Once again, Jessica had scored the biggest man on campus. That girl had a magical touch with men.
As Jazz made small talk about the interview and engaged in harmless banter with Kimball Parrish, she observed the delight in his blue eyes and his body language. This handsome executive was no different than the countless football heroes and company presidents and political masters of the universe who invariably dropped to their knees when faced with a chance to be with Jessica Adams. She just had that effect on men.
He perched on the side of her desk, obviously at ease with her, but distant enough to keep tongues from wagging.
“Seriously, Jess, are you ready for Mayor Rodriguez?” Parrish asked, crossing his arms over his barrel chest in a move that made him look bigger than he actually was. “I want to blow them away in New York with this one.”
“Have you ever known me to be less than one hundred percent ready?” She gave him one of Jessica’s signature winks. “Don’t come in here and wave doubt at me.”
“I would never doubt you, Jess.” He dipped his head and lowered his voice. “But you don’t look like you slept well. Are you okay?”
She shrugged casually. “I have a virus or something. That’s why I missed the broadcast last night.”
“You missed the broadcast last night?” Parrish’s looked turned wary. “Thank God I didn’t know that while I was at the Economic Development fund-raiser.”
“I assumed you’d heard the buzz by now,” she said, adding a flippant wave to send him out the door. “And I do need some time for last-minute preparations, or New York will not be impressed. Let’s talk later.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “Tonight. At dinner.”
“Dinner?” There was no way she’d be able to spend a whole evening with him and not have him figure out that she wasn’t Jessica. “I have the eleven o’clock broadcast,” she reminded him with relief.
“Let Jonathan do it. He’s chomping at the bit to get more solo air time. I have to leave for New York tomorrow and I won’t see you for…days.” He made it sound like a stint in purgatory. “Anyway, I know you want to give me hell about the bodyguard.”
Oh. So Jessica and Kimball hadn’t talked about the bodyguard. “You know it’s unnecessary,” she said, purposefully vague.
He reached over and took her hand. “It most certainly is necessary. You aren’t safe.”
Her eyes widened. Did he take those fan letters that seriously? Did Jessica? “Really, there’s nothing to worry about. I’ll use an escort to the parking lot at night.” That was standard procedure for nighttime on-air personalities. “And my condo is secure.”
“Nothing is secure enough to suit me,” he said solemnly, glancing at Alex’s back on the other side of the glass. “Although he looks a little scary.”
Jazz laughed. “Isn’t that the idea?”
But Kimball narrowed his gaze at Alex again. “His job is to protect you. Not…anything else.”
Of course he’d be jealous. What man didn’t want Jessica all for himself? She smiled innocently. “You have nothing to worry about.”
“Oh, but I do,” he said, standing and reaching out to hold her hand. “I worry about you.” His voice was tender and kind.
Could it be the top dog had a soft spot? Maybe that was what Jessica saw in him. Despite his movie star smile and elegant salt-and-pepper hair, Jazz wasn’t remotely attracted to this man.
“Have the bodyguard bring you to Licorice after the six o’clock broadcast,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze. “And don’t worry about me watching this interview. You are the very best in the business, Jessie, and I love nothing more than observing you while you work.”
As he opened the door and stepped out of the office, Jazz saw him lock gazes with Alex.
“If anything happens to her, Romero, I’ll kill you myself.” All the tenderness and kindness had evaporated.
Alex was in her office within the next instant. “What did he say?” he asked.
She dipped down behind the desk to pick her handbag up from the floor; she was due in hair and makeup five minutes ago. “He wants to go out on a date tonight.”
“At least.”
She looked up. “Jessica will be home by then, I’m sure. She’ll handle it. But you are expected to go, too.”
“Of course,” he agreed. “So they are dating.”
Jessica shrugged. “I sense that there might be something more than an employee-boss relationship there.”
“No doubt all that raw power and money would be the ultimate aphrodisiac for a television ladder-climber. The man is a walking ticket to New York.”
She narrowed her eyes at him as she stood. “My sister doesn’t sleep her way to the top.”
“That’s not what the natives think.” He opened the office door and held it for her.
“Screw the natives.” She slipped by him and added, “Anyway, he’s the one paying your bills, so don’t knock him.”
He leaned closer to her. “He is paying to protect your sister, not play dress up and fool the boss.” His voice was cold and serious.
