Love After All (10 page)

“Kind of get to the point,” she said. He nodded. “I see,” she offered.

“Exactly. I'll start. I'm single. I live on the beach in Malibu. I have a good job in broadcasting. I come from a good family, I'm comfortably well-off and I've had all my shots.”

Samantha laughed at Jackson's last remark. “Sounds like I should be impressed.”

“Are you?”

“Of course,” she lied playfully.

“Good.”

Before he could continue, turbulence interrupted them. Samantha quickly grabbed the wineglass before it spilled on the small tray. “That was fun,” she joked cautiously, then picked up the glass and sipped her wine quickly.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She nodded and smiled weakly. “So, Jackson, Jackson Daley, what exactly do you do in broadcasting? Is it radio, television, cable or satellite?”

“Radio primarily, satellite hopefully. We're diversifying as soon as FCC regulations are renewed and approved.”

“Sounds interesting,” she said.

“So, Samantha, what do you do besides put things together?”

“I'm a consultant.”

He smiled. “That's a great word, consultant. It can mean anything from selling brushes door to door to unemployed bricklayer.”

“I'm somewhere between the two.”

“That covers a lot of territory.”

“Yes, it does.”

“Ah, so you're a woman of mystery.”

“I work with computers,” she said, relenting.

“Everybody works with computers,” he said of her obvious remark.

“You know, you're right,” she agreed smiling.

“Okay,” he said, deciding to drop the line of questioning. “I assume you don't live on the West Coast?”

“No, I don't,” she told him, not specifying the exact location.

“And you're going to L.A. on business?”

“Yes.”

“How long are you staying?”

“Not long.”

“Maybe we'll run into each other.”

“Maybe,” she said.

They slipped into a comfortable silence as the attendant stopped by to offer her services and retrieve the coffee cup and still nearly full wineglass. Jackson joked with the attendant. She giggled joyfully and then continued retrieving trash from the other passengers in first-class.

“You have a very distinct voice, gentle, smooth. You must be perfect for radio. Are you on the air?”

“I have done on air from time to time, in college,” he said, purposely omitting that up until two days ago he was DJ Love. “Do you know much about broadcasting?”

“No, but it sounds interesting. Tell me about it.”

They talked for the next thirty minutes, interrupted only by occasional turbulence and an announcement from the captain. By the time they were preparing to land Jackson realized that he had dominated the entire conversation. Samantha knew just about everything there was to know about him and broadcasting, but he still knew next to nothing about her.

He had asked questions of her background and her career, but she was evasive and turned the conversation and questions back to him, the last topic of which was the magazines in her lap and whether or not she was in the architectural or computer fields. Not completely to his surprise, she avoided the question and he still had no idea exactly what she did for a living since she still hadn't giving him a definitive answer one way or the other.

“Once again, not an answer.”

She smiled passively.

“So tell me, Samantha, are you always this evasive?”

“Evasive? Me?” she questioned.

“Yes, you have the art of avoiding answers to questions down to a science. You know just about everything there is to know about me and I know next to nothing about you.”

She smiled. “Not true. For instance, I don't know your favorite color or your favorite song or the name of the first girl you kissed.”

“Purple, ‘Hearts Afire' by Earth Wind and Fire, Claire Hathaway in the hallway after third period biology class and nice try, illustrating my point exactly, evasive. You still haven't answered my question.”

“You know plenty about me,” she affirmed.

“For instance?” he suggested.

“You know that I'm a very private person.”

“And that's about it.”

“That's pretty much all there is,” she assured him.

“I know that you have an interesting accent.”

Samantha froze, then grimaced. She hadn't been aware that she was using an accent.
Mistake,
she chastised herself. She had to be more careful, particularly since she had no idea who she was meeting and how many other people were involved. She looked over at Jackson. His innocent bewilderment surprised her.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asked.

“No, not at all, I was just thinking. It's curious that we met in the first-class lounge and also just happen to be side by side in first-class on the same flight with the same destination. Awfully big coincidence.”

“You sound suspicious.”

“It's my nature.”

