A Score to Settle (14 page)

“I’ll wait to hear from you.”

Jamie went into the half bath off the library to repair her appearance. Thank God she’d tucked a hairbrush and her travel makeup bag into her purse.

She could fix the wild-looking hair and the smeared lipstick and straighten her clothes, but she couldn’t take the roses out of her cheeks. Try as she might, when she looked in the mirror, she still looked like a woman who’d just enjoyed an afternoon of passion.

“One more thing,” Daniel said when she rejoined him. He was still barefoot and his hair was mussed from her digging her fingers through it.

In fact, he looked so good that she could easily have jumped him again—if she’d been a woman of little self-control.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Can you come to the holiday party?”

“Isn’t it just for the Project Justice employees?”

“And their families, close friends and a few key associates. You qualify.”

As a friend or key associate?

“If it’s important to you. Jillian won’t like your adding me to the guest list. She’s probably planned a sit-down dinner with seating arrangements.”

“Jillian is my employee. She’ll deal with it.”

Jamie smiled. “All right. I’ll come, then.” It might be difficult and slightly awkward, but how could she say no to the man who had just pleasured her so fiercely?

He wasn’t in yet, so Jamie had a few minutes to get worked up about what he wanted. Had he found out about her consorting with Daniel?

I’ve done nothing wrong.
She’d investigated on her own time, off the county payroll, and she’d taken no official action.

But she’d gone directly against what her boss had told her to do. Winston would see it as a frontal assault to his authority, and it would not be pretty.

When she heard his voice from the hallway, floating over the partitions into her tiny cubicle office, her stomach flipped. She had to get this over with.

She made sure her clothes were straight and she didn’t have lipstick on her teeth. Then she charged off to his office, ready to defend her actions.

“He wanted to see me right away,” she explained to Alice, Winston’s admin.

“Go on back,” Alice said with an uncharacteristic smile and wink, as if she knew something Jamie didn’t know.

Jamie tapped on Winston’s door, and he summoned her inside.

“Ah, Jamie. Just who I wanted to see. Have a seat.”

He was smiling. Why was he smiling? Surely he wouldn’t take that much pleasure in firing her.

“As you know, Jamie, this is my last term as Harris County district attorney. I’ll be retiring in May.”

“In May? Your term isn’t up until September.”

“I have personal reasons for leaving office early, but that’s immaterial. The county already has a special election scheduled for April, and the people are going to vote in a new D.A. I’m thinking that person should be you.”

Oh, boy. This really wasn’t what she’d expected.

“You look surprised.”

“To say the least. When you mentioned the possibility before, I assumed you meant far into the future.”

“With my endorsement, you’d be a shoo-in. You’re a little young for the job, I’ll admit, and you and I have had our run-ins, but when I look around this office, you’re the one who’s most capable of doing the job.”

“I’m flattered.” For a few seconds, she let herself fantasize about it. Harris County District Attorney Jamie McNair. Her father would be so proud…

No, her father wouldn’t give a rat’s ass. It was time for her to concede that the man had been a narcissist, and anything that didn’t directly concern him didn’t make a blip on his personal radar screen. His only reason for giving her career advice was so that she could be a reflection of him, a “mini-me” he could someday brag about to his big-shot friends, if she distinguished herself.

“Good. I’ve set up a meeting with my campaign people—they’re ready to gear up the ‘Jamie McNair for District Attorney’ machine as soon as you sign on the dotted line. Are you free on Friday after work?”

Friday evening was Daniel’s party. Oh, who was she kidding? She couldn’t even consider running for D.A., not when a big fat PR nightmare was about to hit the fan.

“Winston, I’m honored, really. But there’s something you need to know, and you won’t like it.”

His eyebrows flew up. “What? Is there a skeleton in your closet I don’t know about? Child out of wedlock? Illicit affair with the county sheriff?”

He was kidding, because he believed her to be of sterling character. She was about to change his mind.

“I prosecuted an innocent man and sent him to death row.”

“Oh, God, not the Christopher Gables thing. Is Project Justice actually pursuing that case?”

“Yes, and I’m afraid they’ve come up with some definitive evidence. DNA links the murder of Frank Sissom with another similar crime for which Gables is in no way connected, and for which he has an ironclad alibi.”

“And you know this…how?” he asked suspiciously.

“I’ve been working with Project Justice during my off hours. I had to know, Winston. I had to know if Gables was innocent. And I firmly believe he is.”

“You’re going to trash the reputation of this office—
my
reputation—because you were curious? Is that how you want me to leave office? Disgraced?”

“It’s my reputation. I take full responsibility.”

“You certainly better.” He stood up, and for one insane moment she thought he was going to leap across his desk and go for her throat.

“We could take a courageous stand,” she said in one last-ditch effort to get him to understand. “We made a mistake. We’re taking responsibility for it and righting an injustice. And we may actually be able to bring the real killer—in two murder cases—to justice.”

“
You
made a mistake,” he corrected her. “I told you to block Project Justice, and you’ve assisted them instead. I’ll expect your letter of resignation on my desk by noon.”

“You don’t even want to see how this plays out?”

“I already know. We’re going to look bad, the media is going to have a field day and my last days in office are going to be a living hell. Thank you, Ms. McNair.”

Fine, if that was how he wanted to view the situation.

She stood. “I’ve done nothing wrong and I won’t resign. You’ll have to fire me.”

“Yes, that would look better. Consider it done.”

She wouldn’t be able to negotiate the wet grass in the high-heeled shoes she perpetually wore.

He was only now beginning to see the degree to which he had allowed Jillian to dictate his life. He’d thought of it as a convenience—one of the privileges his money afforded him. But it had become a weakness.

