Chapter Nine

In Jan’s spare bedroom, deathly quiet and free of distractions, Roman screamed through Internet articles and biographies on Senator Harold M. Johnson. Shirtless and barefoot, dressed only in jeans, he let the warm night air blow through the patio door to keep him alert. He enjoyed scripting the juicy controversies about the Senator, raging since his death in 1983; even more, Roman drew energy from the fact that Jan was trying to stall him on the project.

The issue over where to place Johnson’s bust was a complex debate, a vital part of Roman’s documentary. He planned how his cameraman would show the room the bust occupied now as well as its new proposed location on the grounds outside the Johnson Institute. He’d outlined how emotional the debate had become over the positioning of this particular statue.

Jan was right. By digging into dozens of old newspaper archives, Roman had learned that Johnson’s bust was relegated to a tiny room in the building because of 70’s politics. In those days, students and faculty alike had argued that too many dead white men’s busts dotted the campus. “Where are the statues of black leaders and women?” they’d complained. Now that the campus was graced with statues of men and women representing many races, Johnson’s bust had a chance to see the light of day.

Yet some still wanted Johnson out of sight because of his politics. The Senator’s support of internment camps in World War II and his hawkish attitude on international affairs offended many.

Don’t stereotype or label, Roman. Define “hawk,” for Johnson, specifically.

Roman grimaced, recognizing his grandfather’s familiar voice pushing through his subconscious. A look around the room verified for Roman he was alone. Still, he smiled at the idea his dead grandfather would forever be commenting on his work.

Find out why he supported the internment camps, came a feminine voice. Jan’s? He rubbed his eyes, then surveyed the room again. Empty.

Fine. Now he had two critics in his head. One dead, the other sleeping in the next room.

He mushed on. By two in the morning with his script on Johnson drafted and an Internet search on Cliff Barker underway, Roman realized the critics on his shoulders were a minor problem compared to a looming dilemma. The thing was, while he worked, he drank coffee to keep himself awake. Yet every time he refilled his coffee, he had to walk near Jan’s sleeping form.

On his first couple of passes, he didn’t look at her, trying to be polite. The third time he tiptoed to the coffeepot, he heard her soft, even breathing and figured she was deeply asleep.

He had the urge to wake her up and ask questions about both Johnson and Cliff Barker. What was in her folder that he might be able to use? Who was speaking at Barker’s memorial? Who wasn’t invited?

Eyeing the folder sitting on her desk, he wished he had the nerve to filch it. But he’d wait until morning to ask not only to see it, but also to encourage her to keep Madeline Barker as a client. If he stayed on Jan’s good side, he might get closer to the Barker story than if he worked on his own.

No, if he wanted to impress Jan Solvang, he had to show her he had manners. He wouldn’t touch the folder until she gave it to him. Funny how he’d made up his mind it was wrong to read the contents of the Barker folder but it was okay to watch her while she slept.

Why not look at her? What harm could come of it? He’d told Jan her stillness turned him on so she’d expect him to look at her in repose, wouldn’t she? Frankly, he was amazed she could fall asleep on the sofa knowing he’d probably peek at her sleeping body each time he refilled his cup or took a leak.

Look all you want, she must be saying. After all, you’ve seen me faint.

Hell, she’d chosen to sleep on a couch for six months instead of buying a bed. She’d left the light on in the kitchen, as well. Apparently she had no worries about being on display.

He took a sip of the coffee he’d poured from a fresh batch, ignoring her sleeping form, wrestling with his conscience. It wasn’t his fault that her stillness turned him on. Nor was it hers. Dammit, he’d look at her and get his fill.

He about-faced to observe her, the kitchen counter a barrier between them. A chaperone.

Wishing the shutters were open so he could pretend he was looking out the window, he took another sip of his coffee, feigning contemplativeness. He felt foolish, like a randy teenager trying to sneak looks up girls’ skirts by standing under the high school bleachers.

Get it over with. Take a good look at her and march back to work. One gaze. Enough to carry him through the next couple hours of work.

Determined, he stepped around the counter and stared at her.

Damn.

