Sam was devastatingly handsome, and the very picture of a successful businessman in his navy blue double-breasted suit, a gold Rolex his only piece of jewelry.
Any other man Sam’s size would look like a muscle-bound gorilla in a suit, but not Sam Dundee. His tailored clothes fit him to perfection, his thick blond hair styled by an expert and his massive hands recently manicured. He possessed an air of unpretentious sophistication, one Jeannie felt certain he had cultivated over the years.
But inside the expensive clothes lay the finely honed body of an athlete. Beneath the polished exterior beat the heart of a primitive male. Chip away his refined facade and you’d find brute strength. Sam Dundee had the soul of a warrior.
“Like what you see?” His mouth curved into a smirk. “Thinking about staking a claim?”
Jeannie willed herself not to blush at his comment. He’d caught her shamelessly assessing his physical attributes. “Actually, I was noticing that you look like you’re ready to go to church.”
“I advise you not to attend services today.”
“I’m going to church,” Jeannie said. “Are you going with me, or do I have to go by myself?”
“Doesn’t Dr. Howell go to church?”
“Julian is a Catholic. He’s going to Mass with Marta before they go out for lunch.”
“You’re damned and determined to do this, aren’t you?” Sam shook his head, frustration boiling inside him, threatening to overflow. He wanted to make Jeannie stay at home, where he knew he could keep her safe and protect her from a threatening world.
“I’ve looked outside the house, and there’s not one reporter or protester in sight.” Clutching her purse in her hand, Jeannie laced her arm around Sam’s. “And I don’t think we have to worry about Reverend Reeves today. After all, this is Sunday, and he’ll be preaching to his Righteous Light brethren.”
Accepting defeat, Sam eased his arm around Jeannie’s waist. “Yeah, he’s probably firing them up with a sermon on witches. No doubt quoting from the Old Testament.”
“Exodus,” Jeannie said, knowing she would never be able to forget the Bible verse marked in blood, blood she prayed the police lab would find to be animal and not human. “You’re right, of course, Sam. Just because I’ll be safe from Maynard Reeves at my church, that doesn’t mean he isn’t inciting his followers to condemn me as a witch.”
Sam tightened his hold around Jeannie’s waist, wanting to pick her up in his arms, carry her upstairs and lock her away from the evil she could not escape in the outside world.
Jeannie walked slowly, carefully, always aware of her limited abilities to maneuver and her dependency on her cane.
Sam adjusted his gait to Jeannie’s step-by-step movements. His gut twisted into knots as he watched her struggle with the simple task of walking. It would be so easy for him to carry her to the car and then carry her into the church when they arrived. But Jeannie would never allow it. She was fiercely, stubbornly proud. Sam marveled at her strength and determination.
The late-August morning held a hint of autumn, especially in the refreshingly cool breeze blowing in off the Gulf waters. The sun’s early warmth blended with the wind, creating perfect weather.
Sam seated Jeannie on the passenger side of her Lexus. She had insisted he dismiss the limousine, telling him she felt uncomfortable riding in the big gray Cadillac.
He reached for the shoulder harness at the exact moment Jeannie did. Jerking her head up, she looked into his eyes, and he knew she saw clearly what he was thinking. His hand covered hers; she didn’t pull away. With quick precision, he snapped her seat belt in place, stood up straight and closed the door. Jeannie’s gaze focused on her clasped hands, placed atop the purse in her lap. Sam got in on the driver’s side, fastened his safety belt and started the engine.
Jeannie knew that he would never be able to touch her again without wondering if she was experiencing his emotions, feeling what he felt. Friday night, the moment he realized she had gotten inside him, that she had become a part of him, he had withdrawn from her. Was he so afraid to share himself, to open himself up to another person, even someone who cared for him?
Jeannie sat silent and unmoving, aware that Sam opposed this short trip down Beach Boulevard to the small Congregational church where she’d been a member for a dozen years. Although Julian was Catholic, his wife Miriam had been a Protestant who attended one of the oldest congregations in Mississippi, and she had taken Jeannie to services with her.
