Naked Hope (6 page)

Jill sighed, exhaustion pulling on her muscles. “Too often, that’s the problem.”

Baines steered hard left, avoiding the line-up of cars exiting the freeway and adjusted his chauffeur’s cap. “Problem?”

“Not everyone wants help.”

****

Late the next afternoon, Jill frowned, rereading her summary notes.
Olivia Fairfield is bright, at times guarded, and often guileless. She tires easily and resents even the slightest suggestion she might not be able to do something. Her grandmother overindulges her. Her father’s pattern with her is unclear, if in fact there’s any consistency at all outside the discipline of music.

She stopped reading, lost to her thoughts. Olivia would never have been an easy child, but she certainly had her father’s appeal. One day, she’d break the hearts of many. Already, she’d demolished one man’s heart because no matter who else he might be—brooding, charming, demanding, entertaining, brilliant, or some combination thereof—the look on Gavin’s face when he held Olivia’s music told her who he really was.
Broken
.

Chapter Five

When the phone rang moments later, Jillian jumped, and considered letting it roll over to voicemail. Or was her voicemail full? She picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, Jill, it's Gage.”

“Hi, neighbor. What’s new in the field of forensic psychology?”

Gage chuckled. “Trust me, you don’t want to know. I’ve got cabin fever. My students are reviewing case studies of the goriest unsolved murders on record, and I need a break. Want to try that new place on Tenth?”

Twenty minutes later, Gage ordered an Italian Barolo and a plate of antipasto. “Okay, distract me. I noticed you haven’t stepped out of the house all day. Pretty sure you didn’t even go for your run this morning. What gives?”

“Stalker.”

“
Moi
?” She tapped her chest. “Just taking my neighborhood watch responsibilities seriously. So, what’s up?”

Jill cuddled up against the wall of the booth. A waiter passed by with a tray full of food. The rich full smell of a burgundy bolognaise and sharp parmesan made Jill’s stomach rumble. “I may be taking on a new patient, I’m not sure. There’s the possibility of a conflict of interest on my part. More likely, the child can’t qualify for my program.”

Gage smacked her lips. “Conflict of interest? Sounds tasty.”

As they ate, Jill explained about her latest case as much as she was ethically able.

Well into their second bottle, Gage exploded. “Look, Jilly, I’ve been listening like the good friend I am for close to an hour now but honestly, what an ass! Second, were you maybe crushing on him a little? I mean, I know you were in awe of his musical genius, but this story sounds like maybe it was more. I think you were in love with the guy.”

Jill savored the wine with hints of cherry and tobacco. “He rarely had to stop to make notations. The music sprang from his soul and spread across the keyboard until I was consumed by the sound—and the man.” She leaned her forearms on the table. “I’d never felt anything so intense.”

“I take it back. You weren’t crushing a little. You were totally gone.”

The waiter brought them each a dish of amaretto gelato.

A sigh escaped and Jill crossed her arms. “I never admitted the infatuation even to myself but yes, I was fantastically infatuated. Somehow, I got the idea he appreciated my love for music, and our shared appreciation made us two of a kind. How foolish does this sound?”

“Not at all.” Gage shook her head. Her short blunt cut swung freely. “You were only nineteen or twenty, inexperienced, and college is an impressionable time for a young woman. Besides, he was drop-dead gorgeous.”

“Is.” Jill flushed, remembering the feel of his hand at the small of her back.

“Is?”

“Is drop-dead gorgeous. As in, he’s still gorgeous.” She giggled. “Anyway, the whole business is all such ancient past.”

“Well, I admire the hell out of you. If I were you and he just showed up all these years later, I’m not so sure I would have been cool about it.”

Jill folded her napkin and dropped it on the table. “I used to fantasize that one day I’d run into him. When I did, I’d find a way to tell him just how wrong he was about me—that there were plenty of options available to me, other than the farm, that is. Now, here it is and the irony is, he was right.” Her throat tightened with regret.

Gage shook her head. “No way. He was unforgivable, telling you to go back to the farm. I mean, come on!”