She slept like a sprawling angel in shiny blue pajamas, her sheet draped haphazardly over her torso, legs and feet unbound, so slim and tanned against the white sheet. Mouth closed and a hint of a smile on her face, she slept as if she kept a secret he needed to discover. He’d only seen a handful of women asleep, but clearly Jan was a top ten model of a woman in repose.

Yup, he liked his women tranquil.

****

No breakfast, no shower, no make-up.

Jan bolted out her front door and breathed in the morning air, giddy with a feeling of freedom. Today she wouldn’t hassle with dragging Elwood around the golf course; she’d walk on her own, leaving the dog in the yard and Roman in her spare bedroom. The guy was probably sound asleep after pulling a late-nighter. When she’d looked at her clock at 2 a.m., his bedroom light was still on, the murder of Senator Johnson’s reputation moving apace.

No ruminating about Roman allowed. She’d enjoy the morning walk unfettered.

She trotted up Cypress Crest Parkway, let herself out the main gate and headed for the quiet, shaded coolness of El Campo Road. With so little traffic, the street was ideal for a brisk walk; a perfect place to clear her brain. Towering Eucalyptus trees lined El Campo, long-limbed spectators rendered mute by the still air. Good. Jan wanted no noise this sunny day; the harangues from inside her head were loud enough, thank you very much.

You’re a chicken if you drop Barker.

But Dad doesn’t want to have anything to do with the family. Why not cancel the contract?

Because the threat of Tess Barker reminds you of the guy who stalked you in Seattle, even if they aren’t the same.

A threat is a threat. My life was in danger, for God’s sake.

Tess isn’t going to hurt you and you know it. She was begging for help in stopping the memorial. Anyone could see that.

Roman did.

But you’ve decided not to trust him.

He wants the story.

Don’t you?

Feeling lightheaded, Jan stopped next to Cypress Crest’s sixteenth green. She bent over and took in deep breaths, thinking her fast pace, the lack of food in her system and the conundrums in her brain created an unhealthy cocktail.

The sound of a motor interrupted her self-flagellation.

Stand up so you don’t look like a wuss.

She raised her head slowly, eyeing a black motorcycle coming her way, engine screaming.

So much for quietude.

She watched the noisy thing come her way, wishing she’d chosen to walk on the other side of the road. But no, Jan followed the rule of walking toward the traffic. That meant the motorcycle would come barreling past her, close enough to make her ears ache.

The vehicle slowed in the distance, seeming to honor her concerns. The rider was dressed in black, his identity obscured by a full helmet and face protection.

Must be lost. Looking for Highway One, probably. She considered ways to steer him in the right direction. At the same time she glanced to her right and left, judging where she might run if she were in danger. No luck. The empty golf course, holes sixteen and seventeen, fenced from the public, ranged on her right. On her left, a wide fescue-bound border led up to fenced-in, inaccessible homes.

I’m alone here.

She shivered in the shadows of the big Eucalyptus trees while she waited for the motorcyclist’s next move.

Give me traffic. I want cars, other walkers. Anybody.

Jan fast-walked toward the all-black rider, chin up and purposeful even while she scanned the ground for a stick to wield or a rock to throw. Each footfall sent a shockwave to her skull and her brain buzzed with anxiety. The pain in her knee reminded her she was in no shape to run.

A stalker. Tess. Now this.

The rider revved his motor but kept one foot on the road.

She contemplated stepping off the road, but that would mean she’d have to pick her way through heavy fescue.

Another rev of the motor. A threat?

Jan kept walking, now fifty yards away from him.

A third rev-up and he came at her, straight at her.

She gasped, put her hand to her heart and got ready to jump.

****

Jan woke abruptly from a dead sleep. “Damn!” she said, raising her head from the cushion to note the time and to survey the room. “I dozed.” When events of the early morning hit her like a shotgun blast, she reclined on the couch, already spent. She touched the bump near her eyebrow and drew her index finger over her scraped cheek. On her lap sat the plastic bag of ice she’d held to her forehead off and on for the last hour. An image of the black rider and his motorcycle screaming toward her made her pull in a breath, but it was the faint dream, another crying episode, that worried her the most. This time, she’d listened hard to the pitch of the voices, and heard children sobbing, not adults.

Shivering, she threw her robe over her T-shirt and shorts and thought about how much she needed hot coffee.

Go. Get it.

