Guarding Jeannie tp-5

by Beverly Barton

  Sam glanced around the room, looking up at the high ceilings and the elaborate moldings, then down at the antique furniture. "Where's the telephone?"

  "On the desk. There." Jeannie pointed to the gold-and-white mock-antique telephone perched atop the small cherry desk.

  "The police need to clear out this crowd around the house," Sam said. "We've got a near-riot situation on our hands."

  "The emergency numbers are listed there by the phone." Jeannie rubbed her forehead with her fingertips, massaging the ache in her temples. "Thank you, Mr. Dundee. I appreciate your arriving when you did. I don't know how I would have gotten away from the school without your help."

  Sam glared at her. "Why the hell did you agree to a press conference? You should have known what would happen. I tried to warn you. Why didn't you listen to me?"

  Jeannie sat up straight, stiffening her spine. She wasn't used to being spoken to so harshly. "We … Julian and I thought that if we met with the press, we might be able to reason with them."

  Sam grunted. "Lady, nobody is that naive. You're news, big news, and those vultures aren't going away for a long, long time. Not until something or someone else comes along that is bigger news."

  He scanned the pad on the desk, dialed the police department and demanded to be put through to a senior officer. After explaining the situation and being assured that the police would disperse the crowd, Sam hung up the phone and paced the room. Glancing at Jeannie, he noticed the strained look on her pale face and wondered if she was in pain.

  Jeannie rubbed her thigh. Even thirteen years after the car wreck, after several surgeries and endless therapy, the pain never completely left her. But it was a bearable pain, a pain she had become accustomed to, unlike the pain of being exposed to the world as Jeannie Foley, child faith healer. She thought it ironic that she could share the pain of others, vanquish it from their lives temporarily, but had to endure her own pain alone.

  "Are you all right?"

  "Yes, I'm … I'll be fine. Thanks to you. I feel safe, here at home."

  "Well, the safest place for you, for the time being, is going to be inside this house. You don't want a repeat performance of today's events, do you?"

  "I can't allow my life to be disrupted this way," she said.

  "I'm afraid you have little choice in the matter." Sam took the biggest chair in the room, a floral-tapestry wing chair. "The best I can promise you is to keep you safe, to protect you from the press and anyone else who won't leave you alone, especially this fanatical minister you told me about when you called."

  "I will not let my life become the three-ring circus it was when my mother and Randy Foley were alive." Knotting her hands into fists, Jeannie held them in front of her. "From the time I was six years old and Randy persuaded my mother to take me to a revival meeting, until I was thirteen and they were both killed in a car crash, my life was a living hell."

  "I've read all the newspaper accounts," Sam said. "The recent ones from the past couple of days, and the old ones from when you were a child. Your parents made a lot of money off of you, didn't they? They must have died millionaires."

  Ollie knocked at the door, then entered, carrying a silver tray. She placed it on the marble-topped mahogany table in front of the settee.

  "Thank you, Ollie. That will be all for now." Jeannie lifted the silver teapot.

  "Ollie," Sam said just as the housekeeper started out the door.

  "Yes, sir?"

  "Keep watch at the side entrance," Sam told her. "We're expecting Dr. Howell."

  "Yes, sir." Ollie left the parlor.

  Jeannie added sugar to her tea, then lifted the china cup to her lips, sipping leisurely. She eyed Sam over the rim of her cup. "Randy Foley was my stepfather," she said. "And yes, my mother and Randy did die millionaires."

  "Money they fleeced off suckers who believed that little Jeannie Foley possessed a special power from God that could heal them."

  "Yes. Money that poor, gullible fools handed over to Randy eagerly, just to have me lay my hands on them and take away their pain, to give them a temporary healing." The cup in Jeannie's trembling hand quivered on the saucer. She set her tea on the silver tray.

  Just to have me lay my hands on them and take away their pain. Was that what the woman who'd found Sam on the beach six years ago had done? Had she laid her hands on him and taken away his pain? Sam could remember those hours vaguely, could remember soft, caring brown eyes filled with tears—his tears, tears she had cried for him when she drew his pain out of his body and into hers.

