The Princess and the Pauper (13 page)

That surprised her. “You want to talk to me about your brother? I thought you hadn’t seen each other much.”

“We haven’t.” Thinking of April and Jordan sharing confidences bothered Jesse. He realized he’d wanted to believe Jordan knew nothing about April.

“So I’m to be some kind of liaison for a family reunion?”

“Actually, no.” Her icy demeanor rankled. “Maybe you could just tell me where he is.”

“He’s probably in his office. Straight down the hall to your right.”

So Jordan had his own office. What the hell was he doing here? Given Jesse’s own reasons for coming to Hollis’s, Jordan’s position within the company worried him greatly. “Thanks,” he answered coldly, turning abruptly.

“Wait!”

He froze in his tracks. He sensed her moving away from the window in the waft of perfume said she was somewhere to his last. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw her black platform heels.

“I can’t let you go without at least satisfying my curiosity.”

Slowly he turned. She was now right in front of him. Her gaze searched his face, and he caught sight of some emotion – disappointment? – in her luminous eyes.

“What are you doing now? What kind of life do you lead? Who are you?” she asked.

“You don’t really want to know.”

“The hell I don’t.”

Jesse almost smiled. He should tell her, he supposed, but damn it, she didn’t deserve the truth. “I’m doing nothing. Just bumming around.”

April held his gaze. His breath caught under her bold scrutiny. She wasn’t quite as tough as she let on, he realized with some satisfaction. There were doubts clouding her eyes and a hint of vulnerability in the trembling severity of her mouth. She was trying very, very hard to hold on to her composure.

“Jesse,” she said in a voice that ached for understanding.

“What the –!”

Jordan’s voice booming out behind him made Jesse react automatically. He whipped around, one hand reaching inside his jacket. He stopped himself in the nick of time, his blood pumping double-time.

“Jesse?” Jordan asked incredulously. His stunned gaze traveled from the top of his brother’s head to the toes of his boots. “Is it really you?”

“In the flesh.” Jesse was just as amazed at Jordan. His brother wore a suit! He was the epitome of the professional businessman; Jesse nearly choked on his own laughter. Until he remembered why he’d come to Hollis’s.

“You’re such a jerk!” Jordan exclaimed. “Avoiding me for months. Bettina said you were busy. Busy doing what? What
is
going on?”

Jesse shrugged. “What you see is what you get.”

“Hah.” Jordan turned to April, as if for support. “What’s he been telling you?” he demanded.

“Nothing.”

“The last time we really talked was at the funeral,” Jordan accused Jesse, swinging back to face his brother again. “That was six years ago. I’ll be damned if I let you get out of here without some explanation.”

“Funeral?” April asked in a small voice.

“Our mother’s,” Jesse explained tersely.

“Well, don’t tell me you came to see me because I won’t believe you!” Jordan looked as if he wanted to grab Jesse by the throat.

“If you’d stop talking, I might be able to explain,” Jesse said dryly.

Jordan pulled himself up short, clapping his mouth shut on another string of words. Slowly his gaze drifted from Jesse to April, then back again. Jesse saw his eyes widen – with the wrong conclusion. Swiftly, Jesse said, “I did come to see you, Jordan. That’s all. Is there somewhere we could talk, privately?”

April was instantly in motion. “I’m on my way out of here, anyway. Excuse me.” She tried to squeeze between Jesse and Jordan, and her arms swept across Jesse just before he could step back. Her gaze jumped to his in horror. “Are you carrying a
gun?”
she asked, her voice taut.

Cursing himself for his bad judgment, Jesse answered coldly, “Yes.”

The sound that issued from her throat was a moan of misery. She stumbled past them and out the door.

Jordan gazed at Jesse in wonder. “I can’t wait to hear this tale. What are you into?”

“Where’s she going?” Jesse demanded, ignoring him.

“Give me one good reason why I should tell you.”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll shoot you,” Jesse answered calmly.

Jordan laughed. He held up his hands. “She’s going to Jake’s to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day. But, Jesse—” he grabbed his brothers sleeve “– she’s got a date. His name is Rob and he works for a rival store. April trying to lure him to Hollis’s. Somehow I don’t think she’d appreciate you showing up looking like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like that!” Jordan gestured to Jesse’s attire.

“I’ve always dressed this way.”

“Yeah, well, it makes you look like a criminal. Or an addict. Or homicidal maniac. What are you, anyway?”

There was something about Jordan that was irresistible. Even all the years Jesse had stayed away hadn’t made him immune to his brother’s effortless charm. “All of the above,” he answered with a grin, heading out the door.

“I’m going to want to see you again soon, brother,” Jordan called after him, his voice growing louder by degrees as Jesse disappeared around the corner. “You’d better find me again, or so help me, I’ll put a surveillance team on Bettina’s apartment!”

“I’ll find you,” Jesse yelled back.

But first he was going to find April.

Chapter Seven

S
he’d taken the elevator down. He could see the cables moving. Half running, he headed toward the bank of less ostentatious elevators lining the south wall and slammed his palm against the button. He should have told her the truth straight out, he realized now. The impression she’d gained of him must be grand indeed. But explaining why he was dressed the way he was, why he carried a gun, had felt a bit too much like selling out, and he hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it.

