Jaylynn appeared on-screen. She sat behind the news desk dressed in uncharacteristic somber shades of navy and gray, usually reserved for when some prominent person had died. No megawatt smile today. She made eye contact with the camera and began speaking, her voice tight with emotion.
“It is with deep regret that I announce today that I am temporarily leaving my position as co-anchor of Charlotte’s top-rated morning show. I’m making this selfless gesture in order to address the vicious campaign of false accusations that have begun to circulate about me.”
Tears welled in her eyes as the camera moved in for a close-up. James knew they’d never be allowed to fall. Jaylynn had told him that welling worked on camera. Tears made mascara run, a no-no.
“As a celebrity, I am aware that some people think I’m fair game, but they forget that lies can tarnish a person’s reputation, even if they are completely false. Therefore, with the help of the legal team I’ve assembled, I intend to get to the bottom of this and clear my name.”
Sheila elbowed him. “What’s that about?”
Game face in place, James shrugged.
Jaylynn has gone on the offense!
Legal team? Was she serious? He doubted it. Yet she had turned a strategic retreat into a fake noble ride into the sunset. When the truth got out about what she’d done, half the town was primed now not to believe it.
That was slick, and so Jaylynn.
He glanced down at Shay’s file and shoved aside the uncomfortable feeling of having her investigated. He had the best of motives.
Right. Dudley Do-Right to the rescue.
His father didn’t give a lot of advice, especially about women and relationships. Most of that was about navigating a household where the women outnumbered the men 4 to 2. What advice he did give lingered in his son’s mind.
Once when he was twelve or thirteen, while they’d been camping out under the stars, his father had waxed philosophical. “Some women smell like forever. You don’t get a whiff of it often. Once, maybe twice, in a lifetime. If you’re ever lucky enough to get a whiff of that kind of woman, Jay, stop. And think. ‘Can I live without this fragrance for the rest of my life?’”
At the time James had thought his father was talking about the smell of a particular perfume or lotion or conditioner. Now he knew better.
Shay’s skin in the soft folds and hollows of her body captured and held the scent of her. There were no words really to describe that womanly perfume. The impressions that came to his mind were of warm buttered bread, caramel apples, and a faint pleasant musk. Shay smelled uniquely female. It was a fragrance he couldn’t get out of his mind.
He knew that beneath her prickly armor was a woman capable of real and deep emotions. She had good instincts, had developed a deep attachment to Bogart even after being warned he was dangerous.
And she made love like she had invented it. That was the woman he wanted to get to know better. If she’d let him. But first, he needed to file his report on Bogart’s disappearance.
He opened the folder again, typed in the pertinent information from the first page into the report on his computer, and hit upload.
After he was home and had taken care of Bogart, and showered and packed, he turned to page 2 of Shay Appleton’s folder.
When he was done, his world was a lot more complicated.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Yes, Mrs. Stockton. You get to choose your password. No, I can’t keep it handy in case you forget it. It’s very important that no one else know it.”
Shay listened for a few seconds, closing her eyes so no one would see her eyeballs rolling back in her head.
“No, ma’am. Using ‘password’ for your password is a very bad idea. It’s the first thing thieves try. Yes, they’re clever. Do you remember your first phone number? No, don’t tell me. That’s not your number now, is it? Great. Use that as your password. You’re welcome. Thank you for banking with Halifax Second Bank and Trust.”
Shay glanced at the phone bank. For the first time all day, there were no calls waiting. Fridays were the worst. People still tried to do last-minute banking before the weekend, as if online weren’t 24–7.
She whipped off her headset and reached for a bottle of water she kept close at hand under her desk. As she lifted her bottle for a first swallow, Eric Coates passed through her peripheral view. The bottle paused, suspended at her lips.
Unable to take her eyes off him, she could feel her heart thumping heavily beneath her suit jacket. For the past five days she had been waiting and dreading the possibility of this moment.
He sauntered over to her cubicle, pausing here and there to shake hands with one customer and pat another on the back. She tried not to fidget as nerves made a double-twist pretzel of her insides. He was deliberately prolonging the moment of meeting, making her aware of his complete control of the situation.