A Fine Balance Page 9
“If not we’re back to square one. I did reach out to three, four people last night. Harvey for one. When they get back to me, I’ll let you know. Jimmy Lee thought he might know the big guy. And Marco heard rumors that Jorge may have been thinking about making a bid for freedom. At the expense of his employers.”
Morrie’s brows rose. “And they found out.”
“Looks like...could be. But he didn’t come to us so I’m guessing he might have gone”--
“To the AG.” Morrie leaned back in his chair with a smile and raised his cup in salute. “That’s the best news we’ve had. I’ll check it out.” Morrie and the attorney general were old friends, but then Morrie was friends with a lot of people who mattered. He was a good old boy in a good old boy network that had come together a few years after the laissez-faire Summer of Love when every young person with romantic ideals had traveled to the Bay Area. Morrie and his colleagues still retained some of their youthful idealism–most prominently, the notion that those in public service should serve the community rather than their personal bank accounts.
“Be careful. The AG’s office must have leaks if Jorge was chased down. Not to mention if the Feds get wind, they’ll come sniffing around.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Mark does too. He’s got a clean cell phone for personal calls.” Both men had had their share of confrontations with government bureaus. Which brought up another issue of benign neglect apropos federal policy. “I’m thinking Jorge should be buried since we’re done with him. It’s easier than dealing with immigration. What’d you think?”
“There might be a grieving family in Mexico. Give me a few days to talk to Luis. It’s still too soon.”
“It’s your call. Poor kid.”
“Agreed. Mom said if he wants to stay with us it’s fine with her. I doubt he has family if he was living with his brother in the bush. But we’ll find out. How about say–next week? Is that okay?”
“Take your time. Do you think we should get a grief therapist for Luis? Janie doesn’t mind helping us out if we need her.” The counselors had been the first to go three years ago when the budget cuts began, but Janie had a trust fund like a lot of people in the community. An area heavy in the arts, a coastal landscape of unparalleled beauty, a certain disregard for up-tight people drew a lot of well-heeled urban yuppies, Gen X and Y, looking for a change of scene.
“Why don’t we see how it goes. I’ll let you know if he becomes despondent or withdrawn. Although it’s hard to be withdrawn with five other kids dragging you into their activities.”
At that point, the subject of Jack’s young siblings–all of whom had backgrounds touched with violence–took the conversation off track for longer than Jack would have liked. “You and Lily come over for dinner sometime,” Jack said, coming to his feet. He’d kept an eye on the clock. “See for yourself how Luis is doing. I gotta go.”
“How about breakfast first?”
“I already ate, but thanks.” He wanted to be in Mendo ten minutes ago.
“Keep me company. You like Ginger’s coffee.”
“I wish I could, but I told Ray I’d stop by this morning.” Which was semi-true.
“How’s he doing?”
“No broken bones. The rest will heal.”
“He was lucky you and Wade got him out.”
“He knows. Problem is, he won’t remember for long.”
“He’s wilder than you were.”
Jack shrugged. “He’s in the wrong business. It’s too anonymous.”
“Not always. Sometimes you fuck with the wrong people.”
“Give him the lecture. He might listen to you.”
Morrie smiled. “Like you did.”
“I did eventually. You get points for that,” Jack said with a grin and walked out.
Fifteen minutes later, Jack was parked across the street from Wade’s office. The stores on the street facing the ocean had just opened. A handful of people wandered down the sidewalk, a few cars were parked along the curb, those in front of Dick’s Place were probably left over from last night.
The old bank building on the corner housing Wade’s office was pastel yellow, the Easter egg color typical of most local buildings. The National Trust had strict guidelines and the town council monitored building permits with an eye to historical accuracy. The result was picturesque as hell. And great for the tourist industry.
The store on the main floor of the bank building had a few customers browsing the high end telescopes, binocs, microscopes, cameras and science toys for kids and adults. The windows of Wade’s office on the second floor had a spectacular ocean view and at the moment no visible activity other than his secretary, Bonnie, watering plants on her windowsill. Which meant Wade was probably seated at his desk, talking to Jillian.
