The Princess and the Pauper (15 page)

She climbed into bed long before she was ready to sleep, pulling the covers to her chin, turning on the TV. It blared at her. April was shocked to feel tears in her eyes.

I hate you
, Jesse, she thought furiously, pounding her pillow into a hardball. She seethed inside, wretched, feeling a well of pain so deep that it almost frightened her.

Don’t you dare come back into my life
, she warned him soundlessly.
I won’t let you. I damn well won’t let you.

# # #

Jesse strode through the side door of the Police Department, pocketing the keys to his rather decrepit Dodge charger. He wondered if April would consider the car a step up from his motorcycle. It was a court awarded relic from the narcotics bust that Jesse had wrangled out of the Police Department. He grinned to himself. Then he realized he’d almost wanted her to think he still owned a motorcycle – as if that could bring back the past.

“You’re a fool,” he muttered, as he punched the elevator button for the twelfth floor. The doors clanged shut behind him.

The twelfth floor of the Criminal Justice Building was the home of the Portland Police Department’s detectives, and it was a rabbit warren of rooms and partitioned cubicles. Jesse strode toward Robbery.

“Where you been, handsome?” the woman at the nearest desk called out.

Jesse slid her a smile. Irene was middle-aged, smart, built like a barrel – and married. “I keep asking you to have an affair with me. When are you going to say yes?”

“When Kristen’s out of high school. Say, ten years?”

Ten years. Jesse thought of April and his gut felt tight. “I’ll wait for you,” he said lightly.

“Sure.” Irene smiled.

“Is Rothchild then?”

She nodded. “And in his usual good humor.”

Lieutenant Rothchild was Jesse’s immediate superior. He was also a pompous stuffed shirt who had been given the job only because Jesse refused it. Battle lines had been drawn long ago. Jesse did his best to antagonize Rothchild, and Rothchild denigrated Jesse with relish at each and every opportunity.

As soon as Jesse entered the older man’s office, the lieutenant favored him with a long, suspicious look down his aristocratic nose. “It took you long enough to report in.”

“Since when am I on a time schedule?” Jesse drawled, flopping into a chair opposite Rothchild’s desk. He crossed his legs negligently at the ankles, draped his arms over the chair and yawned hugely.

It seemed to gall Rothchild that Jesse was a first sergeant. It absolutely sent him into fits that Jesse didn’t care if anyone addressed him as Sergeant Cawthorne. More often than not Jesse wouldn’t respond when called by his title; Detective Cawthorne was about all he could handle.

Rothchild’s lips tightened. “So is Daley right? Do we need someone working at Hollis’s?”

This was tricky territory. Jesse couldn’t seem too eager for the job, or Rothchild would sense something was up. On the other hand, he didn’t want anyone else working on this case. Not with Jordan’s neck on the line. “I personally think Daley can handle it by himself. I don’t really want to waste any of
my
men.”

Rothchild’s nostrils flared. The stressed “my” had not escaped him. “Do what you think is best.”

“I’ll keep in contact with Daley myself. See if he needs any help.”

“Daley wouldn’t call the department without a good reason. I worked with the man. He’s one of our best.”

Jesse lifted his brows. Daley had been a strong, staid, unimaginative beat cop. “One of our best,” was really pushing it. “I think he’s being kind of hysterical over this,” Jesse said.

“Oh, you do, do you? Well, what if it turns into a big case? Stranger things have happened.”

“Then if I crack it, I guess it’ll be another feather in my cap.” Jesse climbed to his feet, stretching, grinning widely. “Thanks… sir.”

It was the icing on the cake. Rothchild turned white, then the skin above his starched shirt and tie grew a dark red. “Don’t screw this up, Cawthorne,” he said through clenched, smiling teeth. “And you’d better clean up your act. Hollis’s isn’t the streets, you know. Someone there might actually report you as a criminal.”