Roman had left some in the thermos for her last night. Perfect. She went about making a new pot, nuked the cup she’d scavenged and headed to the patio to be warmed by the sun as well as the hot coffee.

The sound of the cell phone ringing from its charger on the kitchen counter had her turning on her heel and lunging for it.

Who would call her this early?

Frank. She noted the incoming phone number. Yes. Frank.

“Morning,” he said.

“Same. You at work?”

“Yup, starting. You?”

“Slept in a little. In my robe, heading for the patio. First sip of coffee.”

“It’ll take a full cup before you write your to-do list for the day,” he said, his voice kind.

She remembered what she’d told Roman yesterday about her plans to stay in California. How would she tell Frank? And when? Forget confiding with him about the motorcycle thing. Ever.

Roman emerged from the spare bedroom, jeans on, shirtless and barefoot, looking sleepy-eyed and rumpled, a wrinkle from the pillow etched on his cheek like a pirate’s scar. Dangerous. He glanced at her, then did a double-take when he saw her face. He was at her side in a second, pushing her hair back gently to view her injuries, so focused and so concerned, that he didn’t seem to care who she was talking to. And the warmth he exuded…she had the urge to snuggle next to him while she finished her call.

“I’m okay,” she whispered to Roman. She put up her finger to signal a minute, then pointed to the coffee.

Frank asked, “Who’s there?”

Roman strode to the counter and focused on the slow drip of coffee into the pot.

“Janny, who’s there?” Frank repeated.

Rattled, Jan took the phone out to the patio. “Sorry.” She hesitated, wondering if she should come clean about Roman’s sleepover. Why give more information than necessary about all the crazy things happening in her life? Not when she was about to say she would never return to Seattle.

Her conscience coaxed her to tell part of the truth. “Roman Keller is in my house, Frank. We’re working on his grandfather’s memorial this morning, before I drive to San Luis Obispo to meet with another client.”

Silence. Then: “In your robe?”

Damn. She cleared her throat. “Actually, he stayed over, Frank. I had a little scare yesterday. A woman came to my house and threatened me, so Roman…” How was she to explain the events of the day before? The nut with the knife, the kiss, the almost kiss, the blow-up bed and Roman’s silly dance when he filled it with air. The “possible” ominous presence in the yard. Throw in the motorcycle…

And add me, waking up from a faint on the side of the road. Alone.

If she told Frank about her fainting spell, he’d ask if she’d eaten that morning and taken her medication before her walk. She’d have to say no.

“The woman threatened you? Jeez, Janny.”

Determined to sound in control, Jan calmly described the encounter with Tess, meeting with the police, kicking out the General and letting Roman stay in the spare bedroom on his blow up bed and sleeping bag.

“Drop the client, Janny,” he said, ignoring the man-sleeping-in-her-house issue. “I’m sorry I ever introduced the Barkers to your parents. He’d recently gone loony about nuclear power, determined to expand the Diablo plant to twice its size. His supporters are rabid, completely irrational. If you think Barker’s daughter is threatening, wait until you bump up against his buddies.”

She looked through the patio door at Roman waiting patiently for his coffee, warm while she shivered in the early morning chill. “Roman’s a hot documentary scriptwriter. He’s offered to help me get to the bottom of the Barker case. I think I owe it to the daughter to see what’s going on.”

“What does the General think?”

“He’ll probably take some convincing.”

“I agree with the General, Janny. Dump Cliff Barker, finish the neighbor’s memorial and I’ll come and bring you home.”

“Can’t, Frank. This brouhaha slowed me down on furnishing the house, and I have to do that before you come. Let’s talk about a revised schedule later in the week. You haven’t booked your flight, yet, I hope?”

“That’s why I called this morning. To set up my reservation.”

“Then I’m glad you phoned. Wait on buying a ticket until I sort out this mess and get some beds in the house.”

Oh, God. I’m lying. I don’t want him sleeping in my beds. In my bed. With me.

A wave of sadness overtook her, so overwhelming she had to sit down on the patio chair.

It’s over. I’m so sorry, Frank.

A plan formed in her head, a way to keep Frank from coming to Arroyo Grande altogether. How unfair to expect him to fly to California. No, the humane way to do this was to fly to Seattle and explain her decision about remaining on the Central Coast, without Frank.

