“I don’t need guarantees.” Jesse shifted the receiver to her left hand, flexing the cramped muscles of her right. “I’m beginning to remember more from my childhood, but it’s not enough. I’ll take whatever we can get.”
“You may not be … comfortable with this kind of therapy. It requires giving up a certain amount of conscious control.”
Oh, Al knew her. “I realize that,” she said. “But I have to try.”
A sigh reached her faintly over the line. “Okay. But we’re going into this slow and easy, Jesse. If it doesn’t feel right to either one of us, we stop. Agreed?”
“Agreed. What about tonight?”
Papers rustled. She heard the creak of Al’s bedsprings as he got up. “I have to drive out to Redding to pick up my niece early this afternoon. I’ve mentioned her—the one from boarding school.” He coughed. “Her grandmother—my brother’s mother-in-law—died in March, and she’s coming to live with me for the summer.”
Jesse vaguely remembered Al’s referring to an orphaned niece, but he hadn’t hinted that she’d be coming to stay in Manzanita. Jesse could guess Al’s feelings on that score; he valued his privacy and liked living alone. He wouldn’t know what to do with a little girl. Especially one who’d lost her family.
“Megan should be … settled in here by six,” Al said. “Meet me in my study at seven. Wear comfortable clothes and …” He sighed again. “Try not to expect too much.”
“Tonight, then,” she said, and set the receiver in its cradle with hands that no longer shook. Now that she was taking action, the fear was passing. It always did. She looked at the wall—where he had been—and felt the full absurdity of her fleeting belief in a mirage.
“You weren’t really there,” she told the air, “and I don’t need you.”
But she wondered why she’d chosen those words to warn off a figment of her own imagination.
She got up and grabbed the terrycloth robe that hung over the bedpost. Gary was no phantom; in her dream she’d seen him arguing with her mother. But had the dream revealed the truth of the past, events she’d repressed over the years? What did the argument mean? And the imagery of Gary watching—watching as Joan died …
The only thing she was sure of was that Gary was guilty. Guilty of some terrible crime.
And that he must pay.
“That’s the best breakfast I’ve had in weeks,” Gary said, patting his stomach for emphasis. He flashed a grin at his adoring audience and slid his chair from the table. “I think I can safely say your restaurant will be a rip-roaring success, Miss Hudson.”
Marie Hudson smiled from her position of anxious vigilance beside the table, her gaze hooded as she murmured throaty thanks for the compliment. Bedroom eyes, that one had, and she’d been using them to good effect during the meal; she was pretty enough, and hot for a man from the looks of it. No reason not to take full advantage of what minimal pleasures this piddling backwater town had to offer.
Gary had moved beyond Manzanita and its petty concerns, but these devoted Emerson supporters wouldn’t have the brains to recognize that. They saw him as a native-son-come-home—exactly what they wanted to see, though Gary had first arrived in Manzanita when he was twenty-six and left just two years later.
Two wasted years in the middle of nowhere. But he wasn’t about to disoblige these innocents, who wanted so badly to help him. Their votes were worth as much as anyone else’s. And he didn’t have to expend any effort at all to win them over.
He made a grand gesture of pulling out his wallet. “The tab’s on me, folks. You’ve all been good enough to help me with my campaign, and it’s the very least I can do to show my appreciation.”
Earnest applause rippled through the crowd. Gary automatically noted the ones who were most enthusiastic. There were always a few who could be counted on to go above the call of duty. Wayne Albright was one of them; he probably didn’t have anything else to do but hang out in the bar and guzzle beer, just as he’d done seventeen years ago. Now he had a purpose, putting up signs and making himself feel important as a grassroots supporter of Gary Emerson’s state assembly campaign.
Gary always knew which ones needed a purpose, which could be bought, which seduced.
Especially the latter. He managed to brush his arm across Marie’s full breasts as he stepped sideways from the table, felt the hum of contact jolt through his body. Marie didn’t move away, and when he glanced casually at her snug cashmere sweater, he saw the pucker of her nipples, bold and prominent.