He had imagined that his lifestyle gave him complete control. But he’d turned over control to everybody else. Even his meals were planned by Claude. Oh, sure, he could request something, but when it came right down to it, Claude cooked what Claude wanted to cook.

Things needed to change, and watching Jamie walk out his front door had convinced him of that. She had used their professional association as an excuse for pulling back. But that wasn’t why she couldn’t embrace the idea of the two of them together. He’d asked her point-blank what she wanted to happen next, and she’d backed away as quickly as she could.

His theory was, she couldn’t see herself fitting into his life, as it currently stood. He never left the estate—well, very rarely, and only if sorely pressed. He had servants doing everything for him. He had polo ponies for pets. He had no social life, no friends except the ones on his payroll.

He had panic attacks when he couldn’t control things around him, like at the prison. He hadn’t wanted to put a name on what had happened at the Conklin Unit, but that’s what it was.

He was
paranoid
.

Well, no more. Things were going to change. He was going to start living a more normal life. And somehow, he was going to convince Jamie McNair that she ought to be a part of it.

He knew it would be difficult. After his disastrous trip to north Texas, the very idea of getting in a car and driving off the estate made him queasy. But whatever it took—therapy or hiring a coach, maybe convincing Randall to push him—he’d do it.

Laramie was grazing in a small paddock off the stable. Daniel grabbed a handful of oats and lured the animal to him, then looped a halter around his head and led him into the barn. He bridled the gelding, but didn’t bother with a saddle.

When he’d been a kid, he’d had a pony that he loved to ride bareback all over the estate.

He jumped onto Laramie’s back with no saddle, and the horse just stood there and turned his head as if to say,
What are you doing?
But Daniel nudged him with the lightest of kicks to the horse’s flanks, and he moved forward, obedient beast that he was.

They rode around the estate, walking at first, then cantering and finally at a full-out gallop, dodging trees and jumping walls, and—though not on purpose—trampling a flower bed. Daniel hugged the horse’s barrel-shaped body with his knees and leaned low over his neck, guiding him more with his thoughts than the bridle.

He felt truly free.

Daniel rode hard until he was gasping with exhilaration and the horse was lathered with sweat. After cooling him down with a few minutes of walking he returned to the barn, intending to give the horse a rubdown himself rather than turn him over to a groom.

Instead, he found…Jillian. She’d taken the golf cart and followed him after all.

“Have you gone insane?” she asked.

“What? I can’t ride my own horse?”

“He’s a polo pony. You were riding him like he was a wild mustang.”

“And it was a helluva lot of fun, too, wasn’t it, fella?” He gave the horse a pat and led him into his stall, placing a blanket over him so he wouldn’t get chilled.

Luis, his groom, appeared out of nowhere. Sometimes Daniel didn’t appreciate how truly skilled his staff was—there when he needed them, invisible when he didn’t.

“I’ll take him,” Luis offered.

“No, that’s all right. I got him all sweaty, I’ll rub him down. But give him an extra measure of oats tonight, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Call me Daniel. Please?”

Luis raised one eyebrow. “Okay…Daniel.”

“You
have
gone insane,” Jillian persisted. “Your crazy horseback riding around the estate is just one symptom. Asking the servants to address you by your first name is another. But what I was really talking about was Jamie McNair. You had sex with her, didn’t you?”

Now how the hell did she know? He’d thought Jamie’s concern about the servants was unnecessary, but it appeared he was wrong. He removed Laramie’s blanket and began going over his slick coat with a dandy brush.

“Whether I did or didn’t, it’s none of your concern, Jillian,” he said sharply.

She stood staring at him, unconvinced and silently disapproving, as he worked. He grabbed a hoof pick and went to work on one muddy hoof while the horse munched some hay.

Jillian leaned her head and shoulders over the stall door. “You
did
have sex with her. God, Daniel, what were you thinking? And to shut me out as if I mean nothing to you. Who wrote to you practically every day when you were in prison? Did she?”

“Jillian. I want you to stop and listen to yourself. You are a valued and trusted employee, one I’ve relied on heavily for years. Relied on too much, apparently. But you’re off the deep end here. I like Jamie. I like her very much, and I intend to keep seeing her. Stop acting like my mother.”

“Your mother?” Jillian looked downright shocked.

Daniel had a hard time remembering that Jillian had a crush on him. He wanted to come down hard on her inappropriate behavior, but he didn’t want to hurt her.

He finished off Laramie’s grooming with a quick rubdown.

“Speaking of Jamie, I invited her to the party.”

Jillian sighed. “Okay, Daniel. I didn’t want to do this. But how much do you truly know about your new girlfriend?”

“Quite a bit, actually. I had her investigated pretty thoroughly before I decided to ask for her cooperation. I found nothing in her background to suggest she is anything but what she claims to be.”

“Did you happen to look at her birth certificate?”

“Did you?” he shot back, looking at his assistant over the horse’s neck. How would she get access to such a thing?

“I haven’t been doing work for you and Project Justice without learning anything about investigation,” she explained.

“No, I haven’t seen her birth certificate. But yes, I know she was born out of wedlock. Please. Who cares? Her mother was a cleaning lady, and look how far Jamie has come.”

“It’s her father I’m concerned about.”

Her father. Something had bothered Jamie whenever the subject of her father came up.

“What about her father?”

“His name is Chet Dotie. Ring any bells?”

Daniel dropped the cloth he was holding.

Chet Dotie. The son-of-a-bitch Harris County assistant district attorney who had prosecuted him for Andreas’s murder.

Dear God. Jamie’s father had sent Daniel to death row.