  Hell, it hadn't happened that way. It couldn't have. He had imagined the whole thing, hadn't he? He'd been burning up with fever and conscious only part of the time. For a few minutes, he'd thought he had died and that the woman who held him in her arms was an angel. Didn't that show how crazy he'd been? How totally out of his head?

  "How long have you lived here in Biloxi?" Sam asked.

  "Since I came out of the hospital, when I was thirteen. Julian and his wife, Miriam, became my foster parents."

  A door slammed shut. Feet tramped up the hallway. The parlor door opened, and Dr. Julian Howell walked in, followed by Marta McCorkle.

  Julian rushed to Jeannie's side. Sitting beside her, he took her hands in his. "My dearest girl, are you all right? There's an enormous crowd hovering around outside."

  "I'm fine, Julian. Really I am. With Mr. Dundee acting as my protector, how could I be otherwise? Besides, Mr. Dundee has telephoned the police. They should arrive shortly and take control of that unruly crowd."

  Marta McCorkle walked over to Jeannie and handed her a wooden cane. "I was able to pick this up before we left the school. I know it's your favorite, and I was afraid someone would take off with it."

  "Thank you, Marta. You're right, it is my favorite cane. Miriam gave it to me."

  Turning, Jeannie gazed up at Sam, her lips curving into a warm smile. Sam felt as if he'd been hit in the stomach with a sledgehammer. Dammit, this had to stop, and stop now! He couldn't allow himself to feel anything special for this woman, couldn't allow their relationship to become personal.

  Who was he kidding? Their relationship was already personal, about as personal as a relationship could be without sexual intimacy. Sam shuddered, his big shoulders moving only slightly. His guts knotted painfully. When a man owed a woman his life, anything that happened between them was personal.

  Standing, Julian offered Sam his hand. "I'm Julian Howell. I can't tell you how glad I am that you agreed to take this assignment yourself. I knew you were the only man for the job."

  Every nerve in Sam's body came to full alert. Of course he was the only man for the job. No one else owed Jeannie as much as he did. No one else was as highly trained to protect her as he was, or as prepared to die for her.

  "All of us who love Jeannie are grateful for your presence, Mr. Dundee," Marta said.

  Turning to Julian, Jeannie squeezed his wrinkled, age-spotted hand. "I've told Mr. Dundee that I would like to continue living my life as normally as possible."

  "And I've told Ms. Alverson that what she wants will be impossible," Sam said.

  "Oh, my dear, Mr. Dundee is right." Julian shook his head, grunting sadly. "Until this scandal dies down, I believe the safest place for you is Le Bijou Bleu. No one could reach you except by boat or helicopter, and it's doubtful anyone would discover your whereabouts there."

  "I will not be run out of Biloxi!" Jeannie jerked her hands out of Julian's grasp, positioned her wooden cane, then stood and confronted Sam. "I have my work at the school. The children need me. They're very special children, with special needs. You're going to have to find a way to protect me. Here in Biloxi. I intend to hold my head high and see this thing through to the end, without running away, without shirking my duties to the students at the Howell School."

  Marta, who still stood at the side of the settee, reached out and patted Jeannie on the back. "If continuing to work at the school puts you in any danger, we can make do
without you for a while."

  Sam stared into Jeannie's eyes, those faded brown eyes that he would never be able to forget. Julian Howell had mentioned Le Bijou Bleu, the island where Sam had washed ashore. Memories of those hours when Jeannie Alverson had acted as his angel of mercy flooded Sam's mind.

  "You're the boss, Ms. Alverson. We'll do things your way," Sam said. "But it won't be easy for you, and the minute things get out of hand, we start playing by my rules, no questions asked. Agreed?"

  Jeannie was unaccustomed to men like Sam Dundee. Men who issued orders. Men who put their lives on the line to protect others. Men who carried guns. She had felt Sam's holster when he held her in his arms.

  "I agree to your terms," Jeannie said. "We do it my way, and if that doesn't work, then we'll do it your way."

  "All right." Sam turned to Julian Howell. "I'll need a room as close to Ms. Alverson as possible. At this point, I think the physical danger to her isn't life-threatening. The reporters will continue to hound her as long as they think the public is interested. My main concern is this Reverend Reeves. Fanatics are unpredictable, especially those who are under the false impression that God is on their side."