He’d have something to do tonight, anyway. His business in town wouldn’t take more than a day or two.
He frowned, quickly masking the expression from his observers. Business. Surely it wouldn’t amount to anything. Gary shrugged off the moment of unease and shook hands all around, nodding and laughing at jokes and comments he barely heard. Every one of his supporters felt that his attention was entirely for them; that he liked them, that he admired them, that he needed them. They were so easy to play. The politicos and seasoned campaigners in Sacramento were different, but even they had their weaknesses. And money could open all the right doors.
Money wasn’t a problem now that he had Heather. She was waiting for him in Sacramento—with her nice, rich, influential daddy—but he wasn’t letting her lead him around by the balls. After they were married, she’d learn to get good at waiting. And turning a blind eye to his pleasures.
Gary winked at Marie as he walked out the door. She simpered, tugging at her sweater for a better display. Yes, he’d definitely have some entertainment tonight—after he’d taken care of business.
One by one his admirers dispersed, reluctant to return to whatever dismal lives they led. Only Wayne and Fred Sykes lingered, Fred gibbering on about the signs he’d begun to put up around town.
“That’s just great, my friend,” Gary said, slapping the old man on the shoulder. “It’s dedication from people like you that’s going to win us this campaign. And I won’t forget.”
Fred grinned, nodding and pawing at Gary’s sleeve. Gary detached the old man’s hand and took it between his own. “You go on, now. I’m sure there’s more that needs to be done to get our campaign office running. You’re just the man to handle it.”
He gave Fred a little push toward the office. The old man went readily enough, still nodding to himself.
“Needs a bit of fixing up,” Albright said, jerking his chin toward the storefront. “But with all the folks interested in helping, I think we—”
“I hear Jesse Copeland came by.”
Albright broke off, looking sideways at Gary. He scratched his stubbled chin. “She did. Fred … he asked her if she wanted to help with the campaign. He wasn’t here when it … when that stuff happened.”
That stuff. There had been a time, just afterward, when Gary had actually dreamed about it. But in the dreams Jesse Copeland hadn’t been a crazy little girl, pummeling at him with hands and feet that couldn’t do any real damage. In the dreams she’d been an avenging demon, intent on dragging him to hell.
But in time the nightmares had stopped. He’d kept track of Jesse until she’d been in the hospital for several months, and then had put her out of his mind—her and her dead drunk of a mother and the incident he’d hidden so well from the stupid, gullible townies. The luck he’d always pursued had finally turned up when he left Manzanita.
He charmed his way into a job with the right connections and began the serious pursuit of delayed ambition, clawing his way up the ladder of politics—first local, building a name, then moving up into the state arena. Until he had almost everything he wanted: money, admirers, the promise of power. The man he’d been seventeen years ago no longer existed.
Then he’d come across the article about the Tri-Mountain Search and Rescue team and seen Jesse Copeland’s name. She was back in Manzanita, hale and whole and all grown up, and suddenly his past wasn’t so far away anymore. Not when the smallest indiscretions of youth could haunt a man in high office.
And Gary intended to go much, much higher.
Jesse was the only link to a phase of his life he’d left behind. There was no good reason to believe she knew anything. She’d been a kid when Joan died. She’d gone nuts and then disappeared. In seventeen years there’d been no hint that she even remembered him.
But the article had nagged at him. He’d begun to see Jesse’s face, hear her voice accusing him as she’d done at the funeral. And the dream had come back.
The dream had driven him here—that and the fear that he might have made a mistake. No, not fear; caution. And Manzanita was in his district, a town he’d visit eventually, one more blip on the campaign trail. It would be a simple matter to make absolutely sure.
He sighed for Wayne’s benefit and shook his head. “I’ve never forgotten the day of Joan’s funeral. It was such a tragedy.” He looked off above the buildings, toward the mountains that cupped like sheltering arms about the narrow valley. “It’s … difficult.”
