No Ordinary Man

by Suzanne Brockman

  Selma nodded, taking a bite of a honey-glazed donut. She watched Jess speculatively as she chewed.

  “Sleep much lately?”

  Jess looked away, not meeting the older woman’s eyes as she shook her head very slightly. No.

  “Are the nightmares back?”

  Jess sighed. The nightmares, the fears, the edginess… She couldn’t shake it. Especially not at night. She was going to have nightmares about Frank for the rest of her life.

  The FBI had searched Frank’s downtown apartment, looking for something, anything that would explain why he’d turned to murder. They found that he’d kept journals. Selma told her those journals were quite possibly the most complete account of a serial killer’s thoughts and feelings on record. Frank apparently detailed the murders in his daily ramblings—along with conversations he’d had with his long-dead mother. It seemed as if Frank had come from quite a dysfunctional family.

  Selma had told Jess that Frank’s diary entries were enough to give anyone nightmares, so Jess hadn’t read them. She had enough nightmares of her own already.

  The funny thing was, she’d been fine right after it had happened. Or maybe it wasn’t so funny, because when she stopped to think about it, she realized that the nightmares had only started when Rob had left.

  Rob…

  He’d stayed, glued to her side for nearly two weeks after Frank had tried to kill her. After she’d killed Frank.

  During those weeks he’d told her about everything, about living in New York City with his roommate, Chris—about the night that had ended his life—at least his life as Connor Garrison.

  He’d gotten the call around twelve-thirty that night. Chris was in the Bronx, in a bad neighborhood, and his van had broken down. He sounded really scared, and almost begged Rob to drive out and help him. Rob didn’t stop to think why Chris didn’t call the police. He just hurried out to help his friend.

  When he got to the Bronx, Chris was frantic. He started pulling heavy boxes out of the van and throwing them into the back of Rob’s beat-up old station wagon. When Rob suggested that they just call a tow truck, Chris kept saying it was too risky, and he couldn’t waste all that time.

  Chris said he didn’t know what was in the boxes. He told Rob it was better if they didn’t look. But Rob couldn’t leave it at that—he pulled one open.

  And found it loaded with cocaine.

  Then Chris really lost it. He started crying, saying how he never knew, how afraid he was, how he was already in trouble because the shipment was late….

  Rob didn’t hesitate. He got the last of the boxes out of the van, threw them into his car, pushed Chris into the front seat and drove to the docks, where they dumped every last bit—ten million dollars’ worth—of cocaine into the black waters of the Hudson River.

  Then Rob drove to the police station. Chris figured the only chance he had of staying alive would be to ask for police protection. Rob watched as his friend entered the station house, then drove away.

  Chris died in a car bomb explosion the next day, while being driven to a “safe” location.

  But before Chris died, he’d called Rob, warning him that the syndicate bosses had put out a contract on Rob. Run, Chris had told him, and don’t look back.

  But Rob couldn’t leave town without saying goodbye to his girlfriend, Janey. He went to see her at the restaurant where she worked as a waitress, and she took a break, coming out to talk to him on the sidewalk.

  Three minutes after he’d arrived, he held her in his arms as she bled to death, gunned down in a drive-by hit meant to snuff out his own life.

  Destroying over ten million dollars of drugs hadn’t made him a hero. Two people very close to him had died, and he was a fugitive, with a million dollar contract on his head.

  The contract was still out there, not forgiven, never forgotten.

  Rob told Jess how he’d run, leaving New York City far behind, how he’d worked hard to lose his Brooklyn accent, how he’d changed his name, his hair, his eyes, the way he dressed. And still he was afraid they would find him.

  Worse yet, he was afraid to get close to anyone, for fear they’d get caught in the crossfire, the way Janey had.

  And that was why, he’d told her, he had to leave. He wouldn’t tell her where he was going or even if he was coming back.

  All he told her was to remember that he always kept his promises.

  But what had he promised her? Jess thought she could remember a dream she had where Rob promised her he’d stay with her forever. But when had she dreamed it? It had been months since she’d had anything but nightmares.

  It had been months since Rob left.

  Jess had a gut feeling that Selma knew something about where Rob had gone and what he was doing, but the older woman wouldn’t say a word.

  The sound of tires on her gravel driveway made her look sharply at Selma—who smiled back at her, unfazed by the wary edge in Jess’s dark eyes.

  “I’m not expecting company,” Jess said.

  “I am,” Selma told her. “I invited a new friend of mine over. I want you to meet him.”