“Aha, you have a suspicious nature. A clue, so that would make you either in law enforcement or part of the criminal element on the other side.” He smiled jokingly and chuckled at the absurdity.

“Guilty. I'm part of the criminal element on the other side,” she said, tongue firmly in cheek, then joined his laughter.

He nodded. “A criminal element, excellent. I've always been attracted to dangerous women.”

“Do I look dangerous to you?”

He took the opportunity to peruse her face and body thoroughly. “Yes, you do, very dangerous with a criminal mind.”

“I'd say that you were more attracted to the criminal body, but…” She paused to glance down at his body with appreciative enjoyment. “I must admit, the broadcast body is quite attractive, as well.”

Jackson laughed louder this time, humored by her intuitiveness and overly suggestive comment. She knew exactly where this playful conversation was going and even led the way. Bold and audacious, he had definitely enjoyed this flight and there was no way he wanted it to end when the plane landed.

“That said, dinner?” he asked.

“What about it?” she asked, already knowing.

“Have dinner with me this evening,” he specified.

“Why?”

“I don't want to eat alone.”

“I'm not available this evening.”

“Then have dinner with me this afternoon.”

She smiled, actually considering his invitation. But business was business and she needed to stay focused. “You are charming,” she said. He nodded, accepting the compliment. “But another time, perhaps.”

“I'm gonna hold you to that,” he promised.

Moments later, the captain's voice came over the speaker informing the passengers that they were preparing to land at LAX. The attendants walked through the cabin checking for down trays and loose seat belts. With everything in order, Samantha rested her head back and exhaled slowly.

Jackson leaned over and asked, “How are you at landings?” seeing that the sound of landing gear and machinery opening tensed her.

Samantha took a deep breath then exhaled slowly. “Okayish.”

He leaned closer. “Well, if you need another distraction, I can think of something a bit more involved.”

She laughed and momentarily forgot all about the plane landing.

Ten minutes later the flight was over and they stood talking in the waiting area, neither one wanting their time to end. “Well,” she began, “thanks for the conversation. It was nice meeting you, Jackson, Jackson Daley.” She turned and started to walk away.

“What, that's it?” he said. She turned to him. “You're just going to kiss me, use me and walk off like that?”

She smiled and stepped back. “What would you suggest?” He smiled, then chuckled. “Never mind,” she decided as they laughed together.

“I really enjoyed this,” Jackson said, stalling.

Samantha nodded. “Yeah, me, too. Take care,” she added as she stepped to walk away once more.

“So I think maybe we can get together again,” he quickly said.

“You think so?” she asked.

He nodded, seeming to calculate their time together. “Definitely, although I don't have anyone in my life at the moment and I'm not looking for anyone.” He paused.

“Ditto, I don't have anyone in my life at the moment, either, and I'm not looking for anyone.”

“Good. With that said, we should have dinner or lunch or breakfast.”

“Didn't we already cover this?”

Jackson smiled the drop-dead, toe-curling smile that seemed to buckle her knees. “You said another time, and this—” he paused, glancing at his watch “—is another time,” they said in unison.

“Cute,” she said, unable to not smile at his gentle persistence. “Very cute.”

“Is that all?” he asked.

She inhaled, then exhaled with added exaggeration, knowing that this wasn't a good idea. But temptation pressed her. “Is this you being charming again?” she asked. Jackson laughed. Nodding, she joined in. “I'll take that as a yes. So this dinner or lunch or breakfast, are you talking right now, here at the airport?”

“No, I was thinking more like someplace in town,” she didn't reply. “Los Angeles is famous for its unique cuisine and diverse restaurants. It would be a shame to fly all the way out here and not sample the local delights.”

“You think so, huh?”

“I know so,” he assured her. “You mentioned that you were busy this afternoon, so how about a late dinner?”

She paused a moment. The package she received at the cab company promised Eric's whereabouts and instructed her to take a flight out of Chicago to Los Angeles then wait. She had no idea when her mysterious benefactor would contact her; and sitting around her hotel room all night and all morning. afternoon and evening waiting was the last thing she wanted to do. A distraction would get her mind off her anxiousness. “Okay, a late dinner sounds wonderful.”

