by Julie Miller
And as hard as he stared at Jess, as strongly as he telepathically urged her to share the truth with her family and friends, she made absolutely no mention about her own attack. As far as the Taylors knew, they were on guard against a band of thieves and vandals.
And a handyman from the FBI with designs on their sister.
Sam no longer hid the fact he worked for the Bureau, though he respected Jess’s wishes and made no mention of his real reason for being there. He wore his gun and carried his badge despite the chafing of his holster across his shoulders from chopping up fallen limbs and carting the pieces to the stack of firewood. If the Taylors wanted to relegate him to an off-duty agent earning some extra money as a security guard, let them. He fully intended to uphold his promise to get the man who’d attacked Jess. With or without their cooperation.
Whatever happened after that would be up to her.
“We’d better be reporting in, amigo.” A.J. held up his watch as a signal to Josh.
Josh downed the last of his lemonade and stood. “You’d think having Cousin Mitch for a precinct captain would make it easier to get away with taking a long lunch, not the other way around.”
Jess rose from her chair and helped him slide his leather jacket on over his shoulders. She was smiling again. But the effort it required looked almost painful. “You know how Mitch is. He runs a tight ship. We count on him to be tough. That’s why we love him so much.”
“You sure he’s not pickin’ on me?” Josh turned and twisted up his face in a mock show of intimidation.
Though he stood a head taller than she, Jess playfully punched him in the shoulder. “No, but I will if you get in trouble for being late.” She glanced around his shoulder to include A.J. in her teasing. “You know, detective, you’ve got to keep this boy in line.”
“I don’t do miracles.” A.J.’s laconic humor earned a laugh. He tipped the bill of the ball cap he wore with a flourish of Old World panache. “Good to see you again, Jessie. C’mon, hotshot.” A.J. pointed a commanding finger at his partner, then headed for the low-slung black car they’d arrived in.
Josh swung his arms wide and shrugged as if he didn’t have a clue. “See? Everybody at the Fourth gives me grief.” When his arms came down, he wrapped them around Jess and hugged her tight. “One of us will be out here tonight,” he promised, his outrageous charm temporarily on hold. “You won’t even know we’re here. So you get some sleep.”
Jess kissed his cheek before he pulled away. “I’ll try.”
“Love ya.” He winked.
“You, too. Give my best to Rachel and Anne-Marie.” Josh’s wife and baby girl, he’d learned from earlier in the conversation. Just mentioning them brought on a beaming smile.
“Always. Sam?” He turned to shake Sam’s hand. His smile belied his firm grip. “There’s something going on with you I just can’t figure out. I mean, what’s a Boston boy doing all the way out here?”
“Josh.” Jess’s reprimand fell on deaf ears.
He released Sam’s hand but leaned in half a step. His blue eyes narrowed; he was still trying to solve the puzzle. “Unless you’re trying to woo this lady. Maybe you met her on one of her trips, and now you’re making a dramatic, romantic trip to—”
“Joshua Taylor.”
This time, big sister’s reprimand shut him up. He thumbed over his shoulder at Jess. “I warn you, she’s stubborn.”
Sam couldn’t resist the obvious. “You think?”
When Josh laughed at the shared joke, Sam had the fleeting notion that he could like this man. He considered how, under other, less threatening cirumstances, his respect for the Taylor men might have evolved into bonds of friendship.
But these weren’t other circumstances. As far as they knew, he could be as big a danger to Jess as the unknown enemy he was trying to protect her from. The situation wasn’t exactly conducive to long-term family harmony.
“Take care of her,” Josh reminded him needlessly.
“I will.”
Sam trailed Josh down the steps and stood watch over the two departing detectives while Jess began to clear the table. But as soon as the black Trans Am had driven out of sight, she sank into the nearest chair and dropped her face into her hands. Exhaustion, that had to be emotional as much as physical, radiated from every curve of her posture.
