Love After All (19 page)

“And then you walk away.”

“That's the plan.”

He stepped in closer. “Was making love to me this afternoon also part of the plan?”

“Did I trick you into making love?” she asked, looking up into his eyes.

“No.”

“Then how could I have planned it?”

“Samantha, if there's something you need to tell me, some secret you're keeping, hiding…”

“Everybody has secrets, Jackson. It's how we live with them that makes us who we are.”

“No, that's what makes you who
you
are, not me,” he whipped back.

They stood face-to-face, inches apart, looking into each other's eyes. She held her tongue as an unwavering intensity passed between them, and neither budged or gave an inch. The warm breeze surrounded them, the ocean waves continued to crest and the sky continued to darken, yet they stood steadfast in unresolved restraint.

Jackson smiled at her tenacity.

Samantha smiled at his control.

“I'm sorry, I didn't anticipate…” He paused. “I didn't expect to like you so much, so quickly.”

“That's okay, I didn't expect to like you so much, so quickly, either.”

Then a sudden burst of laughter caused them to turn away. A young bikini-clad woman, being chased and tickled by a young man, ran down the beach past them.

“It's late,” she said.

“Yes, it is, shall we?” he offered, stepping aside.

She nodded. Side by side, they headed back to the beach house in silence. As soon as they walked into the kitchen, they immediately noticed the envelope from Lincoln still sitting on the table. Jackson picked it up and opened it.

There was a key, a disc and a folded piece of paper inside. He handed the disc to Samantha, then opened and read the paper. Seconds later, he handed her the paper, too. She read the note, then looked at the disc again. He motioned toward the laptop computer on the coffee table in the den. They went in and sat down on one of the sofas. He turned on the computer and she inserted the disc into the tray. After a few seconds a computer program showed on the screen. “Do you recognize this program?” he asked.

“No, not really,” she answered as she opened the main file and looked through the listed files. “But my first guess is that it's a high-end copying program,” she continued scrolling through files. Each one listed offered a download and requested a password.

“Does this help?” he asked, handing her the paper with the password.

“No.”

“Then I guess we need to download it.”

“I'd caution against that. There are so many viruses and hackers around. To indiscriminately download something like this is like playing Russian roulette. All your files and your entire system could be pirated out, or worse, transferred to a separate system.”

“So what do we do with it?”

“I'll check it out on my computer.”

“What's the difference?”

“My computer will instantly overload a pirate program and redirect the data to a third system of my choosing. If this contains a virus or highjack, it'll default and clear all the data and return to the original in-box.”

“Okay, where is your computer?”

“I'll have to get it. What about the key?” she asked, pointing to the key sitting on the table beside the computer. “I have no idea where it might go. It's not for any computer I've ever seen.”

“It looks like an elevator key. I have one just like it. But we can figure that out later. It's late, so why don't we continue this tomorrow. You can get your computer then.”

She nodded her agreement, then removed the disc and turned off the system. Jackson led the way back through to the front of the house, then upstairs, down the short hall to a closed door. “You can have this room.” He opened the door and turned on the light. She walked inside and saw a huge, welcoming bed. He walked over and placed her suitcase on the covered bench at the foot of the canopy.

“Do you need anything?”

“No, I'm fine, thank you,” she said as she moved to touch the soft pillow.

“Good night,” he said.

She turned and smiled. “Good night.”

He closed the door behind him. She sat down slowly, then grabbed her purse and checked her phone for messages There were none. She removed her clothes, washed up and fell into bed. Moments later, exhausted from the strenuous day, she was fast asleep.

 

Across town, George Cooperman sat out on his terrace of the expansive estate in a velour jogging suit smoking his expensive Cuban cigar. As usual, he was on top of the world and in complete control.

It was dark, well after midnight, but he needed to know the results of his planning. He took a deep drag of his cigar, savored the bitter sting of tobacco in his mouth, then blew it out in one long, single exhale. A gentle breeze blew through, carrying the smoke into the darkness. He smiled, pleased with himself.

The grand jury had convened and the state and federal prosecutors had presented their evidence. Each count was met by his high-priced attorney's calm, even response. He'd done an excellent job, worthy of an Oscar. Of course, his retainer was somewhere north of a million dollars each year, but well worth every penny. Now all George had to do was be completely exonerated, and that required cunning.

He took several short puffs and blew out again, idly watching the smoke fade. This was his third indictment. His second, a year ago, was a two-year suspended sentence but it had still taken its toll on him. He hated to lose, and while he was away, his business had suffered and his partners, worthless as they were, had grown antsy. But most of all, his personal funds, although staggeringly extensive by above-average accounts, had been nearly depleted. Although he had millions readily available, he didn't like dipping into his private slush fund. Traces could be tracked and his Cayman Islands nest egg could be exposed.

He had, under court order, relinquished his passport, and his offshore interests were weakening. He needed to wire cash to his account without notice and that was impossible to do with the federal and state governments watching him. So, for obvious reasons, he needed a resolution.

And by all accounts, everything was going exactly as he'd planned. In less than a week he would be cleared of all charges and be in possession of exactly what he wanted, revenge on the one company that rivaled his own and had refused his offer. He smiled again as a greedy chuckle bubbled up. This was going to be so sweet.

He stood and walked.

