by Lyn Stone
Damien watched the stoplight, his lips drawn tight as he shook his head.
“So what do we do?” she demanded. “There has to be something! He won’t put up with our following him around anymore. First time he spots us, he’ll leap out of his car and do a repeat of what happened today.”
She pounded her palm on the dash. “Only we might not be lucky enough to have the cops around next time. And he might be better prepared. What if he gets a gun?”
“He doesn’t have one registered, nor is he licensed to carry. I checked,” Damien said calmly.
“Ha! You think that’ll stop him?”
“Probably not. As soon as he’s released, I’m going to have it out with him.”
“Have it out?” Molly cried. “What, exactly, does that mean, ‘have it out’? Pistols at ten paces?”
Damien nodded. “If he has one and goes for it, yes.”
“Oh, jeez!” Molly huffed, running her palms over her face.
He took one hand off the wheel, reached over and rested it on her leg, just above her knee. “I’m not planning to shoot him unless he forces it, Molly. But I do plan to tell him who I am and exactly what I will do if he ever bothers you again.”
His face was a study in menace that she wished Jack could see right now.
“He won’t doubt my sincerity, Molly. I can assure you of that. I plan to make it quite clear, so that even an imbecile can understand. No more playing by the book. If he comes anywhere near you, threatens you in any way at all, he dies. Proof or no proof.”
She believed him. She only hoped Jack would.
He gave her leg a pat and returned his hand to the steering wheel. “After we pick up your mail and check on the house, let’s go to Clarkston. This time we won’t have to watch our backs. You can totally relax for a change since he’s in lockup.”
“For twenty-four hours,” she grumbled. “If I’m lucky.”
“Hey, it is great to not have to hurry, isn’t it?” Molly said as she sank onto her living room sofa and thumbed through the stack of letters she’d just gotten out of her mailbox.
“Got a couple of postcards from bro,” she said, chuckling at the message on the back of one. “Ford says he’s learning the language. At least how to order beer.” She glanced up at Damien. “Can you imagine what Ford sounds like speaking German? Bartenders will be doubled over for months after he’s gone. Here, read it.”
Damien sat beside her and took the card. “Molly, there’s something I should tell you.”
He was too close. All she could do was focus on that wonderful mouth of his, his hand on her arm, his thigh brushing hers. What kind of force field surrounded him that could draw her to him like this? “Damien?” she whispered, her lips suddenly tingling with the memory of that kiss Jack had interrupted.
“Molly,” he answered just as softly. “Don’t look at me that way. I might—”
“Hush.” She leaned forward, closing the distance between them, and captured his mouth with hers. Just for a minute. Just for the duration of this one kiss, she would forget they couldn’t be together, that it would never work out.
“Molly,” Damien rasped her name between greedy kisses, adding one on another, delving deeper, increasing the heat until her heart thundered in her chest. Blood rushed through her veins at the speed of light. She wanted him. So desperately.
His hands slid over her, seeking, pressing, finding their way beneath her blouse. He enveloped her breasts as he pushed her down onto the sofa and followed, settling his lower body in the cradle of hers. Relentlessly, he moved against her and made her move in response. “Oh, please,” she gasped.
“Yes,” he hissed, mingling their words as he took her mouth again. He unhooked the catch on her bra.
The doorbell chimed.
“They’ll go away,” he promised breathlessly, flexing his hips into hers, not pausing for a second in his assault of pleasure.
“Damien,” she moaned, pushing at his shoulders. “The window?”
He ignored her, intent on his exploration, while reality washed over her like a bucket of cold water. “The drapes—” He kissed her again. Wildly. “They’re open.”
With a growl of resignation, he withdrew his hands and said a word so typically English and appropriate to their need, Molly thought it bore repeating.
Chapter 10
Damien waited until Molly disappeared down the hallway before he answered the door. Through the window, he could see the plain, blue sedan parked in the driveway and recognized it as Winton’s.
