Hot & Bothered (21 page)

Oh, man. She was trying real hard to be sophisticated about this, to take her pleasure where she could and not
count the cost. But hearing him say stuff like that made her realize that she'd been secretly hoping for exactly what he seemed to be offering: a chance to take their relationship to the next level. His matter-of-fact acceptance of the limits she'd placed on an act he seemed to believe was an integral part of his personality made her want to reach out, grab hold of his implied promise with greedy hands and refuse to let go should he suddenly change his mind about what he wanted out of this deal. And she knew she wasn't sophisticated at all.

Just desperately in love.

J
UMPY WITH NERVES, WITH
excitement and unspent adrenaline, Jared slammed through the door to his bedroom Thursday and headed straight for the phone. He punched out the number John had given him for Gert's house. The instant P.J. came on the line, he blurted, “I'm a free man.”

She whooped and tucking the telephone against his ear, he flopped back on the bed and grinned up at the ceiling. He felt like he'd been away from home forever and yet, since coming back, it continually caught him by surprise to see that nothing had changed. The disoriented feeling hit even harder after he'd spent the afternoon at the police station.

“Tell me everything,” P.J. demanded.

“Okay, give me a sec. I have to figure out where to start.”

“It's not brain surgery,” she said impatiently. “Just start from the time you left the agency.”

He laughed because it was so…P.J. “Okay. We got home about ten Tuesday night, and to tell you the truth, I was wiped. I raided the kitchen said hi to Cook and Mary—”

“Cook? As in
a
cook? A cook who
lives
there? Omigawd! You are so on another planet from me!”

For some reason that gave him a small twinge of panic. “No, I'm not,” he hurried to assure her. “My family merely has money.”

“Merely, he says. Not
just
—merely. But forget that,” she said and he could practically see her flapping her hand around in a dismissive motion. “Who's Mary?”

“She's the housekeeper. My dad's been married like a hundred times and the stepmothers come and go. But Mary's been here for years and she's always been really good to me. So anyway, I said hi to them and to the current stepmom, who pretended she was thrilled to see me, but who is really pretty underwhelmed, I think. Then I hit the sack.”

“Then you got up yesterday…”

“And I played with the pip-squeak until the lawyer arrived. Now
there
was someone who was happy to see me.”

“Who's that, your niece?”

“Yeah, Tori's kid, Esme. She's five.” He smiled at the thought of the little girl's unconditional excitement at seeing him again.

“And once the lawyer got there…?”

“He drilled me for what seemed like hours on what to say and what not to say once we got to the police station.”

“And today you actually went there. Did the P.I. guy go with you like he said he was gonna?”

“Rocket? Yeah, he did.”

“His name is Rocket? I thought it was John.”

“It is—John Miglionni. But Rocket was his Marine handle. Didn't I tell you he was in the Marines for like years and years? No, wait, I guess I couldn't have, since I just found out myself yesterday.”

“It's kind of a cool nickname,” she allowed. “I wonder how he got it.”

“I don't know. I asked him, but he just gave me this smile like he knows a secret he's not going to share and changed the subject. Bet it's a rad story, though.”

But P.J.'s attention had skipped forward. “So the three of you went to the station. Then what happened?”

“We met with a pain-in-the-ass detective named Simpson.”

“First name Homer, y'think?”

“That'd fit him, all right. The guy's an idiot.” Jared found his muscles tensing up just thinking about the ordeal the cop had put him through, but he took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. “He'd already made up his mind I was the killer and he sure didn't want to hear anything that didn't fit with his theory. But Buchanan, the lawyer, kept hitting him with the facts and demanding to see the evidence against me. And all that prep work paid off for me, too, because I didn't get nearly as flustered as I would have without it. But it still went on forever until Rocket finally leaned over the table and got right in Simpson's face. He said real quiet that he was tired and
I
was tired and told Simpson that since he didn't have squat to hold me, we were through playing nice. He said if they were going to book me they'd better do it now, because we were going home. I mean, he was so cool, Peej. He didn't raise his voice at all, but Homer backed down and let me go.” And Jared wanted to be just like that someday—mature and cool-eyed and tough. Not afraid of anything. “What do you think I'd look like in a ponytail?”

“Dumb. You've got better hair than that guy by miles. And you've already got a boss tattoo.”

“Yeah, but did you see his?”

“I know I did, but I don't remember too much about it. Just that it was mostly red with something white inside, right?”

