Unsanctioned Memories

by Julie Miller

  Jessica rolled to her feet, suddenly conscious of how far up her thigh her brother Cole’s old T-shirt rode when she squatted down like that. Not that she thought Sam was looking at anything he shouldn’t, but she had dropped her guard so easily, so completely with this black-haired man she scarcely knew.

  The aftershocks of her fear still jolted along her nerve endings, leaving her feeling raw and vulnerable. The security she’d felt in Sam’s arms seemed little more than a figment of her imagination right now.

  She stared at the wide expanse of chest revealed by the open front of his white shirt. That same chest had terrified her earlier today; now she foolishly wished she was cradled against it once more. Jessica shook her head, looked away. No wonder the dog thought she needed protection. She apparently lacked the sense to take care of herself.

  Tugging on Harry’s collar, she urged the dog to his feet, using his vigilance as an excuse to turn their conversation away from her paranoia. She stepped aside to let the dog take a long, curious look at Sam. “I’m sorry. He went after you because I was spooked. He just needs to get used to you, to learn to trust you. Let him sniff you.”

  “He doesn’t want to sniff me, he wants to take off a chunk of my face. And you didn’t answer my question.”

  She summoned a game smile, though her gaze never made it above the jut of his chin. “I’m sorry if I woke you. I didn’t—”

  “Jess.” He softened his voice in a way that moved around her defenses. “Quit making excuses. I can see you shaking from here.”

  Her gaze drifted higher. Sam O’Rourke wasn’t a man easily put off. She had a feeling he wouldn’t return to his garage apartment until she offered a plausible explanation for her erratic behavior. With his hands propped against his hips and his moonlight-colored eyes studying her with an intensity that never even blinked, she sensed he wouldn’t budge until he heard the truth.

  “I appreciate your gallantry, but I’m not…” That was a lie. She clutched her free arm across her stomach and decided to trust her instincts about the man. Decided she had no other choice. She prayed it was a decision she wouldn’t regret. “Do you know anything about computers?”

  “I know enough.” One dark eyebrow lifted in a skeptical frown. “You’re screaming about your computer?”

  Jessica shook her head. Guiding Harry along at her side, she opened the screen door and silently invited Sam to join her inside. It might very well be the bravest thing she’d done since that horrible night.

  Or the most foolish. Sam stepped up onto the porch, looking as big and powerful and dangerous as the day he’d first walked up her drive. She hoped he had it in him to be understanding, as well.

  “I could use your help,” she said simply.

  “With your computer?” he clarified before moving any closer.

  Jessica nodded.

  If Sam O’Rourke thought she was a lunatic, he never let it show. He fastened a couple of strategic buttons on his shirt and offered her a curt, businesslike nod, accepting this task as easily as any other chore she’d assigned him. When he paused to allow her to enter before him, she shook her head. “You first. I don’t want to see it again.”

  His probing gaze evaluated the dog’s docile acceptance of his company as Harry trotted in ahead of him. Then she could feel him watching her with equal scrutiny as he cautiously stepped past her into the cabin.

  Jessica followed a safe distance behind. Sam’s watchful eyes took in the darkened showroom and living room, swept up the stairs toward her loft, then turned toward the light coming from her office area. When he circled around the armoire, he paused, and she knew he was surveying the mess she’d made in her desperation to escape her terror.

  Thankfully, he made no comment. He picked up the first overturned chair and set it beneath the table. He straightened the chair in front of the computer, but he read the words on the monitor before he ever sat.

  Jessica swallowed hard at the stiffness that suddenly infused his graceful posture. When he turned to face her with an unspoken question, she was huddling against the opposite wall, hugging herself. She knew she was conveying every bit of her fear.

  “I can’t bring myself to touch it. I need you to make it go away. Please?”

  Chapter Five

  Sam read the vile e-mail on the computer screen and forced himself to remember he wasn’t supposed to know anything about her past. Was this her rapist’s sick idea of a calling card? Jess had apparently interpreted it that way. Had she been threatened that way during her attack? Were those the last words that Kerry had heard?

