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Daniel’s heart clutched, and he forced himself to breathe deeply. “I can’t possibly drive downtown.”
“Afraid you’d miss your afternoon massage? Exactly how serious are you about wanting to free your client? I disrupted my whole schedule to drive to River Oaks. If you want my cooperation, you can meet me halfway. Besides, we might need to talk to people in the crime lab or the investigating officers involved in the case—all of whom can be found downtown.”
“I can send one of my best people.” And admit to his staff—already skeptical—that he was not up to handling a case on his own. That would be a bitter pill to swallow.
“Okay. Your assistant can meet with my assistant.”
Now she was playing hardball. “Ms. McNair. Jamie. This matter is too serious for us to play games.”
“Don’t talk to me about games. You’re the one who made me cool my heels while you got your massage and sent me home with tiramisu, trying to butter me up.”
Maybe she had a point. “Did you like it, by the way? Chef Claude is a genius.”
“That is immaterial. I’ve got a lot on my plate and I really don’t have time to chase after every hard-luck and if-only story I hear. You believe he’s innocent? Fair enough. Show me the commitment that says you mean it. I’m willing to listen, but I’m not going to deal with layer upon layer of assistants and bodyguards. You started this, and I think you should be the one to finish it. Personally.”
His awareness of her primed his body for action, even over the phone. She wanted to deal with him personally, did she? Her reasons sounded plausible, but he didn’t completely buy them. Perhaps she wanted to see more of him, just as he wanted to see more of her. He would have been pleased, if not for the massive logistic problem her ultimatum caused.
“What’s it going to be?” she prompted. “I’m due in court in ten minutes.”
“Name your time,” he finally said. “I’ll be there, so long as you keep our meeting discreet. Being out in public can cause difficulties for me.”
“Believe me, I’m as anxious as you to keep this thing under wraps. Two o’clock tomorrow? I can reserve the conference room.”
“I’ll be there.” Come hell or high water. He hadn’t heard any flooding forecasts for South Texas, but hell was a definite possibility.
The board meeting broke up at close to noon. After seeing everyone out to their cars, Jillian returned to Daniel’s office to go over his afternoon schedule.
“It’s nice poolside, if you’d like to take your lunch there. You haven’t breathed any fresh air in a couple of days.”
He resisted the urge to remind Jillian that the filtered air in his home was nine times cleaner than the smog-infused air of Houston. “Good suggestion.” Dirty air or not, he liked sitting outside when he could, looking out over his swimming pool and listening to birds and wind in the trees. It helped him think, and he had a lot of thinking to do. And it reminded him he was a free man.
“Also, Jillian, please have the limo ready tomorrow at 1:30—no, 1:15. I’m going downtown to meet with Jamie McNair… What?”
The unflappable Jillian’s mouth gaped open. “You’re going downtown?” she repeated.
“Yes. Maybe not in the limo, I don’t want to draw attention. The Bentley might be better.”
“You are going downtown,” she said again.
“It’s the Christopher Gables case. Ms. McNair is willing to talk, which is frankly more than I expected at this stage.”
“But… you’re going to a meeting? Personally?”
“Jillian, have you gone hard of hearing? I’m perfectly capable of attending a meeting off-site. I’ll admit, I usually choose not to, but this is important.”
“With all due respect, sir, you haven’t left the estate in three years.”
That stopped him. “Three— Oh, surely you’re mistaken.”
“Your grandmother’s funeral in Miami. October 3, two thousand—”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m going. I have to go.”
Jillian’s face softened. “Do you want me to come with you?”
The tightness in his chest eased slightly as he pictured Jillian sitting next to him, dealing with pesky details. But when he pictured himself meeting with Jamie, he saw the two of them alone.
Hell, he didn’t need Jillian to hover and fuss over him. He could handle this mission on his own. He had taken on the responsibility of being Christopher Gables’s champion, and he needed to see it through.
“No, thank you, Jillian. I’ll bring Randall for security. That should be sufficient.”
Jillian looked as if she wanted to argue, but in the end she nodded her head and turned. “Yes, sir.”
THE FOLLOWING DAY, Daniel sucked up a monumental case of nerves and strode to his limo parked in the driveway. He’d opted for the larger, more ostentatious car after all; it seemed safer.
He had a briefcase full of information about the Sissom/Gables case as well as the Andreas Musto murder—the parallels between the two cases simply could not be coincidence. He’d even drawn up a chart, with graphics, showing similarities. And if there was a remote chance that he could find the person who’d stolen six years of his life…
Daniel wasn’t a violent man, as his lawyers had so tirelessly reminded the jury. But if he ever came face-to-face with the man who’d framed him, he could easily kill with his bare hands. That thought had provided comfort during many sleepless nights.
His special-order Mercedes limousine was familiar and comforting, and he breathed in the scent of well-tended leather. But the car must be at least four years old now.
