"But, Sam, you'll intimidate Reverend Reeves and put him on guard. If the two of us are alone, he might be more at ease and willing to accept—"
"I hope I do intimidate Reeves. I hope I intimidate the hell out of him. I want him to know that the only way he's ever going to be able to hurt you is by going through me."
Jeannie felt it again, that wild, primeval, possessive need inside Sam, that powerful protective instinct that claimed his soul whenever any thoughts of her came to his mind. And the strange thing was, she realized, Sam had absolutely no control over the way he felt, and that made him hate his feelings and fight against them all the more.
Knowing Sam would never agree to leave her alone with Maynard Reeves, she complied with his demand. "All right, Sam. I understand. You'll stay in the room with us. But, please, let me do all the talking."
"We'll see," Sam said.
* * *
When Sam and Jeannie walked into the hallway leading to the front parlor, they saw Ollie, hands on her hips, standing at the open front door, shaking her head. Then they heard Reeves's singsong, pulpitarian voice as he addressed the crowd. The man stood on the front veranda, facing his entranced followers, who stood at rapt attention on the sidewalk. Maynard Reeves had cultivated a pure, clean-cut look with his neat, well-tailored black suit and white shirt, his short sandy hair, and the silver cross he wore around his neck.
"I give you my solemn vow that I will be on guard during my exchange with the devil's daughter," Reeves shouted, his voice deep and clear. "And I will report back to you, my faithful brethren, on whether or not I was able to win back her soul from the evil one."
"Report back to the press, you mean, you scalawag preacher," Ollie mumbled, loud enough for Sam and Jeannie to hear her.
"You don't need to witness this spectacle." Sam tugged on Jeannie's arm. "Wait for him in the parlor. I'll personally escort the good reverend to you."
"Now, Sam, this is supposed to be a friendly meeting."
"Yeah, sure. You can't get much friendlier than soul-saving, can you?"
"Don't be sacrilegious."
"I'm not the one making a mockery of everything holy." Jeannie nodded in agreement, admitting Sam was right. "I'll wait in the parlor."
Reeves continued his unholy message of hate. Sam laid his big hand on Reeves's shoulder; the man shuddered, then froze on the spot, halting his speech in midsentence.
"Ms. Alverson is waiting to see you," Sam said.
"I shall be with you momentarily, sir. I will not be summoned before I'm prepared. I need a moment of prayer before facing the powers of darkness."
Dropping his hand from Reeves's shoulder, Sam lowered his voice to a deadly whisper. "You're going to need more than a prayer if you keep Ms. Alverson waiting one more minute to continue this sideshow of yours."
Raising his arms in the air dramatically, Reeves closed his eyes. "Pray for me, brothers and sisters. Pray for me."
When Reeves turned around, Sam stepped aside to allow him entrance into the foyer. The moment the two men entered the house, Ollie closed and locked the front door behind them.
"She's waiting for us in the front parlor." Sam nodded the direction. "The doors to the left."
Reeves hesitated outside the double panel doors, but didn't turn to face Sam. "Waiting for us?" he asked. "She led me to believe this would be a private meeting between the two of us."
"It will be." Sam slid open the panel doors. "I'm simply here to guard an angel while she tries to make peace with the devil."
Reeves gasped. His boyishly handsome face turned crimson beneath its dusting of freckles as he turned toward Sam. "How dare you!"
Sam looked at Jeannie's adversary; the man trembled. "Please, go right on in, Reverend. She's waiting for you."
Reeves obeyed instantly, entering the front parlor with the same caution he might have used in entering a den of lions. Before approaching Jeannie, who sat in a tapestry-upholstered rosewood chair, Reeves watched Sam Dundee take a protective stance across the room. Sam crossed his arms over his chest. Reeves glanced at Jeannie.
"Won't you please sit down, Reverend Reeves?" Jeannie glided her arm through the air, gesturing for her guest to sit across from her on the red velvet settee.
Reeves sat uneasily, perching on the edge of the Victorian sofa. "Little good will come of this meeting if I feel threatened." He dared a quick glance in Sam's direction.
Jeannie laughed. "You can't possibly be referring to Mr. Dundee."
