The Winner by David Baldacci

His casual movements finally broke LuAnn free from her inertia. “How the hell did you get in here?”

“Not relevant.” The words and tone were instantly familiar to her. All those years ago came rushing back with such speed that the effect was nearly incapacitating.

“What do you want?” She forced the words to come out.

“Ah, very relevant. However, we have much to discuss, and I would suggest you do so in the comfort of some clothing.” He stared pointedly at her body.

LuAnn found it extremely difficult to take her eyes off him. Being half naked in front of the man was far less disturbing than having to turn her back on him. Finally, she threw open her closet door, pulled out a knee-length robe, and quickly put it on. She cinched the robe tightly around her waist and turned back around. Jackson wasn’t even looking at her. His eyes roamed the spectacular parameters of her boudoir; his gaze rested on the clock on the wall briefly and then moved on. Apparently, the brief view of her body—a sight many men would have paid hard cash for—had inspired in him nothing more than extreme diffidence.

“You’ve done well for yourself. If I remember correctly, your previous decorating tastes were limited to dirty linoleum and Goodwill castoffs.”

“I don’t appreciate this intrusion.”

He swiveled his head around and his eyes flashed into hers. “And I don’t appreciate having to take time away from a very busy schedule to rescue you yet again, LuAnn. By the way, do you prefer LuAnn or Catherine?”

“I’ll let you choose,” she said sharply. “And I don’t need to be rescued by anyone, certainly not by you.”

He rose from the bed and scrutinized her altered appearance closely. “Very good. Not quite as good as I could have done, but I won’t nit-pick,” he finally said. “Still, the look is very chic, very sophisticated. Congratulations.”

LuAnn responded by remarking, “The last time I saw you, you were wearing a dress. Other than that, you haven’t changed much.”

Jackson still had on the dark clothing he had worn at the cottage. His features were the same as for their first meeting, although he had not covered his lean frame with padding. He thrust his head forward; the smile seemed to engulf his entire face. “Didn’t you know?” he said. “Aside from my other remarkable abilities, I also never age.” His smile receded as quickly as it had appeared. “Now, let’s talk.” He once again perched on the edge of the bed and motioned for LuAnn to sit at a small antique writing desk situated against one wall. She did so.

“What about?”

“I understand you had a visitor. A man who chased you in a car?”

“How the hell do you know that?” LuAnn said angrily.

“You just won’t accept the fact that you can’t conceal information from me. Like the fact that you have re-entered the United States against my most explicit instructions.”

“The ten years are up.”

“Funny, I don’t remember setting an expiration date on those instructions.”

“You can’t expect me to run for the rest of my life.”

“On the contrary, that is exactly what I expect. That is exactly what I demand.”

“You cannot run my life.”

Jackson looked around the room again and then stood up. “First things first. Tell me about the man.”

“I can handle this situation by myself.”

“Is that right? From what I can tell, you’ve committed one blunder after another.”

“I want you to leave right now. I want you to get the hell out of my house.”

Jackson calmly shook his head. “The years have done nothing to ameliorate your temper. An unlimited supply of money can’t purchase good breeding or tact, can it?”

“Go to hell.”

In response Jackson reached one hand inside his jacket.

In an instant LuAnn had snatched up a letter opener from her writing desk. She cocked her arm back in preparation to hurl it. “I can kill you with this from twenty feet. Money can buy a lot of things.”

Jackson shook his head sadly. “Ten years ago I found you, a young girl with a good head on her shoulders in very difficult circumstances. But you were still white trash, LuAnn. And, I’m afraid to say, some things just don’t change.” His hand slowly came out of his jacket. In it he held a slip of paper. “You can put your little toy away. You won’t need it.” He looked at her with a calmness that managed, under the circumstances, to paralyze her. “At least not tonight.” He unfolded the paper. “Now, I understand that two men have recently entered your life: Matthew Riggs is one; the other is as yet unidentified.”

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