Love After All (20 page)

Cooperman used people for personal gain. So Lincoln decided to use Cooperman, too. He didn't care who it was and who got in his way. He wanted Jefferson and he intended to get him this time.

“H
ello?” Samantha called out timidly, looking around the expansive kitchen, breakfast nook and family room. Earlier, she'd taken the opportunity to peek into the other rooms of the magnificent three-story house. It was everything she ever imagined a multimillion-dollar beachfront home would look like, and more.

With rooms the size of Grand Central Station, all with soaring cathedral ceilings, hardwood floors, magnificent ocean views from floor-to-ceiling windows, Persian carpets and expensive antique furnishings, it was the most spectacular house she'd ever seen. She couldn't imagine living in a place like this, let alone owning it.

“Jackson?” she called out again, but finally realized that she was alone. The smell of coffee made her stomach rumble. She poured a cup and walked over to the sliding glass doors. She opened one panel and stepped out onto the large deck. She walked out farther and stood at the railing, looking around the crescent-shaped white-sand beach. The daylight view was just as breathtaking and spectacular as the one the night before.

A fine morning haze covered the entire area as the crisp blue horizon merged and faded into the sky. Dizzying, it looked like one tremendous wash of gentle blue water on a magnificent canvas.

She looked at her watch. She'd slept for seven hours, practically unheard of for her. She usually existed on just four to five hours of sleep. Anything more and she was groggy and useless. But the good night's sleep had cleared her head and completely relaxed her. She woke up remembering what had happened the night before. After a quick shower, she got dressed, repacked her bag and set it by the closed door, leaving the room exactly as she'd found it.

Now she stood on the deck of what had to be a more-than-million-dollar house, waiting for…what? Did she really need Jackson to find Eric? Lincoln had implied as much, but she didn't believe much of what he'd said, particularly about her brother.

She called Jefferson and left another message. Then she called her aunt Emily in Oz. She left a message asking about Rachel Daley. If anyone knew, she might. She was in a unique position to know just about everything there was to know about everything.

She hated dragging Emily into this drama but she had no choice since she hadn't heard from Jefferson. She had a dozen questions and it seemed that answers were in limited supply. So until Emily called back with word, she needed to do some digging on her own.

“Okay,” she muttered to herself, “let's see.” She had to remember and think about every word Lincoln had said. True or not, everything he'd said was important, especially about Eric. She nodded, affirming her resolve. The conning part made sense. She remembered that he was completely fixated on her contacting her brother and finding out his whereabouts. That part made perfect sense.

Using Jefferson's name made sense, too. Eric, delusional as usual, apparently considered himself just as good as Jefferson, so of course he would want to find him and prove it.

But it was Jackson's mother that confused her. She'd never heard of a woman being with her father's crew, but then she wasn't even born when her father was in his prime. What little she knew of his life she'd found out from her brother.

Her mother, who'd known all about his life, of course, had never said anything about Rachel. Samantha's mind wandered to her childhood, then to Eric and then to Jackson and the time they had spent together. She looked out at the horizon, admiring the beauty of the day again. She needed to think clearly, but images of Jackson still clouded her mind. Thank God he wasn't here. Then it hit her, the envelope. She turned to go back into the house but stopped.

“Well, hello there.”

Samantha gasped as her mouth dropped open. She was stunned to see a beautiful woman standing in the doorway behind her. She wore an expensive mauve pantsuit that accented the rich chestnut of her skin and light brown hair. Dark designer sunglasses were perched on her nose and she smiled, as bright as the diamond earrings, necklace and bracelet that sparkled all around her. “Hi,” she said again, pleasantly.

“Oh, jeez, he's married,” Samantha muttered louder than she intended.

The young woman smiled wide hearing the remark and walked farther out onto the deck to stand by Samantha's side. She looked out at the surf and took a deep breath.

“Beautiful day, isn't it?”

“Yes, it's a gorgeous day,” Samantha said finally, finding her voice firm and even.

“And you are?” the woman asked, smiling almost gleefully as she turned to face Samantha.

Samantha tensed. This wasn't how she expected her morning to begin. The last thing she wanted was a confrontation with an angry girlfriend or, even worse, an irate wife. “Just leaving,” Samantha said completely automatically without panicking.

“How did you get in?”

“Look, this is my entire fault,” Samantha began. “I just wanted to see the view from this vantage point. So I just came up here on my own. No one even knows I'm here or else I wouldn't have presumed to impose on anyone's privacy like this.”

“So without an invitation, you just walked up here from the beach. I find that hard to believe.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Samantha countered.

“That's called breaking and entering in most places.”

“Interesting,” Samantha replied nonchalantly.

“You don't seem concerned.”

“You'd be surprised what motivation can do.”

The woman chuckled softly as if from a private joke. “Actually, I wouldn't, but getting back to the subject at hand, are you saying that you don't know the owner of the house?”

“Yes and no. We've spoken from time to time.”

“I see, so you do know Jackson?”

“Indirectly.”

“Is he here?”

“You might want to look around and check for yourself. In the meantime, I need to get going.”

“You know, you look familiar. Have we met before?”

“I have one of those familiar faces.”

“Do you live around here?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you work at the radio station?” she asked.

Samantha smiled noncommittally, then glanced at her watch. “It's getting late and I really need to get going.”

The woman nodded coolly. “I understand. Shall I tell Jackson that you stopped by?”

