It Had to Be You (Christiansen Family) (12 page)

She pressed End.

Kendra stared at her. “Jace? Jace
Jacobsen
? That’s who you called?”

She nodded. “He’s a friend
 
—I mean, he’s
Owen’s
friend, not mine. But we know each other.”

“No wonder you don’t want to call Russell.” Kendra shook
her head. “Mmm-hmmm. Not when you have Mr. J-I-am-hot-Hammer on the line.”

“What? No. Listen
 
—he’s not my kind of guy. He’s too . . . he’s too big for my world. He’s got swarms of women and fans and . . . really, I don’t like him. And he doesn’t like me. Trust me.”

“Well, he does have a reputation.” Kendra made a face. “It doesn’t matter how good-looking a guy is. I remember reading about that scandal
 
—”

“Oh no, Kendra. He was innocent; he wasn’t involved in that at all. He’s actually . . . Well, I think he isn’t all the media makes him out to be.”

“Really?” Kendra drew the word out long and sweetly.

Why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut? She didn’t have to defend him. . . .

Okay, she did. Just a little. Because he’d fed her tapioca pudding.

Kendra leaned on the desk. “If he’s not a scoundrel, then why aren’t you interested in him?”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t trouble. But aside from the fact that he’s not interested in
me
, which I think should be glaringly obvious,
I’m
not interested. I want someone normal.”

“Like Russell?”

“No. Like a guy who would rather read to children than read about himself on the front page.”

“Okay. No tall-dark-and-handsome, front-page athlete. Got it. And anyone on skates
 
—right out.”

“Kendra, please. We’re worlds apart. And the fact is, he probably doesn’t even remember volunteering
 
—”

Eden’s phone vibrated. Kendra scooped it up. “It’s him!” She shoved it at Eden. “Answer it!”

Oh, brother. She took the phone. “Hello?”

“Hello, Eden? I’m sorry I missed your call. Did you find something on that guy? John Doe?”

He did remember.

“I found that receipt
 
—”

“In his pants pocket. So did you figure out where it might be from?”

“Maybe. But I don’t want to bother you.”

“Where is it?”

“Okay. Well, do you know where Frogtown is?”

A pause, then, “Yes. Listen, I’m at the hospital, sort of tucked into some things. How about if I swing by after work
 
—”

“Oh no. You’re with your friend Sam, aren’t you?”

Another pause. “Yes.”

“How’s his daughter?”

He sighed, and she chased it quickly with “I’m sorry, Jace; just forget it. I can go
 
—”

“No. That’s out of the question.”

“Really. You don’t have to do this. I know you were just kidding.”

Kendra gestured her confusion, but Eden waved her away.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because . . .” Now she sounded like a desperate fan hoping for his attention. She found her voice, the one she used on Owen. “Listen, I don’t need you to protect me. I can do this on my own.”

His voice turned cold. “You’re not going to Frogtown by yourself. I said I wanted to help, and I meant it. I’ll pick you up at your house after work.” He hung up.

Eden stared at the phone.

“So
 
—is it a date?”

“I don’t know what it is, but it’s most definitely not a date. I think I just made him mad.”

Kendra smiled. “Mad means he cares.”

“No. Mad means he feels trapped and is already regretting agreeing to this. This is going to be a disaster.”

J
ACE COULDN’T PINPOINT
why Eden’s words irked him.

You don’t have to do this. I know you were just kidding.

Says who?

He pocketed his phone. The call felt like the final shadow on his already-dismal day. First he’d worked out, doing some power cleans that only made him have to ice his knee again. Then he’d showered and hightailed it to the hospital, where he had to watch Maddy try not to cry over the tubes protruding from her chest.

He
wanted to cry. She was a brave thing, offering him a wan smile when he walked into her room, but she had to be sore from surgery and aching from the places where tubes entered her body, straight into her heart to keep it pumping.

Now Maddy was sitting on the bed, tethered to the machine,
drawing a picture of a dog
 
—probably the one Sam kept promising
 
—her tongue parked between her teeth as she filled in the black perimeter of the dog’s body.

Sam had finally fallen asleep on the couch, and no one had the desire to wake him. At least he’d showered, shaved, and looked less like the walking dead.

Jace sat down next to the bed, picking up the book he’d set on the table. “Where was I?”

“The frog was talking the princess into kissing him,” Maddy said. She didn’t look up.

“Do you think she should?” Jace asked as he flipped to the right page of
The Farthest-Away Mountain
.

“Of course she should! He’s the prince
 
—she just doesn’t know it.”

He’d found it in her stack of books when he packed Sam a bag of clothes. It looked worn, well-read. But Maddy hadn’t seemed bored.

