Riding the Thunder (30 page)

Only the letter was gone. What remained was the question:
Why would anyone break into his bungalow and steal that piece of paper that had little value to anyone but him?

Jago stalked back into the restaurant, his eyes sweeping the room. Colin had just finished tightening the nuts on the stool. Jago couldn't help it; his eyes fixed on the man's bigass screwdriver and couldn't look away.

Sensing that all was not right, Colin glanced up. He rose with a slight frown. “It's called a screwdriver, Jago. You poke it into things and
screw
with it. I'd think you'd be rather familiar with the concept.”

“Watch it, or I might have to show you a new place you can put that damn oversized tool—as in, where the sun doesn't shine,” he warned.

“Hoo-hoo . . . someone got up on the wrong side of Asha's bed this morning.” Colin grinned unrepentantly. “You don't scare me, Jago. I told you before; you can't beat on me; Asha wouldn't like that. So save the high camp. You'll come to adore me soon enough. Everyone does.”

“Okay, I adore you.” Surprisingly disarmed by the chatter, Jago laughed. Easing back on the temper, he went to get a beer from the cooler. “Can you use the monster tool to change a lock on the bungalow?”

“Is this a test? No one said anything about a test. I'm really good on killer leeches, Vincent Price and Boris Karloff. Did you know Karloff's real name was William Henry Platt? Remember the old Song “Monster Mash,” where the guy sounded like Karloff? Karloff actually sang the song himself on television once! Now how many people know that?” The man beamed at his esoteric acumen.

“I'm sure you are a killer at Trivial Pursuit.”

Colin fetched a Dr Pepper and twisted off the top. “So why do you need the lock changed?” Using the cap, he arched it into the trashcan. “He shoots! He scores!”

Observing the strange man with the irritating, yet oddly likable personality, Jago shook his head. In his role for Mershan International, it was commonplace for him to look
high-powered corporate executives in the eye, wait for them to ‘blink,' then walk away with whatever Desmond had wanted from the negotiations. His incisive mind, the ability to assess quickly another's strengths and weaknesses served him well, thus saw him a good judge of character. It didn't ring true Colin would break into his bungalow simply to steal a letter that had little value to him. Except . . . except he could use it to show Asha that her lover was lying to her. It was clear Colin was in love with Asha: only was it puppy love or obsession? Would the need to discredit Jago push him to follow them around, spy on them and look for damning evidence to use?

Damn it! His suspicions all followed a chain of logic, yet as he studied the oddball it was hard to reconcile Colin the Stalker with Colin the ‘Basketball Superstar.' The two profiles were in such conflict; he liked Colin and that alone made him want to trust him, despite circumstances piling up.

“Someone broke into my bungalow. Bunged up the lock. It will need another. Can you do that, or will we need to call for a locksmith—provided Leesburg has one.”

Asha came from the office, scowling. “Did I hear right? Your cabin was broken into?”

Colin rolled his eyes. “City boy shows up and we have a crime wave. Mwahaha. I leave the keys to my truck on the floorboard so I know where they are at all times. That's how scared
I
am about someone around here stealing anything.”

Asha stalked out of the diner, obviously heading to the cabins. Jago looked at Colin and then Sam, peeking through the serving window, then followed her.

“Hey, wait for me! I'm the one with the screwdriver!” Colin called, rushing to catch up.

Asha stood frowning at Jago's door, hands on her hips, the fat cat dancing around her ankles wanting attention. A hot autumn wind whipped through the trees, sending the dry leaves to the ground, forecasting bad weather. She pulled her long hair over one shoulder and held on to the
ends to keep it from flying about her face. “You're right. Someone forced the lock. When did this happen?”

Jago shrugged. “I locked it when I went off with Derek. It was this way when I came back. Of course, with that damn juke box screaming ‘bird is the word,' someone could blow the place up and you might not hear.”

Colin scratched his head, looked at the other bungalows. He reached into his shirt pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes and tapped one out. Marlboros. Jago groaned. Colin took Jago's scowl as censure. “Hey, Asha bitches at me already for smoking. Besides, you smoke those cheesy Swisher Sweets.”

“Yeah, I do,” he replied absently, wishing Colin smoked anything but Marlboros.

