a hot knife through butter.
“Do you think those things would cut through the bars of a jail cell?” she asked.
“No.” What was it with her and retribution? She was the one flirting with a felony. But if he confronted her, she’d only deny it. No point in wasting his breath.
However, he wished big time that the scent of her skin didn’t remind him so much of twisted sheets, temptation and sin. The perfume she was wearing smelled subtle, expensive. A tool of her trade as surely as the one he was using.
“Hold still,” he warned, exerting more pressure on the bolt-cutter’s handles.
“Like I would make a sudden move when you’ve got the jaws of death on my arm.” She watched his progress in silence for several moments. “It occurs to me that if a felon has enough money, he can hire some high-powered legal counsel.”
“What does that mean?”
“It seemed an obvious statement of fact to me. There are stories in the news all the time about crooks who get off after hiring pricey legal eagles.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
She glanced around the large kitchen. “I’d say you have a few bucks.”
“You think?” he asked. She knew darn good and well he did. “What was your first clue?”
He pressed the handles together with as much force as he dared and felt the blades come together as they cut completely through the metal. He put down the tool, then worked the cuff off her wrist.
“Paupers don’t live in palaces,” she pointed out, meeting his gaze.
“No, princesses do.”
She looked startled for a moment, but recovered quickly. “Are you looking for a princess?”
“No.” Heaven forbid.
“Good thing.” She rubbed her wrist, now free of the handcuff. “But if you change your mind, you might try adding diamonds to that bracelet before you put it on a girl’s wrist next time.”
He stared at her, surprised at her boldness. “I didn’t put that bracelet on this time. The kidnapper did.” He studied the gleam in her eyes, the rebellious lift of her chin. “For a woman who’s been recently traumatized, you seem to be taking it all in stride.”
“I suppose the silver lining of amnesia is that you can’t remember trauma. It’s the mind’s way of protecting itself,” she said calmly.
“It just seems to me that someone who’s gone through a kidnapping then lost her memory over the whole thing would be more shaken up from the experience. You seem to be handling it very well. Pretty scrappy.”
She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a scrappy sort of gal.”
“Is that a memory returning?”
“No. Probably just my natural personality coming out. Trauma may have stolen my memories, but it won’t keep me down.” She stood and touched the twisted metal he’d just removed from her wrist. “Next time remember diamonds are a girl’s best friend.”
He opened his mouth to retort when his mother walked into the room.
“How’s it going?” she asked.
“Mission accomplished,” the mystery woman said, holding up her now naked wrist.
Audrey stood beside him. “I’ve been thinking.”
“That’s a dangerous prospect,” he said.
“Don’t be disrespectful, J.P. I brought you into this world. I can take you out.”
“Yes, Mother.” He thought it wise to hide his grin.
“As I was saying, we can’t keep calling our guest ‘hey, you.’ Until you remember your name,” she said to the woman, “I think we should call you Jane Doe.”
“Don’t tell me,” he said. “That’s what all the books and movies do.”
Audrey shrugged. “Well, it is.”
“Jane works for me,” said the mystery woman.
“Good.” Audrey nodded with satisfaction. “J.P., why don’t you show Jane upstairs to the window seat room. I think you’ll be comfortable there, dear. You can clean up. Everything you’ll need is there, and I’ve left some clean clothes on the bed. You’ll probably want to rest so I’ll send up a light supper for you.”
“Please don’t go to any trouble on my account,” Jane said, absently rubbing her wrist. Or was it nerves making her do that?
“It’s no trouble. I want you to relax and feel safe.”
“You’re very kind,” Jane said.
J.P. moved toward the kitchen doorway. “Follow me.”
He thought about blowing her cover, pointing out the flaws in her plan. Then he figured there was no point in a confrontation since she would be gone by morning. And he wouldn’t upset his mother. But “Jane’s” comments about princesses, palaces and precious stones proved that she was no different from all the other women who had gone to great lengths to meet him.
It wasn’t him she was after him. It was all about his money.
The next morning Jordan left her lovely room. Audrey was right. She’d been very comfortable tucked away there, although she’d felt like the princess in The Princess and the Pea, in a bed that seemed as if it was several stories off the ground. She’d had to climb a wooden step stool to get in it. But the velvet curtains at the beveled-glass windows, heavy, carved cherry-wood furniture, gold fixtures in the attached bath—it was all very wonderful.
She marveled at the rest of the house as she came downstairs. It made her interior decorator’s heart beat a little faster. The graceful arches and stained-glass windows high in the brick walls were spectacular. Twin oak staircases curved from the main floor to the second story. Reverently, she touched the bannister as she descended. Then she used it for real to keep from tripping. Audrey had loaned her a T-shirt and sweatpants that were too long. If she wasn’t careful, she’d go down the hard way. How would J.P. explain her broken neck to her father?
There was a certain irony in the fact that her father was throwing her at J. P. Patterson, a man who lived in a castle. She’d become an interior decorator over her father’s protests. Now, she would give her eyeteeth to redo this place; what a plus for her resume. But if she’d gone into the oil business with her father, he wouldn’t be so insistent she marry a man who could run it when he was gone.
She walked into the kitchen and found J.P. sitting at the table with coffee and a newspaper. What was his game? she wondered. Last night she’d been ready for his come-on. But he was barely civil when he’d removed the handcuffs. Then he’d made no protest when she’d gone upstairs right after dinner.
She’d expected him to suggest a walk in the garden. A visit to her room under the pretext of making sure she was comfortable.