Jackson was pleasantly surprised. “Great. Dinner it is. Where are you staying?”

“The Beverly Wilshire Hotel.”

“I'll meet you in the lobby at eight o'clock.”

She nodded. “Perfect.”

“Do you have a ride to the hotel?” he asked.

“I'll catch a cab.”

“Are you sure? I'll be happy to escort you.”

“No, not necessary. I'll see you at eight. 'Bye.”

Jackson nodded and watched her walk away.

The soft sway of her hips reminded him of the first time he had watched her walk away. His already bursting smile broadened as he focused on the snug pull of her skirt and how it accentuated the sweet heart shape of her rear. Unable to look away, he watched the gentle sway with each step. A leg man, he let his eyes drift down. In sheer stockings the firm muscles of her legs were heaven, and the four-inch heels accentuated every curve.

If this was any indication of their evening together, he couldn't wait to see where this would lead. With one possible destination in mind, he hoped for the best.

Unconsciously he licked his lips. He had no idea how long she was in town, but he intended to see her as much as possible.

There was a passion about her that excited him. It was a certain something that he hadn't seen before, and whatever that something was, he wanted more.

A
s soon as the cab dropped her off, Samantha entered the lobby of the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. She paused and glanced around. Behind dark sunglasses she looked at the faces of the people standing around. At almost five o'clock in the morning the lobby was empty with only a few hotel employees milling about, cleaning or talking among themselves. Several of them looked up as she entered, and smiled a greeting.

She nodded amiably, knowing that looks were deceiving.

The envelope from the back of the cab was from someone named Lincoln. She had no idea if the person was male or female. All she knew was that Lincoln claimed to know where Eric was and had sent her a first-class ticket to L.A.

She was greeted by a doorman, who took her luggage and escorted her to the front desk, where a pleasant-looking woman yawned wide and long, then smiled, politely excusing herself.

Following instructions, Samantha asked for messages at the front desk. There was an envelope waiting for her along with a key card to an upstairs suite. The front-desk clerk told her that she'd already been checked in. Samantha stepped aside, opened the envelope and read the note, which informed her that she would be contacted later on that night. She walked away from the desk and headed toward the elevators but stopped when her name was called by the front-desk clerk.

“Excuse me, Ms. Lee, one more thing.” Samantha turned, seeing the clerk hurrying behind her with a large bouquet of flowers. “These are also for you.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, slightly skeptical.

“Yes ma'am, they were delivered for a Samantha, but unfortunately the florist didn't send a last name. They just arrived a few minutes before you came in with a note that you would be checking in this morning. Since we don't have any other guests named Samantha, and you hadn't arrived yet, we were just about to send them back, but then when you asked for your messages…”

“Yes, thank you,” she said, taking the flowers and continuing to the bank of elevators. She pushed the button and the doors opened immediately. She stepped inside, pressed for the ninth floor and leaned back against the mirrored wall. The smooth ride gave her time to reflect. She had no idea what to expect next, and whatever was waiting for her she hoped she was ready.

When the doors opened, she walked down the deserted hall to suite 915. She stood at the door and waited a few seconds before proceeding. Then she slid the key card through the slot, opened the door and walked inside.

After a quick look around, satisfied that she was alone, she sat down on the side of the bed, picked up the phone and called down to the front desk. Identifying her room number, she asked for confirmation of the name on the registration, who made the reservations, when and how the room was charged and to what account. Everything came back in her name. And the room was charged to an open account by an overseas bank credit card.

She pulled out her laptop computer, plugged it in and began her search. She found a back-door file into the hotel's registration system and confirmed what she was told over the phone. Everything, as far as the hotel was concerned, was in the name of Samantha Lee, and there was no Lincoln or Jefferson Taylor registered in the past six or the next three months.

She dug deeper but found nothing she didn't already know. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to cover their tracks, and whoever set this up had done a very thorough job. They had manipulated both her and the system, and she didn't like being manipulated.