Reeves jumped to his feet, obviously unnerved by her reaction. "I most certainly am. I came here in good faith, expecting a private audience with you."
"I have no secrets from Mr. Dundee. You see, he is my protector. His job is to make sure no harm comes to me. He isn't a threat to anyone, unless—"
"Yes, yes, I quite understand." Reeves sat down again, slowly, focusing his attention on Jeannie's smiling face. "When you called and asked to see me, I hoped that you'd changed your mind about joining my ministry. It isn't too late. All I have to do is go outside—" leaning toward Jeannie, Reeves lowered his voice "—and tell the Righteous Light brethren and the media that I fought the devil for your soul and won."
The urge to giggle would have overcome Jeannie if she hadn't been aware of the threat behind the reverend's offer. "But you haven't fought the devil for my soul, because my soul is my own, and my powers are not derived from any evil source."
"If you do not use your powers in his name, doing his work, then Satan controls you. There is much good you could do. You and I together could form a strong force to combat this sinful world."
Jeannie noticed the wild, glazed stare in Reeves's eyes, an almost otherworldly glimmer. Ripples of suspicion jangled her nerve endings.
In so many ways, Maynard Reeves reminded her of her stepfather, a man who had exploited her, never caring that his fanatical needs had condemned her to a living hell. She hated remembering those endless days and nights of pain from which she'd had no escape. Only in God's own good time and in his way had she been set free. She would never willingly be used to further an unscrupulous minister's career.
"I spent my childhood as the main attraction of my stepfather's ministry."
"And you would be the crown jewel in mine!" Reeves rose from the settee, lifting his arms as if to beseech heaven. "There is nothing that we couldn't do—together!"
Jeannie knew there was only one way to discover the truth, to prove or disprove her suspicions. But how would Sam react? His interference could prove disastrous. She had to make him understand that he was not to interrupt her probe, not even if she appeared to be in danger.
She called out to Sam silently. He didn't try to block her entrance into his mind, because he hadn't been expecting it. She glanced across the room at him; he gave her a quizzical look. Why wouldn't he open his mind and allow her to connect with him? If only he would admit that a telepathic link existed between them, it would be so easy.
I'm going to connect with Reverend Reeves, Jeannie told Sam telepathically, hoping he would open his mind to her.
Sam clenched his teeth. A muscle in his jaw twitched. He uncrossed his arms, lowered them to his sides, and knotted his hands into tight fists. He wouldn't listen to her. He had to shut her out once again.
Jeannie lifted her cane, braced the tip on the floor and rose from her chair. "Reverend Reeves, you understand all about possessing special powers, don't you?"
Spreading his arms in a circular motion as he brought them downward, Reeves stepped back, his legs bumping into the edge of the settee. "I know that there are powers from the devil and powers from God, and that those from the devil must be destroyed and those from God must be cultivated and used in his service."
Seemingly spellbound, Reeves watched her walk slowly toward him. He didn't so much as flinch when she reached out and touched him.
Jeannie held his hand with a strong but gentle clasp. Within seconds, she sensed a subdued energy pulsating weakly inside him. Gradually the sensations grew stronger, and
the transference began in earnest. Fear. Pain. Anger. So much anger.
Sam moved inward from the far wall, stopping a few feet behind Reeves. She could not relay a telepathic message to Sam as long as she was connected to Reeves, and she dared not break the tenuous bond she had just formed.
Closing her eyes, Jeannie blocked out the world around her and concentrated on Maynard Reeves's emotions, on the haunted thoughts and painful memories swirling around in his mind. She sensed him trying to pull away, trying to break their link. But he was powerless against Jeannie's determination.
Sensing Maynard's fear, Jeannie connected to the memories he was recalling. Don't whip me again. Please, Mama, don't. I promise I'll never do it again. I'll be good.
She felt the pain, the child's pain that had twisted and festered and rotted within Maynard Reeves.
She saw the blood dripping from welts on the little boy's buttocks. No, Daddy. I'm sorry. I don't want the mean old devil inside me. I'll make him go away. I'll never use his evil powers again.
