Sweet Danger

by Cheryl Pierson

  To be fair, Jesse thought, it was probably just the last straw in the long line of this craziness that brought tears to her eyes, not the fact Hardin planned to take out his frustrations on him. Hell, Lindy was so softhearted she probably would've been teary-eyed over any of them, if they were Hardin's target. But they weren't. He was. With everything in him, he hoped he could direct Hardin's attention away from Nash—and Lindy.

  Would he be strong enough to withstand what Hardin threw at him? His stomach knotted when he thought of what the murdering convict was capable of doing.

  Lindy looked like she wanted him to pull her into his arms more than anything. He watched her steadily, not speaking for a moment, reading her need for comfort—from him—with no trouble. But, he couldn't do it. Any body contact between them would make it seem even more obvious to Hardin that Lindy meant something to Jesse. Which wasn't really true. She wasn't anything more than a neighbor—or, at least, she hadn't been anything more until about five hours ago.

  Jesse's girl. No. Not that. Being Jesse's girl meant being dead. Tabor Hardin would see to that. It was so unbelievable, the way this had all played out. Lindy had lived two doors down from him for the past year and they'd never spoken. Now, in the space of five hours, they'd shared enough trauma for ten lifetimes; conversation, pastries, and death. And it wasn't over yet.

  "Well, Lindy…that's how he operates," he said finally. "It's going to happen. And you…you've got to be prepared for it."

  She shook her head. He wondered if she thought she'd seen rejection in his actions rather than caution. He wanted to tell her he knew what she needed, but he couldn't give it to her—not right now. Not with Tabor Hardin in the picture.

  "I'm not going to let him do this," Lindy muttered.

  Jesse's chest tightened. There was no mistaking what she said; she intended to protect him from Hardin. It had been a long haul since anyone had tried to protect him from anything. The thought of that selfless gesture alone made him want to reassure her with words that they both knew were untruths, at best. He could promise her nothing—not even safety. The thought of her protecting him was impossible. It couldn't be done. But he felt the stirring of an emotion inside him, one he thought long dead; a warm strength he remembered as the beginning of…love.

  Chapter Twelve

  "Lindy, don't do…something crazy."

  She raised her eyes to his. A smile touched her lips. "Don't you know, this whole thing is crazy? This whole damn day is crazy, Jesse."

  God, he wanted to touch her, hold her next to his body, and comfort her. She was scared. But a glance across the room confirmed the fact Hardin watched them from time to time. He just couldn't take a chance. "Do something for me, then, in all this craziness."

  "What?"

  "Keep it as sane as you can for me. I need that from you, sweetheart." The endearment slipped out, natural and sweet, and he didn't even think of trying to correct it. Somehow, when she looked into his eyes, he knew it had broken every last barrier between them. No more shyness on her part, or reticence on his. It didn't matter about what was proper or not, or the fact their relationship had just taken off at warp speed. This moment was all they had, and they both understood tomorrow wasn't promised.

  "How…how can I do that, Jesse?" Her voice was almost a whisper. "Just tell me what I need to do; I'll do it. I'll do whatever you need." She looked down and a teardrop splashed on the black and white tile floor beside her. She bit her lip, trying to regain control, and Jesse let her have a few seconds. The sunlight slanted through the front of the store where the glass had been shot out, and Lindy turned her head to keep from looking directly into it. Golden rays reached down to touch the auburn strands of hair, calling the latent red highlights up from the depths.

  Jesse's breath caught as he watched her, listened to her. "I just need you, Lindy—" He broke off, appalled at the words he’d spoken, but she seemed to be expecting them, welcoming them, now that one of them had finally voiced what lay between them. He shook his head, frustrated. "That's not what I meant to say, but somehow—it's right. I need you."

  "I know." She nodded, her voice quiet. "I feel the same."

  Noise came from the bedroom and Jesse leaned up trying to see around the corner of the counter, but it was no use. It sounded like the kids and Mrs. Montgomery, and nothing more. Nothing more. Nothing more than his boy signing his own death warrant just by being his son—and nothing more. Maybe if he could put off the inevitable encounter a while longer.

