“Stay here tonight. You shouldn’t be alone, and it’s late to go to anyone else’s house.”
“I can’t do that.” The frown deepened. She jumped from the chair and moved around the room. He could almost hear her mind searching for an alternative.
“After considering other options, I’ve decided this is best. Come on.” He held out his hand. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.”
Her gaze darted around the room, stopped on him then skittered away.
“You’ll be safe here. I’ll keep you safe. I promise you that.” His voice dropped into a lower register, one he hoped she found trustworthy.
He’d apparently used the magic word. She reached toward him and grasped his hand like a life preserver. Her hand in his made him uneasy. It felt too right. “Let me top off your wine, and you can take it with you.”
On the second floor, he indicated the bathroom and the spare bedroom right next to his. Having Jill so close would trouble him but hoped the location would comfort her.
She stood in the middle of the room his mother had redone in silver, gray, and navy.
“It’s lovely. The splash of bright yellow in the pillows a slice of sunshine, gives me hope. And a fireplace. Thank you, Jerrod.”
“Let me get that going.” Glad he’d installed gas. “Now I’ll find something you can sleep in.”
He turned and went into his room, grabbed a pair of his flannel pajamas, trying not to picture how she’d look in them. Nothing sexier than a woman wearing a man’s clothing.
When he returned, she stood, one hand clenched on the drapes, peeking through an opening.
“I laid out towels in the bathroom for you.” He handed her the blue plaid pajamas. “They’ll be way too large but will keep you warm.”
Jill took them and then surprised him when she threw her arms around his waist and rested her cheek on his chest.
“I can’t thank you enough for this. Being alone tonight would’ve been...difficult.”
She stepped back, a blush rising in her cheeks. For his part, the hug could’ve gone on longer.
“It’s okay. Get some rest.” He backed out and closed the door. He’d get little of that with her next door. In the morning, he had to get her to talk. Something was going on, and she wasn’t being open with any of them.
He’d been right about not getting much rest. After he’d tucked her in, so to speak, he went downstairs and double-checked everything was secure. He went into his office and searched the Internet for more information on the lovely and desirable Ms. Jill Barlow. A couple of hours later he emailed Don to ask for assistance explaining a few things. About two a.m., Jerrod fell into bed but slept fitfully. A dream of someone breaking in thrust him into an uneasy wakefulness.
He got up, took his gun from the bedside table, and made the rounds of his house. Finding nothing, he went back up the stairs. When he reached Jill’s room, he paused, took hold of the doorknob and gently turned.
She’d thrashed around during the night. Maybe the fire had been too high, because she’d thrown off the covers. The moonlight coming through the crack in the curtains focused his attention on her lovely pale legs coming from beneath his pajama shirt. She’d discarded the pants. Her hair lay across the pillow, all that lovely yellow gold.
His breath caught in his chest, his hands clenched, and he fought the crazy desire to crawl in with her. He crossed to the bed. After placing the gun on the bedside table, he pulled the covers over her. The opening of the shirt displayed the soft curve of one of her breasts. He yanked his hands from the covers, grabbed the weapon, and walked away from the desirable, but troubled woman.
Chapter Ten
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 12
Jill woke slowly, stretched, and snuggled back under the covers. Hmm. Had she used a different scent in her dryer? This was woodsy, like she’d hung the sheets outside in the fresh air.
A picture of her trashed living room sprang full-blown into her memory. Her heart pounded loud enough to be heard in Texas. She shot up in bed and looked around. Her purse lay on the dresser, and men’s pajama bottoms draped across the back of the armchair by the window. She lifted the quilt. She wore only the top.
Jerrod. She’d spent the night at his house.
That’s right. He’d taken her in after someone broke into her house. The third break-in, counting the one at her home in Fort Worth. Her hand trembled when she brushed the hair off her forehead. She counted her breaths, slowed them down.
