Jinxed (15 page)

She knocked away his hand and the bag and felt around the sudsy bottom of the sink. “Charm … lost …”

“I’ll find it.” Heart in throat, he maneuvered Afia onto a kitchen chair and forced the bag over her mouth. “You breathe.”

Some seductress
. Not that she’d been in the actual process of seducing, but she’d been laying the groundwork, tearing down one possible barrier by coming clean about her finances or lack thereof.

She’d gotten flustered.

She’d lost a charm.

Now she sat in a cushioned wicker chair, red-faced with humiliation, a paper bag crumpled in her lap. Three weeks ago she’d come close to losing it, but she’d never suffered a full-blown panic attack. Not even when Randy had collapsed on top of her in the middle of sex. She’d been frantic on the inside, of course, but she’d reacted in a calm, clear-headed manner. She’d bottled her anxiety. She was very good at that. At least she used to be.

Afia massaged the tightness in her chest, watching as Jake wielded a wrench to loosen the kitchen drainpipe. He’d said he’d find her charm, and he seemed determined. Probably feared she’d freak out if he didn’t produce. She wouldn’t freak because, in the three lung-crushing minutes that she’d been gasping for air, she’d resigned herself to the notion that the charm was forever lost. She felt it in her bones. In her heart.

The hamsa hand
. The magical charm that served as protection from the evil eye. The sentimental loss was nearly as crushing as the symbolic significance.

“It’s not here,” Jake said, thoroughly inspecting the pipe. He shot her a cautious glance, as if braced for a psychotic outburst. “Maybe you lost it upstairs,” he said calmly. “Did you wear the bracelet in the bath?”

“No. I took it off. I …” she pressed her lips together, tears blurring her eyes as a thought occurred. “I probably lost it in the dumpster when I was rummaging through all that trash. And it’s too late to go back and look because you said the disposal truck was on its way.”

Jake secured the drainpipe then shimmied out from under the sink. “That was over an hour ago. Wouldn’t you have missed it before now?”

“I had other things on my mind.”
Like trying to get you in bed
. What had seemed difficult before, now seemed impossible. As if he’d want to have a fling with a hyperventilating flake. Not that sex was even the issue. She hated that she’d lost control. “I’m sorry I overreacted,” she said, brushing away a renegade tear. “It’s just that it was a shock and a disappointment and … the hamsa hand.”

“I take it the hamsa hand is a charm of major significance?”

Velma rubbed up against her ankle. Afia reached down and stroked her fur, feeling oddly calmed by the action. “It’s a magical charm that serves as protection against the evil eye.”

Jake dabbed a towel to his water-splattered T-shirt and then walked over and pulled up the wicker chair opposite Afia. He sat, jammed his hands through his spiky hair. “So now you think you’re open season for this … evil eye? Is that why you got so upset?”

Velma trotted off toward another room, leaving Afia alone with the stern-faced P.I. She frowned, easing her knees away from his. “You’re making fun of me.”

“No,” he said, leaning forward and bracing his forearms on his thighs. “Just trying to understand.”

Though compassion shimmered in his emerald eyes, she knew he was a realist and not easily swayed by ancient superstitions. Her mother’s rendition of the evil eye was too lengthy and dramatic, so she opted for a passage she’d read in an academic essay. “The evil eye is in essence a transmitted sickness. When an envious person gazes upon a coveted person, object, or animal too long, they’re giving the evil eye, dooming said object to ‘dry up.’ ”

He angled his head. “What do you mean ‘dry up’?”

“Fruit withers on orchard trees. Children vomit. Nursing mothers or livestock lose their ability to produce milk. Men lose potency.”

His brow furrowed in disbelief. “Damn.”

She bristled. “I’m not making this up. It’s an ancient belief.”

“Superstition, you mean.”

“In Sicily and Southern Italy they believe there are those who have the power to deliberately cast the evil eye,” she plowed on, “while other cultures consider the act unintentional.”

He raised a lone eyebrow. “At the risk of insulting you, you don’t actually believe that you’re in danger of drying up just because you lost that charm.”

