Til Death Do Us Part

by Beverly Barton

  If and when Plott showed up, J.T. would handle him. A part of J.T.—that primeval, protective, possessive male part of him—actually looked forward to a confrontation with Plott. Although J.T. had killed before, in the line of duty, he took no pleasure in it. But if he had to kill Plott, he would, and have no regrets.

  “Well, did you get in touch with your cousins?” J.T. asked Elena as he walked into the study.

  “Our cousins,” Elena corrected him. “And they have names. Kate and Ed Whitehorn. Kate’s mother and our mother were sisters.”

  “Fine. Did you get in touch with this Kate and make arrangements for me?”

  “Yes, I did. She’ll clean up Mama’s house and have it ready by the time you and Joanna get there tomorrow,” Elena said. “I explained the situation to her and—”

  “How much did you tell her?” J.T. asked.

  “Everything! We can trust our family completely, J.T. You are a member of that family, you know. And a member of our clan. They would never betray you.” Planting her hands on her hips, Elena glared at her brother. “Besides, Kate and Ed are very fond of Joanna. She has stayed with them several times when she’s gone to the reservation to work on her sketches and paintings.”

  “Calm down, little sister, I didn’t mean to rile you. I’m sure your cousins—our cousins—are fine, trustworthy people,” J.T. said. “It’s just that the fewer people who know exactly where Joanna and I are, the better.”

  “Kate and Ed raise sheep, but Ed works at the NFPI sawmill,” Elena said. “Their house is pretty isolated, but neighbors will see you and Joanna as you travel the road to Kate’s house, so Kate has asked her brother, Joseph, to speak to these neighbors, most of them friends and family, and caution them to tell no one of your presence on the reservation.”

  “I appreciate all you’ve done to help us.” Joanna hugged Elena. “Maybe the FBI will capture Lenny Plott soon and this nightmare will be over for all of us.”

  “J.T. will keep you safe.” Elena glanced at her brother and smiled. “And he will have Ed nearby, as well as Joseph, who is very handy with a gun. And we both know that Joseph would do anything for you, Jo.”

  “Speaking of Joseph reminds me that I promised to do a sketch of him as well as one of the children next time I came to visit,” Joanna said.

  “Who’s this Joseph?” J.T. frowned.

  “Joseph is Kate’s younger brother.” Elena ran her fingers through her long dark hair, pulling the flyaway strands off her face. “He’s been sweet on Joanna since the first time they met.”

  “Elena!” Joanna’s green eyes widened. Her cheeks flushed.

  “Joseph is our cousin,” Elena told J.T. “His mother and our mother were sisters, so that makes Joseph the great-grandson of Benjamin Greymountain, too.”

  “Is that right?” J.T. deliberately avoided eye contact with Joanna, knowing exactly what his sister was trying to do. She wanted to elicit his jealousy over another man’s interest in Joanna. And not just any man, but another direct descendant of Annabelle Beaumont’s one true love.

  “Well, why don’t you two finalize your plans for the trip.” Elena grabbed Alex’s arm. “I’ll get one of the guest bedrooms ready for you for tonight, Jo.” She pulled Alex toward the door, halting just before walking out into the hall. “Let me know if you want my help packing. I can run over to your house with you and J.T. before supper.”

  When Elena and Alex had left, Joanna turned to J.T. “I’m sorry about that. Elena wasn’t very subtle, was she?”

  “Subtlety isn’t one of Elena’s strong points.” J.T. rubbed his chin. “Have you ever dated my cousin Joseph?”

  “Have I ever…?” Joanna smiled, bit down on her bottom lip and then covered her mouth, trying to suppress her laughter.

  “Why do you find the question so amusing? All I asked was whether or not you’d ever dated Benjamin Greymountain’s other great-grandson.”

  “Yes, Joseph and I have dated a few times,” Joanna said. “I’ve dated several men since I moved to New Mexico. Cliff Lansdell for one, and Joseph for another. I like Joseph a lot, I just don’t like him in that way.”