Sam headed the Lexus east, up Beach Boulevard, occasionally glancing at Jeannie, who seemed spellbound by the view of the Gulf through her side window. Why did his throat tighten and his heart pound every time he looked at her? He’d known women more beautiful, women more voluptuous. And he’d certainly known women more experienced. But he couldn’t remember ever looking at a woman and being so captivated by her loveliness, her gentleness, her compassion.
Jeannie had secured her long brown hair in a soft bun at the nape of her neck. Loose tendrils of silky beige curled about her ears and forehead. The outfit she wore, a cream shirtwaist dress with a pastel flowered scarf tied around her neck, was as understated as her beauty, and suited her fragile facade.
Every time Sam glanced her way, she was tempted to look at him, to confront him, but she didn’t. Instead, she gazed at the Gulf, at the murky water and the barrier islands she could barely see in the distance. One huge gambling casino after another—a reproduction of a pirate ship, an old riverboat—lined the coast, and rows of motels flanked Beach Boulevard. The beach was empty, except for the gulls. Jeannie knew that if she rolled down her window she would be able to smell the fishy scent so prevalent along the Gulf shore.
Within a few minutes, Sam caught a glimpse of the small Congregational church in the distance, a white cross positioned prominently above the arched upstairs windows. He turned the Lexus onto the narrow street beside the wooden church, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw only four cars in the parking area and only a woman and a child outside the building.
Not one relevant detail of Jeannie Alverson’s life had escaped being printed in the newspapers or broadcast on the television and radio. Everyone in Biloxi, Gulfport, Pass Christian and Ocean Springs knew where Jeannie went to church. Hell, the whole state of Mississippi probably knew. Luckily, no one would be expecting her to arrive at church for early-morning prayers, since this was not her normal routine.
Sam parked the Lexus, rounded the car and helped Jeannie to her feet. With his arm securely planted around Jeannie’s waist, he led her up the sidewalk.
Suddenly, the little boy who had been standing beside his mother at the front of the church fell to his knees at Jeannie’s feet. She stopped dead still and stared down at the dark-haired child. A thin woman with huge brown eyes stepped forward and lifted the child to his feet.
“Please, Jeannie, help my little boy. I came early, wanting to be first in line to see you. Matthew is only six years old, and he lives with unbearable pain. Touch him and take away his pain.” Tears streamed down the woman’s pale face and dripped off her nose and chin. “He’s such a little thing. It isn’t right that he suffers so much.”
Sam nudged Jeannie, urging her to move on, not to stop, but she leaned against him and whispered, “She didn’t ask me to heal him. All she asked was that I take away his pain. I can do that much for the child.”
“No, Jeannie, don’t.” The bitter, metallic taste of fear coated Sam’s tongue. If she took away the child’s pain, didn’t that mean she would have to endure it?
“What’s wrong with Matthew?” Jeannie asked.
“He has a severe form of arthritis that causes him great pain. He’s been suffering all night. When I heard on TV that you always attend Sunday services here, I knew what I had to do. I’ve been here over an hour, waiting, knowing in my heart you’d come today and that you’d help my child.”
Jeannie looked at Matthew. Such a pretty little boy, but his eyes told the story of his suffering. “Bring
Matthew inside the church with me.”
The woman grabbed Jeannie’s hand and kissed it. “Thank you.” New tears filled her eyes. “God bless you.” She lifted her child into her arms.
“Jeannie?” Sam questioned her, yet he knew he couldn’t stop her doing what her heart dictated.
“The minister’s study is down the hall to the left. When we’re inside the vestibule, it’ll be the first door,” she told him.
Jeannie made certain the woman and her son entered the building first, and then she followed, Sam helping her maneuver the short row of steps. Once inside, Jeannie went directly to the minister, who stood at the doorway to the sanctuary. When she whispered her request, he simply nodded his agreement and glanced forlornly at Jeannie, then smiled at the tormented woman and her sick child.
Once inside the study, Jeannie sat in a sturdy wooden chair directly in front of a bookshelf-lined wall.
“Please, close the door, Sam.”
