Possessing Elissa

by Donna Sterling

  The footsteps drew closer.

  A shadow darkened the kitchen doorway.

  Her breath stopped in her throat. She reached for the heavy iron skillet on the stove beside her. Wrapping both hands around its cold iron handle, she held it in front of her, like a club, ready to clobber the intruder, if need be. Her babies were sleeping in the other room. Only she stood between them and whoever had invaded their sanctuary.

  A man filled the shadow. Tall and broad-shouldered, with wavy raven hair. Wearing a U.S. Army Ranger uniform.

  Elissa froze in disbelief. His silver-eyed stare—oh, how she remembered that potent stare—swept over her, then connected solidly with hers. And once again, the world blurred before her eyes, and all she could see was him.

  An incredulous whisper tore from her throat. “Jesse.”

  He leaned his powerful shoulder against the doorjamb, the corner of his wide, firm mouth lifting in a hint of a smile. “I like that better than ‘Captain Garrett’ any day.” His deep, soft, southern voice sent warmth rushing through her like Georgia sunshine. His glance flickered downward to the iron skillet she held protectively in front of her. Wry humor glinted in his eyes when they again met hers. “That thing loaded?”

  It was the warmth of humor in his eyes that released her from her shock-induced paralysis. That same understated humor, unexpected in a man as ruggedly physical as Jesse Garrett, had been her undoing the last time they’d met. It had charmed her, lulled her into a false sense of security, deepened the damnable attraction.

  “How dare you scare me like that!” With trembling hands, she dropped the skillet onto the stove. “What do you think you’re doing, barging into my house?”

  “What do you think you’re doing,” he responded calmly, “leaving your door open? Don’t you know what kind of trouble you’re inviting? That old skillet wouldn’t be enough to even slow me down if I had it in my mind to overpower you.”

  The reprimand brought a defensive flush to Elissa’s cheeks. “My door was locked! I know it was. I always—”

  “It didn’t keep me out, did it?” Jesse sauntered across the kitchen, hands in his trouser pockets, and leaned his hip against the counter, gazing sternly down at her. “Don’t ask me why, but I thought you’d be more responsible.”

  Between clenched teeth, Elissa seethed. “Don’t you dare talk to me about responsibility. You didn’t even bother to—” She cut herself off sharply. What good would it do to rail at him for ignoring her letters? She couldn’t change what he was. All she could do was learn from her mistakes. And never, ever repeat them.

  Jesse raised one inquiring brow. “I didn’t even bother to...what? Answer your letters?” She said nothing, but knew her anger radiated outward in palpable waves. “I didn’t get your letters until two days ago.” His tone was not in the least defensive; merely factual. “My incoming mail was held at the base. I was out on a recon mission. It should have taken only a few months, but we ran into some—” he pressed his lips into a grim line and his eyes clouded as he visualized something she could only guess at “—complications.” After a pause, he summarized, “I was gone longer than planned.”

  Elissa peered closely at him. How could anyone lie so convincingly? She could swear he’d come straight from some hellish ordeal that he wasn’t yet ready to discuss.

  He had to be lying, though. Dean had told her about each phone call he’d received from Jesse, usually from bars and brothels in Asia. Although Dean had tried his best to spare her feelings, he’d had no choice, under the circumstances, but to relate how Jesse hadn’t wanted to talk to her, or about her, or about her “little problem.”

  And yet here he was, in her kitchen, acting perfectly at home. Fresh anger spurted through her. “Yes, I’m sure you had a hell of a time, Captain Garrett.” The last two words sounded like a curse.

  “Call me Jesse.” It was an order, not a request. At her startled glance, he uttered, “I’ve waited a long time to hear you say it, Elissa.”

  The subdued passion behind the words rattled her as nothing else would have. Inexplicably, she felt like crying. The man was a compulsive heartbreaker, she reminded herself. Dean had warned her, even before she had left the party with Jesse that night. Why hadn’t she listened?