  “He’s a full-blooded Navajo just like Benjamin Greymountain,” J.T. said. “If you’ve been looking for a lover like the one your great-grandmother had, what was wrong with Joseph? Is he ugly or stupid or a jerk or—”

  Joanna kissed J.T. on the mouth very quickly, then tilted her head just a fraction and looked directly at him. “Joseph Ornelas is a handsome, intelligent, sweet man and I think of him as a friend, but there is no magic between us. Not the way there is between…” Joanna shut her eyes, escaping the hard look on J.T.’s face.

  J.T. pulled her into his arms. “Not the way there is between you and me.” His kiss proclaimed his barely contained jealousy as well as his need to brand her as his own.

  Joanna gave herself over to his possession, accepting his momentary domination, realizing that he had no idea how revealing his actions were. Did she dare hope that at the very core of his protective, possessive desire, the seeds of love had taken root?

  JOANNA FLUNG BACK the covers and jumped out of bed. There was no use trying to sleep; she had tried for over two hours. Sleep wouldn’t come. She couldn’t stop thinking, couldn’t stop worrying, couldn’t stop wishing tonight was last night, when she had become J. T. Blackwood’s woman in every sense of the word.

  Not bothering to turn on a lamp or put on her robe, Joanna walked across the room and slumped down in the chair beside the windows. Tucking her bare feet up under her, she sighed, leaned back and stretched.

  If only there was a switch inside her brain that could be flipped on and off; she’d flip it off right this minute and put an end to her thoughts. Her mind kept running the gamut from the night Lenny Plott had raped her to today when she and J.T. had made love in Annabelle and Benjamin’s special place. She had struggled diligently to put the past behind her, to come to terms with the brutal violation that had forever changed her life. But with Lenny Plott free and bent on revenge, she couldn’t help reliving that horrible night when she had come home to her apartment after working late at the museum.

  Don’t think about it! Don’t remember! It happened nearly five years ago. Put it in the past where it belongs. Don’t allow Lenny Plott’s threats to force you to relive what he did to you. That’s what he wants—for you to recall the terror and the pain and the humiliation. He wants you to think about how it could happen again.

  But it wouldn’t happen again. She wouldn’t let it happen again! And J.T. would never allow anyone to hurt her. He’d made her a solemn promise to protect her. She had to trust him, had to believe in him and his ability to keep her safe.

  J.T. J.T. J.T. She had put her life in his hands. She had given him her heart. And yet she could not bring herself to trust him fully, completely, to have faith in their future together, when he had made no lasting commitment to her.

  Would hiding away on the Navajo reservation keep her hidden from Lenny Plott, or would he find her regardless of where J.T. took her? And what would happen if Plott came after her, if he confronted J.T.? J.T. might have to kill him.

  Joanna shuddered. Pulling her knees up against her, she wrapped her arms around her legs. Unless the FBI apprehended Lenny Plott before he found her, a showdown between J.T. and him was inevitable. On some purely primitive level, she gloried in the fact that her mate was a brave warrior who would defend her to the death. And yet there was a part of her that personally wanted to rip out Lenny Plott’s heart and feed it to the buzzards.

  How did such creatures as Leonard Plott III come into being? What malevolent twist of fate turned a man into an inhuman monster capable of physically, sexually and emotionally brutalizing woman after woman and deriving immense pleasure from subjugating them to his cruelties?

  Joanna’s stomach churned. Bitterness coated her tongue. Her body quivered. Tears gathered in her eyes.

  The door to the guest bedroom slowly opened. Joanna snapped her head a
round, staring at the silhouette in the doorway. Biting down on her bottom lip, she tried not to cry aloud.

  Moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains, spreading a soft, muted glow over the room. J.T. glanced at the bed, saw that it was empty, and visually searched the room.

  “Jo?” he whispered, then saw her huddled in the chair by the windows.

  Swallowing her tears, she tried to answer him, but couldn’t. He closed the door behind him, walked over to the chair and knelt beside her.

  “What’s wrong, honey?”

  Cupping her chin in his hand, he lifted her face. She pulled away from him. Her long, fiery hair covered her features when she lowered her head. Slipping his hands under her neck, he swept up her hair, then let it fall through his fingers and down onto her shoulders.

  “I couldn’t sleep, either,” he said. “I kept thinking about how much I wanted to be with you. Wanted to hold you in my arms.”

