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Jessica held the doorknob so hard she winced with pain. A moment of panic seized her and held her motionless. Was that her bodyguard?
“You’re obviously Jessica Kincaid.”
His low, rough-sounding voice had a strange effect on her nerves. She stiffened. “And who might you be?”
“Brant Harding, your bodyguard.”
Jessica swallowed, suddenly at a loss for words. The first thought that came to mind was the word dangerous: with his dark, brooding looks, he reminded her of a stalking panther.
Wetting her lips, she said inanely, “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“That’s obvious.”
She flushed, something she didn’t do often. “Won’t you come in?”
He strode into the room. Reluctantly she closed the door behind her, fighting off the insane feeling that she was sealing her doom.
His Touch
Mary Lynn Baxter
www.mirabooks.co.uk
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
One
The instant she walked into her town home, Jessica Kincaid sensed something was not quite right. She tried to mask her uneasy feelings and not let on, but her efforts didn’t work. Her friend called her hand.
“What’s wrong?”
Frowning, Jessica peered at Veronica Nash and forced a smile. “Why do you think something’s wrong?”
Veronica’s pixie features turned into a matching frown. “Because I know you, that’s why. You looked spooked.”
“I am,” Jessica admitted with blunt honesty, deciding it was foolish to hide the truth from her friend any longer.
“Want to tell me what’s going on?” Veronica asked, her tone pressing.
Jessica smothered a sigh, at the same time running her hands through her short, highlighted brown hair. “How ’bout we get comfy first and have a cup of coffee?”
“Works for me.” Veronica proceeded to toss her purse on the floor, then plop down on the sofa. “Need any help?”
Jessica shook her head. “I think I can handle it.”
If only that were true about the rest of her life, Jessica thought, puttering around in her bright yellow-and-green kitchen. Once the coffee was dripping, she paused and took a deep breath.
As mayor of Dallas, Texas, one of the most up-and-coming cities in the south—in the nation, for that matter—she couldn’t give in to this unexpected turn of events. She had to come up with a way to handle things herself and not involve the police.
“Sure you don’t need help?”
Veronica’s lively voice made Jessica move. “I’m coming. I was just woolgathering,” she added, walking back into the living room with a tray.
Once they were sipping the hot coffee, Veronica’s dark eyes pinned her. “So what has you so uptight? And not just tonight, either. You’ve been different lately.”
“I’m being harassed by some nutcase.”
Veronica coughed, obviously strangling on the liquid. When she sat the cup down on the coffee table, her eyes were wide and questioning. “Are you serious?” She flapped her hand impatiently. “Sorry, forget I asked that. Of course you’re serious. That’s not something to joke about, especially given your job.”
“You’re right. It’s been going on for some time now.”
“So why haven’t the police already caught the pervert?”
Jessica hesitated, looking away from Veronica’s direct stare. “Because I haven’t involved them.”
“That’s crazy,” Veronica said in a blustering tone. “They work for you, for heaven’s sake.”
“True, but—”
“What’s the deal, then?”
“You know what the deal is, Ronnie. Ever since I fired the police chief and suspended two popular officers, I’m not the most loved person around city hall.”
“Ah, for a second those minor points slipped my mind.” Though her voice held a slice of humor, Veronica’s features remained grave. “But surely there’s someone on the force you can depend on?”
Jessica didn’t respond. Instead, she gazed around the room, her eyes settling on the items that brought her comfort: photographs of her and Porter, her deceased husband, live plants she nurtured herself, and other mementos that had personal meaning. Once she had believed that her home in an upscale part of the city was indeed her safe haven.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. No longer did she feel that sense of security when she walked in, that feeling of peace. In fact, she felt the opposite, as if her privacy had been totally invaded, emotionally and physically.
If only Porter were here, he would know what to do. If her husband were still alive, she wouldn’t be in this precarious position to start with, she reminded herself. He would still be the mayor, and she would be the loving, supportive wife behind the scenes.
A deep sigh escaped Jessica when she felt Veronica’s piercing eyes on her once again.
“I want all the gory details,” her friend said. “And I’m not letting you off the hook until I hear them.”
Jessica plucked at a thread on the black silk slacks covering her long, slender legs. She knew her friend meant what she said. Veronica’s features were growing graver by the second.
“First off, I’ve been receiving phone calls on all my phones, cell included, mostly obscene. And irritating as hell. Even though I have caller ID, it’s failed to identify the caller. The screen either registers Out of Area or Unknown Name.”
“Go on.”
“E-mails, too. I’ve been unable to trace them, either. They’re obviously sent from different, untraceable locations, like public libraries and Internet cafés.”
“I can tell there’s more.”
“I’m being followed, or stalked, whatever term you want to give it.”
“And you’ve done nothing? Good grief, Jessica, that’s insane.”
Jessica bit down on her full lower lip. “You’re right. I can’t argue with you. Still…” Her voice faded.
“No excuse will hold water, so don’t waste your breath.” Veronica paused, pressing her lips together. “Anything else?”
“Not so far.”
Veronica gave her a look before she bounded off the sofa, walked to the fireplace and leaned against it. “What in the world is wrong with you? Your life could be in real danger—is in real danger. Yet you’ve done nothing.”
“I’ve taken some precautions,” Jessica said, her tone defensive.
“Such as?” Veronica countered, not bothering to mask her disbelief.
Jessica flushed, adding to the natural color in her cheeks. “I just kept thinking the harassment would come to an end, that whoever was behind it would get tired and move on.”
“Not if he, she or they have an agenda. If someone is out to harm you, they’re not likely to stop until that’s accomplished.”
“I did buy a gun.”
“But you can’t use it, right?”
“Right.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
Jessica’s stark blue eyes narrowed on her friend. “You’re not making this any easier, you know?”
Veronica shrugged. “I know, and I’m sorry. But you’re scaring the you-know-what out of me.”
