He rushed out of the room, leaving her standing there staring at his broad back. Leaning on her cane, she made her way to the bed, removed her robe, folded it and draped it around the bedpost. She lay down, drawing the sheet up to her waist.
She willed herself to relax, to erase everything from her mind. Tomorrow she would have to face reality again. Tonight she needed rest, and if she didn’t stop thinking about Sam Dundee, she wouldn’t get any sleep.
SAM DIDN’T EVEN try to sleep. He had far too much on his mind. The past, the present and the future. He could never escape from the past. Where Jeannie Alverson was concerned, the present kept getting all mixed up with the past. She was a part of that horrible night when everything had exploded in his face and two people had died because of his stupidity.
Sam checked his watch. Almost midnight. He pulled out a chair and sat down at the kitchen table. Everything had been quiet for hours. The local authorities had patrolled the street for several hours after dark, and once the few stragglers still hanging around outside saw the police car, they had disappeared.
Sam entwined his fingers, then laid his hands on top of the table. He had no idea how long he’d have to stay in Biloxi. He knew he’d be here until Jeannie was no longer in any kind of danger. That could be weeks or even months, depending on how long the press continued making her front-page news, and if and when Maynard Reeves made good on his threats.
Sam owed Jeannie his life. He’d never told anyone except his niece Elizabeth about everything that had happened the night he washed ashore on Le Bijou Bleu. And he’d had no choice but to level with Elizabeth. Since she’d been psychic since childhood, she would have read his mind anyway.
Sam sat at the table in the semidarkness. The only light came from a fluorescent fixture over the sink. He was pretty sure he could handle things here alone, but if necessary, he’d send for J. T. Blackwood, one of his partners, or Hawk or Kane, the new members of his agency.
Sam grunted, the sound containing an element of humor. He recalled a female acquaintance once comparing him to J.T. She’d said that where Sam was Chivas Regal, J.T. was pure white lightning; they were as different as night and day, and yet both possessed the power to kick you on your butt.
WAKING WITH A start, Jeannie lay in the darkness, listening to the sound of her own breathing. She had been dreaming—a sweet dream at first. But it had turned dark and frightening. She had been dancing in Sam Dundee’s arms, not needing her cane, her legs strong and sturdy. She felt free and happy and totally safe. Then Sam had been ripped from her arms and she cried out, but no one heard her screams. And then Sam had returned to her, broken and bruised and writhing in pain, but he wouldn’t allow her to touch him.
The dream had been so real. Too real. She wiped away the tears that had gathered in the corners of her eyes. Was the dream a premonition, or just the result of a traumatic day? Surely the latter, for she knew she would never dance in Sam’s arms. And who could bring such a strong and powerful man to his knees? But then she remembered that Sam had been shot and dumped in the ocean six years ago. Sam was a strong, powerful man, but he was not invincible.
Slipping out of bed, Jeannie felt for her cane. Leaning on the wooden stick, she walked across the room, pulled back the curtains and gazed out at the dawn. Fingers of pale pink light wiggled across the charcoal sky. She glanced down into the courtyard at the back of the house and saw a shadowy figure standing against the wall, near the trailing red rosebush, barren in late summer.
The faint moonlight blended with the first tentative rays of sunlight. Pressing her face against the windowpane she sought a better look at the man. He stepped away from the wall, and she knew instantly that it was Sam Dundee. Few men were as big and tall as he; few possessed his broad shoulders and tawny blond hair. She wondered what he was doing up at this hour. Had he been restless and unable to sleep? Had nightmares kept him awake?
Turning his head, he looked up at her window. Jeannie sucked in her breath. Had he seen her? Yes, she knew he had. He continued staring up at her and she down at him. She laid her hand on the windowpane. He nodded his head.
What would it take, she wondered, to reach his soul, to get inside him and free him from his pain and anger and guilt? He would never willingly allow her to help him.
“Somehow, I’ll find a way to save you, Sam Dundee,” she vowed.