  Placing his arms around her stiff body, he pulled her toward him. “Talk to me, Jo. Let me help you. You don’t have to be alone, unless you want to be. Just tell me, do you want me to stay or go?”

  Joanna grabbed J.T., clinging to him fiercely. Wrapping herself around him, she allowed him to slide his big body into the chair as he lifted her onto his lap. She gasped for air, then laid her head on his shoulder and wept.

  “Stay…please…stay.” She cried softly, quietly, but with heartbreaking force.

  J.T. stroked her back, kissed the side of her face and whispered comforting words, telling her it was all right to cry, to be angry, to be afraid.

  Holding her, he encouraged her to vent her feelings, and when she was spent and lay exhausted in his arms, he lifted her and carried her to bed. He laid her in the middle of the huge oak bed, then sat down beside her, pulling her upward to rest again in his arms.

  “Would it help to talk to me, to tell me about it?” he asked.

  “I thought I’d put it behind me,” she said, cuddling against him. “I had to tell the police, the rape counselor, the district attorney, my own therapist and…worst of all, I had to sit there in a courtroom with Lenny Plott watching me and tell the jury what he’d done to me.”

  “You were very brave,” J.T. told her. “It took more courage than most people have.”

  “I wanted him dead!” Joanna clung to J.T., pressing against him, seeking and finding comfort.

  J.T. couldn’t hold her close enough. He wanted to weld her to him, to encompass her completely and make her a part of him. “Plott deserves to die.”

  “I testified against him for the same reasons Melody and Claire and Libby did. We wanted him punished and we wanted to make sure he could never hurt another woman. And now Melody is dead and Claire is missing.”

  “It isn’t fair,” J.T. said. “Sometimes there’s just no rhyme or reason to life.”

  “The FBI have to find him and stop him before he…before he—”

  J.T. placed his finger over her lips. “Hush, honey. Don’t think about it. It isn’t going to happen. They’ll find Plott.” J.T. slid his finger over her chin and down her neck.

  “But if they don’t—”

  “Then I’ll take care of Plott.”

  “I don’t want you to have to kill him.” Joanna jerked away from J.T. and sat up ramrod straight in the bed. Closing her eyes, she hugged herself, gripping her elbows in the palms of her hands. “If anyone should kill him, I should. But I’m not sure I could…that I’d have the guts to.”

  “The night he attacked you, would you have killed him, if you could have?”

  “Yes. Yes. A thousand times, yes.” Joanna covered her face with her hands.

  J.T. touched her trembling back. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she turned around and looked at him.

  “While he was beating me…touching me…I kept thinking that if only I had a gun…or if only I was strong enough to take his knife away from him. Yes, I would have killed him.”

  J.T. rubbed her back, but didn’t try to pull her into his arms again. He waited, unsure what to say or do to comfort her. Tonight she had reverted to the past, to the most horrible night of her life, and only by allowing her to tell him about Plott’s vicious attack, could J.T. truly help her. But, God in heaven, he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to hear the details without completely losing control. Already, there was a part of him that wanted nothing more than to hunt Plott down and take him apart, piece by piece.

  “I tried to fight him, you know,” Joanna said. “He liked that, my fighting him. He beat me. God, how he beat me.” She swallowed the tears, pushing back the emotions threatening to overcome her. “The first blow was to my stomach. I’d never been hit before. Not ever. It took me by surprise. And it hurt. Oh, how it hurt.”

  J.T. wanted to take her in his arms and beg her not to tell him anymore. He had read a copy of the police report, and that had been more than enough reality for him.

  “And when I doubled over, he shoved me down on the floor and kicked me.” With each word she spoke, her voice became calmer, her face more somber, her eyes glazed with an unemotional stare. “I fought him even harder when he tried to rip off my clothes. That’s when he hit me in the face, over and over again. I—I think I passed out. All I remember is his tearing my clothes and pawing me. Squeezing. Biting. Hurting me.” Joanna clutched her throat. “And cutting me.”

  J.T. clenched his teeth. The roar of his own pain rumbled inside him—an agonized, wounded bellow forced into silence.