He didn’t want anything to do with this. If he couldn’t prevent what was going to happen—and he knew couldn’t—he’d prefer to step outside and wait.
“You don’t have to stay, if you’d rather not,” Jeannie said.
Oh, he’d rather not, all right, but he would. Hell would freeze over before he’d leave her alone at a time like this. He closed the door, then blocked the entrance with his massive body. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stood there, a silent sentinel, feeling powerless against Jeannie’s determination.
“Bring Matthew to me.” Jeannie held open her arms.
The mother placed her child in Jeannie’s lap and knelt at her feet. Jeannie encompassed Matthew’s skinny little body with her arms. She closed her eyes. Matthew squirmed.
“Don’t be afraid, sweetheart. All I’m going to do is hold you, and very soon the pain will go away and you won’t hurt for a while.”
The wide-eyed mother wiped the tears from her eyes. Jeannie sighed. A soft brightness surrounded her; a sweet, flowing current rippled through her body. The first minute twinges of discomfort ebbed and flowed, coming and going, then returning to stay. Jeannie gasped. Sam flinched. Matthew sobbed.
The minister’s opening prayer floated down the hallway from the sanctuary, the words muted by the closed door of the study. Acting as a receptacle, Jeannie allowed Matthew’s pain to slowly drain from his body. She was still aware of her surroundings, of the child’s mother trembling at her feet, of Sam staring at a spot somewhere over her head, refusing to watch the performance of her task.
Sam gritted his teeth. He focused his vision on the certificates on the wall behind the minister’s desk. Matthew breathed so deeply that the sound drew Sam’s attention. The boy appeared relaxed, almost asleep, as he lay in Jeannie’s arms. All the color had drained from Jeannie’s face, leaving her normally rosy cheeks pale. Sam looked away, taking note of every picture on the walls, scanning the bookshelves, tracing the stripes in the wallpaper, searching for stains on the carpet.
Jeannie groaned, low and soft in her throat, the sound gaining Sam’s instant attention. She had released her hold on Matthew. Her arms lay at her sides, her hands gripping the edge of the chair. Her body shivered, once, twice, and then she opened her mouth, leaned her head back and sucked in gulps of air. As she continued drawing in deep breaths, she began to moan quietly.
She was experiencing physical pain. Matthew’s pain. And there was absolutely nothing Sam could do to help her. Sweat broke out on Sam’s forehead. Moisture coated the palms of his big hands.
Time ceased, standing still for the four people in the minister’s study. When Matthew slipped out of Jeannie’s lap and into his mother’s open arms, Sam didn’t know for sure whether minutes or hours had passed. The torment he’d felt at watching Jeannie suffer seemed to have lasted for hours, but when he looked at his Rolex, he realized that less than fifteen minutes had gone by.
When Matthew’s mother tried to thank Jeannie, she did not receive a response. Jeannie appeared to be unconscious.
“It doesn’t hurt, Mommy,” Matthew said, smiling broadly. “I don’t hurt at all.” The boy pulled free of his mother and walked around the room. “And I can walk, and it still doesn’t hurt.” Matthew raced around the room in a circle. Grabbing the child by the shoulder, Sam halted his jubilant running.
“Please, take Matthew and go,” Sam said. “Jeannie’s done all she can for him. She needs her rest now.”
“Thank her again for me,” the woman said. “Even if the relief lasts only a few hours. Tell her for me.”
“I’ll tell her.”
Sam held open the door for Matthew and his mother. Once out in the hallway, Matthew stopped, turned around and waved at Sam. Sam waved back at the child.
“Mommy said the angel at this church would take away my pain, and she did.”
Closing the door, shutting out the world and all its problems, Sam leaned his shoulders and head back against the stained wood surface and closed his eyes for one brief moment. Then he looked at Jeannie, who was lying slumped in the chair, tears sparkling in her dark eyelashes like diamonds on sable. He walked over, bent down on one knee and pried her clenched fists away from the chair’s edge.
“Jeannie?”
She moaned. Her eyelids flickered. Sam brought her hands to his lips, opened her palms and anointed them with kisses. Jeannie moaned again.
