Caught on Camera (44 page)

She was done with it.

It was time to start over.

And that meant her time in Atlanta had come to an end.

A sob bubbled in her throat, but with no energy remaining to push it up and out, it sat there, lodged like her life had been for the last eight years.

She and JP were over.

Pain ripped through her chest, and she folded in on herself. This was so much worse than anything she’d gone through with Ted. But unlike then, there wasn’t a thing in the world she could do this time.

Last time, she should have stood up for herself and fought for the truth. If she had it to do over, she would. But the past was just that. All she could do was learn from her mistakes. That’s why she wouldn’t pretend with JP.

He couldn’t hide her. It simply wasn’t possible. Even if she was willing to continue living that life.

She straightened in her seat and pulled the keys from the ignition, blinking her eyes several times to clear the fog. No sense sitting around moping any longer. She had a new life to get to, and it was time to make it happen.

Hanging on to false bravado, she climbed from the car and headed to the front door of her hotel. She may not be perfect, but people would have to learn to take her for who she was, or not take her at all.

Stepping inside, she was temporarily stunned by the bustle of activity going on. It was barely seven thirty in the morning, but businessmen and businesswomen hurried through the lobby as if the world would cease to exist if they didn’t stick to their overly tight agendas.

She skirted one particularly well-dressed woman, admiring her Dolce & Gabbana shoes, and nearly ran smack into Greta Kirby.

“Vega!” Greta practically shrieked. “I’m so glad I found you.”

Great
. Vega stood rooted to the spot, taking in the woman’s flashy outfit and wishing she could disappear off the face of the earth. Of course she’d run into someone like Greta when she had swollen eyes and probably looked like death warmed over. Mentally kicking herself for not having the forethought to grab her sunglasses from the car, she gave her smile all she had and pretended she didn’t look such a mess. “Hello, Ms. Kirby. What are you doing here this morning? Were you looking for me?”

And then she remembered suggesting that maybe they could do a girls’ day on Friday.

It was now Friday.

Oh, good grief. Entertaining Greta was the absolute last thing she wanted to be doing today. She had to find a way to politely extricate herself.

That’s when she saw the man with her.

Greta had waved him over, and he now stood slightly behind her, a video camera propped on his shoulder. A microphone appeared out of nowhere to find Greta’s hand.

Vega stared, wide-eyed, as her brain worked furiously to catch up.

“Is your thought that going after an unmarried politician is your ticket into the White House this time?” Greta’s voiced took on a serious tone, then she the thrust the microphone at Vega.

Oh, for the mother of all things holy.
Vega’s gaze bounced around the lobby, looking for the quickest escape route, as she finally caught on to what was going on. Greta Kirby had somehow become the one person, after all these years, to discover her identity.

“You’re different today, boss.”

JP raised his head and scowled at his assistant. He didn’t feel like mindless chatter. And whether he was different or the same was none of her damn business. “Why are you suddenly calling me
boss
? What happened to
Mr. Davenport
?”

She shrugged. “You seem more real these days. Less ‘procedures and policies and cold efficiency.’ More human.” She finger-quoted his mantra, which only pissed him off more.

“You know why I need procedures and policies, Bev. Give me a break.” She’d been there as he’d gone through the years of struggling over making every single task in his life so literal. A dyslexic child couldn’t help it, it was simply the way their brain was wired, but knowing that didn’t make it any easier. To help matters now, he always insisted on structure and clear procedures. Otherwise, simple tasks could lead to undue stress.

“I know, I’m sorry.” She pursed her mouth and parked her hands on her hips. “But something is different. You look like a weight of some sort has been lifted from your shoulders, but at the same time, you seem sad and more detached than I’ve seen you in a while.” She perched on the edge of one of his guest chairs. “Anything I can help you with?”

“I can take care of my business myself. But thanks.” He added the thanks to hopefully take the sting out of his words. “Don’t you have something else you could be doing? Go look at the tabloids or something, and make sure nothing new has shown up we need to deal with before my mother gets wind of it. She plans to stop by this morning.”

The thought of his mother coming over to talk to him about Vega pissed him off even more. He didn’t need her opinion.

Beverly didn’t immediately leave, instead tilting her head one way and then the other, never taking her eyes off him as she did so. He waited as patiently as his crappy morning would allow, knowing her well enough to know she wouldn’t leave until she was good and ready.

Finally, she nodded. “Yep, it’s love.”

“What?” he barked.
Where had she pulled that one from?

“What are you talking about?”

“You love Vega. It’s clear as day.” With those words, she stood, brushed her hands together, and sashayed back to her desk.

He followed, only realizing once she’d left his office that he’d had the perfect opportunity to slam the door and lock her out. Instead he found himself trailing her, fuming like a raging bull. What did she know about who he did or did not love? And why should her guess make him so furious?

The last thought brought him up short. He knew why it bothered him. Because he knew he’d lost Vega at the very same moment he’d finally gotten her.

Beverly pulled her keyboard closer and began typing out a series of strokes without paying one bit of attention to him. A celebrity website popped up on-screen, and since he had no desire to return to his office to be alone with his thoughts, he stood there watching her.

A headline caught his eye, and he reached down, stopping Beverly’s arm in midmotion. “What is that last one?”

The headline read, “Eight years later, is her goal the same?”

A video clip was attached. “Show me that video.”

Beverly shot him an irritated look but clicked on the link. A YouTube video began playing. Greta Kirby was on-screen, dolled up and looking as cheap as ever, and she stood in the lobby of a hotel. He quit breathing.

