A Score to Settle (18 page)

Jamie spent two days in the hospital. Since Daniel had told them to spare no expense, he would pay for everything, they’d run every test imaginable on her. They’d tested her kidneys and liver, they’d looked at her stomach lining, they’d done an MRI on her head because of the concussion.

She’d been moved to a larger room, and instead of hospital food, she’d been offered meal choices from nearby restaurants. She’d also had fresh flowers delivered to her room both days. Her TV had offered all the premium channels.

She’d had no idea a hospital would have VIP suites.

She’d even agreed to a psych evaluation—just to put to rest any lingering suspicion that she might have tried to kill herself.

At first, she’d been irritated by Daniel’s high-handed ways. Didn’t he get the message? She wasn’t impressed by his money and power. Other women might swoon over the fact that he could get the chef at the hottest restaurant in town to personally prepare chicken Kiev for her.

But that wasn’t what she wanted from Daniel.

She wanted him. All of him. Not just the parts that were convenient for him to show her. She wanted him to get out into the world and live. She wanted him to admit he needed help, and get it.

She wanted him to let go of the past, because until he did, he couldn’t move forward toward the future—with her.

But as it stood, he was just another project like all those men her mother tried to fix. Granted, he was a rich, handsome, charismatic project. But she’d made the mistake of falling in love with his potential—the well-adjusted Daniel Logan who didn’t exist and probably never would.

“Red roses don’t say ‘kind,’” Robyn said. “Men don’t send red roses to associates or friends or relatives.”

“He probably didn’t even pick them out.”

“Well, it wasn’t Jillian. She’d have sent you dead flowers.”

At the mention of Jillian’s name, Jamie sobered. “They haven’t arrested anyone, have they?”

“Not that I’ve heard.”

Jamie hadn’t heard any updates on the investigation, either, but that wasn’t surprising. Often the crime victim was the last one to know.

Dr. Novak paid Jamie one last visit before she was discharged. “I see you have someone here to drive you home.”

“Yes.” Robyn and Ford had offered to let Jamie stay at their house for a few days, and she had reluctantly agreed that it might not be a good idea to stay alone.

“Have they caught the person who drugged you?” the doctor asked.

“Not that I know of.”

Dr. Novak lowered her voice. “So what’s it like, having a boyfriend who could buy a foreign country, if he wanted to?”

Jamie laughed. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Honey, a man doesn’t send flowers like that—” she pointed to a vase containing two dozen red roses “—to a friend.”

“What did I tell you?” Robyn said.

“Daniel doesn’t do anything small, that’s all.”

But maybe the roses did mean something, if two people had pointed out the significance in the span of five minutes.

Jamie signed a seemingly endless stack of paperwork. Then finally she was rolled downstairs in a wheelchair to the front door.

Robyn led her to a gorgeous silver Jaguar parked at the curb. Either teachers were getting paid more than they used to, or ex-cops turned investigators for Project Justice earned a darn good living.

Jamie stuffed her cute rolling train case—courtesy of Daniel—and the flowers into the backseat. She jumped when a golden retriever occupying the far seat leaned over to sniff the flowers.

Oh, no. Someone was already behind the wheel, and it wasn’t Robyn.

“Daniel.” Her heart began a staccato rhythm behind her ribs and her stomach fluttered madly. No wonder Robyn had insisted she put on lipstick and comb her hair before leaving the hospital.

Seeing no way out of this, she climbed into the passenger seat, sending Robyn a withering look.

“Bye-bye, now,” Robyn said as she closed the car door and sauntered away.

Jamie felt the urge to leap out of the car and flee to the safety of the hospital. She wasn’t ready to face Daniel. He’d been so angry with her during their last face-to-face conversation, and…

“Daniel,” she said again, blinking stupidly at him. “You’re driving a car.”

“Did you think I couldn’t drive?”

“I thought you preferred limousines with bulletproof glass, and drivers and bodyguards.” She still wondered if she was dreaming. She’d longed for Daniel to show her that he cared. She’d wanted him to come to her. And he’d done it—though not without a manipulative twist in the mix.

“So, this is something new for me,” he said casually.

“How do you like it so far?”

“Well, I haven’t turned into a pumpkin yet. I imagined this horde of reporters following me wherever I went, like they did after I got out of prison. But you know what? No one’s interested. They’ve moved on.”

“Don’t underestimate the media. It’s possible they simply haven’t noticed you yet.” And when news got out about an attempted murder at his mansion, interest would be revived.

So far, though, the press hadn’t caught on.

“How are you, Jamie?” he asked. “You look much better than you did last time I saw you.”

“I would have to. I was unconscious and bleeding last time you saw me.”

“Are you okay? I had no trouble providing you with roses and four-star meals, but the one thing I couldn’t buy was information about your health. Hospitals take privacy very seriously.”

“I’m fine. The doctor said no lasting damage from the tranquilizers.”

He expelled a breath he’d been holding. “Thank God. I was so worried about you.”

“Um, maybe we should go.” A couple of people had stopped on the sidewalk to gawk at the gorgeous, expensive car. And though the tinted windows prevented them from seeing inside, they were curious.

“Right. Away we go.” He put the car in gear and smoothly pulled away from the curb, then accelerated toward the hospital exit.

Daniel couldn’t believe he was actually out driving a car with a beautiful woman beside him. Inside, he was a lot shakier than he let on. But it was thrilling, too. All this time he’d imagined he was in complete control of his life, when in reality he’d been turning over control to everybody else—Jillian, Randall, even Claude.

Claude.
Thinking about his old friend made his heart constrict.

“You’re taking me to the Hyatts’ house, right?” Jamie asked.

