by Julie Miller
Bait.
“I’m ready to give you the opportunity to show me that your feelings run just as deep.”
Death.
How could he ever risk Jillian’s life? Even if that was the only way they could draw Loverboy out and shut him down for good, how could he risk losing her?
Jillian’s green eyes narrowed as they met his across the room. She sensed something—something Michael couldn’t yet put into words—and he turned away to needlessly straighten the items on his desk.
But when her sister came in behind her, the two women laughed. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to drop.” Holly went straight to her husband and wound her arms around his waist. “After the day we’ve had, I vote for a good night’s sleep for everybody. We’ll tackle everything fresh in the morning.”
“Troy talked with his grandmother,” Jillian added, getting Michael and Edward up to speed on what had been going on outside of this protection brainstorming session. “His aunt agreed to let Dexter stay with her family indefinitely, and the hospital is keeping LaKeytah until arrangements for home health care assistance can be arranged. And guess who’s going to be doing physical therapy with her on her wrist and hand? As long as it doesn’t interfere with her insurance coverage, I figured doing some pro bono work was the best way I could make up for the attack.”
Michael bit back the urge to point out that she wasn’t responsible for any attack. Loverboy’s skewed logic and growing penchant for violence were the only cause to blame. But Jillian couldn’t be swayed from accepting some of the guilt.
“Then we got Troy and Mike to bed after teaching them Hearts and letting them beat us.”
“Hey, I wasn’t letting anyone win,” Holly protested with a smile. “Those boys are sharp. You put them together as a team and they’re unstoppable.”
Michael appreciated the compliment about his son, even managed to generate a smile as he turned back to the group. “That’s a testament to all the progress Jillian’s made with them. Before Mike started physical therapy with her, I could barely get him to come out of his room. Now she’s got him kicking ass and taking names.”
“That’s the Jillian brand of magic,” Holly concurred. “She’s always had a way of bringing out the best in people.”
No one said the words, but judging by the sudden pall in the room, Michael suspected they were all thinking the same thing. Jillian’s big heart had unknowingly touched Loverboy’s, and brought out the absolute worst in the man.
Holly quickly went over and hugged her sister. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I’ve been trying to keep your mind off him all night.”
“That’s impossible.” Jillian hugged back just as tightly. “I love you for trying, though. And for listening.”
Holly pulled away and brushed a wayward strand of hair off Jillian’s face. “You know, if the stress of all this gets to be too overwhelming—”
“Don’t worry.” Jillian pulled away and mimicked her sister’s tender gesture, tucking one of Holly’s dark curls behind her ear. “I’m not going to go off the deep end and start looking for a fix.”
“What I was going to say, smarty-pants, is that you can call me anytime if you need to talk. Or see if Dr. Randolph is available. I know you haven’t used for years and I know you’re a grown woman now.” Edward stepped forward, draping his arm around Holly’s shoulder and backing up the message. “But that doesn’t mean you have to cope with everything yourself.”
“I won’t.”
“You don’t have to take care of anybody but you right now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Holly ignored the teasing sarcasm and turned to Michael. “I asked her if she wanted to come home with us. She said she wants to stay here.”
“That’s fine with me.” It was the only way Michael wanted it right now.
“Don’t let her run off on any wild-goose chases,” Holly cautioned. “She’ll try.”
Michael had already learned as much. “I know.”
“I’ll be good,” Jillian promised, hugging Holly and Edward both and ushering them toward the front door of the house. “I’ll let KCPD handle the investigation into Blake’s murder. Now go. I need everyone well rested and on their A game tomorrow if you’re going to be solving murders.”
There was another round of trading hugs and shaking hands and saying good-night. Once Edward and Holly had driven away, Michael made a quick check of the house and grounds before bolting the door and turning out the lights. The boys were asleep. The house was secure. His gun had never left his side.
