The Lottery Winner (13 page)

“What do you wa— Oh, Jessie. Good morning, hon.”

Miri's harassed then flustered response surprised Jessie. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. I had some unwanted company earlier. I thought he had returned.”

“Logan?”

“No. That PI of his.”

Jessie's throat closed. Had he been asking about her? She gulped down her nerves. “What did he want?”

“He's doing a job for Logan.”

That knocked her off balance. “He is?”

“Yes. I've asked him to drop it, but he won't listen. What do you have there?”

Trepidation filled Jessie. “Is he investigating anybody I know?”

She tried to make a joke of it, but the words sounded flat.

“Logan's ex. What do you have there, hon?”

Relief washed over her, then she yanked herself up short. It was nothing to her if Logan was hung up on his ex-wife.

“I brought two more paintings. I'll swap them for the ones here and drop those off at the printer to get scanned when I pick up the deer picture. If that's okay?”

“Of course it is. Oh, Jessie, I love your sunrise. I didn't know you did watercolors, too.”

“I like to experiment with different mediums. I probably should focus on one, but—”

“No, no. This is lovely. You couldn't achieve this blend of shades with any other paint.”

“That's what I thought. So...is...um, Logan here?”

“No, but I'm sure he'll turn up. He always does.” Both love and exasperation flavored the words.

Jessie wasn't disappointed. The emptiness in her tummy was just...hunger. She'd missed breakfast. Given last night's moonlight madness, doing what she'd come to do and getting out of here before Logan arrived seemed prudent. “I'll switch these and get to the printer's.”

“Let me help. Are you having the copies framed?” Miri asked as she followed Jessie into the dining room.

“I'd rather not spend the money on that right now. Maybe later.”

Miri touched her arm. “I could loan it to you.”

She wanted to hug the woman. “Thank you. But no. I need to do this on my own.”

“If you insist.” Miri took down the hibiscus and propped it against the hostess stand. “Put the watercolor here. The muted colors are so different from the acrylics it'll look washed out beside them.”

Jessie did as bidden and stood back. She really liked the piece. That made her even more determined to recreate the storm clouds from a few days back. They'd be complementary—one so bright with the promise of a new day and the other dark and gloomy. She crossed to the heron, removed it and replaced it with the cormorants.

“Creepy,” Miri said. “That one's eyes follow everywhere I go.”

Like Logan's.
“My thoughts exactly.”

Then Miri's attention shifted to Jessie. “A bargain's a bargain. I asked you to help me for two weeks. That ends this Monday. I hate to lose you, but I have monopolized your time and kept you from creating more of these. I called an employment agency this morning. They're going to send me some experienced help.”

Jessie nibbled her bottom lip. This was a good thing. Repeated exposure to Logan or his PI wasn't wise. And then there was her family. She hated lying to them. “I'm glad.”

“I hope you'll continue to display your art here even when you're not working here.” Miri held out her arms and Jessie stepped into them. The hug was bittersweet.

“Thank you, Miri. Thank you for everything.”

“No. Thank you, hon. And don't be a stranger after Monday, you hear?”

Six more days and Jessie could get back to solitude and her art. It was the right thing to do. So why did it feel wrong?

* * *

L
OGAN
TRIED
TO
hide his impatience with the client who'd monopolized his morning. Like most of the businesses who'd hired Logan when he moved to Key West, Tom had been a friend of Jack and Miri's. Without that familial connection, Logan never would have been successful starting over in Key West—not with the scandal tarnishing him.

“Tom, I've got this. We have every receipt and every deduction covered. Relax.”

The man was shaky and pale beneath his tan, and no amount of reassurance had helped. “Relax? Are you nuts? It's the IRS,” he protested. “A fishing guide without a boat is nothing. If they take the
Aqua-Haul
, I'm out of business. And I got nothing else for 'em to take.”

“The IRS isn't going to take your boat. You were probably red-flagged because you made forty-nine percent less this year. You have your client logs and all your maintenance records, and we have your medical bills showing your hospital stay and your rehab. The audit's an aggravation, sure, but I'll be at the meeting with you. We'll prove income and expenditures and be done with it.”

