Dana Jones stamped a deposit book, slipped it across the counter, smiled at the client and checked her watch. Half an hour until her lunch break. The next customer wanted to cash in traveler’s checks. Tapping a key, she shuffled through the menu, found the requisite program, then entered the amount. Sliding a form from beneath the counter, she filled out the check details and the amount, routinely advising the customer of the cost of the transaction. Her hand was steady and her voice was smooth, but that didn’t change the fact that the transaction was an unwelcome reminder of her time in international banking. She no longer had a hankering for high finance, and the way she felt dealing with a minor two-bit transaction like this was the reason why. She had gotten burned so badly that even if anyone in international banking would give her a job, she wouldn’t take it.
She slipped the form across the counter for a signature, stamped it, then handed over the cash and smiled politely as the next customer stepped up to the counter.
Her smile froze. She went hot then cold, then calmly put the Closed sign on her counter, picked up her purse and walked out of the office.
Jack Jones.
Memories pushed at her, a few bright and burning, most tarnished and edged with anger. Their relationship had worn her out and taken her youth, but even so, when she’d gotten the news that he was dead, she had grieved. She had stood at her husband’s grave, shattered at the utter finality of his death. She had even prayed for him.
She tapped in the exit code on the door that led to the staff parking lot. The lock disengaged and she was outside, enveloped in steamy heat and the smell of melting tar. She blinked, adjusting to the harsh light and discordant sounds of traffic after the dim, muted coolness of the bank. The fact that she was close to tears shook her and, briefly, she wondered if she could have made a mistake. Maybe it hadn’t been Jack, just someone who looked like him?
It had been Jack. She had met his gaze for a split second and she’d seen the recognition in his eyes. He’d had plenty of time to look at her before she’d seen him, plenty of time to turn on his heel, walk out of the bank and leave her in peace.
Her eyes stung and the parking lot swam, a mishmash of glittering cars, flashing mirrors and shimmering heat. Quickening her step, she wiped beneath her eyes with her fingertips, careful not to smudge her mascara.
She reached into her purse and found her car keys.
Hard fingers closed on one arm. “Dana.”
Jerking free, she spun, her handbag swinging, even though she knew this wasn’t a mugging.
He blocked the blow with ease, but instead of trying to physically detain her again, he bent down and retrieved the keys she must have dropped.
Dana stared at her car keys now dangling from Jack’s fingers. “What do you want?”
“Taylor sent me.”
Dana stared at his jaw. The fact that Taylor knew her father was alive was a shock, but that was a minor point. If Taylor had contacted Jack Jones that could mean only one thing: trouble. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
Wrong answer. “You expect me to fall for that?”
“She called last night.” Briefly, he repeated the conversation.
Dana weighed the information against what she knew about Taylor and WITSEC. Jack Jones was a con man, a gambler and a liar; he was going to have to try harder if he was going to convince her that Taylor had left WITSEC. “If there was a problem, she would have rung me herself.”
“She didn’t want to tip Lopez off.”
Dana felt all the blood drain from her face. If she had one nightmare in this life, it was Alex Lopez. Just the mention of his name made her feel physically sick. Twenty-three years ago, he had walked into her life and taken it over. Through those years the only thing that had kept Dana sane had been the need to keep Taylor safe and as untouched by Lopez’s twisted world as possible. But, like a poisonous vine, Lopez had stuck to them. No matter how hard they tried to cut loose, he never let go.
“Dana—”
Her jaw clenched. “Give me my keys.”
“I can’t let you take your car.”
“You can’t stop me. I’ve got a spare set.”
He swore beneath his breath, and she had time to notice that decades might have passed, but some things never changed. Jack Jones was lean and handsome, younger than he had any right to look, and without the lines of strain she knew were etched on her face. He barely showed any signs of going gray, just a touch at the temples. Dana had to keep a regular salon appointment to keep her hair honey-blond; otherwise she would look exactly like her mother had at fifty-five, tired and ten years older than she really was.
She unclenched her jaw. It was tempting to argue—she wanted to argue—but she wasn’t stupid. If Taylor had sent him, there was a problem, and Taylor’s life was too important to risk. “How is she? Is she all right?”
For the first time he seemed to be at a loss, and that more than anything else convinced her. “I don’t know. She didn’t talk for long. She’s not exactly comfortable with the relationship.”
She stared at Jack’s face, his eyes, looking for a chink that would tell her that he was lying, that this was all some crazy scam. “When did she find out that you were still alive?”
“I visited her in the hospital in D.C.”
Finally, something that made sense. Taylor’s shooting had been reported in a number of papers, which explained how Jack had been able to make contact. “If I can’t take the car, what happens to it? When this is all over, I’m going to need that car.”
“I’ve taken care of it.” He jerked his head in the direction of a truck double-parked to one side of the parking lot. “They’re going to store the car for you.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a business card for a well-known storage firm.
Dana stared at the vehicle he’d indicated. Without the glasses she normally wore for driving, her distance vision was blurred and indistinct, but she could make out the lettering. There were two men sitting in the cab, which gave credence to his story, since one guy couldn’t drive both vehicles.
She studied the card, buying a little more time. The fact that Jack had taken time out to make arrangements for her car was sobering. If Taylor had rung him last night and he’d had to fly in from the East Coast, he hadn’t had much time. “What about my job? If I walk out now, I could get fired.”
His expression didn’t change. “Take sick leave.”
Dana’s jaw tightened. She knew a doctor in the Mission district. For a price, he would give her a medical certificate. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to use him. When Taylor had gone missing last year she had needed time off work to search. She had paid Gomez for the certificate, but in retrospect, she hadn’t needed to. Any legitimate doctor would have given her time off work. She let out a breath. “I don’t know if I believe you, but I’ll come with you—for now. Just…don’t touch me.”
Fifteen minutes later, after walking a circuitous route around the financial district and into the trendy Embarcadero Center, Jack ushered her into a rental car. After another few minutes of driving around side streets, he finally took an exit out of town and headed across the Bay Bridge.
Dana stared at the brassy strip of sea visible between the network of steel struts and cables. “You’re going the wrong way. I live south of the Mission district.”
“I can’t take you there.”
She studied his profile and suddenly panicked. They were heading in the opposite direction she wanted to go, and it was happening too fast. “Turn the car around. I need clothes and toiletries. It won’t take more than a few minutes.”
When he didn’t respond, she gripped his arm and yanked. “Turn the car.”
Jack swerved and straightened. The squeal of tires was punctuated by honking.
He shook her grip off. “I’m not turning back. You need to get out of town. Now.”
The cold remoteness of his expression shocked her to her core. The entire time they had been married, she had never backed down. He had always been the soft one, the one who had walked out the door. “How would you know?”
“Because Lopez had men closing in on you. You’ve got to listen to me, Dana. I wasn’t a gambler or a con artist. I was a hit man. That’s why I had to leave.”
She blinked, concentrating on the one fact she could absorb. “How do you know Lopez had men closing in on me?”
“Because I saw one out on the street, and I’m certain the parking lot was watched. And, honey, if I had been given the job, that’s exactly what I would have done.”