He found Jillian back in his office, staring out the window into the overcast night, hugging her arms around her middle. She’d changed into a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt, hiding all of her injuries except for the stitches and bruise on her chin beneath her clothes and long hair. But he knew they were there. She stood tall and strong, but he knew how fragile she was inside. And when she turned to face him, he didn’t buy the brittle smile on her lips.
“So did you and Edward decide my fate?”
He wasn’t going to answer that loaded question. Instead, he held out his hand and hoped that Jillian would take it. “Holly was right. It’s been a long, exhausting day. We both need our rest.”
Though she took his hand and let him lead her upstairs to his bedroom, weary or not, Jillian made it clear she hadn’t changed her resolve about finding Loverboy. “I promised to let you guys work on Blake’s murder. But if there’s anything I can do to make that rat come out of the woodwork, I’m going to. Of course, I’m hoping you or Edward or Eli will be there to catch him when he does.”
Michael peeled off his torn sweater and tossed it into the trash can. “And how are you going to do that? Go through that list of yours and ask every man who has ever called you Jilly whether or not he tried to kill you today?”
“If I have to.”
He carefully laid his gun and badge on the lamp table beside the bed, replaying in his head each of the threats from that tape. He’d heard that kind of sick rhetoric before and had seen firsthand where that kind of obsession could lead—and how little he could really do to stop it.
“Jillian.” He circled around the foot of the bed and stopped her in the middle of changing into the T-shirt she slept in, taking her by the shoulders and giving her a slight shake. “I can’t live through you becoming another Daphne Mullins. What if I’m not there when this guy shows up again? What if I can’t save you?”
“Do you want to live with that kind of fear and doubt the rest of your life?” Green eyes, devoid of the hope and humor he’d once seen there, looked into his. “I don’t think I can.”
With that, Michael released her. He let her have the bathroom first and then quickly brushed his teeth, turned off the lights and slipped under the covers. She lay on the far side of the bed, curled into a ball, facing away from him. Not exactly an invitation to cuddle or try to make his point one last time.
Maybe he’d been foolish to ever consider a future with Jillian Masterson. Not because of the age difference that had once worried him. Not because he wanted her focus to be on Mike’s continuing recovery. Not because she was headstrong and compassionate and driven to get involved helping others, even when it meant putting herself at risk.
He’d be a fool to plan a future with Jillian. Because he’d loved and lost before. And he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to love and lose again.
Still, when the nightmare snuck into her dreams again, Michael was there to wake her and hold her and wipe away her tears. When she asked him to remind her what it was like to be cared for by a man she could trust, Michael stripped them both naked and made love to her in the most tender, beautiful way he knew how. And afterward, when she fell asleep in his arms, skin to skin, his fingers in her hair, her hand over his heart, Michael knew it was too late to save himself from the heartache of loving Jillian.
He loved her. Period.
He’d never been in control of falling for her at all.
> Chapter Eleven
“Eli, you look awful.” Jillian planted herself in her big brother’s path to stop him from wearing a rut in the carpet outside Wayne Randolph’s office at Truman Medical Center. Though little could diminish his tall, lanky, chiseled good looks, the fatigue that deepened the taut lines beside his eyes and mouth was marked enough to raise the concern of any sister worth her salt.
“Thanks, champ. You’re a ray of sunshine yourself.”
She reached up to straighten the knot of his tie and smooth his rumpled lapel. “Sit down and relax before you fall over. I know you were up all night finishing up your case so you could get here this morning.”
“Champ, if I stop moving and fall asleep, I won’t be any good to you. Your friend Michael had to report to work today. Edward is following up on a lead on that green car. So it’s my turn for baby-sister sitting.” He leaned over to kiss the top of her head. But she read equal parts chastisement and love in his dark eyes as he straightened. “You should have told me on day one when you started having trouble with this bastard.”
“There wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle at first.” His baby-sister remark told her she’d been right to believe that he’d yet to outgrow his overprotective genes with her. “And I wasn’t about to give you a reason to shortchange your work at the D.A.’s office or lose sleep over me.”
