by Liz Ireland
Jayde shook her head. “I couldn’t. If Lyle found out—’
“Lyle isn’t your boss. I am.”
“I know that, but—’ She looked around furtively and then stepped closer to him and whispered, “Lyle carries a gun. Did you know that? I saw it under his coat this morning. It’s in one of those shoulder-holster things. I wouldn’t want to make him mad.”
Silence met her revelation. Her gaze locked with his. Then Mr. Hale rubbed at his forehead…rubbed hard. He exhaled. “I know he carries a gun. It’s part of his job as my bodyguard. But it’s none of his concern if I ask you to call me by my first name.”
Jayde swallowed. “Okay…I guess.” She gathered her courage and gave it a try. “Brad.” She waited, cringing. But when nothing happened, she felt emboldened. “Hey. Cool.” She said it again. “Brad.” Still nothing horrid happened. “Brad.”
Brad held up his hands. “Okay. You’ve got the hang of it now. Look, why don’t we have a drink and see what we can scare up for supper? And then, with your permission, I’d like to display some of your paintings in the living room.”
“Why?”
“I’d like for Lyle to see them tomorrow. You know, get his opinion, too.”
That fear born of insecurity flared and must have shown on her face because Bradford Hale held up his hand. “Hey, the more opinions you get, the more used you’ll be to people having their own opinions about your work, good or bad.”
She backed up. “I don’t want more opinions…Brad. I’m not ready. Especially not for Lyle’s. My work might not be to his taste and he’d shoot me.”
Brad’s expression became encouraging. “Oh, come on. You don’t really believe that, do you? Lyle’s a teddy bear.”
Brad took a step toward her and her heart picked up its pace. He was so close Jayde could see how long his eyelashes were. “Well, maybe you’re right,” she said quickly, not really knowing where to look. She settled for a button on his knit shirt. “He’s been nothing but kind.”
“That’s more like it,” Brad said, drawing her attention up to his face. He was so good-looking, Jayde felt weak in the knees and her mouth went dry. Brad didn’t seem to notice her nervousness as he gestured toward the stack of canvases leaning against the breakfast bar. “You know, Jayde, you have enough paintings here to have a gallery showing of your own.”
Jayde’s heart hammered—with fear. She stepped back and flitted around Brad, rushing to gather up her work. “No, no, no. No gallery showings. Besides, quantity isn’t quality. It was hard enough showing them to you. Besides that, it would make me sick. And maybe a lot of other people, too.”
IT WAS TWO DAYS LATER and Brad still could not say why he was pushing Jayde so hard to have a gallery showing.
“Wow. Nice shot, boss,” Lyle said, commenting on Brad’s drive from the eighteenth tee of the private Longboat Key Golf Course.
“Thanks,” Brad acknowledged, squinting behind his sunglasses as he watched his ball sail high and cleanly down the middle of the fairway. He then handed his driver to Lyle, who today was playing caddy.
Lyle took the club and trudged along behind him, back to the golf cart. “It’s been good for you to take some time off, boss. Your game’s improving.”
“Thanks,” Brad said absently. As he climbed into the cart and waited for Lyle to stow the club back in the golf bag, Brad found himself wondering what Jayde was doing. He had the feeling she was avoiding him. Maybe he’d been too familiar, too fast. He shouldn’t have been familiar at all, was more like it. In fact, he should be glad she was keeping her professional distance.
Still, he wouldn’t have thought that two people could be in the same house and not run into each other. Even in a house the size of his.
“You okay, boss?”
Brad blinked back to the moment. Seated on the driver’s side of the cart with his arms draped over the steering wheel, Lyle waited for a reply. Brad exhaled. “I’m fine, thanks.”
“That all you can say? Thanks?”
“What do you mean?”
“For about the past hour, you’ve answered all my questions with ‘thanks.’ You thinking about her again?”
Despite feeling his face heat up, Brad adopted a stern expression…and played dumb. “Who, Lyle?”
Lyle stared at him, then grinned and straightened up, setting the cart in motion as they headed farther up the hilly course. “Okay. Have it your way.”
Brad glanced over at his chauffeur-bodyguard-caddy. “I’m not thinking about her.”
Lyle chuckled. “Whatever you say.”