Jack scanned the nearby vehicles. He hadn’t seen a car at her house, but he doubted she owned the Lexus or Corvette. Or the Ram truck with Nevada plates. Maybe the Subaru or the vintage VW van was hers. The van looked vaguely familiar. Had her mother driven a van like that? Yesss–long ago memory floated up from some storage room in his brain. He’d seen Margaret Hall unpacking a painting from the van and carrying it into the art center a few summers back when he was visiting his parents.
Okay. Problem solved. The van was hers.
As for his other more significant problem–he was facing a major quandary. He wasn’t sure he cared to deal with a new relationship when he’d been safely coasting along with Liz and a few other ladies since his return home. Friends with benefits was easier. No serious emotional buy-in.
Leaning his head against the head rest, his feelings in tumult, he softly exhaled in an effort to find some Zen zone of quiet deliberation. But he was switched on and jacked up--impatient, rash, randy, a universe away from Zen calm. Christ, he’d driven the whole way from Bragg to Mendo with the siren on. And now he was sitting parked outside Wade’s office like some infatuated adolescent. Or a stalker. Crap–both descriptions were unnerving.
He should leave. Really, he should. He was neck-deep in a murder case. He didn’t have time for a personal life. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he stared out to sea as if an answer to his dilemma lay in the gently rolling waves. Not much wind, he thought; not a good day for surfing. A rare cormorant sailed by on a high thermal, its wing-span magnificent. Was it a sign? Go with the flow. Stay on course. Wades’s taking care of her. She’s fine. Let it go.
Let. It. Go.
Leaning forward, he fired up the ignition, heard the engine come to life with a soft, throaty purr. Drop the gear into drive. Do it. Or don’t, the little voice inside his head whispered. Do what you drove here to do instead. He swore, resentful of that persistent little voice and the fact that he was dangerously ignoring his mantra: Don’t get involved.
“Fuck it all,” he abruptly muttered in lieu of practicalities and good sense. Reversing the key, he shut off the engine, opened the car door and jumped out.
Crossing the street at a lope, he took the outside stairs two at a time, feeling semi-pissed, semi-excited and mildly freaked. On the other hand, no one had ever accused him of being prudent and What the hell,” he thought. “Life’s short.
He was smiling when he opened the door to Wade’s reception room.
“He’s expecting me.”
Bonnie spun around, watering can in hand. “No he isn’t. He would have mentioned it. And he’s busy right now.”
Bonnie was all business, late fifties, cropped grey curls, vivid red lipstick, one of the best paralegals in the business and a damned fine potter too. She was good enough to almost make a living at her craft. Which was where Wade came in. She needed flexible hours and he didn’t care.
“I was the one who sent Jillian Penrose to Wade. He told me to come in at ten. Swear to God.”
She set down the watering can, her scarlet lips pursed. “He didn’t say anything to me.”
“I can out-wrestle you, Bonnie.” Jack smiled faintly. “Sure it’s worth it?”
“Good try. But you won’t be the first or even the hundredth,” Jack said, moving toward the inner door.
He let himself into his brother’s office so quietly it took a fraction of a second before Wade looked up. A faintly raised brow registered his amusement. “You made it.”
Jillian swiveled around, startled.
“My meeting was over earlier than I thought,” Jack said as blandly, then smiled at Jillian. “Hi, how’s it going?”
Her face reddened.
Her artless blush was so damned enticing, he clenched his fingers against an overpowering urge to pick her up and carry her away.
A sudden smile lit up her face. “Thanks to you, it’s going real well.”
“That’s what I hear.” He pulled up a chair beside her, inhaled her perfume, briefly lost his train of thought and forced himself to get a grip. “Told you Wade was good,” he said in a near normal voice.
“We’re almost done here,” Wade interposed, his tone, expression, body language neutral as hell. A skill set honed after years in court rooms. “I’ll file the motions to stay the eviction and vacate the judgement. US Bank will reply and the judge will make a decision in a month or so. It helps that we know the judges. Right, Jack?”