CHAPTER FOUR
SITTING AT THE mahogany table in the dining room, Sam glanced away from Jeannie Alverson, who was nibbling on a banana muffin and sipping her morning coffee. Sam stared at the ceiling, only half noticing the intricate plaster molding that complemented the graceful plaster detailing in the dado and cartouche panels. He had gotten very little sleep last night, but that didn’t bother him. It took days of sleep deprivation before Sam felt the effects. Lack of sleep wasn’t what was bothering him, nor the small group of people gathered on the sidewalk across from the Howell home.
What was bothering Sam was Jeannie herself.
He could not allow himself to become involved with Jeannie. A close relationship could be dangerous for both of them. For a woman like Jeannie, a delicate, tenderhearted, spiritual creature, he would mean disaster. Sam knew himself only too well. He was a hard-edged, tough realist who had nothing to give a woman except a brief physical encounter. Jeannie would want more—more than he could ever give her. By keeping his distance, both physically and emotionally, he’d be doing them both a big favor.
“Do you think there will be a problem for Jeannie leaving the house?” Julian Howell asked. “It’s not even eight o’clock and already there’s a crowd outside.”
Sam glanced toward the head of the table, where Dr. Howell sat, his dark eyes filled with concern. “I can control the crowd temporarily. The limo will arrive shortly and I can whisk Ms. Alverson away without incident. Don’t worry, Dr. Howell, I know what I’m doing. If I thought I couldn’t handle the situation, I’d have already called the police.”
“I wasn’t questioning your abilities, Mr. Dundee. I was simply voicing my concern.” Julian’s long, thin fingers gripped his china cup, his hand quivering slightly.
“I understand,” Sam said. “But rest assured that nothing is going to happen to Ms. Alverson.”
“I spoke with Marta before I came down for breakfast.” Jeannie looked at Sam for the first time since she’d walked into the dining room. She had deliberately avoided eye contact, knowing how difficult it would be to stop herself from trying to mentally connect with him, something he would resist. As far as he was concerned, he had come to Biloxi to do a job and repay a debt. She had to respect his desire to be left untouched by her empathic powers.
“What’s the situation at the school?” Julian asked.
“Marta said that things are relatively quiet. There are only a few people waiting around outside.” Sam’s steely gaze surveyed her. She tilted her chin, continuing to stare directly at him. “You think going to the school is a mistake, don’t you, Mr. Dundee?”
“I think you’re asking for trouble by exposing yourself.” Sam picked up his coffee, swallowed the last of the warm liquid and set his cup on the saucer. “My job would be a lot easier if you stayed at home. You would be a lot safer. By the time we arrive at the school, the crowd probably will have doubled.”
“There are people counting on me at the school.” Could she make him understand how important her job was, how essential helping the children was to her? “I can’t allow the frenzy that has taken over my life to deprive the children of the guidance and comfort I give them.”
“If you want to go to work today, then I’ll take you to work.” Sam scooted back his chair and stood. “But if anything goes wrong and I think you’re risking your life, you’ll take my advice. You’ll do what I tell you to do.”
Jeannie glared at Sam. She had to stop herself from making a biting retort. She wanted to scream that he wasn’t going to tell her what to do, that she wouldn’t allow him to order her around. Although Julian and Miriam ha
d guided her gently through her teen years, they had been careful not to try to control her life, well aware of the scars left on her soul by her stepfather’s domination.
Jeannie laid her napkin on the table, eased her chair back and stood, lifting her cane from where she had hung it on the chair arm.
“Will you check and see if the limousine has arrived?” she asked Sam, then leaned over and kissed Julian on the cheek. “Don’t worry about me. I’m in capable hands.”
Jeannie did not see Sam’s body tense, but she sensed his reaction. Watching him exit the room, she marveled at the sensations coursing through her, at the pure sensual longing that came over her. These feelings weren’t new, but they were unique. She had felt them only twice. Six years ago, with Sam Dundee. And now.
But why? Why, out of all the men in the world, did she respond only to this particular man?
Returning, Sam halted in the doorway. “The limousine is here. We can leave whenever you’re ready.”
