The Lottery Winner (8 page)

“Take your break
now
,” he ordered with slight emphasis on the last word. “I'll cover for you until you return.”

She didn't want to be beholden to him, but she needed to escape before the customer placed her and blew her cover. “Thank you. Have a good day, sir.”

She hurried inside and hadn't gathered her composure when Logan joined her. “Who is he and how does he know you?”

“He doesn't. If you were listening, you heard me tell him I just have one of those familiar faces.”

His blue gaze raked her features. “Hardly. Was he harassing you? Hitting on you?”

Was that a backhanded compliment? “No. He was just making conversation.”

“Sue said he's been in three days straight, always sitting where he could watch you. Today, he specifically requested your section.”

Panic slammed her like a rogue wave, knocking her off balance. Three days? And she hadn't noticed? When had she let her guard down?
When you became so focused on another threat—Logan.

Wanting to race back to the safety of her compound, she glanced toward the front door. The bare wall behind the cash register hit her like a second swell. Her painting was gone. Had it fallen? Was it damaged?

“Where is it?” she asked Logan, pointing at the empty wall.

“It sold. For the asking price.”

The bottom dropped out of her stomach. She was too shaken to care about Logan's smug I-told-you-so tone. “I—I never expected it to sell. When? Who?”

“An hour ago a local couple bought it for their daughter. She's accepted a job offer in Seattle. They want her to remember home.”

First the stranger. Now this. Jessie's emotions were such a jumble she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She certainly couldn't do the latter in front of Logan. Her throat and chest tightened.

“You said you didn't want to meet the buyers,” he added when she remained mute.

“No. I—I—” She what? She'd sold her first painting. Someone had liked it enough to pay a chunk of money for it. She should be thrilled. And she was excited, but also a little...bereft? It was if she'd lost a dear friend without getting to say goodbye.

She needed to talk to her mother. But she couldn't. Not about this.

Logan's continued scrutiny made her uncomfortable. She forced a smile. “I'm glad. Really.”

“Liar. But then we knew that, didn't we?”

Indignant, she clamped her molars tight on the urge to tell him to go to hell. Did he have to be such a jerk?

“Excuse me, I need to eat and then get back to work.” Not that she was hungry. A three-course meal of the stranger, the sale and the surly accountant had decimated her appetite.

“Bring your second painting in tomorrow. With Miri's out for restoration, we have a bare wall.”

Did she want to sell another one? Of course she did. But her paintings were sort of like pets or children. She'd invested so much into them that giving them up wasn't as easy or painless as she'd expected it to be.

“Do I need to pick it up?” he pressed.

“No. I'll...handle it.”

Then the stranger approached the cash register. She made a hasty escape and prayed he didn't remember where he'd seen her—if he even had—and say something to Logan.

* * *

“L
OGAN
C
HANCELLOR
N
ASH
!”

His full name, snapped out in that tone, echoed through the empty restaurant. Logan stopped just short of the Widow's front entrance and turned to face his aunt. “Yes, ma'am?”

“Don't you ‘ma'am' me, trying to butter me up. Stop picking fights with Jessie.”

“She's—”

She threw up a hand. “I don't want to hear it. I'm short staffed. Sue's threatening to quit. I can't afford to lose Jessie. You'd better make nice with her. You hear me?”

“I hear you. But aren't you concerned about her secretiveness?”

“No. Because sometimes a person's worth is here.” She thumped her chest with a fist. “It can't be measured in black-and-white words and numbers on a page. If you'd spend more time concentrating on the people in your present instead of the ones who are long gone, you might figure that out.”

The jab wasn't a new one. “Elizabeth and Trent need to pay for what they did.”

“You were raised in a churchgoing family, son. I know the good book told you that vengeance isn't your job. But forgiveness
is
.”

“Not going to happen.” She didn't understand. He was searching for his exes as much for her as for himself. “If I find them soon, I might be able to recoup some of the money they stole—that includes the money to buy back Jack's boat. It's for sale again.”

