If Jack hadn’t told her about this, then what else was he keeping from her?
It wasn’t like he’d simply forgotten to tell her, “Oh, hey, honey, I forgot to mention that I enrolled Billy in the 4-H club.” Or, “I signed us up for swim lessons every other Tuesday.” Or, “Didn’t I tell you that I used to belong to the KKK?”
No. A Hell’s Angels member was a member for life. Its riders lived – and died – by its code. “H” was the eighth letter of the alphabet. “A” was the first. If you were 81, you were 81 Forever. Plain and simple.
She’d been right about Jack. He was an angel, after all. And she’d been right about the Hell thing, too.
Jack watched Annabelle move through the room, lifting her clothes and shoes, and making her way silently to the bathroom. She never looked at him, and he could glean no one emotion from the enigmatic expression on her lovely face.
It was hard enough to watch the woman he loved naked, at last, and bending over and walking around in front of him with reckless abandon. To know he couldn’t go to her, pick her up, and throw her down on the bed and have his jolly old way with her was truly much more difficult. But, to realize that he loved her so bloody much that he absolutely respected her feelings and fears a whole hell of a lot more than his own shallow needs would have utterly floored him – if he hadn’t known it already.
When he heard the bathroom door softly close, he ran a hand through his hair and fell back against the wall, absently lifting the phone from its cradle once more.
Christ. He was really in the shitter now.
The least he could do was order breakfast.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Hello?”
Annabelle spared a glance up at Jack, who nodded once in encouragement. Annabelle licked her lips and spoke into the cell phone.
“Hi. Is this Virginia Meredith?”
There was a pause on the other end. Then, “Yes. May I ask who’s calling?”
Caller ID was probably supplying Meredith with a phone number, but it wouldn’t be one she recognized.
“My name is Annabelle Drake. I’m calling about Craig Brandt.” She paused a moment, allowing the name to sink in. “I… was wondering if you would be willing to meet with me. Craig was a friend of a friend’s. Teresa Anderson.”
The silence on the other end stretched. Annabelle swallowed. She squeezed her eyes shut and willed Virginia Meredith to say “yes.”
And then, as if she were speaking with a voice that might choke, Meredith asked, “Can you meet me at the Lavender Garden in an hour?”
Annabelle’s eyes flew open. She blinked. “Yes,” she said. “Definitely.”
The line went dead and Annabelle closed the cell phone and handed it back to Jack. “The Lavender Garden,” she said softly. “In an hour.”
“What’s the Lavender Garden?” Cassie asked.
Annabelle shrugged. “I have no idea.”
Jack popped open the phone again and pressed a speed-dial number. He put the phone to his ear. In a moment, he said, “Hey. Find the location and venue of the Lavender Garden in New York, would you?”
He waited and they all waited with him.
In another few minutes, he nodded. “Right. Thanks, mate.” He closed the phone and turned back to Annabelle. “It’s a multi-level used book store and coffee shop on the corner of Milwaukee and Sherman. Forty minute drive from here.”
Was there anything Jack Thane could not learn if he wanted to? Annabelle shook her head in wonder.
“Ri’, so we’d best be getting’ a move on,” Clara said as she stood from where she’d been seated on the arm of the sofa.
Jack turned to face his daughter. “Not you, Clara. You and your mother will stay here with Sam. This’ll just be Dylan, Annabelle and I.”
Clara’s gaze narrowed dangerously and she put her hands on her hips. “I don’t bloody-well think so, da’!”
“It makes sense, Clara,” Cassie interrupted, when she saw Jack’s gaze narrow as well. “Virginia Meredith isn’t expecting a parade of people. We all show up and we’ll scare the crap out of her. Dylan should go because this directly concerns him and Teresa was his mother. Annabelle has to go because she’s the one who made the call.” She hesitated then, glancing in Jack’s direction. He was leaning against the kitchen table, looking a bit like the Terminator, without the steroids.
She swallowed. “To be frank, Thane, you probably shouldn’t go either. You’ll scare her worse than we would.”
Jack smiled at that, the fire in his eyes dying down a little. “I’ll be across the street keeping an eye on you two,” he said to Annabelle and Dylan. They nodded their understanding.
Clara sighed and sat back down on the arm of the sofa, her arms crossed over her chest. It was clear she wasn’t having any fun. She had a gun in her holster and desperately wanted to use it. Her mother patted her arm sympathetically and through the thin fabric of her jacket pocket, Annabelle could see that the woman absently fingered the tazer she kept there.
Annabelle smiled to herself. Like mother, like daughter.
“Speaking of Sam, where is he?” Cassie asked then.
Dylan ran a hand through his curly hair and stifled a yawn. “He took off early this morning. Said he had something to take care of and would be back in a few hours.”
Jack nodded. Annabelle knew what he was thinking. Obviously, Sam had been called away for a job. It was the only thing he would leave this situation for. Assignments tended to take precedence in their line of work.
“There’s a taxi waiting,” Jack told them as he pushed off of the table and made his way to the front door. Annabelle and Dylan followed after him. “Don’t open the door for anyone. If they belong on this side of it, they’ll have a key to get them here. If they don’t have a key, go out the fire escape and take a taxi to Milwaukee and Sherman,” Jack instructed.
Cassie nodded and locked the door behind them.
Jack had the taxi driver drop him off a block away from the book store so that Meredith wouldn’t see him. Annabelle and Dylan continued on to the Lavender Garden, leaving the driver a ten dollar tip.
The two-story brick building had freshly painted wood trim in light purple and white, and below the windows on each side, painted lavender climbed the bricks and bloomed around the window panes. It was a lovely building, welcoming in a Thomas Kinkade kind of way. It was obvious that someone cared a great deal about the store and put in a good amount of time and effort into its appearance.
Annabelle glanced at Dylan, who nodded at her, and then she led him inside.
There was a small sleigh bell on the door that announced their arrival. Annabelle stood on the door step, taking in the surroundings. It looked like a large library, with a spiral staircase at the back and center of the giant room, and a second level that circled all the way around like a balcony.
“Are you Miss Drake?”
Annabelle turned to face the woman who had addressed her. She was a very small woman, several inches shorter than Annabelle, and probably thirty pounds lighter. Her hair was yellow-blonde and cut into a stylish, highlighted bob. She had green-gray eyes and long, long lashes. A tiny diamond nose ring accentuated her waifish, elf-like features.
“Yes. Are you Virginia?”
The petite, pretty woman nodded, smiling warmly. However, she gave a furtive glance in Dylan’s direction.
Annabelle pulled Dylan forward and introduced him. “This is Dylan Anderson – Teresa’s son.”
“Hi,” Dylan said, offering her his hand.
Virginia tilted her head to one side, her expression becoming at once sympathetic. “I’m so, so sorry about your mother, Dylan.”