When the Heart Lies - By Christina North Page 0,38
of me. I said I’m going to bed.” She was convinced now. She should start playing the part of the submissive doormat. To say it’d be difficult would be an understatement. She naively thought she’d be able to leave easily.
“Have a drink, darlin’. By the time we go to bed, you won’t think it’s such a bad idea. We’re going to have some fun tonight.”
She took the bottle from him, sat back down, and poured herself some vodka. She didn’t take her eyes off him and drank the shot down in one gulp, not allowing him to see it tasted awful and burned raw the lining of her throat. She was done giving him the satisfaction of seeing how he intimidated her. It was hard enough to admit he did.
Chapter 8
Before getting ready for dinner, Jackson took an hour and searched the internet. Not much luck with addresses. Wayde seemed to like PO boxes, and he appeared to be uncommonly transient up until the last ten years, when he began working and living in Orangevale. There were no name changes, previous jobs, or insurance records, and his DMV records added nothing to the investigation. After blowing out an exaggerated breath, he closed the computer and went to get ready for dinner.
He was finishing dressing when Olivia’s knock came.
“Jackson, it’s me.”
He hollered over his shoulder and continued tying his tie. “C’mon in. I left it open, and I’m not even naked.”
As she walked in, she assessed his reflection in the mirror. “Nice suit. I approve.”
“Thanks, you look nice, too.”
She wore an ivory silk dress. She usually wore black or red. The dress hung only a couple inches above the knee, long for her. He gave his tie one last adjustment and turned around to face her.
“We’d better head to the restaurant.” Olivia said. “We don’t want to keep Xavier waiting.”
As they entered Chez Armand, Jackson slipped his hand around Olivia’s waist launching their little masquerade. The restaurant was elegant and upscale. An assortment of midnight blues and grays complemented the candlelit chandeliers hanging low above the tables that were adorned with fresh floral arrangements.
“We’re with the Wentworth party,” he said.
“Right this way, please.”
The maître d’, an expressionless, stuffy, little fat man, whose chin squished down as an extension of his neck, took them into the dining room, wobbling as he walked. He led them to a table with a bay window overlooking a garden seating area with small white lights in the flowering trees. Xavier and Nick stood to greet them. Again, Xavier took Olivia’s hand and gave her a kiss on the cheek. He broke the connection quickly, and turned his attention to Jackson.
“Jackson, this is my wife, Angela, and my son, Nick.”
Xavier tilted his head toward Nick and Angela. “You’ve both met Olivia.” Angela scanned him and pulled at her earring with a distracted smile.
Jackson smiled and nodded in Angela’s direction. “Ma’am.” He and Nick shook hands. “Nice to meet you, Nick.”
The maître d’ stood holding Olivia’s chair and waited for them to sit. The waiter appeared promptly to take their drink orders and suggested the entrées of the evening. When he left, he gave a slight bow.
“Olivia, what on earth are you doing here all the way from Le Grand?” Angela said, pulling at her earring again as she shot Xavier a glare.
Olivia flashed a pert smile. “I’m doing some work here for a couple of days.”
Tight-lipped, Angela arranged her napkin as she placed it on her lap. “How nice.”
The two women resembled felines, purring at each other rather than clawing to keep things civilized.
“Yes, very nice,” Olivia said, glancing at Xavier. Angela noticed.
“So, Jackson, what do you do?” Angela asked.
From her tone, the question was obvious. What’s your status? And he found it annoying. He maintained eye contact with a challenging stare. “I’m a cop. I work in Olivia’s precinct in Le Grand.”
“Really? You and Nick have at least one thing in common … remotely.” She flipped her hand dismissively. “Nick’s a lawyer.”
Nick’s head darted up when Angela made the tactless statement. She might as well have said, “My son’s better than you are.” The eye Xavier gave her was nothing less than a warning.
“That must be a very exciting line of work,” Xavier said. “I’ve always admired police officers for their bravery.” He lifted his glass. “Heroes every day.”
“That’s for sure. I could never be a cop.” Nick’s comment followed Xavier’s offhandedly, but sounded genuine.
“He’s a terrific cop. One of the best.” Olivia gave Jackson an