The Christmas Target

by Charlotte Douglas

  Her heart went out to the Gibsons—and to Ross. She’d noted his frustration, as if he felt personally responsible for what had happened. He’d as much as said so in the car on the way home, blaming himself for not catching the killer—or killers—who stalked Swenson County.

  His inability certainly hadn’t been from lack of trying. She’d never met a man so dedicated to his work, so genuinely interested in the people he served. If she was ever to fall in love, it would be with a man like Ross McGarrett.

  She faced herself in the mirror as she brushed her hair and noted the soft gleam in her eye, the silly smile on her face. She had to get a grip. Her heart was her own and no one else’s. She had kept that vow all her life, and she wasn’t about to break it for a handsome lawman, no matter how appealing. Unlike her parents, she planned to keep her heart intact, her emotions untouched. Life was easier that way.

  Lonelier, too, an inner voice added, but she shoved that thought aside.

  With a nod of determination at her reflection, she stepped into the bedroom.

  And stopped short.

  A magnificent bouquet of stargazer lilies and lilies of the valley, tied with bows of midnight blue shot with silver, covered her pillow. Someone had entered her room while she was bathing and left them there.

  Ross?

  Her heartbeat quickened at the thought.

  With a shaking hand, she lifted the card that accompanied them.

  “Jessica. I’ll take care of you. Your secret Santa.”

  The ambiguity of the message brought the chill back to her bones. If the flowers were from Ross, the card would be reassuring. But when she recalled questioning him about the gardenias, she realized his response had been distracted and unclear. If he’d sent the gardenias, someone else had to have delivered them for him, because she’d been with Ross when they’d been left on her pillow.

  I’ll take care of you.

  Considering all that had happened to her since her arrival in Montana, and in light of the arson at the Gibson home tonight, the words seemed ominous, threatening.

  She had only one way to resolve the puzzle.

  She snatched the flowers from the bed, stormed out of the room, and down the hall. Pounding on Ross’s bedroom door with her fist, she gathered up her courage to confront him. When the door swung open, she thrust the flowers in his face.

  “Did you send these?” she demanded.

  His face registered confusion—and another emotion she chose to ignore. “Not me. Fiona always puts the fresh flowers in the guest rooms.”

  “Fiona’s not here.”

  Grabbing her elbow with one hand, he tugged her inside and shut the door with the other. With heavy draperies shut against the cold, logs blazing in the fireplace and a large fur rug nestled between the two deep chairs in front of the hearth, the room’s intimacy enfolded her in its embrace.

  She realized instantly she’d made a tactical error. Finding herself confused, off balance, and consumed by an overwhelming physical attraction for the man, clad only in sweatpants, before her, she fought to regain control.

  “And if she was here, would Fiona also leave cryptic notes?” She thrust the secret Santa missive at him and watched his forehead knot into a frown as he read.

  “This isn’t the first one,” she added.

  “How many others?”

  “Two.” She repeated the messages on the first two notes.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about these before?” Anger suffused his skin.

  “Because it was too embarrassing. I thought you were playing cutesy games with me, and I didn’t know how to respond.”

  “You’re shivering,” he said.

  Too late, Jessica realized she was dressed only in her robe—with nothing beneath it. And that her trembling was due to more than the chill. Ross’s presence, tall, masculine, stimulating—and amazingly endearing—shook her to her core.

  “Sit,” he ordered.

  Unable to resist, she allowed him to guide her to a chair by the fire. When she sat, he grabbed a blanket from his bed and tucked it over her lap with disarming gentleness. He pulled his own chair closer to hers and sank into it.

  “Gardenias.” He leaned toward her, his big hands clasped between his knees. “Someone left gardenias on your pillow, too?”

  Jessica nodded. “And before that a red rose.”

  “At least now that peculiar breakfast conversation about gardenias makes sense.” He smiled, and his magnificent dark eyes widened with a sudden realization. “You thought I sent them?”

