Just Evil (2 page)

He got up from his desk to pace. He’d had a year to think
about Kit, sort things out. But he’d had to leave. Get out of L.A. Get away
from the stain left by Claire. He’d gone to Japan without so much as a farewell
adios. And that he knew had hurt her.

Gloria had given him hell about that for the better part of
a year. Now that he was back, he could only imagine how Kit would react if—no—when.
It was only a matter of time before he had to face her, face the fact that he’d
left her without a word. How was he supposed to tell her how much he’d missed
her in the year since he’d been gone? She wouldn’t buy it. And who could blame
her? He’d have to do something about that. Buying the old Crandall House might
be a start. But it would take more than renovating an old relic of a house to
get her to believe he’d finally put his ghosts to rest, put the past behind him
and was ready to take the next step with her. 

He thought back to that night a year ago when he’d taken her
to dinner, how talkative she’d been—just like at fourteen. Back then she’d
worked summer vacations in the file room at her uncle’s law firm, just a kid, a
very talkative kid. Three summers in a row he remembered now, from fourteen to
sixteen. He’d been just starting out then, developing the software application
that Gloria’s husband Morty had encouraged him to create for his law firm. His
company, Billing-Pro Software, had come from that. He’d used Morty’s firm as
his first beta site, coming and going on a daily basis as he tweaked the
software and the lines of code, working the bugs out and testing the
application before mass marketing it to bigger clients, larger law firms.

She’d been a gangly teen who couldn’t keep her mouth shut
for five minutes without rambling on about movies or music or virtually
anything that happened to pop into her teenage head. She’d had a major crush on
him back then that had both flattered and embarrassed him.

That had been another lifetime ago: before Claire, before
his marriage.

God, what he wouldn’t give to go back and replay that part
of his life, correct his mistakes. Unfortunately, he’d learned the hard way
that you were stuck with the consequences of your fuckups.

He ran a hand across his face. Jesus, could he get any more
maudlin for chrissakes? It had to be the miserable weather. He stared out the
window at the rain and the traffic on Westlake Boulevard. He had a house in San
Madrid under renovation. The woman he wanted was there. When was he going to
face her? He was tired of waiting. He checked his watch.

Screw this, he thought as he headed out the door. Now was as
good a time as any.

Jake was still going over the plan, how to play this whole
thing out, when he pulled his Mercedes to a stop in front of the Book &
Bean. Groveling might not be his first choice, but it was definitely on the
agenda. He hadn’t been worried on the drive up, but he felt his chest tighten
as he shoved the gearshift into Park and cut the engine. For several minutes he
sat there staring out the windshield, listening to fat drops of rain fall on
the glass. 

What was he doing here anyway? She’d probably take one look
at him and tell him to go to hell. She had every right to feel that way. He
hadn’t exactly been nice to her. When he first met her she’d been far too
young, but so…sweet-natured…so…eager to please. Through the years the timing
for both of them always seemed to be off. But no more, he thought, as he sucked
in courage, opened the car door, and stepped out into the pouring rain.

Tucking his keys in his jacket pocket, he pushed open the
door to the bookstore. Once inside he glanced at the rows and rows of neatly organized
books, at the people milling around the aisles. He decided she wasn’t even
working here today. The aroma of coffee had him drifting toward the coffee shop
where a busy crowd lingered, some with their noses stuck in a book.

And then he saw her.

She stood behind the counter working the espresso machine,
her back to the entrance. He’d recognize that silvery blonde hair anywhere.
Dressed in jeans and a white cropped T-shirt, she moved with graceful
efficiency doing two things at once. When she turned around to wait on another
customer, Jake’s attention moved from her body to her face. He noted the heat
of the machine gave her skin a healthy, golden hue, as well as making wisps of
hair curl around her face. He watched her full mouth move as she tried to
dissuade the flirtatious attempt of an obviously infatuated teenage boy of
about fifteen trying to act much older by ordering a double espresso. Jake
couldn’t blame the kid his efforts. A year of being away from her, of missing
her, had him fighting for control to keep from embarrassing himself in front of
a room full of strangers.