Taking the cigarette, the handyman stuck it into his mouth, but didn't light it. “Hey, Jago, someone have it in for you?You a drug runner or a diamond smuggler? Why would someone hit your pad and not bother any of the other cabins? I get it—Jago equals James, doesn't it? Jago Bond! They were after your super spy secrets.” He sniggered.

His using the word
secrets
caused Jago to want to hit something.

“What was stolen? I'll replace it even if the insurance doesn't cover it. We've never had anything stolen from the motel before.” Asha sighed, looking disappointed.

Jago's stomach muscles tightened as if he'd taken a sucker punch. He turned to glance around—or more precisely, he pretended to look about for clues so he didn't have to meet her beautiful eyes. “Nothing was taken.” Lightning streaked across the sky, followed by a thunderclap nearly overhead. Scooping up the cat, he took Asha's upper arm. “We'd better get inside. Storm's going to break any minute.”

“Hey, guys, I'll dash up to my house, see if I have anything to repair that lock,” Colin shouted over the rising wind, then started to jog up the hill.

Jago and Asha barely made it to the glassed-in porch before
the rain hit, pounding on the concrete drive and walkway at the front of the restaurant, with a soothing sound. They left the kitty on the porch—much to his grumpy meowing—and went into the diner. Asha headed to the office to take a call from a supplier, leaving Jago at the counter to finish his slightly warm beer. Jago took a seat on the stool that Colin had fixed, and watched Sam carry in a stainless steel bucket filled with crushed ice, and empty it into the built-in bin under the counter.

“Where's the usual lunch crowd?” he asked the cook.

“Won't be one. Damn storm will keep everyone away. Watch. Oh, a couple might brave the rain. You'd think people around here are made of sugar. Damn shame, I've been cookin' all morning,” Sam grumbled shaking his head.

“So what's good for lunch? I'm in the mood for Tex-Mex for some reason.”

“Tex-Mex? Bah! You want some good eatin', try my Cajun cookin'. I fixed my
Chicken What Du Hell
as the lunch special. It'll make your soul sing.” Sam offered him a big smile as he dumped the ice shards into the bin and closed the lid.

Jago finished the Coors. “I'd noticed your accent. You're from New Orleans.”

“Sure am. Katrina got me. Had my own restaurant. Nothing fancy, mind. Just good eatin'. Mama Lou's Down-Home Authentic Cajun Cooking. That damn big-ass sign was the first thing that Katrina got. Not much longer after that, the water came. The Army Corps of Engineers and the Emergency Preparedness people did this computer mock-up to study what would happen if a Category 5 hurricane ever hit New Orleans. They even aired it on the Discovery Channel the year before it happened. They did nothing. Sat on their hands and said there was no way to evacuate the city. Didn't rebuild the levees. Wouldn't stop dredging the river. So, the worst happened, exactly like that computer show warned. And the poor unsuspecting people paid. Whole town paid and is still paying. When I saw the water rolling in, I got in my truck and drove north and kept going, following
the Blue Highway. Finally landed here late one night. My Aunt Bessie used to work for Asha's mama, was a cook for her. I used to come stay with her in the summers. So there I was—no home, no family, no business and too damn old for anyone to hire me. Asha did. The gal has a heart.”

“Will you ever go back?”

“I love the Big Easy, but that life is over. I belong here at The Windmill now.” Sam's black eyes studied Jago closely. “What about you? You got a car, a cat and a 'cycle now. Hear you're planning on getting a boat. You gonna keep our girl?”

“I sure plan on it.”

“She won't live anywhere else, you know. You prepared for that? The Windmill is a haven for lost souls. It's Asha's purpose. Netta was lost. Derek was a punk headed for trouble, now he's going to be a vet. Delbert doesn't have anyone but us. Oo-it has been shunned all his life; no one ever looked close enough to see how smart that man is. I sure needed a home and job.” The cook paused. “Only, our gal was lost, too. She needed roots, a reason in life. All that money and that big damn house in England never gave her that. Her mama always returned home to Kentucky; ultimately it destroyed her marriage because Mac refused to give her what she needed, what she found here. Best think on that. Asha is like her mama; why she came back here to make a go of it.”