“Jess?” Torn by her pain, Sam jumped the steps onto the porch, kneeling beside her and reaching out to scoop her into his arms before reason could kick in. “I’m going to…”
But reason did hit. Hard. He curled his hands into fists and let them fall to his sides. Any effort to comfort her might do more harm than good at this point. The last time he’d touched her, he’d lost control of his desires and triggered a flashback.
Some comfort.
He blew out a steadying breath, refusing to let either his emotions or his hormones make another mistake. “Are you okay?”
He tried to mimic one of Josh’s nonchalant laughs but failed. This was too much, too serious to be healed by laughter. Instead, he forced himself to think like a special agent charged with protecting a witness. He braced one hand on the back of her chair and the other on his knee, hovering close, but not touching her.
Her blue eyes were dull with fatigue when she met his seeking gaze. “Sometimes I think I’ll never be okay.”
“You should tell your family what you’re going through, let them share your burden. It’s too much to handle on your own.”
But she was already shaking her head. “I tried this morning with Ma. But I can’t. I’m so afraid one of them or all of them would make this their personal quest. They’d set their careers aside, their family and friends, just to help their sister.”
“Like I did?”
He could read the shock, the comprehension, the apology on her stricken features. But he wouldn’t let her say the words, he wouldn’t let her absorb any more misplaced guilt. “I didn’t—”
“Josh was right.” Sam gentled his voice to a soothing pitch. “You need to sleep. Why don’t you go in and lie down for a nap. Sleep through the night if you can. I’ll finish cleaning up out here.”
She shoved a shock of her chestnut hair behind her ear, refusing to be helped. “I promised to tell you what I remember.”
“It can wait.” He stood, allowing himself to take her hand and pull her to her feet. But he held on only long enough to steady her, then he quickly moved to the door and held it open for her. “I want you rested. You’ll be able to think clearly. You’ll want to feel strong to handle the questions I have to ask.”
Jess nodded, wrapping her arms about her waist in that habitual, heartbreaking hug that made it appear as if she could find no other solace. She paused in the doorway beside him. “You’ve been up as long as I have. You need to sleep, too.”
Sam waved aside her concern. “As soon as I know one of your brothers is out here on patrol, I’ll come in and sack out on the couch. We’ll talk in the morning.”
Her gaze fell to his mouth and lingered as if she saw something there that caught her eye. She studied his mouth long enough that Sam could feel the answering heat rushing to that spot—preparing, reaching out, wanting to taste the same heat from her lips. But then she blinked and turned to the open door, dousing the sudden fire. “Until morning, then.”
Sam rooted his feet to the planked porch and watched her walk away. Kissing her was out of the question. Holding her was taboo. Falling in love with her wasn’t an option, either.
Jess needed a genteel, patient man to love her, to be a passionless companion who could help her heal. She didn’t need a greedy son of a bitch like him who saw her as a smart, sexy, desirable woman. A man whose body and soul still ached for her in ways a long, cold shower could never fix.
When the door closed softly in his face, he took that as a sign. The irony of his punishment was complete. He’d come here a few long days ago with the devious intention of using her to get what he wanted.
He finally understood t
hat vengeance wasn’t what he wanted, after all.
He wanted love. He wanted a family again.
He wanted Jessica Taylor.
JESSICA HAD FALLEN INTO BED wearing her T-shirt and panties. Despite the maelstrom of emotions inside her, exhaustion had claimed her for a couple of hours of deep, dreamless sleep.
So she was a little disoriented when the phone rang beside her bed, startling her awake. The clock read almost 5:00 p.m., but she hadn’t turned on any lights upstairs and it seemed much later. Her face felt hot as she pressed her palms against her cheeks and pushed the tousled mop of her hair back off her face.
The phone was ringing a fourth time when the downstairs door flew open and Sam stomped inside in a hurry to answer it. Jessica leaped to her feet and dashed to the log railing of her loft. He’d been working outside and she hadn’t even been able to do this to help him. She was embarrassed to be such a basket case and call herself a Taylor.