  Jessica couldn’t stop the flush that flooded her neck and face. “I figured it had to be you, Fiona or Chang Soo. Who else has access to the house?”

  “Fiona’s in Florida, so that rules her out.” He shook his head in disbelief. “And Chang Soo? Even if he wanted to flatter you with his attention—and Chang Soo has never been much interested in the ladies—he wouldn’t consider such an oblique approach honorable.”

  Ross rose suddenly, strode to his telephone and hit the button for the intercom to Chang Soo’s room. While Jessica listened, he explained to the chef about the mysterious offerings that had appeared on Jessica’s pillow.

  Then he paused, listening.

  “Chang Soo,” he explained when he returned to his chair, “swears on the graves of his ancestors that he is not your secret Santa.”

  “And you believe him?”

  “He’s been with this family longer than I have. His loyalty and honesty are unquestionable.”

  She shivered again, in spite of the blanket. “So someone else has been in the house. What if he’s still here?”

  Ross stood again, grabbed the radio off his bedside table and keyed the mike. “Greenlea, I want a complete search of the house and grounds. Report to me when you’re finished.”

  “Ten-four, Sheriff,” the reply came from the deputy, who was on duty at the house that evening.

  Ross replaced the mike, removed his gun from the holster on the nightstand and sat next to her again.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “We wait.”

  Sitting with Ross so close in the intimacy of his bedroom took her thoughts and desires in dangerous directions. She tossed the blanket aside. “I’ll wait in my room.”

  “No.”

  He hadn’t raised his voice, but simply placed the power of his authority and personality into that one simple word. It skewered her to her chair, even though her brain was telling her to get up and move or she was asking—begging—for trouble.

  She didn’t know how long they sat silently before the fire, listening to the logs crumble, observing the shower of sparks their deterioration created. All she knew was that her own breathing grew faster, her heartbeat quickened, and she wanted to be held, touched, loved by Ross in a way no other man had ever moved her.

  Her tension grew so unbearable that she’d almost convinced herself to bolt for the door, when Ross’s radio sounded.

  “The house and grounds are clear,” Josh’s voice announced. “Buck Bender and a couple of the hands helped me check. Everything’s secure. And the house is locked up tight.”

  “Ten-four. And thanks.” Ross replaced his gun in its holster.

  Jessica pushed to her feet. “I can go back to my room now.”

  “No.”

  The word sounded again, but his tone this time was different, caressing rather than commanding. It set her skin tingling, her pulse pounding with anticipation.

  He pulled her into his arms, placed a finger beneath her chin and tipped her face toward his. “Stay with me.”

  “But—”

  “Or tell me you don’t want to.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but the lie wouldn’t come. More than anything she’d ever wanted in her life, she wanted to spend this night with Ross.

  The sexual release would be good for her, she reasoned, after all the tension she’d experienced. It was the twenty-first century, after all. She didn’t have to love a man to enjoy the p
leasures he could offer. She didn’t have to make a commitment. But she had to be honest.

  “There’s something you should know,” she said.

  He raised an eyebrow, his expression curious. “What?”

  “I don’t get emotionally involved.”

  “Is that a no?”

  “Emotional involvement isn’t necessary for physical enjoyment.” She silently cursed the catch in her breath.

  “Not necessary, but definitely a plus,” he countered.

  “I don’t want you jumping to conclusions.”

  A slow grin lit his face, already awash with firelight. “So you’ll stay?”

  Her brain, bombarded into chaos by the heat of his hard body pressed against hers, the delectable scent of him, the passion shining in his eyes, and the sound of his breathing, as tortured as her own, shut down. She was operating solely on desire. And pure, unadulterated pleasure.

  She fumbled for words. “Just don’t expect commitment. Along with sex.”

  “I’ll consider myself duly warned.” His expression was unreadable.

  With a flick of his long fingers, he untied her sash, and her robe fell open, revealing her naked body.

  His expression softened. “You’re even more beautiful than I imagined.”