Anger. He would rid the world of Satan's magic, the way his parents had beaten it out of him. But a residue of that power remained inside him. Nothing he did could make it go away. But no one knew. No one must ever know that, sometimes, he used the power. And sometimes he prayed for more.
Jeannie swayed on her feet as she slowly, patiently, drew the fear and pain and anger from Maynard Reeves's alter ego, a frightened and badly abused little boy. The pain was no longer physical, but a deep psychological hurt that tormented Reeves. Poor, poor little boy. Swaying unsteadily, Jeannie gripped her cane, then drew in deep, gasping breaths. Tears welled up in her eyes. Through the mist of her pain—sad, pitiful little Maynard's pain—she heard Sam moving closer. Not yet, she tried to tell him. Almost. Please wait. But she knew he hadn't heard her.
Sam grabbed Reeves by the back of his neck, jerking him away from Jeannie, tossing him down on the floor. Reeves cried out, covering his head, as if to protect himself from an expected blow.
Jeannie could no longer brace her weak legs with the aid of her cane. Her knees buckled, but before she slumped to the floor, Sam lifted her into his arms. She felt the strength that held her safely in its embrace, and knew nothing could harm her. The pain would pass, but it would take time to make its way through her mind, through her body, through her heart, before shattering into nothingness within her soul.
Reeves rose from the floor into a crouch, looking wild-eyed and frightened, like a cornered animal. "My God! My God! Her power is strong, so strong. I could feel her draining my very soul out of me."
"You're out of your mind!" Sam didn't even look down at Reeves as he walked out of the parlor with Jeannie in his arms.
"Only a witch could possess such powers." Reeves stood, his legs trembling, his hands shaking. "Only Satan's child."
Sam ignored the man, his only thoughts of Jeannie's comfort and safety. "Ollie! Ollie!" He stopped at the foot of the stairs when Ollie Tyner came bustling down the hallway.
"What's wrong?" Seeing Jeannie in Sam's arms, Ollie gave Reeves a condemning stare. "What's he done to her?"
"Show Reverend Reeves to the door, Ollie," Sam said.
"Gladly." Flinging open the front door, Ollie planted her hand on her hip and waited for Reeves to depart.
"Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live!" Reeves shouted as he entered the foyer, his face suffused with color, his eyes glazed over with a rage born of realization.
"Get out of here!" Sam tilted his head just a fraction, just enough to glare at Reeves, giving the other man the full impact of his killer stare.
Standing in the open doorway leading to the porch, Reeves pointed an accusatory finger at Sam. "You protect the devil's daughter. When God destroys her, he will smite you down, also."
Ollie slammed the door on Reverend Reeves, hitting him squarely in the rear end. Swiping the palms of her hands together, she smiled. "Good riddance to bad rubbish."
"Activate the alarm system," Sam said. "We don't want any snakes trying to crawl back into the house. I'm taking Jeannie to her room."
"I'll bring her up some tea in a bit." Ollie shook her head sadly. "When she comes out of it, she'll be thirsty."
Sam nodded his agreement, then carried Jeannie upstairs and laid her on her bed. She clung to him, refusing to release her hold around his neck. Sitting down on the bed, with his back braced against the headboard, he lifted her onto his lap. She cuddled against him.
"Sam?" Her voice was weak, breathless.
"I'm here."
"Reeves … Reeves is…" She didn't have the strength to speak.
"Hush. It's all right. He's gone, and I'll never let him get close enough to touch you. Not ever again." Sam held her close, wishing that he could somehow absorb the aftershocks of pain hitting her now.
She lay quietly, her breathing gradually returning to normal as the color reappeared in her face. Sam stroked her back, soothing her, longing to give her his strength.
She opened her eyes and looked up at him. "I'm all right. Don't worry so."
"Don't talk. Just rest." He caressed her face with his fingertips, each touch filled with deep concern.
"Reeves was psychic as a child," she said.
"What?"
"His powers are very limited, but they do still exist."
"You tapped into those powers? Is that what happened?"