Seeing her again energized him. The nerves slipped away.

While he stood a couple of customers behind the teenager, he
worked on his opening line. He’d say something clever and funny, something
about old times. He’d be smooth, confident, self-assured. He was after all, a
highly intelligent software developer, an entrepreneur who’d made millions. The
nerves were back, enough to have him second guessing this whole scene.

He watched as she took the money from the customer ahead of
him and counted out change. When she turned to help the next customer, he was
face-to-face with her, she looked up, met his eyes, and blinked. Shock
registered on her face. She started to say something. He knew because her mouth
moved but nothing came out. In the next instant, he saw annoyance simmer in those
jade color eyes. How had he forgotten her eyes, the darkest shade of green he’d
ever seen?

And they were boring holes through him.

“You snake-in-the-grass son of a bitch.”

So much for sweet-natured, he thought, as he opened his
mouth to speak, but the only word that slid out from the software genius was a
weak, “Hey.”

Before he had time to say anything more, she snarled, “You
come crawling through my door after a year? Why are you here?”

He quickly regrouped. “Getting coffee.” He hadn’t choked
like that since he’d struck out with bases loaded in the bottom of the ninth
back in high school. The man standing behind him asked, “Hey buddy, do you
intend to order any time soon? Some of us have things to do.”

Out of desperation, Jake simply grunted, “Uh, I’ll take a
regular.” Damn, this was not going well.

In a clipped, angry voice, she fumed, “I’m sure you want
that to-go since to-go is what you do best.”

“For here?”

She turned back to the tray to lift a ceramic cup. She
fumbled with the pickup and it slipped out of her hands, dropped to the floor
and shattered. He heard her mutter something. Then he watched as she closed her
eyes, took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and filled another cup before setting
it down on the counter with a slosh. “Surely the black-hearted cheapskate
bastard would like a pastry to go with that.”

“Ouch. What do you recommend?”

“That you stay on your side of L.A. and I’ll stay on mine.”
But he ignored her and calmly started scanning the array of pastries in the
glass case. She huffed out a breath of impatience when she thought he was
taking too long, and grumbled, “Oh for God’s sakes, order the apple tart,
everyone knows it’s the house specialty.”

Jake gritted his teeth and got the apple tart. After paying,
he took his purchase over to a vacant table by the window, sat down next to a
guy reading his paper—and waited. 

Thank God she was busy was all she could think as she filled
orders and tried to ignore him sitting at a table by the front window. The
distance gave her time to get her balance back. But every few minutes, out of
the corner of her eye, Kit looked his way, and wondered why he couldn’t have
choked to death on sushi over the past year. Or why he couldn’t have lost every
strand of hair on his stupid head. Life just wasn’t fair.

But even as she seethed, she didn’t like herself very much
when she kept looking over at that six-two frame, staring at his familiar crop
of black hair. He’s just an idiot man―she decided― with expressive
blue eyes. Thinking about his eyes pushed her back to a time, unwillingly, back
to her awkward teen years and her first dip into the one-sided pool of teenage
love. But it wasn’t a shy girl admiring the man’s tanned, lean body but rather
a full-grown woman who’d never been able to ignore the way this particular man
filled out a pair of jeans. 

Okay, she needed her head examined, but it would have to
wait. She needed to find out why he was here in San Madrid. He hadn’t driven in
traffic for two hours in the pouring rain on a Saturday morning to see her.
That much she knew. After leaving her high and dry without so much as a phone
call, she at least deserved an explanation.

After the line died down, she picked up a carafe off the
burner and headed out to make the rounds. She took her time pouring refills
here and there until finally after several eternal minutes, she reached his
table.

The crowded shop had her tempering her language when she
glared at his face. “You, Jake Boston, are a first-class asshole.”

He set down his fork in mid-bite. “Just give me five
minutes.”

“Unless you were in a coma for a year and couldn’t pick up a
damned phone, it’ll take longer than five minutes. I want you out of here.”

“You’d throw out a customer?”