  Jess felt her face flush with anger. “Tell him to go home. Selma, don’t try to set me up this way.” She lowered her voice as she heard a car door slam, then footsteps on the gravel. “I don’t want to meet anyone. I want Rob to come back.”

  “Robert Carpenter can’t come back, Jess.” Selma placed a soothing hand on her arm. “He’s gone. But my friend here is—”

  Jess pulled away from Selma, turning to run down the stairs, down to the beach, away—

  A man stood at the top of the stairs, looking at her. He wore cowboy boots, faded blue jeans, and a soft brown leather jacket over a dark-colored T-shirt. He pulled a cowboy hat off his head, revealing wavy golden hair, a pair of piercing turquoise eyes, and a face she would’ve recognized anywhere.

  Rob.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  “Jess, I’d like you to meet Robin Stewart,” Selma said, sounding very satisfied. “He’s from Memphis. He’s down here for a couple weeks of vacation….”

  His eyes were guarded, wary, as if he weren’t sure she would want him, as if he weren’t sure how she’d react.

  Witness Protection Program, Jess thought suddenly. If Selma was involved… She was FBI… They must’ve given him a new name, a new identity, a new chance….

  Blinking back the tears that sprang into her eyes, she held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you…Robin,” she whispered.

  Relief spread across his face as he took her fingers in his hand. “Rob for short,” he said, and smiled, a big, beautiful smile that nearly made Jess’s heart stop because it was so alive.

  She smiled back into his eyes, eyes that for the first time since she’d known him held joy and hope. And a promise for the future.

  “I realize this is rather sudden,” Rob said, his voice sounding as breathless as she felt, “considering how we just met and all, but… Will you marry me?”

  “Definitely,” Jess said, and kissed him.

  “Sorry I can’t stick around,” Selma said, but wasn’t surprised when neither of them bothered to say goodbye.

  ROB HELD JESS’S HAND tightly as they strolled down the beach. She smiled up at him, her beautiful face alight with happiness. He stopped suddenly, pulling her in close to him, delighting in the feel of her slender body against his.

  He kissed her slowly, tenderly, a kiss that mirrored the love she could see in his eyes. He kissed her again, this time invading her senses, making her arms tighten around him, making her heart pound.

  “When did you say Kelsey’s bedtime was?” he asked hoarsely, closing his eyes and inhaling the sweet scent of her hair, her skin.

  “Not soon enough,” Jess said, laughter in her voice.

  When he opened his eyes, she was smiling at him. She reached up to touch his hair. “This is going to take me some time to get used to,” she said. “Along with the cowboy boots and hat… partner.”

&
nbsp; “I got me a little bit of a twang to go ‘long with it, too, darlin’,” Rob said with an easy smile.

  “Why’d you take so long, Rob?” she asked suddenly, looking searchingly into his eyes.

  He looked out at the horizon, squinting at the reflection of the sun sparkling on the water. “I didn’t get this second chance for free, sweet,” he answered quietly. “I had some unfinished business with the Feds. They’ve been looking for me for years.

  “The FBI offered me protection if I agreed to testify against one of the men my roommate used to work for, the man responsible for his and Janey’s deaths. It was a coincidence, but his trial had already been scheduled to come up in late September.”

  Rob pulled her close to him again, loving the way she wrapped her arms around his waist. He kissed the top of her silky hair.

  “I was their surprise witness,” he said. “I helped them put that bastard away for good. But I couldn’t come back. I couldn’t even call you. Not until the trial was over. I was in protective custody.” He laughed. “I didn’t go into the bathroom without three different escorts. And after it was all over, they set me up in Memphis with the Witness Protection Program.”

  “Memphis,” Jess said, looking up at him.

  He smiled, and she loved the way his eyes shone with pleasure. “I found a really great house. It’s in a nice neighborhood, near the elementary school. It’s got a terrific yard, Bug will love it—” He frowned suddenly. “Except…Memphis is kind of far from the ocean.”

  “I don’t care,” Jess said.

  He pushed her hair back from her face. “Jess, I know how much you love the ocean. You told me that being on the beach on a sunny day was the next best thing to heaven.”

  “Why should I settle for the next best thing,” she said with a smile, pulling his head down and brushing his lips with hers, “when heaven is in Memphis?”

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-1637-6

  NO ORDINARY MAN

  Copyright © 1990 by Suzanne Brockmann

  “Country Waltz” Copyright © 1992 by Eric Ruben and Suzanne Brockmann. Lyrics used with permission.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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