by Julie Miller
“That’s better.” Charles sounded much calmer now, a sick parody of his former self. “No woman will ever tell me what to do or criticize me or say no to me. Right?”
Jessica’s lungs ached to breathe. With the blow to her head, she wouldn’t stay conscious for long. Play along. She could stall for time if she played along. She forced herself to nod. Once. Twice.
The gruesome black face laughed. “That’s better.”
He released the tension on the chain, and Jessica sucked in a deep breath of reviving air. But the reprieve was only temporary. He released her arms, but dragged the blade of his knife down the front of her blouse, snipping the buttons one by one.
She couldn’t endure this again. He sliced through her belt and flicked open the snap of her jeans. Keep talking. “Your mother must have been a tyrant to grow up with. So demanding. So intolerant.”
“We don’t talk about Mother, is that clear?” He ripped open the fly of her jeans.
Jessica rammed her fists against his chest. “Stop it!”
He reached for the snap of his own jeans. “That’s wrong, wrong, wrong!” he said. Jessica hit him again. “Women have no power over me!”
The musty barn flooded with light as doors and windows swung open.
“Charles!” An Irish accent tinged with lethal menace shouted from the main door. Jessica’s heart screamed with joy. “I’ll put a bullet in your head if you don’t let her go right now.”
In a matter of seconds her joy turned to absolute terror.
Charles rolled over, slicing through the belt that bound her ankles. Then he was on his feet, pulling her up in front of him as a human shield.
“Back off!” he warned. “Or I’ll kill her.”
“YOU SON OF A BITCH.”
Jess had blood on her. Her wrists were bound. And that bastard had her lined up perfectly between himself and Sam’s bullet. If Jess had been a petite little thing, he’d have aimed above her head. But she was tall and strong and a perfect shield for a man Kent’s size.
The only shot was right beside her ear. An inch one way and Kent would be dead. An inch the wrong way and she’d be dead.
Sam had trained his entire career for a moment like this. He’d done it in training. He could make the damn shot.
But he’d never counted on the woman he loved being lined up in the crosshairs of his Sig Sauer as well.
Mitch Taylor shouted commands to the sheriff’s deputies and KCPD officers who’d surrounded the building. He ordered Kent to surrender, to drop his weapon and release his hostage. He listened to Kent’s demands and warned him of the charges being brought against him. He told Kent the difference between prison and death, depending on his cooperation now.
And all the while Sam never moved. His hands never wavered. His eyes never left Jess.
When the knife first nicked her breast he flinched inside. When it cut into her cheek, he seethed.
Jess struggled with the pain and fear, but her gaze stayed fixed on his. Shoot him. She mouthed the words. He’d promised, one way or the other, he’d get this bastard for her.
Charles Kent pressed the knife to her throat.
“Anybody have a clear shot?” Mitch demanded.
“Yes.”
Sam squeezed the trigger.
Chapter Fourteen
The wheels of justice moved slowly but surely in every part of the country, it seemed.
In the three days since Charles Kent’s death, Sam had spent some of his time at the hospital, checking on Jess. But there were always family and nurses and therapists of one kind or another around that prevented him from doing little more than ask how she was feeling and apologize for letting her get hurt. For being too tired or too obsessed or too damn distracted to see the real enemy right next door.
He’d spent more of his time writing reports and talking on the phone. Mitch Taylor had covered his butt with Chief Dixon in Boston, claiming he’d been working in cooperation with KCPD on the serial rapist case. A search of Charles Kent’s rooms had revealed a collection of knives, including the one Jess ID’d as the weapon used on her in Chicago. And the souvenir hair samples from his duffel bag had been sent to the DNA lab to match to the deceased victims.
But Sam already recognized the curly, raven-dark lock of hair that had once been Kerry’s crowning glory. It was just a matter of time now before the five murders and Jess’s rape were officially marked as solved. His leave of absence was over in two days, and he’d been summoned back to Boston.
He didn’t want to go.
He’d come out to Log Cabin Acres to clear his gear from Jess’s garage apartment. But he’d walked around the place, too, and noticed the benches that needed painting and the shrubs that needed pruning. He’d even like to take a stab at rebuilding that buggy. He’d stood in the spot where he and Jess had shared their first kiss, and sat on the porch where she’d served him lemonade. He planted the memories deep inside his heart and knew he had to move on.
