Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Summerville
It had taken him all day to cross the fucking continent and when he finally landed in Seattle in the middle of a snowstorm, Deaver had only taken the first step towards getting his diamonds back.
He had two new identities—Frank Dawson, farm machinery sales rep out of Iowa and Darrell Butler, FBI Special Agent. Both of them were shallow identities but Deaver wasn’t expecting to use either one for more than a week, two tops.
It was Dawson’s passport that would get him to the Caymans.
Once he got his diamonds back, he’d drive down to Tijuana, ditch the rental SUV, then fly one way to Grand Cayman Airport.
Even after paying Drake, he still had enough to lay low for a while.
And once he had his diamonds in his hands, he would contemplate Drake’s offer.
It had stunned him, that Drake knew about the diamonds, but then Drake wasn’t a millionaire many times over because he was stupid.
He was a dealer, sure, but his main commodity wasn’t guns or fake ID, though he did a thriving trade in them.
No, the main thing he sold was information and it flowed to him wherever he was like a river to the sea.
That system of information extended to a network that crisscrossed the States.
Half an hour after landing, Deaver was at a warehouse outside Seattle, the meeting having been set up by Drake.
Deaver got every single thing he’d paid for, in excellent working condition and with extra ammo thrown in for good will.
Three hours after that, he was pulling into Summerville. He’d called ahead for a room at a Holiday Inn in Darrell Butler’s name and had said he was arriving late. He had something to do before checking in.
A downloaded map of Summerville lying on the passenger seat helped him to find Caroline Lake’s house. It was in the rich part of town, old stone and brick mansions set on ample grounds.
He drove by slowly, carefully studying the house.
It was one of the nicest ones in this part of town—large but graceful.
There was no wall, just an upward slope of what might have been lawn but now was an expanse of snow, split by a walkway.
Someone had shoveled the snow off the walkway and the drive.
Ten minutes later, he drove by again, trying to see whether there was an external security system, but the light from the street lamps wasn’t enough to be able to tell whether the windows were alarmed or what kind of lock was on the front door.
That would require close scrutiny, and he’d have to leave tracks in the snow.
If Prescott was in there, he’d notice immediately.
The only thing he could tell with certainly was that there were no security cameras.
So maybe the beautiful Miss Lake was the trusting sort.
It was a thought. Jack Prescott was a tough man to break. Trusting Caroline Lake was going to be the hammer that would smash him.
This was good. A plan was forming.
Satisfied that he had done all he could for the moment, Deaver drove off to his hotel.
Tomorrow the endgame began.
On Monday morning, Caroline peered out at the sky, trying to gauge what to expect. It wasn’t snowing at the moment, but the sky was sullen dark grey, even though it was eight in the morning.
Would it snow today? She hadn’t been able to listen to the forecasts because the TV and the radio were both still on the blink. She could check the internet, but her computer was up in her room and by the time she powered it up and googled the weather, she’d be running late.
Whether it snowed or not was out of her control. She needed to drive to work and that was that. Plus, Jack wanted to get going on whatever it was he needed to do today. He was already in his leather jacket, ready to go.
Caroline pasted a smile on her face. Monday mornings were always hard but this one was harder yet.
If she could, she’d press rewind and live yesterday all over again.
They’d done absolutely nothing but eat and make love all day.
Well, she’d done nothing but eat and make love all day.
Jack had managed to fix her leaky washing machine, repair the bookshelves in her bedroom, oil the hinges of the garage door and shovel another bazillion tons of snow off the driveway.
All the while insisting she sit in front of the fire with a book, a glass of wine and a blanket.
He didn’t take no for an answer. The only thing he let Caroline do was cook, and then wolfed down whatever she put in front of him. They’d made love in front of the fire, in the shower and several times in her bed and she’d slept like a log afterwards.
It felt as if she and Jack had been living in a delightful little Christmas bubble, cut off from the outside world and its cares. But now the outside world loomed and she had to face it, starting with driving them into town over icy roads with bald tires and no spare.
“Weather looks bad,” she sighed.
“Yeah.” He glanced at his watch with a frown. The doorbell rang. “About time,” Jack muttered and went to the front door.