For every lead she uncovered, there was an abrupt end, as if someone knew she'd be looking. And for every question she had, more occurred to her. Who was Lincoln? How did he know where to find her? How did Jefferson know about his package? Were they working together?

A half hour later, as dawn began to creep over the boxed horizon, she was right back where she started. Frustrated, she lay back on the bed, exhausted, realizing just how tired she was. Two buses, one train and a flight halfway across the country could do that.

As instructed, she'd followed the directions exactly and seven hours ago had arrived in Chicago to catch a nearly five-hour flight to Los Angeles to meet someone named Lincoln and hopefully get her life back.

The thought of her life before and her life now swam bitterly in her mind. Was it that much different? Soon after her mother had died she had separated herself from her family and decided to live her life solo. Her emotions were severed and she took life with no regrets and no expectations. That is, until Eric.

He changed everything. He made her feel, and for the first time in a long while she came out of her shell to enjoy life. Then he betrayed her and left her with nothing, exactly as her father did to her mother.

After a hot shower, she changed her clothes then climbed into the comfortable bed and closed her eyes. But sleep didn't come as easily as she expected. To her surprise Jackson Daley came to mind and again she wondered if he was part of this. He was charming and funny and had a way of making her feel at ease, which was exactly what a con man could do.

But maybe she was reading too much into their meeting. After all, not everyone in the world was out for the con. There were honest people out there. And there were people who were genuinely kind and good. The trouble was, she knew too few.

In retrospect, she had lived an isolated life straddling and dancing along that imaginary line between trust and deceit. She expected the worst and was seldom disappointed. Of course, she was definitely no angel, but the dark predatory world of after midnight never drew her in, either, not like it had drawn and eventually consumed her father. He never could walk away, even when it meant losing his family—losing her.

He was skilled and focused, an expert in his chosen profession, with the commitment and charm of a true master, but not the attitude. Cons and swindles, marks and patsies were his life. From depravity, decadence and greed, his marks gave willingly, usually ill-gotten gains, and he took graciously, but only from the deserving, never from the disadvantaged.

There was honor in the taking and it wasn't all about the money. Going after those who'd binged from the less fortunate gave him particular pleasure. They took and then he took from them. And the inability for recrimination delighted him. Payback was never an option, particularly when the mark had to also admit wrongdoing. Conning was the ultimate win-win. You can't point the finger when you're just as wrong.

When she was a child he was her Robin Hood and the world was her Sherwood Forest. His Merry Men were her family, and life was good. She lived everywhere and nowhere, learning all she could from those around her. Then her father had walked away to a different life and left her and her mother with nothing. But that was then.

A sad feeling of loss washed over her as she refocused. She'd been thinking about Robert Taylor a lot lately. She missed him more than she thought. The last time she saw him, he was walking out the door, promising to return soon. He never did. She was angry then, and now it was too late.

For over fifteen years, and all her adult life, they had been separated by barbed wire, automatic weapons and prison bars. Then, when she'd heard through the ever-persistent grapevine that he was being paroled within the next few months, she'd had mixed feelings. But now it was too late. He was gone, leaving her with only memories.

She wished him the best and like her forever-faithful mother, she still loved him. No blame, no fault, because ultimately he'd done what fathers were supposed to do, he'd taught her how to survive.

And up until recently she'd done just that.

Unfortunately he'd done his job too well. Her half brother, Jefferson Taylor, had followed in their father's footsteps. And he had exceeded all expectations. Rumor had it that after Jefferson's last extremely successful endeavor, he had apparently cut his losses and walked away, retired to a home somewhere in New Mexico, Arizona or maybe Crete or the south of France. No one really knew for sure.

Tall, dark and handsome, Jefferson had been her idol. She adored him. He was perfect as far as she was concerned. And now the fact that he'd gotten out of the life only endeared him to her. Unlike their father, he knew when to walk away, and did. But the two men she most depended on in her life were out of reach and she needed to depend on herself.

She smiled leisurely as thoughts of Jackson weaved through her mind again. She drifted off to sleep with that same smile.