“A skull and crossbones. And it says Silent, Swift and
Deadly on three sides of it, with his battalion number across the bottom. He was with a reconnaissance unit until a few years ago. They went in and freed hostages and shit.”

“That's pretty tight.”

“You know what else? He and Tori are pretending to be engaged so he can get close to all the country-club fat cats and find out who really killed my dad. I bet he does it, too.” But the reminder of his father's murder made his euphoria fizzle and he blew out a sigh. “I'm so glad it wasn't me, Peej.”

“I know. I am, too.”

“I really thought I'd done it—you know?—and it was like acid eating away at my gut one drop at a time.” Resolutely, he shook off the remembered horror and the attendant residual guilt. “But enough about me. How are you faring at the old lady's house?”

“You should see it, J. It's got all this great old stuff. Like in the kitchen she's got one of those old chrome tables with the red plastic seats and the kitchen clock is some black cat named Felix, who I guess was famous or something back in the old days. His tail ticks back and forth and his eyes move.”

“It sure feels good to sleep in a real bed again, doesn't it?”

“Oh, man, I'll say. And the food! Mac made me brownies last night. No one's ever made me brownies before. I ate
five,
they were so yummy.”

He thought about that, the fact that no one had ever made her brownies. For all that his father had been a first-class jerk most of the time, Jared had at least had Tori and Mary and Cook. But knowing P.J. would snap his head off if he offered the slightest hint of sympathy, he merely said, “I know. I haven't been able to stay out of
the kitchen since I got home. I don't think I'll ever take a stocked refrigerator for granted again.”

Voices yelled outside. They sounded as if they were quite a distance away, but there was a frantic quality to the tone that drew his attention, and Jared climbed off the bed to go see what was going on. He strolled over to the window, stuck his thumb and index finger between the blind slats, and spread them apart. For a second the sun pouring through the window blinded him, but then he saw across the estate to gates that kept the world at bay and his jaw dropped. “Holy shit.”

“What?” P.J. demanded. “What's going on?”

“Holy shit, Peej,” he repeated, staring at vans that bristled with antennae and at all the people milling around on the far side of the wrought iron. “There's a mess of reporters and one, two,
three
fricking news trucks camped outside my gate. It looks like we're under siege.”

S
IEGE WAS THE WORD FOR IT
. And after two days spent putting up with the raucous circus going on outside her gate, Victoria finally took refuge in her makeshift studio above the garage. She cranked up the radio to mask the sound of the reporters' voices rising and falling on the other side of the wall. Apparently it was a slow news week, for now that the police had failed to charge Jared, their father's murder investigation was a red-hot story again.

Focused on applying the finishing touches to a Victorian dollhouse, she jumped like a scalded cat a few minutes later when the studio door suddenly slammed against the wall. Esme barreled into the room.

“Hullo, Mummy!”

The sight of her daughter's wide smile instantly elevated her mood and she quickly clamped a freshly glued shingle to the dollhouse roof then set aside her tools. “Hello, sweetie. You startled me.” She turned down the radio while taking note of Esme's flushed cheeks and bright eyes. “What have you been up to?”

“I've been playing
Raccoon Ants Mission!
”

Victoria's eyebrows drew together. “Raccoon ants?” She could have sworn she knew every game Esme played, but that one drew a blank.

“Yes! Uncle Jared didn't want to play Barbies with me, so I asked John.”

“Oh, Es, sweetheart, he's not here to play dolls with you.”

“He
wanted
to play! But he said I have enuff Barbies to ow…to, uh, owf—”

“Outfit,” Rocket's deep voice said from the open doorway and an illicit little thrill zigzagged down Victoria's spine when she looked over to see him propping a broad shoulder against the doorjamb.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he gazed back at her, all lean, lazy grace. “The kid's got enough skinny, stacked dolls to outfit an entire platoon.”

Esme giggled. “Uh-huh. So we dressed 'em all in trousers.”

“Which is much more practical than ball gowns for a reconnaissance mission,” John added drily. The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Of course matching all their high-heeled shoes to their outfits, which Esme informs me is a must, sort of put the kibosh to the practicality angle. Her Molly McIntire would've been better suited, since she at least wears sensible shoes, but Es only has one American Girl doll. And a good recon unit relies on its backup.”

“So we played Raccoon Ants Mission with our Barbie ploon!” Esme danced with excitement. “Rapunzel Barbie was a kid napping in the Dream House and the ploon had to get her out.”

“Past the Ken soldier with the gold crown and swishy blue satin clothes,” John said.

“That's Prince Stefan, Mummy.”

