JACK'S CHRISTMAS MISSION

by Beverly Barton

  Sawyer McNamara had the smooth, polished look of a high-powered businessman, all Mr. GQ in his dark tailor-made suit, Italian loafers, tan overcoat and leather briefcase. Unless you looked right into his stern, calculating blue eyes, you'd never suspect that hidden beneath the civilized facade beat the heart of a dangerous warrior. But Jack had seen Sawyer in action. Cool under fire. Deadly in his unemotional ability to execute battle plans.

  "Peggy Jo, I'd like to introduce Sawyer McNamara," Jack said.

  "Ms. Riley." Sawyer held out his hand as he approached Peggy Jo. "I'm pleased to meet you, ma'am, but I'm sorry it's under these circumstances."

  Peggy Jo came out from behind her desk to shake Sawyer's hand. "Thank you for coming, Mr. McNamara. Jack has told me that the FBI might be able to help us."

  "We'll sure do what we can." Sawyer laid his briefcase on her desk, then snapped open the locks. "I have the FBI's profile our psycholinguistics expert put together after reading your stalker's letters and studying all the pertinent information. And while I had a stopover at the Atlanta airport earlier today, Ellen sent a Dundee agent out there to bring me the profile their man came up with."

  A knot of apprehension formed in Jack's gut. "Have you had a chance to read both reports?"

  "Sure have. And guess what?"

  "What?" Peggy Jo asked.

  "Both experts came up with similar psychological profiles on the stalker," Jack said.

  "Bingo." The corners of Sawyer's mouth twitched, but he didn't smile as he removed two manila file folders. "I compared the two reports on the plane ride over from Atlanta."

  "Want to share the findings with us?" Jack glanced at the folders.

  "Our experts think we're dealing with a man who blames Ms. Riley personally for something bad that's happened in his life. He's the type of man who holds grudges and he's prone to violence. While he hates Ms. Riley, he's also sexually attracted to her. He's probably had a series of bad relationships. Might or might not be married, but isn't happy in whatever relationships he's had with women. High school education, but not college. At least they concluded that from studying his writing skills. Agewise, they think he's over twenty-five, but under forty."

  Glancing at Peggy Jo, Jack noted how suddenly she'd gone pale. "Does this description remind you of anyone?"

  "Yes. My ex-husband. Everything Agent McNamara said describes Buck."

  "Hmm." Sawyer handed the file folder to Jack. "Can we eliminate any suspects because of the profile?"

  "Yeah, our top two guys," Jack replied. "Both men work here at WLOK. Ross Brewster is only twenty, he's attending college and he has no history of violence. Then there's Chet Compton, the station manager. He's the right age and doesn't exactly score with the ladies, but he's got a college degree. However, I'd say he's the type to hold a grudge."

  "We won't completely rule out either man," Sawyer said. "But for now, I think we'll concentrate on the ex-husband. Do you happen to know where he is now? I'd like to pay him a little visit and introduce myself."

  "Better you than me," Jack said, fury rising inside him at the thought of confronting Peggy Jo's ex. He'd find it difficult not to beat the guy senseless for his past sins.

  "Detective Gifford found out that Buck is living in Sale Creek, which is about a forty-minute drive from here,"

  Peggy Jo said. "But why would Buck come after me now?

  We've been divorced for thirteen years, and I haven't heard anything from him in all this time."

  "We can't be sure it's your ex-husband," Sawyer told her. "There's a chance that your stalker is someone you don't even know. He could be some guy who's watched your TV show, gotten pissed off by something you've said and decided to come after you."

  "Thinking it's someone I don't know is just as frightening as believing it's someone I do know." Peggy Jo frowned, anxiety obvious in her expression.

  "I'll call the police station and talk to Gifford," Sawyer said. "I'd like to get the information he has on Buck Forbes so I can pay Mr. Forbes a friendly visit in the morning."

  "Where are you staying in case I need to get in touch with you?" Jack asked.

  "I've booked a room at the Choo Choo," Sawyer replied. "I rented a car and came straight here from the airport, so I'll have to call you at Ms. Riley's later and give you the room number."

  "Mr. McNamara, why don't you come home with us for dinner?" Peggy Jo offered Sawyer a gracious smile. "I can call Hetty and tell her to expect a guest tonight."