“Strangely enough, I guess I was lost, too.” Jago admitted. “I never realized it until now. I need roots and a purpose in life, too. I'm happy here.”

Sam huffed. “Figured that might be the case—why you started collecting your toys. What about your business trying to buy her out?”

“Sticky wicket, but I'll handle things. We'll work something else out.”

“She ain't gonna be happy if you buy that horse farm out from under her brother,” Sam counseled knowingly.

Jago picked up a quarter from the counter and, with a magician's practiced slight-of-hand, made it vanish. “I'll have to work a little magic to see Liam holds onto it, don't you think?”

“Sounds smart to me.”

After Sam ambled back to the kitchen, Jago stared out the window, watching the rain. The old man's gentle prodding had summoned something he'd been hiding from—his lying to Asha. He needed to come clean with her. Soon.

He swallowed back the rising bile, recognizing it might mess up Desmond's plans, and by damn, he owed everything to his older brother, knew all the sacrifices Des had made, what he'd suffered. More father than brother, Des had always been there. He loved his older brother; this whole takeover of Montgomerie Enterprises would make Des a billionaire several times over—or destroy him if everything turned sour. One wrong move and their plans would come crashing down like a house of cards. His telling Asha everything might set that in motion.

Despite that fear, he couldn't continue to love her, couldn't give her the words in him, the words she wanted to hear. He had no right to offer her the future he so desperately wanted until she knew all. There was no other way. He wasn't stupid; he knew this was the necessary next step in their relationship. Only, he was so bloody scared. Scared of losing her. He'd never known true happiness. Until Asha. He didn't want to make a choice between Des and Asha. He loved them both. Damned if he betrayed Des. Damned if he lost Asha by telling her the truth. Damned if he continued lying.

Asha came from the office and fixed a lemonade. She gave him a smile that hit his heart. A coward, he swallowed back his need to come clean, and instead soaked up the radiant happiness she brought to him.

“Well, that's sorted out,” she informed him. “I have a caterer from Lexington doing the Halloween party. They were giving me a headache about orange and black cupcakes.”

Sam stuck his head through the serving window. “About time you got in here, girl. My
Chicken What Du Hell
is ready. Somebody needs to eat it. Set yourselves down and enjoy. Might as well, with that storm this place will stay dead.”

Jago laughed, following Asha to a booth by the window. He watched as the cook brought out two plates heaped with food. “Not sure what this is, but sure smells good.”

“Tastes even better. Make you forget about Tex-Mex. Enjoy.” Sam grinned and shuffled back to the kitchen.

The dish turned out to be big chunks of roast chicken, noodles, tomatoes and onions, in a lemon sauce with a hint of white wine. It was delicious, as Sam promised, but Jago couldn't fully enjoy it because his guilty conscience gnawed at his mind. He cleaned his plate so didn't really have room for cheesecake. Even so, he accepted the dessert and coffee, prolonging what he knew he must do.

When he finished, he pushed his plate aside. “You mind if I smoke?”

“Go ahead. I rather like that cherry smell.” Asha took another bite of cheesecake and smiled dreamily, savoring the taste.

Jago exhaled a stream of smoke away from her, and fought off panic. His hand shook as he reached to pull the ashtray closer. Stalling. “We need to talk.”

Lightning suddenly struck across the road, the following thunder reverberating through the whole diner. The lights flickered and then died. There was something strangely intimate being in the empty diner in the dimness. Jago hoped it was not an omen of Asha's reaction to what he was about to tell her.

“Asha, we've only known each other a few days; somehow it seems longer. As if I've known you for years. I think it best if I tell you a few things—”

“Asha! Oh, Asha!” Colin ran into the restaurant. “Oo-oooo—it's so exciting!”

Feeling like he just escaped the hangman's noose, Jago laughed uneasily. “Oh? I'd have never guessed.”

“Asha . . . you are . . . not . . . going . . . to believe this. This is . . . soooooo cool.”

Asha smiled, getting up to refill her lemonade. “I can hardly wait to hear.”

Colin beamed proudly. “I got a phone call from Stuart Hersh.”

Jago pushed out of the booth and followed her to perch on a stool. “Who's Stuart Hersh? A locksmith?”