The Charity (61 page)

The tight, preoccupied lines that normally crossed his face softened. She sensed the change in him and felt him trace the curve of her chin. She had seen that expression on him only once before.

For a few seconds, she let herself feel the movement of his hand, understanding his meaning. She felt his arm wrap around her waist and pull her closer. The motion was not totally gentle and held an element of possessiveness in it that she did not like. He brought his face down to hers and kissed her.

Jessica’s initial response was automatic and she let herself be pulled closer, accepting his embrace and his kisses. She closed her eyes, allowing—almost willing—herself to warm to his presence. She remembered the feeling of his closeness from the night at his cottage. She wanted the feeling of connection—needed the closeness. Again, it was Michael she saw and wanted. Silently cursing herself, she lowered her head and pushed away.

“Owen. Please,” her voice trailed. “Don’t.”

He did not want to let her go and pulled her closer still.

“Owen. I mean it. Don’t.”

He loosened his grip and leaned back against the window frame.

Jessica stepped away and looked up at him. “You said we still have a lot of work to do and my head is still reeling from everything that’s gone on.” She swiped a long strand of hair out of her face. “I need to focus on business. We can’t complicate things any more than they already are.”

“Is that it? You’re concerned with ‘complications’?” His voice was neutral.

“I wish this was all over for me too, but I guess it’s not.” She downed another glass of champagne. “We can’t get involved.”

“What about the sheriff?”

Without moving her eyes or her head, she could tell that Shea had now directed his gaze squarely at her. She played for time. “What about him?”

The man looked around the room. He had this hotel and room covered with surveillance. The champagne in the room was a signal that it was still swept clean. No electronic listening devices had been planted. Knowing it was safe to talk did not make this conversation any easier.

“Why would he bargain with two patrol cops to get some time alone with you before he arrested you?”

“What’s your point?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about the ‘friendship’ the two of you had before your identity became known?”

“I don’t know what you’re driving at.”

“How much do you know about your Southern sheriff?”

“Look, Shea,” Jessica moved away from the window and leaned up against the bureau on the far side of the room, “I don’t know much about him at all. I didn’t even find out he was the sheriff until after I got to know him a little.”

“Michael Conant is not who he says he is.”

“Oh?”

“He was born Michael Magnus Connaught.”

Jessica felt her chest muscles tighten around her heart. “
What!
How do you know that?”

Shea told her about the night they arrested Magnus and of the photographs he found in the house.

“Michael is Magnus’
son
?” She shook her head in disbelief. “That’s impossible. He told me his family was dead. Why would he lie?”

He shifted his weight and loosened his fine silk tie. “I really don’t know how he fits into the equation here. What I do know is this. From what I’ve learned in the past few days, there seems to be a great deal of repositioning among the members of the Charity. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Michael hung around town even after your capture. A police officer assigned to Magnus saw him at Magnus’ mansion shortly before the hearing.” Words were not coming easily. He tried to voice his concern more concisely. “Jessica, I don’t know what is going on with him. What I do know is that they are keeping his identity and involvement in the Charity very quiet. Don’t mention what I have said tonight to anyone. And,” his voice hardened, “stay away from him.”

Her conversation with Michael in the alley became clear. “Sarge said Magnus only wanted a son to assume the mantle of leadership when he stepped down. He said something about blood ties being stronger than anything else.” The thought sent a shiver down her spine. “Why are you telling me all of this? There is nothing between me and Michael.” She paused, confused at why she felt compelled to deny a connection between herself and Michael. Impatience edged her words. “What are you trying to say? Don’t go back to Perc?”

“No one would blame you if you didn’t. It might be better that way.”

“For you or me?” She made no attempt to hide her anger. “You’re really confusing me, Shea. If he is Magnus’ son, then why didn’t he kill me when he had the chance? God knows he had enough of them.”

“I don’t know. This gets more complicated as we go on. You are the key witness to a crime his father committed. The partner to that crime, John Doe, is still at large. Right now, the limelight is too hot on you for them to make a move.” Shea squinted his eyes shut and tried to concentrate against his concern. “I don’t know. I just don’t know how to keep you safe.”

The only sound in the room was the quiet hum of the heater. A hard chink! was heard as ice melted and shifted in the bucket. Minutes passed.

Jessica stood up straight and clasped her hands in front of her mouth. “That tape I made in the hotel room when we first met about what I witnessed the night Gus was murdered, is it good enough?”

Shea looked puzzled. He was to blame for increasing the tension between them and was happy to focus on an issue that would eliminate the undercurrents that rippled in the room. “What do you mean ‘good enough’?”

“We made that tape in case something happened to me before I had a chance to tell my story in court. It was good enough to shift the blame off of me and onto Magnus and to get an indictment, but is it good enough to get a conviction if you had to go to trial without me?”

“It’s not perfect. Even though it was more than adequate for the grand jury proceedings, a good defensive team and a hard look at it could discredit portions of it during a dog-eat-dog trial—which is just what we are heading to. What are you getting at?”

Jessica kicked off her shoes and paced the room. “Well, if we sharpen that tape, make it perfect from a legal and testimonial standpoint and if we let the word out that the tape exists, wouldn’t that make killing me irrelevant? My testimony would survive my death. I mean, if I have already done what they are afraid I might do, then what’s the point in killing me?”

A crooked smile broke out on Shea’s face. “Right. I see what you’re saying.” He paused as he clicked off the legal issues and practical considerations in his head. “It would be easy to redo your taped testimony in a sworn affidavit format with a little drama thrown in. That would seal the legal holes. But it’s not airtight.”

“Drama?”