  "The reporters are a nuisance," Julian said, "and I feel sorry for those poor people who are begging for Jeannie to heal them, but you're quite right—what concerns me most is that this Reverend Reeves has threatened her. He and his congregation have accused Jeannie of being the devil's daughter. Reeves told her that if she didn't join his church, he would destroy her."

  "We can handle the threats," Sam said. "As long as these people don't act on them. If that happens, we'll be in for some real trouble."

  "Maynard Reeves is the worst of his kind," Marta said. "He uses every opportunity possible to get himself on TV and in the news."

  "Mark my words," Julian said, "Reeves will do more than make threats. Jeannie has sensed he wants to kill her."

  Dammit, Sam thought, was Jeannie claiming to be telepathic, as well as empathic? He didn't believe she was a healer, but he might buy her being psychic. His niece Elizabeth was psychic. She'd had the uncanny ability to read people's minds and pick up on their feelings since she'd been a child.

  "Are you telepathic, Ms. Alverson? Can you read people's minds, send and receive messages?" Sam asked.

  "Only to a limited degree," Jeannie said. "But I am able to feel other people's emotions. When Reverend Reeves touched me, I felt a deep hatred. If I don't join his ministry, I think he plans to kill me."

  "It will be my job to make sure that doesn't happen." Sam clasped Jeannie's elbow, uncertain what was true and real about this woman, and what was pure hype. "Why don't you give me a tour of the house, Ms. Alverson? I'll need to know what sort of security system y'all have here. And I'll want a list of the people who would normally visit you or Dr. Howell here at home."

  "Fine." Jeannie led Sam to the door, then stopped and turned, smiling at her foster father. "Why don't you go upstairs for a nap before dinner? I'll take care of Mr. Dundee."

  "Yes, very well," Julian said. "Put him in the guest room directly across the hall from your room. I'll have Ollie prepare it for him."

  "I'll see Julian upstairs," Marta said. "I'm staying for dinner, if that's all right."

  Jeannie nodded. "I'm glad you didn't allow what happened today to change your plans to dine with us tonight."

  Sam cleared his throat. "Ready to give me that tour, Ms. Alverson?

  "Yes, I'm ready."

  Nodding goodbye to Julian and Marta, Jeannie leaned heavily on her cane, the stress of the day's upheaval having taken its toll on her. She willed herself to stand as straight as possible. Sam Dundee was watching her closely, and she did not want him to think of her as helpless. He was the kind of man who would respect strength, not weakness, and she very much wanted Sam's respect. She dared not admit, even to herself, that she wanted far more than that from him, more than she'd ever wanted from any other man.

  Chapter 3

  « ^ »

  Sam pulled back the green cotton velvet draperies in the room he had been given. The room's elaborate style wasn't to his taste, but that was of little importance. Over the years, he had discovered that he was equally restless or content, whatever his surroundings. Whether he slept on silk sheets or in a sleeping bag, Sam's state of mind was the only factor dictating his satisfaction.

  And tonight he was greatly dissatisfied. His gut instincts told him that this case might well be his undoing. After six years of waiting for the inevitable, Sam was now back in Biloxi, with the one person on earth who knew the depth of his torment and guilt.

  Six years ago, Sam had been a DEA agent on an undercover assignment. Foolishly, he had thought he had the upper hand, that the game would be played by his rules. He'd been wrong. Dead wrong.

  Sam removed his coat, laying it across the chair where he'd thrown his tie. There was definitely something different about Jeannie Alverson. She didn't claim to be a healer; she professed to have only the power to take away a person's pain. Temporarily. But did he believe her?

  His memories of Jeannie were all tangled up in his mind with the memories of his last DEA assignment and the tragedy that had almost ended his life. He wouldn't have met Jeannie, never would have washed ashore on her island, if he hadn't been trying to entrap a big-time drug dealer.

  Jeannie was lovely and sweet and certainly the type of woman who made a man want to protect her. All feminine and fragile. What man wouldn't be attracted to her? It was only natural for a man to think about making love to her.

