter?”
“No, sir.”
Jake’s callous tone squelched any thoughts Pamela had of kissing him.
“Last night, after the Peeping Tom incident, I took Pamela home. I’ll do the same tonight.”
“Her car’s in the back parking lot,” Donald said, as if that would make a difference if Jake could take her home.
“I rode with Paul tonight, so I’ll drive her car.”
“You’re pretty presumptuous for a man not dating my daughter.”
“I—” Jake stopped. His hand flew to his ear. In a fluid motion, Jake bolted out of his chair, grabbing Pamela’s arm, and shouted, “Get inside! Everyone down!”
Pamela’s arm jerked forward. Her body followed. Jake pulled her through the mass of people into the dining room toward the bar. Men in suits barged into the café, shouting orders. Jake’s hand clutched his ear again, and someone knocked her onto the tile floor.
Screams and cries hung in the evening air as people rushed inside the café. What was out there?
“Everybody get down!” Jake commanded. A hard body covered hers, from head to toe. “You’ll be okay,” he whispered beside her ear.
Instantaneously, a popping sound filled the air mixed with glass shattering. Pamela covered her head with her hands. “Gunshots?” she whispered, but the question landed on deaf ears. Nothing could be heard over the ruckus.
People on the street screamed along with customers in the café as bullets sprayed. Sirens blasted and, finally, the shattering sound diminished.
Jake moved off her. “Pamela.”
Removing her hands from the back of her head, she looked over her shoulder. Jake knelt on one knee and held out his hand. Ignoring it, she bit her lip and pushed up on her knees. Broken glass scattered along the white and black tile. Her eyes skimmed over her customers. Most of them were okay, but others….