  She drew in a breath, fortifying herself against the drugging effect of his nearness—and the unmistakable message in his bold, heated stare. He wanted her. Here and now. And though he hadn’t made a move to touch her, she felt his touch and thrilled to it.

  “I’ve been gone a long time, Elissa,” he said in a solemn, hoarse whisper. “Have you no welcome for me at all?”

  With her heart in her throat, she forced herself to answer by resolutely turning her back to him and walking away. She stared through the lace-curtained window at the backyard, seeing instead the starkness she had glimpsed in his eyes...and an oddly urgent need. The need for what? Probably for a quick lay, now that he was back in the States.

  When she found her voice, it shook, though she strove for nonchalance. “Did you bring the waiver of parental status that I sent you? Signed and notarized, I hope?”

  “No, ma’am, I did not. What makes you think I’d ever give up my son?”

  She turned and gaped at him. He didn’t care about Cody! What game was he playing? Her maternal instincts rose in frightened protest. She didn’t want him near her baby. “Don’t call him yours. He’s mine.”

  Although his expression hadn’t changed, except for a tiny muscle flexing in his lean, square jaw, he suddenly looked dangerous. Intimidating. Every inch the battle-hardened commando. She sensed an awesome power barely leashed within his muscular frame. “Take me to him.”

  “He’s not here,” she lied, praying that none of the children would cry and draw his attention. “He’s away with my parents. But Cody’s no concern of yours. Whether you sign that waiver or not, he’ll be raised by me. Now, do me a favor, Captain Garrett, and get the hell out of my house.”

  Jesse glowered at her for one insolent moment, pulled away from the counter and straightened to his full, intimidating height. In a voice as soft as gunpowder, he promised, “I’ll be back, Elissa. To be a father to Cody. Never doubt it.” He then strode out of her kitchen.

  She backed up against the refrigerator door, needing it for support. Her heartbeats filled her ears. She didn’t hear the front door open or close, but she knew the moment he’d left. The resultant coldness cut through to her heart.

  The phone rang. She considered not answering. She had to calm herself before the children woke. But the ringing would wake them, she realized. Reluctantly, she answered.

  It was Dean, his voice unusually somber. “Elissa, I have some bad news. It’s about Jesse.”

  She gripped the receiver tighter at the mention of his name. “About Jesse?” she repeated dumbly. “What about him?”

  A short silence followed her question. “The plane that was bringing him back to the States,” Dean said haltingly, “crashed this morning. He was killed.”

  “Killed? Jesse? Dean, what are you talking about? Jesse’s not dead. Is this some kind of a joke?”

  “Joke!” Dean’s tone reminded Elissa that he never joked, let alone about death. “I know it’s hard to believe. I can barely believe it myself. Jesse and I grew up more like brothers than cousins. We lived in the same house as kids. We went our separate ways as adults, but—”

  “Jesse was here less than five minutes ago.”

  Dean took a moment to absorb what she had said. “That’s impossible. The military called my aunt—Jesse’s mother—an hour ago. The plane crashed this moming, around nine.”

  “He must have taken another plane. He was here.”

  “Elissa, it’s only noon now. Even if he somehow got on another plane, he left from an Asian port around nine this morning. He couldn’t possibly have flown to Atlanta, Georgia, in two hours. A flight straight through would take longer than that, not to mention the drive from Atlanta.”

  Elissa’s bro
ws knitted together as she paced across her kitchen, the receiver to her ear. The army had made some kind of error, of course. Jesse was certainly not dead.

  “You must have been mistaken,” said Dean. “The man you saw was just someone who looked like Jesse. Haven’t you ever done that before, mistaken a stranger for someone you know?”

  “It wasn’t like that. I wasn’t out in a crowd. I didn’t catch a glimpse of him in passing. He came to my house. We talked for at least ten minutes. It was Jesse.”

  The silence this time lasted a good deal longer. When he finally spoke, Dean sounded troubled and unsure. “I...I guess I’ll call my aunt. When was he there, did you say?”

  “He left just a few minutes ago.”

  “Okay. Let me do some calling around. And then I’ll—I’ll be over there. To make sure you’re...okay.”

