“What?” She turned her beautiful, blank eyes in his direction. “Oh, yes. She’s doing as well as can be expected. This thing with Burt… She knows what she’s doing. She needs him right now.” She opened her car door, as if that ended their discussion.
Back in the house, she disappeared into the bathroom for a shower while Jesse called the station and talked to Shelly before going back outside to unload the camping equipment. As he worked, his mind whirled a million miles a minute.
Making love to Allison last night had probably been a mistake. And for a few minutes that morning, he’d worried about what her reaction would be to their night of lovemaking. But when she’d told him not to worry, that for her it had been nothing but a pleasant release of energy, he’d wanted to shout a protest.
It had been so much more than simply a physical release. Making love with Allison had awakened something deep in Jesse’s soul…a need he hadn’t realized he possessed, dreams he hadn’t realized might be within his grasp.
“Crazy,” he muttered, wondering if sex made all men think foolish thoughts. Did the surge of testosterone zap brain cells?
By the time he finished unloading the camping gear, the dark clouds that had appeared that morning had usurped the last of the blue sky.
He went into the house, surprised to find Allison had sandwiches waiting. “I thought you should eat before you went to the station,” she said. “It’s nothing fancy, just bologna and cheese with a little mustard.”
“Thanks.” He sat at the table, touched by her thoughtfulness. “Bologna and cheese is just fine.”
She smelled of soap and shampoo and the faint odor of spring flowers. Her dark hair was still damp from her shower but glistened with rich highlights.
As always, she wore blue jeans and a blue T-shirt. “How come you always wear blue?” he asked.
She sat at the table next to him. “When I left the hospital, a police woman went shopping for me. She thought it would be easy for me to coordinate my clothing if everything was the same color.” She smiled, an impish teasing lighting her eyes. “That way I don’t look like your living room.”
“My living room?”
“Yeah, you know…all purple plaid and green stripes or whatever you said when you described it to me.”
Jesse laughed and she joined him. “If you think the living room is bad, you should see my bedroom.”
“Don’t tell me,” she protested, then laughed. “Okay…go ahead and tell me.”
“Wallpaper with huge pink and yellow roses, and it’s peeling.”
“Have you no shame?” she teased. “Why on earth haven’t you done something about it?”
“I don’t know. I really hate it, but I just haven’t gotten around to doing anything. Normally I don’t spend much time here.”
“But this is your home, a place where you should surround yourself with colors and fabrics that comfort you.”
He laughed. “Now you’re talking like an interior decorator.”
“I am an interior decorator.”
With those simple words, Jesse was reminded that no matter what he’d felt last night when he’d held her in his arms and made love to her, he and Mustang were temporary for her.
And in that instant, Jesse knew what he wanted. Before she left Mustang, before she left his life for good, he wanted to see her wearing something green—something silky and in the same wonderful shade as her eyes.
At that moment Shelly arrived. Jesse wrapped the remainder of his sandwich in a paper towel and escaped, grateful that Shelly had shown up before he said or did anything stupid.
As he drove away from the house, he thought of what she’d said about his house, about it being his home and being filled with things that comforted him.
He’d never really thought of the house as a home. A home implied warmth and companionship. A home should contain a husband and wife, two people committed to building a life together, facing the future side by side.
He’d never really wanted to build a home. His house had always been enough for him—a place to eat, sleep and shower. Allison’s presence in his house had subtly transformed things.
He liked knowing that when he pulled into the driveway the porch light was on for him. He liked knowing that when he walked through the door if he wanted to talk, she would listen.
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel as his mind filled with visions of Allison. He could still taste the sweetness of her kisses on his lips, feel the heated touch of her hands on his skin. She had been far more passionate, far more giving than he’d dreamed.
And what irritated him more than anything was the fact that even though he knew it was wrong, remembering those moments of intense intimacy evoked an overwhelming desire to repeat the experience.
Chapter 10
Allison stood in front of the dresser mirror in her bedroom, brushing her hair before getting into bed. Despite the fact she couldn’t see her reflection, she supposed it was the lingering of a lifetime habit that she always stood in front of the mirror.
It had been a long, quiet evening. Shelly had been depressed because she couldn’t get Sam to acknowledge her as anything but a partner. “Unrequited lust stinks,” she’d announced before falling into a depressed pout.
Allison had been quiet, as well, working through her own feelings, trying to separate emotion from intellect and desire from need. Maggie’s words haunted her, forcing her to examine all the emotions she felt for Jesse.
By the time Jesse had returned home for the night thirty minutes ago, Allison’s thoughts were no clearer and she decided to go to bed.
Her feelings about Jesse were confusing. She didn’t know if she was falling in love with Jesse because he represented safety and security. If she could see and if her world were normal, would she feel the same way about him?
She paused, hairbrush in the air. She was falling in love with Jesse. The sound of rumbling thunder drifted into her open window, as if to underscore the drama of her sudden realization.
She sank onto the edge of the bed, her heart thudding rapidly.