She looked at the phone’s screen to see if the call had dropped. “Frank?”

“I’m here,” he grumbled. “And clearly you’re not.” He pulled in a breath. “I’ll say it one more time. Drop the Barker thing. I gotta go. Next time, you call me.”

He hung up.

Jan flipped the phone shut, shoved it in her pocket, picked up Elwood’s ball and stood. It pleased her to have one straightforward act to complete: throw a ball for a happy dog. “Go get it, boy,” she said as she chucked it to the edge of the lawn. Writing a to-do list in her head, a meeting with Pete at the market as number one, Jan drew in the fresh morning air and added a pledge to move fast in Roman’s presence.

“Jazz?” Roman took her throwing hand firmly, twining his fingers with hers and drawing her close. “What happened to your face?” He touched the bump on her forehead and the scrape on her cheek.

“I tripped on the dog leash…” she began, but when his raised eyebrow showed he wasn’t buying the reason, she stopped talking. She knew she should avoid his scrutiny, but the feel of his fingers on her skin and the heat from his body offered such comfort that she remained immobile, closing her eyes to hide her need.

She wasn’t expecting two lighter-than-air kisses on her wounds and the sight of his face so close, with piercing green eyes and forehead furrowed with concern.

“Jazz, what happened?”

She tried to pull her hand out of his, but he tightened his hold. Thinking she could push against his bare chest to free herself, she put her palm there for leverage. The feel of his skin made her forget to push; instead she rested her palm there for a moment, surprised by the shiver of need pulsing through her.

“You took the dog for a walk and fell. Or you fainted. Tell me.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t take him with me. I went out around six a.m. A quick thirty-minute walk was all I had in mind.” She expected the critical questions Frank would have asked about whether or not she took her medication, but Roman didn’t say a word. “I was fine until some guy on a motorcycle decided to give me a scare, right out on El Campo.”

“What?” He captured her chin and held her head still. “He did this to you?”

“No. No!” She exhaled. “When he came at me, like he was going to run me down, I fainted.” Pointing to the scrape and the bump, she said, “I fell in the grass next to the road, right on top of a dead branch.”

“He didn’t stop?”

“No. I’m sure I wasn’t out long; when I woke up, I heard his engine in the distance. I’ll bet he never got off the motorcycle.”

He pulled her close. “Jesus.”

Giving in to his warmth and his sympathy, she wrapped her arms around his waist and allowed herself a moment of comfort. Then she extricated herself from his embrace. “I’m meeting Pete in less than half an hour. Got to shower and dress.”

Roman grabbed her hand. “Wait.”

Something in his tone signaled a change she didn’t want to hear. If she looked into his eyes, she wouldn’t see sympathy there any more, so she didn’t care to meet his gaze. With her eyes scanning the mountain range, she said, “I didn’t get his license number and with all his motorcycle stuff on, I have no idea what he looks like. He didn’t say a word; just revved his motor to intimidate me.” She shook her head. “It worked.”

He took her chin and made her focus on his news-hound eyes. “You sure it was a man? Not Tess?”

She nodded. “Too big for Tess. Masculine mannerisms. I think it was a guy.”

“You’ll tell Pete and let him decide about contacting the police?”

“I will.”

“You’ll tell Pete it could be one of Barker’s boys?

With a sigh, she said, “I will.”

He looked at her hand while he held it, rubbing his palm over her knuckles. “I was sure you should have someone with you at night, Jazz. Now I’m thinking you’d better not go it alone during the day, either.”

Though she wanted to argue that point, his lazy caress of her hand made it difficult her to form words. She felt rooted to the spot, mesmerized by the way his touch sent signals of pleasure throughout her body. How in the world did he do that? Make her feel as if she meant something to him when what he really wanted was a juicy story? This was a man who would always favor the scoop over the girl.

Gently, she drew her hand from his. “Thank you, Roman. For your concern. It’s been a strange morning, all right, and I’m sure Pete will help me figure out what to do about the creep on the bike. I’ll ask him how cautious I should be during the day and the night. I promise.” She cleared her throat of regret and added, “Meanwhile, you get cracking on the story.”