  She didn’t argue, although it bothered her that he thought she might not be okay. It was a military mix-up, nothing more.

  After hanging up the phone, she paced into her living room and peered out her front window, hoping that Jesse might still be out there, walking down her driveway. After all, she hadn’t heard a car pull up or drive away. He might have hitchhiked. If she could find him, she’d have him phone Dean and set things straight.

  But she saw no sign of Jesse from her front window. She decided to stroll down the drive and look down the country road. Donning her jacket, she hurried to the front door.

  As she reached for the knob, she halted. And stared. The door was locked, just as she’d sworn it had been. And the steel bar of the dead bolt was jammed firmly in place, securing the heavy wooden door from the inside.

  An odd chill crept over her skin and beneath her hair.

  The only other door in the house was in the kitchen, where she had been. All the windows were locked and fortified with immovable outer storm glass. Clearly, she remembered the footsteps sounding across this living room.

  How had Jesse come in? How had he gone out?

  THE FOLLOWING WEEK was the longest of her life. Jesse didn’t return to her house, which was not surprising after their last conversation. Nor had he visited his family. Still, Elissa knew without a doubt that he had visited her. The question of his entrance into her home remained a disturbing puzzle, but in the larger scheme of things it meant little. Jesse was alive and she intended to prove it.

  Despite numerous phone calls placed by Dean, his mother and Jesse’s mother, all at Elissa’s urging, the military refused to consider the possibility of a mistake. Records indicated that Captain Jesse Garrett had been on that fateful flight. His death would be officially confirmed when his remains, or whatever could be found of them, had been identified. That investigation was under way.

  Elissa couldn’t let the matter rest there. They wouldn’t find his remains, because he wasn’t dead! How cruel that his family should wait indefinitely to know that he was alive. She anxiously hoped he would come back. If not for her, then for his family.

  The entire week passed with no word from Jesse. Elissa pestered her way into a conversation with his commanding officer. “He’s the father of my child, Colonel Atkinson. Doesn’t that give me the right to confirm his death?”

  The colonel’s sigh came across the trains-pacific phone line. “The only reason I’m speaking to you now, ma’am, is because Captain Garrett’s mother initiated the call. What exactly is it you want to know?”

  “Could he have taken another flight?”

  “Ms. Sinclair, I personally watched him board the plane that went down.” In a friendlier voice, he added, “Jesse was a damned fine soldier. I’ll miss him.”

  “But I saw him. That very day, here in Georgia.”

  “Stranger things have happened, ma’am.”

  Nothing she said shook the colonel’s stand. Elissa knew in her heart he was speaking the truth. “If he was on that flight,” she said, finally acquiescing, “could he have survived somehow?”

  “Highly unlikely. The plane had mechanical problems and went down in the mountains. We don’t believe there were any survivors.”

  “As far as you know. But isn’t it possible...?”

  “Even if he had somehow survived, Ms. Sinclair, there is no way he could have found an international airport in the area where the plane went down, then flown to the United States in the time period you’ve described. I also know that Jesse Garrett wouldn’t have done that. He’d have contacted headquarters at the first opportunity.”

  Again, she knew he spoke the truth. “One more question,” she asked haltingly. “When Jesse visited me, he said he had been on a recon mission. Was that true?”

  At first, she thought he was going to refuse to answer. “Jesse was involved with highly sensitive projects. I’m not at liberty to say what kind of mission he was on.”

  “Is there such a thing as a ‘recon’ mission?”

  “Of course.”

  Of course. Elissa hadn’t known that, though, military lingo was totally unfamiliar to her. She had never heard the term recon before. Not until Jesse had mentioned it.

  She persisted. “He said he’d run into complications, and that the mission had lasted months longer than anticipated.”

  “I can’t say that’s incorrect,” he admitted, guardedly.

  “And his mail,” she whispered, frankly shaken now. “Was he able to receive mail while away on his mission?”

  “No, ma’am, he was not. Any communication would have jeopardized his position. His incoming mail was held here at the base until he returned.”