“Randall,” he said just before his driver and bodyguard closed his door, “order a new limousine.”
“Is something wrong with the car?” Randall asked, concerned. He was the one who insisted on personally keeping the vehicle in perfect condition, mechanically and cosmetically.
“No, it’s just time.” Keeping up appearances didn’t really matter much to him, but others depended on his maintaining a certain image. The slightest show of weakness—financial or otherwise—could give rise to rumors that could affect Logan Oil & Gas stock prices, and the well-being of countless investors who’d risked their retirement to his care.
Moments later, the car eased down the driveway and the wrought-iron gates opened noiselessly.
And Daniel felt sick to his stomach.
The car was as safe as any presidential limo, with triple-thick steel doors and bulletproof tinted glass. Randall was a former Secret Service agent, an expert in every sort of bodyguard skill on the planet, including evasive driving, marksmanship and hand-to-hand combat. But that didn’t stop Daniel from envisioning everything that could go wrong—car accidents, breakdown, traffic snarls, Randall suddenly falling ill…
Daniel told himself it was because he was nervous about meeting Jamie. She’d opened the door a crack; if he was late, she might slam it shut again, making his job more difficult. But the truth was, he just wanted to turn around. Behind the brick wall and iron gates, Daniel dictated everything that happened around him.
Away from that cocoon, anything could happen.
What had gone wrong with him? He’d once loved adventure. He’d traveled, embarked on business ventures, tried every sport he could manage. He’d climbed mountains, dated movie stars and earned a business degree from Harvard.
Now, just leaving the house took a monumental dose of courage.
Yes, being falsely accused of a murder he didn’t commit, then going through the trial and six years of incarceration on death row, was bound to change a man. Once he’d been freed, he’d come home and, for the first time in a very long time, he’d felt safe and loved.
But even back then, he hadn’t been housebound. He’d made periodic trips to Logan Oil and to Project Justice after his father’s death to keep things running. He’d attended funerals and visited doctors.
But the past few years he’d ventured forth less and less as the people he’d hired to run his empire had competently taken over.
I’m fine, damn it.
There was nothing wrong with how he’d chosen to live. After what he’d been through—having a good chunk of his youth stolen away—he ought to be allowed to enjoy his every hour of freedom on his own terms. Thanks to his father and grandfather, plus a few smart decisions he’d made, he had the money to do that, and he refused to feel guilty about it.
Focus on the prize, he told himself. He had to think about Christopher. Succeeding with his mission to find justice for Christopher meant giving a man back his life, and Daniel knew what a huge gift that was. Succeeding also meant more favorable publicity for Project Justice, which was important to all those other men and women the foundation could help.
Then there was the little matter of showing smug Jamie she didn’t know everything. Somehow, though, that thought didn’t fill him with the pleasure he thought it would.
Finally, there was the satisfaction vengeance would bring.
Daniel cracked a tinted window, immediately aware of how different the breeze from outside felt. It smelled wild. Unsafe.
“Nice day for a drive,” Randall said. Daniel had left the glass partition open. “Sometimes I miss the old days, just you and me out and about in the Jaguar.”
“We were a pair, weren’t we? Tearing through town like we didn’t have a care in the world.” That was back when Daniel thought he was invincible.
The bodyguard’s presence reassured Daniel. Randall was the best—discreet and potentially deadly. He looked ordinary enough, harmless even with his light brown skin, round face and close-cropped, salt-and-pepper hair.
But appearances could be deceiving.
Daniel considered Randall a friend. He was good company—educated, intelligent, funny. And they’d once spent countless hours together.
But they’d had little face-to-face contact in recent years.
Daniel spent the short drive toward downtown looking over papers in his briefcase, information he already knew by heart. He had an almost photographic memory. But he wanted to have answers right at hand for any questions Jamie might pose—and the hard data to back him up.
Jamie. Seeing her again was worth all this trouble. She was the first person in a very long time to challenge him—or excite him. Though of course he couldn’t know her on anything but a professional level, the undeniable electricity that charged the air around them when they were in the same room added an element of interest to this case.
Daniel didn’t “date.” He could not envision himself in a real romantic relationship. Sharing with anyone the world he’d so carefully crafted would ruin it. But that didn’t stop him from the occasional fantasy, and lately Jamie McNair had taken a starring role in his daydreams. He’d also lost a bit of sleep over her, as she’d appeared in his night dreams, too.
He’d best not get too attached to his fantasy. When he put the prosecutor in her place, firmly convinced she wasn’t infallible, she wouldn’t gratefully fall into his arms.
Traffic was light, and soon they were wending through downtown streets. Crowded. Noisy.
Abruptly, Daniel shut his window, sealing the noise outside. But that didn’t stop the panic that suddenly rose in his chest.
