“I hear it’s a bestseller,” Ross said.
Traxler beamed. “It’s doing quite well.”
“And since you’ve changed so much—” Jessica forced her sweetest smile “—I’m sure you’ll use the profits to reimburse all those poor people you swindled.”
Traxler’s previous benevolent air evaporated like mist in strong sunlight. “I worked hard to write this book. Blood, sweat and tears. I deserve the profits.”
Jessica’s anger skyrocketed. “The employees of Q-Tonics worked hard for their pensions, too.”
Suddenly Ross’s hand was gripping her elbow, so tightly it was almost painful. “Fiona’s signaling us to join her. If you’ll excuse us, Traxler?”
Without waiting for Jessica’s consent, Ross propelled her across the floor toward the corner where Fiona sat with Carson Kingsley.
“I’ve known it from the moment I first saw you,” Ross whispered in her ear in a low, fierce voice.
“Known what?” Jessica demanded, trying without success to extricate herself from his grip.
“That you have a death wish.”
“You’re right,” Jessica said irritably. “That’s why I agreed to come to Montana in December.”
“You know what I’m talking about.” Ross almost hissed in her ear. “If Traxler’s out to kill you, why give him more reason?”
“How much reason does he need? I’d think putting him in prison is reason enough.”
“Then insulting him will only make him more determined,” Ross said.
“He’s either made up his mind to kill me or he hasn’t,” Jessica said. “Being polite at this stage won’t make a difference.”
They passed the fireplace, and she took immense satisfaction in throwing A New Man, A New Life into the roaring blaze.
Fiona looked up and frowned as they approached. Jessica guessed the older woman must have sensed the tension between them.
“Having a good time?” Fiona asked, as if expecting a negative response.
“It’s a lovely party,” Jessica assured her. “And I really like Julie. If I were staying longer, I’d like to know her better.”
“Hello, Carson,” Ross said. “This is Jessica Landon, our houseguest.”
The middle-aged man, polite but reserved, stood to shake her hand. Jessica could sense the pain behind his pale blue eyes, reminding her that emotional involvement inevitably led to unhappiness.
“How are you liking Montana?” Carson asked in a flat, impersonal tone.
Jessica floundered for something positive to say. “Almost everyone has been very welcoming.”
“Almost?” His pale eyes glinted with a strange light.
Laughter? Jessica wondered.
“Well,” she hurried to correct her gaffe, “I haven’t met everyone.”
“This is hostile country,” Carson said.
“Now, Carson,” Fiona chided him gently, “it has its good points.”
Carson shrugged and nodded toward Jessica. “Does she know what happened in this room?”
“This is a party,” Ross said quickly. “Let’s not bring up bad memories.”
“You caught the man yet?” Carson asked.
Jessica took pity at the discomfort on Ross’s face and changed the subject. “Tell me about your ranch, Mr. Kingsley.”
What seemed hours later, Jessica escaped, after hearing more about the feeding habits of cattle than she’d ever wanted to learn. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought the older man was toying with her, making her uncomfortable on purpose.
“He’s just lonely,” Fiona insisted when Jessica joined her again. “Since his wife died, he hasn’t had anyone to talk to. He keeps to himself too much. I’ve invited him to the Shooting Star, but he always has some excuse. This is the first time I’ve seen him among other people in ages. His coming here tonight is a good sign. Maybe his grief is finally beginning to heal.”
For the remainder of the evening, Jessica spoke with almost every guest, avoiding only Dixon Traxler and having her ear bent again by Carson Kingsley.
Even as she was conversing with others, she was intensely aware of Ross as he worked the room. A casual observer might have thought him merely sociable, but in her business, Jessica had learned to read the nuances of conversation, knowing the closing of a deal or revelation of a client’s intent could hang on a word or an inflection.
Expressing interest in his friends’ and neighbors’ activities, Ross was cleverly gathering information, finding who had been where both yesterday when her car had been forced off the road and this morning when the shot was fired. Not one of them appeared aware that he or she had been successfully interrogated when Ross finally moved away.
