Careless Rapture (5 page)

Clay looked at her. “What happened?”

She waved the invitation. “That bastard!”

“What?”

“Brian sent me a wedding invitation. I asked
him to, but
this
was before I asked him to.”

Clay stared, confused. “What?”

“That little snot was planning to marry even
while he was dating me.”

He grabbed her shoulders. “Calm down.”

“Calm down! I should rip off his balls and
serve them as hors d’oeuvres to his fiancée.”

Clay winced.

She grimaced. “Yes, that is a rather
disgusting image. I apologize.” She took a deep breath, tightening
one hand into a fist. “I am so angry.”

Clay led Jackie to the couch and gently
forced her to sit. “Relax. You’re not going to demolish anything
after we’ve just finished cleaning up this place.”

Jackie shook the letter. “Not only did he
insult me, he’s mocking me.” She pounded the couch.

Clay sat beside her. “Perhaps he wants to
show he has no hard feelings.”

“
He
has no hard feelings?”

“I’m hazarding a guess.” He shook his head
helplessly. “I don’t know. Just tear up the invitation and forget
about it.”

“Do you know when the wedding is scheduled?”
She didn’t give him a chance to answer. “This Saturday. Do you know
how long it takes to schedule a wedding?”

Clay looked at her blankly.

“At least ten months.”

He snatched the invitation and tossed it
aside. “It could be a simple wedding. Weddings in Las Vegas take no
planning at all.”

“This isn’t being held in Las Vegas,” she
said through clenched teeth.

“You’ve discovered the man’s an ass. Consider
yourself lucky.”

She tapped her finger against her chin as a
thought came to her. “This weekend, huh? I bet he doesn’t expect me
to show up.”

“And you don’t plan to go, so everything’s
settled.”

She sent him a sly glance. “You realize he’s
offered me a challenge.”

“What?”

“This means war.” She picked up the
invitation and studied its rose and ribbon design. “ I will
go.”

“Why?”

“To show I have no hard feelings.”

Clay scratched his head, confused. “You just
said you wanted to rip his—”

She made a dismissive gesture. “Yes, I know,
but he doesn’t need to know that. I’ll be gracious and show that
I’m above him.”

He sat back and stretched his legs out.
“That’s up to you.”

“Of course, I’ll need a date. Someone
sophisticated, suave, preferably rich. But then again, he would
expect that.” She rested her elbows on her knees and drummed her
fingers together. “I could go with the complete opposite. A man
with an interesting career, a bit intimidating and little rough,
uncouth but presentable.” She leaned back and folded her arms. “But
where could I find a guy like that on such short notice’?” She
slowly turned to him.

Clay stiffened. “No.”

“Come on,” she urged. “It’s just one
night.”

“No.”

She straightened. “All you’d have to do is
wear a tuxedo for a few hours, dance with me, then leave.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Clay’s eyebrows shot up. “Do I need a
reason?”

“Yes.”

“Not only is your plan juvenile, asinine, and
deceitful, it would be a complete waste of my time.”

“Do you know the type of women who attend
weddings? Lonely women—”

“Who want to shackle the first single man
they see.”

“Substitute 'shackle' for 'shag' and you’ll
be right.”

“I’m not in short supply of women.” He stood
and grabbed his jacket. “And presently I’ve had my fill.”

“Just one night. Please.” She jumped to her
feet. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

He paused. “How?”

“You tell me.”

He grinned maliciously and opened the door.
“Perhaps I will,” he said, then left.

***

On Monday, Jackie darted through the spring
drizzle of a cool rain that slickened streets and accentuated the
mingled scent of blossoming trees and car fumes. The swish of
wipers and honking horns filled the air, while umbrellas knocked
against each other as people raced to work. She rushed into the
lobby of her office building and nearly opted to stand outside when
she saw William Chavis, an accountant who bored her with his smile
and constant attention. She tried to hurry past him and make it up
the stairs before he saw her. She failed.

“Jackie,” he said, blocking her path.

She offered a brief smile and tried to move
around him. “I’m in a hurry.”

“This is a quick question. The Cherry Blossom
Festival is coming up. Would you like to walk with me along the
Tidal Basin?”