Just tired. She’d fallen asleep twice, and he’d seen her start to yawn already, her body shutting down from all the energy expended on lunch and coloring.

Maddy yawned again. “Look at my picture, Uncle Jace.” She held it up and he took it.

“You’re a real artist, Maddy.” He taped the picture to her cupboard.

“Someday I’m going to have a dog,” she said, leaning back, her eyes closing. He tucked the covers under her chin. Returned to the chair beside her bed and watched her fade into sleep.

He couldn’t bear it. Maddy, above everyone else, deserved God’s favor.

He tried not to equate it with God’s love, but it felt that way. Maybe God simply liked some people better than others.

And he completely understood why God might not like him.

Jace waited until Maddy’s breathing evened out into deep slumber, sat with her awhile, then drew the drapes and tiptoed out, heading to the parking garage.

He sat in his GT-R, letting it warm, debating.
I don’t need you to protect me.
Obviously Eden still didn’t see him as someone she could trust. She still saw the headlines, the photos, the guy he’d been.

Maybe he should forget the entire thing like she suggested.

However, he found himself driving to Minneapolis, toward Portland Avenue to pick up Eden. Because he’d given his word. And Jace Jacobsen wasn’t a quitter.

He pulled up to her brownstone and texted her. While he waited, he turned up the country station. “‘Take you for a ride on my big green tractor . . . ,’” he sang, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, trying not to look anxious.

Yeah. Right. He put his hands in his lap.

Eden tapped on the window, then opened the door. “Hi.”

“Hey.” He kept it cool, friendly.

She got in, wearing her usual uniform
 
—the white parka, knit hat, black boots. She looked at him with a hint of wariness in her eyes, and he had a momentary flashback of her grabbing the door handle as he drove. “Thanks for picking me up.”

“You’re welcome.” He put the car into drive. “And for the record, I signed on for this, so next time you want to do the thinking for me, don’t.”

She stilled and he pulled away from the curb, letting the tension settle between them.
Way to go, Jace. Bully her into liking you.
He heard the indictment in his head but couldn’t shake off his anger.

Or the nagging question of why her rejection irked him so much.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. And now he felt like a jerk. “I just know you’re busy, and . . . it’s not like we’re really going to find his family.”

He pulled onto the highway. “What? Of course we are. I’m like a dog with a bone, honey. When I want something, I get it.” That didn’t come out quite right either. “I mean, with your crackerjack investigative skills, how can we go wrong?”

She gave him a weird expression, and he knew he was trying too hard.

Better to keep his mouth shut, maybe. But being around her made him say crazy things as if he couldn’t help but want her attention.

“I figure we can stop into the Frogtown Meats and Deli and see if they know of anyone matching John Doe’s description,” she said.

“That sounds like a good idea.”

She glanced at him and he caught a smile. “Thanks.”

“How’s your brother?”

“They took off the bandages for a while today to test his sight. It’s improving apparently. Blurry, but we’re hoping . . . How’s the team doing without him? Are you ready for tomorrow’s game?”

“Max’s trying to fill in his spot, but Owen and I had a sort of chemistry. Max and I are still finding ours.”

“So what will you do?”

“I don’t know. Hope for the best. Maybe make a few more shots on goal instead of feeding the puck to Max.”

“You should. You’ve got a deadly slap shot.”

He glanced at her. He knew that, but, wow, she knew it too? “Thanks. Maybe I will.”

They got off on Dale and headed up to University Avenue, driving by three-story apartment buildings that had seen better days and the ghosts of demolished homes, others small and sandwiched together on tiny plots of land, cordoned off by chain-link fencing.

“I don’t like this part of town,” Eden said. “It feels so run-down. Dangerous, even.”

“Over half of this is rental housing, and over 60 percent of the residents are immigrants. About half are single mothers. Lots of gang activity, but I also read an article about a movement of Christians hoping to give the area a face-lift. They’ve renamed it Godtown.”

He didn’t add that he’d worked on a Habitat for Humanity crew last summer in this area. Some things he did for himself, and he didn’t need the public prying into his life.

Or Eden, the reporter.

“It certainly needs the help.” She held on to her seat belt.

“Well, don’t judge by what you see. The folks in this area of town are just as kind as those in the Summit Hill area. Maybe even more so. They don’t like the violence any more than anyone else.”

She nodded. “I printed out a map to the deli. It’s off University, on Rice Street.”

He turned onto Rice, and they parked in an on-street space across from a small store. It had its own lot, a few cars parked under the streetlights.