“I’ve had every intention of learning, but with things in such turmoil at the office, I just haven’t had the time.”
“Learning to fire a gun is fine, but you have to alert the police. You need round-the-clock protection.”
Jessica shook her head. “I’m not prepared to go that far. I still think this too shall pass.”
“That’s just wishful thinking, and you know that.”
Jessica released another pent-up sigh, her mind seeming to splinter off in a million different directions, which made her crazy. She was used to her life running according to plan and on schedule. Suddenly her well-oiled machine had careened off course, just like it had after Porter died, making her feel out of control, a feeling that didn’t sit well with her.
Since her father’s desertion at an early age, she had ceased to be a child. With her mother’s strong, albeit bitter, influence, she had become a savvy, self-assured person who had learned to care for herself, to protect herself, especially from emotional traumas. And while she had indeed relied on Porter for many things, she had never lost that fierce sense of self and independence.
“Jessie.”
Veronica’s use of her pet name drew her out of her musings, and Jessica swallowed hard.
“You were thinking about Porter, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“He’s been dead four years now,” Veronica pointed out gently. “He can’t take care of you any longer.”
“He never took care of me in the sense you mean,” Jessica said, feeling she had no choice but to defend herself. “He was just always there.” Jessica stood. “Hold your thought. I’m going to dash upstairs for a sec. I’ll be right back.”
The instant she strode into her bedroom, Jessica pulled up short. She just managed to clasp her hand on her mouth to smother the gasp. A dead rose lay across her pillow. For a long moment she was too dumbstruck to move. A sick feeling settling in the pit of her stomach, she whirled and practically ran back downstairs.
“That was quick,” Veronica said, the twinkle back in her eyes, then suddenly turned sober. “What happened?”
“There’s…there’s a dead rose on my pillow.”
Without saying a word, Veronica tore toward the bedroom, then back with equal speed. “That does it. You can’t afford to mess with this sicko any longer, regardless of how he got in. The fact that someone did is all that counts.”
Jessica eased back onto the sofa, that sick feeling still churning her stomach. “You’re right. Push has come to shove.”
“So let’s start by pushing the police into action. Under the circumstances, I know you’re reluctant to do that, having clearly decided not to involve them. But now you have no choice.”
Jessica rose again. “I’ll make the call.”
A short time later two officers had come and gone, with little to show for their actions. The person or persons had left no trace, though they’d dusted for finger-prints, as well as checking for method of entry. Apparently they’d jimmied the door, which had been easy due to stupidity on her part. She’d left without setting her alarm, something she’d often done in the past with no consequences. This time it had been costly.
“The pervert could be any guy off the street,” Veronica said. “Or it could be a direct result of you cleaning house at the precinct. Someone with a grudge.”
Jessica reached for her coffee and took a sip, only to make a face. The coffee was now tepid. “Possibly, though I have my doubts,” she pointed out. “I think it’s just some crazy off the streets.”
“I wish I could be that sure. What about that land deal that’s been making headlines lately?”
“There’s nothing there to incite an attack.”
“Something has and you…we have to get to the bottom of it ASAP. Thurmon will know what to do.”
Thurmon was Veronica’s husband, a retired Secret Service agent, now in business for himself as the owner of a highly successful security firm.
“You’re thinking of a bodyguard, right?”
“Absolutely, and I know who Thurmon will suggest.”
“Just who might that be?” Jessica asked in a tone tainted with sarcasm. Having someone underfoot all the time didn’t bear thinking about. This entire scenario seemed too preposterous for words.
“Brant Harding, an old friend, who worked with Thurmon in the Secret Service. However, convincing Brant to take the job will be difficult.”
“Then why bother?”
“Because he’s the best, even better than Thurmon. But he’s become a recluse for reasons we won’t go into now. Still, there’s hope, because he owes Thurmon big time—his life actually. We also have another thing in our favor. His teenage son, from whom he’s estranged, lives in this area. Since Brant wants to mend fences, I’m thinking that will be our ace in the hole.”
Jessica crossed her arms over her breasts. “I don’t know, Veronica. That —he— doesn’t sound like a good idea to me.”
“You let Thurmon be the judge of that. You just sit tight while I call my better half.”
Jessica kept silent while her insides continued to churn and her thoughts reverted to that lifeless rose on the pillow. She shuddered and crossed her arms tighter.
Two
Too bad the fishing was lousy.
Today of all days. When he needed to unwind.
Brant Harding reeled in his line, then peered at the lake, noticing again how perfect the water was. Blue and spring clear, so clear he could see the colors in the polished rocks underneath. Still, he couldn’t get a bite no matter what kind of bait, live or artificial, he used.
Letting out a sigh, Brant shoved his battered Stetson back and squinted up at the sun. Maybe it was too hot. Even though it was just the beginning of May, the sun had already sprouted a mean stinger.
A hot spring and summer were predicted for Arkansas and the rest of the South. So what if that messed up the fishing? He would get over it in due time, he told himself, shaping his mouth into a sarcastic twist. If only that were all he had to worry about, he’d be one lucky bastard. Only it wasn’t, not by any stretch of the imagination.
Wary of where his thoughts were heading, Brant gathered his gear and made tracks for the cabin at the top of the hill that overlooked the hundred acres he’d inherited when his parents had died several years ago, killed instantly in a head-on car collision.
He’d built this place himself and knew he’d made the right decision. He’d chosen the best site on the choice land, opting for an umbrella of tall pines and oaks. He called it a cabin, but it was hardly that, though it was rustic and uncluttered. Still, it had all the amenities he or anyone else could want.
Except a woman.
Not interested.
Brant’s gut tightened, and his lean, well-chiseled features hardened. Definitely not in the market. Those days were over. He’d been down the marriage road once, and that was enough to last him a lifetime. What he needed was another dog, he told himself as he walked into the cool, airy great room and tossed his hat on the back of a chair.