  Before he could manage to lower himself down to the floor completely, Mrs. Montgomery rounded the corner, her hand tucked firmly around Nash's. Jesse's neck prickled with sweat. Nash glanced at him and Jesse's heart plummeted. Here it comes.

  But Nash looked right through him, as though he were a stranger, then back up at Mrs. Montgomery as she started to sing. "This old man, he played one…"

  The words came to Jesse from across the room as she led the children back to the place where they'd been sitting before.

  He kept his face blank, unable to fathom Nash's reaction. There had not even been a flicker of recognition. Relief flooded through him. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, found himself looking up to meet Tabor Hardin's flat gray stare. Hardin's lips twisted, and he turned his attention back to the street.

  "What the hell are they waiting for?" Mr. Silverman muttered. He cast a sheepish glance at Lindy. "Sorry for the language, honey." He shifted, his face going white as he gasped in pain. "I just wish they'd get the damn money together and let us go."

  Lindy put a hand on Tommy's arm. "Tommy? You okay?"

  "I was thinking about her. About Riley." He looked back toward where Hardin was positioned. "I'd like to see her grow up. I'd like to be a dad—a real dad." He fell silent. Then, "I hope he doesn't take that away from me."

  Some of us don't need anyone to take it away from us. Some of us just hand our kids over; forget about that dad part. Even though, I wanted it every bit as much as you do. Too late now. Too late… His thoughts drifted away as he noticed Hardin tensing up, shifting to take a more wary position. Brindle McAdoo lifted his weapon to point it toward the group of children, who were too busy playing Duck Duck Goose to even notice.

  Hardin motioned someone forward, off the street and into the deli. The sun's rays caught a glint of red hair, and a lanky form materialized in Jesse's view.

  "Shit," he breathed, pushing himself upward to lean against the bar.

  The tall man stepped over the threshold, his arms loaded with blankets and first aid supplies. He stopped just inside, letting his hazel eyes adjust to the dim light.

  Tabor Hardin swung around to face his hostages, a triumphant smile on his thin face. "You owe me, Jesse!" he crowed. "Lookee here! Was I right, Jesse? Was I? I got the head man himself to deliver bandages and blankets," he smirked. "Lessee, here…" His eyes roved over Lindy and he licked his lips. "Wonder just how you're gonna pay up on that losin' bet?"

  Ryan laid the armful of medical supplies on the counter and warily lowered himself to the floor beside his ex-partner. His shoulder touched Jesse's, offering warmth, strength, someone to lean on. He hadn't seen Ryan in over a year, but even so, it was as if no time had passed, as if they’d just gotten out of the squad car and come in for doughnuts.

  "Man, you brought a damned hospital with you!" Hardin eyed the medical paraphernalia. "Too bad you weren't here a few hours ago," he smirked. "We had a fatality that coulda used your help."

  Hardin laughed aloud at the murderous glare from Tommy. "Down, boy. The way I remember it, you weren't so protective until the end, anyhow."

  Tommy glanced away, and Jesse gave Hardin a disgusted look.

  "Got somethin' to say, Jesse?"

  After a moment, Jesse shook his head. "No. I already said it."

  "Oh, yeah. That bit about picking on someone my own size."

  "Yeah. That bit."

  Hardin's lips compressed at Jesse's offhand response.

  Ryan ig
nored Hardin and turned to Jesse. "You okay, partner?"

  In spite of their circumstances, Jesse smiled wearily at his old friend. "Right as rain."

  Hardin snorted and turned away. "For now, Nightwalker."

  * * * * *

  As always, Jesse was a master at disguising his thoughts and emotions. Unfathomable obsidian lazily regarded Ryan from two slits of pummeled flesh. The cut across Jesse's right cheekbone oozed blood, and his lips were bruised, the lower one split.

  "Damn," Ryan muttered, causing Jesse's grin to widen a little.

  "Yeah. You oughtta be on this side of it."

  Ryan shook his head, then nodded at the blood streaking from the shoulder wound. "Bad?"

  Jesse didn't answer right away. Finally, he said, "I've had worse."

  Ryan gave a faint grin at the understated reply. "I brought some pain killers. Nothing too strong. Probably nothing strong enough, from the looks of you." He stood up slowly, showing his hands as Brindle McAdoo swept the automatic rifle around to cover him. Ryan fumbled through the boxes of creams and bandages until he came up with a box of extra strength acetaminophen and one of ibuprofen. He opened them both, shaking out two of each. He poured a cup of water from the pitcher on the counter and knelt beside Jesse again.