Walking over to Sam, Jeannie took his arm. The moment she touched him, she sensed the anger and pain simmering inside him, just below the very controlled surface of his emotions.
He walked slowly, adjusting his long strides to her shorter, partially unbalanced gait. She curled her fingers around his forearm, tightening her grip when he opened the door and guided her outside.
Shouts from the group on the sidewalk bombarded them the moment they stepped onto the side porch. Cameras clicked, flashes blinded, voices rose higher and higher. In the background, the Righteous Light brethren chanted, “Witch!” as they held their posters high above their heads.
Sam hurried Jeannie into the waiting limousine, got in beside her and slammed the door. She touched his shoulder, then jerked her hand away and stared at him, into those blue-gray eyes that told her she shouldn’t be surprised by what she had sensed. Jeannie shivered. Within Sam Dundee there existed a suppressed violence, a deep remorse, a guilt so great that it created a physical ache in him.
Dear Lord, how had he survived for six years with so much pain? If he would let her, she could help him. The emotions buried within Sam were slowly killing him, destroying him as surely as any bullet could.
And now the anger and pain and, yes, even the guilt, extended to her. Because she had helped save his life six years ago, Jeannie was tied to his past, had become a part of his torment. He would never allow her to help him, to reach inside his tortured soul and give him peace. And yet he longed to repay his debt to her, to keep her safe, to protect her from all harm.
The limousine made its way slowly past the milling crowd. Jeannie sat beside Sam, looking neither to the right nor the left, wanting desperately to shut out the intruding world. The silence within the limousine was somehow comforting, as was Sam Dundee’s presence. There was something so powerful about the man; he radiated strength and control.
Surely there was some way she could help him, some way she could save him from himself, without running the risk of falling in love with him. Loving Sam Dundee would be disastrous. His inability to return her love would destroy her. If she was smart, she would accept him on his terms, allow him to act as her bodyguard and repay the debt he owed her. She dared not give him more, nor expect more in return.
TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES later, Jeannie opened the door at the side entrance of the Howell house and jerked away from Sam’s hold on her arm. “I’ll be in the front parlor, if anyone needs me.”
“Dammit, there’s no need to act this way,” Sam said. “I couldn’t allow you to go inside the school. The risk would have been far too great. Those idiots were throwing rocks at you, yelling, ‘Stone the witch.’ I told you before we left here that if anything went wrong, we’d do things my way.”
“And that’s exactly what we did.” Jeannie stopped in the hallway, pivoted quickly and glared at Sam. “No discussion. No compromise. The minute we arrived and a few people threw some pebbles at the limo, you ordered the driver to turn around.”
“A few pebbles, hell! I’ll bet there are dents all over the limo. Those people meant business. Why do you suppose Marta McCorkle had called in the police?”
Gritting her teeth, Jeannie squinted her eyes and huffed, then turned around and marched down the hallway, the tap-tap-tap of her cane echoing in the stillness.
Sam followed her, although what he wanted to do was go to the airport, board his Cessna and fly home to Atlanta. “We need to talk.”
“What is there to say?” Jeannie shoved back the panel door and entered the front parlor. “You overstepped your authority. You are my employee. I’m supposed to give the orders.”
“You hired me to protect you, didn’t you?” Sam stood in the doorway. “If you won’t listen to my advice, how the hell am I supposed to save you from your own stupidity?”
“My own stu— Oh! It is not stupid to want to go to work, to want to help the children I love so dearly, to want my life…” Jeannie slumped down on the sofa, clutching her cane in her trembling hands.
Damn, was she going to cry again? He hated it when she cried. Other women used tears like a weapon, wielding them to make a man do their bidding. But Jeannie wasn’t like other women. And that was his problem. He had to stop thinking of her as special and start remembering that she was just a woman—nothing more, nothing less.
“For the time being, you’re going to have to stop worrying about everyone else and concentrate on yourself and your safety.” Crossing the room, Sam stood in front of her, neither looking at her nor touching her. “I know you’re upset because the media and the miracle seekers and Maynard Reeves have stolen your privacy.”