She shouted down into the cabin below. “I’ve got it up here, Sam.”
“I didn’t want to wake you. You were sleeping so soundly.” He popped out of the dining room and stood below the railing, looking up at her like a modern-day Romeo with his shaggy black hair and that navy bandanna tied on top. His gaze raked over her body with such heat that she looked down to verify that everything was decently covered.
In this rumpled look, she was certainly no Juliet. But Sam’s pinpoint attention didn’t seem to care. The answering machine was picking up now. “I have a business to run. I’ll get it.”
She ran back to her cordless phone, pushed the button to turn off the answering machine’s message and picked up the receiver. “Log Cabin Antiques. Jessica speaking.” She cringed at the breathless quality of her voice, due as much to the man standing in her living room as to her dashing back and forth.
Fortunately, a friend answered. “Jessica? Charles Kent. I wasn’t sure you were home.”
“Uh, no. I was just busy. Sorry I didn’t catch the phone sooner.” She crossed to the railing and waved Sam toward the door, trying to tell him there was nothing to worry about. He didn’t budge, making good on his promise to be her temporary replacement guard dog. Jessica turned her back and leaned her hip against the pine-log railing that lined the edge of the loft, giving herself the sham of privacy in the open cabin. “What can I do for you?”
“Two things.” She could count on Charles to get down to business. “First, I’m appalled at this sudden influx of crime in our little hamlet. Sheriff Hancock was here this morning, asking about one of the locals I’d hired to do some work on my arboretum. He said your place had been broken into. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Vandals damaged some of my merchandise, but thanks to Sam nothing was stolen. Insurance will cover everything.” She didn’t want her troubles to become neighborhood gossip, but something Charles had said caught her attention. “You said the sheriff was there? Who was he asking about?”
“The younger Phillips boy.”
“Derek?”
Charles ignored her surprise and continued. “Hancock said there was something suspicious about his truck. Asked him to account for his whereabouts the past few days. If he’s going to be trouble, I’ll have to fire him.”
“Derek’s a good kid.” Or so she’d thought. Jessica sprang to attention as disjointed facts tried to come together and make sense. She whirled around and found Sam looking straight at her, as if he sensed something important about to happen, too. “He’s at football practice every evening until six, then he goes home and does chores on his parents’ farm. He worked here Sunday afternoon. When does he have time to work for you?”
“Well, Saturday he was here at the house—transplanted some trees for me. I’ve had him and a few other young men here on and off through the past few weeks. I think his father has had a run of poor crop yields. Mr. Phillips even approached me about selling off a few acres. Could be they’re hurting for money.”
“I had no idea things had gotten that bad for them.” Her concern for the Phillipses’ plight quickly changed to suspicion. Derek would know where her storage shed was located. He’d know the most valuable items to destroy if he wanted to inflict some damage or make a point. But Die Bitch?
“Jessica?”
She pulled her attention back to the conversation. She needed to end it quickly and share the information with Sam. “I’m sorry. You said there were two things?”
Charles cleared his throat. His businesslike tone perked up with an uncharacteristic energy. “As you know, my arboretum has a seating area—for guests to relax or to study the flora.”
“Yes?” She remembered the patiolike area, paved in a mosaic of terra-cotta tiles.
“I’ve gotten a lead on some wicker furniture from the 1940s. Postwar pizzazz style, if you will. It’s at an estate sale tomorrow over in Mission Hills.”
She shook her head, not understanding what he was asking of her. “Sounds perfect.”
“The executor called to see if I could come over tonight to preview it, to make sure it’s what I want.”
“I’d go for it, then.” Mission Hills was one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in the Kansas City area. “The stuff should be awfully nice. And if they’re giving you a break before anyone else snatches it up—”
“Would you come with me?” he asked. “I could use your expertise to appraise and inspect the furniture. Advise me on its condition and whether or not they’re asking a fair price. You know I want only the best. But I won’t be robbed.”
“Tonight?”