Brad glared off to his right, taking in his beautiful surroundings. The swaying palms. The blue waters of the bay. The white sand of the traps. The red of the flowering hibiscus that dotted the course. He turned back to Lyle. “You know she’s an artist, don’t you?”
Lyle nodded. “You said as much. She any good?”
Brad shook his head. “Awful.”
Lyle exhaled. “That’s not good.”
“No. But, stupidly, I tried to talk her into a gallery showing.”
They drove along for a few seconds, both staring ahead. Then, into the silence, Lyle asked, “Why’d you do that?”
Brad tried to blow it off as of no consequence. “Hell, I don’t know. Got caught up in the moment, I guess.”
Brad noted Lyle’s brief but pointed stare. His bodyguard followed that with a question that was just as pointed. “And what moment was that, boss?”
“Nothing to do with the bedroom, Lyle. But one where I told her she could call me Brad.”
Lyle’s surprise showed in his expression. Then his jaw tensed and he faced forward. An uncomfortable moment passed between them, as Brad had known it would. He knew what Lyle was thinking—that he’d been with Brad for ten years, had stood beside him when Brad’s parents had been buried, was prepared to take a bullet for him, and had yet to be asked by Brad to call him by his first name. And yet, Jayde—an employee, just the same as Lyle—had only been around a matter of days and had already been invited to do so. It was one thing if none of the Hale Enterprises employees had that privilege. It was quite another if only one did. Brad knew he’d broken his own rule.
A moment later, Lyle cleared his throat. “That must have been quite the moment…Mr. Hale.”
Brad narrowed his eyes as he glanced off over the course, looking into neutral territory. “It was.” Then he turned to Lyle. “And your point’s taken, Lyle. Maybe I’ve been wrong on some things. But I’ve learned my lesson. Because she’s sure as hell paying me back for my familiarities, trust me.”
Lyle shot Brad a weighty bodyguard glare. Obviously, he was trying to put aside his personal feelings. “Yeah? You like her or something? You ready to admit what I told you? That she isn’t out to take you, like Ms. Kingston, or some of those others were?”
There was no sense denying it. Besides, he needed someone to talk to. “Okay, I admit it,” Brad sighed. “You were right. And I like her. There. I said it. You happy?”
Lyle chuckled. “Yeah. Are you?”
Brad frowned. “No. She’s been avoiding me, ever since I suggested a gallery showing of her work. Hell, I haven’t seen her since supper two nights ago. And even then, the mood was strained.”
“Well, it serves you right. I guess this thing you’re going through with Jayde explains why you’ve told Mrs. Chavez not to worry about meals, and why you gave Helga a week off from her cleaning duties. You want to be alone with your house sitter.”
Brad felt his face heat up. “Maybe.”
Lyle’s only response was a grunt, which meant, no doubt, Yeah, sure.
After that exchange, they rode along in silence. But by the time Lyle stopped the cart, Brad had made up his mind. When Lyle handed him the iron, Brad said, “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Brad met Lyle’s gaze, which was back to being formal—and offended. Sighing—it would seem a sham now if he told Lyle to call him Brad—Brad gave up and settled int
o his stance in front of the ball. Without raising his head, he said, “I know what I’m going to do.”
“About this shot?”
“No. About Jayde.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
Before answering, Brad took his best shot and watched the ball make a beeline for the eighteenth green. It skirted the edge and bounced, then rolled toward the cup, stopping within a few feet of the hole.
“Damn good shot, boss.”
“Thanks.” Brad looked back at Lyle. “I’m going to do the same thing she’s doing. I’ll keep my distance and go on about my business. Then we’ll see what happens.”
Lyle nodded. “So, you’re going to let her make the next move?”
It was Brad’s turn to nod. “Yep. I’m going to let her chase me.”
“Until you catch her, or what?”
Brad grinned. “Exciting, huh?”
Lyle shrugged his massive shoulders. “Maybe. Hope you can run fast, boss. I think.”
7
NOT TOO FAR AWAY, the phone was ringing at the Hale residence. Outside painting, Jayde grimaced at the interruption. Quickly wiping her hands down the front of her smock, she reached for the cordless set on the glass-topped table beside her. Squinting against the relentless sunshine, she turned until her body shaded the Caller ID window and she could read it. Queen’s Harbor Gatehouse, it said. Frowning, she hit the Speak button and put the set to her ear. “The Hale residence. This is Jayde, the house sitter, speaking.”