Rocket made a face. “The guy's
gotta
be embarrassed to be seen in public in that getup. Although I gotta admit, his sword was pretty righteous.”

“Princess Barbie and the Baywatch Barbies crawled on their tummies, and Pop Sensation Ken was the radio offerater.”

“Operator,” John corrected. “And, I might add, the only one with decent footwear.”

“Nuh-uh! Dream Glow Barbie wored slipper socks!” Esme whirled back to her mother. “She had the hanger-nade.”

Tori looked at John. “You outfitted my daughter's dolls with weapons of destruction?”

“Trust me, it was a bloodless coup.” He didn't even have the grace to look sheepish. “We whisked the kidnapped princess out from under Swishy Ken's nose without a hitch. Besides, Dream Glow's hand grenade was actually a hairbrush. We had to improvise.”

Esme nodded energetically. “Zotic Beauty's knife was a comb, Radio Offerater Ken's oozie was a blow dryer and Mystery Squad Drew had her Morrie code book.” Twirling in circles, she spun like a top over to Rocket.

“Morse code, Es. Which I gotta admit was pretty cool, so we used that one the way it was intended. Hell, her shoes were even halfway sensible, once you got past the neon color scheme.”

“Freaking neon,” Esme said with such pitch-perfect disgust she could only be repeating a direct quote. Leaning against John, she tipped her head back to beam up at him. “Like Dream Glow Barbie's hair, huh, John?”

That
made him shoot a sheepish glance at Victoria, but at the same time he smoothed a gentle hand from the crown of Esme's hair down to her nape, where he tugged on one of her braids. “Yeah, baby. Just like Dream Glow Barbie's hair.”

Victoria melted. He clearly cared a great deal about his
daughter and was putting genuine effort into getting to know her, just as she'd requested. So who was she to complain if his methods were different than those she would have used? Turning to her work space, she capped her Exacto knives with quick efficiency and whipped the clutter into order.

Then she headed across the room toward the other two, laughing as Esme, with her usual easily swayed allegiance, detached herself from Rocket and launched herself at Victoria, hugging her around the legs. She swooped her daughter up and grinned from her to John.

“It's Cook's day off,” she said. “So, tell me. Is anybody else in the mood to raid the kitchen for a bowl of ice cream?”

 

U
NTIL TODAY
, J
ARED HAD
been happy merely to be home, but this afternoon an unsettled edginess had begun creeping around the periphery of his contentment. He didn't know where all this itchy restlessness was coming from, but he sure was grateful to hear the sound of voices down in the foyer. He vacated his room without a backward glance and loped down the stairs to find his sister, Rocket and the pip-squeak headed down the hallway toward the kitchen.

Esme, who was dancing backward in front of the others in a way that reminded him of P.J. was the first to spot him. “Hullo, Uncle Jared!” Abandoning Rocket, whom she'd been tugging along by the hand, she raced over to latch onto his. “You're just in time! We're going to have ice cream!”

Tori turned to him with a welcoming smile. “Hey there. Es is right; your timing is impeccable. Come join us.”

He allowed himself to be persuaded and sauntered
along in their wake, emulating John's easy way of moving. Watching the glide of muscle from shoulder to heel as the former Marine strolled in front of him, he wondered if
he'd
ever develop any brawn.

There was so much he liked about Rocket, but probably what he liked best of all was the way he never seemed to say stuff he didn't mean. So far, when John had told him he'd do something, that was precisely what he'd done. And not once had he promised everything would be okay before he'd known for sure that it would be. Jared appreciated that more than he could say.

Still, it was early days yet and he wasn't naive enough to just take things on blind trust. Not anymore. He'd been burned more times than he could count by another man whose approval he'd sought and a distrustful corner of his soul still harbored questions about John's integrity, generating a need to test it for himself.

His attitude had nothing to do with the pip-squeak's account of the Barbie Wars, which he listened to ad nauseam once they'd dished up bowls of ice cream and settled at the table. He wasn't
jealous,
for crissake. He was merely concerned.

“
This
is the way you find out who killed my dad?” he demanded when Esme finally paused to catch her breath after yet another ode to the Fighting Barbies. “By playing dolls?”

Silence fell over the table and his face began to burn. Shoulders hunched up around his ears, he stared down at his ice cream, braced for the acid retort that would slice his ego to ribbons.

But Rocket merely said with easygoing good humor, “Nope. I thought I'd have better results playing a game of golf.”

“You're going to the country club?” Tori asked in surprise.

