The Christmas Target

by Charlotte Douglas

  Wanting…Ross.

  Until she realized what she was doing.

  Feeling more foolish than she could ever remember, she pulled away and forced herself to walk, not run, toward her room.

  “Jessica.”

  Her name on his lips was a caress, as inflaming as the sensuous touch of his lips had been. She placed a few more feet between them for safety before she turned.

  “Yes?”

  “Sleep well.”

  In addition to her bones, she felt her heart melting, too, obstinately ignoring the signals she was sending to suppress her feelings.

  “You, too.” Her voice came out too soft, too seductive, expressing everything she was trying not to feel.

  She turned, again resisting the urge to run to her room, and she could feel his gaze following her, boring into her back the entire length of the hallway.

  When she’d closed the door behind her, she stripped off her clothes, pulled on her gown and climbed into bed. Even with the lights off, the moonlight streaming through the windows illuminated the rose, lying on the bedside table, a dark red question mark in the night.

  JESSICA WAS AWARE of the brilliant sunlight streaming into the room even before she opened her eyes, but she wasn’t ready to leave the soft comfort of her bed. She’d taken hours to go to sleep the night before, lying awake and staring at the ceiling until after the huge grandfather clock in the downstairs hall had struck two o’clock.

  Remembering Ross’s kiss.

  Trying not to remember Ross’s kiss.

  What was the big deal? she’d argued with herself. She was thirty-two years old, and she’d been kissed before, longer, deeper, more explicitly.

  But never like this.

  The kiss had been nothing, she assured herself, and meant nothing. It had lasted mere seconds. He’d just touched his lips to hers. He hadn’t even held her.

  Then why can’t you stop thinking about it?

  She had stopped thinking about it, she lied to herself. She was thinking now about getting up.

  Not that she had any reason to get out of bed. She’d given up on her assignment. Max would have to send someone else to sort out the disaster Ross called an office. Guilt tweaked her at the thought. She’d never let Max down before, but surely he’d understand her leaving the Shooting Star after all that had happened. She hadn’t called to tell him her plans. She figured facing him with the facts in his office once she arrived would make him unable to talk her out of her decision.

  Meanwhile, she would get some more sleep.

  With her thoughts returning to Ross like a homing pigeon to its roost, she inched deeper into her pillows and pulled the covers to her chin, hoping to doze off. The almost inaudible click of her doorknob brought her instantly awake.

  With her wits scattered by her encounter with Ross the previous night, she’d forgotten to lock her door.

  Slowly the door began to open. No one had knocked or called out a greeting. Who would be sneaking into her room in broad daylight?

  Her gaze fell on the wilted rose on her bedside table. What if Ross hadn’t left it after all? Had her secret Santa returned? And with what intent?

  Before she could decide whether to feign sleep or scream, a pair of wide gray eyes peeped around the bottom half of the door.

  “Hi.”

  “Courtney!” Almost dizzy with relief, Jessica sat up in bed. “I thought you were staying with the Benders.”

  “They bringed me home.”

  Barefoot and dressed only in flannel pajamas, Courtney stepped into the room and looked around with childlike curiosity. Jessica felt a flash of annoyance at the intrusion—until she noted the little girl’s shivering.

  “You’re freezing!” Jessica threw back the covers and opened her arms. “Climb in with me.”

  She didn’t have to ask twice. Courtney clambered up the high side of the antique four-poster and snuggled against Jessica. She drew the covers around both of them, startled by the unexpected surge of pleasure she experienced at the child’s closeness. Jessica had always felt awkward around children, but holding Courtney warmed her heart.

  Maybe she was mellowing in her old age.

  “Where’s Fiona?” she asked the child.

  “Sleeping.”

  “And your daddy?”

  “Sleeping.”

  Ross, spread-eagle naked on his bed, eyes closed with his long, thick lashes dark against his cheeks, his hair rumpled… Jessica thrust aside that compelling image. “Then who’s looking after you?”