Surprisingly, she’d slept well. No dreams. Must’ve been the wine. And, she admitted grudgingly, the knowledge that Jerrod slept next door. It made her feel safe. He’d been gracious and understanding about her bursting in the way she had.
She didn’t have any business leaning on him. That would be a trap entirely too easy to fall into if she weren’t careful. She climbed from the bed and grabbed her clothes, which she’d hung in the almost empty closet.
A shower would sharpen her senses, but then she’d leave. Hoping not to run into him, she eased open the door and peeked into the hallway. Nobody. The wonderful aroma of coffee drifted up from the kitchen. She scooted across the hall. Maybe she’d take time for one cup before she left.
The bathroom had a gas heater with matches nearby. Sulfur tingled in her nose, and a blue flame danced. Ah, yes. Nothing better, unless perhaps a fireplace in the bathroom. A couple of women she knew in Fort Worth had those. They’d told her it did a lot for their sex lives. Not an idea she needed right now.
Jill slipped out of the top and stepped into the water relishing its warmth. Being careful, she showered without getting her hair wet. She had lipstick, blush, and some mascara with her. Better than nothing. After she dressed, she’d get her coffee, thank Jerrod for his kindness, and then go see the sheriff. She hated to deal with this. She’d come to Woodstock to get her life in order and escape the nightmares of Texas. God help her.
When she finished dressing, she headed for the stairway, but stopped at the top.
Jerrod stood at the bottom holding a mug. “How about a cup of coffee?”
“Absolutely. Thanks.” Resting her hand on the banister, she descended. The scent of coffee made her almost light headed.
“Come in the kitchen. Mother says I make better oatmeal than our old cook Esther did. Of course, moms are partial.”
“I need to get over to the sheriff’s office to see what he can tell me about last night. Find out when I can go home and begin cleaning up.”
He held out a chair for her at the kitchen table. “No ma’am. You need to eat a hearty breakfast first. I insist.”
“Well—”
“Seriously.” He took her by the shoulders and guided her to the chair.
She did need to eat to be ready for whatever lay ahead of her. She picked up the spoon and sampled the creamy cereal in her bowl. “I don’t know what Esther’s oatmeal tasted like, but this is...” She sighed and then took a couple of more bites. “What all do you put in this?”
He smiled in response to her praise, and she did her best to rustle up one in return.
His eyes twinkled. Maybe she succeeded.
“I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you—Damn.” Her smile evaporated in an instant. “I’m sorry, Jill. Not a good joke today.”
“No, it’s okay.” She pushed her bowl away with a trembling hand. “I’ve had enough anyway, and I’ve got to go to the sheriff’s office.”
“I talked with him this morning and told him I’d bring you around later. So, you do have time. Finish your oatmeal and have more coffee. One cup can’t be enough for you.”
A laugh bubbled out, surprising her. “No, you’re right. I go through a pot by myself at home, and on work days at the store, we go through two at least.” She picked up the spoon and scooped up another bite. “It’s got the right amount of sweetness.”
“Keep it quiet, but the trick is using brown sugar and letting it cook into the porridge.”
She ate in silence for a while, her m
uscles losing the coiled tenseness from the strain she’d lived with since the break-ins.
Jerrod pushed his chair back from the table and rested an ankle on his other knee. “Anyone have something against you, Jill? You have any enemies?”
She dropped her spoon, and it clattered against the pottery. “What? What are you talking about?” Her heart wanted to jump right out of her body the way it was beating. A picture of one of those cartoon characters whose red heart springs in and out of its chest popped into her head. But those characters were in love, not scared out of their mind the way she was.
“In talking with Jack this morning, we both agreed it’s too much of a coincidence to have the store and your house randomly broken into in the span of two weeks. Soon after you arrived, when I confronted you in the gardens behind the inn, you seemed to be afraid I’d try to hurt you or your kids. Those circumstances taken together tie this to you.”