Someone was standing there with a form and a set of keys. Behind him, on the street, was a big black Explorer. Jack signed the form and took the keys. When the door closed behind him, he dangled the keys in front of her and said, “Wheels.”
He bent and gave her a quick kiss.
“What?”
Jack pointed to the Explorer outside. “I rented that for a week, until I can find something to buy. It’s no weather to be driving around with bald tires. I’ll drive you in and drive you back until the weather clears up.”
A couple of days ago, Caroline would have objected, out of pride if nothing else. But she’d almost got them killed Friday night, so she said nothing.
He helped her into her coat.
Caroline fingered his jacket. “You need warmer clothes.”
“Yeah. I’ll buy some today.”
“The cheapest place in town is Posy’s and the Christmas sales have already begun, so you should get some good deals.
Or you could maybe try The Clothes Factory on State Street.
They have used clothes, sometimes very good ones.
I shop there a lot. I hate thinking of you going out in this weather with only this jacket. ”
He looked down at her, eyes dark and unfathomable. “I’ll be okay,” he said softly. “Don’t worry about me.”
Don’t worry. Caroline nearly sighed. Worry had been her middle name for so many years now that she’d forgotten what it was like not to worry.
She looked up at him, hand still on his jacket. She was stalling and she knew why. “I don’t want to go out,” she whispered.
He picked her hand up and brought it to his mouth. “No,” he said simply.
Outside was cold and bleak, another country. A country of problems and hardships. Inside was warm and safe, where nothing could touch her.
Except Jack, of course.
Caroline stepped forward and put her arms around his lean waist and burrowed in. His arms went around her immediately. There was one thing to be said for dressing lightly, she could hear his heartbeat, strong and steady. Just like him.
She had a sudden panicky intuition that this weekend had been a mirage. Maybe she’d invented a Jack Prescott out of her loneliness and depression. He’d done nothing but give, filled her with warmth, shown her a sensuality she had no idea existed.
“I can’t tell you what this weekend has meant to me,” she whispered, holding him tightly. The happiness she’d felt seemed to her like smoke, already dissipating in the air. The more closely she tried to clutch it, the more quickly it vanished.
Walking outside her front door scared her, like leaving an enchanted castle to face lions and tigers.
She felt a kiss on the top of her head, and Jack stepped back. His eyes were like dark flames. “We either go now,” he said, “or we go back to bed. Your call.”
Put like that, well… Did she want to spend the day in the bookshop, with maybe three customers all morning if she was lucky, go over her accounts—which always made her wince—longing for the day to be finally over, or did she want to spend the day in bed with Jack, being pampered with fabulous sex?
Tough call.
But she was hard-wired for duty, and she had a lunch date with Jenna, so she sighed and said, “Go now.”
Jack opened the door and ushered her out with a hand to her back. “Spend the day thinking about what you’re going to cook for me for dinner.”
He laughed and evaded her elbow.
Jack was doing one of the hardest things he’d ever done in a lifetime of hard things. He didn’t dump a massive amount of money into Caroline’s bank account. Did not, did not, did not. He had to grit his teeth to keep from doing it, but he managed.
He was at a Summerville bank. It didn’t matter which one—he’d chosen it because it was next door to a Starbucks, so he could go to the bank and get a cup of coffee at the same time. The important thing was that it wasn’t Caroline’s bank.
He knew which bank she kept an account in. He also knew how much money was in that account and he knew how big her debt was. She banked at the Central Savings & Loan, she had less than $1,000 in her checking account—almost $ 4,000 with his month’s rent and deposit—and she was $354,759 in the red.
Caroline was entirely too trusting. Her bank records were kept right out on her desk, for all the world to see.
Knowing she had essentially nothing except debts, he deliberately chose another bank, any other bank, because if he went to hers, the temptation would be overwhelming to simply shift money from his account to hers.
A million, two. Hell, even three, what did he care? He had more than enough for his needs for the rest of his life and it would be worth every penny to see those slight frown lines caused by money worries disappear.
Well, all in due time. It would happen, just not today. Caroline was no dummy and it wouldn’t be hard for her to connect him appearing in her life together with a large sum of money showing up in her bank account.