The interior reflected a relaxed atmosphere. Deep, rich colors, natural wood finishes and comfortable furnishings created a warm feeling.
However, something was missing. Butch, the old hound that had been with him for years, had died. Until then, he hadn’t felt lonely in his isolated domain. Now he did, which didn’t sit too well with him. He was here by choice not by chance. Hounds were a dime a dozen at the local pound in the nearest town, Mountain Home. Next time he went in for groceries and other supplies, he would see what he could do.
Meanwhile, he had a much more pressing and important issue to resolve—what to do about his son, Elliot. Feeling the urge for a cold beer, Brant made his way into the kitchen, an offshoot of the great room, and opened the fridge.
After downing several swigs, he peered at the clock. Five. No problem. Since his isolation, he’d made it a point not to indulge himself before late in the afternoon and then only sparingly. It would be so easy to drown his troubles in booze, but he wasn’t about to fall into that trap. He’d seen too many of the guys he’d worked with do that to no good end.
Yet it felt damn good to feel the edge dull somewhat after having gone another round earlier with his ex-wife, leaving him furious and frustrated. She seemed determined to throw monkey wrenches into his plans to see his seventeen-year-old son.
Once he’d plopped down on the sofa and crossed his legs on the coffee table, Brant finished the beer, then set the bottle down. He needed a shower, but he wasn’t in the mood, not when his thoughts were cluttered with his ex.
Marsha Harding Bishop knew just which strings to jerk to get him riled, especially when it came to money and their kid. Since she’d finally married the man with whom she’d had an affair and who had become more of a father to Elliot than he himself had ever been, the money issue had resolved itself. Preston Bishop owned an accounting firm and made big bucks.
More power to him.
Brant couldn’t give a rip about the money. He had plenty of his own, mostly inherited from his parents, but what the hell—money was money. He didn’t need much of the green stuff, anyway, not to live the way he lived. Most of it was in trust for his son, and Marsha knew that. Yet it hadn’t made one whit of difference in her attitude toward him.
When he’d called and asked to speak to Elliot, she hadn’t had to say a word for him to sense her hostile attitude. He’d envisioned her otherwise attractive features tightening and her slender shoulders stiffening.
“He’s not here.”
“Are you sure?”
That comment had turned the hostility in her voice to ice. “I don’t lie, contrary to what you think.”
“Come on, Marsha, who do you think you’re talking to? You’ve lied, all right, but that’s water under the bridge. I’m through arguing with you. Right now, all I care about is talking to my son.”
“I told you, he’s not here.”
Brant controlled his rising temper with an effort. “Will you give him a message?”
Silence.
“Dammit, Marsha, when are you going to stop using Elliot as a weapon to get back at me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said, the ice in her voice thickening.
Again, Brant controlled his temper and words. He was treading in a current he couldn’t master, at least not over the phone. He hated the damn things, anyway. He would much rather be looking her in the face when he talked to her. Maybe then she could see the sincerity laced with the desperation in his eyes.
At the moment, however, he had no recourse but to back down. “Forget it. I’ll call him back later.”
“Was there anything in particular you wanted?”
“Yeah,” he said in a clipped tone. “I want to see him.”
“I don’t—”
“You might as well stop fighting me, Marsha. I’ve made up my mind that Elliot’s going to be a part of my life.”
“We’ll see about that,” she countered before the dial tone abused his ear.
Releasing his pent-up temper, Brant followed suit and slammed the receiver down.
Just thinking about that conversation made his blood boil again. Damn her. Cool it, buddy, he cautioned himself, taking deep breaths. He couldn’t totally blame her for the quagmire he was in with his only child. He’d gotten himself into it, and it was up to him to get out.
Trouble was, he didn’t know how. He needed Marsha’s help and cooperation. But apparently he was never going to get it, which meant he would have to depend on himself.
Feeling as if his insides were in a meat grinder, Brant walked onto the deck and, leaning the bulk of his weight on the handrails, stared at the lake and wooded hills beyond. The sun was beginning to set, and the picture before him was awesome. But this evening, the beauty and calmness of his sanctuary failed to soothe his seething mind and heart.
Would he be forced to pay for his sins forever?
Maybe coming here had been a mistake. Maybe he should’ve headed to Texas, to the Metroplex area, right off. By now he might have established a new relationship with his son instead of awkward phone conversations in between playing telephone tag.
He’d been forced into early retirement due to gunshot wounds he’d received during his long tenure as a Secret Service agent. It was while he’d been protecting the First Lady three years ago that the life-altering incident had occurred. He’d taken a bullet in the stomach and another in the right leg. Both wounds had been severe, and he’d nearly died, especially from the gut shot.
Since then, he’d become more or less a recluse, trying to recover in mind and body. But instead of healing, he found himself often lonely and discontented. Both stemmed from the burning need to bridge the growing estrangement from his son. For his own sanity, he had to find a way to become a part of Elliot’s life again. A sad commentary was that he hadn’t ever been the hands-on dad he should have been. Marsha’s beef against him on that score was right on target.
Facing that brutal truth had been the first big hurdle he’d had to jump. Admitting he was wrong came hard for him. Since he’d come here, he’d realized where he’d gone wrong, especially when it came to Elliot.
Following his divorce from Marsha eight years ago, the breach between him and Elliot had widened. At age forty-two he had no plans to remarry and add to his family, so the need to regain his son’s love and trust had become a frantic effort of the soul.
Now he feared he might have to venture away from his safe compound and uncomplicated way of life. He was reluctant to make such a bold move, since his mind still had a long way to go before recovering from the trauma it had suffered.
Yet he couldn’t rule that out, though the thought made him break out in a cold sweat. He no longer sought people out for their company. He craved the space and solitude of the mountains. The thought of returning to city life with all its hustle and bustle was repugnant to him. He had to figure out a way to get Elliot here, to the cabin, for a lengthy visit.