“I’ll remember to change my shirt.” Jesse saluted, then walked back to his desk. His inner smile lasted about three steps. He’d won the battle, but now came the hard part. He didn’t want any evidence of inventory embezzlement pointing to Jordan. Or April, he thought, his chest tightening.

And if it does?
a little voice inside his head nagged.

First Sergeant Jesse Cawthorne wasn’t completely certain what he would do.

Chapter Eight

A
n imperative honk sounded outside. “There’s the bus!” April called loudly from the bottom of the stairs. “Eden, are you ready?”

“Yeah!” Eden sang out. Seconds later she tore down the steps, blond hair flying out behind her. Dressed in a long-distressed T-shirt, black stretch pants and a jean jacket, she paused long enough to grab her book bag and examine her reflection in the hallway mirror, then sailed through the front door at full speed.

April decided her taste in clothes was definitely inherited from her father.

She watched out the window until Eden had safely boarded the bus. Luckily the bus driver knew Eden’s habit of being tardy; he never left without honking at least once.

Checking the kitchen clock, April tossed the remains of her coffee into the sink, then hurried upstairs to change for work. She took a hot shower, tossed on a long skirt, boots, sleeveless top and trench coat, brushed her hair until it curled silkily beneath her chin, added eye makeup, blush and lip gloss, then left the bathroom without a second look.

Her stomach churned all the way to work. She hadn’t been back to her office since her harrowing meeting with Jesse three days ago. Not that she expected him to be there. But Jordan would be, and knowing his terrier-like tendencies, April knew she was in for a grilling about Jesse.

Her worst fears were confirmed when she arrived to find Jordan leaning back precariously in her client chair, his ankles crossed on her desktop.

“You could at least have the decency to sit up straight when I walk in,” April told him, lifting a brow imperiously.

Jordan slammed his feet to the ground and sat up as if a rod were at his back. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. That’s why I’m here. We have some special order inventory for Private Collections. It’s expensive stuff and needs your signature.”

April glanced down at the invoices lying on her desk and saw mind-numbing sums for furs, solid gold accessories and designer gowns. “I wish I could talk my father into switching to faux-fur, but he’s so damn old-school about it.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll look these over and hand them back to you later,” April said, shoving the papers aside.

When Jordan made no move to leave, April inwardly sighed and raised her eyes to his. He spread his palms. “My brother chased you out of here like a freight train the other night. What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, come on. Satisfy my curiosity. What did Jesse want?”

“I really don’t know.” She pulled the invoice closer.

“Did he follow you to Jake’s?”

“Yes, Benedict Arnold, he did.” April paused, then added, “He hasn’t changed one bit.”

“I hope you’re wrong,” Jordan said with an uncharacteristic slip into soberness.

A shiver slid down April spine. She didn’t want to think that, either. Jordan’s gaze was so deep and disturbing that April grew annoyed. He was just too much like his brother for comfort. “Was there something else?” she asked.

“You’re not going to tell me about him, are you?”

“No. To be honest, Jordan, I don’t think I like him very much.”

“All right. We’ll leave it.” His palms on the arms of the chair, he pushed himself to his feet. At the door he paused, and she had the feeling he was working himself up to say something. Finally he admitted, “I couldn’t have made it without Jesse, and I guess I’d hoped you felt differently.”

April was surprised. “Why? What have I got to do with it?”

“He obviously feels something for you.” April snorted in disbelief, and he shook his head emphatically. “He came here to see me, supposedly, but he chased after you. I’ve never seen him do something like that. Ever.”

“Yeah, well, you haven’t even been in much contact with him for years.”

“So what? It’s clear he hasn’t changed much. Just don’t hate him too much, okay? For me?”

“Get out of here.” April waved him away. “I don’t hate Jesse.”

Jordan headed for the door. “By the way, this must be old home week. Guess who I’m having lunch with.”

“Bettina?”

“Tasha Bennington.”

April thought she heard him wrong. Her blue-green eyes stared into his gold ones. “Don’t you mean Tasha
Broderick?”