“You're sure? I don't need to hire a tax attorney?”

“No.” Logan had faced bigger dragons than the IRS before. He'd get the man through this.

“Okay then.” Tom rose slowly, favoring the new hip. The replacement had gone well until infection had set in and put him flat on his back. He'd been unable to work for almost six months, and he didn't need this hassle.

“I'm going to review everything again before our meeting, and I'll call you if I have any questions. But I don't ever fudge anything. I stand by what we filed. Go home, or better yet, go fishing.”

The client finally left. Logan checked his watch and admitted defeat—Jessie would have long since left the Widow. He hadn't asked which printer she'd chosen. So unless he wanted to drive around Key West looking for her car, he'd have to wait until tonight to ask her how it went.

He was becoming personally invested in her art.

No. He wasn't. His sole interest was in bringing it to the Widow and making sure nothing Jessie did backlashed on Miri.

Jessie's dig about him never working had struck a nerve. No, he hadn't logged as many hours since she'd come onto the scene, but that was only because her refusal to follow basic employment rules was suspicious.

It wasn't because she was attractive. Or because she was an interesting combination of bold, in-your-face and skittish as a feral cat. He sought out her company simply because of Miri.

So why had he pulled that idiot move of brushing her hair back last night? And why did he still recall the softness of her skin on his fingertips and the silkiness of the strands dragging across his knuckles? And why was he champing at the bit now because he'd missing seeing her at the Widow this morning?

Because Miri was right. He needed to get laid.

But not by Jessie.

Until Jessie had asked, he hadn't realized that he hadn't been with a woman in more than five years. Right after Elizabeth and Trent had vanished with his and their clients' cash, he'd been caught up in proving his innocence and keeping his ass out of jail, and then in finding the guilty parties. Lately, he'd been neck-deep in helping Miri after Jack's death. He'd accused Miri of not having a life, but she wasn't the only one guilty of that.

He'd been talking to a client who owned a bar on Duval Street when Angelina had approached him and asked which of the one hundred flavors of frozen drink she should try first. It had taken him several minutes and a wink from his client to realize she wasn't really interested in the drink, but in him. Even then he'd asked her out to dinner not because he desired her but because of Miri.

He wadded up a piece of paper and threw it in the trash. “Fool. If you'd taken Angelina up on her offer, you wouldn't have spent the night remembering how Jessie's towel had slipped and wishing she'd dropped it.” His voice echoed in his empty office.

All right. So he was attracted to Jessie. And ironically, the first woman he'd looked at twice since his divorce was one he couldn't fully trust.

But nothing could come of it, and not only because of his trust issues. Miri had an ironclad rule against dating her waitresses. “Don't sleep where you eat,” she'd said a dozen times during his teenage years when he'd spent too much time chatting up one of her girls.

The best thing he could do to fight his fascination with Jessie was to find out what or whom she was running from. That meant spending more time with her to ferret out the facts. But he'd kept his zipper up for five years—continuing to do so a little while longer shouldn't be that difficult.

Since he had time to kill before his lunch appointment, he extracted the SD card from his camera and shoved it into his computer. With a couple of clicks, thumbnail images of the shots Jessie had taken filled the screen.

“Holy spit.” He rocked forward, clicking on and enlarging one picture after another. The images on the screen were calendar quality. Jessie knew how to use his camera better than he did.

The door to his office opened, forcing him to pry his gaze from the screen. I stood on the threshold. “Your aunt didn't think much of your ex, did she?”

“No. Why?”

“I thought Miri might have something to help me find the disappearing duo, but I get the impression she wouldn't have spit on your former missus if Elizabeth had been on fire.”

“That pretty much sums up how she and Jack felt. But when the prettiest girl on campus singles you out, you go along for the ride and don't ask questions—at least that's what I did. Like I said, let's forget Elizabeth and Trent for a while and focus on Jessie.”

“Are you still riding that horse? Forget about it. I told you, I'm not pissing off your aunt. I need her in my corner.”

“Take a look at these.”

I stepped behind his desk. “Nice. Yours?”

“Jessie's.”

“She knows what she's doing with the whole visual-spatial thing, know what I mean? Maybe she's a professional photographer. You tried searching for photographers recently in the news?”

