Almost Dead. Lisa JacksonЧитать онлайн книгу.
and “irreverent,” all the qualities in a man that attracted her…and now repelled her as a wife. Had he changed? Or had she?
Of course she’d been a fool to fall so fast and hard for him. He wasn’t the marrying type. She’d known it. All the warning signs had been there, right in her face, and she’d ignored every last one of them. She’d sensed he was a confirmed bachelor, a man who had wanted to play the field, a workaholic who spent countless hours on the job, ensuring the success and growing popularity of his local magazine. He’d worked with the Internet, rather than against it, when it had threatened circulation, and he’d been ahead of the game every step of the way.
He’d been described as a “rogue” publisher, ruthless and cutthroat with the competition, smarter than most.
And she’d loved every bit of it.
Until he’d stepped over the line.
Now, behind the wheel, he guided the Jeep downhill toward the financial district. As they merged onto Stanyan, she caught a familiar whiff of his aftershave and mentally kicked herself for remembering all too vividly how that scent, and the man, had turned her on. Even on the night when she’d first met him.
Cissy—in college and wondering what the hell she was going to do with her life—had gone to the benefit for Cahill House at her grandmother’s insistence. She’d intended to make a quick appearance at the stuffy old hotel on Nob Hill just to satisfy Eugenia’s need for “family solidarity,” then ditch out. Even though she thought Cahill House a worthwhile cause, Cissy saw no reason to rub elbows with the stuffed shirts on the board or make small talk with staid members of the several foundations who had helped fund the house.
Talk about boring!
What she hadn’t expected when she’d stepped into the grand ballroom with its cut-glass chandeliers, patterned carpet, and incredible view of the bay was Jack Holt with his tie already unbuttoned, his shirtsleeves rolled up, his hair messy from shoving his hands through it one too many times, and the scent of that clean aftershave. A drink in his hand, a cocksure smile on his lips, a square jaw, and a glimmer of irreverence in eyes that were a startling blue, he’d had the nerve to wink at her as she passed—as if the two of them shared a secret.
A player, she’d thought and written him off.
She’d run into him a couple of times more throughout the course of the evening, and each time there was something she found interesting, but it wasn’t until she was introduced to him by his father, Jonathan Holt, who knew her grandmother, that he’d gotten to her.
Maybe if she hadn’t been on the rebound from a rocky relationship with Noah Chandler, a soon-to-be lawyer she’d met at USC, she might not have fallen for Jack’s charms, but the truth of the matter was that she’d been looking for something or someone different. Someone edgier and fun. Maybe someone older.
It had hurt when she learned that Noah was seeing another law student, a smart, beautiful LA girl whom Cissy had met and sensed had more than a friendly interest in him. She’d known the girl had set her sights on him, though Noah, always playing the part of the innocent, had denied it and had even gone so far as to accuse her of being paranoid.
It’s hell always being right, Cissy thought with an inner snort.
A few days after graduation, she and Noah made a final break. A few days after that, Cissy was back in San Francisco and met Jack, all smiles and dimples and sexy eyes. He’d danced with her, drank with her, and, under his breath, made jokes about all the “stiffs” at the party. Ultimately, he charmed the socks—and her siren red dress—off her.
And it hadn’t ended that night. What started out as a hot one-night stand erupted into an incredible, heady affair ending with a wedding in one of those little chapels in Las Vegas being witnessed by complete strangers. The impulsive elopement had resulted in an incredible son and a marriage that seemed destined to fail from the get-go.
Cissy shut down the memory. What was the point? She stared out the windshield, watching the wipers slap away the thick raindrops as some old rock song drifted through the speakers. The lights of the city stretched out before them in a dazzling display, and beyond the grid of illumination, the inky waters of the bay stretched to the opposite shore, where more lights sparkled like jewels.
The beauty of the view was lost on her tonight.
She felt hollow inside. Numb. She’d never known life without her kid-gloved but iron-fisted grandmother, couldn’t imagine what it would be like now that Eugenia was dead. It could be easier in some ways, but it would certainly be less defined. Eugenia Cahill was nothing if not an autocrat, her rules unbending.
“You okay?” Jack finally asked.
“No.”
“I am sorry, Ciss.”
“I know.” She blinked against a new rush of tears. She could accept his callousness, even his fury, but not his kindness, not when they had no chance of reconciliation, which they hadn’t. “I just can’t help thinking that if I hadn’t been late, if I’d been there, she wouldn’t have fallen.”
“You think she fell.”
“Of course she did,” she said, denying her darkest fears once again.
“Then why the homicide dick?” Jack’s fingers drummed against the steering wheel nervously as he turned through Haight-Ashbury and past Buena Vista Park. He hit the brakes for a jaywalker, then, once the guy had crossed, said, “Paterno and his partner don’t just show up at every crime scene.”
“It’s because of my mother,” Cissy said darkly. “Ever since she escaped, the police have been all over the place. As if Marla would come running to me, or to Gran! That’s just plain stupid. She’s smart enough to know that the police would be waiting for her.”
“So you haven’t heard from her?”
Jack thought Marla had contacted her? She pinned him with an incredulous glare. “Are you nuts?”
“It’s normal that she would want to see you. She might even want to see James.”
“She doesn’t know where he is,” Cissy said, thinking of her brother, who was nearly eleven now, hidden away in Oregon with her aunt and uncle. “My guess is that she’s going to run as far away as possible. Maybe Mexico. Canada.”
“She’ll need papers. ID.”
Cissy sent him a don’t-be-so-naive look. “She broke out of prison. I think she can figure out how to avoid the police and get forged documents. If she didn’t know how to before she was arrested, I bet she does now. Surely some of her ‘friends’ on the inside know people on the outside who can get any kind of ID she’ll need.”
“She couldn’t get documents without help or money.”
“Well, she’s getting none from me,” Cissy stated positively. “And I think the police figure she had an accomplice working with her.”
“Who?”
“That’s the million-dollar question,” she said. It was one she’d been asking herself ever since learning Marla had broken out. “I can’t imagine who would want to help her.”
“Not everyone hated her.”
That much was true, she thought as they eased around a final corner before reaching her street. Her mother had always attracted flocks of people. Not only beautiful, but rich as well. But to help her escape? Not exactly the actions of someone she shopped or played tennis with.
Jack nosed his Jeep into the drive in front of the garage, and she felt a bit of relief at just being home. Had it been less than three hours since she’d unknowingly driven to her grandmother’s house? In that short time span her life had changed irrevocably. Now she slid out of the SUV and gathered her things while Jack carried Beej into the house and deposited him into his high chair.
It all seemed so natural.
The