  Jack didn't like her smiling at Sawyer that way. He might get the wrong idea and think Peggy Jo was fair game. Damn it, Jacky-boy, what's gotten into you? That's exactly what she is—fair game. She's not wearing anybody's brand. She doesn't belong to you or to any other man.

  "Why thank you, ma'am," Sawyer replied. "I'd enjoy a home-cooked meal for a change."

  "I've pretty much finished here for the day." Peggy Jo glanced at Jack. "Why don't we follow Mr. McNamara over to the Choo Choo so he can register and then he can follow us home."

  "Please, call me Sawyer."

  Peggy Jo giggled. Damn her, she giggled. Jack didn't like the way this friendly association was developing.

  "Only if you call me Peggy Jo."

  Jack clamped his hand down on Sawyer's shoulder, but looked right at Peggy Jo. "Why don't you call Hetty, then finish up in here. I need to speak to Sawyer privately for a couple of minutes."

  He didn't give her a chance to reply before he ushered the FBI agent out into the hall and backed him up against the wall.

  "What the hell was that all about?" Jack asked.

  Sawyer knocked Jack's hand from his shoulder and straightened his trench coat by tugging on the lapels. "I didn't know you were personally involved with Ms. Riley."

  "I'm not!"

  "Then what's the problem?"

  Yeah, Jacky-boy—what's the problem? Why do you care that Sawyer's putting the moves on Peggy Jo and she's responding favorably.

  "Okay, so I am," Jack said.

  "You're what?" Sawyer asked with a straight face, but a devilish glimmer appeared in his eyes.

  "I am personally involved with Peggy Jo."

  "Say no more." Sawyer held up his hands in a don't - get - bent - out - of - shape gesture. "Believe me, all I was doing was being friendly."

  "Yeah, sure you were."

  "Look, Jack, it's none of my business, but do you think it's smart to become personally involved with a client?"

  "You're right—it's none of your business." Jack heaved a deep sigh. "And, yeah, I know it's not a smart move on my part."

  Peggy Jo emerged from her office, closed the door, locked it and then walked over to Jack and Sawyer. "Ready?"

  "Yes," the two men replied simultaneously.

  As they walked down the corridor and out of the building, Jack stayed at Peggy Jo's side, his hand resting at the base of her spine.

  Rain clouds had moved in, darkening the sky to a sooty gray. A cold November wind cut right through to the bone. The threesome hurried out into the parking lot, but just as Sawyer separated from them to go to his rental car, Peggy Jo stopped dead still.

  "Oh, my God, no!"

  Jack had been looking right and left, but now he focused his attention straight ahead, at Peggy Jo's Sebring. Or something vaguely resembling her car. The convertible hood had been slashed repeatedly, leaving large gaping wounds in the material. The body of the silver Chrysler had been scratched, leaving ugly marks the entire length of the vehicle, and every window had been smashed.

  Standing only a few feet away from the Sebring, a terrified look on his face, Ross Brewster shook his head back and forth, the motion an obvious denial.

  "What the hell?" Jack grabbed Peggy Jo's arm. "Go straight over there to Sawyer."

  "But, Jack—"

  "Do what I say!"

  When she headed toward Sawyer, he met up with her and called out to Jack. "What's going on? Is that Peggy Jo's car?"

  "Yeah, I think we just might have caught the culprit red-han
ded," Jack said.

  Ross froze to the spot, not moving a muscle as Jack zeroed in on him. Damn stupid boy. Did he think he could vandalize a car in the middle of the afternoon on a busy downtown street and not get caught?

  "I didn't do it, Mr. Parker." Tears welled up in Ross's eyes. "I swear to God, I didn't do it. I just got here a couple of minutes ago and saw Peggy Jo's car. I was coming in to tell you when I saw y'all coming out of the studio."

  "Why should I believe you?" Jack asked.

  "Because I'm telling the truth. Honest I am."

  "Fine. You can tell that to Detective Gifford when he gets here," Jack said. "But for now, you can come inside with us and tell it to Agent McNamara."

  "Who's Agent McNamara?" Ross asked.

  "See that guy over there with Peggy Jo? He's Sawyer McNamara, an FBI agent"

  "FBI?" Ross went white as a sheet. He moaned softly and then fainted dead away.

  "I'll be damned," Jack said.