“Yes, with all the sensitivity of a scouring pad. But that sequence of events led me to psychology and the rest, as they say, is history.” Jill chuckled and emptied her glass. “Besides, didn't Aristotle say something like ‘forgive the young their foolishness’? I might not have that right.” She shrugged.

Gage’s eyes widened. “You’re saying when we’re young we have a free pass, no matter the consequences?”

Jill grinned. “Not me, Aristotle.
I’m
saying I’m not the same person I was fourteen years ago and neither is he. I have an obligation to make sure the past isn’t clouding the decisions I make today. And if I have to, I’ll err on the side of overcompensating. To deny a child the only chance she may ever have to fully recover because of a fourteen-year old grudge is not just unprofessional…it’s inhumane.”

Gage tapped the table and stared. After a moment, she shook her head. “You just managed to make self-righteousness sound courageous.”

Jill rolled her eyes. “Nothing so dramatic. But I keep reminding myself that if fourteen years ago hadn’t happened, he and I were meeting for the first time. A father who will fight to the finish for what he believes his child holds most dear. That’s the stuff heroes are made of.”
Had she just defended him?

Sighing, Gage said, “Here’s what I think is really going on behind the wizard’s curtain. You still have a crush on him.”

Both women swung their heads as a bus boy caught his foot around one of the chairs and the tray full of dirty dishes he carried clattered to the floor.

“I’ll admit Gavin Fairfield can make a woman melt with just a look,” Jill said, wishing her glass wasn’t empty.

The pen Gage held to sign her bill spun out of her fingers. “Wait, did you say
Gavin
Fairfield? You mean that musician the gossip columnists are always going on about?”

Jill bit her lip. “The very same.” She stared at her friend considering her next words. “Gage, you and I consult on a number of cases together, so I’m reasonably comfortable with you knowing about this, but I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, this family is very private.”

Her friend retrieved the pen. “Of course, but Jill, if you’re working with Gavin Fairfield, you’ve certainly got your hands full, my friend.”

Don’t I know it. Jill’s eyebrow arched. “And you’re saying that because?”

Gage scribbled in a tip and met Jill’s gaze. “Well, I probably shouldn’t say.”

“Right, like I’m going to let you stop now.”

Gage knit her eyebrows together. “Jill, before they ruled the crash an accident, he was the major suspect in his wife’s death.”

Gavin, a suspect!
“Oh!” Jill sat back hard, barely aware of the high-pitched laughter from the table of women next to them.

Gage nodded.

Jill played with her napkin. “But it was an accident.”

Gage didn’t respond.

Jill’s eyes widened and her stomach knotted. “You think it wasn’t an accident?”

Gage tapped the side of her credit card against the tabletop. “I’m saying there was a lot of sloppy police work in that case.”

Jill focused on her friend. “A case? I never saw it on the news—I mean, they reported her death but I don’t remember anything about suspects—”

Gage shook her head. “No one did. No one ever will.”

“Gage, what’re you saying?”

She glanced around before leaning forward. “I heard a lot of money changed hands to keep the accident quiet, and to wrap up the investigation fast.”

Jill cocked her head and pushed what remained of her gelato to the side. “What is your source?”

“The assistant DA assigned to the case was a former student of mine. We’ve kept in touch. I do some work for him from time to time.”

“You’re saying you consulted on the case?”

“Sort of. I was called in, only to be turned away when I got there.”

Jill eased herself back into the corner of the booth. Her brain stalled, unable to think of Gavin as a suspect. “So, your professional opinion is that he had something to do with his wife’s death?”

Gage rapped her nails against the tabletop. “My professional opinion is you have your hands full with that one. He’s charming, influential, and knows how to play his cards close to his vest. You and I have both been around long enough to know the rich play by different rules.”

Jill shook her head. “You’ve got this one wrong, Gage. His daughter was nearly killed. She’ll never be the same. The man—that family is
shattered
because of that accident. He would never

”

“I didn’t say I thought he was guilty. I said he’s a lot to manage, at best. And very likely is hiding something.”

That night lying in bed, Jill caught the last of the news. Suddenly, Gavin’s face loomed across her screen.

