Never Too Late (29 page)

“Did you have a good nap?”

Carla’s voice. Carla’s lap. Jamie bolted upright. Her knee hit the coffee table and the iced-tea glasses fell with a thud, sending ice cubes all over. She started to get up, but Carla stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“I’ll get a towel.”

“I’m so sorry, Carla.” When did she fall asleep, and how did she end up on Carla’s lap?

“Don’t be silly. It’s just ice cubes.”

Jamie’s mind was fuzzy from sleep and her body felt hot. What time was it?

“I guess you needed the sleep.”

“I’m…”

Carla stopped wiping up the spilled tea and looked at her. “Won’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”

Jamie looked away from those eyes that so affected her with their kindness. “It’s been a rough couple days.”

“The meeting will be over by this time tomorrow and you’ll be vindicated. You’re almost out from under it.” Carla’s voice was so sure, so comforting.

“That’s not it,” Jamie said, in a voice that sounded as defeated as she felt.

“What then?” Carla sat down next to her.

Loneliness and fear collided, and unwanted tears filled her eyes. “My house,” she said, in a whisper. “The IRS put a lien on my house for back taxes. I’ll never be done with this mess.”

Carla touched Jamie’s back.

“And I finished going through the patient files yesterday.” Jamie laughed bitterly and fought the urge to relax into Carla’s hand. “I added it up. Just with what we could trace it’s ninety-three thousand dollars for last year alone.” Carla was silent and her hand stilled on Jamie’s back. “You knew.”

“Suspected.”

“That bitch!” Jamie surged to her feet, anger searing through her. Saying the damage out loud made it painfully real. She stormed to the kitchen. Her business…her relationship…her house…and God knew what else…all in jeopardy because of Marjorie. Her breath caught in her chest when Carla rubbed in a slow circle between her shoulder blades. “I’m going to lose everything.”

“No, you’re not. I’ll mortgage my house if I have to,” Carla said, fiercely. “You will not lose your house, you will not go bankrupt, and your patients will not be left without their doctor.”

Jamie squeezed her eyes shut, her thoughts in turmoil, her awareness focused on the hand on her back, stealing the reassurance Carla offered. “You’re not going to mortgage your house. I created this mess—”

“No, you didn’t.”

The strength of Carla’s voice infiltrated her, collecting all the worry and anxiety, soothing the broken pieces of her heart.

“Jamie, look at me.”

The first thing Jamie saw was Carla’s eyes. Always Carla’s eyes—the kindness and understanding she was used to but something more. Jamie’s heart jumped into her throat. Carla’s eyes sparked with fierceness, then darkened with…Jamie groaned. She knew what Carla wanted. Carla’s waist slid into her hands and she was lost in the soft compliance beneath her fingers. She trembled, her eyes locked on Carla’s, as her body gave in to the desire in those eyes.

Carla cupped the back of Jamie’s head, and her breath came hot and fast against Jamie’s mouth. She moaned when Carla’s lips met hers. Desire shot through her and she opened to the kiss. Carla’s mouth took hers, gently at first, then not so gently. Boundaries dissolved as the kiss took on a life of its own, hot and alive and sparking with electricity. Passion ignited and they clung to each other as their moans became one.

With Carla’s lips commanding hers, with Carla’s tongue in charge, Jamie surrendered. She wrapped her arms around Carla’s waist, sucking their centers together. She fought to explore Carla’s mouth as hers was explored. Their mouths tasted of butter and salt and need. The kiss was everything she remembered and new sensations all mixed together.

Jamie’s heart pounded, pushing desire through channels that welcomed it. Carla’s hand slid down the side of her neck, her fingers rested on her bounding pulse, then moved lower to the curve of her breast. Carla moaned as she rubbed her thumb over Jamie’s nipple. It hardened, and arousal tumbled to Jamie’s center. Carla pinched her nipple. Pain pricked the cocoon of lust, and awareness burst through. She pushed against Carla’s chest. “I can’t,” she said, in a strangled voice as Carla kissed her way down Jamie’s neck.

“I can’t.” Jamie choked out the words again. Carla’s mouth was so warm against her skin, and she trembled with the need to arch her head back, to give in to the touch that was igniting her. Breathing hard she ducked under Carla’s arm and backed away until she hit the counter. They stared at each other over the expanse of Carla’s kitchen and twenty years. Carla took a step toward Jamie. Her face was flushed, her erect nipples visible through the blouse, her eyes glazed. She took another step. Jamie made a whimpering sound. Carla stopped and blinked, then blinked again. The desire in her eyes dissolved.