“Think of it as reserving the right to refuse service.”

“Aw, come on, Kit. This apple tart is delicious by the way.
Tastes better than the one my grandmother used to make.”

Flattery from the arrogant jerk, now that was new. “You
didn’t drive two hours in the rain for pastry or coffee, Jake. There’s a
Starbucks across the street from your office.”

“I owe you an apology. Why don’t you sit down, get off your
feet for a few minutes. I’m prepared to grovel.”

Grovel? Jake Boston? That’ll be the day, she thought, as she
glanced at the counter. For the first time all morning there was no line; not a
single customer waited there. Reluctantly, she sat down, waved her hand. “Okay,
but make it quick.”

“I had to leave, Kit. Get away. Put some distance between me
and L.A. and what happened to Claire.”

She sighed. So it was still about the wife. “That’s it?
That’s your explanation for taking off without so much as a goodbye. That’s
weak, Jake. Japan? Could you have run any farther? Not a phone call, no e-mail.
Not even a one-line text. The last time—that night we went to dinner, we
almost…” She huffed out a breath. “I thought we were at the very least
friends.”

He put his hand on top of hers. “We are. Always. But…you
knew what a hard time I was having with—everything. I had to leave, Kit, get my
head on straight. At the time, I had too many problems. It wasn’t fair to you.”

“I see.” She jerked her hand from the weight of his, drummed
her fingers on the table. “You left and took off to the other side of the
world…for me. Didn’t call, didn’t write, for me. Friends don’t do that, Jake. I
deserved better, I deserve…”

“You deserve better than a damned murder suspect. But I’ve
put it behind me. I’m back. And ready to do better.”

“Right. Until you decide that you need to put some distance
between us again? I don’t think so.”

“Look, I’m back…to stay. You’ll just have to handle it.”

“Yeah. Right. For a smart guy you’re really dumb, you know
that? We both know that you coming back doesn’t have a thing to do with me.”

To hell it didn’t. “I’m renovating the Crandall House.”

Her heart dropped. “The Crandall House—the house on the
cliffs? My Crandall house? You’re moving here to San Madrid? Why?” With another
wife probably, she thought, despising the woman already. No wonder he’d moved
on. Her jaw visibly tightened.

“The house was a good investment. I can always fix the place
up then put it on the market.” He tried to sound convincing.

When the bell over the door signaled a customer, she stood
up, picked up the pot of coffee and said, “I hope everything works out for you,
Jake.” Have a crappy life without me, she wanted to scream into the rain, but
it just wasn’t in her. She’d spent too many years caring about him to turn mean
now. Oh, she wanted him to suffer for leaving, but she couldn’t get her mouth
to spout off all the nasty things she’d wished on him over the past year. And
what good would it do? She forced her lips into a curve. “Just so you know, I’m
over you. I’ve had the disease, gone through the cure, taken my shots. You can
go infect someone else.”

With that, she whirled around, and stormed to the counter to
wait on her customer.

The man at the next table dropped his newspaper long enough
to look up, catch the misery on the younger man’s face. Jake met his
expression, saw the commiserating look, and said weakly, “That could have gone
better.”

The stranger’s lips twitched slightly before ducking back
behind his paper.

Jake sat there another hour watching the place gradually
empty as the customers either left or went in to browse through the bookstore.

Since it wouldn’t get any easier, he approached her as she
wiped down tables, cleaning up after the rush. He patiently waited until she
glanced up. He looked around the empty shop. “If you have some time later maybe
you could ride out to the house, take a look, and tell me what you think. I
could really use a woman’s take.”

 Surprise crossed her face. “My take…you mean…you want my
opinion on how to remodel it?”

“Yeah. I could really use another pair of eyes. Maybe
there’s something I’ve missed. I’ve never renovated an older home before.”

He glanced around. “And you did such a great job when you
took over the bookstore from Gloria, adding the coffee shop, remodeling this
place. I could use all the advice I can get.”

When he saw interest flick in her eyes, he quickly added,
“Come on, it wouldn’t take that long. What time do you close up?”