“No. But that's a good suggestion. You ready for lunch?”

“Change of plans. I need to cancel. My daughter invited me out. I'm meeting her at some sissy place your aunt recommended. I need it to go well if I want to spend time with my granddaughters.”

“Why wouldn't it?”

I wiped a hand across his face and shook his head. “I can think of a dozen reasons—number one being my big mouth. I'm not exactly Mr. Sunshine, and it's been a lot of years since I had to mind my manners in front of a female.”

“No, but you know how to act with clients. You'll do fine.”

“Hope you're right. By the way, I saw Jessie at the printer's down on Shrimp Road. I helped 'em track some illegal copies once. They're good, honest people. And they like to talk about art. They might answer questions, if you know what I mean.”

Adrenaline spurted through Logan's veins. He shot to his feet and grabbed his keys. “Thanks.”

CHAPTER NINE

J
ESSIE
FLOATED
FROM
the printer's, her emotions sailing so high she felt like a kite ready to snap its string. Due to the other people on the sidewalk, she refrained from happy dancing all the way to her car. Barely.

In the parking lot, she slid her deer canvas into the backseat, closed the door and shoved her hand into her pocket. The roll of bills collected from her tips was substantially smaller, but she couldn't regret it. She released the money and curled her fingers around the USB drive containing the file the printer had scanned. This small plastic object held...her future? She gave it a squeeze then shuffled her feet and shook her tush just a little. She couldn't help it.

“Jessie?” a familiar voice called before she could check to see who'd witnessed her exuberant display between the parked vehicles.

She spun around. Logan, the one who'd brought her to this point, stood a car length away. Unable to contain her excitement any longer, she launched herself at him, banded her arms around him and hugged him.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” She bounced up and down. His hands grasped her waist. The heat of his palms then his rigidity penetrated her enthusiasm, rocking her euphoric cloud.

She sank from her toes to her heels and looked up into his intense blue eyes. He stared back with dilated pupils, flared nostrils and a clenched jaw. The hard length of his body pressed hers from thigh to breast, abrading tender places beneath her clothing and making them spring to life. Another form of excitement showered over her, and her breath caught. Hugging Logan was a no-no. Her face flamed. She staggered back a step.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean—my family—we're huggers. I didn't think. I just—” Her tongue tied.

“Whoa. Slow down. What happened?”

Forcing air into and then out of her lungs, she endeavored to form coherent sentences in her head before blurting out more nonsense. “The print shop owners love my work. They said I should run LEs—limited edition, signed and numbered prints of everything I've brought them. They want to see my whole collection, and they invited me to display and sell my work in their gallery.
Me
,” she squealed, then slapped a hand over her mouth and struggled to rein in her excitement. “Me, in a gallery! I can't wait to tell M—” She couldn't tell her mom. Excitement leaked out like a slowly deflating balloon. “Miri,” she amended. “I can't wait to tell Miri.”

His slow, slightly lopsided grin was contagious. And sexy. No. Definitely
not
sexy. “I told you your work was good. Why are you surprised?”

She shook her head. “You don't understand. I've been told my whole life that I couldn't support myself as an artist. But the shop owners are professionals and they believe otherwise. They suggested I set up a webpage and an online store. They talked about licensing and copyrights and...so much stuff my head is spinning. And the prices they suggested I ask for each piece are impressive.”

His eyebrows flatlined. “Who told you that you couldn't be an artist?”

Reality crashed over her. The lies between them meant filtering the truth. “A job with benefits and a retirement plan is a wiser choice.”

“And that's what you have?”

That's what she'd
had
. “That's the choice I made.”

“The person who misdirected you is a fool.”

His declaration hit her like a head charge to the belly. Her defensive hackles rose. “No. He isn't. He just wanted the best for me. And rejections and poverty weren't it.”

“Has he seen your work?”

How long had it been since she'd shown her family any of her creations? “Not recently.”

“Then show him. It'll shut him up. I'll talk to the idiot with you, if you want backup.”

Logan meeting her father? She fought a recoil. That would take some explaining and reveal the tangled web of lies she'd woven.