  His lips claimed her, and her mouth opened to him, their tongues entwining. He slid the robe from her shoulders and drew her down with him onto the fur rug before the hearth. In spite of her nakedness in the cool air, she felt as if her skin were aflame, the fire fanned by his touch, driving her to a frenzy of desire she’d never experienced before.

  And then he was gone.

  Dazed, biting her lip to keep from crying out in disappointment, she heard him enter the bathroom, open and close a drawer. In an instant, he was back, tossing a tiny, foil-wrapped package onto the rug beside them.

  He slipped off his sweatpants, and she could see without doubt that his need was as great as hers. Lying beside her, he pulled her along the length of his bare body, and she shivered with delight at the delicious sensation of skin against skin and the captivating warmth of his body.

  He nibbled kisses along her neck, over her breasts and down the curve of her stomach until she thought she would die with delight. His fingers found erotic spots she hadn’t known existed, and she twined her own fingers in his hair, ran her nails lightly down his back, felt immense satisfaction at his swift intake of breath.

  Positioning himself above her, he gazed into her eyes, a question posed in his own. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

  “No.”

  “Even if I’m emotionally involved?” he asked. “Even if I’m committed?”

  “No!” The word burst from her lips as a plea, and she opened her arms and body to him.

  He slid inside her as if they’d been made for each other alone, and the rhythm of his thrusts matched the beat of her heart. His gaze locked with hers, his eyes filled with feelings she couldn’t avoid, couldn’t deny. And she saw her own emotions reflected in them.

  With fierce tenderness and a strange savage gentleness, he brought her to the brink of ecstasy. Together, they tumbled over the edge.

  When he had regained his breath, he propped himself on one elbow and cupped her face with his other hand.

  “I love you, Jessica. With all my heart.”

  “I love you, too.”

  The words sprang to her lips without thought of their consequences, and she couldn’t call them back.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next morning before anyone else was awake, Jessica dressed hurriedly and slipped from her room. She left her luggage, packed and ready to be shipped. Carrying anything other than the large handbag she used for traveling would attract undue attention if she ran into someone.

  She’d been such a fool.

  She’d had sex before, had enjoyed it before. But she’d never made love. How could she have allowed herself to fall in love with Ross McGarrett? And after all the warnings she’d given herself, all her declarations of intent to have her heart remain untouched by the man?

  Ross had fallen asleep beside her before the fire, and as soon as his breathing had indicated deep sleep, she’d covered him with a blanket, returned to her room and packed.

  After last night’s shattering experience, she had only one recourse if she wanted to keep her life on an even keel. She was going back to Miami.

  Today.

  She’d hesitated briefly at the thought of setting out on her own, leaving the security of the guarded ranch. But if the secret Santa had been able to leave flowers three times on her pillow undetected, just how safe had she really been? She’d take her chances with a couple hours on the open road, locked in the security of her vehicle, in order to return to Miami, away from SCOFFS and secret Santas.

  And Ross.

  In the silent kitchen, where even the early-rising Chang Soo hadn’t yet appeared, she reached for the set of keys to Fiona’s car. They hung with others on a board beside the door. Jessica would leave the car in long-term parking at the airport, and Fiona could claim it on her return from Miami.

  “You all right?”

  She almost jumped out of her skin at the sound of Josh Greenlea’s voice. The deputy had been on duty all night, and the last thing she wanted was for him to alert Ross before she could get away.

  “I have an early meeting at the bank,” she lied.

  “Ross know you’re going into town without an escort?” Josh looked skeptical.

  “He asked me to take one of the hands with me,” Jessica lied again. “I’ll pick him up at the bunkhouse.”

  Josh nodded and started to brew coffee. Jessica made her escape.

  The snow crunched beneath her feet, the noise so loud she was certain it would awaken Ross, still asleep in his room on the second floor. But no light appeared in the window even at the rumble of the garage door’s opening.

  For an instant, she hesitated, reluctant to leave, remembering the warmth and contentment of Ross’s embrace, the electrifying passion of their lovemaking. There were worse things in the world than loving a man.

