Retribution (7 page)

John ordered his face into a neutral expression, knowing the dog would read his body language, smell his scent, and listen to the tones in his voice almost simultaneously, and ordered, "Down."

Jagger licked his chops, then dropped to the lawn, relaxing in the harness almost instantly. The young woman almost staggered back onto one heel, the weight of him leaning heavily against her suddenly gone.

She looked at him, her eyes neither blue nor gray, but a mixture of both, as though they were the reflection of a changing and complicated sky. Relief was suddenly replaced by a slight suspicion. "Do you always give orders to other people's dogs?"

"Only when I've trained them and I see them misbehaving," John answered. He forced himself to look down at the dog to hide the momentary jolt he felt when he looked at her. The golden looked up at him, happiness glinting in his eyes. The misgivings Rubidoux had felt during those weeks of training him eased slightly at Jagger's confidence. He obviously still thought he was a good dog. Which, indeed, he was.

John bent over and ruffled the dog's ears. Jagger leaned into his touch and made a little chuffing sound of contentment. When John glanced up, his eyes met hers and he realized close up that the tiny weakness in the corner of her eyelid and mouth only enhanced natural attractiveness, giving it a slightly beguiling slant. If she worried about her disability, it did not show as she offered her right hand. He shook it, measuring his grip carefully, surprised to feel some calluses and roughness in her fingers.

"I'm Charlotte Saunders," she said. "Charlie to friends of Jagger."

"And I'm John Rubidoux."

She nodded. "Ruby," she said softly, as if wondering if his nickname bothered him and if it did, making sure not to let anyone else hear her say it.

"That's me." He found himself defensive, as her blue-gray eyes measured him.

"My father," she added, "could not decide if he loved you or hated you."

John remembered Quentin Saunders as a hard-nosed CEO who had worked his way up through the blue-collar ranks into his position and money. He demanded results without excuses and either got them or found somebody else. Quentin Saunders had not been too happy with the work John had done with Jagger, but had finally capitulated when Rubidoux had insisted on not ruining an intelligent animal with training contrary to his instincts. They had compromised on what to do with Jagger, though John had never felt happy with that compromise. "I could say the feelings were mutual."

Charlie shifted weight and scanned the grounds imperceptibly before looking back to him, and he wondered whether he was detaining her or if she always felt ill at ease… or perhaps she was just a little self-conscious. He looked back down at the golden retriever. "How's he working out for you?"

"Oh, he's my best guy." Charlie leaned over and scratched Jagger's chin. The golden gave her a look of immense devotion and happiness.

"Did he help with your… problem?"

Charlie gave a little sigh which was followed immediately by one from the dog, and John bit the inside of his lip slightly to hide his amusement at the unconscious emotional rapport between them. She frowned and took a step away from him, and he knew he had crossed some kind of boundary with her.

"My father and a few others overreacted to a situation with my ex-agent, I'm afraid," she answered slowly. "But Jagger here performed heroically anyway. He showed his teeth and Valdor gave up his hope of forcing me back into painting."

"Good. Glad to hear that. He's a good dog. He wasn't cut out for the kind of work your father wanted from him." John cleared his throat. For Jagger to do everything Quentin Saunders had insisted upon, he would have had to deprogram the dog thoroughly and most likely would have ended up with a confused and worthless animal. As it was, Rubidoux was not sure that Jagger would perform the aggressive guard and attack acts they had worked so hard on. Worse, he feared that the dog would begin refusing his service commands, misplacing the aggression John had tried to instill in him.

Seeing him here and now, though, made Rubidoux feel a little more at ease. Happy dog, happy owner. He backed up a step. "Sorry about the painting though. I didn't realize you had stopped."

Charlie tilted her head slightly, offsetting the slant to her features. He wondered if it was a studied act or just something she did naturally. "It happens. Sometimes you just lose the desire."

"I understand that—" John suddenly felt as if he were walking on eggshells, and very unsuccessfully.