“No.” She jumped from the chair and made for the front of the house. It couldn’t be. She wouldn’t let it be. She wanted to be safe. She wanted to be safe in Woodstock. She headed to the door, but Jerrod caught her, spun her around, and then pulled her close. Her head dropped forward and rested on his chest. His heart beat at a thunderous rate matching hers.
“We have to talk about this, Jill.” His fingers gently raised her head, forcing eye contact. “You can’t keep running. Because that’s what you were doing when you came here, wasn’t it? You can’t ignore this anymore. You must fight. And the way you start is by telling Jack and me what the hell is going on.”
She wanted to say no to him. None of this had anything to do with her. The touch of his strong arms warmed her inside and out. She didn’t want to move.
Without dropping his hold, he put space between them, his jaw firm and determined.
“Tell me. Tell me, Jill, and we can work it out.”
He slid his arms around again and nestled her closer. One hand trailed from the crown of her head down her long ponytail and stopped on the small of her back. She felt herself weaken, melting into him. God, he made her feel safe. Not only safe, but cared for, desirable. This whole thing was making her a crazy woman. She shouldn’t be reacting to Jerrod this way.
Could she chance telling him about the mess in Fort Worth?
Then he kissed the top of her head, and the rest of her reserves cracked. Tears gushed like they hadn’t since the night she broke down in early May. Jerrod didn’t need this. But she must, because she couldn’t stop.
“It’s okay, honey, let it out. Then we’ll start fresh.”
After a time, the tears subsided, followed by a few hiccoughs. She struggled to get her breathing under control.
“Here.” He handed her his handkerchief. “You need to talk to me.” She swallowed, looked at him, took a deep breath, nodded, and wiped her nose.
They walked to the kitchen with his arm draped across her shoulder, the weight and warmth comforting. She didn’t know what it was about this man who hadn’t cared for her when they first met—nor she for him—but she enjoyed being around him. He always made her believe he’d keep the bad stuff at bay. Figuring out strategies was supposed to be his strength. Guess she’d see how good he was. She stood in the middle of the kitchen, took a deep breath, and dove in.
“My husband was killed two years ago and my father this past spring before I came here.” He nodded, but didn’t say anything, so she went on.
“Despite their best efforts, the authorities found no proof against anyone for either of the murders.” Her voice shook, but she kept going. “People speculated a connection existed to legislation Dad sponsored or tried to stop over the years, but nothing was ever proven.”
Jerrod prepared fresh coffee.
She paced his kitchen. Touching this and moving that, trying to keep her hands busy so she didn’t wring them. She stopped when he set the mugs on the table.
He held a chair for her, but she shook her head. Emotions boiled on her insides, forcing her to move.
He nodded and sat.
“Because the police don’t have any proof against anyone, we’re left in a kind of limbo. I came to Woodstock, really for an extended visit. I planned to stay longer than when I came after George was killed. Karen and Tim made me feel comfortable here.” She paused, looked out the back window of the kitchen into the yard at the red and orange leaves on the trees. “Who can argue with the scenery?”
Then she turned toward him. “When I was unpacking, after I arrived, I found a small box my father mailed me not long before he was murdered. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to open it earlier.” Jill crossed to the table and using both hands lifted her mug. She didn’t want to see the evidence of the fear smoldering in her middle, not needing any more incidents before it would burst into a conflagration. After drinking and setting down the mug on the table, she drifted around the kitchen, deciding what and if to say more.
“Did you open the package?”
Jerrod’s softly spoken question stopped her in her tracks. Despite her best efforts her hands clenched around each other, her heart rate kicked in to high gear. She wanted to run. Where would she go?
“What did you find?” Still that calm, low voice.
She took a deep breath. Was he trustworthy? She had no doubt about his mother. What about Anne’s grandson? Don worked for the FBI, and he’d been in Austin last spring. Before she went further, before she said anything, before she put her life in Jerrod’s hands, she’d have to get his assurance he’d keep the story quiet.