Only one conversation had hit a sour note. Jack Randall, Ross’s neighbor to the north, had confronted him at the punch bowl where Ross and Jessica had gone to refill their eggnog cups.
“I’m still waiting,” Randall said, anger barely hidden behind a pasted-on smile.
“Sorry, Jack,” Ross said easily, “but you’ll have to wait a while longer. I’ve been busy lately.”
“Dammit,” Randall almost shouted, then lowered his voice, “you’re always busy. You’re avoiding me on purpose.”
Ross shook his head. “I’m having to deal with life-and-death matters—”
“This is a life-and-death matter to me!”
Jessica didn’t have to be a trained observer to sense that Randall’s frustration had reached the boiling point.
“Look, Jack,” Ross said in a consoling tone, “I’m willing to examine the old survey you’ve found, but it won’t make a hill of beans worth of difference what I think. The boundaries registered at the courthouse are the legal ones. We both have to abide by them.”
Randall, a tall, lanky man with dark hair gone gray at the temples, set his mouth in a thin, tight line. “That’s easy for you to say, since those boundaries work in your favor. There’s over a hundred acres in question here.”
For the first time since she’d met him, Jessica saw Ross teeter on the edge of losing control, but he took a deep breath and capped his anger. “Tell you what, Jack. We’ll let the lawyers sort it out. They know more about these things than either of us.”
Randall’s eyes blazed. “Yeah, let the McGarrett money buy your way out of this one.”
Before Ross could reply, Randall turned on his heel and stomped out of the room.
Ross appeared suddenly tired, and Jessica felt sorry for him. He had enough problems as sheriff. He didn’t need a turf battle with his neighbor, too.
“Why’s he so angry?” she asked.
“Jack’s found an old survey, one that shifts the boundary between our ranches, but since it was never registered, the document has no validity.”
Jessica frowned. “A hundred acres is a lot of land.”
“Not out here,” Ross said with a smile. “It’s what’s on the land that Jack is interested in.”
“Oil?” That commodity would definitely figure prominently in the estimated worth of the Shooting Star Ranch. She’d momentarily forgotten her decision to abandon her financial assessment of the McGarrett estate.
Ross laughed and the tension in him seemed to melt away. “Not oil. Something even more valuable.”
Jessica’s eyes widened. “Gold?”
“Water.”
“Water? More valuable than gold? You’re kidding.”
“A creek runs through those acres Jack would like to claim as his. And cattle always need water.”
“You think he’s lying about the survey?” Jessica asked.
“No, Jack’s an honest guy. But he doesn’t want to admit the survey’s worthless unless it’s been registered.” Ross’s brown eyes softened as he gazed at her. “How are you holding up?”
Her high-heeled shoes were killing her, and she still suffered aches and pains from yesterday’s accident, but Jessica wasn’t about to admit to her discomfort. “Fine.”
“I think I should take you home
.”
“You don’t have to leave early on my account. Since I won’t be working on your records, I can sleep in tomorrow and be rested for my flight.”
His strong jaw settled in a determined angle. “We’ll discuss that tomorrow.”
“There’s nothing to discuss.”
He didn’t argue, but she knew from the look in his remarkable brown eyes that the subject of her imminent departure wasn’t closed.
“Let’s find Fiona,” he said, “and pay our respects to the Chandlers.”
A SHORT TIME LATER, the trio was headed home. Jessica leaned against the seat’s headrest, gazed at the snow-covered landscape, glistening in the moonlight, and realized with a start how beautiful it was. Every bit as lovely in its own stark way as the moon over Miami Beach. The wintry scene filled her with an unexpected serenity, making even the endless carols on the radio less annoying. She must be mellowing in her old age. She’d not only survived but enjoyed a holiday party, and now she was sentimentalizing over snow.
She gave herself a mental shake and remembered a question she’d been wanting to ask. “Carson Kingsley asked if I knew what had happened in the Chandlers’ house.”