“Yes, ma'am. Got a ten o'clock tee-off scheduled for tomorrow morning. Apparently your dad used to golf with a foursome every Wednesday and Frank Chilworth arranged for two of the regulars to join us. One of them is Roger Hamlin, who I met at the memorial. Weasely guy who stared at your legs while making a point of telling you how far you'd come from the good old gawky days, if I remember right. The other guy is someone named Frederick Olson.” Smiling crookedly, he shook his head. “Frederick. Think I oughtta address him as Fred?”

“Only if you want him to crap his pants,” Jared said.

Esme giggled, but when Victoria said his name in an admonishing tone, Jared grimaced apologetically. “Sorry, Tor.” He elbowed his niece. “Sorry, Es. Pretend you didn't hear that, okay?”

“'Kay.” But she mouthed the offensive phrase to herself.

Pretending he didn't see, he turned back to the adults. “My choice of words might not have been the greatest, but he is president of the country club—and he never lets anyone forget it,” he defended himself.

“Yes, he is rather aware of his own consequence,” his sister agreed.

Jared shot her a grateful glance before turning to Rocket. “How did you ever get those two to agree to play on a Saturday?” he asked in reluctant admiration. “They and Dad and Haviland Carter always turned up their noses at the idea of golfing any day but Wednesday. It's the sacrosanct Men's Day at the Club.”

“I can't take credit for that. Frank made all the arrangements. But I'm guessing simple curiosity has a lot to do with it. You and your sister stand to inherit a huge estate.
I'm supposed to be engaged to Victoria. They probably want to know who'll wield the power now that Ford is out of the picture.”

Jared's mood, which had been steadily elevating, crashed once again at the reminder of his father's death. “Yeah, well, bully for you,” he muttered. “At least you get to slip the leash for a couple of hours.”

John leveled his dark-eyed gaze on him. “Is that what you'd like to do? Get out for a while?”

“Hell, yeah.” But the very idea made him snort. “Like
that's
gonna happen. I've talked to Dave and Dan on the phone, but it's not like I can go see them in person or join tomorrow's baseball game. Not with all the wolves at the gate.”

Esme blinked at him, a ring of melted pink ice cream circling the perfect round O of her lips.
“Wuffs?”

“The reporters, sweetheart,” Victoria said. “Remember the reason I said you need to confine your outside playing to the back gardens?”

“'Cuz of the Nosy Parkers.”

“That's right. They're the reporters outside the gate. But Jared's right, as well. They do behave more like animals than civilized human beings.”

Rocket turned to him. “You want a day off? I can get you off the estate.”

It was Jared's turn to blink. “What?” He stared at the man across the table, who was lazily scraping the last of his ice cream out of the bottom of his bowl.

“You got a case of cabin fever?” he asked without looking up. “You should definitely get out for a while.” Then he pushed back his empty bowl and flashed Jared a smile. “Getting you past the reporters is child's play. But you'll have to be ready to come back when I do.”

“I can do that! I've got a cell phone you can call me on when you're ready to head back. I was afraid to use it while I was gone, because I didn't know how easy it would be to trace, but it's all charged up and everything.”

“Then be down in the foyer, ready to roll, by nine-thirty.”

“I will. And I'll let you know exactly where I'm going to be, so you can pick me up when you want to leave.”

Rocket leaned back in his seat and stretched out his long legs beneath the table. “You're okay, Hamilton,” he said mildly.

And just like that, Jared's vague, unnamed discontent dissolved like so much sugar in the rain, leaving him feeling like a million bucks.

 

“A
RE YOU SURE IT'S A GOOD
idea to let him go?”

John turned to see Victoria cresting the top of the stairs. Waiting for her to catch up, he made himself comfortable against one of the bedroom doors. “You saw him, darlin'—he's starting to climb the walls. He's already paid in spades for something he didn't do and he doesn't deserve house arrest on top of it. It'll do him good to get out for a while and talk to some friends, maybe get the chance to play a little ball.”

“But what if someone says something hurtful to him?”

“Considering he's going to be in the company of teenagers, no doubt someone will.” Reminding himself that women probably looked at things differently than men, he refrained from giving her a negligent shrug as she stopped in front of him. Still…“He'll either take his licks like a man or he won't. But regardless how he chooses to handle matters, it is up to him to deal with it.”

She made a dissatisfied sound and he stroked a fingertip down her cheek. “He just spent a couple of weeks
living on the street and not only did he survive, he formed an alliance that struck me as being pretty damn tight. You can't wrap him up in cotton batting, Tori, no matter how much you'd like to protect him.”