  He glanced at Lindy and gave her a nod before introducing himself. "Ryan Lucas, ma'am."

  Lindy acknowledged him distractedly. "Lindy Oliver."

  Turning his attention back to Jesse, he said, "A little medicine cocktail for you, buddy." He handed the pills to Lindy along with the cup of water. Jesse leaned back against the counter, slumping to ease the shoulder wound.

  Lindy nodded toward the older man, a few feet from them. "Don't worry, Ryan. I'll see that Jesse takes the medicine. Can you give Mr. Silverman some?"

  Sweat covered the deli owner's face and ran down his neck, but he made no sound.

  Ryan nodded. "I'll take care of him," he reassured her. He gave Jesse's wrist a quick grasp before he moved away, leaving Lindy and Jesse alone again.

  * * * * *

  Lindy leaned close to Jesse. "Jesse… Jesse?"

  He opened his eyes slowly, focusing on her, recognition of what she asked sinking in. He took a deep breath, inhaling her scent. His mouth watered, and he wanted to laugh. She smelled good enough to eat, though he couldn't remember ever having sat down to a plate of honeysuckle before.

  He tried to straighten up. A shaft of pain speared through him, and he gritted his teeth. After an interminable few seconds, the agonizing jolt receded, and he took the pills from her. She handed him the cup of water and he swallowed them, finishing off the water.

  "Well…this'll make a good story, won't it?"

  Lindy looked at him blankly.

  "Your writing. Think you can…parlay this little tale into a novel?" He winced, his jaw clamping shut.

  Lindy shook her head. "No. No, I don't think so."

  Jesse leaned his head back against the counter, looking at her through the bruised slits of his eyelids. "Thought you wrote romances."

  "I do. This is an action story."

  "Huh-uh. This is an action/romance story, Lindy," he corrected. "You'll never top this for a first date."

  She smiled at that, reaching to put her hand on his sleeve.

  "Don't," he said quietly. "Don't let him see you touching me, Lindy."

  Her hand dropped to her side immediately. Tabor Hardin's gaze had returned to them off and on all morning. She looked down, and Jesse quelled his own desire to reach out to her. His fingers moved, the urge almost getting the best of him. Instead, he lifted his hand and put it on his knee, as if that had been the intention all along. "I can't touch you, sweetheart, but I can damn sure say what I want."

  She smiled at him. "I'm listening."

  "I expect full disclosure from you, as well."

  "Of course."

  "Because, I'm thinking…right now…we've wasted a whole year. And—" He stopped, thinking of something else, a delicate way to describe what he felt might be a real possibility between them. He finally finished with, "Every minute counts, Lindy. Like it never did before." And I want this, like I haven't wanted anything for the past four years.

  Crazy, to come alive again as he stared his death in the face. But after months—years—of going through the motions of living, it had taken this catastrophe to make him realize what he was missing. His son, for one thing. Lindy Oliver, for another. He wanted his life, stretching out ahead of him, with Nash and Lindy there with him.

  Wasn't gonna happen.

  "So…ask me three questions. Then, I get my three." He tried to keep his voice firm, keep the pain from making him unsteady. He sounded stronger than he felt, relieved when Lindy smiled again.

  "Okay. Three questions. Anything?"

  He nodded. "No passes, no substitutions. This is the real deal."

  Lindy bit her lip. "Okay. Is the medicine working? What's your favorite food? And what's your worst fear?"

  Jesse sighed.

  "Did I do it wrong?"

  A slow smile touched his lips. "That's four. You're only allowed three. Since you're new at this though, we'll allow that fourth one."

  "But—"

  "No, the medicine isn't working."

  Lindy looked at the bloody hole in his shirt and then met his eyes again. "Hurts like a son-of-a-bitch," he confirmed. "Favorite food? Gotta be fry bread. I'll teach you how to make it."

  "I'm not a great cook."

  "Beside the point. If I can do it, you can, too."

  Lindy laughed. "You've got a lot of faith."

