“From the road?” Fiona asked.
Jessica’s pretty face puckered in a frown. “The highway’s five miles away. Can a bullet travel that far?”
Ross shook his head. “The main gate is five miles, but there’s a secondary road that curves within a couple hundred yards of the house on the southeast side. Apparently, someone stopped there long enough to shoot, then took off.”
Jessica’s demeanor lightened. “Then you found evidence? Tire tracks? Footprints?”
“The weather’s warming fast,” Ross said, “and the sun had melted all but the most blurred outlines. There was nothing we could use.”
“Not even a shell casing?” The indomitable Fiona allowed her disappointment to show momentarily.
“Nothing,” Ross said. “A technician is still searching with a metal detector, but my gut tells me the shooter retrieved the empty cartridge.”
“No luck from the dragnet?” Jessica asked.
“From all reports,” Ross said, “the roads are empty this morning.”
“He couldn’t disappear into thin air,” Jessica insisted.
“Although the population is small,” Ross explained, “Swenson is a big county geographically. It took a while to put the dragnet in place. If the shooter is familiar with the county, he could have found a place to hide and lay low until the dragnet’s lifted.”
Chang Soo set a plate in front of him, and Ross dug into his breakfast.
Jessica placed her napkin on the table and stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to make a phone call.”
“You can use the phone in my office,” Ross said.
“Thanks.” She hurried from the room, her limp even more noticeable than it had been before he’d thrown her to the floor after the shooting, and he felt a pang of guilt, hoping he hadn’t exacerbated her injuries.
The memory of that contact made his blood sing. Already pumped with adrenaline, he’d found himself intoxicated by the scent of her, the exotic fragrance of her hair and the subtle feminine essence that was uniquely her own. Her small body had felt deliciously right beneath his, and he’d been overwhelmed not only by the urge to protect her but also the desire to hold her in his arms….
“Ross,” Fiona was saying. “Have you heard anything I’ve said?”
“Sorry,” Ross said. “Must have been thinking about the case.”
“You’d better check on Jessica.”
“The shooter’s not within miles of here now. Jessica’s perfectly safe in my office.”
“It’s not her safety that concerns me at the moment.” His grandmother’s voice had turned frosty.
“What’s up?”
“I think Jessica’s leaving.”
“Can you blame her? She probably feels about as comfortable here as a pig at a barbecue.” He squelched his own feelings of disappointment and eyed his grandmother curiously. “Won’t Max just send someone else? Or come himself?”
Fiona gave a dignified sniff. “And have the new person terrorized as well? Besides, I like her. I can say for a fact that Max won’t come, and who knows how I’ll feel about Jessica’s replacement?”
Ross studied his grandmother with interest. Her petulance was totally out of character. The tragic events of the past year must have taken an even greater toll than he’d realized. He pushed away from the table, went to her and placed his arm around her shoulders.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked gently.
“See that Jessica stays until the job’s done. Maybe you’ll have caught the killer by then.”
“I can’t guard her every minute,” he reminded her.
“I have no doubt you’ll keep her safe,” Fiona said in her don’t-argue-with-me tone.
“Like I kept Kathy safe?” Pain filled his heart.
“You didn’t know there was a threat then. Now you do.” Fiona patted his hand. “Now go. See what our guest is up to.”
He planted a kiss on her thick white hair and left the room.
JESSICA PIROUETTED before the cheval mirror in the guest room. She had learned early in her career that business assignments often included being wined and dined by clients, so luckily she’d planned accordingly. Her red silk dress, barely covering her shoulders and floating well above her knees, would be perfect for a holiday open house in Miami. For this one in Montana, however, she expected to freeze to death.
She had tried to think of an excuse to avoid this evening’s party, but Fiona had been unbending.
“You need some fun after what you’ve been through yesterday and this morning,” her hostess had insisted.
“I can take care of Courtney for you,” Jessica had offered, which only proved the depth of her desperation to avoid going out into the freezing night.
“Buck Bender, our foreman, and his wife, Alma, are having Courtney sleep over,” Fiona had said, “so you’re free to enjoy yourself.”
“I could make a good dent organizing Ross’s office while you’re gone,” Jessica said.
“That can wait another day,” Fiona said reasonably. “It’s waited this long.”
“But I won’t know anyone at the party.”
“Nonsense. You know Ross and me. And John Hayes, whom you met at the bank. Our hosts, Judge Chandler and his wife, Julie, are lovely people. They make all guests who enter their home feel as if they’re old friends.”
Arguing with Fiona had given her a headache, and Jessica had finally given in. She hadn’t, however, lost her earlier argument with Ross. He’d entered his office just as she’d finished her phone call.
“I have a flight booked out of Billings tomorrow night at eight,” she told him. “If someone here can’t take me to the airport, I’ll arrange for a limo or rental car.”
He’d merely nodded, and his lack of reaction disappointed her. Somehow she’d hoped he’d try to make her stay. Anger at herself kicked in at the thought. Why should she care whether he liked having her around?
Because you’re beginning to like having him around, an inner voice taunted her.
All the more reason to leave, she assured herself.
