Sweet Fortune

Hatch had crushed the company in a hostile takeover bid. “That takeover was a personal act of vengeance on your part? What did you have against Patterson-Finley? What had it ever done to you?”
    Hatch looked at her. “I'm not sure now is a good time to go into this.”
    “I've got news for you. You're not going to get a better time. I want to know the whole story and I want to know it now.”
    Hatch leaned his elbows on the counter. “You're really going to make a demanding sort of wife, aren't you?”
    She chuckled. “Better get used to it. So, what was the deal with Patterson-Finley?”
    Hatch was silent for a long moment. Then he shrugged. “The man my wife was going to meet on the day she was killed?”
    “Yes?”
    “His name was Roy Patterson.”
    Jessie nearly choked on her bagel. “The same Patterson as the one in Patterson-Finley?”
    “Right. Now, if that's the end of your questions, I'll finish off these numbers and get back to bed.”
    Jessie watched as he returned to the calculator. “Was it worth it?” she asked.
    “Tearing apart Patterson-Finley? Yes.” He did not look up.
    “He was your best friend, wasn't he?” she whispered. “And he was running off with your wife. You must have loved her very much to exact that kind of vengeance.”
    “Whatever I once felt for her died when I found her note saying she was leaving me because I was a loser and she needed to be with a winner.”
    Jessie considered that. “Nobody goes after revenge the way you did unless he feels very intensely about a woman.”
    “You don't understand revenge, Jessie. It's best cold, like the old saying has it, not hot. At least for me it is. It's not an act of passion.”
    “Just a business thing, is that it?”
    Hatch nodded slowly. “You could say that. Yes. A business thing.”
    “Bull.” She got to her feet and started back toward the hall that led to the bedroom. “You loved her and when you lost her it tore your heart out. You went after your vengeance with everything that was left in you.” She paused in the doorway. “Tell me something, Hatch. Will you ever take that kind of risk again? Will you ever let yourself love again? Or is a long-term, committed relationship called marriage all I'm ever going to get from you?”
    “ Jessie .” His voice was a dark growl of warning.
    “What?” She'd turned back toward her room.
    “You know there's more to it than that.”
    “No,” she said. “I don't know that. Sometimes I delude myself into thinking there's more to it than that. But other times I wake up alone in the middle of the night and I panic. Because I don't know for certain, you see. I love you. But I don't know if you love me.”
    “Dammit, Jessie.”
    “Good night, Hatch.”
    She went back into the bedroom and crawled into bed, curling into herself.
    “Jessie.”
    She turned her head just far enough to see him filling the doorway. Wordlessly she watched him walk toward the bed. His fingers were busy at the fastening of his trousers.
    “You know there's more to it than that,” Hatch said again as he got into bed beside her. He was already fully aroused.
    “No.”
    “Yes.” He pulled her into his arms, his mouth rough and heavy on hers. “Yes, dammit. There's a hell of a lot more to it than that.”
    “Yes,” she whispered. There had to be a lot more to it than that. She was banking her entire future on the possibility that he could one day tell her he loved her.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

    T here was nothing quite like the sense of pride, satisfaction, and accomplishment one got from a job well done, Jessie decided. She gazed down at the neatly typed five-page report that lay on top of the desk. It was truly a thing of beauty. Mrs. Valentine was going to be extremely impressed.
    Alex had let Jessie use the word-processing program on his computer to assure a crisp, polished finish to the report. Both right and left margins were justified, the spelling was letter-perfect, and the prose was in a businesslike style.
    Jessie had stopped at an office-supply store on the way to work to buy a handsome report binder in order to add a further touch of professionalism.
    No doubt about it, Valentine Consultations was never going to be the same. A new era had arrived for the psychic-consulting business. The morning papers had broken the news of the DEL case and Jessie knew the phone was going to start ringing off the hook at any minute.
    She looked up expectantly when she heard a familiar tread on