Love After All (7 page)

Marcus nodded. “Yes.” He reached over behind the receptionist's desk and pressed a button releasing the night security lock on the front door.

Jackson walked out just as his father's appointment entered. Both men nodded a cordial greeting and left it at that. Jackson shook his head knowingly. He could feel trouble brewing.

He got into his car and headed toward the expressway. He took a deep breath and sighed. He was so weary of pulling his father's butt out of the fire. But maybe this was a good thing. For so long he had played it safe, done the right thing and always what was expected. This small departure from the norm might be just what he needed for him to feel alive again.

He worked sixteen hours a day, seven days a week. He went from college to grad school to work and ultimately focused all his attention on the development of Daley Communications. Everything he did was of direct benefit to increasing the company's bottom line. Unfortunately, somewhere along the line he had forgotten what it felt like to live.

Something his mother had always warned him never to do.
His mother.
His thoughts rest with the promise he'd made her before she died. He'd put it off intentionally for six months, and just when he was ready to fulfill it he had to put it on hold again.

A determined grimace pulled across his face. His intention was to clean this mess up as soon as possible with as little exposure as possible. He looked at his watch; it was well after midnight.

I
t was a fool's errand and Jackson, exhausted and infuriated, hated wasting his time. A day of travel and a day of waiting for someone who hadn't shown up had put him in a foul mood. This was obviously some kind of game. One he was already tired of playing.

But the documents were real enough, of that much he was sure. Witnessing his father's expression at seeing them told him that they were genuine. The question was, what to do now? He ruled out calling the police since exposure was a major concern and the lack of integrity ran rampant—selling stories to tabloids was everyone's part-time job.

He considered hiring a private detective, but again trust was an issue and the lack of privacy and the bad publicity would only add to the already escalating dilemma. Eventually, only one logical answer came to mind—he needed to take care of this personally and that meant waiting to be contacted again, but this time on his terms.

Mulling over his decision, he walked into the airport's first-class lounge and looked around. Several businessmen were seated at the bar talking among themselves, as were two women in the corner. There was a man offering a drink to a woman seated alone by the window, and there were three or four others apparently also traveling alone, sitting around, sipping drinks or speaking quietly on cell phones, one talking loudly about a failed business deal. Tired and ragged, he was midway through a forty-eight-hour coast-to-coast turnaround.

Jackson had taken the red-eye from Los Angeles to New York, then the first available flight back, taking him through Chicago with a two-hour layover. His flight had just landed, and with hours to kill he decided to grab a drink and a bite to eat.

Jackson walked down the length of the bar and took a seat on the last stool. He glanced around again just in time to witness a man slam away angrily after apparently approaching the woman by the window.

The bartender walked over and placed a small square napkin on the glossy polished counter in front of him. The man nodded briefly in a combined gesture of greeting and asking for his drink order.

Jackson acknowledged with a nod and ordered a beer on tap and a menu. As the bartender grabbed a chilled glass and pulled the level down, nearly foam-free dark amber liquid poured out and filled the glass. He glanced up briefly, then back at the brew just topping the mug. Smiling and shaking his head, the bartender released the lever and set the beer in front of Jackson, picking up the twenty-dollar bill sitting on the counter beside the napkin.

He walked away, headed for the cash register, but paused long enough to take an order and fill a long-stemmed wineglass with a dark burgundy wine.

As he brought the change back to Jackson he leaned over the bar, smiling while nodding his head across the room. Jackson turned slightly toward the direction the bartender nodded. The man he'd seen and heard earlier was still talking loudly on the phone. Then he ordered a glass of burgundy and walked over to a woman sitting alone by the glass window.

“Watch this,” the bartender said, chuckling to himself.

There was a brief interaction as the man placed a third drink on the small table, then uninvited sat down in the empty seat across from her.

Jackson couldn't hear what they were saying, but it was obvious that the man was interested and the woman wasn't. Seemingly stuck-up or haughty, she smiled politely, then shook her head and turned back to the window. Apparently undaunted, the man got louder as the woman's demeanor remained steadily aloof.