"Partly." Lifting her head off Sam's shoulder, she stared him directly in the eye. "Only his parents knew about his abilities, and they beat him severely anytime he used them. They—"
"Shh … shh… You're overexerting yourself." He placed his right index finger over her lips.
Jeannie covered his hand with hers and pulled it away from her face. "His parents thought little Maynard had received his psychic powers from the devil. They abused him unmercifully. There is so much pain and anger and fear inside him. I had just tapped into those emotions and had begun to drain them when you broke our connection."
"I'm sorry, but I can't waste my time worrying about what happened to Reeves when he was a child, what psychological damage his parents caused that turned him into a lunatic."
Jeannie squeezed Sam's hand. "He sees me as a threat, now more so than before. I know his secret. I know that he believes, despite all that he's done and everything his parents did, that the devil still occasionally works through him."
"What are you not telling me?" Sam lifted her hand to his lips.
"He was willing to join forces with me, had I been agreeable. He knows that I know he was willing to sell his soul to the devil in order to share my power." Jeannie took a deep, cleansing breath, releasing all the residue of Reeves's emotions. "He cannot allow me to live. He sees me as an evil threat, a seducer with the devil's own power."
Sam buried his lips in Jeannie's open palm, then grabbed her into his arms, holding her with fierce protectiveness. "I'll never let him near you again. Whatever it takes, I'll keep you safe."
"Yes, Sam. I know you'll guard me with your life."
"Damn right about that!"
Chapter 8
« ^ »
Stepping aboard the Royal Belle was like entering another world. Nineteenth-century charm and lavish elegance combined with the glitter and excitement of Las Vegas. The gambling casino, docked just off the Biloxi shore, was a security problem. Public access gave anyone the opportunity to come and go as they pleased. A quick and unobserved getaway would be simple—drive out of the parking lot and onto Beach Boulevard or escape by private boat. It would be easy to get lost in the horde of tourists who flooded the area from daylight to dark.
Three decks high, gaming on two levels and a restaurant-lounge on the third, the floating palace was ideal for a society charity function. Although two levels had been secured for the private affair, the bottom level of the riverboat remained open to the public, which meant it was possible for an uninvited guest to slip by security.
When Sam had been unable to dissuade Jeannie from attending this black-tie a
ffair, he'd asked Rufus Painter to the Howell home for a private meeting. Painter agreed with Sam's opinion of Maynard Reeves as a fanatic, with the potential to become violent, but since the man stayed just within the law, Painter's hands were tied. Sam understood the officer's limitations. Before the police could do anything about Reeves, they needed some sort of proof that the man had broken the law.
Sam had stayed on the right side of the law all his life. He'd done a stint in the marines before college, and then joined the Drug Enforcement Administration. And since starting his own private security agency, he had, for the most part, adhered to government rules and regulations.
But to keep Jeannie Alverson safe, he was willing to do anything, and if that meant breaking a few rules, Sam wasn't about to lose any sleep over it. Yeah, he and Painter understood each other. They both had jobs to do; they were just bound by slightly different codes of conduct.
Yesterday, he'd had J.T. send down a couple of Dundee Private Security's newest recruits. He'd told J.T. the two-day stint would give the men some experience in the field and allow him to evaluate their performance. He knew J.T. didn't buy the excuse, but he was too good a friend to ask questions, even after Sam told him the agency would cover the cost.
Gabriel Hawk, a former CIA agent, and Morgan Kane, once a navy SEAL, hardly needed any field experience. Sam had evaluated their records thoroughly before bringing them into the business to replace two of his best men. Ashe McLaughlin wouldn't be returning. He had married his childhood best friend and decided to move back home and begin a new life. And Simon Roarke, who'd been severely wounded in the line of duty, needed several months to recover.
Upon their arrival from the airport yesterday morning, Sam had left Hawk at the Howell home to guard Jeannie while he and Kane checked out the Royal Belle.
Even with his own men assisting the private security provided by the Royal Belle, Sam felt uneasy. He had halfway expected to find a troop of Righteous Light brethren picketing the casino, but to his great relief, there hadn't been a sign of Reeves or his followers. Sam wasn't so sure that was a good sign. He'd much rather have these people out in the open than sneaking around in dark corners.
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