  He swallowed hard, choking back the bile and curses that clogged his throat. “Is this what spooked you?” he asked. But he had the presence of mind to push for a little information. “Pretty damn crude what can get sent across the phone line these days. This isn’t from someone you know, is it?”

  “I don’t…” Jessica kept the full width of the room between them. She hugged her arms around her chest and stomach like a suit of armor. And while her clear-blue eyes revealed her debate over answering him, he could see the fine tremor of nerves along her jaw and chin as she clenched her teeth too tightly. “Can you just delete it for me? I know it’s simple to do, but I just can’t—”

  “I’ll do it,” he reassured her.

  Her eyes flooded with such gratitude, such relief, that right now he wanted nothing more than to close the distance between them and take her in his arms again. In those few seconds before the dog had tried to turn him into a late-night snack, he’d been completely aware of her as a man—not an agent. Not a big brother intent on justice.

  His body had awakened to the soft press of her breasts and the needy clutch of her hands. Her silky hair had caught beneath his chin and palm as he’d tried to drag her away from the unknown danger. The earthy femininity of her fresh ginger scent had sparked latent desires that had lain dormant inside him for months.

  Something primal, territorial, had lit in his veins and coursed through him. She was afraid, in danger, and she’d turned to him. She was his to protect. And in those few charged moments in his arms, something had shifted inside him. The feeling was still there, simmering inside, making it tough to think with the objectivity he needed right now.

  The objectivity she needed.

  Sam inhaled deeply and calmed his fiercely protective reaction to Jess Taylor. She didn’t need the man right now—to hold her and comfort her. Whether she knew it or not, she needed him to be that ice-in-his-veins agent. She needed a champion to slay her beast, even if it was only the computerized kind.

  And in order to do that, he needed to start thinking like an agent—not a lonely, loveless man.

  Sam stretched his shoulders and forced some positive energy into the room that was being sucked dry by fear and mistimed longing. “You wouldn’t happen to have any decaf coffee, would you? Or maybe a pot of tea?” Staying busy would divert her attention from the sick message and give him an opportunity to do a bit of sleuthing. “I have a feeling neither one of us will be getting any sleep for a while.”

  She looked surprised that he could think beyond the moment. But she seemed to stand taller; the tension in her seemed to ease a bit. “Right. I’ll go make us some coffee. I’d like it if you’d stay…for a little while.”

  “Sure.”

  With a brief nod and game smile, she headed into the kitchen, clicking her tongue for the dog to follow behind her. Sam sat and went to work quickly, ignoring the twinge of guilt that tried to distract him from his purpose. There were ways to trace the message to its source. But he couldn’t do that here. Not in front of Jess, not with this equipment.

  The subject line indicated the sender was looking for old watches, a misleading attention-getter that seemed as innocent as the preceding message from something that sounded like a law firm—Boyce, Riegert and Winston. Sam pursed his lips in a silent whistle. BRW had been so pleased with Jess’s last order of Missouri historical items to decorate their offices, that they were willing
to spend up to $5,000 on any holiday collectibles she could supply them with. “A five-thousand-dollar shopping spree,” he whispered. “Not bad for a day’s work.”

  There was another message from an Alex, complimenting her on the number of Web site hits she’d been receiving. If half of those hits were orders, he claimed, she’d be on the Forbes small business list in no time.

  Jess Taylor’s business was clearly thriving.

  So why was such a successful professional woman afraid to tell her family and the police the true details behind her “mugging”? Was she hiding something? Protecting someone?

  Sam listened for the sound of Jess grinding coffee beans to ensure she was busy while he scrolled through a half-dozen other e-mails that had come through her Log Cabin Antiques Web site. All were chatty and business themed and involved a tidy profit except for the one that had sent her flying out the door. He went back to the original, two-word message.