****

Jan entered JJ’s Groceries at a trot, late for her appointment with Pete. She grabbed a basket and at a signal from the clerk, headed to aisle three. When she saw Pete leaning on his cart and sniffing a loaf of bread, she slowed her pace. “Sorry I’m late.”

Pete shifted his cane to the hand holding the bread and extended his other hand to Jan. Though he could distinguish darkness and light, he had no way to discern where she was standing except by hearing her voice and sensing the warmth of her body. “No problemo. What’s five minutes?” He drew her to him and kissed her scraped cheek.

“What’s this?” His fingertips explored the scrape and then the bump near her eyebrow. “Ouch.”

“I fell when I was walking on El Campo.”

“Fell?”

“Okay, fainted. I was foolish to take off early to get some exercise before I’d eaten and before I’d taken my pills.”

Pete was silent.

“I needed air. It was a great walk until this Darth Vader motorcycle guy came at me full speed.”

“What?”

“Probably some young guy making points by frightening joggers. I don’t know. When I got a little light-headed, I stopped for a bit beside hole sixteen on El Campo. Then the man in black on the Harley shows up. Sits on his bike at the rise for awhile, then comes charging at me. I guess I fainted. Must have scared him, because when I woke up, I was alone. I swear I heard the sound of a motor in the distance, so I wasn’t out for long.”

Pete grasped her arm. “Are you sure he didn’t hurt you?”

“Positive. Except for being embarrassed and ticked off.”

“You didn’t get a look at him?”

“Impossible, because he was in black with one of those smoky plastic face masks. He came straight at me, Pete. I was stepping off the road as I fainted, I think, because half of me was lying in the fescue.”

“You’re sure it wasn’t Tess?”

“Couldn’t have been. This was a big person and very confident on the bike. Probably a guy.”

“Her brother?”

Jan shrugged. “I don’t know. You’ve done the research on the Barker kids. They don’t fit a violent profile.”

Pete hugged her, the gesture bringing tears to her eyes. “Glad you’re okay, sweets. Have you told the police?”

“I’m informing you, Pete. Because I fainted, I don’t have any information to give the police.”

He nodded and tossed a loaf of rye bread in the basket. “You telling the General?”

“I tripped over Elwood’s leash. That’s all we say to him.” Taking his arm, she led him to the cheese aisle. “You said patty melts tonight. Here’s the cheddar.”

“Thanks, Janny. You told Rome?”

“‘Rome’? And yes, I did.”

Pete laughed as he smelled the cheese brick. “Jealous?”

“Hardly.” She guided his hand to the packaged shredded cheese. “This stuff’s on sale. Shredded. Sharp. Cheaper per pound than the brick.”

“Good. Now for some organic ground beef.”

“If you tell me about you and ‘Rome.’”

Twirling his cane like he was ready to break out into dance, Pete smiled. “He took me out for a beer, to learn more about Cliff Barker and his cronies.”

“So you’re buddies, now.”

“He’s living in your house, Janny. I wanted to check him out.”

“I appreciate that. And yes, I told Roman about the motorcycle guy. Hell, I’ve fainted in front of him once already, what’s to hide? I’m hoping he won’t start treating me like I’m weak. Like Frank does. Did.”

Pete hefted the ground beef Jan handed him. “Two of these, babe. I’ll freeze one. I do know the guy’s like a bloodhound on a story, the way he’s zeroed in on Barker. I call him Rome because he needs to lighten up.” Pete smiled. “Notice you get the same treatment.”

She sighed as she handed Pete an extra ground beef. “If you could give me a laid-back life by calling me ‘J,’ I’d thank you. The Barker thing is the last straw, Pete. I should help Tess, but I have a feeling that if I do, I’ll tug trouble my way like I did in Seattle at HighTech.”

Pete sniffed a package of smoked salmon and placed it in his cart. “Your stalker has moved to Idaho, kiddo. I checked again the other day. You can return to Seattle whenever you want to.”

“Thanks for keeping track of the bastard,” she said as she grabbed a package of Parmesan cheese and placed it in the basket.

“‘Course, I wish you’d stay. Your mom was my first shopping partner, so she’ll always be up there on a pedestal, but you’re coming along so nicely I’m thinking of hoisting you up there, too. You can read a food contents label like nobody’s business.”

