The Princess and the Pauper (29 page)

Inhaling deeply, he narrowed his gaze on the tiny pedestrians making their way down the street. The sun was so bright that it almost hurt. Summer had arrived, and the city seemed to throb with heat.

Summer. He absently ran a hand inside the collar of his shirt. A strange tension had possessed him these last few weeks; his notoriously thick skin wasn’t thick enough, it seemed. He’d been remembering that summer with April with cutting vividness, his thoughts circling endlessly in frustration.

And it didn’t help that he’d started questioning his decision to distance himself from April and Eden. At the time of that last fight with April, it had seemed the right thing to do – the
only
thing to do. What could he give his daughter that she didn’t already have? Nothing. Cutting himself out of her life, keeping himself on the periphery, seemed the faintest, most realistic answer. Just being around Eden jeopardized her relationship with her grandfather, he reminded himself darkly. And Peter Hollis could offer her so much more…

He swore under his breath. He hated even allowing those thoughts across his mind. It felt so much like selling out. But what was the right thing to do? He didn’t intend to stay out of Eden’s life entirely, but he had to make some decisions soon. And they had to be the right ones.

“What are you thinking about?” Irene asked, coming up behind him.

“Crime on the waterfront.”

“Really?” She cocked a brow. “You looked a little introspective to me.”

Jesse merely smiled. He’d spoken the truth, in a way. April’s safety had also weighed heavily on his mind these past few weeks. He hated thinking about her working in Old Town. A lot of his tension was the direct result of imagining her prey to some desperate drug addict or gang member. The image was horrific, and he couldn’t quite contain the slight shudder that shook his lean frame.

Irene gave him a searching look. “I’m going down to the cafeteria to get some lunch. Want to join me?”

“No, thanks,” Jesse said, and Irene, muttering under her breath about the way he was neglecting his health, headed for the elevators.

Jesse walked back to his desk, shoved his hands into his pockets, and glanced down at the paperwork. An imperative note from Rothchild was paperclipped to the top page: “Your report’s late!” A rather entertaining picture of what Rothchild could do to himself crossed Jesse’s mind.

And then he thought of April and their last fight at his apartment. She’d been furious, and her eyes overly bright with angry tears she’d refused to shed. He hadn’t wanted to take her home when she was so obviously upset. He’d
wanted
her to understand, to agree with him. But she stomped out to the car, unwilling even to look at him.

“You are so wrong about me,” she murmured brokenly, staring out the side windows of his car. “You’re wrong about everything.”

“I want what’s best for Eden.”

“You want what’s convenient for you!” she’d shouted harshly.

Turning into her drive, he slammed on the brakes with unnecessary force, throwing her forward. Immediately contrite, he’d reached for her, but she’d shaken off his hand. “Leave me alone. If you don’t want anything to do with me or your daughter, fine. Go away!”

“Damn it, April! That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I want to be with Eden, but even you can see it wouldn’t work.”

“Can I?” Her soft mouth was mutinous.

“Your father doesn’t want me anywhere near you, or Eden. It’s going to cause problems. We’ve got to work this out.”

“You mean you’ve got to work this out. Don’t lie to me, Jesse. You just can’t take the pressure. You never could. You want out.”

“You seriously think I wouldn’t want to be with my own daughter?” he’d demanded in disbelief.

“If it’s not Eden, it’s me. And it amounts to the same thing. When you get your priorities straight, look me up. Until then, leave me alone.” She yanked on the handle, then slammed the door behind her in her rage, and Jesse had had to fight hard not to chase her.

The trouble was, some of what she’d said had hit home. His words about Peter Hollis were empty. He didn’t give a damn about the old man. But he was afraid to be with Eden because he didn’t trust himself with April. They were wrong for each other, and just because she believed they could work out their problems didn’t mean it was necessarily so.

He slammed back his chair in frustration, crumpling Rothchild’s note, running his hands through his hair.
What do you want, Cawthorne?
he asked himself angrily.
What do you want?

He thought of April’s wit, her courage, the creamy slopes of her breasts and the sensual curve of her calves.

Glancing at his watch, then at the brilliant, summer sky outside the windows, Jesse reluctantly sank back into his chair. A few more hours and he’d be out on the streets of Portland – operating according to the laws of an insane world. There he had a job to do. Emotionally speaking, it was simple and secure. He could hardly wait for twilight, he thought, slipping on the computer and staring at the empty screen. Anything was better than thinking about the frustrating mess he’d made of his life.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay walking to your car alone?” Jordan asked.

“Yes,” she said again, stressing the word. For the past few weeks Jordan had made a point of escorting her to her car. She’d been frightened of the footsteps she’d heard behind her the evening Jesse had met her at the car park. And several times recently she’d thought she’d seen a stranger lurking in the shadows. Imagination? Maybe. But April wasn’t crazy about taking those kinds of chances.

“You’re sure?”

“Sure,” she repeated firmly.

Jordan’s sober expression was too much like Jesse’s for April to hold his gaze for long. She looked away, examining the new handbags for flaws. As far as Jesse was concerned, he could be removed from the planet, for all she knew. He’d practically said he wanted out of her life, and he certainly seemed to be following through. Fine. She was more than ready to get over him. She’d wasted too much time of her life on him already. Let him go save the world without her. And without Eden.

