Chapter 18
Chapter 1
A yellow cab turned onto South Figueroa and eased to a stop in front of The Beacon Hill Towers. Jacqueline Lawson stepped out into the late, balmy Los Angeles afternoon. The red-vested doorman pulled open the glass-and-chrome door of the condominium as she approached.
“Afternoon, Ms. Lawson.”
Jacqueline smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes that remained hidden behind wide, dark shades. Her maple-brown skin glistened in the June sun. “Hi, Bobby. Hot out here today.” She lifted the weight of her ponytail from her neck to catch some air.
“Yes, ma’am. They say thunderstorms.”
“How’s your wife and daughter?” she asked, stepping into the cool embrace of the lobby.
“They’re well. Thanks. There’s a package for you at the front desk.”
“Thanks, Bobby.” She adjusted her tote bag over her shoulder. Her teal-colored sling-back heels tapped out a slow but steady rhythm against the terra cotta floor. She approached the concierge desk. “Hi, Mike. Bobby said I have a package.”
“Sure do. Would you like me to send it up? It’s kind of heavy.”
“Yes, please. Send it up later. Thanks.” She started off toward the elevator and the room swayed. She slowed her step and drew in a steadying breath. The warning words of her doctor echoed in her head. Concentrating, she walked to the bank of elevators. Exhaustion rode through her in waves. She squeezed her eyes closed for a moment and willed herself to remain upright.
The elevator dinged and the polished stainless steel doors silently slid open. A young, very tanned couple exited, gave brief nods and moved past her.
Jacqueline stepped inside, thankful to be alone as the doors closed behind her. She leaned against the back wall for support. She was running out of time and her options were limited.
The doors slid open on the eighteenth floor and Jacqueline pushed herself forward down the hallway that was decorated with fresh flowers on antique tabletops and black-and-white art on the walls. Her two-bedroom apartment was at the end of the hall that she shared with one other tenant.
Once inside she adjusted the cooling system and walked into her bedroom that opened onto a panoramic view of Downtown Los Angeles.
Item by item she stripped out of her clothes and tossed them into a hamper in the bathroom. She took her silk robe from a hook on the back of the door and slid it on, tying the belt loosely around her waist.
She needed to lie down. The simple trip to the doctor’s office had drained her more than she’d anticipated. She stretched out on the bed and then turned onto her side curling into a half fetal position.
That’s the way Raymond found her when he came in an hour later, carrying the box that had been delivered earlier.
He placed the box in the corner near the chaise lounge and quietly approached. He leaned down and placed a feathery light kiss on her forehead. She stirred ever so slightly, murmuring something that he could not make out. He eased out of the room and shut the bedroom door halfway, deciding to surprise her with an early dinner. He took a quick shower, changed into his favorite weatherworn navy blue sweatpants and padded barefoot into the living space that opened onto the kitchen. He crossed the shining hardwood floor to the entertainment unit. The gleam of Jacqueline’s Associated Press Medal for photojournalism sat in its place of honor encased in glass. Every time he looked at it a feeling of pride puffed his chest, reminding him of what an incredible woman she was and the fearlessness that it took for her to earn it. He turned on the stereo to his favorite R&B station.
Since their return from their last assignment in the rain forests of the Amazon, Jacqueline had been quiet and withdrawn. Initially, he thought she was worn out from the grueling three months of the trip or that she’d caught a bug. But she insisted that she was fine.
Raymond pulled open the double door stainless steel refrigerator and opened the vegetable bin drawer. He took out fresh spinach, baby tomatoes, a box of mushrooms and a cucumber and prepared a quick side salad. Jacqueline loved pasta and it was the one thing he was good at in the kitchen. He washed and deveined a half pound of shrimp and then sautéed fresh garlic in a light olive oil. He tossed the cleaned shrimp into the sizzling pan, while the water boiled for the pasta.
“Hey.”
Raymond turned from the sink. He smiled at her still sleepy-eyed appearance. “Hey, yourself. Get enough rest?”
She nodded her head, covered her yawn and tightened the belt on her robe. “What are you doing?”
“Fixing dinner. Figured you’d be hungry. I know I am.” He plucked a shrimp from the pan and walked over to her. He held it tauntingly above her lips. She opened her mouth and he dropped it in.
She chewed slowly. “Hmmm.”
He grinned. “It’ll be ready soon.”
She sat down on the counter stool. “How long have you been here?”
“’Bout an hour or so.” He dropped the pasta into the boiling water and then opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of beer. “Want one?” he asked holding up a bottle of Rochefort Trappistes 10.
Jacqueline propped her chin up on her hands. “A new one?”
“Yeah, and you’ll love it. It’s a Belgium brew.” His smooth brows bounced.
Besides being an award-winning photographer, Raymond was a beer connoisseur and collector. His house in the valley had a room with some of the most rare and expensive beers in the world. He’d been featured in All About Beer and Beer Connoisseur magazines on several occasions. And whatever part of the world that they traveled he always had to try out the beer.
He opened a bottle and handed it to her. He watched her in anticipation while she took her first sip. Her hazel eyes shifted to a warm brown and her lids fluttered closed as she savored the dark color, full-bodied taste with hints of strong plum, raisin and black currant.
“Hmmm,” she hummed in appreciation, rolling the liquid around on her tongue. She’d always been a white wine and martini girl, but Raymond had expanded her taste buds. In her head she equated beer to guys sharing a six-pack while watching baseball and eating hot dogs. He turned beer drinking into an exotic experience.