She went into her spiel about tracking down and finding one of America’s most well-known home wreckers. JP picked up Beverly’s wastebasket and threw up his oatmeal.

The next several minutes were spent watching Greta shove a microphone in Vega’s face, whose eyes were red as if she’d been crying, then chasing her through the lobby and into an elevator. Finally Vega got to her room and slammed the door in Greta’s face. Greta then turned to the camera and explained all the atrocities Vega had supposedly committed, as well as the fact she’d been seen leaving Jackson Davenport’s penthouse at sunrise that morning.

“Is Vega Zaragoza, otherwise known as the ex-supermodel Reveka, after another politician? At least this time she didn’t choose one who was already married. But the question remains, will she ruin his life like she did Ted Pritchard’s?”

The video ended. Beverly gaped at the screen for several dead seconds before turning a worried gaze to JP’s. “That’s who she is?”

No sense hiding it. “Yes.”

“But she…” Beverly glanced back at the computer as if it could right everything in her world, then she once again faced him. “But she’s not like that at all. And I don’t for a minute believe that Ted Pritchard was innocent in all that. I never did.”

He nodded, unable to say anything. His biggest worry at the moment was Vega and what she was going through. He walked into his office, slammed the door behind him, and called her cell.

The hotel was probably so surrounded with cameras she couldn’t even stick her head out.

The line rang on the other end until it finally dropped into her voice mail. He slammed his hand on his desk.
Dammit!

Bringing up Google, he searched for the number of the hotel, but before he could call, his mother burst into his office.

“We have to get a statement to the press before this gets even more out of hand. Tell them it was only a fling and you never intended anything to be serious. That you didn’t know who she was. That—”

“Stop,” JP butted in. “Before I do anything, I’ve got to get Vega on the phone and make sure she’s okay.”

“Are you hearing me, JP? Now is the time for distance, not chasing after her. She may or may not be after you because of who you are, but we’ve got to make sure just knowing her doesn’t do you any more damage. I’ve got my people working on a statement already.”

“Mother,” JP began. He stood and put both hands on his desk, palms down, and leaned into the wood. “First, I’m not releasing anything at the moment. Second, she is not after me because of who I am. There is no doubt about that. And third, before I do anything else, I’m going to find Vega and make sure she’s okay.”

His words seemed to register, and she crinkled her forehead. “But we’ve got to…” Her voice trailed off as she studied him, looking him up and down. “You care about her?”

He stared. She had always been all about
the job
, letting nothing stand in her way to get his father—and then him—where she thought they needed to be, so he was surprised with the fleeting hint that she understood that his feelings might actually come into play. He decided to go for broke. “I love her.”

“Oh my.” His mother sucked in a huge breath and collapsed into a guest chair. “Well, that…” She looked puzzled. “What are you saying, Jackson? Love, as in, you want to stand by her on this?”

Frustration warred at him for the reality of his life and the things he’d had to give up because of it. “Love, Mother. As in, I want to marry her.” He folded his hands into fists and lightly tapped his knuckles on the polished wood. “I just have no idea how to make that happen.”

His mother scooted back in the seat and wove her fingers together in her lap. She was putting on her public face, and it pissed him off. “I’m sure we can come up with some way to fix this. I’ve been doing research on her myself—”

She looked up, guilt splashing across her face. “I was concerned with the amount of time you seemed to be spending with her, so I hired a private investigator. I’m sorry, Jackson.” She hurried her words; she no doubt knew how much that one statement infuriated him. “It was something I felt I needed to do. But I have good news. I don’t think she was after Pritchard the way they say she was.”

“She wasn’t.”

“It’s just,” she continued, “she got mixed up with a man who was married. And, well, there is the sex tape. And people’s perceptions. So what I think we should say—”

“First of all,” he interrupted. He was taking charge here, not her. “We don’t
say
anything that isn’t completely positive and supportive of Vega. If you can’t handle that, then keep your mouth—and your people’s mouths—shut.”

That got her attention.

“And second.” He picked up the phone and dialed the hotel. “I need to make a phone call before we discuss anything further.”

An attendant answered and let him know that Ms. Zaragoza had checked out of the hotel. The dial tone came next. The act of hanging up on him irritated him, but he knew it was the best course of action for both the hotel and Vega. She didn’t need some overly chatty hotel personnel sharing her business with a reporter.

Out of other ideas, he grabbed the little-used remote from his desk drawer and pointed it at the television mounted on the far wall. He found a news station where he watched footage of Vega being hustled out to her car, bags and camera in hand. Hotel security did what they could to hold back the reporters, but failed miserably.

He gritted his teeth at the thought of her being accosted and him not being there to help, and fought the panic trying to take hold at the question of where she’d gone after she’d left. Probably—hopefully—she was heading back to Savannah, but he was terrified that she could also be heading to parts unknown with the intention of disappearing like she had the first time.

He jabbed the button to turn off the TV and punched out the number for Vega’s cell. It went immediately to voice mail. He hung up without leaving a message.

“No luck?” His mother still sat in the chair, but he could see from the look in her eyes that she was tired of waiting. She thought statements needed to be made and reputations polished. He wasn’t there yet.

He stalked to the window without answering, and looked out over the city. Something else had been on his mind since he’d seen the video. If Greta could so quickly figure out who Vega was, he wondered how long it would take her to find Lexi and Daniel, and out them too. She seemed to be a woman on a mission.

He turned from the window and crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing his mother in a fashion she had done to him over the years. “I need to tell you something about Dad that could potentially come out. If it does, it’ll be even worse than Vega.”