  “Chan’ Soo.”

  “Does he know where you are?”

  Courtney nodded. “He sended me.”

  “Why?”

  “’Bout breakfast.” The little girl snuggled closer and wrapped her arms around Jessica’s waist. “You smell nice.”

  Courtney smelled good, too, sweet and fresh with a hint of talcum powder, and the embrace of her chubby arms touched a maternal chord Jessica hadn’t known she possessed. “Chang Soo wants to know what I want for breakfast?”

  Courtney shook her head. “You want breakfast in bed?”

  The lovely decadence of the proposal appealed to Jessica. Sometimes when she’d traveled on assignments and stayed in posh hotels, she’d had room service deliver breakfast, but she hadn’t indulged in that luxury in a long time. Then she recalled the exposure of the solarium and dining room and decided Chang Soo’s offer to serve her upstairs was as much cautionary as pampering.

  “I’d love breakfast in bed,” she said.

  Courtney started to scamper down. “I go tell him.”

  “Wait,” Jessica said, holding her back as an idea struck her. “Have you had your breakfast?”

  The little girl shook her head.

  “Want to eat here with me?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  The smile Courtney threw her touched her heart, and she felt a sudden kinship with the motherless little girl. From the time Jessica was born until she was sent away to boarding school at age six, she’d had a series of nannies and caretakers, but little if any attention from her mother. Since Courtney’s mom had died a year ago, Jessica doubted the girl had any memories of her. Awareness of that empty hole, where a mother’s love should have been, created an instant bond between her and the girl, driving away any previous awkwardness she’d felt with the child.

  “Tell Chang Soo to bring breakfast for both of us,” Jessica instructed. “And to find you a robe and slippers. Then you come back here to me.”

  Courtney scooted off the bed and headed for the door.

  “Wait,” Jessica called again. “Does your daddy get a Sunday newspaper?”

  Courtney nodded. “A big one.”

  Jessica remembered seeing an edition of the New York Times in the solarium yesterday. “Tell Chang Soo to put the comics with our breakfast. We can read them together.”

  “Okay.”

  The beam of anticipation that lit the little girl’s face almost brought tears to Jessica’s eyes. It didn’t take much to please the child. Jessica forced back the knowledge that it wouldn’t have taken much for her own parents to please her, either, but they’d apparently never felt the inclination.

  Courtney hurried out the door, and Jessica consoled herself with the fact that Courtney, at least, had a loving father and a doting great-grandmother. But she couldn’t help wondering if those two factors could adequately fill the void left by Kathy’s death.

  She glanced around the elegant but homey room and found a sudden reluctance to leave that day, in spite of the snow sparkling outside the window. But when she remembered the red rose and unknown Santa, she realized returning to Miami was her best option if she wanted to stay safe.

  But she couldn’t help wondering what would happen to the McGarretts and surprised herself by realizing how much she cared.

  ROSS ROLLED OVER and surveyed his bedside clock with a groan. He’d overslept, something he hadn’t done in years. No wonder, however. Jessica’s sudden appearance at his bedroom doo
r last night, alluringly seductive and yet emanating a touching vulnerability, had driven all thoughts of sleep from his mind.

  Something had spooked her, but he had no idea whether it was a delayed reaction from her encounter with Traxler or simply an accumulation of the disasters that had befallen her since her arrival in Swenson County. He had to give her credit. She was one plucky woman. Most people would have hightailed it back to Miami immediately after the incident in the bank. She’d weathered two more traumas before finally throwing in the towel and admitting defeat.

  But what had she wanted to tell him last night? She hadn’t banged on his door at that late hour just to say good-night.

  He was glad she had, even though he knew he shouldn’t have kissed her. If the kiss, uncomplicated as it had been, had affected her as much as it had him, she’d probably forgotten what she’d come to tell him.

