Checking in the rearview mirror, she sighed with relief. Somehow she had lost the reporter who’d been following her since she left the Howell School. Tory Gaines had been waiting for her when she walked out the door. The aggravating man was bound to show up on her doorstep anytime now. After all, he knew where she lived. It seemed everyone in Biloxi, Gulfport and the surrounding towns knew where Jeannie Alverson lived, thanks to Gaines’s eavesdropping and subsequent snooping into her past.
Jeannie opened the door, set the tip of her wooden walking cane down on the paved drive and eased out of the car. Leaning on her cane, she retrieved her briefcase from the front seat, then shoved the door closed with her hip. Oh, what she’d give for a cup of tea and a few moments of utter quiet.
For the past five days, ever since the story about her performing a miracle and saving a student’s life had hit the newsstands, and Tory Gaines had revealed the ugly truth about her past, Jeannie’s world had been turned upside down. Newspaper and magazine reporters from coast to coast called, wanting interviews. Television reporters from every network offered her the chance to tell her story to the world. And letters from across the country were pouring in, from people pleading with her to heal them from a thousand and one different ailments.
This couldn’t be happening. Not again. Not after all these years of being so careful to use her extraordinary talents selectively and to keep her past life as a child healer on the revival circuit a secret.
Jeannie made her way around the hood of the Lexus, her briefcase tucked under her arm. A thin, sallow-faced middle-aged man walked out from behind the row of six-foot-high, neatly trimmed shrubbery that separated the Howell property from that of their next-door neighbor. Jeannie gasped. Who was this man? What did he want? He certainly didn’t look like a reporter.
“Jeannie.” His high-pitched voice sounded shrill to her ears.
“What do you want?” Remain calm, she told herself. He isn’t going to harm you.
“I’m dying.” He held out both hands to her, gesturing for her to come to him. “I—I have an inoperable brain tumor. You’re my only hope.”
“I’m sorry,” Jeannie said. “I’m so very sorry. What’s your name?”
“Jeremy Thornton.” He grabbed Jeannie’s free hand. “Please heal me. I’ll give you everything I own, if you’ll heal me.”
Jeannie clutched her walking cane tightly. Her briefcase slipped down to her hip. She tried to catch it with her elbow, but Jeremy Thornton tugged her forward, and the briefcase fell to the ground.
“Mr. Thornton, if I could heal you, I would, but I can’t. I’m not God. I don’t have the power to do what you’re asking.”
The wild, deranged look of disbelief in Jeremy’s eyes said he thought she was lying.
Jeannie squeezed his hand. “I can ease your pain… temporarily.” She looked into his gaunt face, and her heart ached for him.
“I don’t want you to just ease the pain,” he said. “I want you to heal me. Make the tumor disappear.”
“I can’t do that.”
“But you must.” Tears welled up in his eyes. He gripped her by the shoulders, shaking her. “I don’t want to die.”
She focused her attention on the man’s face for a brief moment, then closed her eyes. She felt the humming inside her head, the tingling current passing through her body. It would be so simple to ease his pain. All she had to do was accept it into her own body, drain it slowly away from him and experience the pain herself. So simple, and yet so devastating for her.
He shook her again, harder this time. “Help me! Everyone claims you’re a healer, a miracle worker. Heal me, damn you, heal me!”
His hands tightened painfully on her shoulders, his bony fingers biting into her flesh. What could she say to reason with him? How could she make him understand the limits of her abilities?
“Ollie!” Jeannie cried the housekeeper’s name at the top of her lungs, praying Ollie could hear her.
“No, don’t call out for help. They’re not going to take you away from me until you’ve healed me.”
Just as Jeremy placed his hands around Jeannie’s throat, she saw a lanky, sandy-haired man walking up her driveway. She didn’t know or care who he was. She didn’t even care if he was another reporter.
“Please, whoever you are, help me make this man understand that I can’t heal him.”
Jeremy’s grasp around her neck loosened slowly as he turned around to face the man, who carried a white Bible under his arm.
“Brother,” the man said, “you do not wish to harm this woman, do you? Her fate should be in the Lord’s hands.”