“You’re right,” he said. “You’ll be much safer in Miami.”
His statement made her laugh. “Most folks don’t think of Miami as particularly safe.”
“No?” He seemed surprised.
“There’s the old story about a man who’d been transferred to Miami and went to look for a house before moving his family,” she said. “Have you heard it?”
Ross shook his head and settled into one of the deep leather chairs. “Tell me.”
Jessica perched on the arm of the chair opposite him. “The man went into a bar for a drink and was lamenting to the man beside him what a high-crime area he’d heard Miami was. The bar patron, a native, laughed at the newcomer’s fears. ‘Why, Miami’s one of the safest cities in America. I’ve lived here all my life.’ His assurances made the newcomer feel better. The newcomer sipped his drink and decided to make his first friend in his new city. ‘What do you do for a living?’ he asked the bar patron. ‘I’m a tailgunner on a bread truck,’ the man replied.”
Ross laughed, as she’d hoped he would, and she enjoyed the richness of his voice and the temporary absence of the tension that had gripped him since the morning’s shooting.
“And you still believe you’ll be safer in Miami than here?” he asked.
“No one’s after me in Miami.”
His expression sobered. “Are you sure?”
“Why would they be?”
He leaned forward, clasping his big hands between his knees and fixing her with a stare that made her want to squirm under its intensity. “You were the unmistakable mark of the pickup that sideswiped you.”
“Road rage, you said yesterday.” She didn’t like the turn the conversation had taken. She’d made enemies in her business, but surely none who’d stoop to murder. “Whoever had been on that deserted stretch of highway at that particular time would have been the victim.”
“Maybe.
” His voice remained calm, reasonable, soothing, a sound she thought she’d never tire of. “But you clearly were the intended target in the solarium this morning.”
“Fiona said the shot might have been intended to terrorize, not to kill. Why would anyone want to terrorize me?”
Ross’s expression was somber. “Had you not moved your head in the second the shot was fired, you’d be dead now. CSU worked out the trajectory. There’s no doubt where the shooter was aiming.”
Jessica couldn’t believe it. Someone had it out for the McGarretts, not her. If she’d been the target, her death would have served to terrorize them. The attempt hadn’t been personal. Not that she would have been any less dead if the shooter had been successful.
“All the more reason for me to go home,” she said. “If my association with the McGarretts is making me vulnerable, the more distance I place between the Shooting Star Ranch and myself, the safer I’ll feel.”
“Your association with us might explain this morning’s shooting,” Ross said. “But what about yesterday’s attack on your car? Nobody but John Hayes, Fiona and I knew that you were headed to Shooting Star Ranch.”
“Coincidence,” Jessica said.
“I don’t believe in coincidence,” Ross said.
“Then maybe Hayes said something to someone about my assignment here.”
“John’s always discreet, especially where bank business is concerned.”
“And Fiona?”
Ross smiled, a move that lit his remarkable brown eyes and lifted his lips in a heart-stopping expression. “My grandmother doesn’t approve of gossip.”
“And you?”
Ross shrugged. “Didn’t know who you were until you handed me your card in Hayes’s office. I was a little busy after that.”
Jessica shook her head. “I know you’re anxious to have your estate settled—”
“I’m anxious to keep you from harm.”
The look in his eyes and the determination in his voice had sent a thrill down her spine, one she instantly quashed. Even if she was looking for a man in her life—which she wasn’t—Ross McGarrett would be the last person on earth she’d choose. He was too big, too dangerous, too disorganized and too settled in Montana.
The smartest thing Jessica could do was make tracks for Miami and leave the McGarrett Trust assignment to someone else. After all that had happened to her, surely Max wouldn’t object to her refusal to finish the job.
As she fastened the long, dangling gold earrings that set off the highlights in her hair, she steeled herself for a night with strangers and found comfort in the thought that this time tomorrow she’d be on her way home.
A knock sounded at the guest-room door, and she answered it to find Ross standing there, his arms piled with furs.
“Fiona sent these,” he explained.
Curious, Jessica stepped aside and motioned him into the room. He was dressed for the party, looking irresistibly attractive in a black cashmere turtleneck, dark slacks and a camel-colored sports jacket. He wore boots, but these were highly polished with silver inserts that matched the buckle on his belt.
As striking a man as she’d ever laid eyes on, she had to admit, and at the flutter in her heart at the sight of him, she was glad she was leaving tomorrow. She’d promised herself never to become emotionally entangled with a man, in order to avoid the heartbreak she’d witnessed in her parents. If she remained at the Shooting Star much longer, Ross would be a hard man to ignore.
Apparently unaware of the reaction he generated in her, he carried his bundle to the bed, dropped it there, then picked up one of the pieces and shook it out. It was a long coat of luxuriant, thick sable.
“We can’t have you freezing to death.” He held the coat open. “Try it on.”
“I can’t wear your grandmother’s coat,” Jessica protested.
“Why not?”
“What will she wear?”
Ross laughed. “Fiona has half a dozen of these. She’s happy to lend you this one.”
