Kiss Me Awake (20 page)

S
pencer was still reeling from the whirlwind that ripped through his office, nursing a fresh gash to an old wound. Jaida would never know the carnage she left in the wake of her hit-and-run, but he was feeling it all over.

She came here seeking comfort, or at the very least, a distraction from whatever it was that had her spooked. He’d never seen her so shaken. She was teetering on some unseen precipice, and she was afraid…afraid enough to come running to him.

He rounded the corner of his desk and softly closed the door she left open when she fled. He stood there a long moment, his palm pressed to the back of the door, remembering the apology she offered before taking flight. It was sincere. And that alone was a bitter pill to swallow since she was lamenting the fact that she didn’t love him.

She doesn’t love me.
His hand fell to his side. The admission was long overdue. She may not love him, but true to form, she had no reservations about tempting him with the physical. They were still married, and he had every right. But once she mastered control of her fear she would bid him farewell and be on her merry way leaving him to pick up the pieces all over again. No thank you.

Spencer lowered himself to the couch, easing the burden of weight from his limp knees. She had noticed the orange-scented oil warming in the outlets enough to comment on it. Citrus, she’d called it. But the only fragrance stirring in his nostrils was the scent of her perfume. It was on his clothes and his hands, and he didn’t welcome the reminder. He got up, went to the bathroom, and washed it from his skin, then cupped his hands and splashed his face. What was he going to do about her?

Pray for her.

Spencer’s gaze darted to the ceiling and he laughed to himself. What good would that do? He’d made a career out of praying for her, and nothing had changed.

Pray for her.

He sighed, dried his face, and sat back down at the reprimand. Hunched on the edge of the couch, he dropped his head to his hands.
Help my unbelief.
What good was praying if he didn’t believe?

He prayed for his wife and for himself, his head lifting at Rebecca Childers’ voice amplified through the intercom.

“Landon has the car waiting at the front door.”

Spencer rose, slipped his arms into his jacket, and picked up his briefcase. “Tell him I’ll be right down.”

                                      *

Jaida hurried down the hall avoiding eye contact with anyone in her line of sight, but she wasn’t fast enough to escape her co-worker’s notice. Aimee called her name from behind. She pretended not to hear the receptionist and kept moving toward her office where she could close herself inside.

Why had she thrown herself at Spencer like that? Her face flamed, and she ducked her head down, walking faster. She ran to him because he made her feel safe. It made sense at the time. But now that her head had cleared…now that he had refused her…

Aimee caught up to her and stepped in her path. “Didn’t you hear me?” She was walking backward, the sound of her heels clicking hard against the tile. “You don’t look so good. Are you okay?”

Jaida kept her eyes on the floor, blinking away any trace of moisture. “Everything is fine.”

Aimee sounded skeptical. “Okay, whatever you say.” She handed Jaida an envelope, her name inscribed in calligraphy across the front.

“It’s an invitation to my bridal shower.”

Bridal shower?
Jaida stopped at the news and looked up at her. “I didn’t know you were getting married. Eric?”

Shy, little Aimee blushed, her cheeks matching her strawberry blonde hair. “It was quick. The decision to marry, I mean, and you haven’t been around much.”

No, she hadn’t. She’d been so wrapped up in her life that she hadn’t seen anything else going on around her. “I’m really sorry, Aimee.”

“Jaida, come in here,” Auggie yelled from his office. She rolled her eyes. She just wanted a few minutes to herself. Was that too much to ask? 

His light was off, and he was sitting in the dark, his olive complexion pale from the glow of the computer screen. Without looking away from the monitor he instructed her to close the door.

She did as he asked then sat down beside him, leaning in to get a better view of the open file. Was he going to fire her? She had expected it sooner.

She scanned the screen for her name, the names of their superiors, and the reason for her termination, but it wasn’t her name that popped up on the page. It was Lance Palermo’s.

Auggie clicked the mouse cupped under his palm. “I have some information that you’re going to want to see.”

She watched the list of names and addresses rolling down the screen. What was this about?

She gave him a sidelong look. “I’m not being released?”

He leaned back and looked up at her, the chair creaking from his weight. “You thought I called you in here to fire you?”

“You have good reason to.” She violated policy and lost the evidence because of it. “I would have fired me.”

“That’s because you’re not as charitable as I am.”

She shoved his shoulder. “Not charitable. Desperate. Admit it. You need me.”

He squinted at her. “Have you been crying?”

She shook her head and sniffed. “Allergies.”

He opened his top desk drawer and handed her a box of allergy medicine. She shook her head, refusing it. “I’m good.”

“You sure?”

She nodded. “Now, why am I here?”

“About that. I told you I was doing everything I could to get us out of this mess.” He jutted his chin at the screen. “And this is part of what it’s going to take. I don’t have enough proof to try Lance Palermo in court.” He shot her a calculating glance. “But this isn’t court, is it?”

He rolled the mouse on the pad, clicked ‘print’ then rifled through the papers in front of him. Pulling one from the middle, he handed it to her. It was a duplicate of a digital photograph.

“That’s our good friend, Lance doing a little business with William Gale,” he said. She took the next two pages he waved in her face. With each line she read, her stomach sank a little lower.

Lance works for my father?
She wanted to laugh at the irony and cry over the betrayal. Did he know she was his flesh and blood? His daughter?

It explained a lot. This was how Gale managed to stay one step ahead of her these past few weeks. Lance was tipping him off. 