Now that he could maneuver without a cane, he would just have to come up with a workable plan.
“What the hell?” he muttered suddenly, as the noise coming from behind finally penetrated his beleaguered senses. On striding back into the living room, he realized someone was pounding on the front door. For some reason it was locked. When had he done that?
“Hold your horses,” he muttered, wondering who the hell his unwanted visitor was. He had neighbors, but they weren’t close ones and rarely came calling. A chill shot through him. Had something happened to Elliot? Of course not, he rationalized. If it had, he would be the last to know.
By the time he reached the door and jerked it open, sweat saturated his forehead and upper lip.
“Knocked your dick in the dirt, didn’t I, old friend?”
Brant’s only response to his long-time friend Thurmon Nash’s caustic comment was shocked silence.
Thurmon grinned, slapped him on the shoulder, then strode past him into the living room. There he whirled, his grin gaining strength by the second. He was tall and slightly overweight, with a bushy mustache that added to his strong features. His prematurely gray hair and blue eyes enhanced his commanding presence. Shrewd intelligence made him a friend and businessman for whom Brant had the greatest respect.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Brant demanded when he finally found his voice.
“How ’bout a cold one before we get down to the nitty gritty?”
Wordlessly Brant headed for the kitchen and returned with two beers. He handed one to Thurmon, who then made himself comfortable in the nearest leather chair.
Brant took a seat on the matching sofa. For a moment they nursed their beers in companionable silence.
“You didn’t come all this way for a social call.” Brant’s words were a flat statement of fact.
“You’re right, I didn’t.”
“If it’s about me joining you as a partner in your security firm, I haven’t changed my mind.”
“I’m not here about that, though the offer still stands.”
“Thanks again, but no thanks.”
“Can’t blame a fellow for trying.”
“Is Ronnie all right?”
“Great. Blowing and going, as always.”
“Still in practice with that same high-flying attorney, huh?”
“Yep. And making him a shit-load of money, too.”
“When is she going to take a timeout and have a kid?”
Thurmon sighed. “It’s her call. And from the way it’s looking, maybe never. We’re both on the career fast track and can’t seem to get off.”
Changing the subject, Brant said, “So unload.”
Obviously choosing to ignore Brant’s push to get to the point, Thurmon crossed a leg over one knee and looked around. “This is still a great place, but aren’t you lonely as hell here?”
“I’m used to being alone. I was married for twelve years.”
“Funny.”
Brant kept his features bland.
“Don’t you think you’ve been hiding long enough?”
That comment irritated the hell out of Brant. He hadn’t seen his friend for heaven knows how long and didn’t appreciate being raked over the coals for his style of living, rather than shooting the bull about things they had in common.
“I’m treading on dangerous ground, aren’t I?” Thurmon asked in the growing silence.
“You read my mind.”
“Are you still the same expert marksman you once were?”
Surprise raised Brant’s eyebrows. “Why?”
“Just answer the question.”
“Okay. Yeah, I am. As a matter of fact, I practice just about every day.” He wanted to add that it whiled away some of the hours, but he didn’t dare. To admit that would add fodder to Thurmon’s case against him. “Why?” he asked again.
“I have a favor to ask, that’s why.”
Brant’s guard, along with his hackles, rose. “Why do I sense I’m not going to like what’s coming next?”
“Because you’ve became paranoid?”
Brant snorted.
Thurmon laughed, then said, “Did I mention how good it is to see you, how much I miss having your ill-tempered self around?”
“No. But I take no offense, considering the source.”
Thurmon’s laugh merely deepened before his features sobered once again. “Actually it’s my wife who wants the favor.”
“Then why didn’t she ask? She knows my number.”
“She knew I wanted an excuse to see your sorry ass.”
“Veronica’s not in any kind of trouble, is she?”
“Nope. But she has a friend who is.”
“So? You have a security company, take care of it. I’m out of that business forever. All I care about now is mending fences with my kid.”
“How’s that going?”
“It’s not. If Marsha had her way, I’d never see him again.”
“Nothing like a woman scorned.”
“Hell, she’s the one who had the affair.”
“After you were never home.”
Brant’s eyes narrowed. “You were in the same boat and Ronnie never cheated on you.”
“True, but we didn’t have a kid who needed his father, either.”
Brant cursed, feeling Thurmon’s arrow hit where it hurt most—his heart. “That’s still no excuse for what Marsha did. But like I told her, that’s water under the bridge. I hold no grudges. Instead I’m moving forward and trying to fix things.”
“I’m about to give you that opportunity.”
“How’s that?” Brant’s voice overflowed with suspicion. He didn’t trust his friend as far as he could throw him.
“By getting you back to Texas.”
“Ah, so that’s where this is going? Figures.”
“Veronica’s friend needs a bodyguard, and you’re the best I have to offer.”
“Are you deaf? I just told you I don’t do that anymore. But then, you knew that before you came all this way.”
Thurmon leaned forward. “First off, you owe me. And while I never intended to remind you of the fact that I saved your life, I’m doing it now.”
“That’s hitting below the belt.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. But you also know how I feel about Ronnie. I’ll do anything I can to keep her happy. And she wants you to help her friend, so here I am.”
“Tightening the screws,” Brant said, barely suppressing his fury at being shoved into a corner with no way out.
“I wouldn’t do this if it weren’t of utmost importance.”
“Somehow that doesn’t loosen the screws any,” Brant responded tightly.
“If you help me out, you’ll be doing yourself a favor, as well. You’ll be close to Elliot and can mend those fences close up instead of from afar.”
Brant rose. “You’re a blackmailing SOB.”
Thurmon seemed to take no offense at the harsh words. “You’ll thank me, my friend. You wait and see.”
God, Brant hoped so. But he was afraid, something he could never let Thurmon or anyone else know. Yet he was even more frightened of never seeing his son again. So whether he liked it or not, the die had been cast.