  “And when he…when he… I wanted to die. In that one moment, I prayed to God to let me die.” Joanna clutched the bedcovers, wadding them up in her fists. “But when he crawled off me, I prayed to God to let me live, to let me live long enough to kill him!”

  She had to stop talking! J.T. told himself. He couldn’t bear to hear another word. But, dear God, if just listening to her tell about what Plott had done to her hurt J.T. more than anything ever had, how must Joanna feel? What indescribable suffering she must have endured, and must still, at this very moment, be enduring!

  Slowly, cautiously and with the utmost gentleness, J.T. eased his arms around Joanna. A loose, tentative hold. One from which she could readily escape. He kissed the side of her face over and over again, soft, delicate touches along her forehead, down her cheek and to her jaw. “Will you let me hold you?” he asked, strengthening his precarious clasp about her waist. “Will you let me lie here in this bed and hold you in my arms all night? I want to show you that you can trust me. That you’re safe with me. That I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again.”

  Joanna gave herself over to J.T.’s kindness, knowing in her heart that he meant every word he’d said. He could give her his comfort and his promise of protection. He could guard her against the threat of Plott’s murderous scheme. He could hold her in his arms and make her feel cherished and desired. But he could not give her his love, when he had none to give. She could be J. T. Blackwood’s woman on a temporary basis in the same way Annabelle had been Benjamin Greymountain’s woman. And Joanna knew that she, as her ancestress had done, would go to her grave, still in love with a man who could never be truly hers.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  J.T. HAD RETURNED to the Navajo reservation only three times since old John Thomas had taken him away when he was five. Once when his mother was dying. Then for her funeral. And a final trip to get Elena. Now, after all these years, here he was, back on the land where he’d been born, back among his mother’s people. Elena’s suggestion to bring Joanna here for sakekeeping had made perfect sense to J.T., but he’d known that his sister’s plan included more than keeping her best friend safe. Elena was hoping a stay on the reservation would open his mind and his heart to a part of his heritage he had been taught to shun.

  Following Joanna’s instructions, J.T. drove along the endless stretch of road leading to Kate and Ed Whitehorn’s place. Finally he saw their mobile home, the metal gleaming brightly in the hot morning sun. He pulled the Jeep up in front of the corrals where Ed k
ept his sheep and cattle when they weren’t grazing. A small dark-eyed boy sat on the fence, cradling a baby lamb in his arms. Jumping down, he ran toward the Jeep, calling out a greeting to Joanna.

  “That’s Eddie, Kate and Ed’s oldest child,” Joanna said. “He helps Ed with the sheep and cattle.”

  “He seems awfully young for that kind of responsibility.” J.T. opened the door, rounded the hood and assisted Joanna out of the Jeep.

  Little Eddie ran up to Joanna, skidding to a halt before running right into her. “Mama said you were coming back for a visit, and you and Elena’s brother will be staying at Aunt Mary’s house.” Eddie stared up at J.T., his dark eyes sparkling with interest. “Are you my cousin? Mama says you are, that you’re of our clan. If you’re Elena’s brother, why haven’t I ever seen you before?”

  Eddie wore faded jeans and a white cotton T-shirt. A strip of light-colored cloth wrapped around his forehead kept his chin-length black hair off his full face. When J.T. looked at the boy, he saw himself as a child and couldn’t help wondering what his own fate would have been, had his grandfather not taken him away from the reservation. Would he have helped tend the small herds of sheep and cattle that had to be moved often from pasture to pasture because of the sparse vegetation on this land? Would he have attended a contract school the way Elena had, where he could have learned to read and write in Saad? His mother’s language. A language he had forgotten, except for a few words and phrases. Except for something he said to Joanna every time they made love.

  “Yes, Eddie, this man is your cousin.” Smiling at Eddie, Joanna stroked the lamb he held in his arms, then glared at J.T. “The reason you’ve never met him before is because he lives far away in Atlanta, Georgia, and is here in New Mexico only for a visit.”

  The front door of the mobile home swung open and a plump young woman carrying a toddler on her hip stepped out onto the lattice-trimmed porch. A little girl with huge brown eyes clung to her mother’s leg.