Priceless : A Novel Part 13

Walking through the police station, she saw Jackson, still tiredly answering questions.

"Why is he still here?" She tugged on Scarsford's sleeve. "He was helping me. Why are they keeping him?"

Scarsford didn't even look around. "Who knows? Who cares?"

Charlotte stopped. "I do."

"Why?" Scarsford sighed but went over to talk to the cop with Jackson. He came back quickly, walking past her and gesturing for her to keep up. "He's fine. He's waiting to sign his statement, and then he's free to go. You can catch up with him tomorrow."

"Not tonight?" Charlotte had long legs and walked fast as a general rule, but she was having a hard time keeping up with Scarsford, who appeared to be on a schedule.

"No. Tonight you're with me."

She slowed, but he didn't miss a step.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

Scarsford's hotel room was as nondescript as the interrogation room had been, despite the carpet being a different shade of green. Two large beds faced the obligatory plasma TV, and the desk was covered with paperwork and two laptop computers. Scarsford cleared the paperwork and was still hooking up the laptops when a cop knocked on the door to deliver Charlotte's luggage.

"Do you want to do the honors?" Scarsford had put the suitcase on the bed and was about to flip it open when he apparently remembered his manners.

Charlotte shrugged. "Aren't you supposed to have a warrant or something?"

"Do I need one? I thought you wanted to show me."

"I don't want to show you anything. But I don't see that I have much choice."

"Of course you do. You don't have to give me anything you don't want to give me, Charlotte."

She looked at him for a long moment. What she really wanted to give him, right at that moment, was a swift kick in the nuts, but that probably wouldn't be wise. She thought he liked her. Thought he trusted her. She flipped the locks on the case and threw back the lid.

When she hooked up the zip drive, nothing happened right away. Clicking on a doc.u.ment called "Index," she and Scarsford both held their breath. They weren't sure what they wanted to see, but neither of them expected what popped open.

"Who's that?" said Scarsford after a moment.

Charlotte was silent. She swallowed as music filled the room. "It's my mother. And me."

The zip drive contained home movies. Judging by the index, there were hours of them. Jackie pregnant, laughing, in Central Park. Jackie holding a baby in her arms, sleepy in bed, lit by a small bedside lamp, as beautiful as it's possible for a woman to be.

And there was sound.

First her father's voice. "Who do we have here, Jack?"

Her mother laughed. "This is Charlotte Louise Williams, age four days." She looked down at the baby, who gurgled back. "She has your nose, sweetheart."

A laugh, off-camera. "We can fix that later. As long as she has your sweet disposition, we'll be fine."

"She seems pretty mellow, not that I have anything to compare her to, just yet."

"Is she getting sleepy?"

Jackie looked down, the corners of her mouth deepening in a smile. "She is, the little strudel."

"Sing to her, darling."

Jackie looked up at Charlotte's dad, behind the camera, and started singing a lullaby. It was as much to him as to the child, and the melody and lyrics were very personal.

"My love, my sweet, my dove ..." Charlotte gasped. Her mother's voice was gorgeous. Deep, warm, strong, just like hers. "You fly in my heart, a bird from above ..."

And suddenly, Charlotte remembered the song, the lyrics and melody flying back into her mind with the certainty of years. "Wing in wing, hand in hand ... Sleep as you fly, surrounded by love ..."

Jackie smiled down at baby Charlotte, humming the tune, as the grown-up Charlotte sobbed, the sudden memory of her mother's voice too much for her to bear. How could her father never have told her where her voice came from? Why did he never play these movies for her before? But as she watched the movie, tears streaming down her face, she realized why. Being reminded of what you lost hurts. She knew this because it hurt her now.

Turning to Scarsford, she tried to speak through her tears. "Satisfied now? Not secret codes, just old movies."

She turned back to the screen, watching footage of her mother running with her as a toddler, crossing the great lawn in Central Park. He put his hand on her shoulder, wanting to comfort her, and suddenly she turned to him, stumbling up from her chair, needing to be held.

For a while, they just stood there, holding each other, as Charlotte's crying slowly subsided. Then his arms tightened around her, and when she turned her face up to his, he bent to kiss her gently.

"I'm sorry ..." he started to say, but she pulled his head down again and kissed him herself, less gently. Her tongue stole into his mouth, tracing the edge of his lower lip, and he stepped back and sat on the bed, pulling her onto his lap. For a moment, they kissed pa.s.sionately, then he pulled back and lifted her off, setting her back on her feet effortlessly.