Brant sat back down. “So what’s the problem?”
Three
Jessica sat at her desk in her office at city hall, her mind in an uproar. She had so many items on her agenda she didn’t know where to start. As a result, she simply hadn’t started. Instead she’d poured herself a second cup of coffee and was drinking it at leisure, something she rarely did.
Today, however, was going to be an especially difficult one, and she needed extra fuel to help her get through it. First off, she had a meeting scheduled with Councilmember Lance Saxon, her biggest adversary regarding the current brouhahas with the police and over the land annexation.
The bottom line was that Saxon didn’t like her personally or professionally. She suspected his disfavor stemmed from the fact that she was a woman. He couldn’t seem to surmount that hurdle and deal with her accordingly. He’d never said as much, of course—he had more political savvy than that. Still, she sensed his feelings. Like Porter, she had an uncanny knack for reading people.
Saxon was also outspoken and adversarial. Often she was capable of putting him in his place without losing her dignity or her professionalism, but there were times when he pushed her too far and felt the sting of her tongue.
She hoped this morning she could maintain her cool professionalism and make him understand once and for all her actions concerning the chief and the land. Since the controversy had occurred, Saxon had managed to swing several other councilmembers over to his side.
Not a good thing.
Jessica sighed, then took another sip of her coffee, letting her gaze wander around the room. Nice. Soothing. Smart. Those were the words that jumped to mind as her eyes touched on the mint-green and gold tapestry-covered chairs, the tall, full plants placed just right for the sunlight to perform its magic, and the artwork that adorned the wall, gathered from her trips abroad with Porter.
At the moment her office felt more secure than her home, as the office hadn’t been invaded by her nemesis. Jessica shivered, her thoughts reverting to her conversation with Veronica last evening and the decision she had made.
All morning she’d been regretting giving Veronica the green light on the bodyguard gig. Given more time, surely she could work through this situation on her own. On the other hand, the rose incident had frightened her to the core.
Someone hated her.
Enough to kill her?
Jessica gripped the cup so tightly she could see her knuckles turn white. She wouldn’t let this pervert win, dammit. She wouldn’t. Even if it meant having a stranger invade her life for a while. She could cope with that. But could the council? Should she even tell them?
Under the circumstances, what choice did she have? To date, the only one besides Veronica who knew about the threats was her assistant, Tony Eason, and even he didn’t know about this latest one. She dreaded telling him for more reasons than one.
“You’re here awfully early.”
“Ah, good morning,” Jessica said to the short but stout young man who all but fluttered into her room, dressed outlandishly, as usual. He had on a brightly flowered tie and salmon-colored sports coat. She winced inwardly at the combination but didn’t let on. “I was just thinking about you.”
Tony Eason smiled while shoving his small wire-rimmed glasses closer to the bridge of his nose. Once he’d removed his hand, his gray-green eyes peered into hers, something he always did, as if gauging her mood for the day.
He was single, in his early thirties, efficient and precise as a prim schoolteacher. The buzz around city hall was that Tony was gay. She discouraged and disapproved of such gossip when it pertained to anyone, but especially Tony. He was completely dedicated to her and the job, and she couldn’t imagine what she would do without him, and his sex life was no one’s business but his own.
“So how was your evening?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Uh-oh, what happened?”
“More of the same, only worse.”
Tony perched on the edge of her large desk, placing the folders he was carrying on his lap. “This has gone on far too long.”
“I know.”
“So what happened?”
Jessica filled him in, leaving nothing out.
“Lord a mercy, we’ve …you’ve got to do something.”
“I am.” She told him then about Veronica and Thurmon’s friend.
“Mmm.” Tony rubbed his smooth chin. “A bodyguard. Not a bad idea. I should’ve already thought of that.”
“How do you think the council will react?”
“They’ll be concerned.”
“Or tell me I deserve it.”
Tony lifted a sooty brow, too perfect to belong to a man. “Saxon, perhaps, but he’s a pompous you-know-what.”
Jessica smiled. “He thinks he’s right and I’m wrong. That’s his prerogative.”
“I don’t think you could please the man no matter what you did.”
Jessica smoothed a pleat on her coral Ralph Lauren slacks that had a matching jacket hanging on the coatrack. She had purposely dressed in what she referred to as high style. Although her outfit was tailored, it was also very feminine. Even though she worked in a man’s world, she never wanted to join that world. She was content with herself as a woman and what she’d accomplished.
“Porter would know how to handle Saxon,” she finally said, more for her benefit than Tony’s.
“If your husband were still mayor, there wouldn’t be anything to handle.”
“So you also think it’s me?”
“Sure do. He can’t get over the fact that a woman is running the city. I bet he chokes on that every meal. Pleasant thought, isn’t it?”
Jessica almost smiled. “Shame on you.”
“Ah, forget him.” Tony gestured with a hand. “Even if he doesn’t come around to your way of thinking, the others will. The city has too much to lose.”
“We’ll see. But never forget how much influence Saxon wields or how much money he has. Both are synonymous with power.”
“I’m betting on you.”
“In any event, I’m going to send each member a letter explaining what’s going on, especially since I’m getting a bodyguard.”
“That’s probably smart.” Tony paused. “So when’s this bodyguard supposed to come on duty?”
“I’m not sure. Could be any time now, I suppose. Thurmon and Veronica are in charge of the arrangements.”
“Meanwhile, do you think it’s wise for you to be alone? I can always bunk on your sofa.”
“Absolutely not, even though I appreciate the offer.” Jessica’s full lips thinned. “I’m not about to let this maniac totally rule my life.”
“You’ll be careful, though, won’t you?”
Jessica heard the anxiety in Tony’s voice and realized how foolhardy she must sound. Last night’s incident, in particular, was not something to be taken lightly. Still, it was hard to admit she needed anyone. She’d grown so used to taking care of herself that she resented the loss of that God-given right.