Eli arched a dark eyebrow. “For your information, I completed the job that D.A. Powers sent me to do in Illinois. And the only reason I ever lose sleep over you is that, unfortunately, I taught you everything you know about being hardheaded.” His gaze slipped past her to the table behind the receptionist’s counter. “Hey, is that coffee?”
She grinned as her brother chased down his favorite drink, though the guilt she felt at causing him worry and taking him away from a reunion with his wife, Shauna, didn’t diminish. That guilt was one of the reasons she was here this morning. The other reason? It was the first of several long shots she intended to disprove.
“Jilly?” She turned as Wayne Randolph strolled into the reception area, his short hair slicked down by the spring rain falling outside. He set down his briefcase and opened his arms to greet her with a hug. No bad vibe there. Dr. Randolph felt too much like family for her to resist, and she walked into his arms and hugged him back. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, pulling away.
“Well, your receptionist said you didn’t have any appointments until nine, and that if I got here early, maybe you could spare me a few minutes before your first patient? I hope that’s okay.”
“Heavens, yes.” He picked up his briefcase and ushered her over to his office. “You don’t need an appointment to come talk to me. Eli. Good to see you again.”
He stopped when her brother approached and extended his hand. “Dr. Randolph.”
The psychologist shifted his position so that his hand rested lightly at the back of Jillian’s waist as he faced the not-so-subtle head-to-toe inspection from big brother. “Will you be joining us? Is this a social visit?”
“No.”
Jillian touched her brother’s wrist and silently urged him to lighten up a tad. She had a feeling every man was suspect in his book until proven otherwise, and she fully intended to prove that the man who’d turned her life around in rehab was no suspect. Even if, after eleven years, he still called her Jilly. “I have a couple of things I wanted to get some advice on, Doc, if you don’t mind listening. And a favor to ask.”
Dr. Randolph nodded. “Sometimes you just need to talk things through with an objective listener. Eli, make yourself at home. Jilly, come on inside.”
Jillian settled into a familiar tweed chair while Dr. Randolph shrugged into the white lab coat he wore over his shirt and tie. He paused for a moment to clean his glasses before crossing to the desk. He tucked his briefcase underneath beside his feet and leaned forward, propping his elbows on the blotter and steepling his fingers together. “So what’s troubling you? Something with your brother? I remember having lots of conversations about him being strict and overbearing.”
“That was my teenage perspective. He was pretty young himself when Mom and Dad died and he took on the task of raising Holly and me. We’ve worked through all that.” For a moment, Jillian felt like kicking off her shoes and curling her legs beneath her in the chair the way she’d sat so many times in Dr. Randolph’s company in the past. But she was older now, stronger, too, she hoped. And since he was giving up his time for her, she’d skip the reminiscing and get down to business. “No, I’m having a little trouble with a different relationship.”
“What kind of relationship?” Even though this was an informal session, he pulled a mechanical pencil from his pocket and began jotting notes.
“The girl-boy kind.”
He raised a bushy eyebrow. “You want dating advice? Not exactly my area of expertise.”
“Maybe not. But you always did have a way of helping me think more clearly. After these past few weeks, I find myself second-guessing everything I do or say.”
He sat back in his chair, tapping his pencil against his chin. “Because of this boy?”
“Man, Doc,” she corrected. “This guy is definitely a man.” She smiled at the vivid image of Michael Cutler’s tall, whipcord body and piercing blue eyes. True, there might be some silver sprinkled in with the coal-black hair on his head and chest, but that only added some interest to the mix. His age didn’t make him a mature man. It was more about his patience and caring and determination. His confidence. His skills as a protector—and a lover. No, there was nothing boyish at all about Michael Cutler. “With everything I’ve been through, I don’t think I could be interested in anyone who had too much little boy in him.”
