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He welcomed the interruption. “Come in.”
Darren set a paper plate on the small table beside Emma’s drink. “Hope you’re not vegetarian. It’s ham and cheese.”
Her smile was a gift. “That’s perfect. Thank you.”
Backing out into the hall, Darren looked a little star-struck, the way he did when he met one of the jazz players he idolized. “Any time.” He left the room without a single smart remark.
Emma returned to the recliner and picked up half of the sandwich. “I don’t have to be back in England until just before the Michaelmas term starts. October,” she explained at his puzzled look. “And this is August. We should be able to check out a number of reliable sources and references in that length of time.” She bit into the sandwich and began to chew. Hard.
Jimmy took hold of his drink, then leaned back in his chair. “That’s not how I define seeing each other. We’ve got twenty years to catch up on. We’ll need quite a few dinners together, lunches, maybe a trip into the mountains…”
After a silent minute Emma put down her sandwich. “You do intend to discover the history of the medallion, don’t you?”
He shrugged, trying for detachment. Staying cool had always been hard with Emma around. “I don’t need to know any more than that it came from your dad.”
Despite his attempt to be gentle, her eyes flashed with indignation. “But he wanted us to find out the rest!”
“He was dying, Emma, and probably in a good deal of pain. Did you never think he might not have been…rational?”
“He was completely rational until the very end.” She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Certainly he was sound of mind when he wrote that letter.”
She’d backed him up against the wall, with words if not in fact. But Jimmy fought on. “If it didn’t matter enough for him to have done something in six years, why does it matter now?”
“What reason could there possibly be to avoid learning everything we can?” On her feet again, she came to the desk and leaned forward, her graceful, long-fingered hands pressed flat against the oak-paneled top.
“Because—” Jimmy took a couple of seconds to get his voice and his feelings under control “—researching that piece won’t involve just reading books and museum catalogs.”
“I’ve been involved in historic research professionally for fifteen years. I know what kind of investigating is required. We’ll need to talk to people, perhaps visit the reservation.”
“Exactly.” He pulled in a deep breath. “And I’m not going back. Ever.”
Of all the reactions Emma had anticipated from Jimmy Falcon, this was not one. She stared at him in confusion, until the words began to make sense in her brain. “You won’t go back to the reservation?”
“No.” He sipped his drink, avoiding her eyes.
“When were you there last?”
Under the rich golden tone of his skin, his cheeks flushed a dull red. “The day after high-school graduation.”
She needed another moment to fully understand. “You haven’t seen your family since then?”
“There wasn’t all that much family to begin with. My aunt died just a couple of years later and my cousins left the rez for I don’t know where.”
The flaw in his argument was obvious. “If no one is there that you know, then where’s the threat in going back?”
“I didn’t say there was a threat.” Now he looked directly into her face. His gaze, so warm and welcoming only a few minutes before, had cooled. “I said I won’t go back. I don’t want to go back. I left that part of my life behind when I left the rez, and that’s where I want it to stay.”
She straightened and surveyed the man across the desk. From his well-cut black hair to his gray shirt and midnight-blue tie, he was the picture of success. There seemed to be nothing left of the wild Indian youth she’d known. The picture she’d retained in her mind all these years showed him balanced barefoot on the edge of a cliff, his hair long and straight and gleaming black under the midday sun, his brown chest bare and his muscular arms widespread like the wings of a hawk. Newly emerged into manhood, his energy and courage and mystery had enthralled her completely. They’d had one summer together, the kind of romantic interlude every teenage girl dreams of.
But that summer belonged to the past, and perhaps the Jimmy Falcon she’d loved did, too. After all, twenty years apart would make strangers out of anyone. This Jimmy certainly seemed like someone she didn’t know.
And Emma was suddenly too tired to push the issue further. However they spent their time together, she might find a way to change his mind about the medallion. Or perhaps she would pursue the research by herself. If that was all she could do for her dad now, then she would.
“I didn’t come here to argue with you,” she told Jimmy. “Let me call a cab to take me to the hotel and you can get back to work.”
He locked the box and medallion in a desk drawer, then got to his feet with a kind of controlled jerk. “I’ll drive you.”
Their trip to his office through the crowd in the club had been erratic and distracting. She hadn’t noticed his gait then, but she did now. As he came around the desk, he limped. Badly.
“What happened to your leg?”