“I promise I won’t take any unnecessary chances. But I’m sure Veronica and Thurmon will see that I don’t, so you can rest easy.”
“Good.” Tony stood, then peered at his watch. “Since it’s almost time for Saxon’s appointment, I’ll let these files slide until later.”
“Not if they’re important.”
“Nothing that can’t wait until after he leaves.” Tony paused, his features becoming solemn and pinched. “There is one more thing. I debated about telling you.”
“Don’t ever do that.” Jessica came as close to snapping at him as she ever had. “What is it?”
“Dale Lipton. He’s thrown his hat back into the mayoral ring.”
Jessica groaned out loud. “That’s not good news.”
“And Saxon will be backing him. Count on it.”
“Oh, I know. Lipton and Saxon are not only good friends but business partners of sorts, or so I’ve heard.”
“No problem. You’ve got class and smarts. They have neither.” He massaged the top of his head. “Besides, you’ve already trounced Lipton once. You can do it again.”
“I won’t give in or up without a fight. Last election, he fought low and dirty.”
“But you didn’t, and that’s why you beat him.”
Tony grinned at the same time his glasses slipped down on his nose, making him look like a figure out of a comic magazine, especially as a twig of unruly hair was sticking up from the crown of his head. But she didn’t dare say a word. He would have a fit if he knew his hair was mussed.
“As soon as things in the office and in my personal life settle, we’ll find a new chief, then I’ll get started on my reelection plans.”
“I have several people in mind to manage the next one. Well-qualified people.”
“Good. We’ll get together on that soon.”
Tony headed toward the door. “Oh, something else.”
“What?”
“Since the council okayed that Zurich mayoral conference, does that mean I’m to make plans for you to attend?”
“Of course. It’s a chance I’d be foolish to pass up.”
“Well, with all this mess going on, I wasn’t sure.”
Jessica didn’t hesitate. “Now you are.”
“Great. I’ll buzz personally when Saxon arrives.”
“Thanks,” Jessica said with a downturn of her mouth.
Tony’s lips twitched. “Any time.”
Once she was alone, Jessica stood, walked into her bathroom and trashed her cold coffee. But instead of heading back to her desk and tackling the phone messages and mounds of paperwork, she went to the window and stared at the Dallas skyline.
Lovely city. Lovely time of the year. Her favorite, in fact. The flowers and trees were in full bloom. Everything looked and smelled fresh, especially after a cleansing rain shower like the one they’d had last night.
Now the sun was shining. Maybe that was a good omen.
She needed that. Since Porter’s death, she had made her career her life in an effort to soak up the loneliness that oftentimes haunted her. She knew she had been a good mayor. She had made things happen for the city—good things. She definitely earned more money than she was paid rather than being paid more than she earned.
Her goal was to continue to be the best, most conscientious mayor she could be, then seek reelection, a prospect that no longer loomed brightly. But it would, as soon as she rode out the current political storm. Because she felt so justified concerning her bold actions, she was determined to remain strong and unbending in her decisions.
The chips would just have to fall where they would.
Her buzzing phone jolted her back to the moment at hand. She crossed to the desk and pressed the button. “Yes.”
“Mr. Saxon’s here.”
“Send him in.” Jessica walked to the coatrack and slipped into her jacket just as the door opened and Saxon strode in.
“Morning, Mrs. Kincaid.”
He rarely showed her the respect of her title, which didn’t bother her. It merely showed how unprofessional and insulting he could be when it suited him. Today was apparently one of those days.
“Good morning,” she forced herself to say as politely as possible. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“I hope you’ll still feel that way after I leave,” he countered with his usual bluntness.
She ignored that and asked him to sit down.
Lance Saxon was of average height, with a balding head and jowls that shook when he made any kind of sudden movement. The circumference of his middle was also noticeable, indicating that he lived the good life to the max.
He took a seat, but by the time she sat behind her desk, he was standing again, seeming to tower over her, his nostrils flaring.
Keeping her emotions in check, Jessica smiled, then asked, “So what’s on your mind?”
“Oh, I think you know. But for starters, I insist you reinstate the police chief.”
Thirty minutes later Lance Saxon strode out of her office, but not before stopping, turning and firing off one more verbal round. “Rest assured, you won’t get away with your actions, Mrs. Kincaid.”
Though her legs were less than steady, Jessica had forced herself to follow him to the door with another smile plastered on her face. Now that he was actually leaving her office, her hand circled the knob so hard she experienced a wince of pain.
That was when she saw him.
Standing in her outer office, staring at her. A moment of panic seized her and held her motionless. Had her nemesis managed to get… No. The pervert harassing her wouldn’t look like this man.
Was that her bodyguard?
Most likely, she assured herself, feeling her stomach unknot. As far as she knew, she didn’t have any more appointments until after lunch. Where was Tony? Not at his desk, unfortunately.
“You’re obviously Jessica Kincaid.”
His low, rather rough-sounding voice had a strange effect on her nerves. She stiffened. “And who might you be?”
“Brant Harding, your bodyguard.” His lips twitched, as if he would have loved to smile, only his lips wouldn’t cooperate.
Jessica swallowed, suddenly at a loss for words. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but it wasn’t the likes of this man. For some crazy reason, she felt an instant visceral response. The first thought that came to mind was the word dangerous; with his dark, brooding looks, he reminded her of a stalking panther.
No man had ever struck her with such animal force, leaving her more than a little disconcerted.
Wetting her lips, she said inanely, “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“That’s obvious.”
She flushed, something she didn’t do often. “Won’t you come in?”
He strode into the room. Reluctantly she closed the door behind her, fighting off the insane feeling that she was sealing her doom.
Four
Jessica sensed Brant Harding was as uncomfortable with the situation as she was. It didn’t take any brain-power to figure that out. So why had he come? And why didn’t she just send him on his way? Good questions, but with no good answers.