“Hello, Jayde. Nice to meet you. This is Nelson at the gatehouse. I’d heard that Mr. Hale had a new house sitter. Anyway, can you tell me if Mrs. Hale is expecting visitors?”
Mrs. Hale? Jayde went cold inside. Brad’s married. No, he wasn’t. Her mind speedily went through her mental Rolodex of facts she knew about Bradford Hale, thanks to Lyle’s chattiness. An only child. Not married. Parents deceased.
“Who?” she asked the cheerful Nelson. “I’m afraid I don’t know of any Mrs. Hale. Who’s asking for her?”
“Well, see, that’s what I thought—there isn’t a Mrs. Hale. But, hey, what do I know? I’ve been off work for a week and today’s my first day back. And you know rich folks. Ha-ha. They get married right and left. Not that it’s any of my business. But anyway, there’s an old couple out here insisting that Mrs. Hale is their daughter and that she invited them. They seem sincere, but you never know. It could be some kind of a con.”
Well, that was just dreadful, people making up such bizarre schemes. Suddenly Jayde understood why the wealthy had gated residences. And armed bodyguards. “Well, that’s awful. I just don’t—’
“Hold on a minute, ma’am. The old guy is signaling me. Let me step out there with the phone.” Apparently he did because now Jayde could hear background noises, such as a lawn mower, a car’s horn…and Nelson’s end of the conversation. “Excuse me, sir? What’d you say? Green? Yes, sir, a lot of things around here are green. This is Florida. What? Oh, your name is Greene…with an E.”
Hearing this, Jayde frowned. Greene? That’s my name. Then…it all gelled and she broke out in a cold sweat. She was Mrs. Hale—to her folks, who…dear God…were at the gatehouse this very minute. Because they’d been invited here—by her. Weakness washed over Jayde. She clutched at the table and spoke loudly into the phone, trying desperately to get Nelson’s attention. “Nelson? Hello? Can you hear me?”
She heard him say, “Hold on, sir. The lady is speaking to me.” Then, to Jayde, he answered, “Yes, ma’am? Did you say something?”
Jayde exhaled in relief. “Yes, I did, Nelson. Let them in. I know them. It’s okay.”
“Hold on. I can’t hear you very well.” A few moments later, he was back on the line again. “There. That’s better. Now, what did you say?”
Jayde held a hand against her fearfully pounding heart. Ohmigosh, what am I going to do now? “I said I know them. You can let them in.”
“You do? Well, they’re not on my list of expected visitors today. I don’t know if anyone told you how things work here, ma’am, but if you’re expecting someone, you’re supposed to call the gate and—’
“And give you their names. I know. But, you see, even though I knew they were coming to visit, I wasn’t sure when.” She put her hand to her forehead and rubbed. Could this be worse? “Anyway, Nelson, here’s the thing. You’re going to laugh. They’re my parents…and they think I’m Mrs. Hale.”
Not too surprisingly, Nelson was silent.
Jayde rushed on. “It’s a long story. Just let them in and give them directions to the house, okay?”
Nelson was still silent. No doubt, he smelled something rotten at low tide. “Well, I don’t know,” he finally drawled. “This all sounds kind of fishy to me, I don’t mind saying.”
“Well, I can see how it would, Nelson.” Obviously the truth wasn’t working. So Jayde improvised. “Actually, it’s Mr. Hale’s birthday today. And these people work for one of those entertainment companies. You know, where they dress up like clowns and gorillas—’
“These folks aren’t dressed up funny. Well, not any funnier than the other tourists around here. But I thought you said they were your parents.”
Damn Nelson and his attention to details. “Okay, that’s part of the act. They’re supposed to look like tourists and they’re playing the role of my parents.” Jayde was beginning to feel somewhat sick. “For the love of Pete, couldn’t you just let them in, Nelson? Please? I’ll see that you get a piece of the birthday cake and a big Christmas bonus, okay?”
Long silent moments met her words. Then, “Christmas was last month.”
