A Score to Settle (15 page)

Her whole identity was wrapped up in her work as a prosecutor. Although sometimes the work was dreary, she’d always felt she was performing a necessary function in society—getting violent offenders off the street, or at least demanding a price from those who didn’t follow the rules.

Without her job, who was she?

For two days she’d wandered around her apartment like a ghost, living on peanut butter and microwave popcorn, watching Oprah and Dr. Phil and Dr. Oz, all of which only served to make her feel worse.

She would have to look for another job soon. But where else could she go with her background?

She could probably get a job with a criminal-defense firm—they were always looking for former prosecutors who were ready to switch sides, since they knew the ins and outs of the system already.

But that life wasn’t for her.

Depending on how this thing with Gables played out—and how vindictive Winston Chubb was—her job options could be very limited.

The same thoughts had been chasing around in her head for two days now, and she was sick of them. Maybe the party would do her good. At least the food and drink would be better than what she’d been subsisting on.

Since new clothes weren’t materializing in her closet, she grabbed a plain black dress. She could jazz it up with some jewelry, her highest heels and a pair of textured stockings. If she put her hair up and wore dark lipstick, she’d pass.

As she dressed, she wondered what fantastic, stylish creation of a dress Jillian would wear. Jamie bet it would be flashy and sexy.

It didn’t matter. Jamie wasn’t in competition with Jillian. As spectacular as the lovemaking between Jamie and Daniel had been, she knew it wasn’t to be repeated. She didn’t belong in his world and would never feel comfortable there. Daniel wasn’t ready to be an equal partner to any woman. Those control issues of his weren’t going to disappear overnight; he wouldn’t magically be “cured” by the love of a good woman.

She was happy, though, that he thought enough of her to invite her to his party. He didn’t think of her as merely a conquest or a means to an end. She genuinely believed he liked her, which had to mean she was better than the zero she’d felt like since losing her job.

When she’d finished her toilette, she inspected herself in the mirror and decided she looked pretty good. The glittering vintage rhinestones at her ears and around her neck—about the only thing of her mother’s she’d kept—elevated the outfit to evening wear.

She looked somber…but elegant.

When she arrived at Daniel’s estate, she got into a long queue of cars waiting to be let inside the gates. A guard was checking the credentials of each potential guest, apparently, making sure they were on the list.

This was a far cry from the parties she was used to, the kind where someone in the office shouted they were watching a game on their wide-screen TV that evening, and whoever was in earshot was welcome as long as they brought beer.

When she pulled up to the guard, he smiled. “Evening, ma’am. Can I see your invitation?”

“I didn’t get one. Daniel invited me personally.”

“Oh, right. You’re Jamie. Sorry for the misunderstanding. You can go right in.”

A valet was set up in the driveway. Jamie was happy to surrender her humble car and step into fantasyland, pretending she was someone else for a few hours.

And it was a fantasyland. Daniel’s foyer—already impressive without any added effects—had been transformed into a glittering gallery of ice sculptures depicting trees and snowflakes, a full-size ice sled, a candy cane with a ribbon. Every once in a while, a handful of Hollywood-style snow would fall, sprinkling down on the guests who had paused to ooh and aah over the ice.

A uniformed man asked to take Jamie’s coat, which she gladly surrendered. The wool tweed didn’t go with her hastily assembled cocktail attire.

As she handed off the garment she spotted Jillian standing near the fountain—now a frozen waterfall—greeting the guests like a queen-bee hostess, just as Jamie had predicted. She wore a deep red satin dress, cut low, and a string of what were no doubt real diamonds around her long neck. Tall black heels and elbow-length gloves completed the picture.

When Jillian spotted Jamie, her smile fell away. But then, consummate little actress that she was, she pasted on a pleasant expression. “Jamie. So glad you could make it on short notice.” She took Jamie’s hand in both of hers, gave it a quick squeeze, then released her and moved on to the next guest.

Poor Jillian. She probably had no idea the ax was about to fall on her world. Jamie would try to think charitably of her, now that she knew what it felt like to have the rug pulled out from under her.

Jamie followed a designated path that led into the living room. Although
living room
seemed much too tame of a term for such a huge space. The Christmas tree in here dwarfed the one in the library. It had to be twenty feet tall, lightly flocked and decorated with blue-green lights and silver balls.

She’d gotten only a swift impression of this room on earlier visits here. Now she couldn’t help but admire the strange assortment of time periods that, against all logic, blended seamlessly—an Oriental rug here, a modern geometric one in complementary colors there. A chilly but sophisticated marble table was softened by a tapestry table runner and brass candlesticks; a warm sandstone fireplace was the backdrop for a modern brushed-nickel sculpture.

Daniel’s interior designer must have a split personality. The final effect was impressive, but she much preferred the traditional warmth of his library.

A trio of musicians had set up in one corner, playing soft jazz. Another servant was passing around a tray of appetizers. It was Manuel, who’d brought in their snack the first night she was here.

“This one is a Grand Marnier crème puff,” he was telling one of the guests. “And this, a marzipan truffle.”

“I wonder how Daniel stays so trim,” the woman guest enthused after taking a bite of one of the bite-size desserts. “Mmm, outstanding.”

“I’ll tell Chef Claude you said so.”

Another server practically shoved a glass of champagne into Jamie’s hand. She wasn’t much of a champagne drinker, but it would at least give her something to do. She gave the golden liquid an experimental taste and was surprised at how smooth it went down. This was probably an expensive brand, something that normally wouldn’t have touched her tongue.

She was so out of her element, and she didn’t know anyone here except Daniel—if he was even here.