“I'm sure you will either way,” she looked over to the surf as if one last time, then began to walk toward the steps she remembered that led to the beach.

“You know, you don't have to leave on my account. And for the record, I don't believe a word you said. But then again, you didn't actually say anything, confirming or denying, did you?” the woman said.

“What part didn't you believe?” Samantha asked innocently, turning to her.

“Would it help if I told you that I was Jackson's sister and not his girlfriend or wife?” She removed her dark sunglasses showing the same incredible eyes as Jackson.

Samantha smiled.

“Why don't we start again?” She held her hand out. “Hi, I'm Jessica Daley, Jackson's sister, and you are?”

“Just leaving,” she said again, as if to repeat the last ten-minute conversation.

“And you are?” she said again, this time with her hand held out to shake.

“Samantha Lee,” Samantha said finally, shaking hands.

“A good friend of Jackson's, I assume?”

“The jury's still out on that one,” Samantha replied.

“I find that hard to believe,” Jessie said, then smiled and chuckled. “If my brother's history is any indication, you must be a very good friend as far as he's concerned.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You obviously stayed over, and since no one ever stays over…” She trailed off.

“Is that a rule?”

“It is around here.”

“Well, as I said, the jury's still out.”

Jessie smiled brighter. “You're good, I like you already.”

“I beg your pardon?” Samantha asked.

“You've managed to answer every one of my questions in the most beautifully unanswered detail I've ever heard. That must be a family talent or something.”

“Yeah, it must be, or something.”

Jessie burst out laughing. “And you're obviously not from California,” she said between muted chuckles.

“What makes you say that?” Samantha asked.

“Two reasons. Californians, native or newly transplanted, never take the time to actually stand and watch the surf unless they have a serious problem. We usually just take it for granted that the tide will come in and then go out.”

“And the other reason?” she asked.

“We can't wait to talk about ourselves. Everything from birth to yesterday's meal, which usually includes an eight-by-ten head shot and a résumé.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Samantha said.

“On the contrary, it's good to finally meet you.”

“Finally?”

Jessie smiled before answering, “Of course.”

Samantha looked at her curiously. She wasn't sure what to make of Jessica Daley. She definitely wasn't like her brother. She seemed too street savvy and far more knowledgeable in game playing than Jackson, although they did have those same remarkable eyes.

“I'm not sure I know what you mean.”

“Don't worry about it,” she said, then paused. “You know, you're just the perfect type I can see him with. He's about as evasive as you are, although not as good at it, I must say.”

“There's a compliment in there somewhere, right?”

Jessie laughed again. “Yeah, there is. Come on, I smelled coffee on the way out. I could use a cup of caffeine after talking with you, I'm exhausted.”

 

Predawn, at reckless speeds, Jackson drove the razor-sharp turns of the highway with controlled ease. Seldom had he used the full 660 horsepower of his racer, but this morning he raced against himself. Reminiscent of his youth, he battled himself and lost as the canyons of Malibu continued to whiz by.

The wind whipped the collar of his polo shirt but didn't disturb his dark sunglasses. He'd been driving on mental automatic again, his thoughts miles away, back at his house with a woman sleeping in a guest room two doors from his own.

Early, on impulse, he crept into the room and just stood and watched her sleep. She was beautiful, blissful and delicate. The urge to crawl in next to her was so strong that he had to leave his own house to fight for control. That's how far she'd gotten to him.

Whoever she really was and whatever she was doing, she'd gotten under his skin and even now he couldn't stop thinking about her. He was completely distracted and had stayed up most of the night, not thinking about Lincoln and his accusations or about his father, but about Samantha. Since he'd met her, his thoughts always came back to center on her.

He remembered waking up alone in bungalow number twelve. He immediately went out looking for her. The urgent desperation of his search surprised him. He wanted to find her, he needed to find her. The fantasy they'd joked about had become real and he didn't want it to end. The mystery of her life beckoned him and at the time he didn't care what she'd done. All he wanted was her. Then at the front desk a note had been left for him.

He'd excitedly opened it, only to find that he'd been contacted by the same man who sent him the envelope containing the damaging documents. No one knew he was at the inn except Samantha. Suddenly his heart had hardened and his spirit fell. It seemed that he had let her into his life and she had betrayed him.

Now here he was, driving away from the one woman he wanted to be with. He turned on his signal and steered off the coastal highway into a small pier parking lot. A gathering of parked cars and people mingled in and out of the specialty stores, carrying packages, laughing and talking. He noticed a man and woman holding hands as they stood at the railing with intertwined pinkies, looking out at the ocean.

His thoughts instantly went to Samantha. She had gotten to him and he couldn't shake her loose.

He got out of the car and walked down to the far end of the pier. Older men dressed for a day of fishing stood at the rails, poles at the ready, talking and joking about life, past, present and future. He stood on the side and looked down at the deep blue water cresting beneath him. The pier far out into the breakers was the perfect place to think. The sound of children at play, laughter, seagulls and waves lent themselves to the serenity of thought. So his mind drifted.

The pending battle with his father for control of Daley Communications had made their already strained relationship even more fragile, so there was no way he could confirm anything Lincoln had claimed, yet when he showed his father the copied documents that had been sent to him, he wasn't at all surprised.

As he was growing up, his mother never talked about her past or her family. As far back as he could remember, he had only one set of grandparents, his father's.