 

At ten minutes to eight, Jackson walked into the Beverly Wilshire Hotel and looked around the expansive lobby. Impressive was an understatement. He headed to the courtesy phone and called the operator, asking for…

It hit him, Samantha had never given him her last name. Then he remembered that the flight attendant had referred to her as Ms. Lee when he asked where she was. He asked to be connected to a hotel guest named Samantha Lee. When she picked up, he smiled.

“It's eight o'clock,” he said smoothly.

“Who is this?” Samantha asked cautiously, her voice husky from her short nap.

“Don't tell me that you've forgotten me already?”

“Jackson?” she asked, slightly confused. There was no way she'd been asleep for twelve hours straight. She was tired, but not that tired. She looked over at the clock on the nightstand. It was eight o'clock in the morning. She'd been asleep for only two hours.

“Did I mention that I was also impatient?”

“No, I guess you left that one out,” she said.

“It's eight o'clock and I'm downstairs in the lobby.”

“The suggestion was dinner at 8:00 p.m.,” she said, emphasizing the last word.

“I couldn't wait. May I come up?”

“I'm not dressed.”

“Don't go to any trouble on my account,” he said suggestively.

“I'm in bed, you know, jet lag and all.”

“In that case, may I come up and join you?” He heard lightness in her sigh and knew that she was smiling even through the receiver.

“Give me twenty minutes, I'll be right down.”

Jackson hung up the lobby phone and smiled as if he'd just won the million-dollar lottery. He had no idea what he was doing, but for some reason he couldn't stop himself. After leaving the airport he'd gone home, showered, changed clothes and was standing out on his deck overlooking the beach and water when an uncontrollable urge steered him back into the city. As if on automatic, he drove directly to the Beverly Wilshire Hotel.

Even though she didn't wear a wedding band, he had no idea if she was married, engaged or even in a relationship. Her not looking for anyone didn't necessarily stipulate. All he knew for sure was that he wanted to see Samantha again, and tonight wasn't soon enough.

Maybe it was the fantasy idea Jessie had planted in his subconscious or maybe it was just a crazy whim, but either way, he wanted to spend time with Samantha, and the sooner, the better.

Her subdued energy and her passion intrigued him. And of all the women he'd known, she was by far the most exciting.

He walked over to the lobby newsstand and glanced over the assortment of newspapers and magazines stacked and piled across the small counter. He chose a
Black Enterprise
magazine, paid for it, then sat down on one of the overstuffed lobby sofas and flipped through the pages leisurely. The inside cover showed the standard PR as usual. Daley Communications was a staple in the African-American community.

It was his mother's idea to have a full page ad in the magazine every quarter. It was the one thing that hadn't changed even after her death months ago. Jessie made sure of that.

Although it was a fact that his grandfather had started the company over sixty-five years ago, it was his mother's vision and her ingenuity twenty years ago that really made the company. When that company was stagnant and in danger of extinction, it was also her money that saved it and eventually turned it into the conglomerate it was today.

Jackson continued turning pages. He paused when he saw the photo. There it was, his father's smiling face as close to genuine as he could get. To the world he was a genius with a vision for the future, but to Jackson he was a user who usurped ideas and took all the credit.

“Women. It takes them forever to get ready.”

Jackson looked up, and saw an elderly gentleman sitting on the sofa across from him, dressed in the typical tourist outfit. He even had a camera around his neck and a fanny pack secured around his waist.

Jackson nodded.

“I see we have the same taste in literature,” he said, tilting his magazine up to show that he also had a copy of
Black Enterprise.
“Very informative.”

“Yes, it is,” Jackson said as he continued flipping through the pages.

“So,” the man continued, “are you here on your honeymoon?”

Jackson half chuckled. “No, nothing like that, just hanging out for the day.”

“Ah, I see, got the day off, nice, nice indeed,” the man said, nodding. “So, is California home for you?”

“Yes, born and raised.”

“Nice place. A bit more sun than I'm used to, but no complaints. As a matter of fact, I could get used to this weather, better than back East. It was near freezing when I left.”