She flashed a smile to a couple of technician types who walked by. “I would know if something’s wrong,” she said through her teeth. Wouldn’t she?
“I don’t believe in gut instinct,” he said.
Neither did she—she believed in facts. And the fact was, she’d been in Miami for twelve hours and hadn’t heard a word from Jessica.
“As soon as I’m done with this interview, I’ll trace that pay phone number. We’ll spend the day trying to track her down.”
“Not trying,” he countered, then walked away.
“Where are we going?”
Alex maneuvered the Escalade onto Biscayne Boulevard, ignoring the horn from the van he cut off. “Sightseeing.”
“Don’t be a smart ass. I need to get on my computer, and Jessica’s condo is that way.” Jazz pointed, then sighed softly. “I wonder if she saw the interview.”
“If she did, she’d have been very proud of…herself. You were good.”
“Thanks,” she replied. “But it was easy. The mayor was a piece of cake.”
That wasn’t true. Rodriguez was a skittish pain in the ass, but Jazz had handled him like a pro, even when he tried to make a political statement out of the event.
She reached forward and started playing with the GPS keypad. “How does this thing work?”
He eased her hand away. “Voice activated.”
She leaned toward the device and recited the address of the pay phone she’d dug up.
“You really should be in the backseat,” he said, half to himself.
The small screen flashed as quickly as her smile. “You lost that battle, pal. You’re lucky I’m not driving.”
“I’m used to it. I have four sisters exactly like you.”
“Four? How so?”
“Pushy. Ballsy. Gutsy. Not docile.”
“Are those their names?”
“Might as well be. Carmen is pushy, Maria is ballsy, Ileana is gutsy. And, oh God, Carina is not docile. My goal in life is to avoid women like them.” He added a meaningful look. “If I can.”
She laughed at the implication that he’d failed. “Older or younger?”
“All younger.” He checked the rearview mirror and scanned the streets around them. “They’re all safely married off, except for Carina.”
“So you’re free to protect the rest of the world now, is that right?”
He said nothing, listening to the female voice from the dashboard directing him to East Thirty-third Street and Eighth Avenue.
“Calle Ocho,” he corrected the machine.
“Excuse me?”
“Eighth Avenue is called Calle Ocho in Little Havana. Although that address is technically Hialeah.”
“Guess the GPS lady isn’t a local.” She twisted to look in the backseat. “Where did you put all those papers? I want to go over all those names and addresses.”
“We’ll make some calls later.”
“We’re not going to start calling everyone on her Christmas list, looking for her. That undermines the whole reason I’m here.”
Sudden brake lights prevented him from giving her the menacing look she deserved. “The only undermining in all this is your impersonation act.”
She wiggled out of the yellow jacket and threw it over the seat, then adjusted the air vent to blow directly on her face and the strappy silk top she’d worn underneath. He kept his attention straight ahead. “I’m doing what Jessica asked me to do.”
“What you’re doing is preventing me from finding her.”
“How?”
“By pretending that she’s at work, and playing cat and mouse with her boyfriend.”
She released her seat belt and started rooting around the backseat, where he’d left the papers. “I am not—”
He took her arm and guided her face forward. “Don’t you ever sit still?”
“No.” Reluctantly, she relatched the seat belt and let out a slow sigh. “She’ll call me. You’ll see.”
Reaching into the back, he slid the file folder from the seat pocket where he’d left it. “Here.”
“She had last night blocked off from seven to eight,” Jazz noted as she read the printout of a calendar page. “All it says is DR. A doctor’s appointment at seven at night? Are there medical offices around here?”
“Hialeah Hospital.” He closed his eyes at the thought of ever entering that vile institution again. “But your sister doesn’t strike me as their usual clientele. What was the fund-raiser her boyfriend said he’d been at?”
“Economic Development,” she answered. “That is, if Parrish really is her boyfriend.”
He gave her a questioning look as he stopped at the I-95 entrance ramp. “You don’t think he is?”
“She never said she was dating, or in love. She said she’d met someone amazing. Someone who could change her life. Someone…,” she paused, and added, “who was smart, connected, and had a heart of gold.”
“Parrish qualifies for the smart and connected part.” He was exactly the kind of man an ambitious woman would want by her side, a perfect accessory to her perfect apartment.
