“I can’t –”
“Discuss an ongoing investigation. You’ve told me. Brian’s told me. And back to the fact that I’m not stupid, I understand how these things work.”
“Yet here you are.”
“You didn’t answer my calls.”
“Because I had a feeling they weren’t made with the intention of asking me how my day was or my opinion on whether powdered or granulated sugar makes the best cookie.”
Her hands clenched at her side. “It isn’t fair to keep me in the dark. It’s my life that’s in upheaval. I gave you my mother’s journal. I’ve turned over my electronic communications. I’ve given a formal statement. I’ve cooperated with everything you asked of me.”
“And the Bureau, the Justice Department and myself all appreciate it.”
“Don’t be a smartass.”
“I would be a dumbass, but you’ve got that position all wrapped up.”
“Dammit, Jesse.” Tears filled the corners of her eyes, making them shimmer like mossy pools until she stubbornly blinked them back. “Don’t treat me like I’m stupid.”
“Then don’t do stupid things. Jesus, Jillian. You know you shouldn’t be here. For multiple reasons, not the least of which is that you put yourself in danger!”
“I’m not asking you to protect me. Yes, I knew there would be risk involved in coming here, but deemed it acceptable. And I’m not asking you to show me the answers to the big test or reveal state secrets or whatever else you’re thinking. I just want to know what you found out about my brother!”
Her brother. Alexei Markov.
The son whom her mother had borne out of wedlock when she’d been a mere sixteen. The son she’d given up because she was a rising ballet star and the child’s father one of her instructors. Her married instructor, and a very influential man in his realm.
It was no wonder young Alexei had shown an aptitude for dance.
Jesse steeled himself against the tears. Or tried to, at any rate. He’d watched numerous suspects, witnesses, victims break down over the years. He’d seen people weep in raw pain and grief, watched others turn the tears on and off like a sympathy-inducing faucet. He couldn’t say he was completely immune, but a crying woman didn’t strike fear into his heart the way it did with some men.
But this woman’s unshed tears made something inside him damn uncomfortable. He wanted to soothe her. He wanted to slay dragons for her.
He wanted her, period. And when you got right down to it, he was the one in danger.
“Don’t cry,” he said, rather stupidly.
“I’m not crying, you jerk.”
“You look like you’re about to.”
“I’m not crying,” she repeated, straining the words through her teeth. “Though I am considering punching you.”
A slight smile lifted the corners of his mouth, and Jesse couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and stroke her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Haven’t you had your fill of assaulting law enforcement officers lately?”
“That’s not funny.”
“No it’s not.” He sighed, and let his hand drop. He really shouldn’t discuss this with her. He really shouldn’t be here with her. But it probably wouldn’t hurt to let her know.
And then call Brian to get her the hell away.
“I haven’t found out much more than what we already knew from your mother’s journal, the emails and from what you told me about your conversations with Alexei himself. What I have discovered… let’s just say that it confirms some of my suspicions about your brother’s questionable connections.”
Jillian searched his face and apparently decided that he was telling the truth. Looking defeated, she eased herself onto the padded bench behind the table that comprised his dining area. She sat silently for a moment, and then folded her hands on the table.
“I didn’t know,” she told Jesse. “I truly didn’t know that he was involved in anything illegal.”
“Unless he admitted it, how would you?”
“I feel like I should have guessed.”
“Because you’re psychic now? Or did he give you any reason to suspect he had ties to organized crime?”
“No.” She shook her head. “But the last time we Skyped, he seemed really agitated. Nervous. I attributed it to the problems he was having with his career, maybe a problem with alcohol. I read the articles in the Russian press that reported that he was spiraling out of control, but he assured me it was exaggerated. He said that he had some things to take care of to get back on track, basically, and that he might not be in touch for a short while, but he didn’t want me to worry. And then he was gone. I didn’t think… I didn’t think it was relevant. To your investigation. How could it be, when he was dead?”
Jesse hesitated, and then sat down on the bench. He was careful to keep a couple of feet between them.
“The other night you said you waited two weeks before trying to contact him after that session.”
“That’s right. He’d said he might be MIA, plus it was right around Christmas. I was busy, and figured he might be, too. But after a couple weeks passed, I sent several emails, all of which went unanswered. I tried both his agency and the ballet company, but they had no information. At least none that they were willing to share. A week later, I got a Google alert – I’d set it up to follow his name in the press – with the report that he’d crashed his car.”
Jesse considered. “You said you’d been communicating regularly with him for six months?”
“Around that. And at first it was pretty difficult given that he only spoke a smattering of English and my Russian was pretty basic. I’d started learning it after my aunt died and I found my mother’s journal in the safe deposit box… I wanted to translate it myself. It seemed too private to hire someone else. As I told you the other day, it was a shock to learn that I had a half-brother. I didn’t really believe I would find him, but I had to try. And then when I thought I had, I couldn’t be sure it was him, despite the fact that his background matched what my mother described.” She glanced up. “She’d been so proud of him, of his dancing. He was only twelve, I think, when she died, but already considered a prodigy. I still can’t believe she never told my father.”