“Yeah. We’ll tape it in a courtroom. The backdrop will help create an image of solemnity and honesty. A judge and jury reviewing the tape in the event of your death would be compelled by the sight of a lone woman giving her testimony, sitting in a witness box, flanked by a judge, bailiff and attorney, fearing for her life.”

“Okay, but what about the legality of it.”

“No problem. I’ll impose a strict structure over the taped affidavit. A court reporter will transcribe the proceedings and a notary will place her seal on it. But that doesn’t guarantee your survival.” The thought of anything happening to Jessica placed a pit in his stomach, but at least nothing would happen to his case.

“No? Why not?”

“People kill out of revenge, too.”

Jessica exploded. “
Damn
you! Damn it
all
! What am I supposed to do? Enter a witness protection program and pretend to be someone else for the rest of my life?”

The sarcasm in her tone was biting. The meaning was clear. Shea knew there was no way she would do such a thing. Abbey was right, again. Jessica would not enter such a protection program and give up all that she had fought for. He felt foolish for suggesting it to her. At least, not now. Not yet.

“No. Doing the tape and letting it be known that it was made because of ongoing fear for your life is good. The sheriff used the media to help find you, now we’ll use it to help protect you.”

“Yeah, but protect me where? In a prison? That worked once for a little while, but we are talking about my life. I don’t want to stay here any longer than I have to. I’ll come back for the trial and whatever else I have to do, but I want to live
my
life. Isn’t there some way to protect me in my home?”

He paused as he reconsidered an alternative. She had a point and he knew she was too strong-willed to be told what to do, even if it made sense. He mentally ticked away the pros and cons. Reluctantly, he came to a conclusion. “Maybe the safest place for you is right back where you started. In Perc.”

“The safest place? What do you mean?”

“Well, for one thing, you going back there would imply that you have no idea who Michael really is. Playing ignorance on that point is going to keep both of us alive. For another thing,” he recalled what Jessica said about the fire at her barn and the break-in, “I think being in his backyard would bring a
lot
of bad publicity if anything happened to you. The glare of the press would be too bright.”

“You mean he didn’t hide his identity for nothing.”

“Right. A good investigative reporter would find him out in no time flat. I heard he choked on his interview with one of the tougher reporters. If he can’t take digging into his past when people think he’s a hero, just imagine what he’d be like if they smelled blood.” He forced a smile, “going back to Perc is probably the best place for you.”

It was Jessica’s turn to smile. “The sooner the better.” She poured herself another glass of champagne. “I can’t wait to leave this place behind.” She flopped down in a chair and propped her feet up on the bed.

“We can get to work on that tomorrow.”

She looked at him with mock severity. “You mean after we have me declared alive again, right?”

Shea laughed. There was no way he would be able to walk around this woman when she wanted something. “First thing tomorrow, we’ll start the paperwork to resurrect Jessica Wyeth. After that, we’ll redo the tape.”

“Deal.”

“Jessica,” he looked down at his shoes as he tried to find the right words, “I’m sorry for imposing myself on you tonight. You’re right. If anything can ever happen between us, it has to be built on a clean foundation. Maybe, after this is all over and well behind us, we can see what might happen.”

Jessica looked at the man standing by the door. Standing before a hoard of hungry journalists, he seemed larger than life. Now, she felt he was just him. Just Shea.

She stood up from the chair and walked over to him. He met her eyes and smiled. Enveloping her in his arms, he buried his face in her hair and kissed her neck up to the top of her head. Jessica raised herself on her toes and let herself be kissed. Eventually, she responded by giving his cheek a soft buss.

“Good night, Owen.”

He looked down at her and smiled. “Get some sleep.”

Several days later it became clear that most of her business of reestablishing herself was substantially complete and she booked a flight out of town. She only left a message for Shea on his voice mail stating that she was leaving and what flight she would be on. After the incident in the hotel, Shea continuously surrounded himself with office staff or reporters. He seemed to want to make sure that they had no more time alone while he spent his time with Abbey preparing the actual trial against Magnus. Jessica busied herself with rebuilding her life. They were off in different directions at hell-bent speeds. The last thing she wanted was to have a big good-bye scene which, by the way, they had been hounded for the past week, would be duly documented through the unblinking eyes of an army of cameras. Fading into the distance was a much more pleasant prospect.

As much as she hated to admit it, she found herself scanning the heads and faces at Logan Airport for his familiar stride and look. Only a cordon of photographers played honor guard to her exit.

The stately jeweler walked around from behind the glass case to greet his client. He looked down with unhidden pride at the gleaming watches, rings, and other golden objects. This business had been a part of his entire life. His father was a jeweler and his grandfather before that. Each one of the Cabot men had staked his livelihood on knowing his customer’s quest for quality and the perfect item to invest in. Whether it was a diamond and emerald ring for a wife’s birthday or a daughter’s first pearl necklace, the Cabot men were there to fawn over their clients and gently and expertly guide the largest sum of money out of their wallets. All in the name of quality, of course.

There was much he took pride in. The subtly lit glass cases held some of the finest merchandise he had ever carried. Being the ever shrewd marketer, he changed the store around frequently to generate new interest from his steady customers. His grandfather had started the tradition of remembering who each customer was and what he or she purchased. That done, the very next time they entered the store, an inquiry could be made as to how the birthday celebration or special dinner went and how well the gift was received. Sebastian found remembering all of the details difficult, but the rewards for his efforts were gratifying. Sometimes, however, the skill brought the kind of attention he could do without. Being mildly superstitious, he would cease to carry an item that he felt brought him bad luck or an unfavorable encounter with someone. For that reason, silver lighters were one of the items which could no longer be found in the glass cases of his store.