Ross’s gloved hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Don’t mention it to Julie. She’s only now recovering.”
“Recovering from what?” Jessica asked.
“A home invasion,” Fiona said. “About six months ago. Very traumatic.”
“Was she injured?” Jessica recalled that Julie had appeared healthy and happy at the party.
“Not physically,” Ross said. A muscle ticked in his jaw, indicating his tension. “Julie was alone in the house. Someone surprised her, overpowered her, taped her mouth, covered her head with a sack and tied her to a chair.”
“Robbery?” Jessica asked.
“Intimidation,” Ross said. “You saw all the expensive collectibles and antiques the Chandlers have. But only one item was stolen that day, a Lladró statue of a girl with a flock of geese. Dozens of more valuable items were left behind.”
“Maybe the robbers were frightened away before they could steal more,” Jessica said.
Fiona made a sound of disgust. “Not likely. Poor Julie was tied up for hours before Harry came home late that night and found her.”
Jessica looked to Ross. “Do you suspect the Swenson County Freedom Fighters?”
“I wish I knew,” Ross said, his frustration evident. “Whoever it was left nothing behind, not a print or a hair or a fiber. The incident could have been part of the militia group’s terrorism spree. Or it could have been a criminal’s revenge. Judge Chandler has handed down hundreds of stiff sentences over the years. Someone could have struck back at him through his wife.”
“How awful,” Jessica murmured.
“Awful’s the operative word,” Ross said, “and my department hasn’t been able to do a damn thing about it.”
“You’re too hard on yourself,” Fiona said soothingly. “You’ll find this man eventually. You’ve always said patience pays off in criminal investigations. Don’t lose yours now, son.”
“We have a few slim leads,” Ross admitted, “but I’d be lying if I said we’re close to solving these cases.”
The weariness in his voice made Jessica want to reach out to him, but she stifled the impulse to lay her hand on his sleeve. Despite Ross’s objections, this time tomorrow, she’d be halfway home, three thousand miles from Sheriff McGarrett and his troubles. Surprisingly, the prospect wasn’t as pleasing as it had been earlier. Had Ross spooked her with the possibility of Traxler as a threat? Those doubts must have given birth to her sudden reluctance to leave.
Before she could contemplate her change of heart further, Ross had stopped in front of the house.
“I’ll put the car in the garage,” he said, “then I’m headed for bed. I’ll say good-night now.”
Jessica and Fiona entered the house, and Jessica started up the stairs.
“Wait,” Fiona said. “Have a brandy with me before going to bed.”
More tired than she’d realized, Jessica started to protest, but noting the pleading in Fiona’s eyes, she relented and followed the older woman into the living room.
“I’ve missed having another female to talk to,” Fiona said. She splashed golden liquid into two snifters and handed Jessica one.
Jessica nodded. “Ross told me about Kathy. I’m sorry.”
“Kathy was a disaster, in more ways than one,” Fiona said cryptically, then added hastily, “but the poor girl didn’t deserve what happened to her.”
Jessica waited for Fiona to elaborate on why Kathy had been a disaster, but after a few sips of fine cognac, Fiona was nodding off.
Jessica finished her drink. When Fiona still hadn’t awakened, she slipped away.
Entering the darkened guest room, she flipped on the overhead light. Everything was as she’d left it.
Except one.
As deep red as a bloodstain, a long-stemmed rose lay across the white lace of her pillow. After glancing nervously around the room and into the bathroom and closet to assure herself no one was hiding there, Jessica crossed to the bed and picked up the flower.
A card was attached to the stem with a red velvet bow. The ribbon was threaded through a typed note that read: “For Jessica, from your secret Santa.”
Chapter Seven
Jessica’s sleepiness instantly vanished. Although her body ached with weariness, her mind raced with questions.
Who had left a rose on her pillow? And even more important, why?