"Charlotte, I think you can see that I find you incredibly attractive. I have from the first moment I saw you. But we can't do this."

She frowned, stepping forward to straddle him again. She needed to take control, needed to be in charge for just this moment. She reached up behind herself and loosened her hair, unwinding her long braid. The smell of her hair filled the room, and the memory of the court building in New York overwhelmed him. She could see the effect she had on him, how much the sight and smell of her turned him on. But he stood up and walked to the window.

"There are lots of reasons it would be a terrible idea for us to sleep together. I'm investigating your father's crime, for one. I could lose my job or my ability to stay focused." He turned and looked at her, her hair tousled, her face flushed. He couldn't believe he was able to keep his hands to himself.

Charlotte was frustrated and angry. "Are you suggesting I want to sleep with you because I'm trying to distract you from your investigation? Isn't it possible I just want you?" She slowly unb.u.t.toned her shirt, dropping it to the ground, the slight curves of her body glimmering in the light from the computer screen, her delicate underwear concealing and revealing. "Look at me, Jim. Don't you want me? Why can't we forget all of this stuff just for one night?"

Scarsford was only human. Two steps took him to her, and he pulled her into his arms, bending her slender waist as he kissed her deeply. His hands traced her curves, lightly, briefly, then he stepped away once more.

"Charlotte, believe me, you're gorgeous, and there's nothing I'd like to do better than take you to bed. But not like this."

Tears of loneliness filled her eyes. "You know what?"

He took her chin, and tipped her face up. "What, Charlotte?"

"You suck."

Then she walked into the bathroom and slammed the door.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.

Sunday morning in New Orleans, particularly in the older parts of the city, had a weird magic all its own. On the one hand, you have your hungover frat boys, slumped at cafe tables, still a little drunk and more than a little nauseated, and on the other, you have the freshly in love, just met the night before, couples sharing breakfast for the first time. You like toast? I like toast! You like toast? I like toast! Table A, spoonheads with their hats on the right way for once, the brims shading their aching eyes, silently contemplating death. Table B, stubble-burned chins and gleaming eyes, long silences and intertwined fingers, sudden calling for the check. Table A, spoonheads with their hats on the right way for once, the brims shading their aching eyes, silently contemplating death. Table B, stubble-burned chins and gleaming eyes, long silences and intertwined fingers, sudden calling for the check.

Charlotte regarded all this over the rim of her cafe au lait, trying to ignore the fact that Scarsford was digging into deep-fried French toast at her side. Finally, she couldn't bear it.

"That stuff will kill you, you know."

He looked up. "French toast? I doubt it. It might make me fat, but it won't kill me."

"Sugar is a silent killer."

"Really?" He made yum-yum noises, smacking his lips. "It's not all that silent, is it? Sounds delicious to me." He was actually exhausted, having spent the night in the hotel lobby, dozing in an uncomfortable chair, watching the doors, while Charlotte slept alone in his room upstairs. When she'd come out of the bathroom, he'd been gone. He needed some sugar and caffeine to get going.

He signaled the waitress for more coffee, and as she took his cup, she caught Charlotte's eye and made the universal face for "hot guy, nice work." Charlotte sighed inwardly.

"What's the plan?" she asked Scarsford, who was wiping his mouth and sitting back, looking a lot better than he had earlier.

"There isn't a plan." He shrugged. "I can't get you into protective custody, because the guy's only made phone calls, and you have a job to go to, anyway, remember?"

"If they still want me." Charlotte was worried that David Karraby would rather avoid waitresses with stalkers, and who would blame him? "I should go find Jackson and see how he's doing. I feel bad he ended up at the police station for so long."

Scarsford paid the check and got up. "I'm going to go shower and get it together, OK? Why don't you go sort things out with Jackson and meet me later?"

"Why?"

There was a pause.

"Uh, to talk. I want to teach you a little about stalkers, about self-defense, about being watchful. This guy probably won't ever do anything beyond picking up the phone, but you never know." He smiled at her. "It would be a pity if you got all bruised up again, now that your nose is back to its normal size."

THE HOUSE WAS quiet when she walked in, but she could tell Jackson was home. She went to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee, carefully keeping the noise to a minimum. Maybe it was because she was being so careful that she didn't hear him get up, and when she turned and saw him leaning on the doorframe, she nearly shrieked. She definitely jumped. Unexpectedly, he laughed, and after a second, so did she. quiet when she walked in, but she could tell Jackson was home. She went to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee, carefully keeping the noise to a minimum. Maybe it was because she was being so careful that she didn't hear him get up, and when she turned and saw him leaning on the doorframe, she nearly shrieked. She definitely jumped. Unexpectedly, he laughed, and after a second, so did she.