“The hamsa hand,” she repeated with a shiver. The thought of “drying up” and never having children had been enough to incite that panic attack. “I don’t know what to believe, Jake.” She settled back in her chair with an exhausted sigh and studied her bracelet. “My dad gave me this bracelet on my thirteenth birthday. It had thirteen charms based on the concept that unlucky thirteen represents reversed bad luck. Each charm provided protection against one of my mother’s pet curses or offered plain ‘good fortune.’ ” She quirked a sad smile. “He figured I needed all the luck on earth.”

“Because you were born on Friday the thirteenth?”

“Because I was born to Giselle St. John, a fanatically superstitious woman. My name, Afia, means ‘born on Friday.’ I guess she didn’t want me to forget, as if I could. Anyway, Lord knows I’ve had my share of misfortune. The last few years have been … difficult, but I managed.”
Thanks to shopping and Rudy
. “Then three weeks ago I lost my moneybag charm, the same day I learned Henry Glick had absconded with my fortune.”

“Coincidence.” Jake took her hands in his and rubbed his thumbs over her knuckles.

Her pulse fluttered. If only he would pull her onto his lap, into his arms. This moment she longed to feel safe, coddled. A dangerous thing for a woman striving not to need a man. She cleared her throat, quirked a crooked smile. “You sound like Rudy. Actually his exact words were,
‘Your life is out of control because you have no control in your life.’
Hence the Glick incident.”

Jake tightened his grasp on her hands, glanced up, and rattled her with a piercing glare. “How can you be with that guy?”

“My mother recommended him and—”

“Not Glick.” He practically growled the name. “
Gallow
.”

Afia’s mouth went dry. “You sound as if you don’t like Rudy.”

“I don’t.”

Her heart hammered against her chest, her breathing quickened. “But you don’t even know him.”

“I know his kind. That’s enough.”

So, what? He’d sized him up in one look? Caught a “vibe?” Mortified, she snatched back her hand. She knew Jake was alpha and macho and all that, but he had cats, and he liked antiques, and … her heart shriveled. He didn’t even
know
Rudy, and yet he was judging his lifestyle? “Well,” she said, rising with as much dignity as she could muster while wearing sweatpants and a soaked tee, “I may be superstitious, but you’re …” A homophobe? A bastard? “… a narrow-minded jerk!”

“Hold up.” Jake stood and towered over her.

“I can’t work for you.”

He looked incredulous. “What? Wait a minute. I’m just trying to help—”

“By insulting Rudy and
his kind
?” She turned on her heel, too fast she realized too late. Lightheaded, she toppled back against his hard body. “Let me go,” she snapped, trying to squirm out of his embrace.

“If I let you go, you’ll fall. You’re still dizzy from that attack.” He tightened his hold, dropped his mouth close to her ear. “I’m sorry,” he said, his warm breath fanning her neck. “I spoke out of turn. Your relationship with Gallow is none of my business.”

Her knees weakened at the feel of his moist breath and scent of herbal shampoo. She closed her eyes and took a deep, resolving breath. She refused to be attracted to this man. “Rudy’s a wonderful, warm-hearted human being.” Her limbs trembled with conviction.

“I’ll take your word for it.” He turned her in his arms and eased her back down onto the wicker chair. “Let’s back up and pretend that I didn’t insult your … friend. And that you didn’t quit.”

She shook her head, a lump the size of the Hope diamond wedged in her throat. “I can’t work for you.”

“You can’t leave me high and dry without an assistant.” He cocked his head, his voice low and seductive, his eyes shining with a combination of stubbornness and desperation. “Give me two weeks notice at least.”

“I can’t—”

“I’ll help you find Glick.”

Her heart pounded against her ribs, thunder boomed, lightning cracked, and a cat howled low and long from the room beyond as Afia slowly nodded her agreement.

God help her, she’d just made a pact with a jerk.

“Have you got the stuff?”

