Emilie Rose - The Lottery Winner

“My accountant will deal with it in April.”

She had to be another one of Miri’s projects. He dropped the pen and papers on a nearby table and caught her wrists. Ignoring her gasp, he rolled her hands thumbs out to examine her inner forearms. No ugly track marks marred the ivory skin that clearly showed undamaged blue veins beneath the surface.

And then her warmth leached into his palms and up his arms. It spread across his shoulders then sank through his chest and gathered into a ball of heat in his gut. Desire? No way. Then he noticed her calluses. Not heavy ones, but Jessie definitely used her hands on a daily basis.

She yanked free and wiped her palms on her hips as if he’d dirtied her. “What are you doing?”

With effort, he hacked through the haze that had befuddled his brain. “Looking for signs that you use.”

“Use?” Her brow pleated. A beat of silence passed. “Drugs?”

Her wide eyes and shocked tone didn’t fool him. “It wouldn’t be the first time Miri helped someone get clean. They usually stay at her house, and it usually backfires. I end up having to help her evict them.”

“I’m not staying with her. And I don’t and never have used drugs.”

“Then why are you avoiding the drug test and paperwork? What are you hiding?”

Her cheeks flushed. She averted her face, but he didn’t believe for one moment she was that fascinated by the dark waterfront. “I told you. I’m just a friend with time on my hands.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Worried eyes focused on him. “If Miri hires known drug users, then why are you so insistent on me taking the test? Wouldn’t it be a moot point?”

He bit back a curse. She was a wily one. Then the piped-in music went silent, a signal that the kitchen had been cleaned to his aunt’s exacting expectations and it was time to lock up. He gritted his teeth. He’d learned nothing about Jessie’s motives or agenda. Sure enough, the kitchen door swung open and Miri walked out. She scanned the empty dining room, spotted them outside and headed in their direction with the kind of scowl he knew boded ill—for him. She plowed open the back door with a flat palm.

“Sue was supposed to send you home,” she told him.

“I’m waiting for you to lock up.”

“Since when do you hang around until I close?” Her gaze fell on the envelope, and her expression grew even fiercer. Miri had been a great substitute mom. He’d rarely seen her lose her temper, but when she did, it was a sight to behold. From a distance.

“Logan, butt out of my business.”

“I’m covering you—legally.”

“We’re not breaking any laws. But you’re tempting me to take my iron skillet to your head. Now go home before I ban you from my restaurant.” Her scowl could curdle milk. “You ready, Jessie?”

“Yes. I’ll, um...I’ll set these in the cooler on my way out.” Jessie ducked her head, grabbed the box of condiments and swept past him, her long dark braid swinging like a pendulum above her hips. Nice hips. Curved, but not round.

He shouldn’t be noticing.

Miri shot him one last warning glare then followed her. When Jessie returned from the kitchen, Miri rested a hand on her shoulder and leaned closer. “Let me get rid of him and I’ll walk you out,” Logan heard Miri whisper conspiratorially.

Yeah, they definitely had something going on that needed monitoring.

“Thanks, Miri, but there’s no need. I parked closer tonight,” Jessie replied with a quick glance in his direction. He averted his gaze and pretended he hadn’t been eavesdropping. Then she hustled out the front door. He held it for Miri then waited while she locked it.

“I’m not kidding, Logan. You’re overstepping your bounds.”

“I hear you, but—”

“There is no but. Go home.”

He wasn’t going to talk sense into her tonight. He kissed Miri’s cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

He pivoted toward his car.

Follow Jessie home.

The idea stopped him midstep. He palmed his keys and rolled the thought around in his head. He was already paying I as much as he could afford to track Elizabeth and Trent. If he wanted info on Jessie, he’d have to get it himself.

He stared into the gloom of the streetlights and spotted Jessie heading toward Margaret Street. Traffic was light but not so light that he couldn’t blend in. Miri got into Jack’s old truck and drove away in the opposite direction.

He hustled to his car and waited until Jessie was a block down before starting the engine. A vehicle passed him, then a second. He pulled out behind them, going slowly as if searching for a parking space but keeping Jessie in sight. She slid into a small sedan. Hanging back, he let another car pull out and get between them, then he followed Jessie’s vehicle onto Highway 1.

“This is nuts,” he muttered after she passed several mile markers. “I’m acting like a stalker.”

But Miri’s safety depended on him protecting her from further harm—financial or otherwise—and there was something about the new waitress that didn’t add up. A furtiveness that worried him since he’d seen, ignored and been burned by a similar situation.

The car between them peeled off. Finally, Jessie signaled and turned left. That posed a problem. There would be less traffic off the highway, making it harder to remain undetected. But at least he was familiar with the area since he often explored the Keys. She kept her speed slow. The street was long and straight. She’d be onto him if he stayed behind her. The first road to his left was horseshoe shaped. If he took it, he’d come out farther down the main road. He might lose her, but it was a risk he had to take. He turned and hit the gas. She passed in front of him just before he reached the stop sign. He braked and watched her taillights. Her indicator flashed by a driveway near the end of the road. He waited until she disappeared through the fence before rolling forward.

An electronic gate slid closed, blocking her driveway. Making note of the house number, he drove past and circled back, pulled off the road and killed his headlights. Each of the houses on that stretch was surrounded by tall fences of either stone or block. That worked in his favor by concealing him. He checked both directions to see if anyone was watching. It was all clear, but he felt like a criminal. With his heart racing, he exited the car and ambled up to the iron gates to look through the white bars. Nice house. But not movie-star expensive. Still, an acre of waterfront property wasn’t cheap. Jessie’s car was the only one parked beneath the house. She climbed the stairs to the front door and tapped in a code, then disappeared inside. Lights came on.

To the left of the house, he spotted a hot tub beneath a thatched roof with a pool beyond it. A lamp-lit pier stretched out into the water.

He scanned his surroundings again and spotted the discreet real estate agent’s sign. A rental, but still an expensive place, and not something a waitress could afford unless she had a rich husband or a sugar daddy. He’d noticed she wasn’t wearing a ring.

How could Jessie afford a house that rented for thousands each week? Her calluses and demeanor led him to believe she wasn’t a socialite, and her shoes were the same brand he saw in big-box stores—not designer or high-end. He ought to know—his ex had worn both. Besides, if Jessie were rich, why would she be so damned good at waiting tables?

Tonight’s investigation was only leading to more questions. Something about Jessie didn’t add up. He had to find out how she was paying for her expensive accommodations—for Miri’s sake. If Jessie’s money came from swindling others or selling drugs, then he’d have to stop her before she snookered his aunt.