There were two pages worth of reported money transfers between Gale and Lance. She lifted her face and saw Auggie watching her. “The dates go back about thirteen weeks.” Just about the time Gale kicked off his campaign.

“Must be hurting for funds.”

“Maybe.” Or was Lance here for more than the money? If he’d been hired to silence her he’d had plenty of opportunities.

She handed Auggie the papers and squeezed her temples with her thumb and forefinger, willing away the migraine that was forming. Was it time to quit? Time to give up the search for her mother and let someone else pursue Gale? He still wanted his money back. And maybe even her life. Giving up everything she wanted wasn’t going to stop him.

“So, Lance was never a cop or special forces? How did we miss that?” She’d been completely fooled by some con artist for hire.

“No, no, no. I didn’t say that. He is what he says and more, along with the credentials to back it up. But he’s as dirty as they come.”  

She reached for his bottle of Tylenol, uncapped it, and popped two in her mouth. Auggie handed her his can of tea, and she washed them down.

She took another drink and shook her head. “I just can’t believe it. Where did you get all this information?” For as good as Lance was supposed to be he wasn’t covering his tracks very well.

“Computer forensics. Lance cleared out everything, but I hooked up with a pro—a former CIA agent, and he’s the best
there is at breaking encryption codes, hacking, you name it. This guy can resurrect the dead, including post-mortem emails.”

He spun the computer so she had a better angle on the screen. He pointed at the fifth paragraph from the top. “Take a look. This has Lance linked with some real bad boys. Criminals that make Gale look like Mr. Rogers.”

“You got all of this out of the computer in his office?” Lance couldn’t be that sloppy.

“His home computer.” He grinned. “And don’t ask me how, because I would have to kill you.”

She rested against the edge of the desk. “Have you confronted him?”

“No, and I’m not going to.” He leaned back in his chair and spun it until they were face to face. “I don’t want you saying anything either. Not yet.”

“What about Mr. Baseel?” Had he shared this information with him?

Auggie shook his head. “I don’t want Baseel to know anything either.”

“What do you plan to do then? Nothing?” She thrust her arm up in the air and straightened, turning her frustration on him full force. “Why did you go digging around in his business if you were just going to roll over?”

“Calm down. You’re getting all bent out of shape for nothing. I’m not rolling over. I’ve got someone watching him. Baseel would fire him if he found out. And if you were thinking clearly you’d recognize the advantage of keeping him on.”

“Sorry, but I don’t see how this is a good thing.”

He began to spell it out for her. “Palermo has a direct line to Gale. We can tap into his communications with him. If that doesn’t get us what we need, it looks like he may or may not have a felony or two under his belt, and if we have to use a little police
department muscle to convince him, we just might get him to cooperate.”
              He had it all neatly planned out, but he was the one who wasn’t thinking clearly. “Those
felonies
as you call them are so vague no cop would touch it. And Lance would know that.”

“They would if they want my Lakers’ season tickets.”

She snorted. “Who’s dirty now?”

“Not dirty. Smart.”

He could spin it any way he wanted to, but even she knew it was wrong. Besides, the way he went about getting the evidence against Lance was illegal. It couldn’t be used. But then it wasn’t Auggie’s intention to have it sent to the prosecutor; he only planned to threaten him with it.

“And in the meantime?” she asked.

“Just go about your business like nothing has changed.”

Jaida bobbed her head in a slow nod. She’d never done well at concealing her emotions. Not when it was personal. How could she come face to face with Lance and not let on that she knew?

She moved to leave then stopped and turned at the door. “I need the rest of the reports you have on the Hawn case.”

He closed out the window, logged off, and shut the computer down. “I’ll get them to you tomorrow. Don’t forget this.” He held out the invitation she’d left on his desk.

Safely closed inside her office, Jaida leaned back against the door. All the way down the hall she felt the ache she’d stifled making a slow ascent. The information Auggie unearthed on Lance stung her ego, but that would recover. It was Spencer’s rejection that did her in. He held the power in his hands to crush her, and he didn’t even know it. She blinked at the tears welling in her eyes.
I will not cry. 

She looked down at the envelope clutched in her fingers. Aimee was actually getting married. Jaida shook her head at the
enormity of it all then tore through the seal and slid the postcard from the casing. It was a simple, but pretty card
.
A heart wreath of white daisies was centered on a pale yellow background. She held it to her nose. It was scented, and it smelled like a field of summer flowers. She’d never seen anything like it before.

The invitation instructed her to write down a piece of advice for the bride to be, the collective wisdom of the masses intended to insure a successful union. She was the last person who should be offering marital advice.  

Fear and selfishness weren’t quality traits in a spouse, and she possessed them both in excess. She supposed she could share what not to do in marriage. Don’t be afraid of love, don’t live your life with your guard up, and don’t make the promise before God and the groom if you’re going to break it. And don’t have too much pride to admit when you’re wrong. 

“Sometimes we don’t even know what it is that we want. Sometimes our strongest desires deceive even ourselves.” 

Lance the prophet. Of all people, he understood something about her that she didn’t, and until ten seconds ago only God knew what it was that she really wanted.

Ask of Me.

She felt rather than heard the tender overture. Was it God? She closed her eyes, listening with her heart, hoping to hear the invitation just once more. Just to be sure. But with what she’d done, how could she ask Him for anything?

Ask of Me.

Jaida looked up at the skylight above her. Was it that simple? She wet her lips and swallowed. “I want to love my husband. If you’re listening, God, please help me to love my husband.”