“Thanks. But I can handle it.” She had to change the subject. “I have something for you.”

She ducked into the car, retrieved the other USB drive from the passenger seat and offered it to him. A breeze teased his hair and carried the scent of his cologne. She endeavored to ignore both. “If you could download the photographs I took with your camera onto this, I'd appreciate it.”

“Are you a professional photographer?”

“No. Oh, no. But I've taken several photography classes at the community college. It's kind of a hobby.”

“Like painting and drawing.”

His dark tone made her toes curl with trepidation. “Yes.”

“And yet you don't have a camera or a computer.”

She should have known he wouldn't give up. “They were stolen, and I haven't had a chance to replace them.”

Skepticism clouded his eyes. “From the beach house?”

Her brain sifted for safe-to-share information. “No. Before I came here. Anyway, what brings you to Shrimp Road? You're not following me, are you?”

She threw out the last as a joke, but he didn't laugh. Instead, he lifted his sunglasses from the V-neck of his T-shirt and dropped them over his eyes.

“I'm headed to the grill in the marina village for lunch. It's an open-air food truck concept with chow almost as good as Miri's. Have you eaten?”

She saw where this was going. “No. I need to head home and get ready for work.”

“The Widow doesn't open for hours. Let me buy you a celebratory lunch, then we'll go back to my office and download your pictures.”

“You don't need to do that.”

“I insist.”

Could she refuse and still get her pictures? Not without seeming ungracious. “Okay. Tell me where and I'll meet you.”

“It's not far. We'll walk.”

He waited for her to lock her car, then gestured to the sidewalk. She fell into step beside him. Their knuckles bumped and she felt the jolt deep inside. Unfortunately expanding the gap between them was impossible due to the narrowness of the concrete strip and oncoming pedestrians. She folded her arms. Their upper arms brushed. Again her pulse skipped. Not good.

When they reached the grill's parking lot, she heard a familiar sound and searched for the source. “Do they have guinea hens?”

He stopped, his attention beamed on her. “Yes. They nest on the property and provide insect control. How do you know about guinea hens?”

She had to be more careful, and she definitely couldn't tell him that they'd had them in the orchard—until the coyotes got them. “Like peacocks, theirs is a sound you don't forget.”

“Where have you seen peacocks?”

They'd had those, too. “Too many places to count. They're the watchdogs of the South. What an incredible view of the harbor!” She bolted ahead, leaving him and his questions behind.

He caught up with her and, with a hand on her waist, steered her toward the line at the food truck. She quickened her pace to escape the electric charge. She had to get over this craziness around him.

“A burger?” he asked after they placed their orders.

She nodded toward the flat grill outside the food truck and shrugged. “The one he's cooking smells delicious, and I haven't had a burger in months. It was either that or a good pizza.”

“I can tell you where to get that, too.”

She took in her surroundings as she followed him to a picnic table. White paper lanterns shaped like jellyfish hung beneath the tiki hut shelter housing an outdoor bar, billiard tables and swinging hammock chairs. In the open area facing the water, she spotted cornhole boards and rectangular pits that could be used for horseshoes. Another thatched roof covered a stage with a brick dance floor out front.

“I've never been anywhere like this.”

“Traditional old Key West outdoor dining. Wait until you taste the food. Sure you don't want a margarita? Theirs are top-notch.”

She couldn't afford to loosen her tongue. “Too early for me, and I don't think your aunt would appreciate me coming to work under the influence.”

“You wouldn't be the first.” He paused as they both sat down. “Are you using the chef that's available with your rental house?”

“No. But sometimes it's more trouble than it's worth to cook for one. So I keep it simple.”

“We'll come back after we go lobster diving. They'll grill our catch for us.”

That sounded fun and almost like a date, which of course it would not—
could
not—be. Regardless, she'd have to pass. Even if she located replacement contacts and they passed the test of diving with a mask in the pool, the entire excursion would be too risky. She made a mental note to duck into the library before work tomorrow and use their computer to locate stores selling colored contacts. “I'll keep that in mind.”

“Bands play on weekends. Do you and your boyfriend like to dance?”