“She's been shooting them down ever since she walked in here,” the bartender quipped quietly. Jackson shifted the change back across the counter and nodded.

Understanding, and accepting the generous tip, the bartender smiled happily. “Thanks,” he collected the change and dropped it into the tip jar behind him, then headed back to the other end of the bar as a loud group of travelers walked in.

Jackson took a few sips of his beer and casually looked around the now crowded room. He turned, seeing that the bartender continued to watch across the room. The man still trying to talk to the woman at the window gulped the last of his beer and became more adamant about his intentions. The woman never turned back to him. Then he reached across the table and roughly grabbed her. She resisted, jerking away.

In an instant, Jackson got up and walked over.

He gently touched the woman on the shoulder and leaned down to her ear and spoke loud enough for the man across the table to hear. “Sorry I'm late, sweetheart, traffic is miserable out there.” Then he looked up questioningly to the apparently intoxicated man across the table as he quickly let go of her arm.

“That's okay, darling,” she said, instantly going along with Jackson's ploy. “This gentleman was kind enough to keep me company until you got here. Thank you, sir,” she added pointedly and the man stood, muttering a few incoherent words, and walked out.

“Are you okay?” Jackson asked as he continued to lean close but this time he spoke more quietly in her ear.

The woman glanced to the side without looking up at him. A gentle wisp of loose hair dropped against her shoulder. “Yes, thank you, I appreciate your assistance,” she said then glanced at her diamond watch, gathered her belongings and as smooth as silk stood and walked out of the room without a single look back.

Jackson watched her walk away until she disappeared into the thickness of the flowing crowd of airport foot traffic. He half smiled. Her long lean legs and the sweet sway of her hips were beauty to behold. She was something else, all business and all gorgeous, and now she was a fantasy. And given the time, he might have attempted to talk to her himself, but her prompt departure took care of that idea.

Although he never actually saw her face, he imagined she was attractive. Her body alone had him itching. But the obvious don't-touch signals were blaring, too. Her hair was pulled back severely in a tight braid, she kept to herself, sitting alone, not talking to anyone, and she didn't make direct eye contact, all signs that she didn't want to be bothered.

Jackson turned back to the bar, seeing that his seat and most of the bar's counter had been usurped by the large crowd of travelers. He sat down at the now-vacant table. A few minutes later the bartender brought over another beer and cleared away the untouched wineglasses.

“Nicely done, smooth, you could be a professional,” the bartender said, wiping the table with a clean white towel and placing the glass of beer in front of him. Jackson put his hand into his pocket and pulled out another twenty. “Nope, you just saved me a lot of potential aggravation,” the bartender said. “It's on the house, enjoy. Here's a menu. Let me know when you're ready to order.”

Jackson nodded his thanks and relaxed back, opening his menu but still thinking about the woman who had just walked out of his life. What he saw of her was attractive and he didn't necessarily blame any man who felt bold and brave enough to approach her, but she obviously wasn't interested.

He smiled at the possibility without realizing it. It had been a while since his last relationship. Maybe now that his workload had lightened he'd consider Jessie's offer. He chuckled to himself, knowing of course that he wouldn't.

The scent of the woman's delicate perfume still wafted in the air. He inhaled deeply and again smiled at nothing in particular as his phone rang. He looked at the displayed number; it was his father again for the millionth time.

In actuality Marcus had called at least fifty times since Jackson left Los Angeles two days ago. Having not responded to any of his calls, Jackson knew that his father was desperate, yet he still seriously considered tossing his cell phone out the window.

“Where have you been? I've called you a dozen times. Did you get the originals?” The voice on the other end, obviously stressed, asked immediately not bothering with greetings and pleasantries.

“No,” Jackson said, hearing the disgusted sound of his father's exaggerated exhale. “The contact never showed up.” Marcus sighed heavily a second time. It was obvious that he wasn't pleased, but then few things pleased him lately.

“What do you mean he didn't show up? You've been gone for two days already. What happened?” Marcus asked.