“He seems genuine,” she said. “But I did sense he was doing a full-court press on Jess. Maybe she just hasn’t committed yet. Or maybe…”
“Maybe what?”
“Maybe there is someone even smarter, more connected, and more golden of heart.”
“Yeah, and she hooked up with him last night, got lost in the throes of passion and forgot to call you.”
Jazz let out a snort of disbelief as she flipped through the printout. “Jessica doesn’t forget. No matter what throes she’s in.”
“Then why aren’t you worried?”
“Who says I’m not worried?” She blew out a breath. “I just prefer action to worry. Plus, she’s very capable. And she’d warned me she’d be going away. I think she’s left early, that’s all.”
Alex didn’t push the point as he navigated bumper-to-bumper traffic. He got off at Seventy-ninth Street and headed west. The landscape was Hialeah’s finest: run-down warehouses, low-end strip malls, abandoned buildings, and not a word of English anywhere.
“Look at this,” Jazz said, tapping one of the papers. “Another DR note in her calendar, a week ago. With a Thirty-third Street address. Not the pay phone location, but it looks like it might be close.”
“What is that address again?”
She repeated it, and he did a mental calculation of the number of blocks. “The Hialeah Park Racetrack?”
He slowed the car in front of Bright Park and Pool. “The phone is there, in that park. The racetrack is a block away.” He zipped the SUV around and turned toward a pink monstrosity surrounded by flamingoes and flowering trees. “Maybe your sister went to the races last night. Is she a gambler?”
“Not in the least. Nor would she pal around with one.” Jazz peered up at the landmark. “But this might have to do with the story she’s working on.”
“Illegal gambling. Bookmaking. Does that seem like a story that would interest her?”
“I guess it would depend on the angle.”
Jazz’s phone beeped and she immediately dug into her handbag to find it. “That’s a text message,” she said. She punched a button, then tapped his arm with the phone, letting out a little whoop of joy. “Yeah, baby! We got her. I told you my sister never forgets.”
Alex took a left to circle around the track. “Well? What does she say?”
“Thanks. Sorry I missed you.” She tapped another button. “See you soon, sis.”
He glanced at her, noting a strange tone in her voice. “Is that it?”
She nodded slowly as she scrolled to reread the message. “That’s all.”
“I wonder why she didn’t call you.”
She closed the phone and looked out the window. “She’s busy.”
He stopped at a light and studied her. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” she said, the sparkle gone from her eyes. “I feel much better. Don’t you?”
No, he did not. He whipped into an empty parking space and took the phone from her hand. “Let me read it.”
She didn’t fight him. “Suit yourself.”
The text box read: tx. srry i mssed u. c u soon, sis. “Does something about this not ring true to you?”
She shrugged. “I’m just disappointed she didn’t call. I really wanted to talk to her.” Then she looked up at him with a bright smile that reminded him more of Jessica than Jazz. “Are we done in Hialeah now? I prefer the bright lights and big city.”
“All right. But don’t erase that message.”
“I won’t.” She slipped the phone back into her purse.
They didn’t talk much on the way back to Brickell Key. Jazz continued to study the contents of Jessica’s address book, occasionally mentioning a name she knew, but she seemed content to believe all was well.
Alex wasn’t. A meaningless text message was not the assurance he needed.
He hated the idea of calling in backup on a job this lightweight. At least one of the Bullet Catchers was a missing person expert, and Alex had some lifelong contacts on the Miami-Dade police force. But surely he could find one wayward newscaster in Miami. Before he had to report in to Lucy.
As he cruised the road that ran along the north side of Jessica’s condo, looking for parking, Jazz opened her bag and dug around again. “I think this card key I found upstairs will work for the parking garage. Why don’t you take Jessica’s spot? This thing is more of a target than my rental car.”
He slid the card key into the electronic reader and rumbled over the metal grate.
“It looks like the slots are numbered for the apartments,” she said. “Keep going until you get to 3701.”
He maneuvered the vehicle around to the next level and slowed down as they approached the spot.
“Oh my God,” Jazz whispered, yanking at her seat belt in a frenzy. “She’s home!”
A silver BMW convertible sat in the slot. Jazz bolted out of the car.
In a flash, Alex was beside her. “Wait,” he said sharply.
But she seized the door handle and jerked it open. “It’s not locked,” she said with shock.