“Gavin Fairfield, international globetrotter traveling between continents with a bevy of women including his agent and long-time flame, Adrienne Rush, touched down in Amsterdam a few days ago for an unscheduled visit to the city of freedom and natural expression where he

”

Jill clicked off the TV, and rolled over determined to sleep.
International globetrotter…bevy of women…really? The man was unquestionably egotistical, brilliantly talented, and boorishly insensitive. But a player?
Her mind slipped back to Gavin in the music hall, his slender fingers holding Olivia’s music.
Was that how he dealt with his brokenness? Traveling with a bevy of women who worshipped him? Had he always been a player, and she just hadn’t seen it?

Early the next morning on her way back to Shadow Hills, Jill stopped at the Maple Tree Inn, a quaint bed and breakfast. Baines had recommended the place as serving “the best caramel cinnamon rolls.”

The small restaurant, modeled after an old-fashioned sweet shop, smelled divine and apparently did a hefty Saturday morning business. She counted herself lucky to get the last empty seat at the counter.

“Paper?” the server offered.

“Yes, thanks.” High test and rich, Jill added a liberal amount of cream to her coffee, and scanned the paper. The headline on the community page jumped out just as her caramel cinnamon roll arrived.

Olivia Fairfield to attend the Wilson Institute under the mentorship of Dr. Jillian Cole, renown researcher in the field of TBI
.

Jill choked on her coffee. The article briefly covered Olivia’s background as a musician, a few vague details of the accident, and then shifted focus to the ‘swift recovery promised by Dr. Cole and other representatives of the institute’.

Unable to believe what she read, she pushed away the caramel roll and stared at the article. How could this have happened? Who else besides the Fairfields and Ross even knew Olivia was a potential candidate? Would Gavin have done this? A publicity stunt perhaps on the part of that agent of his to keep the promise of Olivia’s return in the headlines? Her mind shot back to Gage’s words,
he’s slippery at best. A lot to manage
. Well, he was about to learn that she could be a lot to manage, too.

Fueled by her frustration at being so publicly manipulated, the drive to the Fairfield estate seemed much shorter than before. The ornate iron gates swung open automatically. Already warm, the sun climbed high in the sky as it glanced across the creeping jenny and white yarrow. She took the last curve.

Gavin stood in the drive, waiting.

Her breath caught. Two days ago in a sports jacket and khakis he’d been exceedingly handsome, yet unapproachable with that distant Fairfield air. Today, in well-worn blue jeans the color of sky and a black T-shirt, he might have been the boy next door.

Gage’s words rolled over her.
You still have a crush on him
. Well, if she did, it wouldn’t keep her from confronting him about that news article.

In three long strides, he reached her door and pulled it open. “Come with me please.” He grasped her arm.

Every instinct told her to pull away and resist being marched to the front door like some kind of prisoner or worse, a recalcitrant child. But her professional training prevailed and she allowed herself to be led until the appropriate time to correct his behavior presented itself.

They were barely inside the mirrored foyer when he pulled the paper from his back pocket and waved it. “I want to talk to you about this.” His jaw ticked and his eyes darkened.

Her own temper flared before she could catch it back. “I’m very glad to hear it. You have some explaining to do.”

“I? I
have some explaining to do?” He tightened his grip. “I thought you understood about our desire for privacy. What right have you to announce my daughter will be enrolled in your program?”

His livid face loomed inches from hers. Out of the corner of her eye, Jill caught a glimpse of their profiles in the mirrored foyer, stunned at how much they both looked like angry caricatures of themselves. The impact sobered her and she inhaled deeply to calm herself. They were on a fast track to nowhere. “Mr. Fairfield, let me suggest we take this down a notch, and go somewhere less public.”

Unmoving, he stared down at her.

Determined to get to the bottom of things, Jill placed her free hand on his wrist and withdrew her hand from his grasp, stepped past him, and hoped she remembered the way to the library. In the great room, she made a wrong turn.

Again, he caught her hand and pivoted in the other direction.

She tried to shake him off.
Again with the hand
. Her stomach contracted at the touch of his hand. Her mind reeled against his bully tactics. She had all she could do to suppress her anger but her professional observation told her his behavior was that of a confused man who needed control, and who apparently felt as if he had none. She had all she could do to keep up.