“Sorry I wasn’t available when you came to the precinct a while ago,” the detective said the moment Damien opened the door. They shook hands. “I was stuck in interrogation until just after you left. Sgt. Garner said you were asking for me, so I thought I’d stop by on my way home.”
Damien ran his fingers through his tousled hair and tucked in the portion of his shirttail he’d missed. Winton turned his head and stifled a grin.
“Come in,” Damien muttered.
“My timing’s a little off, I guess,” Winton apologized, glancing at the floor-length window. “I take it Ms. Jensen’s all right now?”
“Quite all right,” Damien said. “As you probably know by now, we had an altercation with Jensen. He attempted to tear my rental apart to get at us this morning.”
“Yeah, so I heard. His lawyer came in just as I was leaving. Raising hell and name dropping.”
He hesitated, brushing a hand over his dark mustache, warning Damien with a look that what he had to say next would not be welcome. “Jensen’s papa’s got friends in high places, Perry. He’ll probably be released sometime today. Just thought you should know that.”
“Damn!” Damien cursed. He remembered his manners and gestured toward a chair. Mitch Winton wanted to help Molly, too. He gave the impression of a laid-back kind of guy, but Damien sensed the sharp intelligence beneath that laconic wit and lazy voice. Winton was nobody’s fool. “Have a seat. I’ll get Molly.”
“No, that’s okay,” Winton said. “Had a long night and I need to get home and grab some shut-eye.”
He stepped back through the door, but stopped on the threshold. “The bees won’t help us, but I’m still working on that hit-and-run. Phone company says the calls were made from pay phones, so we’ve got nothing there. I hustled up the lab on that box of poison. Might get a print or something.”
Damien nodded. “But you doubt that, just as I do. Thanks anyway, we appreciate it.”
“I had one sister, Perry,” Winton said, his voice low and grating, its slow drawl suddenly laced with menace. “She got tangled up with a cagey bastard like Jensen. Now she’s buried over in Forest Lawn and my parents are raising her two kids.”
He shook his finger at Damien. “We’re not letting that happen with Molly Jensen, okay? Whatever we have to do.”
“What happened to the man?” Damien asked.
Winton’s lips tightened and his gaze fell away before he answered. “You don’t want to know, and I’m not about to tell you. But if you come up with a way to neutralize this problem,” he said, emphasizing the last word, “call me. I’ll back you.”
Before Damien could comment, Winton strode down the steps, across the yard to his car, got in and drove away.
Damien stood there until the blue Chevy was out of sight. The detective knew as well as he did that neutralizing the problem, as he’d called Jensen, probably couldn’t be achieved by legal means. He had hinted at vigilante justice. Virtually admitted that he’d used it himself in the sister’s case.
It was altogether too tempting to resort to that. It was what Damien had considered, and what he had already planned to threaten. And, if the threat didn’t work, he might have to carry it out.
Pushing Jensen’s buttons had worked in one respect, though in another it had changed nothing. The man was in custody. But instead of waking him up to the reality of what could happen to him, it had only incensed Jensen further. The man was homicidal. Damien had seen
it in his eyes. The bees had been put there to terrorize, not kill. What he planned next might very well be intended to do just that.
Molly’s arms slid around his waist and her long fingers laced over his stomach. He could feel the rise of her breasts against his back. Would she be holding him this way if she knew what a dark side he possessed? If she realized that he almost looked forward to destroying the mad dog who chased her?
“They will release him sometime today,” he said softly, regretting they would have no time to continue what they’d begun before Winton arrived. How could he even contemplate a serious relationship with Molly until he got Jensen out of the way? First thing, he had to get her out of the line of fire. “Get whatever else you need to take with you. We’re leaving.”
She took her time once she went to the bedroom, as though she thought he might join her there. They didn’t speak of what had happened, but the look she’d given him told him she wouldn’t refuse. Molly was through fighting what was between them. So, Damien fought for both of them.