“I can't go into that right now. Suffice it to say I followed his instructions, went to the hotel to meet him, but he didn't show up,” Jackson said as he looked around the area, seeing that more customers had entered the bar and the small space was getting crowded. “We'll have to talk about this when I get back. My flight's about to take off.”

“Your flight? What flight? You can't leave. You need to go back to that hotel and wait until he contacts you. Stay as long as it takes,” Marcus demanded. “You can't just walk away and leave. We need those original documents.”

“Yes, I realize that, but I waited for twenty-four hours. That's enough patience. If this person wants payment he's going to have to contact me again.”

“Those documents could ruin this company, and you decide that a few more days aren't worth your time?”

“I didn't say that. Apparently, whoever this person is wants to play games, but if he wants payment he's going to have to meet me face-to-face. I'm through playing his game.”

“And what about the company? If word gets out—”

“The company will be fine.”

“My reputation is on the line.”

“You should have considered that before you started all this.”

“It's well and good for you to say that now that you've enjoyed the bounty that my actions provided. I did it for us, for this company, for you.”

“You did it for yourself.”

“That's your mother talking,” Marcus declared.

“Don't bring her into this, she has nothing to do with it.”

“Be that as it may, she was right there by my side every step of the way.”

“I won't get into this with you right now. It's his move, we'll just have to wait to see what happens next.”

“We can't afford to just sit around and wait.”

“Correction,
you
can't afford to wait. I can.”

Jackson closed his cell phone and put it in his shirt pocket. He took a deep breath and turned to look out the window.

As always, their conversation had ended abruptly. Jackson took a sip of his beer. He looked back over to the bar. A different bartender was there, laughing and talking to a few patrons at the counter.

The perfumed-scented air, now completely faded and obscured by cigarette smoke, had dissipated, but Jackson smiled remembering the woman who had sat at the table. She, whoever she was, was the one bright moment in an otherwise disappointing and dismal trip, and now he was more than glad to be headed back home.

 

Transformed, she was the profiled epitome of executive style. Samantha, now completely reinvented in a stylish Suzi White business suit, four-inch Manolo Blahnik heels and designer reading glasses, sat in her first-class seat with the latest editions of
Architectural Digest
magazine and
Computer Today
on her lap. She flipped through the pages as her thoughts centered on her task. She steeled her courage as she focused on what she needed to do. Patiently, she waited for her part to begin.

As she glanced around the cabin, she remembered her last experience in first-class. It involved her brother, a banker, a baseball player, his agent and a large endowment to her education fund, which was eventually paid in full, compliments of her brother, who had simply asked her to do him a favor and she did.

The thought immediately made her smile. Where her father had mastered the jaunty carefree life of the con, her half brother, Jefferson, seven years her senior, had achieved flawless perfection. Like a Hollywood mogul, he directed, produced and wrote everything from start to finish. Every character and mark played right into his hands. And like a chess master he was twenty-five moves ahead before anyone even sat down to play.

And as with his skill, everything worked in timely fashion, perfect precision, and everyone walked away either richer, wiser or wishing that they'd never gotten up that morning. But no one complained. How could they? Greed had a way of making a point.

That was the last time she saw her brother. She heard that he had retired and was off to places unknown, doing exactly what we enjoyed doing.

But that was her old life; she hadn't seen him in years and certainly hadn't played the game in years. At a certain point she realized that the risk wasn't worth her freedom and definitely not worth her life. Her father took that chance each time he walked out the door on another one of his jobs. Robert Taylor knew, as they all did, that there was always a chance that he wouldn't come home.

Then it happened. A long con, it was a simple job, a quick switch and grab with a major payoff. Unfortunately, a member of his crew got greedy and went beyond the anticipated plan. That mistake cost the guy his life, and cost Robert fifteen years of his life. One member of the crew got away and her father never exposed him. Robert might have been undependable and conflicted, but he was also loyal. He'd never betray his crew, no matter what the circumstances. So he went to prison and so did his secret, leaving her and her mother with nothing.