“They’ve stolen my life!” Jeannie yelled.
Julian Howell rushed into the front parlor. “What happened? What’s wrong? I could hear the two of you screaming at each other all the way upstairs.”
“We weren’t screaming at each other,” Jeannie said. “We were having a slight difference of opinion.”
Julian turned to Sam. “Why have y’all come back to the house? What happened at the school?”
“Ms. McCorkle had to call in the police,” Sam said. “The place was crawling with reporters, and a huge crowd of Righteous Light brethren were marching, chanting and throwing rocks. The grounds outside the school were a madhouse.”
“You didn’t allow Jeannie to get out of the limousine, did you?”
“No! He most certainly didn’t let me get out of the limousine!” Jeannie repeatedly tapped her cane on the floor.
“Oh, I see. So that’s what this is all about.” Smiling, Julian sat down on the sofa beside Jeannie, then looked up at Sam. “You see, Mr. Dundee, our Jeannie doesn’t like to take orders. Give her a little time and she’ll see that you did the right thing. She’s too busy fuming over being told what to do to see the reason behind your actions.”
Jeannie rested her cane against the edge of the sofa, leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. “What are the children going to think if I don’t show up? They won’t understand.”
“Marta will try to explain things to them, my dear,” Julian said. “Until Maynard Reeves can be stopped, you must allow Mr. Dundee to take every precaution.”
Jeannie glanced at Sam, who was looking not at her, but at some point over her head. “I’ll allow Mr. Dundee to do his job. But in the future, I would appreciate his discussing his decisions with me, instead of issuing orders.”
“If the situation warrants a discussion, we’ll discuss it,” Sam said. “Otherwise, you’ll do what I say, when I say. Your life might depend on your following my orders.”
“If you think—” The moment he looked at her, she couldn’t speak. His cold, steel gray eyes issued a warning. “We’ll discuss this later. I want to call Marta and check on the situation at the school.”
The doorbell rang. Ollie, who had been dusting in the foyer, stuck her head just inside the open parlor door. “There’s no need to call Marta. That’s her at the front door, with some gray-haired man. And there’s a couple of policemen wi
th them.”
“Let them in, Ollie,” Sam said.
“Show them in, please, Ollie,” Jeannie said, as if Sam hadn’t already spoken.
Sam walked out into the hallway, standing just outside the front parlor and watching while Ollie opened the door. Marta hurried inside, not speaking to Ollie or acknowledging Sam in any way, and went straight to Jeannie.
“Are you all right? I’ve been so worried,” the plump, petite Marta said. “I’ve never seen anything like it!”
“I’m fine. Just a little shaken. I had no idea it would be so bad,” Jeannie said.
The two uniformed policeman stayed in the foyer, by the front door; a heavyset middle-aged man in a lightweight cotton suit walked up to Sam.
“I’m Lieutenant Rufus Painter. We’ve taken care of things at the Howell School. I left several men there to make sure things are safe for the staff.” Painter held out his hand. “Good thing you got Ms. Alverson out of there as quickly as you did. That crowd was getting mean.”
Sam shook the lieutenant’s hand. “Sam Dundee. We spoke over the phone recently. I’m Ms. Alverson’s private bodyguard.”
“Well, Dundee, things are going to get worse before they get better. As long as Ms. Alverson is front-page news, people are going to hound her. She’d be better off if she stayed out of sight until things die down a little. And so would the whole town of Biloxi.”
“Please come into the parlor, Lieutenant,” Jeannie said, her voice a bit louder than usual.
Sam followed Lieutenant Painter, the two men coming to a standstill, side by side, in front of Jeannie. “Glad to see you’re all right, ma’am,” Painter said.
“How could I be otherwise, with Mr. Dundee taking such good care of me?” Jeannie smiled at Sam, then at the detective. “Would you care for some coffee, Lieutenant?”
“No, thank you, ma’am. I just came by to check on you, and to let you know we arrested several of those Righteous Light people.”
Witness Page 31