They were headed out the door when the phone rang. He stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Wait. Let’s see who it is.” They listened as the answering machine kicked on. It was the embittered voice of Jack’s father.
“Molly? This is John Jensen. Jack made me promise to call you. He said that since you are determined to destroy him completely, he will be leaving Nashville for good as soon as he’s released. You’ll never hear from him again. His mother and I have lost our son because of you. I only hope you’re satisfied with all these lives you’ve wrecked. Someday you’ll suffer for what you’ve done, and I just hope I’m around to see it happen. This is not a threat, but I believe there is a higher justice that will call you to account for it.”
“Well, hell!” Molly tore her gaze from the phone and looked up at Damien. Then she laughed breathlessly, staggered back into the living room and sat. “Ha! Over. Just like that?”
“No, Molly,” he warned her. “I don’t think so.”
“But it is!” she argued. “He said so. John said Jack’s leaving for good. Thank God.” She buried her face in her palms and gave a brief sob that turned into another laugh. “I can’t believe it.”
Damien crouched beside her and pulled her hands away, holding them tightly in his. “You’d better not believe it. He’s not finished with you, Molly. You saw the look on his face. This is a trick to throw you off guard.”
For a long moment she stared at him. He could see the doubt attacking the hope in her eyes. Confusion overpowered both. She pulled her hands out of his and stood. “Let’s go. I need some time to think about this.”
There was little to think about, but Damien humored her. They were already on the way to Clarkston. He’d see she stayed there for a week or so until he could check out Jensen’s whereabouts. Damien meant to find him whether he stayed in Nashville or not. He still had a threat to deliver, one that now had teeth in it.
By the time they arrived in Clarkston, Damien knew Molly had convinced herself that the danger was over. Her wanting to believe that so badly had clouded her judgment, of course. He didn’t bother to try to convince her he was right. As long as she remained here where she was safe, it didn’t matter what she believed.
“Promise me you won’t even think about going back for at least a week,” he demanded. “Let me make certain he’s gone. Will you do that much?”
“Okay,” she said, distracted by the sight of Brenda and the baby sitting in the porch swing, as they drove up to the house.
Damien sighed and put the car in Park, watching Molly dash up the steps and grab Sydney, hugging her and laughing like mad. He had to smile at the rambunctious reunion. The baby gurgled and screeched, patting Molly’s head and tugging on her hair.
Brenda looked past them to where Damien stood just outside the car. “Well, come on, you big ol’ rascal! Don’t just stand there. I’ve got a cherry pie with your name on it!”
Hands in his pockets, Damien ambled up the walkway to join them. She embraced him the instant he stepped onto the porch. “Molly says Jack’s gone for good. I don’t know how we can ever thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Damien said, feeling embarrassed and also warmed clear through by Brenda’s affection. She paid no attention to what he’d said, but simply grasped one of his hands and dragged him through the front door right behind Molly and Sydney.
He ate his pie, drank his coffee and listened to the excited exchange between mother, daughter and granddaughter. The odd man out, he sat there and relished the brief scraps of attention they threw him, these three beautiful females with their bright green eyes and wide smiles. It was a circle he ached to join and knew they would allow him in. Only he knew he wouldn’t fit. The best he could do was to see that circle unbroken, and that he would do, no matter what it took.
Later that evening, Damien excused himself to use the phone. Calling in all the favors he could, he discovered the paper trail that verified Jack Jensen had registered at the Marriot just this side of Atlanta.
Another conversation with Bill Carr, an agent and friend he had attended the academy with, gained him a reliable resource in that city. Duvek would add an official call from Memphis to the office in Atlanta in the event Damien needed more help.
Even though there had been no crime to warrant official intervention by the FBI, Ford Devereaux was one of their agents and his sister was in danger. The Bureau took care of family, especially when an agent was out of pocket, as Ford was now.
Jensen had counted too heavily on Molly’s silence about the stalking, obviously assuming she would never risk involving Ford. However, now Damien wondered if Jensen might be past thinking rationally.