“Since she and Lance divorced, she’s taken her maiden name back. She’s living in Portland now. Crazy world, huh?”

She remembered Tasha clearly from the night of the Pink Carnation Ball. “Be careful, Jordan,” April said suddenly.

He grinned as he turned the knob. “I’ve had Tasha’s number a long, long time.”

The door closed softly behind him and April stared blankly at the panels. For so many years Rock Springs had been just a memory gilded by time and distance. The present had been safe and secure. Now it felt as if she were standing dangerously close to the fire of those youthful transgressions. Jordan, Tasha Bennington, and Jesse. She dragged air into her lungs, feeling suffocated.

Tasha and Lance’s marriage had lasted three years. April had received all the news in letters and phone calls from her mother. The day her mother called to tell her Lance had filed for divorce, April received her first and only call from Lance.

It was a polite conversation, trivial, mundane. When it was over, April realized her ill-fated affair with Jesse had saved her from a bigger mistake with Lance. Had
she
married Lance, April doubted she would have lasted even three years.

Later that day curiosity won out over maturity, and when April saw Jordan pass her office on his way to lunch, she hurried after him, catching the elevator car down with him.

“I want to see what she looks like,” April admitted to Jordan’s unspoken inquiry, wrinkling her nose.

Jordan laughed. “I hate to disappoint you – she’s beautiful.”

“You’ve seen her recently?”

“The cruel truth is we’ve been dating a while.”

“Oh, no, Jordan.”

He slipped an arm over her shoulders. “You’ve got to get over the past, April. I mean it.”

The elevator doors opened onto the main floor. Walking beside Jordan, April realized with a twist of her heart how right he was – and how impossible it was to forget.

Tasha Bennington was examining the Hermés silk scarf that was exotically twisted around the neck of a gilt-painted mannequin. Tasha wore a skirt and blouse in a muted shade of blue. Her hair was fashionably cut; shoulder length and streaked with blond. A faint iridescence shimmered from her stockings, and her feet were encased in Italian leather pumps, which matched her outfit perfectly. April recognized the designer and realized they were handcrafted.

“April!” Tasha exclaimed, her eyes widening. Her gaze skated wonderingly from the top of April’s head to the scuffs of her boots.

To April’s disbelief Tasha actually came toward her, arms outstretched, and hugged April like a long-lost friend. April stiffened automatically, then tried to hide her reaction.

“It’s so good to see you,” Tasha exclaimed, stepping back. “You look wonderful. Isn’t this unbelievable! All of us together again!”

“Unbelievable,” April agreed. She felt Jordan slide her a look out of the corner of one eye, warning her to be nice.

“What do you think of our Jordan, here?” Tasha’s eyes danced as she turned her gaze on him.

April studied Jordan so thoroughly that he glared back at her. She hid a smile. “Our Jordan has come a long way since passing out drunk at Three Bears the night of the Pink Carnation Ball.”

“Thank you very much,” he muttered, catching Tasha’s arm and guiding her toward the front door.

April grinned. Tasha wasn’t so bad, she supposed. Although there didn’t appear to have been a lot of mental growth. She still looked and acted like a prom queen.

April had barely turned around when she saw Jesse standing near the escalators, talking to Chris Daley. They appeared to be having quite a discussion.

The sight of him hit her viscerally, as it always did. It amazed her that today he didn’t look quite so threatening. He’d traded in the jeans for dark casual slacks, and he actually wore an open-throated shirt of some kind. He hadn’t given up his leather jacket, however, and his hair brushed his collar in a burnished waves.

As if feeling her eyes on him, he glanced her way. He’d shaved, she realized, but already a dark stubble shadowed his chin. The curve of his jaw fascinated April. She saw a muscle tense and relax.

Had he come to see her?

Nerves stretched, April strode toward him. Chris’s face was set in a stern, suspicious glower, prompting her to ask, “Something wrong?”