The car was empty, immaculate, and still smelling like the factory. Jazz slid into the driver’s seat and put her hands on the wheel, staring at the dash. Then she reached to the ignition and he heard the jangle of metal, mixed with Jazz’s quick intake of breath. Turning to him, he saw the first glint of fear flash in her eyes.
“She forgot her keys.”
By the time Kimball Parrish seated Jazz at one of the pink leather sofas and black concrete dining tables of Licorice, she’d had enough. She didn’t want to be in some achingly hip restaurant on the arm of a handsome, rich, powerful man. She didn’t want to be dressed in Jessica’s slinky black cocktail dress, wearing three-inch heels and carrying a handbag so small it wouldn’t have fit her gun. And she sure as hell didn’t want to be under the watchful eye of Alex Romero.
All she wanted to do is was figure out where Jessica was.
Instead, Jazz had read the six o’clock news, then gone home to dress for a date she didn’t want to have with a man she didn’t particularly like at some high-end South Beach restaurant on Ocean Drive. Her only hope was that Kimball knew something about the story Jessica was following, and could give her some clues.
If she didn’t figure out where her sister was by the end of the night, she would come clean with Parrish. She’d promised that to Alex in exchange for him agreeing to play along.
“Blackberry martini?” Kimball asked as though it were Jessica’s one and only cocktail. Miami must have really changed her.
“That would be fine.”
He slid closer and a whiff of peppery cologne reached her, but he didn’t touch her. No possessive arm, nothing more than an air kiss hello. “Just remember what happened at Verve,” he warned. “They’re potent.”
Good God, what had happened at Verve? Jazz had never seen her sister drunk in her life—and couldn’t imagine it happening on anything as silly as a blackberry martini.
Kimball waved for the waitress, and while he ordered, Jazz glanced at Alex. He stood at the end of the bar about twenty feet away, with a direct view of their table. At the moment he was panning the restaurant with his intimidating gaze. He managed to blend in, with his Latin good looks, and still be a presence no one in their right mind would mess with.
She forced herself to concentrate on Kimball, a wholly different kind of handsome. His face was carved by strong, masculine lines, his body broad in the way of a man who’d once been in amazing shape but now waged a war with age. She’d done some quick research so she could converse intelligently, and she knew that he was fifty-two, widowed, the father of two teenage girls, and a staunch Catholic.
There was no shortage of press coverage about his conservative mindset. Just last week, he took some heat from liberal watchdogs for his crackdown on a shock jock on one of his Texas radio stations. Kimball Parrish “aired” on the side of the angels. That was his sound bite to the media—most of which he owned.
“So any news on the situation in Dallas?” she asked.
“Nothing’s changed, including my decision,” he said, an obstinate set to his cleanly shaved jaw. “You did a masterful job this morning, did I tell you that?”
She gave him Jessica’s most photographed smile, and a point for deft subject change. “Several times. Thank you.”
“The word from New York is very, very good.” He shifted to get a little closer to her. “I’m meeting with the American Sunrise production staff tomorrow afternoon. The changes are imminent.”
His tone implied she knew precisely what he meant, and that those changes would somehow involve her. If changes were imminent, why would Jessica stand on her head to get a big story to guarantee network notice?
He leaned a little closer, his elegant cologne wafting toward her again. “And did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”
“Thank you.” Couldn’t he see the differences between her and Jessica? Jessica’s skin glowed, she was a tad thinner than Jazz since she was less muscular, and flawless porcelain laminates enhanced her million dollar smile. Jazz’s teeth were real—orthodontically improved and perfectly straight, but not blindingly white like Jessica’s. But attitude covered a lot of flaws, and she’d draped herself in Jessica’s personality. So far, it worked.
The waitress delivered the drinks, and Kimball raised his highball to meet her amethyst-colored martini. “Aristotle said, ‘Change in all things is sweet.’ To changes,” he said with a devilish twinkle in his eyes.
He could change my life.
She could practically hear the excitement in Jessica’s e-mail. Smiling, Jazz touched his glass with hers, then took a tiny sip of the frothy liquid. When this was over, she would never let Jessica forget she had to endure a disgusting drink and a date with a man who quoted Aristotle. That was really pushing sisterly love.
“And you do know what changes I mean, Jessica.”
His statement caught her off guard. “Why don’t you elaborate, Kimball?” she asked in her best anchorwoman voice.
