“Well, and whose fault was that?” Tara ground out. “You were the one who fabricated that invitation to Paul’s house. I had no intention of going there, but no, you thought you could play matchmaker again. Guess what? You’ll have to live with the consequences now. If you hadn’t forced me to stay with the Gilberts, I would have never met Jay.”
“How dare you speak to your mother like that?” her father shouted. “You’re coming with us now. We’re taking you back to New York. No more escapades for you. From now on, you’ll do what your mother and I tell you to do.”
“I won’t! I’m staying with Jay!”
“Whoever this man is, he’s going to prison for impersonating another man and stealing his boat.”
“You’re making a big mistake,” she warned him, as he yanked her along by her wrist. “Jay will clear this up, and then you’ll be sorry for having had him wrongly arrested.”
Because Jay was no imposter. She’d seen him in his office in the city. He was who he claimed to be.
28
A paper tray with two cups of coffee in one hand, and a bag of pastries in the other, Jay left the coffee shop and headed back to the dock. The barrista had been inexperienced and slow, and there had been a long line of customers waiting to receive their correct beverages.
Jay looked out toward the end of the dock where his yacht was tied off. Several smaller yachts and sailboats sat on either side of the long wooden pier. On the boat next to his, a man sat on the deck, reading the paper and drinking coffee. On the one opposite, a couple was getting ready to untie the ropes and take the fenders off, to take the sailboat out on the water.
He loved mornings like this. Peaceful. Quiet. Relaxing.
“Excuse me, sir.” He heard a voice from behind him.
Jay turned and watched two policemen approach him. He stopped, waiting until they’d caught up. “Yes, can I help you?”
Both were young, maybe in their late twenties. One motioned to Jay’s yacht. “Did you come in on this boat?”
Jay nodded. “Yes, yesterday. Is there a problem?”
Suddenly the friendly demeanor of the two men changed. “Put down the coffee and turn around, hands on the back of your head.”
“What is this?”
One of the policemen pulled his gun from his holster. “You’re arrested for impersonating the owner of this yacht, for theft of said yacht, and for transporting stolen goods over state lines.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Jay replied. “This is my yacht. I own it.”
The second policeman approached. “Don’t make us add resisting arrest to the charges.”
“You’re making a mistake. I’m Jay Bohannon. I own this yacht.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw the man who’d been reading his newspaper on the boat next to his watch them with interest.
“I can prove it. Tara!” Jay called out toward the boat. He looked over his shoulder. “Tara!”
But there was no reply.
“Sir, put the coffee down and turn around,” the policeman insisted once more.
“If you’re calling for the young woman,” the man from the other boat interrupted. “She’s gone.”
Jay spun his head to him. “What?”
“Yeah, some middle-aged couple came and took her away. She was kicking and screaming.”
“Fuck!”
In the next instant, he was tackled by one of the policemen. Jay dropped the coffee and pastries and landed on the ground. Seconds later he was handcuffed.
“Don’t you see what’s going on here?” he ground out, his cheek pressed to the wooden planks of the dock. “Somebody set me up!” And he didn’t have to be a psychic to figure out who: Tara’s parents.
“Heard it all before,” the policeman who’d handcuffed him said. He proceeded to frisk him, checking for weapons and anything else Jay had on him. Then he recited the Miranda rights, “You have the right to remain silent…”
Jay didn’t even listen as the officer read him his rights. His mind was already working. He had to act quickly, before Tara’s parents could whisk her away.
“I can prove who I am. I have ID.”
“Didn’t find any on you.”
Jay jerked his head toward the yacht. “On my boat.”
“Nice try. Let’s go.”
Both officers grabbed him and pulled him up, dragging him toward the shore.
“I want my lawyer,” Jay hissed.
“You’ll get your phone call when we’re at the station.”