“Why thank you, Pete. The pleasure’s mine.” She turned to the meat counter, grabbed some lamb chops for herself, then looked over the fish offerings. “I may have already stepped over the line with Tess.”

“Really?”

“Roman’s chomping at the bit to find out more about Barker’s past. Actually, I’m hemming and hawing about dropping Barker to keep his interest up, a sort of reverse psychology. I’ve told you about my goal to keep him distracted from the Senator Johnson documentary and so far I think I’ve been successful. He’s aware I want to help Tess so he’s pushing me to keep the contract.”

“Go for it.”

“Dad and Frank both say no. I thought you would, too.”

Pete rested both his hands on his cane. “Roman’s a risk and so is Tess. That’s life, Janny. Trouble’s inevitable when you dare, but for a chance at joy, it’s worth it. You run away from risk and you might miss out on some great stuff.”

She nodded. “You live that philosophy every day, don’t you?”

Holding up his hand, he said, “I’m not special, Janny. Everyone suffers a handicap of some sort. We rise above them. Spit in their faces. Show them our backsides.”

“But Roman’s out for blood and Tess may be lying.”

“So rein in Roman and dig into Tess’s past.”

“You’re making my life more complicated, you turkey.”

Pete grinned. “Thanks for reminding me. I need some ground turkey.”

She rolled her eyes, knowing Pete would somehow catch the gesture. “You’re telling me we live in a world where I don’t have to be careful?”

“Being careful isn’t living, Janny. I’m not saying you should be careless, just don’t be too careful.”

Jan searched through bags of spinach for the latest pull date, all the while thinking how carefree she wished she could be with Roman. What would it hurt to give into her attraction to him now that she understood his nature?

“So what was Rome’s reaction to the motorcycle creep?” Pete asked.

She placed an English cucumber in Pete’s hand, letting him test it for soft spots. “He was upset about it, and he made the connection to the Barkers like you and I did.”

“Which got his adrenaline going.”

Jan sighed. “I think he’d do anything to get the story. Even if it hurts my dad and me.”

****

As he shifted on the uncomfortable metal folding chair, Roman wondered what Jan had against normal furniture. He liked the easy way she dressed, blue T-shirt tucked into brown shorts, belted so her waist and breasts were defined. Barefoot. Yards of tanned legs and arms. Why couldn’t she buy soft furniture to match her casual clothes?

He zeroed in on the scrape on her cheek and the swelling next to her eyebrow. The fainting thing worried him and interested him at the same time. At first he’d assumed her disease was a weakness, but the real-life Jan was bright and tough, not a hand-to-the forehead dainty lady. He’d done a little research on Syncope, but in order to really understand the malady, he’d have to interview her as well as other fainters. Would she talk to him about it?

They’d been sitting on hard folding chairs for the last hour, hunkered up to her wobbly Samsonite table. Sidney’s memorial service was unfolding nicely, but Roman’s butt was numb. Overnight, while he’d worked on the Johnson and Barker stories, he’d sat on a pillow. He wanted to suggest they do the same today, but he hated to interrupt her creative flow. Plus, she was up and down from the table so often to write ideas on whiteboard, her sweet ass didn’t have a chance to get numb.

Truth was, he liked watching how she worked, because he saw how her bustling had a purpose: it revved her brain. Like a magician, she was designing a memorial for Sidney that would surely please Bella. Even more interesting, Roman was beginning to like his grandfather.

He decided his nickname for Jan was well chosen. She riffed the way a jazz artist could, only with words and motifs. Whereas he was a plodder as a researcher and writer, she threw themes, emotions, and words up in the air and watched how they tumbled together in unique ways. If she didn’t like what she saw, she tossed them up again.

Quilts. She was using quilts to organize and define one of her client’s memorials. “Grace Weathers made quilts for people she loved, so I’ve chosen people to speak about Grace at the same time they show off the quilts Grace gave them,” Jan said. “Grace’s goal was to celebrate the uniqueness of her friends and family through quilt-making. What goal organized Sidney’s life?”

“Criticism,” he blurted.

“All right, whom did he criticize?”

“Me. Judging from the volume of stuff he sent my way, I was his full time project.”

She quirked her hurt eyebrow, wincing a bit, clearly reacting to pain. “Think again.”