“Yeah.” Wayne stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “You know, she only came back a year and a half ago. Peace Corps or something like that, before. When she first showed up, no one knew what to expect. But she … well, she’s different. Quiet. Joined search and rescue and works up at the Lodge. The new one, I mean—Blue Rock,” he clarified, as if he didn’t expect Gary to know that the Copeland place had been shut down after it was sold.
But Gary had made it his business to know.
“I’m glad she’s found peace here,” Gary said. “She went through so much, and there was a time when I thought she might not recover.”
“It was bad,” Wayne said with the enthusiasm of a man who’d made a life’s work out of prying into other people’s business. “She was in that hospital for months, and then under some kind of special care for a couple years after that. Medication, shrinks, the whole works.”
“Poor child.”
Wayne circled his finger in the air next to his temple. “Some folks still think she’s a little strange. Keeps to herself. Can’t figure what she’s thinking.” He glanced up at Gary. “People haven’t forgotten how you tried to help her mama. Folks are watching to see what she’ll do now that you’re in town.”
Good old Wayne. He was just as reliable a gossip as he’d been seventeen years ago, when he and Gary had shared a beer or two at the Manzanita Tavern. Wayne thought that old acquaintance made him a natural intimate of the Gary Emerson who’d come so far up in the world.
Gary let his delusion continue. “I hate to think that I might make things worse for her.”
“No one blames you.” Wayne was as earnest as an overgrown, overweight, balding puppy. “Seventeen years, Gary. She’s either over it or—”
He left the sentence unfinished, but his meaning was clear. Jesse Copeland might have come home, but she was on the fringe, not quite accepted, not yet one of the citizens of Manzanita.
After a single day, Gary was sure of his own welcome. The people in these small towns had long memories and minds that hung on to old opinions like pit bulls. Joan Copeland hadn’t had a good reputation. Her daughter had been mentally ill. Gary Emerson, however, was the salt of the earth. You could trust him with your money or your wife or your life itself.
“She’s never mentioned me, then,” he asked casually, studying his manicured fingernails.
“Hell, no.”
Of course not. If Jesse had ever expressed a suspicion, he would have heard. And no one would have believed her—just as they wouldn’t have believed her mother.
If she’d been exactly like her mother, he’d have dismissed her as he’d done Joan’s pathetic, drunken threats to expose him. But when he’d seen Jesse across the cemetery yesterday morning …
He remembered the shock he’d felt, as if he’d expected her to be exactly what she’d been when he’d known her. But Jesse had grown up. She was no longer the knobby-kneed brat with scraped hands and tangled hair. She was striking, fit and tan and pretty. She didn’t look remotely crazy. And though they hadn’t spoken, he’d seen her face, watched it change as she recognized him.
Shock, like his. Loathing. And fear. Fear that might have been the remnant of her old dislike of him, or because she blamed him for her illness.
Or it could be something more. It could be because Joan had told Jesse before she died. Told her—or even passed on the evidence Joan claimed to have hidden.
Gary snorted. If there’d been any evidence, Joan had taken it into the grave with her. She’d never had the guts to use it, and she wouldn’t have endangered her precious child. He’d searched the resort thoroughly before and after her very convenient death.
But he was here in Manzanita now, and this time he’d leave no stone unturned. For whatever reason, Jesse was afraid of him. He knew how to use fear to his advantage. If she had anything on him, if she even suspected, he’d find out.
No, it wouldn’t take long at all.
“I have a few more people in town I need to talk to this afternoon,” he told Wayne. “I’m dining with the mayor and his wife tonight. Maybe after that we can go grab a beer at the tavern—for old times’ sake.”
Wayne grinned. “You betcha. Just like old times.”
Gary gave Wayne’s shoulder an affectionate slap. “You just keep things going on this end, old buddy. See that those flyers get out to everyone in town. I’ll see you tonight.”