“I’m sorry,” Carla whispered, her chest heaving.

Jamie’s legs were jelly as she bolted for the door.

*

Carla paced in her living room, trembling with leftover desire. She turned off the movie and the room fell silent. Lust retreated and regret wrapped around her like a corset, squeezing the breath out of her. She’d taken what she shouldn’t. She knew Jamie well enough to know honor and responsibility were the cornerstones of who she was. She’d kissed a woman she knew wasn’t available. She had to fix this. She reached for her phone, startled when it rang. “Jamie?”

“Sorry to disappoint you, honey. I’m running a few minutes late for dinner.”

“Oh, Mike, I did something awful,” Carla said, as tears blurred her vision.

“What’s wrong? You sound like you’re crying.”

Carla slumped to the couch, and the story tumbled out through ragged sobs and cold self-reproach. She’d lose Jamie forever, and not even Mike’s comforting words could make her believe otherwise.

*

Jamie stumbled into her house and headed straight for the liquor cabinet. A drink to calm down, wait for Sheryl, fix her favorite dinner, put her favorite CD on, and this would all go away. She laid it out like a treatment plan. She could fix this. She fumbled the top off the bottle of Wild Turkey, too ashamed to drink her father’s Scotch. Pulling the fiery liquid into her mouth, she held it there to burn away the taste of Carla. Some dribbled down her chin and onto her shirt—Carla’s shirt. Ripping it over her head she tossed it to the floor.

She paced the living room, conflicting thoughts chasing her from one end to the other, as she tried to corral her emotions. There was no way to make this go away. Yes, there was. Carla would have to go. She couldn’t be trusted. She could fix this. Sheryl deserved better. She’d be a better partner. She’d never run again. She’d never eat pancakes again. Or popcorn. Or watch a romantic comedy. She’d go shopping any time Sheryl wanted. She ran through the list as if beads on a rosary.

Tears stung her eyes and she couldn’t stop the trembling. Images and sensations bombarded her—Carla’s eyes sparking with desire, soft lips, her body in Jamie’s arms. Her stomach clenched and she put her hand over it as she tumbled to the couch. She checked her watch. Wait for Sheryl. Fix dinner. Beg forgiveness. This would all go away. It wasn’t too late to save what mattered.

Jamie pulled out her phone. Call Sheryl. If she didn’t answer at least she’d hear her voice. There was a message. How had she not heard the ring? She listened to the message, trembling at the coldness in Sheryl’s voice. “I’m not coming home tonight. I can’t believe how irresponsible you’ve been. You’ve jeopardized everything.” She listened to it again and crumpled onto her side. Sheryl wasn’t coming home. There’d be no fixing this.

She called her back, praying for Sheryl to answer. “Please…please come home. I need you. I’ll make everything right. I’m so sorry. Please, Sheryl.” She waited as if Sheryl’s voice would fill the silence. “Come home…please.” Holding her head in her hands, she sobbed.

Jamie stood next to Pete in the elevator as they rode to the fourth floor of the Santa Clara County District Attorney’s office. Her hands trembled as she tugged at the cuffs of her navy blazer. Too little sleep the last few nights, too much coffee this morning. Her heart pounded and she forced herself to slow her breathing. She’d avoided Carla all morning. She’d fired her CPA for letting the IRS situation get out of control. Now she needed her mind clear and focused on the meeting. The briefcase in her hand was full of evidence of her innocence and Marjorie’s guilt. She’d finally have her justice.

Jamie tapped her fingers against her leg as she waited for the door to open. By tomorrow everything would be back to normal. She’d go back to the office and thank Carla for everything she’d done and tell her it wasn’t going to work out. Flowers were on their way to Sheryl’s office, and she didn’t care how she explained them. When this meeting was over she’d call her with the good news and then go home and fix a romantic dinner. She wasn’t going to lose her business or her house or her relationship.

Stepping off the elevator they presented themselves to a woman behind a desk, who led them to the end of the corridor. Opening half of an imposing double oak door for them, she asked if they’d like anything to drink.

“Coffee, please,” Pete said.