“Can’t hurt,” Jack brusquely said, not about to discuss the judges they knew.
Wade’s smile was innocent as a choirboy’s. “That’s been my experience, too. The better you know a judge, the better it is. Legally speaking. And once I have all the paperwork filed,” he said to Jillian, “I’ll give you a call. It’ll take two, three days at the most.”
“So I don’t have to move out?” A faint worry line etched her brow. “Truly?”
“That’s right. The house is yours.”
“I can hardly believe it,” she whispered with a wobble in her voice, her eyes shiny with tears.
“Believe it.” Plucking a tissue from the box on his desk--there for just such occasions--Wade stretched across the hand-rubbed walnut finish and handed it to her. “It’s over. Guaranteed. And if you want to sue US Bank for fraud, you’d have a damned good case.”
“I don’t think so. I’m just pleased the harassment’s over.” Dabbing her eyes, she smiled at him. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough. It’s as close to a miracle as I’ve ever come.”
“It was pretty simple and my pleasure. You should really think about suing though. Tell her, Jack. The meek don’t inherit the earth. Predatory financial institutions make a living negating that myth.”
“You might want to reconsider. Wade likes to fight the big boys,” he added, with a quick grin for his brother. “He used to be one of them. Until his epiphany.”
“We’re still waiting for yours,” Wade said silkily.
“Don’t hold your breath,” Jack drawled. “Virtue’s a luxury in my business.” Then he turned to Jillian and his voice lost its sarcasm. “Seriously though, you should make US Bank pay. Enough people do that, they might think twice about stealing the next house. And Wade loves drawing corporate blood, not to mention he works for free.”
“I’m too beholden already. Really, I don’t think so.” In her desperation, she’d been willing to have Wade work pro bono. But it seemed selfish to expect more. “I’m over the moon happy just keeping my house.”
“I understand,” Wade politely said. “Actually I don’t,” he gruffly added. “But it’s your call.”
“Everyone doesn’t go for the jugular twenty-four seven,” Jack softly chided.
Wade’s eyebrows lifted, just a touch. “An exclusionary, everyone, I presume.”
“Let’s just call it a general statement.” A cool, unblinking gaze.
“Don’t get edgy,” Wade said pleasantly.
“I never do.”
Liar, Wade thought. Jack could go from edgy to spring-loaded threat in a heart-beat; the reason he was still alive after years in Undercover. But since Wade had a bet with Ray and was feeling good about winning that bet, he smiled his most winning smile, the one he used on balky judges and squeamish juries. “We’re making Miss Penrose nervous, Jack.” He turned to Jillian, his gaze amused. “It’s just sibling squabbling. Ignore us. I’m younger so I always give in anyway.”
Jack cast his brother a sardonic glance. “Wade’s the saint in the family.”
Wade was tempted to quote a bible verse just to have the last word, but Jillian was watching them like a spectator at a tennis match, her expression uncertain, so he sat up, leaned forward, folded his hands on the desk top and contrived to advance his bet. “I’m afraid I have another appointment scheduled so we’ll have to finish up now. But why don’t you two talk over the possibility of a lawsuit against US Bank somewhere else. What I mean,” he said with a bland smile for Jillian, “is that I expect my brother to add his voice to mine and convince you to sue the bank. Perhaps over coffee or breakfast.” He shot Jack a sideways look that said, I’m handing her to you on a platter.
And sure as shit Jack knew why. “Wade’s a bulldozer in court too. But if you have time, we could go somewhere for coffee.” He had his own agenda over and above Wade’s gambling mania.
“I’d like that.”
“Me too,” he said, and it came out so cleanly and simply he felt as though he were back in the third grade. Debbie Ballard was the first girl he’d ever liked and he’d told her so–dead straight like that. Jesus, a million years ago. He was losing his mind or more to the point, he was hornier than he’d been for ages. But he mentally hit the off switch on his carnal urges, shoved his chair back and rose to his feet. “I warn you, I am on Wade’s side on this one. But you can tell me to go to hell over coffee.”