  But he hadn’t been able to resist. Finding her standing there, so amazingly beautiful, so incredibly desirable, had short-circuited his reasoning. He’d needed every ounce of willpower not to crush her to him before she pulled away. No woman had ever had such an effect on him—and he’d certainly never been a saint where females were concerned. But what he felt for Jessica was more than desire. He wanted to know her better, in every way.

  Which was never going to happen if she left tonight.

  He swung out of bed and headed for the shower. He had his work cut out for him today. In addition to moving forward with his investigations, he had to convince Jessica to remain at the Shooting Star. He wanted to keep her under watch until he had assured himself that Dixon Traxler wasn’t a threat to her. The man had the means and opportunity to follow her to Miami if he had mayhem on his mind. Here, Ross hoped he could keep her safe.

  Not only safe, but close.

  The thought pleased him, and as hot water pulsed over his skin, he came up with an idea. His plan would keep her protected for the day and allow him to have her company all to himself, giving him ample time to plead his case for her to stay at the Shooting Star to finish her assignment.

  Immensely satisfied with himself, he whistled as he strode down the upstairs hall. When he reached Jessica’s door, however, the sound of a low, sultry voice, punctuated by childish giggles, grabbed his attention.

  Courtney, the little devil! What was she doing in Jessica’s room? He knocked on the door to find out.

  “Come in,” Jessica called.

  Ross opened the door and caught his breath at the sight that greeted him. Jessica, her magnificent auburn hair disheveled from sleep and glinting golden in the sun slanting through the window behind her, held Courtney in her lap. The two sat in one of the deep chairs, the comic pages spread out before them. Jessica’s velour robe of French blue brought out the deep color in her eyes, the flush of roses in her cheeks, the luster of her lips.

  He pulled his thoughts from kissing them again and noted that his usually shy Courtney in her pink robe and bunny slippers seemed amazingly content on Jessica’s lap.

  On the table beside them sat a tray with the remnants of breakfast for two.

  “Hi, Daddy.”

  The beauty and tranquillity of the domestic scene they presented raised a lump in his throat, and he had to swallow hard to speak.

  “Hi, Cupcake. Good morning, Jessica.” He hoped his sudden surge of desire hadn’t revealed itself in either the tone of his voice or the cut of his jeans.

  “I like Peanuts,” Courtney said with a giggle.

  “You’re eating peanuts for breakfast?” Ross asked in faked amazement, pretending to misunderstand.

  “No, silly.” His daughter shook her head, and Jessica’s eyes twinkled at him above Courtney’s blond curls. “Snoopy and Charlie Brown.”

  “There’s coffee left.” Jessica nodded toward a thermal carafe. “And an extra cup. And sweet rolls.”

  Ross hesitated only briefly, pulled one way by duty, the other by the welcoming warmth of the woman and his child. It was Sunday, he reminded himself. Not much could be accomplished until tomorrow anyway, with businesses closed and people off for the weekend. With a sigh of contentment, he settled into the chair across from Jessica and Courtney and accepted the cup Jessica handed him.

  “Does Granny know you’re home?” he asked his daughter.

  She shook her head. “Granny’s asleep.”

  “The Benders brought Courtney back early,” he explained to Jessica. “They go to Billings every other Sunday to visit Alma’s mother, and they like to get an early start.”

  Jessica nodded, and her gaze flicked briefly from him to the table beside her bed, then back again.

  He followed her gaze, but noted nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe his presence in her bedroom was making her uneasy, although Jessica didn’t strike him as the uptight, prim-and-proper type.

  Courtney, always a wiggle-worm, scooted off Jessica’s lap.

  “Where’re you going, Cupcake?” Ross asked.

  “Find Granny.”

  “Okay, but if she’s not awake, don’t bother her. You come right back here.”

  He leaned forward, and his daughter put her arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips. She tasted of sugar and hot chocolate.

  “Wuv you, Daddy.” Her tiny arms tightened.

  He hugged her back, reluctant to let her go. He hadn’t expected to love this child so much, and now he couldn’t live without her. “I love you, too, Cupcake.”