  Coming4U was the return address listed at a free server that could have been accessed from any point across the U.S. He recognized a server popular with students and public institutions that couldn’t afford subscription rates to an ad-free provider. The colorful advertisement floating at the bottom of the screen was for a national online mortgage company, so he couldn’t even narrow the source to a particular region of the country.

  “You come for me, you bastard.” He memorized the sender’s address, knowing even that particular choice of words had been meant to intimidate Jess. He forwarded the message to Virgil and asked him to track it to its source. Then he deleted the message and address from both the inbox and the sent-mail files. He wasn’t going to find any other leads on her computer tonight.

  “You want me to shut this down?” he asked in a voice loud enough to carry into the kitchen.

  “Please.” Jess appeared around the corner of the counter that separated the kitchen from the dining room. “The coffee will be ready in a minute. Why don’t you go ahead and have a seat in the living room. I’ll bring it out.”

  Jess slipped into the bathroom, leaving Sam with only the hiss and bubble of the coffeemaker to keep him company. It was a prime opportunity to search through her desk to try to find a journal or planner, but the interior walls of the cabin were too thin to risk being overheard. Besides, Harry was lounging on the floor between the dining room and kitchen. And though the dog gave the relaxed impression of boredom and exhaustion, he was watching Sam’s every movement.

  “I know, I know,” he muttered to the dog, “keep my hands and my hormones to myself, right?”

  The dog snorted as if his claim to Jess was obvious. And when the big, hairy mutt followed him through the shop area into the living room, Sam knew he’d have to wait until the cabin was completely empty before conducting an in-depth search. Though he could tolerate Sam’s company if ordered to do so, Harry just plain old wasn’t going to allow anyone to hurt his mistress.

  “I don’t want to, big guy,” Sam confessed. But finding out the truth had been the only thing to keep him going, after Kerry’s death. If breaking Jess’s fragile trust and condemning his own soul were the only way to get the job done… Sam nodded at the dog. “You can tell I’m as big and bad as I look, can’t you?”

  Sam turned on a lamp and settled into the leather recliner in front of the cold stone fireplace while the dog circled in place three times and finally plopped onto the rug between the coffee table and sofa. Harry rested his snout on his front paws, but his brown-black eyes watched Sam just as steadily as the glass eyes of the buffalo head mounted over the fireplace.

  Sam leaned forward slightly, shaking his head. “You and I have to find a way to get along, big guy.”

  “Making friends?” Jessica walked around the screen that divided the public showroom from her personal living space. She’d stopped to put on a short, terry robe over her T-shirt, but with it cinched loosely at her waist, it accented rather than concealed all the alluring parts of her long-limbed figure.

  Sam stood as she set a tray of cups, homemade cookies and the coffeepot on top of the table. “I wouldn’t go that far. I think I’m still on his hit list.”

  He wasn’t sure if it was the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee or Jess’s soft, musical laugh that made the shadowy walls of rock and wood feel suddenly very cozy. She handed him a cup of the steaming drink and sat on the rustic-print sofa, curling her long legs beneath her and settling in to sip from her own cup. “Harry takes his job very seriously,” Jess explained. “I think most dogs just want to know what their role in the pack is, and then please the pack leader by doing that job well. And I think rescue dogs are especially grateful to find that place where they’re needed and fit in.”

  Sam resumed his seat, silently wondering what his place in this odd pack might be. “And you’re the leader?”

  Jess nodded. “It’s important when training a dog that he knows who’s boss.” She reached down to pet Harry. “I’d hate to have this bruiser running around thinking he was in charge.”

  “You mean he doesn’t?”

  Sam decided then and there that Jessica Taylor didn’t laugh enough. When she did, she tilted her face back, exposing a swanlike arch of neck. Her eyes glittered and her lips blossomed from that composed Mona Lisa grin into something radiant and confident and full of life. His interest in her shifted well south of any kind of investigation and his nerve endings buzzed with the urgent desire to kiss her.

  The single lamp beside the couch cast a soft halo of light around them, separating them from the darkness of the rest of the world. Under any other circumstances, with any other woman, Sam might have told her how beautiful she looked. He might have shared her laughter. He might have moved to the couch and tasted those smiling lips for himself.