Jeremy slowly released Jeannie. Taking a deep breath, she stepped away. Her hands trembled. Her heart pounded.
“I want her to heal me,” Jeremy said. “I can’t—can’t go until she heals me.”
“I’m afraid you must leave. You heard her say that she cannot heal you. If you do not leave, we will have to call the police. You don’t want that, do you?”
The sandy-haired man placed his hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. “The Lord will heal you, if it is his will.” He then turned to Jeannie, “I’m the Reverend Maynard Reeves, pastor of the Righteous Light Church. I have important business to discuss with you, Miss Alverson—the Lord’s business.”
The Reverend Reeves knelt down, picked up Jeannie’s briefcase, then extended his arm to her. “May I escort you inside your home?”
Relief washed over Jeannie. Jeremy Thornton seemed to have calmed somewhat. Now was her chance to escape into the safety of her house, with the Reverend Reeves as an escort.
“Thank you, Reverend.” She took her briefcase, accepted his arm and allowed him to lead her away from Jeremy, who stood in the driveway, dazed and unmoving, until they entered the house. “Please come down the hall and into the library with me. I’ll have Ollie fix us some tea.”
“Tea isn’t necessary,” Reeves said. “All I require is a few moments of your time.”
“I suppose that’s the least I can do to repay you for your assistance.” Jeannie shuddered at the thought of poor, pitiful Jeremy Thornton’s wild-eyed anger.
The inadequacy of her healing gave her the greatest grief. If only she could truly heal. If only she had the power to annihilate pain and suffering permanently, to put an end to all illnesses. People like Jeremy would not believe the truth, preferring to believe that she could heal them and was withholding that precious gift from them.
Jeannie laid her briefcase on the enormous oak desk that sat directly in front of the two floor-to-ceiling windows. “Please, sit down.”
She relaxed in a tufted leather chair beside the empty fireplace. Reverend Reeves took the matching chair to her left.
“What is this important business you have to discuss with me?” Jeannie asked.
“I’ve driven in from New Orleans. That’s where our church’s headquarters are. But the Righteous Light Church has a faithful following here along the Mississippi Gulf Coast.” Maynard Reeves smiled, showing a set of perfect white teeth—sparkling purity against a golden-tanned face covered with freckles. “We are greatly concerned about the gambling curse that has invaded this state.”
“I don’t understand.” Jeannie slid her body forward, sitting on the edge of her chair. “What possible connection can I have to legalized gambling in Biloxi?”
Reeves laughed; the sound was hearty and jubilant. “I digressed. Forgive me. I simply wanted you to know that I am a man doing the Lord’s work.”
Where had she heard that before? All the years her stepfather dragged her from one revival meeting to another, forcing her to use her empathic abilities, he had told her they were doing the Lord’s work.
“How does your work involve me?” Balling her hands into fists, she clutched them at the sides of her hips.
“I am here to offer you the opportunity to prove to me and to the world that you derive your powers from the Almighty and not from Satan.” Reeves jumped to his feet. The loose jacket of his black suit swung open, re
vealing the gleaming silver cross hanging from his neck. “If your powers are from God, join me in my ministry, and together we will heal the sick and spread the holy message to the world.”
Maynard Reeves was offering her the life she’d once known, the life that had destroyed her childhood and kept her in continual pain from the age of six until she was thirteen, when her mother’s and stepfather’s deaths had freed her.
“Am I to understand that you are inviting me to become a part of your ministry, to use my abilities to further the cause of your Righteous Light Church?”
“Indeed I am.” Kneeling in front of her, Reeves stared at Jeannie, his eyes glowing, his face flushed with zealous eagerness. “Powers such as yours, psychic powers, empathic powers, have a supernatural source. Those who possess power from Satan must be destroyed, and those who possess power from God must use it in his service.”
“I was born with my special talent, Reverend Reeves. I have been an empath since childhood.” Being able to draw the pain from others and experience it herself had seldom been a blessing to Jeannie. In fact, most often it had been a curse. But she knew her talents had no sinister, evil source, and she did not need to join forces with some hellfire-and-brimstone fanatic to prove the goodness of her heart.