If Jack checked out of that hotel, Damien would be one of the first to know he was on the prowl. For the moment, Molly really was as safe as she thought she was.
Brenda sat alone in the kitchen. Damien had seen Molly take the baby through the living room to put her to bed. “Any of that marvelous pie left?” he asked.
She dished it up and poured him the last of the coffee. The joy she exhibited earlier had vanished. He suspected it had been a pretense all along. “Damien, what’s going to happen?”
“I’ll take care of him, don’t worry,” he assured her.
With an exasperated sigh, she dismissed Jensen from the conversation. “That’s a given. I meant with you and Molly.”
He stalled, squashing the remnant of the pie crust on his plate with the fork. “Nothing will happen,” he replied finally. “Soon as things are settled, I’ll take off.”
She leaned across the table and placed her hand over his. Damien looked down at her short, unpolished nails, at the prominent veins and premature wrinkles that spoke of a life of hard work. How hard it must have been to rear two children with no assistance from anyone. And now one of them was on the edge of another life-altering mistake.
Damien turned his hand over, clasped hers and looked straight into her eyes. “Brenda, I do realize I’m not right for her. You needn’t worry.”
Her gaze remained steady on his. “It’s not Molly I’m worried about. What is it with you? Does she scare you?”
Surprised, he laughed. “Scare me? Hardly!” Then he thought about it for a second. Perhaps Brenda was right.
“You’ll get over it,” she said gruffly, squeezing his hand and letting it go. “Molly’s falling in love with you, you know. I see the signs. And I can read you like a sixty-foot billboard.”
He shook his head. “There’s nothing between us that a little distance won’t cure.” He hated to deny what she’d said because he wanted it to be true. More than anything in his life, he wanted that, even if he couldn’t take advantage of it. It was selfish of him to hope Molly felt what he felt, but there it was.
Fortunately, Molly returned to the kitchen then and he didn’t have to lie any further. But Brenda’s statement hung there in the air between them all the same.
What amazed Damien was that Brenda didn’t s
eem to mind if Molly loved him. Maybe she figured her daughter would need his permanent protection. That must be the case.
“Well,” he said, rising quickly from his chair, unwilling to see where the conversation might wander now that Molly was present. He’d already uttered one lie too many and didn’t think he could dredge up another. “I’m for bed. Sydney isn’t the only one who’s had a busy day. Good night, then.”
He left them sitting there, Brenda wearing a thoughtful look and Molly silently avoiding his gaze. Had she overheard what he’d said? Might be best if she had.
Once the house was quiet and dark, Damien lay motionless in the strange bed, staring into the dark, wishing with his innermost soul that his life had been different. He had spent it virtually isolated, his feelings so well insulated he hadn’t known they were there, but he’d never felt so alone as he did now.
Small wonder Molly frightened him. She had changed him so radically, he would never be the same. Yet the change still wasn’t great enough to make him the kind of man she needed. He doubted anything could ever do that.
Molly wished Damien would go ahead and leave. Maybe if she didn’t have to see him and be with him, this sharp edge of hunger would dull. There he sat in the middle of the floor, long limbs cross-legged, rolling a ball back and forth to Syd, as if he had nothing better in the world to do.
All morning she had waited for him to announce his departure. He’d made it clear he wasn’t sticking around because of any interest in her other than saving her hide. Jack was gone and said he wouldn’t be back, so why was Damien still hanging around?
She abandoned dusting the furniture that didn’t really need it and sat on the sofa, facing his back. “You said Jack’s really in Atlanta. Without a doubt.”
“For the moment,” he said, catching Syd as she launched herself at him, bouncing the ball off his face. As though he’d read Molly’s mind, he added, “I’d like to wait and see what he does next. Do the Jensens have any business interests there?”
“Not that I know about, but I guess it’s possible. Probable, even. I’m fairly sure John has contacts there, anyway. You’re wondering if Jack will find a job and take up permanent residence?”