  “And that was...?”

  “Two days before the flight”

  A sense of unreality flooded Elissa and her head swam. Jesse had been telling the truth. It had sounded so unlikely—the secrecy of his mission, the holding of his mail. Which meant that he hadn’t deliberately ignored the news of her pregnancy and Cody’s birth.

  The implications boggled her mind. Her perception of Jesse had been based largely on his failure to respond... and on things that Dean had told her. She then remembered his phone calls to Dean, placed from bars and brothels across Asia. The only explanation was that Jesse’s mission hadn’t begun until a few months ago. Which would mean he had deliberately ignored her letters. “When did he leave on his mission, Colonel? What date?”

  “I’m sorry, but—”

  “How long did his mission last, exactly?”

  “Ms. Sinclair, I really can’t give you specifics. I’d advise you to keep an open mind about that visit from Jesse. I’ve seen a lot of death over the years and I could write volumes about unexplained phenomena.”

  “I don’t doubt that at all,” she whispered.

  “As a matter of fact, something rather odd happened the day before Jesse’s flight.”

  She clutched the phone tighter. “What was that?”

  “He made out a will.”

  “A will? He made out a will?”

  “Yes ma’am. As if he’d had a premonition.”

  In that moment, the first inkling of belief trickled through her that Jesse might really have died on that flight...and that his visit to her hadn’t been on the physical plane. As the colonel had said, stranger things had happened.

  Certainly not to her.

  Three days later, Jesse’s mother was contacted and told that remains had been found and identified through fingerprinting. Captain Jesse Garrett was declared legally, officially—unequivocally—dead.

  Even after Elissa heard the pronouncement, she heard Jesse’s last words to her. Spoken with quiet passion, they echoed through her heart. He’d said, “I’ll be back, Elissa. To be a father to Cody. Never doubt it”

  2

  JESSE DREAMED of his own funeral. It was one of those dreams so rich in detail that he swore he was there. Yet he knew he was dreaming and fighting against a deeper, heavier sleep.

  He was back in Savannah, beneath the sprawling live oaks with Spanish moss trailing over century-old graves. The earthy smell of the river filled his nostrils, sweetene
d by flowers and greenery. In the beautiful but somber twilight imposed by the oaks, magnolias and dogwoods, the October sun cast dappled rays upon the small gathering of mourners.

  A preacher voiced a eulogy beside the family vault, extolling the virtues of courage and patriotism. He ended with a promise of life everlasting for the good.

  From a vantage point possible only in dreams, Jesse noticed his mother’s hand spasmodically clutching her elder sister’s. The sisters shared a troubled gaze—one they had often shared over his head when he was boy. Even in his dreams they believed the worst of him. With good reason, he had to admit. Goodness had never been his forte.

  He directed his attention away from his mother, who was now dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. His stiff-backed aunt was next to her, her silvering head held at its usual haughty angle. Behind them stood the small knot of mourners.

  The turnout at this dream funeral wasn’t very gratifying, thought Jesse wryly. His mother’s family had dutifully put in an appearance, along with their army of servants. But he recognized no one as a friend. No one who would miss him.

  With a surprising flash of insight, he admitted that he couldn’t blame his friendless state on his career. He’d deliberately avoided personal ties, distanced himself from potential friends, even from lovers. Especially from lovers. Would all those one-night stands mourn his passing when his time came? A humorless laugh escaped him.

  As he tried to remember faces, only one came to mind. Elissa. But he didn’t consider her a one-night stand. In his dreams, he’d made love to her every night since he’d met her.

  He didn’t consider her a lover, either. She’d made her feelings clear on that point. No, Elissa was an adversary—one who had a knack for whipping up his fury. Worse yet, she had control of his son. Jesse tightened his fists. Why had he built their brief union up in his mind to be anything out of the ordinary? He must have been mission-bound desperate, or just plain crazy.

  At a signal from the preacher, the restless crowd began their shuffle between the graves toward their cars. Watching the assembly disperse, Jesse felt very much alone.