Sam tossed his backpack in the trunk of the car he’d rented, slammed it shut and flattened his palms on the cool steel to steady himself while the pain buffeted through him. He’d picked Jess up in his arms that afternoon in the Stuyvesants’ barn and carried her outside. He’d sunk to the ground and cradled her in his lap, holding her for the last time.
The last time before brothers and paramedics and reality stepped in to tear them apart. He’d proved beyond any doubt that he was a man of violence and passion—when she needed healing and peace.
Sam inhaled deeply and raised his head to take one last look at the lush golds and reds and greens of the autumn trees. Missouri was a beautiful place. But it was time to leave it behind. He had to. Jess had her memory back. Her rapist was dead. And he would be an uncomfortable reminder of all she’d gone through.
After loosening the tie he’d worn to court that morning—to testify that Derek Phillips’s crime deserved community service, not jail time—Sam shed his suit jacket and tossed it onto the passenger seat of the car. He heard the crunch of gravel and saw the long cloud of dust to the north long before the caravan of cars, trucks and a van crested the hill. “What the hell?”
When they pulled through the brick gates and drove up Jess’s driveway, he wasn’t surprised. His day of reckoning had come.
Sam closed the car door and braced himself as one by one, the vehicles stopped and the Taylors climbed out. This was going to be the “set him straight” talk about shooting at, deceiving, using and taking liberties with their sister.
“O’Rourke.” Mitch Taylor acknowledged him first. Then the others gathered round. It was a pretty damn intimidating lineup. But he balanced himself on the balls of his feet and dangled his fists loosely at his sides.
“I don’t want to fight you,” he said, swinging his gaze to include each man. Even one he hadn’t met yet. A dead ringer for Jess in coloring, though this guy was built on the big and brawny side and sporting a long ponytail. It had to be Cole Taylor.
“Fight?” countered Brett.
“I deserve it, I know.” Sam understood about wanting the best for a sister. He respected their concern. “I’ll take any of you on, one-on-one. But the six of you together would beat the crap out of me.” He included Sid Taylor, who stood at the end of the line. “Seven, sir. Though I’d rather not—”
“Nobody wants to fight,” Sid interrupted. He looked down the line at his sons. “Right, boys?”
“Well, I don’t know,” Josh started to tease. “If he hurt Jessie—” But he was glared into silence by his father.
“We’re just here to talk, son,” Sid explained.
Son? A friendly conversation with all of them? Right.
“Let me save you the trouble.” Sam rattled off a list of his transgressions against Jess, and ended with an honest apology. “I never meant to hurt her. God knows I never wanted to. But I screwed up. So I’ll leave. I don’t want to hurt her any more. I don’t want to remind her of all that’s happened.”
Sinc
e no one seemed intent on throwing the first punch, he pulled his keys out of his pocket and opened the car door. “Take care of her.”
But before he climbed in, he wheeled around and demanded some terms of his own. “Don’t let her settle for some ass like Templeton. She deserves better. She deserves someone who loves her. Who treats her as an equal. She deserves someone who wants only her. Who sees her for the brainy, sexy, softhearted knockout she is. You make damn sure it’s someone who loves her.” So much for ice in his veins. His outburst faded on one spent breath. “Don’t let her settle for anything less.”
“You know anyone like that?” That was Cole.
Sam glared at him. There. He’d confessed it. He wanted their sister. “Yeah.”
“Then what can we do to convince you to stay?”
“What?” Cole might as well have thrown that punch. This wasn’t a lynch mob?
“Enough!” A car door opened and closed. Harry bounded through the line of brothers and trotted right up to Sam. “Harry, sit.”
At Jess’s command, the giant mutt plopped his haunches on Sam’s foot and nuzzled his head into his hand. Interesting. Not an ally he’d expected. Sam raked his fingers through his hair, confused. Somehow he’d been transported to an alternate universe where the Taylors wanted him to stay and Harry liked him.
But the only universe that made any sense was in Jess’s blue eyes as she pushed her way between Mac and Gideon. “Did you mean what you said?”