“He doesn't.” She was so caught up in watching the loose dogs cavorting in the grass that she'd answered before realizing he'd tripped her up. But the answer wasn't anything he could use to connect her to her past. “Didn't,” she corrected. “He— We aren't together anymore. Isn't there a leash law here?”

“No. But the dogs won't bother you. How long ago did you split?”

So much for redirecting him. Again she weighed her response and saw no harm. “A couple of months ago.”

“Fairly recent. Nasty break?”

Was he prying or just making conversation? It was hard to read him when he wore his sunglasses. “Breakups are never easy—even if they are for the best.”

“But you claim he's not the reason you're hiding in Florida.”

“I never said I was hiding. You did. And no, he's not the reason I'm here. I'm on sabbatical. The timing is coincidental.”

“But convenient.”

“Definitely. It keeps me from having to deal with all my friends' awkward questions. I'm sure you dealt with those when you and your wife separated.”

“There were definitely a lot of questions after we split. Did your family like him?”

Despite the unique setting and mouthwatering smells, she was beginning to regret accepting his invitation. “No. Could we talk about something that isn't likely to ruin my appetite?”

“Miri and Jack didn't like my ex, either. Why didn't your family like yours?”

The tidbit piqued her curiosity. She'd have to play this Twenty Questions game if she wanted answers. “They said he didn't have my best interests at heart. Why didn't Miri like yours?”

The corners of his mouth turned down. “She claims Elizabeth turned me into someone she didn't recognize.”

“How so?”

He hesitated, his gaze focused on a yacht cruising into the harbor. “You'll have to ask her. Food's here.”

Good timing for Logan, but bad for her. She said her blessing and when she lifted her head caught him watching her. He lifted his beer.
“Santé.”

The French toast surprised her. “Have you been to France?”

“Yes.” He picked up his hogfish sandwich and took a big bite.

Jessie had a thousand questions about where he'd been, but she stifled her curiosity. “I've always wanted to see the museums of Europe.”

And then it hit her. Once this initial lottery fallout was straightened out, she could afford to go anywhere she wanted—even Paris. The realization both excited and terrified her. But who would go with her? Her mother refused to fly. And her friends... Who were the real ones? She didn't know anymore. That meant traveling alone. BF—Before Florida—she never would have considered a solo trip. But now she might not have a choice.

“You'd better have deep pockets—or tap into some—if you plan on going.”

His harsh tone popped the bubble of joy she'd been floating in. For a few moments she'd forgotten Logan was not her friend. He was her adversary.

* * *

L
OGAN
WATCHED
THE
light leave Jessie's eyes and her wistful smile vanish. She ducked her head and picked at her homemade chips.

He wanted his comment back. He'd been making progress and easing information out of her, but he'd blown it, and he had no one but himself to blame. He didn't like opening old wounds, but if he wanted to regain ground, he'd have to give her something that would undo the damage.

“I'm sorry, Jessie. That was a knee-jerk reaction to some bad memories. My ex-wife loved Europe so much that she begged for an extra week at the end of our last vacation there together. I had to return for a VIP client meeting, and when I voiced my concerns about her staying alone, my best friend offered to stay and keep an eye on her. I had no idea when I left them that it would be the last time I saw either of them.”

Her eyes widened. “What happened?”

He hadn't even had time to recover from jet lag before investigators had appeared on his doorstep with crazy tales of missing money. His life had become one hellish interrogation after another until the case had been dismissed weeks prior to Jack's death.

“We found signs that they'd been having an affair and planning their disappearance for a while.” Shame drilled a familiar spot in his gut. He didn't talk about his humiliation to anyone.

“They never came back?”

“No.”

“I'm sorry. How did you divorce her if she's missing?”

“I filed for divorce with abandonment for cause.”

He hadn't expected compassion, but her face filled with it. “Do you want her back?”

“As a spouse, no. But I have questions.”

Like how long had they been screwing behind his back? Hell, he and Elizabeth had made lov—
had sex
the night before he'd left Paris. Had she gone straight from his bed to Trent's? And did she have any regrets about leaving him to possibly do prison time for their dirty deeds? Had she ever loved him at all, or had he just been a meal ticket?