He’d said he didn’t like crowds, and this definitely qualified. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was hiding out somewhere—in the library or his Batcave-like basement, perhaps watching the festivities on a computer monitor. He would make a quick appearance, greet his guests and wish them a happy holiday season, then vanish like smoke.

An older woman in a floor-length blue sequined gown, her silver hair pointing every which way, was making the rounds holding a piece of mistletoe, kissing any man who would stand still long enough. Jamie suddenly recognized her and realized she did know one of the party guests.

Celeste, her forthright chauffeur.

Celeste whirled around and paused in front of Jamie. It took a moment for the light of recognition to glow from behind her thick glasses. “Jamie!”

“It’s me, all right.”

She handed Jamie a piece of mistletoe, then snatched it back. “Wait a minute. You don’t need that. I understand you got all the kisses you can handle.”

Good heavens. Just as she’d feared, she and Daniel had become the center of gossip among his employees.

“I can’t imagine what you’re talking about,” she said primly.

A good-looking younger man—one of several Jamie had spotted among the guests—put an arm around Celeste and led her away. “Celeste, Daniel will have your hide if he finds out you’re harassing an esteemed member of the district attorney’s office.”

Guess he hadn’t gotten the memo.

“Oops,” Celeste said as she allowed herself to be led away. “Forgot about that.” She laughed loudly and teetered precariously on her four-inch heels.

Someone tapped Jamie on the shoulder and she turned, not knowing what to expect. But it certainly wasn’t Daniel in a tuxedo that molded to his body like black paint flowing over granite—and an expression on his face like a pot about to boil over.

“Daniel.” Any further words froze in her throat. He looked so good and…so angry.

“I thought about telling the front gate not to let you in. But then I realized I wanted to see you.”

“What are you talking about?”

Jillian chose that moment to interrupt, bubbling over with enthusiasm. She had a tall flute full of a ruby-red liquid clasped between her hands.

“Daniel. Claude asked me to personally give this to you. It’s cranberry juice and raspberry liqueur. He said you requested something without much alcohol.”

“Not now, Jillian.”

The dismissal caused his assistant to flinch, but she didn’t give up. “He was quite insistent. You know how he can be.”

Daniel seemed to be struggling to get hold of his temper. He took the flute from Jillian. “Fine, you’ve given it to me.” He immediately set the drink down on the nearest table.

Jamie wanted to make her escape. This wasn’t what she’d come here for. She’d wanted a few hours of escape and maybe, just maybe, she’d fantasized about another stolen tryst, or at least a kiss, with Daniel.

But now that he’d gone on the attack, she had to know what she’d done to infuriate him so.

Daniel gave Jillian a withering glare, and finally she got the message and skulked away.

“When did you plan to tell me that it was your father who put me in a cage for six long years?”

Oh, no. Somehow, he’d found out.

And now,
everyone
would know. Because all conversation in the room had ceased, and everyone was staring at them.

“Could…could we continue this conversation someplace more private?” she asked, mortified that he would purposely air their conflict so publicly.

“What, you don’t want everyone to know that your father is the man who worked so tirelessly so that I could die? It was the case that made his whole career, you know.”

“He has nothing to do with this, with
us,
” she said desperately.

“Then why didn’t you mention it? ‘Oh, by the way, Daniel, funny coincidence. My father prosecuted your trial.’ It wasn’t because you had some ulterior motive, was it? Like defending dear old Dad’s reputation even as you were trying to save yours?”

“Daniel, stop.”

“Were you hoping I’d slip up and admit I was guilty after all? They can’t re-try me for the same crime, but you could have restored the image of the man you so looked up to, the man you emulated to a T.”

Jamie had no arguments left. He was right about her belief that he was guilty—at least, at first. Before she got to know him.

A handsome man with short, dark hair and a military bearing insinuated himself between her and Daniel. “Don’t you think that’s enough, Daniel? Or would you like to have her publicly flogged?”

“She’ll get a public flogging, all right. Just wait till the media gets hold of this story. And Jamie, you can forget about me sugarcoating your errors and omissions. You’re going down.”

It was too late for that. Had he not learned about her dismissal? She thought he knew everything.

The man between then deftly guided Daniel away. “Leave her be, Daniel. It’s over.”

Almost as if it was planned, everyone in the room looked away and went back to their hushed conversations. Even Celeste spoke in an undertone. And Jamie was left standing there like an idiot.

Her mouth was as dry as a musty old book. She grabbed the drink Daniel had abandoned and downed several swallows. But nothing—not even Claude’s special drink—was going to wash away this scene from her mind. Ever.

She’d drained the glass before it registered that the stuff tasted awful. But then, she’d thought expensive Scotch was awful, too. She had no taste, apparently.

She should just leave. But instead she wandered out the back door onto the patio, where a number of heaters kept the area comfortable. The crowd parted, giving her a wide berth. Beyond the patio on the vast grounds was a snow machine creating a winter wonderland and…yes, a horse-drawn sleigh filled mostly with screaming kids.

“I’ll escort you off the estate now.” Jillian had appeared out of nowhere, looking as if she could hardly contain her glee.

Jamie felt the pressure building behind her eyes. She wanted to cry, but she wouldn’t do it here in front of all these people. Especially not in front of Jillian. So she imagined she was one of Daniel’s ice sculptures, her feelings frozen inside a block of ice.

“I’ll need my coat,” she said curtly.

Jillian herded her through the house and back to the foyer. “I’ll get your coat. Stay right there.”

Jamie felt as if she’d been flattened by a steamroller. Even if a relationship with Daniel was impossible, she hadn’t wanted to lose his respect. She should have been honest with him from the very beginning. But a good lawyer didn’t show all her cards until necessary.