“I’m fine,” Jamie said. Two steps into the office she stopped when she saw the woman rounding the desk to greet them. Anne Clayton was an impressive figure, tall and trim with short dark hair. Jamie remembered the piercing brown eyes that didn’t miss anything. She was high up in the DA’s office and had been a patient. Jamie relaxed a little. It must be good news.

“Dr. Hammond, please come in. Pete, it’s nice to see you again.” Anne shook their hands and pointed to chairs in front of her desk.

“Jamie, please. How are you, Anne?”

“Overworked and underpaid,” Anne said, her voice edged with sarcasm. “But my back is great. Have a seat and let’s get started.”

The assistant returned, with coffee. “No calls,” Anne said, as she stirred cream into hers.

Jamie tried to relax into the chair, but Anne was focused on her in a way that made her nervous. She crossed her legs and touched the briefcase next to her.

“Dolores Baker will be joining us. She’s officially in charge of the investigation. I wanted to meet with you first.”

Anne’s voice was commanding but not loud, and Jamie could imagine her dominating a courtroom. Maybe she’d be prosecuting Marjorie. She wanted her to pay for the destruction she’d wreaked on her life.

“I didn’t know about this until two weeks ago. I primarily oversee cases involving violent crimes. If I had known I would have involved myself sooner.” Anne paused to sip her coffee.

Jamie relaxed a little. If Anne had taken a personal interest in the case it must be good news. Tomorrow she’d have her life back.

“I want to go on record that I have no doubts about your honesty and integrity. It’s typical at the beginning of an investigation of this nature to look at everyone involved. You’ve been cleared of any personal wrongdoing, and from this point on you’ll be treated as the victim of a crime.”

Jamie smiled and Pete patted her arm. This was the news she needed. Anne rested her forearms on the large desk covered with stacks of files and law books. “I also want to tell you right now you’re not going to like some of what you’ll hear today. Hell, I don’t like it, but I assure you every fact has been checked and it’s indisputable.”

Jamie swallowed hard as she met the piercing brown eyes, unsure what to make of Anne’s cryptic comment. Had Marjorie done something else she didn’t know about? She looked at Pete but he seemed unconcerned.

There was a knock on the door, and a young woman with short auburn hair entered. She nodded at Anne before introducing herself and then took the third chair in front of Anne’s desk.

Anne gestured to her. “Your show, Dolores.”

Dolores set a brown folder on the desk, looking uncomfortable as she pulled papers from it. She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry this investigation took so long, Dr. Hammond.” She looked at Anne before facing Jamie. “Cases of embezzlement are never simple, but this one…” She shook her head. “Marjorie Vicker led us on quite a merry chase. Most embezzlers are good at covering their tracks by weaving intricate stories or implicating the people they stole from. This is a nasty piece of work on all those counts.”

“Lay it out for them, Dolores,” Anne said.

Dolores cleared her throat again and adjusted herself in the chair. “When we first questioned Ms. Vicker she denied all the charges against her, insisting it was just a misunderstanding.”

Lies. Marjorie’s pathetic lies disgusted Jamie, but at least the truth was finally coming out. Anne’s gaze was fixed on her again, and the scrutiny made her uneasy.

“When we presented her with records from the insurance companies and her own bank records, she changed her story and insisted you were involved in it. She told a convoluted story about how the money went into her accounts first and then into hidden accounts you had in offshore banks.”

Jamie started to protest but Dolores held up her hand. Anne’s gaze had softened, but there was sympathy in it that didn’t make sense. A bad feeling crawled up her spine. There was more.

“It took us awhile to untangle that mess,” Dolores said, shuffling the papers in her lap. “It does happen sometimes that a scenario like that is true. We’ve investigated thoroughly and found nothing suspicious in your personal finances to support her claim. When we confronted her, Ms. Vicker couldn’t give us any documentation to support her claim.”

Jamie resented that she’d been investigated, but other than stupidity and misplaced trust she wasn’t guilty of anything. It was reassuring to have it confirmed.

“Ms. Vicker’s last hurrah, so to speak, was a doozy.” Dolores tapped her pen against her knee and looked at Anne. Something passed between them, and Jamie’s breathing quickened as that bad feeling intensified. “At first we thought she was lying again. In part she was, but in part she wasn’t.”

“Short version,” Anne said, her eyes on Jamie.

Dolores avoided looking at Jamie as she continued. “Ms. Vicker claimed her mother had been skimming money from the business with your father’s blessing and she was just continuing—”