“I thought we’d go for a drive. If you’re not too tired.”

“I’m exhausted. You’d think lying around for two days, I’d be raring to go. But getting poked and prodded nonstop—thanks for that, by the way—wore me out. Couldn’t sleep, either.”

“A hospital isn’t like staying in the penthouse at the St. Regis,” Daniel said. “But I’m sure Ford and Robyn have a nice, quiet guest room.” He sounded disappointed.

“We don’t have to go straight there,” Jamie said suddenly. “It’s actually nice, sitting in this comfy leather seat, watching the world go by.”

The weather was perfect—sunny and in the sixties. Hot, muggy Houston summers might not be the envy of everyone in the world, but the balmy winters made up for it.

“Do you even have a driver’s license?” Jamie asked.

“I’ve kept it current, even though I wasn’t actually driving.”

“Did the DMV come to you?”

He grinned but didn’t answer, because she was absolutely right. He couldn’t remember the last time he stood in line anywhere.

He merged onto the freeway, amazed at how quickly the skills required for driving in the kamikaze Houston traffic came back to him. Maybe his grip on the steering wheel was a bit tight, but that was more due to his nearness to Jamie than the cars swerving lane to lane all around him.

Jamie was being civil, but that didn’t mean she’d forgiven him. Or forgotten. He could never take those harsh words back.

“Have the police reached any conclusions?” she asked.

“They haven’t told you anything?”

“Not a word. It’s awful, being out of the loop.”

“Actually, there is a suspect.”

“Is it Jillian? Daniel, I did give the police her name. But I told them in no uncertain terms I didn’t believe she would stoop that low.”

“It’s not Jillian, although they’re still looking at her. It’s someone we never considered, and frankly, I’m a bit skeptical. Are you hungry?”

“Starving, but don’t leave me in suspense like that. Who?”

“Claude. My chef.”

Daniel’s revelation was met with thundering silence.

He didn’t rush to explain. He wanted to hear her take on it, without any preconceived notions. So while he let her absorb what he’d just said, he got off the freeway and, prompted by his GPS, drove to a little-known urban park, a small slice of green grass and ancient live oak trees that had been spared the bulldozer for over a hundred years.

“Why are we stopping?” Jamie asked as Daniel pulled up to a parking meter, then realized he didn’t have change. Such an ordinary thing, pocket change. Everybody had it but him.

“Picnic.”

“Are you kidding?”

“No. I packed the basket myself. It’s not as fancy as Claude would have made, but you’ll like it.”

“Claude. Are you going to tell me why you think he tried to kill me? ’Cause I don’t have a clue.”

“I will. If you’ll loan me all the quarters in your purse. I’ll pay you back with interest.”

Jamie laughed. God, it was good to hear her laugh. “There’s something ironic about the unemployed government employee loaning the billionaire a few quarters.”

“I’m not a billionaire, you know. After the last stock-market crash, it’s down to only about seven hundred million.”

“The funny thing is, I think you’re serious.” She grabbed the small bag he’d had sent to the hospital, along with a change of clothes he’d retrieved from one of the guest-room closets and a few toiletries. Inside she found her small, black clutch purse, the one she’d brought to his party, and fished around.

“You’re in luck. Three quarters.”

“Perfect.”

“Why don’t you just risk the ticket? It’s not like thirty-five bucks is going to bankrupt you.”

“True. But that was the old Daniel, the one who thought he didn’t have to follow the rules of ordinary people. I’ve changed, Jamie. Or at least, I’m trying to change. You’ve made me see my life for what it was, and I didn’t care for it too much.”

He got out, tipped his seat forward, snapped a leash on Tucker’s collar. The dog clamored out of the backseat. Daniel stuffed the borrowed quarters into the meter as Jamie climbed out, looking around curiously.

Daniel pressed a button on his keychain and the trunk popped open. He grabbed a basket and an old quilt from the trunk.

“You’re serious? We’re going on a picnic?”

“You don’t want to?”

“I’m too hungry to turn down food.”

They set out to walk the two blocks to the park.

His park.

It was a little triangle of green space at a non descript intersection in a not-so-great part of downtown. But despite the blowing trash and graffiti that marred the blocks on all sides, this park was pristine. It was surrounded by a wrought-iron fence, but the gate was always open.

A sign over the gate proclaimed the park’s name.

“Logan Park,” Jamie read. “Coincidence? I think not.”

“See that building right there?” He pointed to an old redbrick office building. “That was the first location of Logan Oil. My grandfather gave this land to the city, with the provision that it always be kept a public park. He set up a trust for the perpetual care of the land and improvements.”

“He was ahead of his time, your grandfather.” She stepped through the gate. “It’s beautiful. I’ve worked downtown my whole adult life and I never knew this was here.”

“Most people don’t.”

They had their choice of picnic spots—a couple of old stone tables and benches, a stucco pavilion with a red tiled roof made to look like an old Spanish mission or a sunny spot on a patch of soft green grass.

“Do you mind sitting on the ground?”

“No, I don’t mind.”

Daniel let Tucker off the leash, since no one else was around. The retriever set about sniffing every tree, bush and bench, probably happy for a new space to explore where other dogs had been.

Jamie helped Daniel spread out the old quilt. They sat down on it and Daniel opened the basket. He plucked out a block of cheddar cheese, already cut into slices, some crackers, sliced apples and green grapes, and two bottles of mineral water.

“I was expecting some gourmet concoction,” Jamie said. “But I love crackers and cheese.”

“The police confiscated almost everything from my kitchen. This was about all that was left.”

“Claude,” she said, as if suddenly remembering. “Tell me again why you think he tried to kill me. His name certainly never came up in the Christopher Gables investigation.”