He grimaced. That had been a mistake.

On the main floor he made for the west entrance. He was at the tiered marble steps when a man materialized from behind several racks of womens’ clothing.

“Cawthorne?”

Jesse gaze narrowed, then he recognized him. Chris Daley. Ex-cop. Portland police department.

“Daley. What are you doing here?”

“I work here, man. I’m the store detective. I’m the one who called you.” At Jesse’s blank expression, he peered at him closely. “They did send you, didn’t they?”

If Jesse could have relived the last hour of his life, he would have never walked through Hollis’s front doors.

“Yeah, they sent me.”
And I only came because my brother works here.

“Well, are you leaving now, or what? You don’t even know what’s going on.”

Jesse gazed past Daley to the rain-drenched streets beyond the glass doors. He longed to be anywhere but where he was. It was all so complicated and it had just become more so. With an inward sigh, he asked, “Who knows about this?”

“You, me, the department and Peter Hollis.”

“What about April Hollis?”

Daley shook his head. “Her father didn’t want me to confide in her. He wants to handle this himself and asked me to call the department. Besides, April’s new.”

“How new is new?” Jesse asked.

“She’s been here about four months.”

“What about Jordan Taylor?”

Chris Daley lifted his brows. “You already know about him? He’s my main suspect.”

It took considerable restraint on Jesse’s part not to separate Daley’s head from his neck. With a tight smile, he asked, “Have you got a place where we can talk?”

“Right this way.”

With deepening dread, undercover Detective Sergeant Jesse Cawthorne followed Hollis’s gray-haired store detective.

Jake’s Famous Crawfish had been a part of Portland for over a hundred years. Its St. Patrick’s Day celebration was a well-known tradition. The fact that the restaurant was wedged into a narrow, triangular-shaped building and boasted only a few booths and tables didn’t stop the revelers from filling it to bursting.

April squeezed through the doorway and was immediately covered with narrow, green foil streamers. A man grabbed her and spun her merrily around in an impromptu dance, until he accidentally slammed an elbow into a waitress carrying a tray of drinks.

“Hey!” the waitress yelled, her good humor stretched to breaking.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, and April slipped past him.

Rob Harding of Richard and Richards – middle-aged, balding, and possessing a keen sense of retailing – was one of the few actually seated at a narrow, straight-backed booth. Streamers hung from his crown. Unfortunately, every other seat in the booth was taken. It was either sit on Rob’s lap, or stand. She stood.

“Hi, April!” he yelled above the din. “Have a green beer.” A glass mug was placed in her hand. “Meet my friends: Larry, Curly and Mo!”

The three girls occupying the opposite side of the booth burst into hysterical laughter.

“And this is their friend Groucho.” He draped an arm around the blond woman seated next to him.

“Groucho was a Marx Brothers,” April reminded, sipping her beer.

“Uh-uh.” Rob wagged a finger in front of his nose. “A well-kept secret. He was really the fourth Stooge!”

“Who’s Groucho?” one girl at the booth giggled, as another wave of screaming laughter rose from the booth. April smiled. Inside she was dying. Her unexpected meeting with Jesse – Eden’s father, for God’s sake! – had left her weak and sick. He carried a gun. Just thinking about it, April’s skin crawled.

She felt exactly the same way she had when, at seven years old, she’d learned her favorite aunt had died – that same lost, helpless misery that has no cure. The cherished memory of Jesse Cawthorne she’d carried close to her heart for nearly ten years, the rose-tinted vision she’d been unable to completely forget, had just died. It was over. He was dead.

She drank deeply and choked. She’d begun to believe the fabulous fairy tale of Eden’s hero father. Too many lies told too often had become truth, even to April’s hardened heart. But Jesse had disproved the fable. It was over. He’d become… he’d become… A silent cry of anguish filled her lungs. She didn’t want to know what he’d become!

“April?” Rob’s slaphappy grin faded a little at her expression.

“This green beer tastes funny. Is it possible to order a Coke?”

“Gawd, no!” one of the girls at the table declared, and Larry, Curly, Mo and Groucho exploded into another round of wild laughter.

Chris Daley’s lair was a far cry from April’s opulent office. Down a narrow linoleum-tiled hallway, through a steel door, into a small shelf-lined cubicle – it was hardly first-class.

But it was functional. The desk phone sported three rows of buttons, some flashing, and a state-of-the-art walkie lay beside it. There was a comfortable desk chair with a padded seat and arms, but the other chairs were metal and utilitarian, not unlike the interrogation chairs down at the precinct. The posted sign revealed that all shoplifters would be prosecuted.

Daley eased himself into his chair in front of a Sony desktop computer and motioned Jesse to one of the metal ones. “Inventory’s been walking out on its own. Whole truckloads of it. Surveillance monitors are down the hall –“” He inclined his head in that direction “—but we’re not catching anyone. Someone on the inside is involved. It’s the only explanation.”