As far as she knew, only four people besides herself had access to the main house—Ross, Fiona, Courtney and Chang Soo. She ruled out Courtney immediately. Writing the message and obtaining the rose were far beyond a two-year-old’s abilities.
Chang Soo was also an unlikely candidate. Friendly but with an impassive Asian reserve, the old man didn’t seem the type to leave secret messages. And he wouldn’t have called her Jessica. To Chang Soo, using her first name so familiarly would have been a sign of disrespect. And Chang Soo was nothing if not respectful.
Fiona? Jessica shook her head. No way Fiona could have delivered the rose. The older woman hadn’t been out of Jessica’s sight from the moment they entered the house on their return from the Chandlers’. The rose was obviously fresh and hadn’t been out of water or refrigeration long, so Fiona couldn’t have placed it on the pillow before the party, either.
Jessica kicked off her shoes, wiggled her aching toes in relief and sank into a chair in front of the fireplace. Her process of elimination had narrowed down her secret Santa to one prospect.
Ross.
But her mind refused to wrap itself around that possibility. Yes, Ross had had the opportunity. He could have slipped the rose into her room after parking the car, while she and Fiona sipped brandy in the living room.
But why?
Her pulse quickened at the thought that Ross might be attracted to her, but she quickly squelched that idea, for two reasons. First, the man was too immersed in the problems of unsolved crimes to have time for romance. And, second, even if he did have time, the surreptitious approach didn’t seem to fit Ross’s style. Sure, he’d been covert in his interviews of the Chandlers’ guests tonight, but he’d been working then, doing his job. He didn’t strike her as the type to be secretive in his personal relationships.
Then again, how much did she really know about Ross McGarrett? She ticked off his attributes on her fingers. He was brave. He’d risked his life for her twice, a total stranger. He was obviously thorough and conscientious about his duty as sheriff. And he was totally, hopelessly disorganized when it came to paperwork, she thought with a grimace. She felt her expression soften as she recalled his interaction with his daughter. He was also a devoted, loving father.
But could he be her secret Santa?
Her blood ran suddenly cold as she considered a fifth potential candidate. Suppose her secret messenger wasn’t some benign admirer at all, but an enemy who wa
s toying with her? Had the person who’d run her off the road or fired the shot somehow entered the McGarrett house while they were away and left the rose and card? Was the message intended to inform her that she wasn’t invulnerable? That she wasn’t safe?
That thought propelled her to her bare feet and into the hall. Before she could consider what she was doing, she found herself knocking on Ross’s bedroom door.
Idiot, she told herself, hoping he was asleep and hadn’t heard her. You’re overreacting. Go back to your room and forget the stupid rose. Tomorrow you’ll be home and it won’t be an issue.
Before she could flee back to the guest room, Ross’s door swung open, and she found herself staring at the broad, muscled expanse of his bare tanned chest. He’d undressed completely except for his jeans, riding low on his lean hips. His thick brown hair was tousled, and his eyelids were heavy with fatigue. He looked wonderfully sexy, he smelled enticingly male, and she wondered how touching him would feel. The prospect made her mouth go dry.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
An emotion deep inside her flared to life, and she recognized it with dismay as white-hot desire.
“No,” she managed to utter, while her brain went dead.
A slow, bone-melting smile lifted his lips and lit his eyes. “You need something?”
Oh, yes!
Needs she’d never allowed herself to admit flooded her, but fortunately her sluggish brain finally kick-started again. What was she doing here? If Ross was her secret Santa, she didn’t want to go there. More than anything, she wanted to keep imprisoned the sleeping giant of emotions walled inside her.
And if Ross hadn’t left the rose, it didn’t matter who had. She would be gone soon.
“Just wanted to say good-night,” she murmured, avoiding his eyes and suppressing the urge to fall into his arms.
To her dismay and delight, he leaned down, cupped her chin in his hand and brushed her lips with his. Electricity surged through her veins, and she pushed herself up on tiptoe to receive his kiss, wanting more.
The Christmas Target Page 9