“I prefer when you call me Kim. I told you that.”
Jazz covered the faux pas with a sip of her drink that included a long gaze. Kim. She’d have to remember that.
He placed his glass on the table, straightening the napkin under it to align with the place setting. Maybe that’s what Jessica liked about him—a companion in neatness.
He surprised her by dropping his hand on the exposed skin of her thigh. “I also told you I don’t like games.”
She swallowed and her pulse kicked into a faster rhythm as she replayed Alex’s solemn warning: He’s paying to save your sister’s life, not play dress up and fool the boss.
His fingers weren’t groping, just…affectionate. “At least, not games I don’t win,” he added quietly.
“I’m sure you rarely lose, Kim.”
His hand slid an inch higher. “You know how I feel. I’m ready to take this to the next level.”
Tonight? She smiled sweetly. “I have so much on my mind these days.” Like where the hell my sister is…and how I can fend you off.
One finger gently caressed her skin, as he glanced toward Alex. “You’re not still mad at me about the bodyguard?”
“I know you only want to do the right thing.” She stayed perfectly still, not wanting to brush him off, but definitely not digging being felt up by her sister’s admirer.
He finally released her leg, taking a drink. “I worry about you.”
She sipped her mix of sweet fruit and potent alcohol. “I’m fine.”
He leaned closer as though he were going to kiss her, but instead pulled her into him in a tender embrace. Over his shoulder, she looked directly into Alex Romero’s eyes.
He looked purely disgusted.
She felt the vibration of a phone between them, and Parrish pulled back and released a cell phone from his belt with an apologetic look.
Oh, God, what if Jessica was calling him? Then she’d have to come clean.
As he turned slightly away, she studied the polished patrons of Licorice.
The music drowned out Kimball’s soft conversation. Closing her eyes, she took another sip of her drink, returning to the questions that had plagued her that afternoon. Nothing could cause Jessica Adams to leave her keys in the ignition and her car unlocked. And she hadn’t called Jazz “sis” since they were ten years old. So why did she sign her text message that way?
Should she follow her gut, which said something was wrong? But what if nothing was wrong? What if Jessica was deep into this story and just couldn’t call her? Then she’d blow Jessica’s cover.
“I’m so sorry,” Kimball said as he disconnected the call, looking right into her eyes. “I am really so, so sorry to do this to you. It appears I have to travel to Cincinnati before I can go to New York tomorrow. I’m going to leave tonight.”
She managed to look suitably disappointed. “Why?”
“Some liberal assholes are rioting at a radio station I have there.” He shook his head angrily and waved at the waitress for a check. “Sorry again. I know you hate profanity.”
“Really?” Jess could swear with the best of ’em. “They’re rioting? Seriously?”
“I believe the left wingers call it ‘protesting,’ but whatever it is, I have to control the coverage. This will be all over the leftist media. Those bastards are out to get me.” He squeezed her hand. “I have to defend my position. I hope you understand.”
She worked not to look relieved. “Oh, I do. I completely understand.”
“They’re getting my plane ready now.” He chucked her chin as if she were a little girl. “Unfortunately, this is not what I’d hoped for tonight.” She backed out of his touch, but he leaned closer and brushed her lips with a soft kiss. No tongue, closed mouth.
“I’ll be back next week,” he promised. “You think about…changes.”
“I’ll be here,” she said lightly.
“You’d better be.” She couldn’t tell if that was a tease, a hope, or a threat. “I’ll have the bodyguard take you home now,” he added, giving her shoulder a possessive squeeze.
As he left, he paused to speak to Alex, who nodded and immediately headed toward her, his ebony eyes trained on her.
Jazz took one more swallow of the martini, reminding herself that she despised men who insisted on control. They grated on every independent cell in her body. Yet Kimball Parrish’s gentle suggestion that they get to “the next level” certainly didn’t leave her in a pool of lust, either.
She drank again as Alex moved toward her like an animal. A hungry, predatory beast who brought out the most primal instincts in her. That man could throw her down and take her about six more levels in one easy move, and leave her begging for the next one.
Desire hit her as hard as the vodka, at precisely the same instant. The raw and sudden need for him took her breath away.
Alex held out his hand to help her up from the sofa, but she refused the assistance.
“Let’s do it,” he said, tipping his head toward the door.
“Oh, yeah. Let’s.”