Jake ducked a giant moth as it zoomed toward the motion detecting security lamp and then held up a white paper sack. “Double cheeseburger with extra pickles, large order of onion rings.” He held up a second bag. “A quart of Rocky Road.”

Joni narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t get that low-fat frozen yogurt crap, did you?”

“God forbid.”

She threw open the front door, snatched the bags out of his hands and then bid him inside the McNichols’ small, but tidy, two-bedroom apartment. The country-style décor, a pleasant mix of checks, stripes and flowered print, echoed the softer side of his sister’s personality. “What took you so long?” she snapped, easing herself down onto her red and white checked sofa. “I’m starving.”

Tonight, Jake noted with amusement, Joni clashed big time with the warm, inviting furnishings. “Considering I was on my way back from Cherry Hill when you called with your
emergency
, and that there aren’t a helluva lot of fast food restaurants open at this hour, I think I made pretty good time.” He opted to sit in the quilt-printed rocker glider, a safe distance away from his hormonal sister. “You could have sent Carson.”

“Carson got a last minute call to sub for the pianist in the pit band for that new show at the Carnevale. The regular guy broke his wrist. Bad for him, good for Carson. This could turn into a steady gig,” she said with a big smile. “He has a rehearsal after the show. I don’t expect him until around three a.m.”

Jake frowned. “What if you need him before then?” Sure, he was happy about Carson’s potentially steady job. But if it meant leaving Joni alone late at night, every night …

“He’s got his cell phone,” Joni said, nibbling on an onion ring. “Stop being such a mother hen.”

Since their own mother had passed on from cancer six years ago, and as Carson’s parents lived in Ohio, Jake figured he had the right to hover and nag. It didn’t matter that Joni had always been a tough little rug rat, or that she’d married an adoring husband, he still considered himself his little sister’s protector. Just now he was cursing himself for indulging her late night craving. His stomach rolled at the sight of all that grease. “How can you eat junk like that after midnight?”

She licked her fingers. “I’m pregnant. I can eat junk like this anytime.”

He thumbed up the brim of his baseball cap and watched her devour a quarter of the double cheeseburger in two bites. “That’s not your supper is it?”

She smirked. “No. I had spaghetti and meatballs with Carson around five. We missed you.”

“Sorry I had to cancel again. It’s this case.” This time he’d tailed Rivelli to Angela Brannigan’s home, an upscale townhouse on the outskirts of Cherry Hill. He could have bailed at that point on the assumption that Rivelli would spend the night in his fiancée’s bed, but something prodded him to extend the surveillance. Sure enough, around ten o’clock, the casino V.P. exited Angela’s townhouse, hopped into his BMW, and sped off. He’d driven straight home and after an hour his lights were off, and all was deadsville in Rivelli’s primary residence. Maybe he was humping his secretary in the office supply room, because there sure wasn’t any action late at night. Not the past two nights anyway.

“Tell me about it,” Joni said. “Maybe I can help.”

Jake pointed at the quart of ice cream sitting on the honey-oak coffee table. “You want me to put that in the fridge?”

“No. I’m going to eat it in a minute.”

The health nut in him cringed. “The whole thing?”

“Stop busting my ass. I get enough grief from Carson.” She reached for another greasy onion ring. “According to the doctor, I’m fine. Now tell me what’s up with the cheater. And don’t look at me with that ‘it’s confidential’ face. I’m still part of the team. I’m just on extended leave.”

He grunted. “Like you’re ever coming back.” Once she had the baby, she’d forget all about nailing cheaters, abusers, and deadbeat dads. She’d be immersed in the daily grind of rearing her kid and making sure he or she got the right moral guidance so that they didn’t end up a cheater, abuser, or lazy bum. She’d never be able to dump her kid at daycare. Speaking of which … “You know anything about a daycare center called The Sea Serpent?”

“Funny you should ask. It came up when I was researching Afia. Sorry I haven’t filled you in before now, but there was a lot of interesting info on that girl, and I wanted to try to sift through fiction and fact. I’ll go and get my notes,” she said, rising with fried food in hand. “Be back in a sec.”