“I’ve never known you to have a relationship before.” Dr. Randolph adjusted his glasses to gauge her reactions to his words. “I know you’ve dated—I’d be surprised if a beautiful young woman like you didn’t. But I always thought your trust issues kept you from committing to a relationship.”
“Oh, I trust him.” Michael was the first person she’d told about Loverboy—okay, so he’d discovered that letter and forced her to tell. But they’d shared so much this past week—heated arguments, quiet conversations. Fear. Laughter. She’d given him her body. She’d given him her heart. None of that could have happened without trusting Michael.
“I meant trusting yourself to make the right choices.” Dr. Randolph was leaning forward again, probing for deeper answers. “You used to talk about the bad choices you made when you were young. I don’t think you’d be talking to me if you believed you’d chosen the right man.”
Jillian scooted to the edge of her chair. Perhaps she hadn’t explained the problem clearly enough. “My feelings aren’t the problem, Doc. Convincing him that we belong together—that we could really make it work—that’s where I’m running into problems.”
“Why is that?”
“Because he’s older than me. We share a physical attraction. But sometimes I think…”
“What?”
Here came the second-guessing. “He thinks that I’m too young to know my own heart. Or that it’ll change if someone else comes along.” She gripped the arms of the chair, transferring her frustration into the nubby tweed upholstery. “It won’t. He’s the finest man I know. He’s been there for me when I needed him the most. I’ve never felt this way about another man.”
“Are you in love with him?”
Something fragile, yet hopeful, unfurled inside her. “Yeah. I love him. It even feels right to say it out loud. But how do I convince him?”
Dr. Randolph took the time to jot something more on his notepad. But when he looked up, he offered Jillian a paternal smile. “Be patient. He’ll figure it out. Sometimes, when a man is older and set in his ways, it can be hard to believe that love has finally found him.”
“Found him again,” Jillian clarified. “He’s a widower.”
“Oh?”
Jillian was feeling better. The doc was
right. Look at the patience it had taken to coax Mike, Jr., out of his wary shell. If she hadn’t been so hung up with her paranoia about Loverboy’s intentions, she might have been able to see that caution was a Cutler family trait. “Do you think I should say something to his son? I don’t want Mike to think he’s any less important to me just because I’m in love with his dad.”
Dr. Randolph’s pencil ripped through the top page of his pad. “Damn.” He tore out the page and wadded it into a ball. When he tossed it toward the trash can and it deflected off the rim and rolled across the carpet, Jillian jumped to her feet to retrieve it for him. But Wayne Randolph was already out of his chair. He picked up the trash and dropped it into the pocket of his lab coat before Jillian could reach it. “He has a son?”
Jillian straightened when he did, sensing an irritation about him that wasn’t there before. She was probably eating up too much of his time. “If it doesn’t work out with his dad and me, I want Mike to understand that my feelings for him won’t change.”
He pulled back his sleeve and glanced at his watch.
“That’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?”
“Sounds to me like it’s something you should discuss with this old man of yours.”
“Older,” she corrected. “Trust me, there’s nothing old about this guy.”
“Hey, um…” Dr. Randolph pulled down his sleeve and turned to Jillian with an apologetic smile. “Sorry to cut this short, but I really do have to prep for my nine o’clock. You said you needed a favor?”
“I’m the one who should apologize for using up your time.” She went with him when he headed for the door. “Do you remember anyone else from my rehab days who called me Jilly instead of Jillian? I know Isaac Rush did—still does.”
The doc halted abruptly and caught Jillian by the hand, demanding she look up to see the concern etched on his features. “You’re not having anything to do with that street thug again, are you? I thought you were smart enough to stay away from him.”
“It wasn’t intentional. But I ran into him when I was helping one of my patients. Needless to say, it wasn’t a happy reunion.” Jillian extracted her fingers from his grip and stuck her hands into the pockets of her running jacket. There was no easy way to confess this when he was probably already thinking the worst by her mention of Isaac Rush. “I’ve been getting some crank calls and letters addressed to ‘Jilly.’”