He could stop now. Turn around. Cancel the meeting, hand the whole thing over to Ford or Raleigh, his top lieutenants. There was time. Although Christopher’s appeals had run out, his execution hadn’t yet been scheduled.
The urge to run was so strong, it made Daniel light-headed.
“Do you know the suite number of Ms. McNair’s office?” Randall asked.
Daniel turned to Jillian, realized she wasn’t there, and his panic increased. “I wrote it down somewhere… Hell.” It was a simple detail, but his mind was suddenly blank. “I’ll look it up.”
He checked his schedule on his phone. Yes, there it was, on the sixth floor.
He cast his mind ahead to the coming meeting with Jamie, but now he had trouble visualizing it. Was that because he was about to enter an unknown building with unfamiliar elevators and strangers within inches of him? Perhaps.
Or maybe it was the unpredictable woman herself. For the first time in a long time, he would not be in control of every detail around him. It was both exciting and terrifying.
He shook his head. Billions of people could walk into a strange building without thinking twice. He was being ridiculous. If Jamie perceived any nervousness or weakness, she could gain an advantage. Especially on her home turf.
As they turned onto Franklin Street, Daniel couldn’t believe his eyes. Three TV news vans, bristling with antennae and satellite dishes, were parked at odd angles in front of the Harris County Criminal Justice Center. Reporters with microphones and cameramen and -women crawled the sidewalks and steps to the contemporary skyscraper, along with a crowd of at least a hundred curious onlookers.
The limo pulled to a stop, and lots of heads turned to gawk. Cameras swiveled in Daniel’s direction.
“What the hell…?” If Jamie had engineered this welcome wagon, he would wring her neck. Hadn’t he emphasized how important privacy and discretion were? Had she done this to deliberately sabotage his efforts?
“Any idea what’s going on?” Randall asked.
“None.” He quickly dialed in the internet on his phone and checked the local headlines. “Ah. Judge John Harlow was caught in the backseat of his car with a fifteen-year-old. Story broke this morning.”
“You can’t get out here,” Randall said firmly. “If the press gets wind that you’re out and about, it’ll ruin any chance you have of conducting normal business.”
“Is it really a front-page story? I mean, come on.”
“Yes, Daniel. You driving downtown to meet with a prosecutor about Christopher Gables would be front-page material.”
Daniel thought he had a pretty good grip on the media and their opinion of him. After all, he watched every news channel all day in his office. Did he have a blind spot where he, personally, was concerned?
More important, what was he going to do now? He wished he’d brought Jillian. She could contact Jamie, smooth things over, reschedule the meeting—
Hell, what was he thinking? He could call Jamie himself. He had the fanciest cell phone on the planet, which Jillian programmed with any number he might need.
Moments later he was dialing Jamie’s direct number, and a rush of sweet anticipation coursed through him as he waited for her to answer.
JAMIE WAS AS PREPARED for her meeting with Daniel Logan as she could be. She had reserved the conference room, and had even sprung for a snack tray from the deli around the corner out of her own pocket. Daniel had fed her lavishly, so she felt obligated to at least see that he didn’t go hungry while on her turf.
Frankly, she was surprised—and flush with inappropriate pleasure—that he had agreed to her terms. As she assembled her stack of papers she intended to present, she couldn’t deny a certain eagerness. But behind it was a dark cloud of impending doom she couldn’t shake.
If Daniel succeeded in his quest, her job was in danger. Certainly her chances of rising to any level of prominence in the district attorney’s office would be quashed. Winston Chubb had been livid when she’d told him what Daniel Logan was up to. Though he feared the man, Chubb had instructed her to neutralize Logan and his do-gooder efforts using any means at her disposal.
Any means.
As she returned to her desk to check messages one last time before the meeting, the phone rang. The number on caller ID was blocked and she considered letting it go to voice mail. But at the last minute she picked it up. If it was Daniel, telling her he was delayed, she would politely remind him she couldn’t rearrange her schedule—just as he’d done to her.
“McNair.” Her voice came out a bit sharper than she’d intended.
“It’s Daniel. I’m in front of your building now, but I’m trapped. There’s a media frenzy going on out here, and if I step out of my car I’ll become a part of the uproar.”
“Oh, for the love of—” She tried mightily to hold on to her patience as she moved to the window and looked down. From her sixth-floor office she had a perfect view of the front entrance, and it was exactly as Daniel had described.
“It’s the Judge Harlow thing, I imagine,” Daniel said.
Jamie sighed in frustration. She hadn’t yet read her newspaper today, but she’d heard about the judge. The whole office buzzed with the news. Just what the city needed, another scandal.
“Is there a back entrance?” Daniel asked.
“I’m afraid not. With our heightened security, everyone has to come and go through the front doors. You’ll just have to cope.”
“I can’t.” His voice held a note of panic. “It’s highly unlikely I would make it into the building unobserved. And I don’t think either of us wants to see our business splashed on the front page until we’re ready.”