“Join me, sister. I offer you the chance to acquire glory and fame and wealth, all in the name of God.”
When he reached out to touch her, Jeannie leaned back in her chair, not wanting any physical contact with this man. He rose to his feet, then held out his hand to her. She shook her head.
“I don’t want fame and glory,” she said. “And I am already a wealthy woman. All I want is to be left alone, to continue the life I’ve chosen for myself.”
“You’re refusing to join me?” The smile vanished from his all-American-boy face. “I did not want to believe you were a child of the devil.”
“I am not a child of the devil.” Lifting her cane into position, Jeannie stood. “I appreciate your helping me with that poor man outside, Reverend Reeves, but I’m afraid I must ask you to leave. I’m not interested in joining your ministry. The last thing I want is to have my empathic powers exploited again, the way they were when I was a child.”
“You are either with me or against me!” Reeves raised his voice to a thundering bellow. “If you are my enemy, I will destroy you!”
Jeannie stood, bracing herself with her cane. “Reverend Reeves, I must ask you to leave. I’m not interested in joining your ministry. I have nothing to offer you.”
Grabbing Jeannie by the arm, Reeves jerked her toward the window. “Come see what awaits you as Satan’s daughter.”
Dear God, by accepting the reverend’s assistance, had she simply exchanged one danger for another? If this man didn’t agree to leave, Jeannie thought, she would scream. Surely Ollie was in the house somewhere.
Lifting the edge of the sheer curtain, Reeves shoved her in front of the window and pointed outside. Jeannie gasped. A small crowd lined the sidewalk in front of the house, every person carrying a sign, each message a threat, ranging in tone from Refuse Evil, Choose God to Death to the Devil’s Seed.
“I am not alone,” Reeves said. “My disciples are prepared to do my bidding. Join us, Jeannie, and live life to its fullest. Refuse me, and prepare yourself to be a sacrifice to a vengeful God who will not abide your black magic.”
“You’re crazy.” Jeannie tried to pull away from him, but he tightened his hold about her arm. “Let me go. Now. I’m not alone in the house.”
“Choose, Jeannie Alverson. Choose the path of righteousness.” Reeves’s voice rose higher and higher with each word. “I offer you life or death! The choice is yours!”
“Just what’s going on here?” Julian Howell, tall, slender, and regally commanding, stood in the open doorway. “Who are you, sir? And how dare you speak to Jeannie in such a manner?”
Releasing Jeannie, Reeves spun around, his captivating smile returning. “I am the Reverend Maynard Reeves, a servant of the Lord. Put on this earth to save the wicked and destroy those who will not repent.”
“How the hell did you get into my house?” Julian’s brown eyes turned black with indignation.
“Julian, please don’t upset yourself,” Jeannie said. “Reverend Reeves was just leaving.” She glared at Reeves.
“You have not seen or heard the last of me,” Reeves said. “I shall tell the world the truth about you. You are the devil’s daughter. The Righteous Light brethren will help me destroy your evil.”
“Get out of my house at once, sir, or I shall telephone the police!” Julian shook a long, slender finger at the reverend.
Reeves glowered at Jeannie. “You had your chance.” He walked quickly by Julian, who followed their unwanted visitor to the front door and out onto the veranda. Jeannie waited in the foyer until Julian returned.
“This has gone too far.” Julian ran a shaky hand through his thick mane of white hair. “Reporters hounding you day and night. Sick, dying people pleading for your healing touch. And now, some lunatic threatening to destroy you because he believes you’re the devil’s child.”
Jeannie slipped her arm around Julian’s waist. She loved him dearly. He had been a father to her since she was thirteen, and he was the dearest, kindest man in the world. “Calm yourself. He’s gone.”
“But we haven’t heard the last from him.” Julian shook his head. “I’m afraid for you, my dearest girl. Reporters we can deal with somehow. But there is no telling when some terribly ill soul in pain may turn on you. And Maynard Reeves is a man to fear. I saw the insanity in his eyes.”
“I know you’re right.” Jeannie led Julian down the hall and into the library, then rang for Ollie, asking her to bring them a pot of tea.