  And Sam certainly didn't live a celibate life. But he did choose his sexual partners with great care. It was a proven fact that Sam Dundee had a heart of stone, and he always steered clear of permanent entanglements.

  He had learned, the hard way, never to have an affair while working on a case. Any man who allowed his sexual needs to overrule his better judgment was a fool. Sam had been a fool once, but never again! And most certainly not with Jeannie Alverson. A man with a raging beast inside him didn't have the right to even think about making love to an angel.

  Sam stormed out of the bedroom, slamming the massive wooden door behind him. Dammit, he hadn't allowed himself to truly desire a woman in a long time.

  He could handle his attraction to Jeannie Alverson, but he couldn't forget how he felt about the woman who had saved his life. If he could separate the two in his mind, he didn't have anything to worry about. But what if he couldn't?

  * * *

  Jeannie sat at the antique secretary in her bedroom. Staring down at the blank page in her daily journal, she lifted her pen. She dated the page, then wrote.

  Today he came back into my life. Sam Dundee.

  Clutching the pen in her hand, Jeannie bit her bottom lip as she thought about the day's events.

  For six long years she'd been unable to forget him, yet certain she'd never see him again. And now here he was, in her home, a few yards away, across the hall. He would be at her side, near her day and night, protecting her from the nightmare her life had suddenly become, keeping her safe from the outside world.

  Why had this happened? Why had she become front-page news? For thirteen years, her past had lain dormant, and she'd prayed it would never awaken. She could not—would not—allow the painful memories to destroy her, any more than she would allow recent events to take away the life she dearly loved.

  A soft knock sounded on Jeannie's door. Surely it wasn't Julian. He had retired shortly after dinner. Perhaps it was Ollie, saying good-night before she went to bed.

  Jeannie lifted the pastel floral silk robe off the edge of her bed, slipped into it and, leaning on her cane, walked across the room. She opened the door, smiling, prepared to say good-night to Ollie.

  Sam Dundee, all six feet four inches of him, stood in her doorway, the muted hall light turning his blond hair to dark gold.

  Jeannie's smile faded as she gasped at the sight of the big man, who had discarded his jacket and tie and removed his gun hol
ster. His shirt was partially unbuttoned, revealing his thick neck and a swirl of brown chest hair.

  "I'm sorry to bother you, Ms. Alverson, but I'd like to speak to you for a few minutes."

  Sam tried not to look directly at her, focusing his gaze over her shoulder. Her room was even larger than the one he had been given and, if it was possible, even more elaborately decorated. In quick succession, he noted the intricately carved mirrored wardrobe, the massive matching bed, the pale pink quilted bedcover and the light floral-and-striped wallpaper.

  "Yes, please come in, Mr. Dundee." Jeannie stepped back, spreading out her arm in a gesture of welcome.

  The only man who had ever been in her bedroom was Julian. She had to admit it felt odd having Sam Dundee enter her private feminine sanctuary.

  "Won't you sit down?" Jeannie indicated the sitting area by the floor-to-ceiling windows where the rococo-revival sofa, armchair and marble-topped table had been arranged.

  "No. Thanks. This won't take long." Sam felt like a bull in a china shop. Despite the sturdy appearance of the antique furniture, Jeannie's bedroom was totally feminine, as soft and delicate as the woman herself. He had the oddest feeling that if he walked too heavily, he would destroy the beauty of the room.

  "What did you want to discuss with me?" Jeannie walked across the room, leaned on the bedpost and rested her cane against her side. Suddenly feeling exposed in her floor-length ivory silk gown and floral robe, she tightened the sash around her waist.

  "As you already know, six years ago I was here in Biloxi on an undercover assignment for the DEA." Sam looked directly at her then, searching for some sign to indicate how much she really knew about him. She walked away from him, seating herself on the sofa. "I was shot, then thrown overboard off a barge. Undoubtedly I wasn't far from a small island. I don't have any memory of what happened until I awoke on the beach and found myself in the arms of an … angel."

  Jeannie's head lifted, and she gazed into Sam's steely blue-gray eyes. She was indeed his angel of mercy, and at this precise moment she looked like an angel, her long, wavy brown hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of dusty beige silk.