Then he held out his hand. He didn’t know why. It was unnecessary. But when she placed her hand in his and stood, leaned back a little to look up at him and made a tiny little sound he wasn’t meant to hear, Wade vanished in a blur, the office disappeared, the wind outside the window ceased to blow and his fingers blindly closed over hers–hard.
She winced.
“Sorry.” But he only marginally lightened his grip.
“Don’t be.”
A soft whisper, her green gaze wide-eyed and close like he’d imagined in his dreams. “Come on,” he murmured, as if they were alone in the world, as if anything were possible. “Let’s get out of here.”
Wade was already counting his winnings as they walked out hand in hand.
At the sound of the outside door closing, Bonnie materialized in his doorway with a smile so bright it lit up the back of her eyes. “Wow,” she said. “Young love. Ain’t it grand?”
“Ah. Forever the romantic.” Bonnie was on her third husband.
“Cynic. Didn’t you see them?”
“I did.”
“Then you must be blind. He never looked at his wife that way.”
“He’ll get over it.”
She gave him a gelid look. “You’re going to have a rude awakening someday.”
“Just not too soon. I’m enjoying myself.” He liked women and they liked him.
She sniffed. “I hope I’m still around to see it when you bite the dust over some pretty little thing.”
“Not gonna happen. Sorry.”
She sniffed a little louder this time. “Just wait. You think you know it all, but you don’t know fuck-all. And remember when it happens, I told you so.”
The door slammed behind her, the old windows shook in their frames and unmoved by his chastisement, Wade went back to counting his winnings.
Chapter 16
Jack took Jillian to the Mendocino Hotel. The only other choices open before lunch were noisy, crowded coffee shops with people elbow to elbow, all of them watching. He wanted some privacy. Not that he hadn’t thought about taking her to his house pretty much all the way down the block to the hotel.
But he managed to restrain himself because she was different. He couldn’t tell you how. She just was.
/> So slow and easy was the plan.
Get acquainted first.
Bypassing the restaurant entrance, he guided her to the hotel’s main doors: original California oak thick with decades of varnish, oval windows etched in a flourish of scrolls and flowers, re-brassed trim polished to a high shine. Opening the door for Jillian, he followed her in. She paused, then he did, a step behind.
“Would you like breakfast or just coffee?” he asked.
“Whatever you’d like is fine with me.”
Which comment required a rapid censuring of his first ten responses. “Actually, I could use some breakfast.”
She swung around so quickly, if not for his agile reflexes, he would have been caught checking out her nice ass. “Perfect.” she said, and he had to agree although they were operating on different circuits. “I was too nervous to eat this morning so I’m absolutely starved.”
Christ, he was misconstruing everything she said as sexual innuendo. Relax. “I just had coffee this morning so I’m hungry too.” There. That’s the way. Well-behaved. He pointed at the tables set beside the windows. “Take your pick. I’ll go find us a waitress.”
The Victorian hotel had been restored to its former glory. The lobby was furnished with burgundy velvet upholstered couches and chairs arranged in conversation areas. A small mirrored bar ran along the west wall, and a grand staircase carpeted in a boisterous green and gold design occupied center stage. All was quiet, hushed, cloistered as a Victorian drawing room before visiting hours or in this case before noon when the bartender came in. Even those guests checking out had come and gone and Deb, the clerk, had disappeared into her office.
Crossing the lobby, Jack walked past the shuttered, formal dining room and entered the bistro through the French doors that closed off the restaurant from the hotel. Catching the waitress’s eye over the heads of several people he knew who, fortunately, were busy conversing, he picked up two menus from a stand near the door, motioned to Rachel that he needed her in the lobby and walked out.
As he reached the staircase, he came to an abrupt stop. Something he didn’t know existed did a little flip-flop in his chest and he suddenly viewed all those people who see the Virgin Mary on a piece of toast with a dose of empathy.