Sure, to push you in
. “I’m very busy
right now.” She shook her umbrella, getting water drops on his
shoes. “Sorry, excuse me.” She dashed into an elevator and sighed
with relief. A few moments later, she entered the airless
three-room office of HOPE Services, a nonprofit organization that
fed homebound people and helped others reenter the workforce. She
hoped that in a few years the company would own an entire floor and
be nationally recognized. Right now she was content with a job as
vice president in charge of finances. It was a step up from
coordinator at another nonprofit organization that helped young
people with employment. In two years she’d be thirty-five. By then
she hoped to develop a program so large and profitable that grant
funding would become unnecessary. She knew it was a lofty goal but
she was determined.

“Did you have a good weekend?” Patty Jayson
asked as Jackie came through the door. She wore a short, curly red
wig that complemented her honey skin and brown eyes, but looked
oddly out of fashion for a woman of fifty-seven.

Jackie hung up her jacket and umbrella. “I
discovered my boyfriend is getting married.”

“Is he good-looking?”

Jackie checked her in-box. “Would it hurt
your feelings if I ignored you?”

“If he’s ugly, who cares? I just think you
should look on the bright side of things. Especially now.”

She glanced up from her letters. “Why
especially?”

“I suppose the news can wait.”

“What news?”

Faye Radcliff came out of her back office
with the panicked look of a workaholic in crisis. Her conservative
gray dress made her look older than her thirty-eight years.
Reddish-brown hair fell around her slightly flushed pale skin.
“Have you told her?” she asked Patty in her smooth, husky tone.

Patty shook her head. “No.”

Jackie’s gaze darted between them. “Told me
what?” Her shoulders drooped. “Is it bad? Did another client cancel
services?”

Faye leaned against Patty’s desk. “No, it’s
worse.”

“What could be worse?”

Patty waved her hand. “You’re going to wish
you didn’t ask that.”

Faye sighed. “You know Mr. Everton Hamlick,
our generous funder? The man who said he’d support us for the rest
of his life?”

Jackie nodded with mounting dread. “Yes?”

“His life ended yesterday.”

Jackie fell
against the wall. “Somebody killed him?”

Faye shook her head. “No, he dropped dead. He
was waving to the mail carrier, then toppled over. And since he has
such a nice, close-knit, and loving family,” she drawled in a
sarcastic tone, “they all swooped in and immediately cut the funds
to all his charitable organizations. His recent donation is all
we’ll ever see.” She sighed. “I told him we should have had
something in writing.”

“The guy was sweet. Unfortunately, he refused
to see that not everyone thinks and cares about things the way he
does. Or did.” Jackie frowned. She hated having to refer to him in
the past tense. Mr. Hamlick had become an integral part of their
little group and it wasn’t only because of his financial help. An
older white man with wispy gray hair, he’d always been superbly
dressed, with piercing hazel eyes and a booming laugh that shook
his lanky frame. She’d miss him.

“It made him unique, but vulnerable. The
funeral is next Saturday. Do you want to go?”

Jackie made a face. “And see those vultures?
No, thank you.”

“Perhaps if they see us, see how much he
meant to us and the people we help, they may be persuaded to
continue his legacy.”

Patty rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Rich
people like that only care about themselves. I wouldn’t be
surprised if they didn’t kill him off.”

Faye frowned. “Don’t be disgusting.”

“I’m not. You’re always hearing stories like
that—sons killing their mothers, daughters pushing their fathers
down the stairs or hiring hit men.”

“The man was seventy-six years old. He died
of natural causes.”

“My dad’s ninety and still has a few years
left.” Patty wagged her finger. “You know there are drugs out there
that can make a death look natural.” She adjusted her hair. “I
know, I read.”

Faye opened her mouth; Jackie shook her head
in warning. Getting into an argument with Patty could last all
morning. Jackie said, “The fact is he’s dead and our present grant
will never be able to cover all our expenses.”

Faye nodded. “We can struggle by for a few
months, but after that we’ll have to greatly reduce our
services.”

Jackie pushed herself from the wall. “No, we
can’t do that. People depend on us.”

“What else can we do? Our best plan of action
is to meet his family.”

“A funeral is a tacky place to ask for
money.” Jackie affected a wide grin and held out her hand. “Hi,
sorry for your loss, but we want your money. Can you write a
check?”

