You Don't Know Jack (Page 29)

“No,” he said stubbornly, looking frustrated and way too cute for someone who was a jerk.

“I’ll scream.”

“No, you won’t.” He actually looked amused by the idea.

And damn it, he was right. She wouldn’t scream. She didn’t like to make a fuss or draw attention to herself. “If you have a single shred of decency, you’ll just leave me alone.” She tried to pull back again.

“Jamie.” He wasn’t exactly pulling on her, but he wasn’t letting go of her arm either, so she kind of jerked to a halt when she tried to leave.

“I’ll make a donation to Beechwood. How does five thousand dollars sound? Could you do something with that?”

That made her stop all on her own. She whirled around to face him, horrified. Outraged. “Excuse me? Are you trying to buy my forgiveness?”

“Uh…no.”

He looked slapped, bewildered, but she wasn’t about to let him off the hook. That was exactly what he was doing whether he realized it or not. And it was why rich people boiled her blood. They thought they could have whatever they wanted if they just flashed enough cash around.

“Of course you were. But I can’t be bribed, and I don’t fall in love with liars.”

Oh, God, why had she used the L word? Confused and flustered, hot and indignant, she tried to stumble back a step.

“It was meant to be a gesture of apology, yes, but to show you that I understand your job means the world to you.”

She was about to mention that he was the one threatening to call the FBI on Beechwood, but movement to her right drew her attention away from him.

“Is everything okay?” a man asked cautiously. “Is this guy bothering you?”

Giving one last jerk on her arm, she broke free, her soft drink sloshing up and out of the top of the can, splashing Jack’s shoes. Served him right. She’d be damned if she’d worry about ruining his four-hundred-dollar shoes.

“He’s not bothering me, he’s leaving.” She gave a brittle smile to the man, who looked a little down on his luck. His shirt was faded to a soft gray, and his jeans were threadbare. There were myriad tattoos decorating his arms, and he looked pale for July, his brown hair stark against his skin. But he had a kind look of concern in his dark eyes, attractive bone structure, and a firm, proud jaw. “But thank you.”

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Jack asked, frowning at the man.

“Can’t imagine that would be possible.” The man gave a wry grin. “Don’t look like we run in the same circles.”

But Jamie felt it, too, an odd tug of familiarity. It wasn’t his face, but his voice. It tripped around the edges of her brain, teasing her, reminding her of something, someone, but she couldn’t quite grasp what it was. The sensation was already sliding away, making her doubt it had even existed.

“I know I’ve seen you before,” Jack repeated.

Good to see he wasn’t just stubborn with her.

The man just shrugged and turned to her, his hands in his pockets. “Sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, thank you. Jack’s stubborn, and a liar, but he’s also decent. Most of the time. He’ll leave if I really want him to.” She directed those last words to Jack, mentally pleading with him to let it go, to leave her to repair her broken trust, her broken heart, damn it.

“Shit,” Jack swore, looking out across the street. “Alright, Jamie. I’ll leave. But I’m not giving up on us. I’ll call you.”

She really wished he wouldn’t, but since he was backing up slowly, she wasn’t going to argue.

“You’re going back into work?” he asked, nodding toward the building.

She realized he probably wouldn’t leave until he saw her safely in, away from the guy who was still hovering by her side. She glanced at him now as she took a step toward Beechwood’s front door, her smelly lunch still bundled in her hand.

“Thanks again,” she told the stranger.

He nodded. “Take care of yourself, Jamie Lynn.” And he turned swiftly on one foot and started down the street, his footsteps pounding on the concrete sidewalk.

Jamie frowned, that teasing memory dancing in front of her again. Puzzled, she backed up until she was next to the big sand-filled ashtray/garbage can that stood in front of the building. Stuffing her trash through the hole, she watched Jack wave, turn, and head toward his car, clearly the fancy blue one wedged in between a Camaro and a rusted-out Chevy Cavalier.

The man was headed in the opposite direction of Jack, walking quickly, head down, the back of his dingy T-shirt darkened with sweat between the shoulder blades. He started jogging when the bus pulled up to the corner.

Jamie Lynn.

Suddenly it was there, and she couldn’t understand why she hadn’t seen it, felt it, right away. “Wait!” she shrieked, lurching forward.

Jack stopped, turned around, but Jamie barely spared him a glance. Running for all she was worth, wishing she weren’t so fond of ice cream, both heart and lungs full to bursting, she headed south down the street, headed for the bus stop.

“Daddy!” she screamed, tears blurring her eyes as he disappeared into the bowels of the bus, and it moved forward with a choke of exhaust before the doors were even finished closing.

She followed for ten feet, screaming for the bus driver to stop, before stumbling to a halt in shock, a stitch in her side. For the first time in twenty years she had seen her father, and just like that last time, he had just walked away without a word.

It was that voice. She could hear it in her mind, locked deep in her memory. Jamie Lynn, my girl. Jamie Lynn, my angel from heaven. Jamie Lynn can ride her horse without the leash, Myra, don’t fuss so. She’s a big girl now, ain’t ya, honey bun?

He’d never talked as much as her mother, who was prone to chatter like Jamie did now as a woman, but when Jim Peters had spoken, it was steady, calm, loving. The big hands that held her safe and strong against barking dogs, thunder and lightning, and the big boom of fireworks, and the voice that whispered, ’night, firefly, when she was warm and sleepy in bed.

But it wasn’t his hand that touched her now, not his voice. But Jack’s. Jonathon Davidson’s. He slipped an arm around her shoulder, turned her to him.

“Hey.” His voice was gentle, concern in his eyes. “What’s the matter? What’s going on?”

She wanted to repel him, this other man who had lied to her, betrayed her trust, but she needed Jack’s arm more than her pride. Tears leaked out of each eye, fat and unchecked, as pitiful as she felt.