"I don't talk about it much any more," Charlie told him. She tugged her mouth into a smile. "Surely you didn't get a tux and come out tonight just to say hi to Jagger."

"Of course not. As an independent businessman, I'm told I should support functions like this." He stretched his neck against the tightness of his collar and flushed as she noticed him fidgeting. "It's called networking in the nineties. And my accountant said, 'You need the write-offs anyway.' "

She laughed. "Well, that's one way of doing it. I'm not sure too many of them here would look you up on a website. They prefer to schmooze. You look like one of the harder working donors. Let me give you a guided tour. There's food and drinks with that ticket and I'm sure you wouldn't want to miss a good meal." She clucked to Jagger who lurched promptly to his feet and squared himself away in his harness.

John followed after her, wondering if he wore the same hungry look on his features that he often saw on his dogs. How did women know? How did they unerringly home in on a signal he was not aware he gave? Or was a man's stomach something a woman could take for granted?

Or, he thought ruefully, as they neared the food tent and buffet line and he could smell the rich fragrance of some mighty good-smelling dinner plates, and his stomach gave off a growl, maybe he had been signaling after all. Some well-heeled folks cut her away from him and began to talk to her earnestly in low tones. She waved him by to the food line and after a sorrowful look from Jagger, John decided that he would get a tray for himself and make a dent in the hundred-dollar ticket. It looked as though his guided tour had ended.

Jagger alternated between watching him hopefully and scanning the people who continued to press around Charlie. No sooner would one group drift away, then another couple or threesome would surround her. John wanted to think that she stayed in order to talk with him, perhaps share the intimacy of dining with him, but that not only no longer looked possible, it looked as if she had not even had that in mind. He filled his dinner plate with an assortment of goodies that made Jagger lick his chops as he passed by to an available table.

He sat down, too hungry to think about the difficulties of eating alone, and had half his food finished when he looked up, and saw Charlie Saunders watching him over the shoulders of the latest conversant to hold her captive. Her look quickly flicked away as if she'd been caught. John suppressed the desire to see if he'd spilled something on the rental tuxedo and put his fork down. He gathered up the tray holding his plate and drink, surveying his plate and realizing it was actually damn near empty. He stood and made his way back toward Charlie, leaning into the conversation without preamble.

"Hon, I'm going back for seconds… sure you don't want me to pick up a plate for you?"

She blinked as her face turned rosy, then nodded. "I'm famished. That would be wonderful," she said smoothly, after a twitch of the corner of her mouth. "You know I adore the Chinese chicken salad, and anything with shrimp in it." Jagger flashed him an enormously grateful look as if the dog knew dinner snacks were drawing close.

"Will do." John grinned. "And I think I saw a couple of pieces of chocolate fudge cake that had our names written all over it." He nodded toward the latest group holding her hostage. "You don't mind if I steal her away for some dinner, do you?" The rosy glow to her face took the edges off her plainness, and he found himself enjoying having her somewhat at a disadvantage.

Her audience immediately began to murmur agreement as he swung past, grabbed another plate, and began to assemble her request. By the time he'd gotten her dinner, his seconds and dessert, they were saying their good-byes and Charlie was shaking their hands.

She followed him over to the table which had thankfully remained empty, the slight limp she walked with engagingly, unconsciously, sexy, and sat down with a sigh. She examined the plate as he slid it over in front of her, unrolled the linen napkin from the silverware, and laid it over her lap. "I am not sure how grateful I am for the rescue— I've been avoiding the cake all evening." She dipped a fingertip into the icing, tasted it, and rolled her eyes. "Torture."

Night had rolled in, a black velvet backdrop to the tent, and the candle lanterns on the tables began to reflect their golden glow. He had a plain, hard-boiled egg to the side of his plate, neatly sliced it in two and pressed it into her fingers. "Jagger deserves a little something, too."

The dog responded quickly, moist nose sniffing the air for all its good smells. Charlie smiled wearily. "Actually he would prefer a piece of the cake."

"But chocolate isn't good for him, and he'd just as soon have the egg."