Jesse. He made her laugh, he made her feel safe, and last night he’d made her body sing with sensations she’d never felt before. It frightened her just a little, because she didn’t know if she could trust the feelings.
There were too many other variables between them for her to be certain of her own emotions. She was suffering hysterical blindness, was miles away from her own home. She’d come to Mustang, Montana, seeking shelter and safety.
Her growing feelings for Jesse felt real, but could she trust her own emotions when there was so much turbulence in her head, so much fear and grief and uncertainty in her heart? She didn’t know the answer.
She stood and once again approached the dresser, but hesitated as a sound drifted in through the open window. She froze. Her heart suddenly pounded in a much different way than it had seconds before.
The noise she’d heard had sounded like footsteps breaking foliage. Along with the noise came the distinct feeling that she wasn’t alone, that somebody was nearby.
“Is somebody there?” she asked. There was another audible snap of brush, a faint grunt, and this noise broke her initial paralysis.
She threw open her bedroom door, crying out in pain as something hit her cheek and forehead. “Jesse,” she yelled at the same time she realized something hadn’t hit her but rather she’d walked into the edge of the door in her haste.
Jesse’s bedroom door flew open. “Allison, what’s wrong?”
“I think somebody is outside my bedroom window.”
He asked no further questions. He took her by the shoulders and moved her down the hallway near the bathroom door.
“Stay here,” he commanded. “I’ll go check it out.” His words were punctuated by another clap of thunder, this one louder, closer.
Allison crossed her arms over her chest and hugged her shoulders, fear rising, consuming her. Had they found her? The men—the officers who had mur
dered Alicia, murdered John… Had they found her safe haven…? Had they come here to kill her, too?
Where was Jesse? What was taking him so long? The seconds transformed to minutes in agonizing tempo. What was taking so long? What was hap pening? Where was Jesse? Please, please don’t let anything happen to Jesse, her mind screamed.
Fear transformed to terror as flashes of memory tormented her. Alicia…John…the sound of gunshots. I can’t let them see me, Allison thought. The closet…the closet is safe…they can’t find me in the dark. The dark is a good place to hide.
“Allison, it’s okay, honey.”
Jesse’s voice sliced through the terror, banishing it like a surgeon’s knife cutting away a tumor. Allison realized that in her fear she had once again sought the safety of her closet. She was huddled on the floor, pressed into the corner. Without conscious knowledge, her body had carried her to the place that had kept her safe once before.
Jesse’s hand touched one of hers, and she held on tightly as she left the safe confines of the small, dark space.
The moment she could straighten, she pressed against him. She wrapped her arms around him and held tight, allowing the last vestiges of fear to leave her body.
She stood for a long moment in his embrace, the scent of him comfortable and familiar, the warmth of his skin a reassuring sign of life and safety.
Thunder once again rumbled overhead, this time not sounding like gunshots, but simply the approach of a storm. “You didn’t find anybody?” she asked, her face pressed against his bare chest.
She fought the need to press her lips against him, fought the desire to taste his skin and lose herself and forget her fear in a dizzying whirl of desire.
“No, I didn’t see anyone. I checked the yard, the neighbors’ yards and down the block.”
She released him and stepped back, embarrassment replacing fear. “I guess I just imagined it. Maybe the thunder made me think I was hearing things.”
He took her hand and guided her to the bed where she sat. “You didn’t imagine anything,” he said, his voice tight with tension. “Apparently somebody was outside your window. The rosebush beneath the window was half-trampled.”
“That’s what I heard,” she exclaimed. “I heard crackling, like brush breaking.”
She rubbed her arms, suddenly cold as she thought of somebody standing at the window, watching her as she brushed her hair. Had somebody been there when she’d changed into her nightgown? Had they watched her as she’d undressed?
Dear God, had there been a gun pointed in her direction? Had somebody been waiting for the perfect shot? Or had they intended to wait until she was sleeping, then sneak in the window and silently cut her throat?
“Do you think they’ve found me? The Renegade Eight from Chicago?” Her voice was whisper soft.
Jesse didn’t reply immediately. She sensed him moving in front of her, pacing like a caged wild animal. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “I only know that somebody was there.”
“Maybe we should call Kent Keller or Bob Sandford and see what’s happening. Maybe they could tell us if somebody knows where I am…if—”
“I can’t do that,” Jesse interrupted her. “They told me they’d contact me.”
“But this changes things,” she replied, her voice slightly shrill. “We have a right to know what’s going on. We need to know if anyone has gotten information about me. We need to know if they know where I am.”
Jesse sat next to her and once again took her hand in his. “Allison, I can’t call those men because if I do there will be a record of the call. If nobody knows where you are, but people are looking for you, calling is too dangerous. If Bob or Kent’s calls are secretly being monitored, a call from me might put you in extreme danger.”
Allison once again rubbed her arms as a chill swept through her. “I hadn’t thought of that,” she admitted.
“Here’s something else to consider,” Jesse said. “It’s possible whoever was looking in your window has nothing to do with what happened in Chicago.”
Allison sat up in surprise, recognizing he could be right. “Casanova!” she exclaimed.