  Like having that love disappear, leaving your world in ruins, your heart in pieces.

  She hardened her resolve, unlocked the car and tossed her bag inside.

  With a sigh of relief that no one had tried to stop her, Jessica slid behind the wheel, started the car and eased down the driveway toward the main road.

  By the time she reached the highway, dawn was lightening the eastern sky. She pressed the accelerator, and the car responded with a burst of speed.

  Soon she’d be on a plane headed home, and Ross and last night’s lovemaking would be only a memory.

  One she could never forget.

  With a mixture of determination and regret, she continued her journey.

  Until the car sputtered and died.

  ROSS AWAKENED, remembering instantly how complete he’d felt last night with Jessica in his arms. He reached for her beside him and found only thin air. Ashes filled the fireplace, and, without the blaze, the room had cooled. With a groan, he rolled over and eyed the clock beside his bed: 10:30 a.m.

  He’d overslept. Big-time. Not that he hadn’t needed the rest. He’d put in a hell of a week. And loving Jessica last night had somehow drained all the stress from him, giving him the best rest he’d had in days. He stretched, ready to roll into the blanket and sleep again, when he recalled his scheduled meeting with the fire chief and the arson investigators. He was already a couple hours late.

  After a quick shower, he dressed and hurried downstairs, hoping Jessica was awake and at work in his office so he could see her before he left. The kitchen was empty of people but filled with the tantalizing aroma of Chang Soo’s coffee. Ross was pouring himself a cup to take with him when the chef entered the kitchen, his ancient face contorted in a frown.

  “Something wrong?” Ross asked.

  Chang Soo handed him a bundle of letters. “Buck brought the mail from the box by the gate. That firs
t envelope was on top.”

  Ross glanced at the papers the chef had given him. The first envelope was a standard size, but instead of a written or typed address, the letters R-O-S-S had been cut from a magazine or newspaper and pasted on.

  “What the hell?” Grabbing a paper towel, Ross lifted the strange missive gingerly and held it to the light. Only the shadow of a single sheet of folded paper was visible. Chang Soo passed Ross a paring knife, and Ross carefully slit the envelope. Using the paper towel in hopes of preserving any fingerprints, he withdrew the folded sheet and opened it.

  The message, in the same cut letters, made his blood run cold.

  WE HAVE JESSICA LANDON. YOU WON’T SEE HER ALIVE AGAIN.

  SCOFF.

  Ross’s world reeled. The message had to be a prank. Jessica was here at the ranch, secure under the watchful eye of his deputy and ranch hands.

  “Have you seen Jessica this morning?” Ross asked the chef.

  Chang Soo shook his head. “She hasn’t been downstairs yet.”

  On the desperate hope that the strange message was an idle threat, Ross took the stairs to the second floor two at a time and threw open the door to the guest room. Jessica’s luggage sat on the bed. The closet was empty, and her makeup and toiletries had been removed from the bathroom.

  Ignoring the anguish that crushed his heart, he picked up the phone beside the bed. Josh Greenlea had gone off duty at eight. He’d be home by now, ready for bed after working all night.

  “Did you see Miss Landon this morning?” Ross demanded before Josh even had a chance to say hello.

  “Sure,” the deputy replied. “In the kitchen around six-thirty. She was taking Mrs. McGarrett’s car into town for a meeting at the bank.”

  “And you let her go alone?”

  “She said you’d arranged for one of the hands to go with her. She was picking him up at the bunkhouse.”

  Ross took a deep breath and struggled for control. Reaming out Josh wouldn’t help in finding Jessica. He explained to Josh about the note, asked the deputy to return to the ranch and hung up.

  Downstairs, he called the dispatcher, asked her to cancel his meeting with the fire chief and ordered her to put out an immediate all-points bulletin for Fiona’s car. Then he had Chang Soo call the bunkhouse to see if anyone actually had accompanied Jessica.