“There were others?” he asked in surprise.

“Oh, yeah.”

“And some are coming to the memorial?”

“You are.”

He shrugged. “I’m coming mostly for my family.” He sat up in his chair, realizing where Jan was going with the conversation. “You mean others Sidney raked over the coals are attending the memorial, too?”

Jan gave him a knowing grin, reminiscent of her smile in repose. “Bella’s called them all, personally. A half dozen are coming.”

He shook his head, flummoxed. “I’m not the only one he hammered?”

She pulled a list out of her folder and gave it to Roman.

“Shit! Where did you get this?”

“From Sidney’s journal. Bella gave me the list yesterday, while you were working with the General.” Jan leaned against the arm of the couch. “I explained the trouble you were having talking about Sidney, so she copied these names from his journal.”

Roman drew his finger down the list of names, exclaiming each time he came across a well-known writer. “He kept a journal about the people he lambasted?”

“Not only that, he wrote meticulous notes assessing how people used his criticism. How their work changed. Improved, for the most part. He gave up on some writers, but he bird-dogged these dozen for years.”

She let Roman absorb her words. “My idea is to organize the memorial by having each person your grandfather critiqued, describe the nature and the effect of his critique. You, too.”

Roman blinked at the list, thinking about the years of attention and toil Sidney’s endeavors must have taken him. “No wonder he never wrote anything substantial himself. He must have decided early on he wasn’t going to write history himself but critique how others did, instead.”

He ran his hand over his forehead. “Why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t Bella?”

Jan stilled herself, a secret smile on her lips.

Her quietude sent a shiver up Roman’s spine. He wanted to kiss her in the worst way, nuzzle her neck, and hold ice on the bump next to her eye until she felt better. At the same time he wanted to get his hands on Sidney’s journal and interview the other writers his grandfather had targeted. What he would give to capture in words the life Sidney had hidden from the world.

His thoughts skipped to Tess’s father. Imagine Cliff Barker’s secrets. What skeletons had the old man closeted?

He jumped up, absently rubbing his numb butt, while adrenaline pumped energy to his brain. Would Sidney think Roman was being fair-minded by kicking up dirt on Barker as well as the famous Senator Johnson?

No. And No.

Jan would agree.

Bella, too.

Tough. If he listened to his critics, he’d be writing pap. Sterile, sweet Hallmark biographies. No looking at underbellies. Hold the mistakes. Ignore the weaknesses.

Sidney had had zero effect on Roman’s writing. Still, he wanted to see his grandfather’s journal in the worst way, especially to read the stories about other writers Sidney had supposedly influenced.

He gazed at Jan, who stood watching him, still as a statue and alluring, the scrape on her face adding vulnerability. Elwood huffed, catching his attention. The dog sat next to her feet, rumbling.

Shit. He’d never be able to kiss Jan and sweet talk her out of the journal and the Barker file unless the dog was out of the room or preoccupied with dog things. He reached into his pocket and breathed easier when he found two dog biscuits in it. Bella was right. Again.

He stooped to place the dog treat on the wood floor and shove it across the surface. Elwood didn’t budge, giving Roman a look that said, “What else you got?”

Roman sent the second biscuit sliding to join the first and Elwood took off after them.

Jan grinned. “Smart move.”

“Come here.”

Jan took a step toward him, seeming to understand his strategy. Laughing, Roman closed the gap between them. He captured her hands with his and gently pushed both her arms behind her, pleased to be touching the very ass he’d been appreciating for the last hour. Her breasts felt soft on his chest and when she let out a little sigh, he bent to kiss her. Sweet. Exploring. Unhurried.

She murmured something, but he couldn’t make out the words. He framed her cheeks between his palms, considering a second, deeper kiss. “What’d you say?”

Eyes closed and face a little flushed, she whispered, “No.”

Didn’t she like kissing him? “No, what?”

“No, you can’t read your grandfather’s journal.”

“You’re kidding.”

She opened her eyes, the gold flecks in her brown eyes sparkling. “Bella showed me Sidney’s book to prove to me it existed, but she never let me read it.” Jan pointed to the writers’ names. “She gave me the list and explained that not one of them was allowed to read Sidney’s private journal. Including you.”