“I realize it’s short notice. I just got the call myself. I’ll pay you for your time as a consultant, of course. Maybe you’d allow me to take you to dinner afterward. Someplace on the Plaza.”
Now his business proposition was starting to sound like a date. She’d gotten that same vibe from him before. But Charles was a friend. Charles was boring. Charles wasn’t Sam. And if she couldn’t make a relationship work with the man she wanted to be with, then… She shrugged. “I’m not sure—”
Sam was shaking his head and mouthing the word no. Then he pressed his hands together and rested his cheek against them. Sleep, he mouthed this time before pointing at her.
She supposed his adamant refusal was more about her health and safety than jealousy of any kind. Still, she was glad for the rescue. “I can’t tonight, Charles. I’m exhausted from being up all night at the vet’s.”
“With your dog?” Charles sounded more perturbed than disppointed. He probably didn’t appreciate a canine altering his plans. She suspected courtesy, more than real concern, made him ask, “Is something wrong with him?”
“He got hurt last night.” She almost added that he’d been hurt saving her life. Instead, she gave a more vague explanation. “He was guarding the place.”
“I see.” A renewed brisk tone changed the subject. “What about tomorrow, then? I could call and ask them to hold the pieces until you inspect them.”
She was out of excuses. She’d be rested by then. Charles was a friend. And appraising antiques was part of her job. “Tomorrow sounds fine.”
“Excellent. You could come to the house for lunch. And then we’ll drive into the city together.”
“I’ll be there. Bye.”
When she disconnected the call, Sam was still there, his icy eyes looking up and demanding answers. “Well?”
“Charles Kent has a consulting job for me. I’m going to his house tomorrow around noon. He was a little testy that I wouldn’t go with him tonight.”
“Is that right?” He seemed more interested in her suspicions about Derek Phillips. “What else?”
“Just a sec.” There was no need to continue this Romeo and Juliet charade. She hung up the phone and pulled on her jeans. She eyed her bra folded up on top of her dresser, but opted for speed over modesty. Leaving the big shirt untucked, she hurried, barefoot, down the wooden stairs.
Sam was waiting for her at the bottom. The wary tension from his body radiated
at full alert. “Something about Derek Phillips?”
Jessica nodded and moved past him into the wider space of the living room. “Charles said Sheriff Hancock asked him about Derek’s whereabouts. I guess Derek’s been moonlighting at the Kent place.” She spun around to face Sam, leaving the width of the coffee table between them. “The taillight you shot out last night? It sounds like it’s on Derek’s truck. He and a friend might be our vandals.”
She didn’t know whether to be disppointed that her young neighbor was a suspect, or excited that they were finally making progress on the investigation.
Sam, however, wasn’t showing any emotion. “The kid has a crush on you, yet you treat him like a brother. Maybe Derek wanted to take what you wouldn’t give him. Or punish you for not noticing him as a man.” He hinted at a horrible possibility. “He said his football team travels to other states.”
Jessica crossed her arms around her waist to ward off the instant chill. “To Chicago, maybe. But not to Boston or anywhere else those women were killed.”
“He’s a big kid. He could overpower you easily enough. But I’m open to possibilities if you have other ideas.”
This was way too unsettling. She desperately wanted to seek out the comfort of Sam’s arms, but she wasn’t sure she’d be welcomed after this morning’s fiascolike version of making love. Besides, he was all agent right now, and the caring man who’d reawakened her as a woman was buried somewhere deep inside.
“If Derek was involved with the vandalism, more than likely someone paid him to do it,” she reasoned. “Charles said his family needs the money. But I don’t think he’d rape me.” The very possibility sickened her.
“You said you wanted me to get this guy. To do that I need facts, not your compassionate opinion. If Derek is one of our vandals who painted that message, then he has to know something about the man who told him to do it.” There was something cold and absolutely lethal in Sam’s eyes right now. Unwittingly, her gaze strayed to the black steel gun that hung below his left arm. The two shared uncomfortably similar characteristics. “I think I’ll pay him a visit.”