  But tight fists of guilt and determination kept him rooted to the spot, kept him wishing. Jessica Taylor wasn’t any other woman. And he wasn’t sharing coffee at midnight under anything close to normal circumstances.

  So he let the laughter die. He let his body’s needs go unappeased. He drank his decaf and searched for some smooth line to lead him in to the questions he needed to ask.

  But Jess saved him the trouble.

  She shifted into the far corner of the couch, giving him a glimpse of one long, creamy thigh. But the sensual mood caught in the circle of dim light dissipated as she tugged the robe down over her lap and curled herself into a tight, protective ball. She stared down into the flowered cup she cradled between her hands for a long moment before her chest expanded with a pensive sigh and she raised her clear-blue gaze to his.

  “If you’re not too tired, I think we should talk.”

  Sam’s pores opened with the heat of anticipation. Was this it? Was this what he’d come to find out? But he sipped his coffee and kept his cool, not wanting to frighten her off the topic. “Talk about what?”

  “I should probably tell you a little bit about me. So you don’t think I’m a complete lunatic.”

  “I don’t think that.”

  “I would.” She smiled. She was back to that Mona Lisa look—friendly enough but holding something back. “You don’t think I’m the least bit eccentric?” she challenged.

  “I’m hardly one to talk.”

  She set her cup on the table and leaned back, picking up one of the dark-green pillows that decorated the couch and hugging it to her chest. “I haven’t always walked around with a shotgun and a guard dog, you know. I haven’t always screamed at my computer or been overly suspicious of strangers.”

  Sam polished off his drink but held on to the cup to keep himself from doing something unwise like reaching out to her. As flip as she sounded, her body posture told him how difficult this was for her to discuss. “Obviously, you know your way around a gun.”

  She nodded. “My dad taught me how to shoot when I was a teenager. Most of my brothers are cops, so there were always firearms in the house and it was important I knew about gun safety.”

  “Sounds smart.”

  �
��Several months ago when I was on a buying trip in Chicago…well, I told you I’d been mugged.” She squeezed her eyes shut and jerked her head to one side, as if she was unable to avoid a painful image that popped to mind. Sam’s grip tightened around the delicate porcelain in his hand. Maybe he didn’t want to hear this, after all. She must have suffered. Kerry had suffered the same way. Jess’s eyes opened. Such sad, haunting eyes. “Actually, I was—” she swallowed hard and said the vile word “—raped.”

  “Son of a bitch.” The cup nearly cracked in his grip. Sam hadn’t counted on the intensity of his reaction when he actually heard her admit it. He swiped his palm across his mouth and jaw. He needed to detach his emotions from this, and fast. “I’m sorry.” He set down the cup before he broke it. “I know it’s an old-fashioned notion, but I’ve always thought women should be protected. And that, no matter how strong or independent they are, it’s a man’s responsibility to care of them. Not to…” Oh, man, he was rambling now. He shut himself up. “I’m sorry.”

  Her shy smile softened the sharp scrutiny of her eyes. “You remind me of my big brother, Brett. Well, actually all six of them think they’re big brothers.” She felt a sisterly connection to him? His ego would deal with that one later. Though maybe it would be easier to keep from feeling anything for her if she only saw him as a sibling or employee. She seemed to read his mind. “I don’t mean like that.”

  Sam wondered if his double take showed on his face. Oh? So she had noticed him as a man who might, in some very foolish way, be attracted to her? “How do you mean?”

  “You seem very protective. Coplike. On guard. Observant. Quick to respond.” Sam bit down on the inside of his lip, showing no reaction to her on-the-mark intuition. “I figured it was safe to tell you about Chicago since you’ve come to my rescue a couple of times now. I try to lead a normal life, but I can’t. I’m always…watching for him.”

  Those coplike instincts made him ask, “Your rapist wasn’t caught? You did report it, didn’t you?”