“I’ve heard of this Reeves fellow,” Julian said. “He and his followers have a reputation for being dangerous fanatics. His threats aren’t idle threats.”
“He frightens me, too.” Jeannie squeezed Julian’s hand. “I sensed his hatred when I refused to join him.”
“You need protection,” Julian said as he sat down on the oxblood-leather sofa. “I want to hire a bodyguard for you.”
“A bodyguard? Surely that’s not necessary. Perhaps the police—”
“The police won’t provide you with twenty-four-hour-a-day protection, and that’s what you need.”
“Julian, do you realize what hiring a bodyguard would mean?” Jeannie asked. “We would have no privacy. This man would live in our house, share our meals, go with me everywhere I went.”
“Exactly.” Julian slapped his hands down atop his thighs. “And I know just the man for the job.”
“You do?”
“Yes, I do. That fellow you and Manton brought in from Le Bijou Bleu a few years back. That big blond DEA agent who came by here to see you after he was released from the hospital. I can’t remember his name.” Clicking his tongue, Julian frowned. “What was his name?”
“Sam. Sam Dundee.” Intense memories flashed through Jeannie’s mind at the mere mention of his name.
Sam Dundee. In the six years since she’d found him lying on her beach at Le Bijou Bleu, she hadn’t forgotten the man whose pain she had endured, whose emotional agony she had shared—the man whose very soul had joined with hers for a fleeting moment.
No, Sam Dundee would never return to Biloxi, not even for her. He might have promised that if she ever needed him, he would help her, but how could she hold him to that promise?
“I’m sure Mr. Dundee is far too busy to be bothered with coming to Biloxi,” Jeannie said.
“Nonsense. The man sent you his business card when he opened his private security business, didn’t he? He wouldn’t have done that if he hadn’t wanted you to be able to reach him if you needed his assistance.”
“Why don’t you call Mr. Deaton? Our lawyer should be able to line us up with a reputable security firm.”
“I don’t understand your reluctance to call this Dundee fellow. After all, he does owe you his
life. I’m sure the man will want to repay his debt to you.”
Jeannie had thought she’d never seen Sam Dundee again. There had been no legitimate reason to contact him. Over the years, she had come to realize that the link she’d made with Sam had not been severed, that in some strange way they remained connected. He was still a part of her soul. Such a joining had never happened to her, before or since, and admitting the strength of their bond, even to herself, unnerved Jeannie.
“Mr. Dundee won’t come to Biloxi himself.” She had known the day he came by the house to thank her and say goodbye that he had no intention of ever returning to the Gulf. What had happened to him on his last DEA assignment had changed his life forever and put him on the run from guilt and remorse. The day she found him on her beach, she had felt his emotional agony, as well as his physical pain.
“I’ll call him all the same.” Julian patted Jeannie’s hand. “I’m sure he’ll want to repay his debt to you. And if he can’t come personally, I’m sure he’ll send one of his associates.”
“I wish you wouldn’t insist on—”
“What’s wrong, my dear? Is there something about Mr. Dundee I don’t know? Some reason I shouldn’t call him?”
“No, of course not. It’s just that…” Jeannie groaned, then took Julian’s hand into hers, instantly sensing his unease and his great fear for her. She shouldn’t be arguing with Julian. He was an old man with a weak heart. If calling Sam Dundee would put his mind at ease, then she’d make the phone call.
“I’ll call Mr. Dundee,” Jeannie said.
Julian smiled. “Yes, yes, by all means, call the man. Ask him to fly down as soon as possible. Tonight, or tomorrow at the latest. We should have him here before your press conference tomorrow.”
Jeannie hugged Julian, then kissed his weathered cheek. “I still have the business card Mr. Dundee sent me. It’s upstairs in my address book. After we have our tea, I’ll call him in Atlanta and let him know I need his help.”
“Your Mr. Dundee is the answer to my prayers,” Julian said. “You know I’d give my life to protect you, but I’m an old man, and do well to take care of myself. As a surgeon, I’ve spent my whole life helping other people, and now I can’t help the person I love most in this world.”
Witness Page 27