The corners of her mouth turned down. “Let it go, Logan. I have. The lost possessions of our past will never make us happy in the present. What would I do with a charter fishing boat, anyway?”

“Live on it, like you always planned to do when you retired.”

“Not without Jack. Besides, I like my house.”

“Miri—” Again she interrupted him with an upraised hand.

“Selling that boat allowed me to keep the Widow's doors open. Don't make me shut them now because I can't staff the place.”

He wouldn't stop searching for the ones who'd betrayed him. But he couldn't handle the worry and exhaustion carving new wrinkles into his aunt's face. “Colleges are on break. See if you can rustle up some of your summer help to fill in.”

A tired smile stretched her lips. “I knew there was a reason I let you hang around. You're pretty smart for a bean counter.”

The familiar jab made him smile. He didn't want to be at war with Miri. And if that meant making nice with Jessie, then so be it. It was always easier to get information out of friends than enemies anyway.

* * *

J
ESSIE
STARED
AT
the coffeepot with gritty eyes and cursed the contact lenses she was afraid to go without now that Logan had started showing up unexpectedly.

Willing the machine to brew faster, she bent over the sink and splashed cold water on her face, then dried off with a paper towel. She'd tossed and turned last night, dithering over whether to return to the restaurant. Going back meant
potentially
risking her safety if Sue was right about that man watching her for three days. But breaking her promise to Miri would
definitely
leave the woman in a really tough spot.

She was damned if she did and damned if she didn't, as her dad used to say. This was the kind of dilemma she'd always relied on her family to help her figure out. She didn't know what to do.

The pot's last gasp and the ringing of her phone filled the kitchen simultaneously. Staring at her brother's number on the screen, she stood frozen. She wasn't up for doom and gloom today. But if she didn't answer, she'd only be delaying the inevitable. A second peal jarred her into action.

“Hey,” she said into it.

“Did I wake you?”

“No. I just haven't had coffee yet.” She pinched the phone between her jaw and ear and reached for the biggest mug she could find in the cabinet. She'd never needed coffee to jump-start her day BTW.

Before the win.

“You all right, kiddo?”

“Sure. Just trying to decide what to do with another day in paradise.”

“Sarcasm? That's not like you, Li'l Bit.”

No. It wasn't. She yearned to tell Brandon about the creepy customer. He needed to know. If something happened to her, the stranger would be where he needed to start his investigation. But, tangled in her web of lies, she didn't. Instead she asked, “What's new in peach country?”

“Mom bought her pistol yesterday. It's pink, for crying out loud.”

The disgust in his tone made her smile. “Leave it to Mom to turn something she's going to hate carrying into a fashion statement.”

“No criminal is going to take a pink gun seriously.”

“The bullets will work the same way, right?”

Silent seconds ticked past. “Wake up on the wrong side of the bed, Grumpy?”

Jessie grimaced. “I'm sorry.”

“I know you're frustrated with being away for the holidays, but try to be aware of how many thousands are flocking south and how many of them could have seen your face all over the news.”

“I'm a brunette now and I'm wearing brown contacts. No one will recognize me.” He needed to know that, too, if she went missing.

“Smart. But still, keep out of sight.”

“Right,” she mumbled then tuned out the rest of his familiar speech while she filled her mug then took a sip.

“Jessamine? Are you listening to me?”

She snapped to attention. “Of course.” Another lie. “I need to get started with my day. I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

It was only after she'd hung up that she realized she hadn't asked if he'd changed his mind about her returning home. What was the point? She knew the answer.

She grabbed her mug and the thermal coffee carafe and shuffled outside. The Key deer scampered from beneath the deck and into the foliage as she descended the stairs. The crushed shells beneath her feet were neither cool nor warm on this balmy seventy-degree morning. Back home it would be at least forty degrees cooler now.