Unable to resist, Jessica slipped her arms into the satin lining of the fur and tugged the coat around her. The soft fur of the high collar brushed her cheeks, and the hem fell just above her ankles. Head to toe, she was enveloped in delicious warmth.
Ross stepped back and surveyed her with an admiring glance. “Looks good.”
“As long as I don’t run into any animal rights activists,” Jessica said with a rueful smile.
“Fiona’s had that coat since before I was born. No one loves animals more than she does, but she’s a pragmatist. She says not wearing the coat won’t bring the little creatures back to life, and every time she puts it on, she’s grateful to them for the warmth they’ve provided.”
Jessica ran her hands along the silky texture. “It is lovely.”
“Lovely,” Ross agreed with a strange hitch in his voice. “There’s a hat,” he added quickly, “and fur-lined boots. Put them on, and I’ll meet you downstairs. Fiona is almost ready.”
Ross left, and Jessica slipped on the boots, styled to wear over high-heeled shoes. Although Fiona was taller, her feet weren’t that much bigger than Jessica’s, so the boots were a comfortable fit.
She adjusted the fur hat at a jaunty angle and decided that she might survive the evening without turning into a block of ice after all.
If someone didn’t shoot at her again.
WITH CONFLICTING EMOTIONS, Ross watched Jessica descend the stairs. A beautiful woman in her own right, she was even more striking in the elegant sable coat and hat, a creature any man would be proud to escort.
She was also in terrible danger.
And what the hell was he supposed to do about it? His gut, usually an extremely reliable indicator where fighting crime was concerned, had suddenly gone haywire on him. One minute he was certain the attacks on Jessica were merely fallout related to the militant group’s vendetta against his family.
Then, when he considered that since Kathy’s death, no attempts or even threats had been made against the McGarretts, he had to wonder whether someone was specifically out to harm Jessica Landon. And if so, why?
He wished she’d reconsider her decision to leave. If someone was after her, she’d be far safer at the Shooting Star than in the crowded city of Miami, where anyone could strike out of nowhere and disappear in an instant.
Isn’t that what happened here this morning? he reminded himself.
He rationalized, however, that the Shooting Star had a first-rate security system, and that Chang Soo, his foreman, Buck Bender, and his crew, and Ross himself would be on constant alert. If Jessica didn’t leave the ranch without an escort, he could keep her safe until he figured out where the threat was coming from.
Who was he kidding? he thought with frustration as he held the front door open for his grandmother and Jessica to exit. It had been over a year, and he was no closer to finding Kathy’s killer than he had been the day of her death.
He hurried the women into the car to lessen the time they’d serve as targets in the brilliant moonlight gleaming on the thick snowfall. If he was honest with himself, he had to admit Jessica was no safer with him than in Miami.
Then why did he want her to stay?
He realized with a start that, more than anything, he wanted to know her better. She had struck a chord in him ever since their first encounter in the bank, making him experience emotions he’d never known existed. Emotions not even Kathy had stirred.
And what good would knowing more about Jessica do him? Squat squared. She obviously couldn’t leave Montana fast enough.
With a sigh, he turned his thoughts from the woman in the passenger seat to the string of unsolved crimes that haunted him. As much as he disliked social functions, he was looking forward to the Chandlers’ open house. Practically everyone in the county had been invited, and, with the liquor flowing freely, people would be less likely to guard their words and facial expressions. Ross planned to spend the night listening and observing, hoping to spot someo
ne in the crowd disgruntled enough to take out his frustrations on his neighbors.
The drive into town was peaceful and uneventful. Jessica and Fiona had little to say, both watching the winter landscape glide by and listening to Christmas carols on the radio. When they reached town, the streets near the Chandler house were filled with cars, and Ross had to circle the block twice before finding a parking place.
As he pulled into a recently vacated spot, his headlights speared a man climbing out of the car in front of them. Short and squat with thick dark eyebrows and narrowed eyes visible beneath his hat, the man was a stranger, no one Ross had ever seen before.
Beside him, Jessica gasped.
In the light from the dashboard, he saw that her gaze was riveted on the stranger and all the color had drained from her face.
“Something wrong?” Ross asked.
“It can’t be,” Jessica murmured.
Fiona leaned forward between the seats, looking first to Jessica, then to the stranger who was walking past their car toward the Chandlers’ front entrance.
“Who’s that?” his grandmother asked.
“Never saw him before,” Ross answered.
“I have,” Jessica said in a strangled tone. “In a Chicago courtroom. He threatened to kill me.”
Chapter Six
“He threatened to kill you?” Ross’s words exploded in the confines of the car. “You told me no one had a grudge against you!”
“No one in Swenson County,” Jessica corrected him hotly. “How was I supposed to know he’d show up here? I thought he was serving time in a federal prison in Illinois.”
Fiona withdrew into the back seat. “I’ll go on inside,” she said diplomatically, “and let you two sort this out.”
Before Ross could reply, his grandmother had climbed from the car and closed the door. He killed the engine and turned to Jessica. By the flare of his nostrils and the glint in his eyes, she could tell he was angry.
“Who is he?” Ross asked.
“Dixon Traxler.”
“Is that name supposed to mean something?”
The Christmas Target Page 7