He left Wayne headed back for the office, such as it was, and dropped in at Marie’s once more. A few words, some expert fondling behind the counter, and he’d set up his rendezvous with that nice little piece of T&A. By the end of this day he’d have more than earned his reward.
His rental car was parked at the Manzanita Inn, a motel made up of utilitarian rooms overlooking the highway. He stopped to change his clothes—the innkeeper had insisted that he take the “Honeymoon Suite,” the only room that actually boasted a couch and miniature refrigerator—and put his wire cutters and flashlight in the trunk.
There weren’t any signs to the old resort; they’d long been torn down. Gary didn’t need them. He drove up the last few feet of pitted driveway to the padlocked gate and parked. The current owners had put up a fence around the property and obviously hadn’t touched it since. Maybe they thought the place was haunted.
Let them stay superstitious, the fine upstanding people of Manzanita.
Gary walked up to the gate, laced his fingers through the chain link, and rattled it to test the lock. It was rusted solid, but still intact. The heavy-duty wire cutters made short work of a small portion of the fence.
He scooted through the opening and strode down the lane and through the screen of trees toward the lodge. The office and lodge looked more weathered but otherwise unaltered; one cabin by the lake was partially collapsed. The surface of Wagon Wheel Lake was calm and still. Deserted.
This was a waste of time. He’d gone over the place seventeen years ago. If Joan’s “evidence” hadn’t turned up by now, it never would.
Four hours later Gary brushed the dirt and dust and pine needles from his jeans and checked his watch. He’d been over every building in the resort; all the guest cabins had been stripped, and only Joan’s cabin remained as it had been the day he’d left. Hatch’s hidden grave in the woods was untouched and invisible now, covered in years of branches and rotten leaves.
Gary was more convinced than ever that Joan had been bluffing. But if there was the remotest possibility that she’d passed something on to her daughter …
He started back for the car, whistling under his breath. He knew exactly who to call for a little break-in work. Jesse lived in a small cabin at the edge of town; it shouldn’t be difficult to search. Just for insurance.
Just in case that look in Jesse’s eyes had been more than an old childhood grudge.
He left the way he’d come, and pushed the cut portion of fence into place. A day or two more, and he’d be out of this town—and the Copelands would be consigned to that dark corner of his mind he carefully left
alone.
There was no room for dark corners in the brilliant career of up-and-coming Assemblyman Gary Emerson. There were no limits, and nothing—no one—would hold him back.
Jesse was her name.
It had come to David in limbo while he gathered the strength to return, illumined in radiance amid the bleak barrenness of his eternal prison.
Jesse. Unusual, yet it suited the woman who bound him to the world. As once she had called him from within her dreams, so now her name was a beacon guiding him to her. He found himself on a mountainside under a vast blue sky.
And she was there.
In the full sunlight her hair was true gold, her slender body clothed in snug blue trousers and loose shirt that reminded him how far he’d come from his former life on Earth. She wore a pack and sturdy boots, like an infantryman on campaign.
There the resemblance ended. Framed by the mountains around her, she was more beautiful than he remembered, as if she drew into herself the vibrancy of earth and sky. And when he looked beneath the surface of her lovely form, he could sense the very burning of her soul.
Sophie’s soul reborn.
He stood just downslope from her, yet she didn’t see him. And she wasn’t alone. As he concentrated on keeping himself invisible, he took the time to study the others gathered around her.
They were a motley group, most of them dressed like Jesse—male and female, young and old alike. He caught snatches of Jesse’s voice against the wind, speaking to her charges in the firm, persuasive tones of a good commander spurring his troops to greater effort after a long and weary march. He moved closer to listen.
“All right,” she said, hazel eyes sweeping the assembly, passing over David with no glimmer of recognition. “We’ve got this one final slope, and then there’s a nice grove of pines where we can stop for lunch. You can see it from here—right around that bend.” She smiled at an older couple standing closest to her. “This has been a toughie, I know, but I think you’ll find it worth the effort when we get to the top. The view’s spectacular.”
Body and Soul Page 4