Jimmy choked out a laugh. “Don’t beat around the bush, Emma. Let’s cut to the chase.” Resting some of his weight on his hands, he leaned back against the desk. “I was a cop a few years ago, and I showed up in the wrong place at the wrong time, during a gang fight.” His tone was casual, but the disability obviously bothered him.
“That must have been very difficult to deal with.”
“It’s okay.” He shrugged. “I found something new to do.”
She tilted her head toward the door and the main room of the club. “Successfully, judging by the crowd.”
He glanced at the plate the server had left. “But not by the food. You didn’t eat more than a bite of your sandwich.”
Emma hesitated, and he nodded ruefully. “It wasn’t very good, was it?”
An apologetic smile didn’t soften the truth. “Not very.”
“Hard to ruin a ham sandwich and chips. But decent cooks won’t stay in this part of town.”
“So the music must be fantastic.”
Now he grinned, with pride. “Yeah.”
“And you have a responsibility to be here.” She turned to pick up her now practically weightless purse. “I think I should take a taxi back to the hotel.”
He shook his head. “I think not.” That seemed to settle the issue, for Jimmy, at least. “So, can we have dinner together tomorrow night? About seven?”
Her annoyance at his attitude regarding the medallion leaked away. “I’d like that.”
“Good.” Music flooded into the office as he opened the door. “After you.”
There was—always had been—an air of command about him she couldn’t ignore. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He returned her smile with the same appreciative grin that had snared her when she was eighteen. And did so again now.
On their way through the crush of people in the main room, he stopped at the bar and exchanged words with the woman making drinks, a pretty blonde with a figure Emma envied. What she wouldn’t give to be five foot five with a waist that small!
When they stepped outside, Jimmy touched her lightly on the shoulder. “I’m parked down here.” Emma turned obediently to the left, trying to ignore how she reacted to that simple, impersonal contact.
Under a street lamp only a few yards away, he stopped beside a sleek, black Jaguar XJE. Emma paused at the front bumper. “Very nice. But…” She glanced down the street. “Don’t you worry that such an expensive car will be stolen or damaged?”
“I’ve got a loud burglar alarm, and a steering-wheel lock.” Jimmy opened the passenger door. “Besides, it’s just a car. Expensive, but easy to—”
The sound of garbage cans crashing and voices yelling interrupted him. A writhing mass of bodies tumbled out of the blackness of a nearby alley, almost under Emma’s feet. Obscenities and curses drowned all the other night noises. Something flashed in the streetlight. The blade of a knife.
Jimmy opened the car door and pushed her inside. “Lock the door. Use the phone and dial 911.”
Hands shaking, she did as he said. But being locked in the car didn’t prevent her from witnessing the brawl. Time seemed to stop, though the whole episode lasted a minute at most. The violence broke into two battles—in the nearest, a thin man in black had hold of a younger man around the knees while the other assailant tried to get a grip on the victim’s throat. Unnoticed in the fury, Jimmy stepped in and grabbed the neck of the would-be strangler’s T-shirt, pulling backward, diverting his attention from his prisoner. Freeing one leg, the youth kicked out at the face of the man in black. The blow connected and the man fell back against a wall, blood spurting from his nose.
Thanks to Jimmy’s interference, the young man also managed to escape from the hold on his throat. He swung at his attacker and fell to his knees, breathing hard, only to be hit from behind by the man he’d just kicked. Face pushed into the pavement, he flailed his arms and legs, but the weight on his back didn’t budge.
The second man turned on Jimmy just as the other fight came apart. One of that struggling pair ducked, rolled away from his assailant—the one with the knife—and came to his feet right outside Emma’s window. The entire scene froze at that instant, went completely quiet. No one moved, except for the boy lying facedown. He couldn’t see the gun now trained on everyone involved in the confrontation.
Everyone…including Jimmy.
CHAPTER TWO
JIMMY STRAIGHTENED, dropped his hands to his sides and took a few breaths to get control of his voice. “Lose the gun, Tomas. The police are on their way.”
A siren in the distance backed him up. Some of the regulars on the street had noticed the commotion and were coming to investigate. Just what they needed—more targets.
“Go to hell,” the boy snarled. “These bastards were gonna kill us.” He pointed the gun at the guy sitting on his friend’s back. “Get off him. Now.” The man hesitated, then jerked at the sound of the hammer being pulled back. “Or I’ll blow you off.”
With a final shove at his captive’s shoulders, the creep scrabbled onto the sidewalk and backed up, crabwise, against the building.