She crossed straight to him, coming closer, ever closer. Close enough to smell the spicy ginger of her hair. Close enough for him to see the tiny stitches that mended her cheek. Close enough to reach out and…she turned away.
Jess looked to her family and said, “I love you lots, but…could you all go away?”
Martha Taylor came to her aid and shooed them all back to their respective vehicles. Sam almost laughed when he saw who really ran the Taylor show. It wasn’t until they were all driving away that Sam realized Jess and Harry had positioned themselves in a protective front to shield him from her family’s good intentions.
But once they were alone, she sent Harry out to check his territory and laced her fingers together with Sam’s. He latched on tight, helpless to resist her gentle touch. “I was afraid I wouldn’t get here in time,” she said. “So I asked if someone would drive out here to delay you. I didn’t think they would all volunteer.”
Sam rubbed his thumb in circles against her palm. “What’s going on, babe?”
Jessica looked up into the eyes of the man she loved. She saw the compassion written there. She saw the courage and nobility. She saw the love.
Now she just had to make him see it. Accept it. She had to make sure he gave them a chance.
“Sam? Would it be all right if I kissed you?”
“Ah, babe, you don’t have to ask.”
She grinned at the dawning on his face, and felt a uniquely feminine strength growing inside her. Three days in the hospital had given her plenty of time to think this through, to understand that he had always put her needs first. But a man, even one so strong and sure as Sam, needed to be asked, too.
“I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” she said, brushing her fingers across the bold jut of his chin, smooth shaven now. “I’m not perfect, but I’m stubborn. And I’m not going to give up on the possibility of us just because some days will be harder than others. Some days we’ll have doubts. I might feel shame. You might feel guilt.” She slid her fingertips across his taut lips and tugged gently at the lower curve. “But I am certain that we love each other and that we are stronger together. That, together, we can heal. That we’ll have more good days than we’ll have bad, and that one day—” his hand came up to cup her cheek “—the bad days will be over.”
His ice-colored eyes blazed with fire. “I’m ready to kiss you now.”
And he did.
Their lips met in a crush of fierce possession that held nothing back. He lifted her off her feet and carried her into the cabin. She looped her arms around his neck and hugged him close, gave him the acceptance he needed, found the trust she required.
“Sam?” Her fingers were tangled in the lush silk of his hair.
He was nibbling at that crazy spot at the top of her shoulder. “Hmm?”
They’d made it to the sofa. Their shirts were open, their hearts were racing, and a feeling of utter rightness drowned out the remnants of fear inside her.
“I think I’m ready now,” she said.
“For what, babe?” She pulled back and looked at him in that way, and bravely reached for the buckle on his belt. “Oh.” The reverent stroke of his trembling fingers across her lips gave her more reassurance than any words. “You don’t have to do this for me.”
“I’m not. I’m doing it for me.”
Sam’s loving was gentle and slow and achingly thorough. She asked to be on top and he asked her to just keep talking so he’d know she was with him all the way. They found their completion together, right there on the sofa.
And then again in her bed upstairs. It was better the second time around. And it would be even better the next.
And when they were done, he pulled her on top of him and wrapped them together in the quilt. Jessica rode the quieting rise and fall of his broad, warm chest.
“Kansas City has a Bureau department,” he whispered in that beautiful Irish voice. He drew lazy circles across her back. “I wonder if they could use another agent. I’m a fair shot, a decent investigator, and I seem to have a pretty good working relationship with the sheriff’s department and KCPD.”
Jessica snuggled close and smiled. “If not, I know Boston has wonderful antiques.”
They were both thinking out loud now, planning their future. “I’d like you to come to Boston with me sometime—to meet my family. I know that sounds corny, but I’ve met all of yours.” His arms tightened with a sudden flinch. She let him stew a moment in silence. “I have, haven’t I?”
“Every last one of them.” She kissed the underside of his chin and felt him relax. “I’d love to go see where your family is. I’d like to say a prayer for them. And thank them. For you.”
She tasted the salty tears that gathered at the corner of his mouth. Tears of happiness.
Sam was wonderful.
He’d saved her life. He’d taught her to trust again. He’d shown her that she could be loved. Was loved. Did love.
He was a gift she would never forget.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-6753-8
UNSANCTIONED MEMORIES
Copyright © 2004 by Julie Miller
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