  He sobered. "Sometimes, that's all we have, Lindy. You gotta hold onto it. Worst fear? That would be losing Nash." Lindy nodded in agreement, as if she'd expected that response. She started to speak, but he stopped her. "Wait. Question number four. 'Did I do it wrong?'" He let the words hover between them, then his lips quirked. "Remains to be seen, if we get out of here alive—which I'm sure as hell hoping we do. I can't imagine you doing…it…wrong, Lindy. Not with me. Not us, together. That would never be wrong."

  "No." She held him captivated by the look in her eyes. "It wouldn't be." She clasped her fingers tightly across her leg. Jesse knew she was having the same difficulty he was—keeping his hands to himself.

  "My turn," he murmured. He could play this game with her for a lifetime and never grow tired of it. He loved watching her changeable expressions, her beautiful smile, and her body language. He loved watching her.

  He loved…

  He sat forward a little, the realization hitting him in the gut, just a bit lower than the shoulder-punch Tabor Hardin had given him earlier, but with a kick every bit as powerful. He'd never had such lousy damned timing in his entire life.

  "I'm waiting." Lindy's words were quiet.

  Jesse raised his eyes to hers, spellbound. I'm waiting. That could mean so many things, and looking into her face, he recognized that, even to her, it carried a double meaning.

  She blinked and shook her head. "What I meant was—"

  "Lindy—" He couldn't stop himself now. He reached for her hand and took it in his. "No more waiting. Not for us."

  She squeezed his fingers gently in understanding. "Promise?"

  "Is that question number one?"

  "I'll give you four, too."

  He laughed. "Okay. That's fair. Yeah. I promise. We're going to make up for lost time when we blow this joint, Miss Oliver."

  "Are we? Going to blow this joint, I mean?"

  His laughter faded. "Sure you want to waste a question from your next turn?"

  She smiled, looking down at their hands, slowly releasing her fingers from his as she remembered Hardin could be watching them. "No. It's pure speculation anyway. We don't have any way of knowing—" she broke off, pressing her lips together.

  "You aren't supposed to answer your own questions. What's your favorite food?"

  "Chocolate."

  "So, why did I end up with the long john this morning?"

  "B
ecause—hey, that counts," she said with a grin. "I love those sugar rings, but on a desert island, as a whole, I'd have to be surrounded by chocolate."

  They sat silent a moment. "You have another one," Lindy said. "Technically, I could've counted the one you asked about being sure I wanted to use a question from my next turn," she teased.

  "Okay." He looked up at her, gauging her reaction. "You ever take a bullet out of anyone before?"

  She didn't reply. The air seemed to rush out of her, and she shook her head. "Are you…are you asking me to do that for you, Jesse?"

  "It would help—if Hardin would let you," he admitted. "Every time I move, it rubs the bone. It's lodged next to it—or maybe even into it."

  She gave him a dubious look. "You believe me taking it out is going to feel better than what you're going through right now?"

  He chuckled. "No, not while you're doing it—but it won't hurt so much once it's over." He was quiet for a moment, then, "Lindy, I can't lift it past a certain point the way it is right now. But if you could get it out, at least…" It was too much to ask, and he knew it. She was no doctor. She'd done what she could so far, but pouring sugar into wounds and bandaging them with dishtowels was a far cry from removing a bullet.

  No matter what else, Jesse knew that being a police officer all this time had hardened him to the things most people would never see. Even being witness to much of it wasn't the same as being an active participant. Lindy was stronger than he'd thought at first, but could he ask this of her? And would Hardin go along with it? No way, if he thought Jesse wanted it.

  "Hardin told me to take care of you all. That's part of it, isn't it?" She gnawed on her lower lip thoughtfully. "I'm going to ask him."

  Chapter Thirteen

  "Wait. Not yet." Jesse's heavy-lidded gaze touched Hardin briefly. Hardin wasn't looking in their direction at the moment, but Lindy knew their captor was aware of everything, including the fact she and Jesse had been talking for several minutes.

  Jesse shifted to look up at Lindy. "Make your rounds, Doc. Check on everyone—even the kids. Then tell Hardin the kids are getting upset by seeing the wounded adults." He glanced at Mr. Silverman again. "He's the one who needs the bed."