Tomas nodded his approval. “Good idea. Now you—” he turned to the man with the knife “—drop the friggin’ knife before I friggin’ shoot your hand off. Good. You okay, Harlow?”
The other boy staggered to his feet, wiping blood off his face. “I’m okay.”
Jimmy could see Emma staring out the car window behind Tomas, her eyes wide with shock and, probably, terror. He started to sweat, thinking what a bullet could do to the thin shield of glass. “Nothing’s going to happen now, Tomas. Put the weapon away.”
As Harlow limped up beside the Indian boy, blue lights flashed at the corner. “Come on, Tommy. You want to keep that piece, you’d better stash it before the cops see you carrying.” He glanced at Jimmy, his eyebrow quirked. “Mr. Falcon’s not gonna give us away, right?”
“I didn’t see a gun…unless I count to five and it’s still in his hand.”
Tomas dropped the pistol into a pocket of his camouflage jacket just as a department vehicle pulled up behind the Jag. A couple of uniforms Jimmy didn’t know got out, each with a hand on his weapon and the other hand holding his stick.
Great. This explanation would have gone down easier with somebody he’d worked beside. “Evening, Officers.”
The taller one just looked him over. “What’s going on?”
“These guys jumped us in the alley.” Tomas spoke before anybody else could. “Practically killed us with that knife there.” He kicked the weapon with his toe.
“Sure.” The cop looked back at Jimmy. “Who are you?”
“Jimmy Falcon. I own The Indigo.” He nodded toward the nightclub. “I was about to take a friend home when these guys rolled out of the alley. I stayed to keep the numbers even.”
Finally the outlaws on the ground got their share of attention. The shorter cop glanced at Harlow. “You say these three attacked you?”
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t, like, attack first?” He began to sound bored. “What were you doing in the alley, anyway?”
Both Harlow and Tomas cut their gazes Jimmy’s way. “Just hanging out,” Harlow said in his Texas-flavored accent. “That ain’t a crime.”
“Uh-huh. You buying or selling?”
“Dunno what you’re talking about.”
The shorter cop pushed at one of the thugs with the toe of his boot. “This one’s out cold.” Bending over, he patted down the body. “Don’t think he’s carrying anything besides a pack of gum.”
“Check out the rest of them,” his partner ordered.
The other two dealers gave up bags of coke and weed, and a couple of dimes of heroin. Jimmy saw Harlow swallow hard as the small plastic sacks dropped into an evidence container.
Two minutes later the Saturday-night special was out in the open again. The short cop balanced it on his palm. “Nice toy. You got a permit, son?”
Tomas told the cop what he could do with the permit.
Using a speed and expertise Jimmy remembered from his days on the force, the cops slammed Harlow and Tomas up against the side of the police cruiser, patted them down again and cuffed them.
Emma sprang out of the Jag like a lioness in the African bush. “Don’t be so rough! They’re only boys!”
Jimmy caught her arm and pulled her back. “Stay out of it, Emma. These guys know what they’re dealing with. You don’t.” Another police car pulled up, and the three pushers, who—Jimmy had reason to know—had been in and out of jail for years, got their own sets of bracelets.
Emma turned on Jimmy. “I saw them earlier tonight as I was coming to see you. They were hungry. They’re young and homeless. They need help, not more violence.”
The cops exchanged derisive grins.
“They’re drug addicts.” With a hand on each of her arms, Jimmy pulled her farther away from the scene. “The whole mess is about selling and buying drugs. Let the police sort it out.”
She struggled against his grip. “How do you know that?”
“Because they hang around here a lot. Because they hit on me and my customers…” He watched her cheeks flush. “Damn. You gave them money.”
“I told them to get something to eat!”
“We did, too,” Harlow called. “Meat loaf and potatoes and corn. Thanks, lady.” A cop shoved him into the cruiser and closed the door before he could say anything else.
Yet a third cop strolled over. “You’re Falcon?”
“Yeah. This is Emma Garrett.” He released her, reluctantly. “She called in the incident from the car.”
“What’s going to be done with those boys?” Emma wanted to know. “Where are you taking them?”
“Detention.” The officer—his name tag said Havers—made a note on his pad.
“Jail?” Her voice squeaked on the single syllable.
Jimmy put a hand on her back, trying to give comfort. “They’ll have a bed for the night, Emma. And a decent breakfast. They’ll be okay.”