  She pulled back, her gray eyes teasing. “Cour’ney.”

  The exchange was one of their favorite games. “My Courtney Cupcake,” he said.

  Laughing, she ran from the room.

  “I have a favor to ask,” he said to Jessica as soon as Courtney was gone.

  “I’m not going to be here long enough to grant a favor,” she said. “I’m leaving for Billings this afternoon in time to catch my evening flight.”

  “That’s where the favor comes in.”

  She cocked her head, her expression curious. “You need something taken to Billings?”

  “I need you to stay.”

  The roses in her cheeks darkened a shade, and he realized too late the potential double meaning of his words.

  “I mean, I want you to stay,” he corrected, making the ambiguity even worse.

  She lifted her feathery eyebrows over questioning eyes, but said nothing.

  He set his cup aside, leaned forward and spread his hands. “Let me explain.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “We have a situation here—”

  “We?”

  “I have a situation. At least, the sheriff’s department does.”

  He couldn’t be certain, but he thought he saw a brief flicker of disappointment cross her face before she composed it again.

  “Yesterday’s shooting?” she asked.

  He nodded. “We don’t know what we’re facing. There’s the possibility what’s happened to you is totally unrelated to other incidents in Swenson County.”

  “So if I leave tonight, I’m no longer your problem,” she said reasonably.

  “I can’t let you do that.”

  Her eyes widened with a hint of anger. “You can’t stop me.”

  “Actually, that’s not completely true.” He tried to keep from smiling at the possible solution called to mind by her comment.

  She stood, her robe swirling around her, and walked away from him, toward the window. Sunlight turned her hair to burnished gold, and his fingers itched to twine themselves in it. Turning, she confronted him, hands on her hips. She was every bit as magnificent when she was angry as she had been at his bedroom door last night.

  “What are you going to do?” she insisted hotly. “Arrest me?”

  “If I have to,” he answered easily.

  “You can’t be serious! On what charges?”

  “As a material witness.” He rose and went to her, taking her by the shoulders and turning her until he stood between her and the window. He didn’t want her making a target of herself.<
br />
  “But you’re a reasonable woman, so I’m hoping an arrest won’t be necessary.”

  She was also an extremely intelligent woman and apparently realized immediately the purpose of his maneuver. “We should both stay away from the windows,” she said, her voice less angry now.

  He nodded and released her. She returned to her chair. Ross followed, propped his elbow on the mantel and gazed down at her. “Will you hear me out?”

  “Will you slap the cuffs on me if I don’t?” Her tone was serious, but he caught a glint of teasing in her eyes. Longing surged through him again, and he forced himself to take a deep breath and keep his mind on business.

  “As I mentioned earlier, I don’t know whether the attempts on your life are related to other incidents in the county or not. Dixon Traxler’s presence here creates the distinct possibility that they’re not.”

  She shuddered at the man’s name. “I was ready to go before. Traxler’s being here makes leaving an even better idea.”

  “If Traxler followed you here,” Ross said pointedly, “he can follow you anywhere.”

  She shrugged. “So I alert the Miami-Dade Sheriff’s Office when I return home that the man’s a threat.”

  “And will the sheriff of Dade County invite you to stay in his home and offer to be your personal bodyguard?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I’m being practical. Until I can check Traxler out, you’re safer here with me.”

  “Only if Dixon Traxler’s the real threat,” she said. “If someone’s after Ross McGarrett and the other county officials, I’m in more danger with you.”

  “Not if we’re careful,” he argued, not wanting to concede her point. “Look, all I’m asking is for you to wait a few days. During that time, my detectives can check out Traxler’s vehicles, run the ballistics on the rifle he borrowed from the judge—”

  “What?” Her eyes widened in alarm. “You’re telling me Traxler has a gun?”

  “He says he came here to hunt,” Ross said. “I want time to find out if he’s lying.”

  “The man’s a habitual liar,” Jessica said. “I can tell you that without an investigation.”