Faye scowled. “I wasn’t going to ask there.
I’d meet with them, then call them later. There must be a bleeding
heart in the family.”

“You’re assuming they have hearts,” Patty
muttered. “The rich can afford not to.”

“What do you have against rich people?”

“I envy the fact that I’m not one.” She
rested her elbows on the desk and leaned forward. “Do you know what
I would do if I had money?”

“Besides generously donating to us?”

Patty waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah,
whatever. If I had money I’d”—she wiggled in her seat and
winked—“you know.”

Faye and Jackie looked at her blankly. Jackie
said, “No, we don’t know.”

“I’d get everything done.” She gestured to
the ceiling, then the floor. “Head-to-toe makeover.”

Faye folded her arms. “You don’t need it. You
look fine.”

“In a few years time, ‘fine’ will be the new
ugly. By then everyone will have had something done.”

“I certainly hope not. Imagine a world of
porcelain veneers and silicone butts. That would be a scary
world.”

“Not if everyone is doing it.”

Jackie cleared her throat. “I'm sorry to have
to redirect this thrilling and socially essential conversation for
more mundane matters, but we need money.”

Patty nodded. “See? And if I were prettier, I
could get a rich man and help you out. You two should seriously
consider that. Men like to help beautiful women.”

“I think we’re attractive,” Faye said.

“You’re pretty.” She looked at Jackie. “And
you’re cute. It’s not the same. Now if—”

Jackie interrupted her. “Yes, thank you,
Patty. But since we don’t plan on getting anything done, we need to
think of something else.”

Faye said, “The funeral is worth a try.” She
caught Jackie’s frown. “Unless you have another idea.”

Jackie tapped her chin, pensive. Suddenly, an
impish grin spread on her face. She snapped her fingers. “What
about that man who used to fund us when Latisha was here?”

Latisha Robins had developed HOPE Services.
After seven years as president, she had suddenly resigned, stating
family obligations.

“There were a lot of men when Latisha was
here,” Faye said, too well bred to let
complete
disdain
color her words.

Jackie ignored the implication. “I think his
name was Wallace or Wynon or—”

“Mr. Winstead?”

“Yes. He used to be one of the biggest
donors. Why did he stop?”

Faye shrugged. “I don’t know. She never
explained. She left leaving a lot of unanswered questions.”

“Perhaps I could persuade him to
reinvest.”

Faye bit her lower lip, hesitant. “I don’t
know. Latisha had a certain way of doing business. A bit ruthless,
but it suited her.”

Jackie waved her hand, unconcerned. “That’s
fine. We all have our gifts. I’m in charge of funding and I plan to
solve this problem. Patty, get me his number, please.”

“Are you sure?” Faye asked as Patty searched
the database.

“No, I’m not sure, but it’s an option. HOPE
has grown and those that want to get-their names seen can use this
opportunity. At least that’s how I’ll present it to those who can’t
just contribute out of the kindness of their hearts.”

“Got it!” Patty said.

Jackie wrote down the number, then
disappeared into her office. A half hour later, she came out of her
office smiling. “I scheduled an appointment with Mr. Winstead.”

“Great.” Faye smiled, but it didn’t reach her
eyes.

***

Clay usually didn’t mind Monday mornings.
This Monday was an exception. The day seemed extra wet and the
rush-hour traffic extra congested. Sunday night had been a
sleepless one. He’d kept thinking about Jackie. Thinking about her
eating Swedish pancakes wearing nothing but a red scarf. That
wasn’t like him and it was an annoying change.

He entered Hodder Investigations in anything
but a good mood, briefly muttering a greeting to Brent Holliday,
their part-time secretary, a college graduate with shaggy black
hair and green eyes who’d learned early on that PI work was more
tedious than he’d thought.

Clay walked into the main office, where Mack
greeted him with a big grin he couldn’t return. Mack had been
wearing that same expression when they’d met years ago in a church.
Clay wasn’t a religious man, but found comfort in the quiet of the
various churches the city provided. He’d been staring at the row of
candles on the altar when he saw Mack. He had never seen a guy look
so happy leaving confession. Curious, Clay followed him and asked
him why. They started talking and had an instant affinity. Mack had
been a police officer who was tired of the bureaucracy and at a
crossroads in his career. He wondered if he should try for
detective or leave the force and work on his own.