  * * *

  Chapter 14

  « ^ »

  Jack heard Peggy Jo when she left her bedroom and went downstairs. He hadn't slept well most of the night and had been awake for the past half hour, thinking about yesterday's events. Now he rose from the bed, picked up his discarded jeans and pulled them up over his pajamas, then reached out and jerked his sweater off the footboard. A distinct wintry chill permeated the old house early in the morning, before Hetty turned up the central heat's thermostat. After pulling the sweater over his head and sliding his feet into his leather house slippers, he made his way out into the hall and quietly descended the stairs. He halted on the landing where the staircase split in two. From his vantage point above the foyer, he could see into the living room. Peggy Jo stood in the doorway, her back to him, completely unaware that he had followed her.

  Across the room, near the windows, the large, gaily decorated Christmas tree stood, the miniature white lights blinking on and off. She must have thrown the switch just inside the door that turned on the lights. She looked so alone. An overwhelming urge hit him—an urge to go to her and put his arms around her. Despite the calm, almost serene way she stood there looking at the tree, he sensed the tension inside her, the turmoil of uncertainty and tightly controlled fear. She was on the edge emotionally, but hanging on for dear life.

  He supposed if anyone had a right to fall apart, Peggy Jo did. But she wasn't the type to go to pieces, to wring her hands and cry, "What am I going to do?" No, she was the type who worried about others more than herself. And she was the type who got angry and said, "I want this guy found and stopped!"

  If only Ross Brewster had turned out to be her stalker, they could all rest easy. But despite what Jack had assumed was obvious evidence against the college kid, Ross not only had an eye witness who saw him arrive after Peggy Jo's car had been vandalized, but one who actually saw a man leaving the scene only moments earlier. The witness, Mrs. Murray, the wife of one of WLOK's video engineers, described the man as tall and slender, with a dark beard and mustache. And he'd been driving an older model car that fit the description of the vehicle Jack had seen speeding away from Peggy Jo's house the day a paper-covered baseball had been thrown through her window. Mrs. Murray hadn't seen the man doing anything to the Sebring, but she had seen him getting into his car and zooming out of the parking lot just seconds before Ross arrived.

  If Sawyer's visit with Peggy Jo's ex-husband didn't provide them with any new information, it was highly possible that they were facing an unknown enemy, someone Peggy Jo had never met. Except in her nightmares. If that were the case, his identity would remain a mystery until he made his move directly on Peggy Jo.

  Jack walked down the remaining steps and said her name softly. She tensed, then turned slowly to face him.

  "Before I said your name, you knew I was there," he said.

  "Yes," she replied. "I didn't hear you, but I felt your presence. Besides, I know that you never let me get very far away from you."

  "Couldn't you sleep?" he asked.

  She shook her head. "I couldn't shut off my mind. I kept thinking about what's going to happen next."

  He took a tentative step toward her. "Peggy Jo—"

  "No, please. I have enough to deal with right now. Don't…" She drew in a deep breath, obviously trying to control her emotions.

  Disregarding her plea, he hurriedly closed the distance separating them and, without giving her a chance to try to rebuff him, cradled her face with his hands.

  "Don't you get it? Neither of us can turn off what we're feeling just because it isn't convenient right now. But I promise you that I'm not going to do anything except protect you and comfort you. I know you're a strong woman, but, darling, even the strong sometimes need a shoulder to lean on. Can't I be that for you, if nothing more? Can't you lean on me?"

  She swallowed tears that she refused to acknowledge and nodded. Jack kissed her forehead. She moaned softly.

  "I'm afraid—" she said.

  "Shh. I understand. And it's all right."

  "No, Jack, you don't understand." She placed her hands over his and dragged them away from her face, but held on tightly as she put their hands between them. "Yes, of course, I'm afraid of my stalker. But I'm even more afraid of … of not being strong, of letting myself lean on you, rely on you. I don't dare give in to weakness. If I depend on you and you let me down, I wouldn't be able to stand it."

  "Peggy Jo, I'm not going to let you down." He brought her hands to his mouth, opened her palms and placed warm, soft kisses in the center. "I'm going to be with you, right at your side, until this is all over and your stalker is behind bars. I want to protect you and keep you safe, but if you'll let me, I can give you the emotional support you need, too."