“Shall we get down to business?”
Although his tone was not exactly brusque, it touched on it. “I have no problem with that,” she said, feeling her temper rise, which was totally out of character for her. It took a lot to rile her, but there was something about this man that set her on edge. As the seconds ticked on, that edge seemed to sharpen.
Why hadn’t she asked Veronica more about him when she’d had the chance? She kicked herself mentally for that oversight. At the time, however, she had assumed he was an older man, the Saxon type, perhaps, with a bald spot on the top of his head. Well, he certainly wasn’t old—early to mid-forties, she gauged. Nor did he have a bald spot.
Shifting her thoughts abruptly, Jessica turned and made her way into her office proper.
Brant didn’t sit down, but then, she didn’t invite him to, either. Briefly their eyes met before both looked away.
However, Jessica didn’t have to stare at him to know what he looked like. The image of his tall, well-honed body dressed in a pair of casual slacks, sports shirt and boots was imprinted on her mind. He seemed to dominate her office, and it wasn’t small, either. It was the man himself. He exuded that kind of power and authority.
No wonder he was a crackerjack agent. Still, that didn’t excuse his curt behavior. Without having to be told, she knew no one had been able to make him show up here—favor or no favor. She imagined Brant Harding did his own thing, in his own time.
Handsome? No. His features, which were etched with an almost bitter overtone, were too strong for that. Noticeable? Oh, yes. His thick dark hair was entwined with silver and appeared like it wanted to curl, which merely added to its richness. And his dark eyes were surrounded by thick sooty lashes, lashes that most women would kill for, herself included.
A living, breathing work of art was what he was.
Clearing her throat and hoping she’d successfully maintained her composure, Jessica jerked her mind back on track. Remembering her manners, she offered him a cup of coffee.
“No, thanks. But I would like to know who that guy was and what he meant by his parting shot.”
He was also a man who came straight to the point, Jessica noted. A man who apparently didn’t believe in wasting words.
“His name is Lance Saxon, and he’s a councilmember.”
“He’s obviously not happy with some of your latest decisions.”
“That’s an understatement. He’s by far my biggest critic.”
“Is it because of the police stink?”
“So you know about that.”
He shrugged his shoulders, which were the width of a fullback’s. “Thurmon told me you’d cleaned house.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. What I did was relieve the chief of his duties, along with two officers whom I put on suspension.”
Dark eyebrows quirked. “Sounds pretty drastic to me, but I’m sure you had your reasons.”
God, he was irritating. “Evidence was uncovered that the officers were on the take and the chief knew it but did nothing. In addition, there was strong evidence of police brutality, not just in one incident but several. The same officers were involved each time.”
Jessica paused and drew a clear breath. “Pending further investigation, I thought it best for the city that I take such a bold move.”
“So everything is well documented.”
“I have folders filled with complaints,” Jessica said.
“So you do indeed have your guns loaded.”
“That seems to surprise you,” she responded in a testy tone, having difficulty hiding her growing irritation. “Or maybe it’s that you don’t approve.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “It doesn’t matter what I think.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t.
” Brant’s eyes narrowed. “It’s what the council thinks that matters.”
“If I were a m—” Jessica broke off, choking on the word man.
Brant finished the sentence for her. “If you were a man, you might have more support, right?”
“That’s right,” she said, unable to suppress the bitterness that sometimes caught her unawares. “I suppose you feel the same way.” Not that she gave a damn.
Again he seemed a bit shocked at her directness, though his tone was even and unruffled. “Actually, I don’t have an opinion one way or the other.”
“Good,” she muttered, turning away from his intense gaze.
“Not all on the council are on your side, I take it.”
Jessica faced him again. “Saxon especially, like I said. He’s determined to make me reinstate the chief and the officers, then make a public apology.”
“And you intend to fight him?”
“To the end. I did what I felt was right, but only after I carefully weighed all the evidence. And consequences. Trust me, it wasn’t an easy decision. And in the long run, it could cost me dearly.”
“Your job.” A blunt statement of fact.
“Yes.”
“Do you think Saxon might be behind the threats toward you?”
Jessica was taken aback. “Of course not. He’s a pillar of the community, plus he’s one of the wealthiest men in the city.”
“So?”
She stiffened. “So I don’t think it’s Saxon. He’s pompous and everything that goes with that, but he’s no fool.”
“That remains to be seen.”
Jessica tightened her lips. Talking to him was like constantly bumping into a brick wall.
“What else is going on in your professional life that might generate this kind of menace?”
“There’s a big land deal pending,” she said, following a deep sigh. “More to the point, there’s a huge tract of land I’m trying to annex into the city. In fact, I thought I had all the loose ends tied and knotted, that it was a done deal, only I’ve suddenly encountered severe opposition.”
“Such as?”
“Industry. One of the major land owners, who’s actually a friend of mine, has been approached by a worldwide industrial company. This company wants to build a plant on part of the land. As it stands now, the community where it’s located has a much cheaper tax rate than the city of Dallas.”
“If you get your way, then the company might want to move elsewhere.”
“Most likely they will.”
“Which will screw the owners out of a mega deal.” Brant rubbed his chin. “Not a great scenario.”
“There’s more, I’m afraid,” Jessica added. “The other portion of the land is being developed for garden homes. A polling firm was hired to question the interested parties. The community won hands down, citing city taxes again.”
“Sounds like another hornet’s nest.”
“Maybe.” Jessica stiffened. “Nonetheless, I’m going to fight them on it.”
“Is the council behind you?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Could anyone connected with the land project be responsible for the threats?”
“I have no idea, though my first thought would be no.”
Brant rubbed his jaw. “What about your friend?”
“Curtis Riley? Absolutely not.” This time she was empathic.
His eyes drilled her. “How do you know?”
