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. Something. But she hadn’t seen him again. Was he trying to lull her into a false sense of security before he slithered in for the kill? There was an aura of intelligence about him, and she reminded herself to be on her toes. Until the sheriff arrived.
He would be there sometime this morning. J. P. Patterson didn’t know her father’s rent-a-thug had spilled his guts to her about everything. In just a little while, she would expose him for the snake he was in front of local law enforcement. The prospect made her decidedly cheerful.
“Good morning,” she said.
He looked up. “Good morning.”
“Where’s your mother?”
“I’m not sure. If you’re hungry, there’s a buffet set up in the dining room.”
“Why aren’t you in there?”
“I prefer the kitchen.”
So did she. And Jordan found she was hungry. She went into the room, which had a table long enough to land a 747 on, and picked up one of the two remaining plates on the sideboard. Then she lifted lids on the array of chafing dishes. She took some scrambled eggs, a Belgian waffle with strawberries and a dash of cream, a slice of ham and some fruit. There was a lovely silver carafe of coffee, and she settled a delicate china cup beneath the spigot then pushed back the handle to let it flow. It smelled wonderful.
When she sat down across from J.P. in the kitchen, he glanced at her plate. “I see yesterday’s ordeal hasn’t affected your appetite.”
“Nothing like a kidnapping to stimulate a girl’s palate,” she said.
“I would expect someone who can’t remember their own name to be more agitated.”
If it wasn’t Mr. Happy. She studied his narrow-eyed expression and thought about his distrustful tone. Was this the best he could do? If his goal was to make her dislike him, he was wildly successful.
“I sense a lack of trust. Are you suspicious by nature? Or merely projecting your own character onto others?”
“There’s nothing wrong with my character. But I don’t trust you,” he admitted.
“Really?” This was good.
“Look, I’m going to be honest with you.”
“Honesty is the best policy,” she said virtuously. His eyes darkened a fraction, and she knew he’d caught her sarcasm.
“You noticed that I’m a wealthy man.”
“Yeah. Like I said, the castle is a clue.”
“Because of that, women throw themselves at me.”
“You mean they’re not attracted by your looks and sensitivity?” she asked sweetly.
“It started in high school and escalated from there.”
He was probably telling the truth. She was an heiress; she knew all come-ons weren’t sincere.
“Women do outrageous things to be noticed,” he continued.
“So do men,” she said pointedly.
“They do things like staking out the road to my home and pretending to be a victim,” he finished, staring at her.
“Then why did you stop yesterday?” she asked, trying to trip him up.
“That’s a good question. I’ve been asking myself the same thing.”
“Did you come up with a good answer?”
He shrugged. “Probably the one in ten chance that you really did need help.”
Jordan stared at him, searching for a chink in his facade. He was good, she thought. She almost believed him. At least her father had picked a man smart enough to keep the game interesting. If he’d come on to her in a smarmy way, she’d have shut him down faster than Miami in a hurricane. But clearly he was playing his part to the hilt. He was probably telling her this for sympathy, trying to bond so that they’d have something in common when her memory came back. He had no reason to know she was on to him and faking the amnesia.
“I really did need help,” she said. “Thanks to you—”
Audrey walked into the kitchen and smiled. “Good morning, Jane.”
“Mrs. Patterson.”
“J.P., the sheriff arrived while I was out in the garden. I’ve shown him into the parlor. If you’ll both join us there when you’ve finished eating?”
Jordan glanced at the half-eaten food on her plate, then stood. “I’ve had enough, thanks. It’s time to get this over with.”
“I agree.” J.P. came around the table and looked down at her.
Jordan would swear he was trying to intimidate her. It wouldn’t work.
They walked through the house to a room near the front door. In the parlor stood a tall man about J.P.’s age and height wearing a beige shirt and matching trousers with olive-green and tan stripes down the leg. If the uniform hadn’t been a clue, the badge on his chest said loud and clear that this good-looking man with light brown hair and green eyes was the sheriff.
When he saw them, a wide grin revealed very white teeth and laugh lines around his eyes. “Hey, J.P. It’s been too long. We were supposed to have a beer together.”
“Rick.” J.P. grinned back and shook his hand. “It’s good to see you. I’ve been busy with work.”
“Me, too,” the other man said. “We’re going to have to put a date on the calendar.”
“I’ll have my secretary call you.” J.P. looked at her. “Rick and I went through school together.”
“How nice,” Jordan said.
“From kindergarten through the twelfth grade,” Audrey added.
Jordan smiled tightly. “It can’t be a bad thing to have friends in the sheriff’s department.”
Rick looked at her. “I wasn’t always in law enforcement. I managed to get into trouble a time or two. In high school, J.P. was voted most likely to take over the world. I was voted most likely to wind up in jail.”
“And you did,” Jordan commented. “In a manner of speaking.”
Audrey gave the sheriff a hug. “How’s