She made her way toward the pier, pausing to sip her brew and glance over her shoulder. The sun peeked above the rooftops across the street, spreading a sherbet glow of pinks and oranges across the sky. Pretty and very different from last night's stormy sky. At the moment, she didn't have the delicate touch needed to work on a watercolor. Later, if she felt human enough, she'd bring out her paints and attempt another picture of...something. What hadn't she sketched or painted yet?

She turned back toward the dock and spotted two sinister fowl squatting on her turf. Today, she was in no mood to let them get away with it.

“Shoo!” she shouted and stomped on the boards, spooking the creatures from their perches. She sank onto a lounge chair, ignoring the dew dampening her pants. Her goal: to sit, soak up the sun and drink coffee until she figured out her next move.

Should she go back to work or play it safe?

She'd made it halfway through her bucket-size mug and still hadn't made a decision when her cell phone rang again. She groaned. Brandon must have forgotten to issue one of his daily dire warnings. Reluctantly, she dug the phone out of her pocket, but she didn't recognize the number on the screen.

Her pulse hitched. What if yesterday's stranger had finagled her number from someone at the restaurant? Did anyone besides Miri have it?

Get a grip, girl. More likely, it's a wrong number. You're letting your brother's paranoia get to you.

Knowing she'd never relax if she didn't find out who was calling, she pushed the button. “Hello?”

“Jessamine, how is my baby girl?”

Her mother's voice made her sit up so quickly she sloshed coffee down the front of her shirt. She set down her mug and plucked the hot fabric from her skin. “Mama! This is a surprise.”

“Brandon told us last night you weren't coming home for Christmas. I hate that he always calls when I can't speak to you and from somewhere other than home. You know your brother. He's afraid someone will track the call to a cell tower and place you if he calls from here. But I needed to hear your voice and make sure you were okay.”

She hadn't spoken to her mother in weeks. A flood of emotion rushed over her. There was so much to tell her...and so much she couldn't say. “I'm...I'm good. Whose phone are you using?”

Her mom's chuckle filled Jessie's ear. “You don't get to be my age and have a special agent son without learning a few tricks. I made Brandon give me your number—just for emergencies, I told him. Then I drove down to Columbia and bought a phone from a convenience store. I've driven over to the outlet mall to use it.” Her mother sounded quite proud of herself. “So how are you? Be honest, Jessamine. I'll know if you're not.”

Honesty was an impossible order. Once she left this island behind, she would never tell another lie. Lies made life too complicated.

“I'm doing more painting and drawing than ever,” she hedged. “I have time to concentrate fully on the details these days. I never realized I could be so...prolific. It's beautiful here, Mom. I wish you could see it...but I miss home.”

“We miss you, too, honey. You don't know how much.”

“Brandon's freaking out over your pink pistol.”

“He can complain all he wants, but after—”

The abrupt stop jarred her. Ten seconds ticked past, each one making Jessie more ill at ease. “Mom, what aren't you telling me?”

More silence. “Someone broke into your house again last week. Brandon didn't want you to know. Your new alarm worked and scared the criminal away. He didn't take anything, and he got away before the police arrived. But we have a picture of him from your security camera, so they'll catch him. And your daddy fixed the doorjamb and reinforced it. It's better than new.”

The crook hadn't taken anything—except Jessie's sense of security. Loss and a feeling of violation welled up inside her. She dropped her head into her hand. Damn this lottery win. Would she ever get her old life back? Would she ever feel safe in her own home again?

“That's why Brandon insisted I stay longer, isn't it?”

“Yes. None of us like it, but it is for the best.”

“Thanks for letting me know, Mom. I don't like being kept in the dark.”

“I told Brandon you wouldn't, but he insisted there was nothing you could do from there except worry. Jessamine, this period of trials will pass, and we'll all be better off than before. You'll see a big difference in your dad, too, when you get back. He's responding to his medications.”