“Sam.” His name was a mere whisper on her lips.
“What can I do to help you? Just tell me, and I’ll do it.” He had no idea what she needed from him, but he wanted to do something, anything, to help her.
“Hold—hold me.”
He enveloped her in his arms, stroking her tense back, trapping her arms between their bodies. She swayed into him, brushing her face over the side of his face, resting her cheek against his. Feeling the dampness on his cheek, Sam looked down and saw that Jeannie was crying.
“Don’t cry. Please, don’t cry.” He lifted her into his arms, not sure it was the right thing to do, but unable to stop himself.
Jeannie tried to lift her arm to his neck, but she didn’t have the strength. Sam sat down on the small love seat in the far corner, bringing Jeannie down into his lap. He lifted her arm and placed it around his neck. She laid her head on his shoulder.
“How long will this last? Isn’t there anything I can do?” Frustration on an incomparable level clawed at his guts.
“Not long. Just a little while.” She opened her eyes, those warm, compassionate brown eyes, and looked at Sam.
The bottom dropped out of his stomach. “Rest, Jeannie. Rest.”
“Take care of me, Sam.” She closed her eyes and went limp in his arms.
“Jeannie? Jeannie?” He shook her gently. She didn’t move. He shook her again. “Jeannie!”
He realized then that she was unconscious. Shudders racked his body. He pulled her close, burying his face against her neck.
They sat there for endless minutes, Sam wishing more than ever that he’d asked J.T. to come to Biloxi to guard Jeannie instead of coming himself. He was prepared to act as her bodyguard, but he wasn’t suited to playing nursemaid. And he sure as hell hadn’t expected to have to watch her perform one of her miracle healings. Seeing her suffer had ripped him apart. He’d known from the beginning that this assignment would be more than a simple business arrangement, but he hadn’t counted on just how personal it would become. What man in his right mind would want to become involved with a woman who possessed Jeannie’s miraculous abilities? He sure as hell didn’t.
Jeannie awoke, weak and pale. “Sam?”
“Are you all right? You scared the hell out of me when you passed out that way.”
“We’ve missed most of the church service, I’m afraid.” She touched his face with her fingertips. He flinched. So sensitive—her strong, fearless warrior. “Take me home, Sam. I’ll be all right. You musn’t worry so. When I was a child, I took all the pain from at least half a dozen people each night.”
“Your childhood was a living
hell, wasn’t it?” Sam had never thought about what it must have been like for her, going from town to town, from one revival meeting to the next, always expected to perform her miracles.
“I suffered every day of my life. I remember feeling very little except pain.”
“Other people’s pain.”
She nodded. “I’m fine, Sam. Really I am.”
“You didn’t have to take away Matthew’s pain.”
“Yes, I did.” She caressed his cheek. “How could I look at him and not want to help him?” Jeannie sighed. “His mother understood that I couldn’t heal him. She knows his pain will return.”
Jeannie tried to stand. Sam picked up her cane and handed it to her. Bracing the tip of the walking stick on the floor, Jeannie lifted herself to her feet. Sam stood up beside her. The moment Jeannie took her first step, her knees gave way. Crying out, she grabbed for Sam. He swooped her up in his arms.
“I can’t walk,” she said. “I suppose it’s because I felt all Matthew’s arthritic pain in my legs, and they’re already weak.”
Sam carried Jeannie outside, hoping he could take her away before any reporters or curiosity seekers arrived. Only the minister and three church members remained inside the building, and outside one lone reporter and his photographer waited. Tory Gaines watched from afar, then started to approach them. Sam glared at the man.
“You come near her, Gaines, and you’re a dead man.” Sam didn’t pause.
Tory Gaines stopped where he stood, not moving a muscle as he watched Sam carry Jeannie to her Lexus.
Traffic wasn’t terribly heavy, so Sam drove them home in record time, while Jeannie closed her eyes and rested. Neither of them said a word. He carried her into the house and up the stairs to her bedroom, not once inquiring what she wanted. Easing her down onto her bed, he removed her beige heels, then sat beside her.
Witness Page 34