The pleasure of the night was his enjoyment. His property had few rivals. But then again he wasn't a typical businessman. He'd gotten what he had through cunning and brains, something few seemed to possess these days. Long forgotten, most businessmen became lazy as soon as they made a few dollars, but not he. One dollar made him want more, just as one million dollars made him want a million more. And no one was going to take a single penny from him. Not without a fight.

So in one fell swoop he was going to get everything he deserved. He rounded the perimeter of his estate, then noticed headlights approaching as he stood on the slope beside the tennis courts. The long path leading up to his driveway gave him plenty of time to walk around and meet the driver. The car stopped just as he arrived. A single figure got out and approached. He smiled, taking another deep drag of his cigar after lighting the butt again.

The man encumbered by his languished leg walked over slowly. George looked at him eagerly. “How did it go? Did they buy it?”

“Yes, as expected,” Lincoln said evenly. “Ms. Taylor received the envelope. She arrived earlier. She and young Mr. Daley are willing to do exactly what you want. But then, they have no choice.”

“Good, splendid,” George said, not at all surprised by the news. A firm believer in precise planning, he knew that they'd have no alternative. “And our other friend?” he asked.

“Eric…” Lincoln began until George cleared his throat and glared at him. Lincoln nodded. George Cooperman was shrewd. Always the third party, he never personally took care of any business such as this. He always used at least two middlemen as go-betweens. That way few knew that he was involved. And he always declined to know the full names of the people involved, using only surnames; the less he knew, the less likely he would be exposed and implicated if anything went wrong.

“I beg your pardon,” Lincoln said. “Mr. Hamilton doesn't have a choice, either. He knows that. He'll do what I say or go to jail.”

“Splendid, splendid,” George repeated with a broad smile, anticipating the final payoff. “Keep me informed. I don't want any mistakes this late in the game. I've come too far to have this wash out because of ineptness,” he said tightly, then turned and walked away.

Lincoln felt the sting but held his tongue. “One more thing you might want to be aware of,” he began. “There was a slight variation to the plan. It seems Mr. Daley and Ms. Taylor have become friends and not exactly the adversaries you expected them to be.”

“What do you mean?” George said, turning.

“They spent the day together, I suspect intimately.”

“Explain,” George prompted.

“After they arrived, he went to his place and she went to the hotel. Then an hour later he went to the hotel and got her. They spent the morning at Perry's Inn off the Pacific Coast Highway. Afterward, they got a room.”

“You're right, that is interesting. Apparently, I underestimated her charms. She's more like her father than I expected. That won't happen again,” he mused more to himself than to Lincoln. “You told her about Rachel Daley, how she stole the money from her family, leaving them destitute?”

“Yes.”

“And her reaction?”

“She was upset obviously, but not as angry as we assumed she'd be.”

George stepped aside, mulling over the new information as he rolled his cigar between his lips. “An unlikely union, that's unfortunate. It would certainly make things easier if they weren't together. I have other plans for young Mr. Daley. See what you can do,” he ordered.

“I can introduce Mr. Hamilton. That might separate them or at least create some suspicion on his part. I suspect that Ms. Taylor might still be blinded by her anger, but she may possibly still have feelings for him.”

“Fine, see that it's done. The National Association of Black-Owned Broadcasters awards dinner is in less than a week. I want this cleaned up and finished by then,” George said firmly, then walked away without waiting for a response.

Lincoln stood watching him go, and then he looked up at the massiveness of the palatial mansion in front of him. George was a man not given to timidity. He was bold and brash and demanding and didn't take no for an answer. He'd set his sights on controlling Daley Communications a long time ago but had been refused each time. Now he was the closest he'd ever been to achieving his goal. The smug anticipatory glee in his eyes was familiar.

He had seen it a hundred times in his business. The knowing smugness always preceded the inevitable downfall. And Lincoln, with his extensive credentials, didn't want to be anywhere around when that happened.

He turned and walked back to his car. He got in awkwardly, still pained by his leg but not as much as by his pride. The fact that he now worked for George Cooperman as his head of security showed just how far he had sunk. Once a prominent New York detective, he'd been discharged by the force because of a single error. He gritted his teeth, still seething at the cause of his discharge.

Jefferson Taylor at his prime had been nearly untouchable; he, Lincoln, was the only man to ever come close to getting him. After weeks of surveillance, Lincoln had finally caught a break and gotten wind of a con, Jefferson's last con before his self-proclaimed retirement.

Lincoln decided to get Jefferson before he got out. He had everything arranged and planned out to the last detail. As soon as the con was finished, he was going to bring Jefferson in. There was no way he could get out of it, but Jefferson did and in the process made a complete fool of him.

Lincoln grimaced. There were rules and he had broken the first one. Emotion had gotten in the way and made him sloppy and smug. The plan failed and Jefferson got away clean. Lincoln's superiors needed a scapegoat and he was it. He'd lost both his job and his credibility. That mistake had plagued him for the last few years. But in a few days he intended to right that wrong.

He was going after Jefferson and thanks to his sister, Samantha, he would finally succeed. He knew that Jefferson couldn't resist helping his sister in her hour of need. He smiled, remembering that creed the Taylors all had: family is forever. That would be their downfall, there was no question about it. That's why he needed Samantha to believe that her brother was unreachable, so that he could come and save her just as he'd planned.

Of course, Cooperman had no idea of his personal plans. He had his own agenda. All Cooperman knew was that he was finally getting the only company that refused him and ending the six-month investigation into his business practices. As far as he was concerned, Jackson and Samantha would be caught breaking into his office and planting information to frame him just like he told the federal judge.