  "Why couldn't Dundee have sent me a female bodyguard?" Her lips formed a fragile smile. "I wouldn't have tumbled into bed with a female agent."

  Jack chuckled. "Darling, you wouldn't have tumbled into bed with any other agent, male or female. Only with me."

  "Yeah, I know. I must be susceptible to big, rugged cowboys with wicked smiles." She jerked her hands free and playfully swatted him on the chest.

  "Only to this cowboy." Even though he halfway expected a fight out of her, Jack pulled her into an embrace. He was pleasantly surprised when she not only willingly accepted him, but actually wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest.

  "I'm not good at this—leaning on a man." She avoided looking at him. "But until this is over … I need you, Jack. Please, please don't let me down."

  He held her fiercely, longing to convey to her that she could trust him completely. More than anything he wanted Peggy Jo to believe in him. As much as he wanted to make love to her again, to possess her and find fulfillment in her sweet body, he understood that without trust between them, Peggy Jo would continue to resist him and to deny the way she felt about him. And there was no way of getting around the truth—he had as big a problem with trusting as she did.

  When he heard footsteps on the stairs, Jack refused to relinquish his hold on Peggy Jo even though she tried to free herself.

  "It's Hetty," she whispered.

  "So?"

  "So, she'll make a big deal out of this."

  "And you don't want it to be a big deal," he said, then pivoted her slowly so that he could glance over his shoulder. "Morning, Hetty."

  "Morning yourself." Hetty padded up the hall toward them. "You two are up mighty early. Or maybe y'all haven't been to bed yet."

  "Hetty!" Peggy Jo's tone attempted outrage, but failed to produce the desired effect.

  "I figured after the way Jack was acting all territorial around you while Mr. McNamara was here last night, he would stake a claim before morning." Hetty's facial expression didn't alter as she walked past them, went straight toward the front door and punched in the security code.

  "Hetty Ballard, of all the outrageous things to say." Peggy Jo glared at Jack. "Well, aren't you going to deny it?"

  Jack glanced at H
etty, who had opened the front door and gone onto the porch to pick up the morning newspaper, then he looked point-blank at Peggy Jo. "I can deny only half of it."

  "What?"

  When Hetty came back into the house and walked up the hall past them, Jack said, "I need to clarify something." Hetty paused. "I didn't stake my claim, as much as I would have liked to, but you're right about my being territorial where Peggy Jo is concerned."

  "Humph. Thought so." Hetty disappeared down the hall. Peggy Jo struggled to free herself, but Jack refused to release her. "Darling, you're the first woman who was so damned and determined to get away from me. And you're also the first woman I never want to let go of."

  Peggy Jo's gaze crashed into his, her eyes filled with surprise and uncertainty. "Jack, please … you promised. Comfort. A shoulder to lean on. You said I could trust you."

  Damn! Condemned by his own gentlemanly vow. He grasped her arms tenderly and ran his hands down to her wrists, holding on to her loosely. "And I'm a man of my word." He released her.

  She took several steps away from him, an appreciative smile lighting her face. "I think I'll go get a cup of coffee and then call Betsy. If we're going to send Hetty and Wendy to the farm this weekend, I need to make arrangements."

  "Good idea. While you're doing that, I'll grab a quick shower and then contact Ellen and see about getting another agent down here to drive Hetty and Wendy to your cousin's."

  The morning went by in a flash. Phone calls were made. Arrangements were set. They dropped Wendy by school. And when they arrived at the studio, they found Kayla back in the office. She told them that Ross had taken the rest of the week off from work. And to make the day perfect, Chet avoided her like the plague.

  Jack had ordered takeout and they shared the sweet and sour pork, fried rice and sesame chicken on paper plates at her desk. Not one dark cloud had appeared on the horizon today, but Peggy Jo couldn't relax. She kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. Was it possible that they could get through the rest of the day without incident?

  Just as she was wiping her hands off on her napkin and contemplating whether or not to indulge herself by eating one of the cream-cheese stuffed wontons, Sawyer McNamara sailed into her office, an irritated expression marring his handsome features. She supposed some women would find Sawyer's polish and sense of style very appealing. And those same women might think him better looking than Jack, who was like a piece of rough-hewn lumber compared to the FBI agent. But Sawyer didn't appeal to her in the least; not the way Jack did. All the big cowboy had to do was smile at her and skyrockets exploded inside her.