He was just wearing jeans, which hung pretty low, and it seemed likely that was all he was wearing. He was very tall but not skinny, just slender and well muscled. He wasn't like the boys back home-his muscles looked earned rather than crafted, and his smooth brown skin gleamed with health rather than product. She thought he was gorgeous, and by the time he'd finished laughing, she had turned away to get the coffee, trying to hide her blush.

"Well, Charlotte Williams, you don't go quietly, do you?"

She handed him his coffee, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you've been here three days and already got a job, made a friend, and spent the night at the police station." He stirred in sugar and cream, licking the spoon. "Most visitors take at least four days to do all that."

"I'm really sorry about the police station. I didn't expect them to keep you there."

He shrugged. "Most of those guys are friends of mine, anyway, so it was cool. It's not like I was a suspect or anything." He raised his eyebrows at her. "Although your boyfriend gave me one or two suspicious looks."

"Scarsford?"

"I don't know his name, sugar, all I know is he wasn't very friendly."

She looked down at her hands. "He's an SEC agent investigating my dad. I think he thinks I know something."

Jackson drank his coffee thoughtfully. "And do you?"

She met his eyes squarely. "Not a thing. I led a completely oblivious life, I'm afraid."

"Why afraid?"

"Because the farther I get from it, the more it looks shallow and pointless. My dad went off to work. I never really cared what he did. All I cared about was my charge account at Barneys, my parties, my clothes, my whatever ..." She shook herself. "Self-centered. Self-obsessed. Embarra.s.sing."

Jackson wasn't sure what to say. "But you came here, right? You had the b.a.l.l.s to leave town."

"Is that b.a.l.l.s? Isn't it just running away?"

He shrugged. "It depends, I guess, on what you intend to do now that you're here."

"My plan was to work, to start over. Although ... I guess I was also running away. I was, and am, so angry with my dad and so confused about it all. I thought he loved me."

"And what makes you think he doesn't?"

She raised her eyebrows at him. "If he loved me, wouldn't he have avoided going to jail?"

Jackson laughed at her. "He did avoid going to jail, Charlotte. According to the reports, at least, he avoided it for more than a decade. If you were being logical, you'd be angry with the FBI and the SEC, not your dad."

"I am angry with them. But what he did was wrong, and they're just doing their job."

"Does that include sleeping with you? Is that part of the job?" His face was hard to read. "Nice work if you can get it."

"I didn't sleep with him." Not from a lack of trying on her part, but she pushed that thought to the back of her mind. Jackson just stood up to get more coffee, offering to get her a cup, too. She shook her head. She could tell he didn't believe her. Did it matter?

"When is your mom back?"

"Tonight. Why?"

"Because I found some video of my mom with me when I was a baby, and I thought she'd like to see it. I want to show it to her."

He looked interested. "Found it?"

"Well, my dad gave it to me, sort of. I think he'd been saving it for a special occasion, not sure why. But anyway, he told me where it was, and I watched it last night. I think she'd like it because my mom sings ... she sounds like me. Or rather, I sound like her. You know, it was your mom who encouraged me to pursue music in the first place. She heard me singing to my dolls or whatever and told me I was good, that people would like to listen to me." Her eyes got shiny. "I know you don't like me, Jackson, but whatever you think, I think your mother is a wonderful person. I would never do anything to hurt her, and I'm sorry I didn't stay in touch the way I should have."

It was surprising, Jackson realized, how easily old prejudices could slip away. Looking at this young woman across the table he saw how hard she was trying to do the right thing. She continued talking about his mom.

"You know, she and Greta were my moms, and they taught me everything that I'm needing to know right now. To be honest. To work hard. To get up and try again when you fall." Charlotte's tone was serious. "Once she left, I kind of forgot it. My dad might have loved me, maybe you're right, but he didn't teach me any of the important stuff. He didn't even tell me about my mom, never even mentioned her until just a few days ago." She sighed, feeling suddenly exhausted. "I owe your mom a lot." She looked at him. "And you. You had to do without her, right? That's why you hate me."

He nodded. "Yeah. But I don't hate you. Not anymore. I did when I was younger, because I didn't understand why she wasn't there when I needed her."