Jordan checked his watch, sent her an apologetic smile, then walked out of the store early. He had a date, his first since Tasha Bennington. April wished the best for him, hoping it would put him on the right track romantically. Somebody should be happy, she reflected ruefully.

“Close up early,” he suggested. “I hate to think of you alone here, and since Martha’s already gone home—”

“Stop worrying about me. I can take care of myself.”

He inclined his head and stepped through the door. “God Save the Queen” buzzed irreverently. April dropped the handbags and leaned her elbows on the counter. Her temper simmered. What did Jesse plan to do? Just up and forget them? Act as if they didn’t exist? She wouldn’t have believed it possible; she’d seen the way he’d looked when Eden had wrapped her arms around his neck. She also remembered the lean tautness of his face when he’d been buried deep inside her, the sensual tension in every limb, the way his muscles glided like satin beneath his skin, the plunging rhythm of his lovemaking…

With a moan of frustration April shoved herself away from the counter. Then she turned back to glare at her cell phone, lying on the counter. Not knowing was pure torture. Should she try calling him?

She snatched up the cell, looked at its screen, then set it back down again. “Oh hell,” she murmured miserably. Had Bettina talked to Jesse? she wondered. In the back of her mind she somehow hoped Bettina might reason with him after her meeting with April. But Jesse had never indicated he’d even spoken with his sister. It was just another vain hope, April realized dejectedly. She was grasping at straws.

Seeing that shadows had purpled the sidewalk outside, April reluctantly drew the blinds. June had arrived with the scent of roses, and when she let herself out to close the store gates, the smell wafted upward from the pots Martha had set outside the door, supplanting the dank river odor and reminding April of a hot summer long ago. Which put her perilously close to tears.

She clenched her teeth. She was such a nostalgic fool. Hadn’t she learned
anything
, anything at all?

The gates closed with a creaking, protesting moan. April walked back inside, adjusted the lights for evening, checked to make sure everything was secure, looped the strap of her purse over her shoulder, and let herself out again. She snapped shut the iron lock, inhaled deeply, and marched determinedly toward the car park.

Tonight there was no feeling of being watched. April rode the elevator with less fear than usual, even though she was alone. She always parked in the same spot, her car’s nose pointed outward, visible to anyone in the street who cared to glanced up.

The elevator doors slid open – spookily, April thought for a moment. She had no weapon. What good would it really do? She knew she’d never be able to drag out a can of mace or a knife. She’d be lucky if she got her throat muscles to scream, for pete’s sake. She would be terrible in a crisis, frozen, disbelieving.

She crossed the space rapidly, her footsteps echoing through the empty structure. She was actually at her car when she heard the slide of a boot. “Jesse?” she asked, the hair rising on her arms.

A hand slammed her against her car. Face first. Stunned, she felt the ache on her arm. Her purse. She made the colossal mistake of tightening her grip and glancing back. A young kid who looked dirt mean glared at her through hot eyes. He held a knife in his hand.

“Your purse! Your purse!” he snarled, wielding his knife so that the light glinted from its honed edge.

April dropped the purse instantly, dry-mouthed. He darted for it and in that moment she saw the blur of another body, flying at the kid from behind a black car.

Jesse, she thought weakly, sagging against the hood.

He hit the kid in a rolling tackle and they slammed into the concrete with a harsh grunt. It was slow-motion and fast forward at the same time. April opened her mouth – to do what? Yell? She never knew. The knife flashed upward. Jesse’s fist slammed into the kid’s face in a bone crunching response.

It was over before April could speak.

Jesse staggered to his feet, glaring down at the half-conscious hoodlum. He glanced April way. “You okay?” he asked, panting.

“You’re bleeding,” she said, her knees shaking.

He wiped the back of one hand across his cheek. Blood welled up. The kid had slashed his face. “I’ll live,” he said flatly. Then he pulled the kid up by his collar, zip-tied the guys hands together, and marched him about twenty feet down the ramp to a dark blue Chevy sedan. He tossed the guy in the back seat, warned him not to move, and slammed the door. He turned back to April.

Before he could say anything, she was half-running to him, and she threw herself into his arms. The creak of his leather jacket was so lovingly familiar that she felt like crying hysterically.

“April.” His tone was harsh, as if he sensed she was falling apart.

“I love you,” she said. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’m not leaving you,” he answered gently, cupping her chin for a moment before asking, “Can you drive?”

She nodded.

“Good,” he said flatly, then handed her his keys and climbed in the backseat beside his perp.

Three hours later April sat shivering in a chair next to Jesse’s desk. A woman named Irene held out a cup of coffee to her. “Here, honey, take this. You need it.”

“No, thanks. I don’t… ” Hearing herself she took the cup and cradled it in her palms. Maybe it was time to join the coffee culture. She took a sip, made a face, put it down. Okay, maybe not yet.

Why was it taking so long? Her attacker had been dispensed with hours ago, and it was Jesse who was closeted in an interrogation room with the obnoxious Lieutenant Rothchild and some other big deal from the department. April just wanted to go home. With Jesse.

She glanced at the clock and sighed. Jennifer’s mother was going to get sick and tired of taking over babysitting duty from her daughter. Well, this could hardly be helped, though, could it? It wasn’t as if she’d planned to get mugged.