“Sometimes people bury a secret so deeply inside themselves that the thought of revealing it becomes equivalent to ripping out their guts.”
Jillian smiled a little. “Not the most eloquent of visuals, but I know what you mean.” Then her expression turned pensive. “I didn’t tell Cooper. My ex-husband,” she explained. “I didn’t tell him that I had a brother. Our marriage was already shaky – had been pretty much from the exchange of vows – and my aunt’s death seemed to drive another wedge between us. Things weren’t good, so I didn’t want to share it with him. I didn’t even tell Katie. I used my aunt’s computer to search for Alexei and her email to communicate with him. Cooper thought I was having an online affair.”
“Understandable.”
She nodded, studied her clasped hands. “I’m ashamed to admit that I let him continue to think it. It was a handier excuse for the divorce rather than admitting that I’d rushed into marriage after a really bad experience because I wanted to feel… safe. So in a way, I guess Alexei became my secret, too.”
“That explains why we couldn’t find any record of you communicating with anyone in Russia – you weren’t using your computer or your own email.”
Jillian glanced up sharply. “You searched my email?”
“And your phone records and your passport and your credit card activity. I can see by your face that you feel violated, and I’m sorry for that. But I’m not sorry for doing my job or for following leads which pointed – probably rightfully so – to you. You may not have realized your relationship with your half-brother was relevant, but at this point I think it’s safe to assume that it is.”
Jillian drew a deep breath. “If you’d found those emails between Alexei and I before I told you about them, you would have tho
ught that I’d been hiding something from you.”
“Without your explanation and the evidence you provided, both with the journal and the emails? Absolutely. And though it would have pained me and would have devastated Brian, I’d have hauled you in for questioning. And I probably wouldn’t have been as nice as I was the last time you sat across the interview table from me.”
Jillian stared at him for several moments and then shook her head. “I should be offended by the lack of trust in that statement. I should feel hurt that you would kiss me the way you did and yet still be willing to lock me up. I don’t understand why it makes me feel better.”
“I said it would have pained me.”
Her smile was wry. “Speaking as someone who spent a weekend behind bars, I can guarantee it would have pained you a lot less than it would have pained me.”
They stared at each other for several moments, with only the lap of the water against the boat to break the silence.
“Thank you,” she finally said. “For telling me what you could.”
“I’m going to have to kick Brian’s ass for letting you drive all the way out here by yourself.”
Her eyes shifted to the side. “He didn’t exactly let me. I waited until he fell asleep on the sofa.”
“What about the alarm?”
“I silenced the door chime. But I left a note.”
“A note.” Jesse stabbed his hands into his hair, resisted the urge to pull it out. “A lot of good a note would have done if one of your brother’s former friends decided to run you off the road or invite you in for a friendly little question and answer session.”
“But why would they be interested in me? No, wait. Hear me out. Alexei’s dead. He’s been dead for almost two years. So why now?”
“Maybe he told you something that they’d rather not be known.”
“Like what?” She threw up her hands. “Say they discovered he’d been communicating with me. You have the emails. I told you what we talked about on Skype. It was basic getting-to-know-you stuff. It’s not like he passed along nuclear codes or something.”
“That would be an entirely different investigation. But Jillian, just because you know he didn’t tell you something compromising, it doesn’t mean other people share that knowledge. They may want to eliminate you solely on the possibility.”
“Okay.” She drew a shaky breath. “I’ve been thinking about this – and given the fact that I’ve basically been incarcerated in my own home, I’ve had plenty of time to think. I didn’t want to believe that Alexei was involved with something criminal, but being realistic, I had to acknowledge that it might explain some of what’s happened. But if, as you’ve suggested, the things that have happened do have something to do with my brother and the people he was involved with, then why haven’t they just shot me? Or run me over with a car when I was out running? Or any of the myriad ways they could have eliminated me that wouldn’t have drawn attention. They’ve had plenty of time and almost endless opportunities. Why drag things out like this? Why mess with my head? That doesn’t make sense. It’s not like I’ve done anything to inspire malice.”
Jesse had been asking himself the same question. And aside from the fact that whomever they were dealing with seemed to enjoy putting on a show of sorts, he didn’t have an answer. Not a logical one, at any rate.
“I don’t know yet,” he admitted. “And until I do, you’re going to have to promise me that you won’t pull another stunt like tonight. I know you’re not dumb, but I don’t think you appreciate the type of people we’re dealing with. I also understand your impatience and frustration. I even understand that feeling like a hostage in your own home takes you back to a mental and emotional place that you’d rather not revisit. But this,” he gestured toward the pepper spray on her wrist “nor your basic knowledge of self-defense are a match for someone who would sneak into a place that they know is being monitored by law enforcement and take the time to flay a man’s flesh from his bones.