“Exactly.” He released a deep sigh. “Come on, let’s go to the kitchen and get something to eat. I have a feeling it’s going to take us both a little while to wind down enough to sleep.” Before they left the room, Jesse shut and locked her window, then pulled the curtains tightly closed.
Moments later they sat at the table, a bag of chips and a couple of sodas in front of them. Allison couldn’t eat, although she sipped her soda, trying to remove the taste of horror that lingered in her mouth. The idea that somebody had stood at the window and peeked in at her without her knowledge made her feel violated.
“I hate the idea of somebody watching me and me being unable to see them,” she said, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen between them.
“Thank God you heard them and had the presence of mind to call for me.” Jesse’s voice was deeper than usual and Allison knew he must be wondering what would have happened had she fallen asleep with the window open. She’d been wondering the same thing.
Would somebody have crept through the window, their actions hidden in the darkness of her blindness and any noise concealed by the thunder and the storm? Who had been there?
Jesse’s hand enfolded hers. “Don’t think about it,” he said, as if he were able to read her mind.
“I can’t help but think about it,” she replied. Nor could she ignore the pleasure of his touch. His hand warmed her heart, swept away the fear and replaced it with the certainty of his protection.
Jesse released her hand and instead touched the side of her face. She winced. “What did you do?” he asked. “You have a scrape here.”
“When I yanked open my door to call for you, I walked into it. It’s fine, just a little tender.”
She frowned thoughtfully. “Is it possible Casanova watched his other victims before he actually committed his crimes?”
“I don’t know. None of the other women mentioned anything unusual happening before the night Casanova visited them. And believe me, I asked.”
“I think if the person outside the window was one of the Renegade Eight, I wouldn’t be sitting here eating chips with you,” Allison said thoughtfully. “I think one of those dirty cops would have shot me and disappeared into the night.”
“I think you’re probably right,” Jesse agreed. He released her hand and she fought the impulse to reach for him once again.
“So that means it was possible that Casanova was watching me…perhaps waiting for me to go to sleep with an open, unlocked window.”
“Yeah, it’s possible.” Jesse’s voice was filled with suppressed fury. “If it was Casanova, then the son of a bitch is getting bolder. I’m the sheriff, for God’s sake, and for all intents and purposes you’re my fiancée.”
He was quiet for a moment, then continued. “Maybe we’re jumping to conclusions. It’s possible Jed Burnside was peeking into the window.”
“Jed Burnside?” Allison frowned. “Who’s that?”
“Jed is Mustang’s resident Peeping Tom. He’s sixty-nine years old and maintains that open curtains are an invitation to peep. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
“But if it wasn’t this Jed…and it was Casanova, maybe we can catch him,” Allison said. She leaned forward. “If he’s focused in on me, then maybe we should let him take me.”
“You mean use you as bait? Absolutely not.” His chair scooted noisily against the floor at the same time thunder clapped overhead and rain began to pelt the windows.
“Jesse, it might be the way to finally catch him.” She leaned forward eagerly. Suddenly it felt like the one thing she could do to repay him for all he had done for her. “We could do it, Jesse. We could set it up, entice him.”
“I said no, and I mean no.” He scooted back his chair and stood, his voice nearly as loud as the last boom of thunder. “There are too many factors we can’t control. I ca
n’t take the risk. I won’t let you take the risk.” His voice had softened. “I couldn’t live with myself if something went wrong, if you were harmed.”
Allison’s heart swelled with his words. He cared about her. She could hear it in his voice, felt it in the tension that radiated from him.
“Allison, you’ve been placed in my care for protection, and I take that responsibility very seriously. I would be remiss in my duty to intentionally place you in harm’s way. It won’t be done.”
These words punctured the swell of her heart. Of course he cared about her—like a baby-sitter cared for little charges, like a mechanic cared for a car. A job.
They had momentarily blurred the lines between duty and desire the night before, but Allison would do well to remember her place in Jesse’s life—she was a temporary responsibility and nothing more.
Jesse grabbed a chip from the bag, his mind whirling in a million different directions as he ate it. Somebody had been outside Allison’s window and his gut told him it had been Casanova.
Before he’d found Allison hiding in the closet, he’d called the station and alerted the deputies on duty. At this moment they should be patrolling the neighborhood, looking for anyone suspicious. But Jesse didn’t expect them to find anyone.
He grabbed another chip, trying to keep his attention off the fact that Allison was clad in her silky blue nightgown and robe. The robe was unbelted and hung loose down her sides, displaying the low-cut nightgown that exposed her beautiful long neck and the tops of her creamy breasts.
It had been less than twenty-four hours since they’d made love and yet Jesse felt like a man starving for her. He wanted to wrap himself around her, hear her throaty sighs as he possessed her, watch her eyes as they lit with passion…passion for him.
He frowned and took a sip of his soda. It filled him with rage to think that Casanova might attempt to hurt Allison.
He’d been angered to see the three victims, their pain and trauma. He’d been angered to see the women of his town filled with fear. But this possible threat to Allison pulled his anger into a new dimension.
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