She sat in the chair next to the Yankee she was oddly and definitely attracted to, leaned forward, and grasped one of his hands. The familiar lick of electricity whenever they touched zinged up her arm.
“I need you to promise me something, Jerrod. I can’t say anything else, if you won’t.”
“What’s the promise? The lawyer in me won’t let me agree until I know what you want.”
She dropped the clasp she had on him and pushed off the chair. Only his quick reflexes kept it from hitting the floor. “God protect me from lawyers and politicians.”
A chuckle came from Jerrod. “You don’t sound like you’re joking.”
Jill turned around and studied him across the room. “Here’s the deal. I need you to promise you won’t say anything to Don about what I say. “
“Jill, he’s in the FBI. How could it possibly hurt to tell him whatever?”
“Do you promise?”
HER HANDS ON HER HIPS, feet planted, and lips clamped in a straight line. He wouldn’t get another word from her if he didn’t give in. No way he’d tell her he’d already contacted his son.
“I hope I don’t regret this, but okay.” He nodded.
“Okay, you won’t tell Don anything I tell you?”
“That’s right. Yes.” Her eyes, if possible, got larger. Jerrod saw the hesitation and the final capitulation when she let out a long breath of air. Still, she didn’t move toward him, and he was afraid if he tried to approach her, she’d bolt. He continued to sit on the hard kitchen chair, an ankle of one leg resting on the knee of the other, hoping to gain her trust. Whatever she had to say was serious.
“The package contained a note from my father...and...a flash drive.” One hand traveled up around her neck, and she massaged the muscles. Her lips turned down. Most people carried a form of tension in their neck and shoulders. She was apparently in that majority.
“You’re doing fine, Jill.” This was no different to working with a reluctant witness. “Tell me the rest. What did the note say?”
“Told me the flash drive had information on the gambling consortium.” She clasped her hands together in her lap, as if reporting to the principal. “Told me Greg Richardson, the head lobbyist, was bad.” Her voice cracked, and her chin quivered. “Told me if Daddy were dead, the gamblers would’ve killed him.”
“Okay. You can give the device to the authorities and get the bastards who killed your father and husband. Or have you already done that? Jill
, I don’t see why I couldn’t share any of this with Don.”
At her alarmed expression, he held up his arms, palms facing her. “Okay, okay. I’ve given my word.” God, he hoped he didn’t have reason to regret the communication with his son.
“My father wrote he’d already turned the information over to the FBI.”
“That’s even better. Have you heard if they’ve made any arrests, or are they still investigating?”
“You. Don’t. Get. It. Do you?” She glared at him, her fists jammed at her waist.
“I guess not. Make me understand.”
“Soon after turning over the information to the FBI, my father was murdered.”
Well, shit. That wasn’t good.
She swallowed and licked her lips. “It’s possible someone in the Austin bureau office is on Richardson’s payroll. To my knowledge, the FBI hasn’t followed up on this. I’ve searched the newspapers, not in Fort Worth only, but Austin, too. The detective investigating Dad’s murder in Austin and the Fort Worth detective with George’s case kept in contact with each other. I’d have heard something from Catching or Riley if there’d been a break in the cases.” The words tumbled from her mouth with increasing speed as she made her case.
“Detective Riley used my credit cards to trace me here. If he could do that, other law enforcement types could, too.” She walked back to the chair and dropped down. “Do you see why I can’t have you talking with Don?”
“Are you accusing my son of involvement in the murders? What’s the matter with you?” Jerrod got up and stomped across his kitchen. His blood pressure skyrocketed, and he wanted to throw something. Here he’d given this woman shelter, and she attacked his son.
“No...not really, but he said he was in Austin in the spring. Consider this. Suppose Richardson doesn’t already know where I am, and the break-ins are not related. I can’t chance Don saying something to an agent, who’d speak to someone else, and word would get back to whoever in the Austin Bureau is responsible.”
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