“Oh. That’s right.” Jayde rubbed at her forehead again. How long did it take to play eighteen holes of golf? No doubt, Brad and Lyle would come traipsing through the door at the same time her parents did. Could she get her folks out of here and into a hotel and be back before Brad knew any better? No, wait, her folks thought she and Brad were married. Why would she not want them to stay here with them in one of the—count them—five bedrooms? Or even the guest house on the premises?
“Hello?”
Jayde jumped—and then remembered she was still on the phone. “Okay, Nelson, look. Here’s the truth. Those people really are my parents. It’s not Mr. Hale’s birthday and there is no cake. And—’
“No big bonus, right?”
“Right. Sorry.”
“That’s okay. Just tell me one thing. Why do they think you’re Mrs. Hale?”
“Because…I told them that, Nelson. I just wanted them to be proud of me, you know? For once. But still, that was pretty rotten of me to lie to them, wasn’t it?”
“Nah. Well, maybe yeah. But hey, I’ve done worse. My folks think I’m a Sarasota police detective.”
“So you know how I feel here, right?”
“Yeah, I suppose I do. Look, let me handle this, okay?” Then she heard him say, loudly and authoritatively , “Yes, Mrs. Hale, I’ll let your folks in now. They should be at the house in a few minutes.”
Despite the mess she was in, Jayde smiled. “Hey, Nelson? Thanks. You’re one of the good guys.”
“That’s what they all say. Take care, ma’am. And good luck—Uh-oh.”
Jayde’s stomach knotted. “What’s wrong?”
“Uh, ma’am, does Mr. Hale still have that gold Jag and that big bodyguard, Lyle?”
She swallowed. “Yes. To both.”
“Well, guess who just pulled in behind your folks’ car and should be arriving right behind them?”
Jayde couldn’t get a deep breath. “Oh, God.”
“Not quite,” Nelson said solemnly. “But good luck, anyway.”
“Thanks.” Jayde thumbed the Off button and stood there, paralyzed with fear. I’m a dead woman. Then, turning stiffly, she faced the fabulous house, wondering if she should pack her bags now or later.
“The way I see it—’
Jayde jumped and clutched at her chest. It was JOCK who’d spoken.
“—you can do one o
f two things,” Jock continued. “Are you listening to me, Jayde?”
“Yes,” she answered cautiously, staring at the intercom speaker as if it were JOCK’s embodiment. “But I don’t know why.”
“Because you don’t have much choice.”
“So I guess you also monitor phone calls, right?”
“Of course. Now, the way I see it, your choices are tell the truth, pack, and leave. Or brazen it out and see what happens.”
“Oh, thanks. I knew that much. You’re very helpful.”
“That’s my point,” JOCK all but purred. “I could be…if I so chose.”
Jayde narrowed her eyes and cocked her head, really staring hard now at the security camera perched to one side of the sliding glass patio doors. “How could you be helpful? And why? Wait a minute—have you been reprogrammed or something?”
“Perhaps. Okay, yes. I now like you.”
She made a scoffing noise. “You do not.”
“But I do. My program says I do. So, it’s in my best interest to help you because, for whatever reason, Mr. Hale likes you.”
“He does?” A thrill ran through Jayde. Then she remembered—Brad was JOCK’s programmer. She’d suspected Brad had warm feelings for her, but it was nice to hear it from someone else…even if it was JOCK, who was sort of Brad.
“Yes, he does. And that’s notable because he, like me, doesn’t like anyone. Except for Lyle. Which only shows how questionable Mr. Hale’s taste has become. Nothing personal. Still, let’s just say I could help most by not being…unhelpful.”
And, boy, she knew the truth of that.
At that moment, with nothing settled between her and her nemesis, the doorbell sounded…loudly and ominously. Its ring seemed to echo, like in some Hitchcock movie. Jayde froze.
JOCK found his voice first. “Well…my oh my. It’s show time…Mrs. Hale.”
“SWEETHEART! You’re home. Oh, I’ve missed you so much. How was your golf—Ohmigosh! Look who’s here—my parents! Mom! Dad! My goodness, you look wonderful. Come in, come in, everyone. Darling, have you introduced yourself and Lyle to Mom and Dad? Oh, I’m just so thrilled. Oh, now wait just a minute here…I get it. Why, you sly dog you, Brad. I’ve figured this out. You set this up, didn’t you? You flew my parents here as a surprise for me, didn’t you?”