“Yeah, it’s an ugly picture,” he said when she winced. “But it’s one I want you to keep front and center of your mind. Whoever is behind this is a psychopath, Jillian. An extremely violent psychopath who we have reason to believe has already been in your house. The fact that it was your dolls – the nesting dolls you inherited from your mother – that were messed with is not a coincidence. It’s a message. Until we understand that message, you need to consider yourself in mortal danger. Being stuck at home with a babysitter might suck, but it’s better than being dead. ”
Face pale and sober, Jillian once again studied her hands. When they trembled, she pulled them back onto her lap.
“I wanted to talk to you tonight because I wanted answers, but also because I feel better. Being with you,” she explained. “Not because I don’t think Brian is competent. I know he is. But he also coddles me like a baby sister. It’s just the way he is, and I know that he means well. But it drives me crazy to be treated as if I’m a child to be patted on the head and sent to bed while the grown-ups figure out what to do. Infantilizing me doesn’t make me feel safer. It makes me feel like a victim again, and like you said, I don’t want to revisit that place. I can’t revisit that place and retain my sanity. You don’t tell me as much as I’d like you to, but at least you’re straight with me when you do share information. Knowing what I’m up against is… empowering, I guess. I feel more prepared. And as much as it irks me to be left out of the loop, I also like knowing that you’re ethical. Given my past experiences, ethical carries a lot of weight.”
She waited a beat, and then looked directly at him with both vulnerability and determination shining in her eyes. “That click you mentioned? It happened for me, too.”
“Jillian.” Alarm bells started ringing in his head.
“I know,” she interrupted before he could say anything else. “I know that you won’t – can’t – act on it.”
“Not for a lack of wanting to.”
She nodded. “I just felt like I should say something in case… I don’t mean to sound fatalistic, but in case things don’t turn out quite the way we hope. Like you said, this person – or persons – has already been in my home. He’s drugged me. He killed that poor animal. And he’s probably murdered other people. It’s terrifying,” she admitted. “But I don’t want to hide under the bed. And I don’t want to waste time pretending that I don’t feel the things I feel.”
“Jillian.” This time his voice held angry frustration. “Nothing is going to happen to you. Do you hear me?”
“You don’t know that.”
“The hell I don’t.” He reached out, cupped her face. “No one is going to touch you. No one.”
Except, apparently, for him.
It was a bad idea. A terrible idea. But Jesse leaned forward anyway, placed his lips very lightly against hers.
She responded with an eagerness for which he wasn’t prepared. Foolish of him. She’d been through a tremendous amount of emotional upheaval lately. Emotional upheaval often manifested – given the right provocation – in the physical expression of sex. And she’d just told him, in so many words, that she wanted him.
He should back off now, barricade her in the head and call Brian to come pick her up. Or maybe he should barricade himself in the head.
He should do a lot of things. Just not the thing he was doing.
But Jillian made a small, wanting sound, and the feel of her hands pressing into his back, trying to pull him closer, combined with the smell of her, the taste of her, started to snuff out the last flicker of resistance.
He sank into the kiss, sank into her.
He was a man who didn’t think overmuch about sex. Not to say it didn’t occupy a fair portion of his waking thoughts – and sometimes his non-waking ones – but he didn’t tend to analyze it. If he was attracted to someone and she was legal, available, sane and consenting, he saw no trouble with occasionally scratching an itch. But aside from a few long-term relationships, he didn’t worry about the potent
ial implications of scratching.
He worried a little now. Even as his blood pulsed and his body thrummed with pleasure. And it wasn’t just because he knew – professionally speaking – that he’d crossed a line.
Somewhere in the back of his head, he knew that professional ethics wasn’t the line that should concern him.
“I’m sorry,” she said, jerking away. “I didn’t mean to… lunge at you like that. I really should go.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “You should.”
And he should be the one to make sure she went. Yet they both remained where they were, their chests rising and falling with the rapidness of their breathing. As clichéd as it was, the attraction was magnetic. He felt unable to pull himself away.
Jillian was the first to break eye contact. “I’ll call you when I get back so that you know I arrived safely.” She started to rise.
“Jillian,” Jesse said, pulling her back down. He raked a hand through his hair as if that would jump start his common sense, but feared that was hopeless. “Stay.”
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Really. There’s no need to call Brian or…”
She trailed off when she finally recognized the look in his eyes. “We shouldn’t.”
“You’re absolutely right. Stay anyway.”
“Jesse…” her breath eased out on a tender sigh. “I don’t want to put you in a bad position.”
“It says something about my state of mind right now that my first thought was that any position we tried would be fine by me. But honestly?” He shook his head. “I’ve eliminated you as a suspect. Yeah, you’re part of this investigation and as such I should keep my hands to myself – at least until the case is closed – but I’m going to risk blowing your image of me as Captain Ethics to admit that at this point I don’t much care. If I thought there was a chance I’d have to arrest you, I’d push you outside and bolt the door. Probably,” he amended. “It’s difficult to say for certain when you’re wearing those damn boots.”
The Southern Comfort Prequel Trilogy Box Set Page 22