“I just know,” she said with cold emphasis.
“Okay, how ’bout your personal life?”
Jessica bristled. “That’s not an issue.”
“At this point, Mrs. Kincaid, everything’s an issue.” He gave her a hard stare. “And everyone.”
“Not as far as I’m concerned.”
The air suddenly crackled with suppressed hostility.
“Look, if I’m going to do my job effectively,” Brant said, his slightly curled lip registering his impatience, “you have to be forthcoming.”
“Need I remind you it’s not your job yet?” The words were out before she could stop them. Now it was too late to recall them. In that moment the already charged atmosphere seemed to heighten another degree.
“Fine.” Brant pushed away from the wall where he’d been leaning. “When you decide, I’ll be at the Nashes’ house.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
Brant turned at the door, his eyes narrowed to slits. “You have twenty-four hours to make up your mind, then I’m out of here.”
The moment she was alone, Jessica’s entire body wilted. She hadn’t realized she’d been so uptight until then. Biting down on her lower lip, she walked back to her desk and sat down.
Brant Harding had the potential to rev up her nerves as much or more than the threats against her. The idea of having him invade her life was unthinkable. Where did that leave her?
Back at square one.
He had told Thurmon this was crazy, that he wasn’t the right man for the job. Since he’d met the woman, he knew that for a fact. Thank God her clear dislike of him had gotten him off the hook.
She wasn’t about to hire him.
Even so, he thought as he sat in his car in his friends’ driveway, he wasn’t looking forward to conveying the news to them. If he weren’t careful, the whole episode could turn around and bite him on the ass. The monkey had to rest on Jessica’s back. But whether she would assume that responsibility remained to be seen.
That was her problem, not his.
He might as well get out and get his chore over with. Yet he didn’t budge. Instead he took his cell phone out of his pocket with every intention of calling his son. Then it dawned on him that Elliot was probably still in school. Or was school out? Hell, he didn’t even know what his kid was up to. All the more reason why he needed to hang around, he reminded himself, bitterness swelling inside.
But working for that uptight broad was not the answer.
She might be a looker as well as a mover and a shaker, with that lovely face, short tousled hair that moved when she did, and those long, shapely legs, and thin, well-curved body. Too much for him to handle. He would be the first to admit that, and he didn’t feel the least bit shamed by it.
A cold fish under a warm designer outfit.
That had been his initial reaction and that hadn’t changed. Hell to work for, too, he would bet. Spoiled, used to having her own way. Nah, he didn’t need that extra headache. Thurmon would just have to find someone in his firm who would suit her needs. He wished them the best of luck.
Come morning, he was hauling ass back to Arkansas. In just the small amount of time he’d been in the city, his stomach had been knotted. He despised crowds and concrete. He’d had enough of both.
Once he was back on his own turf, he would have to start working on another plan for patching things up with his son. Just because this arrangement hadn’t panned out didn’t mean he’d lost his determination. He would merely have to take another tack.
Moments later, Brant was inside the Nash house, sitting at the kitchen table watching Veronica whip up a bowl of chicken salad for sandwiches. A tray of cheese and fruit was already on the table, along with three choices of bread.
“As you guessed, Thurmon had to run to the office and handle a problem,” she said, turning and smiling at him.
“Figures.”
“You of all people should understand that,” she said, adding to her smile.
“It’s been a long time, but yeah, I understand. It goes with the territory.”
“I’m still not used to it, though. I don’t think I’ll ever be.”
“But you’ve hung in.”
She obviously picked up on the bitterness in his tone, because her animated features sobered. “Are you still smarting from Marsha’s betrayal?”
“No. We should never have married to begin with. The part I regret is Elliot.”
“Have you spoken to him yet, let him know you’re in town?”
He heaved a sigh. “I almost called a few minutes ago, but I didn’t know if he was in school or not.”
“I don’t think it’s quite out yet, but close. Anyway, you’ll have plenty of time now that you’re back for a while.” She paused. “Which brings us to the reason you’re sitting here. How did your meeting with Jessica go?”
Brant didn’t flinch, though he picked up on the anxious note in her voice. “It didn’t.”
“What does that mean?” Veronica’s voice rose a level.
“I don’t think your friend was impressed with me.”
“That’s crazy. You’re the best at this kind of thing.”
“You’ll have to take that up with her.”
“Exactly what did she say?”
“That she’d call me. I told her she had twenty-four hours to make up her mind. But I think it’s already made up.”
“Oh dear,” Veronica said, gnawing on her lower lip. “You can’t desert her, Brant. You just can’t.”
“Hey, she’s the one who’s making that call, not me. I asked some questions she didn’t want to answer, and that seemed to be that.”
“She’s a very private person. Her job forces her to be.”
“I can respect that, but at the same time, when your life’s in danger, you have to make adjustments.” He toyed with a fork. “She apparently hasn’t reached that conclusion yet. Until she does…” He let his voice trail off, but Veronica got his drift.
“I’m really worried about her. She’s so damned independent, yet she misses depending on Porter.”
“What happened to him?”
“He died of a heart attack. He was twenty-five years older than she was. I know what you’re thinking, but it worked for them.”
“Whatever.”
Veronica eased down in the chair across from him. “Promise me you won’t give up. Not until I’ve talked to her again, anyway. Thurmon, too.”
Brant blew out his breath. He hated feeling trapped in the middle of a situation he couldn’t control. Granted, he wanted to help his friends, to do right by them. At the same time, he had to look out for his own best interest.
And watching over Jessica Kincaid was not in his best interest. Still, he had given her a deadline, and he intended to honor that. “All I can promise is to wait for her call.”
Veronica toyed with her lip. “She can be really stubborn.”
“If I get the green light, I’ll do my best.”
“Fair enough,” Veronica said, looking slightly relieved. “Maybe she’ll come to her senses.”
He doubted that, but he kept his mouth shut.
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