A bell jangled as they entered. A Filipino man whom Jace would guess to be around fifty looked over his shoulder from where he stood behind the counter, slicing roast beef. “Hello?”

“Hi.” Eden stepped up to him. “We’re looking for someone who may have been here a week ago.” She pulled out the receipt and set it on the counter. “Is this from your shop?”

The man glanced at Eden, then at Jace, his face closed. “No,” he said quickly.

“Sir, we’re not the police,” Jace said quietly. “We’re just looking for a friend. He disappeared last week, and we are trying to retrace his steps. He was wearing a red ski jacket and bought a sandwich.” He reached around Eden and pushed the receipt the man’s direction. “Will this jog your memory?”

A twenty sat on top of the receipt.

The man picked it up along with the receipt. Glanced at Jace. Considered him with too much fear in his eyes.

“Please?”

“I don’t know him,” he said.

Eden sighed.

“But someone left their car in my lot all week. I’m getting ready to have it towed.”

Eden looked at Jace. “What if that was him? I did some homework and found a police report filed a week ago Sunday morning after a 911 call about a man found in a park, about two blocks from here.”

“Thank you,” Jace said and took the receipt.

The man pocketed the money.

Outside, they found the car
 
—an old, rusty Jetta encased in snow and ice. It looked forgotten, or at least like it had sat in the lot for a week. He found a stick and scraped away the snow hiding the license plate number. “Can you look this up through your resources at the paper?”

“I think so. It’ll take a day or two, but maybe we can get a name
and an address.” And then he saw the first hint of warmth in her eyes since she’d gotten in the car.

It reached right in and stirred that easy feeling that made him want to lean into her smile. Tell her things that he probably shouldn’t.

To name it, it felt a little like friendship. Or maybe teamwork, the kind he had with his players.

It caused stupid things to spill out of his mouth. Like an offer for dinner.

“Are you hungry?” He caught her elbow before they crossed the street. A car splashed by.

“What, tapioca again?” With her standing against the darkness, her green eyes illuminated by a streetlight, a faint smile touching her lips, he just about gave in to the urge to bend down and ever so slightly brush his lips against hers, capture her face in his hands, rub his thumbs over the curve of her jaw
 
—

Because, yeah, that would make her trust him.

He took a breath, found his voice. “How about a J-Hammer special over at Sam’s place?”

“The bar is open?”

“Nell’s running it. But I have kitchen privileges.”

He unlocked his car but went around to open the door for her. She gave him a tiny frown, but he didn’t care. He closed the door behind her and got in on the driver’s side.

“So what’s in this J-Hammer special?”

“Anything you want.”

“Oh.” She tucked her gloved hands between her knees, and he turned up the heat, still warm from the ride over. “How about a grilled cheese sandwich?”

“Yep, that’s my specialty.”

Eden wanted to argue with Jace. His specialty seemed to be making her feel like he cared. Like he truly wanted to spend time with her on this wild-goose chase. Because really, what were the chances that they’d actually found the car of Mr. John Doe?

Still, as she sat in Jace’s sports coupe, heading to Sammy’s, Eden felt like she’d made a discovery.

Jace made her feel safe. Strange, since three days ago she might have jumped from his speeding car. But standing together in the deli, and his touch on her elbow as they crossed the street, spoke to her in a way she couldn’t quite identify.

As if suddenly she could breathe. Or relax.

She glanced at him, at the way he drove, one hand on the wheel, the other on the gearshift, like a man in charge, moving with the traffic like he did on the ice
 
—quick but fluid. Sure of himself.

Comfortable in his own skin. But not demanding. He’d let her pick the station after she’d made a comment about country music.

Not that she didn’t like country, but she couldn’t believe it when she suggested the Sinatra station and he had it preprogrammed. He even hummed along, his voice deep and thrumming through her.

Maybe she’d misjudged him, just a little.

Or a lot.

They pulled up outside Sammy’s, and she noticed the lot was sparsely populated. “It’s a Monday night, no game. There’s probably not a lot of action,” Jace said.

He waited for her before they crossed the lot, then opened the bar door, ushering her in. The smell of fried foods, the slaps and cheers of games playing on the hockey channel, greeted her. Her gaze went to the place where she’d picked Owen off the floor less
than a week ago. They’d put the chairs and tables back, cleaned up the fight. As if it had never occurred.

She wondered how fast it might take for Owen to be forgotten.

A few patrons looked up as they entered; a couple nudged their friends and pointed.

She hadn’t thought about that
 
—being seen with Jace. She was so used to being in Owen’s shadow that she hadn’t thought what it might be like to share the limelight. Especially with a man like Jace Jacobsen. Although, frankly, he could easily eclipse all the light in the room.