With a laugh, she bent over and Jagger scarfed up the treat with little judgment as to whether or not chocolate cake would have tasted better.

"Dogs," Rubidoux remarked, "are potato chip eaters. Each chip looks irresistible, and they're always ready to eat another."

She more than smiled at that; she burst out with a laugh, a sound so genuine it made him feel like responding the way Jagger did… with a feel good all over wiggle. He suppressed it by stuffing a shrimp egg roll in his mouth. She did not say anything for a good five minutes other than "mmmming" at the salad and rolling her eyes in happiness.

"If you want to keep avoiding the cake," he offered, "I'll eat both slices."

"And die a slow death from a dull butter knife," Charlie warned.

John Rubidoux grinned.

A handsome, silver-haired couple paused by the table, as if waiting for Charlie to notice them, and of course she did, swallowing quickly and wiping the edges of her mouth with the corner of her napkin.

"Judge and Mrs. Laverman, how nice to see you!"

They smiled: tall, elegant, well-groomed people. He wore a thick but well-trimmed mustache, and he had a lot of laugh creases at the corners of his clear blue eyes. John had seen a fair number of judges in his police days, but he had never been before this one and found himself wondering what it would be like. Not too many people made him want to remember those past days.

"It's a pleasure, as always, to see you, Charlie." Mrs. Laverman wore lavender which accented her aging gracefully. She leaned over and hugged Charlie's slight shoulders. "Any new pieces tonight?"

"No, no, it's just a retrospective. You know I haven't done anything new in almost ten years."

"Well, it doesn't hurt to ask."

Charlie winced and shook her head. "You shouldn't even wonder! Your pictures are more valuable with me not painting."

Mrs. Laverman reached out and parted Charlie's hands. "Perhaps in a way that's true, dear, but we'd rather see you painting and happy again. We don't collect for value, but enjoyment. Anyway, enjoy your young man and dinner. We'll see you later."

The color on Charlie's face increased markedly as the judge and his wife sauntered away, across the lawn, their heads bent together in hushed talk he could not follow.

She cleared her throat as she looked back to him. "Sorry about that."

"Oh, I think she was referring to you and Jagger."

Charlie had begun to eat again, and gave a little snort-choke, and dropped her fork, holding her napkin up to her face. When she lowered it, she was laughing again.

"Thank God," he said. "I thought I was going to have to perform CPR."

"It's the Heimlich for choking."

"I know, but CPR sounded like more fun."

Jagger chose that moment to flap his ears as if he wanted attention, and Charlie took the other half of the boiled egg off John's plate to feed to him. He sat back in his chair, thinking of what an intimate move that was, and how Julie would have never done it for anyone, under any circumstances, let alone for a dog, and he felt contented.

Charlie looked away from Jagger and met his eyes. She smiled. "You have the look of a well-fed man."

"That I do."

She pushed away her salad, and glanced at his chocolate cake. "Got enough room for that?"

He picked up his fork. "Always! There's always room for chocolate!"

Jagger barked sharply. They grinned at one another and dug in, and if Jagger happened to accidentally get several very fat chocolate crumbs from Charlie's plate, Rubidoux pretended he did not notice.

When they finished, Charlie looked at her watch and made a face. "I've got to go announce the winners of the silent auction. If you come, if you have time afterward, I'll show you the judged exhibition. And my gallery, if you'd like to see it."

He knew very little about art except what he liked and didn't, but he knew the evening was not nearly old enough for him to want to say good night to Charlotte Saunders. He nodded. "I'd like that."

John reached for the plates and cleared them all onto his tray, as Charlie got to her feet, grabbing for the dog's harness. For a moment, her face went terribly pale, and she swayed, blinked several times, then righted herself. He went for her elbow.

"Are you all right?"

She waved her hand at him. "Just got up too fast. Champagne went to my head a bit." Her face went cold and stiff again, and he felt the warmth between them drain away rapidly.

"Sorry, I… I thought you needed help."

"No." She straightened her vest and pulled at her blouse cuffs. "It's just a hazard of being in this body."