His Touch

by Mary Lynn Baxter

  Wordlessly Jessica followed Veronica and the waiter, who showed them to a corner table in the atrium room, where greenery and flowers dominated the area, making her feel as if she were dining in an open garden.

  “What a neat place,” Veronica said, her eyes flitting from one thing to another. “How come we’ve never been here before?”

  “I think it’s fairly new,” Jessica replied. “But I’ve heard a lot of good things about it, so I wanted to try it.”

  “If the food’s as good as the decor, we’ll be in luck.”

  “We’ll soon find out.”

  They took a few minutes to peruse the menus, then gave their drink and salad orders to the waitress. Once they were alone, Jessica tried to force herself to relax, but it was hard. She was conscious of Brant’s hovering presence, though when she glanced around, he was nowhere to be seen. But she knew he was watching her every move along with everyone else’s, which, given the latest circumstances, should have been reassuring.

  It wasn’t.

  “Chill, friend.” Veronica’s gaze was piercing, though humor lurked there. “You look like you’re about to jump out of your skin.”

  “Do I?” Jessica wasn’t sure she could pull off her innocent act, but it was worth a try, anyway. She wasn’t about to tell Veronica about her reckless behavior the night before, something that had been both shocking and exciting. Even now, she couldn’t look at Brant without turning breathless and wondering what would have happened if he hadn’t stopped.

  Dear Lord, was she that emotionally starved?

  “Yes, you do,” Veronica was saying. “So don’t pull that innocent crap on me.”

  Jessica smiled wryly. “Were you always such a bully?”

  “Only when necessary.”

  “Uh, sorry, I guess my mind was on the latest.” She hated lying, but under the circumstances, it was warranted.

  Veronica frowned. “Latest what? Incident?”

  “I received another threatening e-mail.”

  “Damn, just when we thought the pervert might’ve dropped off the face of the earth.”

  “I hadn’t checked my home e-mail in days, but I knew it was stacking up.” Jessica paused with a shrug. “So I really had no choice. Besides, I’m trying not to let this psycho totally rule my life.”

  “I can imagine Brant’s reaction.”

  Jessica shifted uncomfortably. “I haven’t told him yet.”

  “And just why not?”

  Jessica was saved from answering by the waitress delivering their salads.

  “Butter for your bread?” Veronica asked, pushing the hot loaf and cup of butter toward her.”

  Jessica shook her head. “I’ll pass.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt you to put a little fat on those skinny bones, my friend.” Ronnie grinned, helping herself to a healthy chunk of bread, then slathering it with butter. “Now me, I don’t mind adding a little padding to the south end, nor does Thurmon. He just says there’s more to love.”

  Jessica rolled her eyes. “You’re a long way from being overweight.”

  “Compared to you, I’m a heavyweight.”

  “I’m just not that hungry. I’d rather have my salad than fill up on bread, though it does smell delicious.”

  “Mmm, it is.”

  Jessica lifted her glass filled with peach iced tea, to Ronnie. Their glasses clicked as they simultaneously said, “To friends.”

  Then they focused their attention on the food. For a while they munched in silence, though Jessica knew her reprieve was short-lived. Her friend was gunning for her and wouldn’t mince any words, a trait she was guilty of, as well. Perhaps that was why they had remained such good friends. Neither was afraid to speak her mind.

  “So why haven’t you told Brant?” Veronica demanded bluntly once the waitress had cleared the table, leaving flavored coffee for dessert.

  “I haven’t had a chance,” Jessica said, her tone hedging.

  Ronnie’s eyebrows rose. “What about this morning? You two do occupy the same house, right?”

  “Sarcasm doesn’t become you.”

  “Fudging the truth doesn’t become you.”

  Jessica pressed her lips together, accepting the fact she was between a rock and a hard place. Getting out of it without divulging her secret would take some fast dancing.

  “I’m waiting, and not very patiently, either,” Veronica said.

  “Look, I’m having a real problem adjusting to Brant taking care of me and my business.”

  “I can certainly understand that in light of your love of independence. Still, that doesn’t excuse you. Brant should be privy to everything that goes on, especially when it comes to your problem, which is the reason he’s here.”

  “You don’t need to remind me of that.”

  Veronica threw up her hands in a dramatic way, regardless of any curious onlookers. “You’re making absolutely no sense, and that’s not like you. You, of all people, who’s such a stickler for detail. And I think this is a very important detail.”

  Ronnie leaned her head back, narrowing her eyes. “Something’s going on that you haven’t told me. I can feel it deep in my bones. Yep, you’re definitely hiding something.”

  Jessica forced herself not to take the bait. But it was hard, when she suddenly felt the urge to blurt out that Brant had kissed her last night and that she had enjoyed every minute of it and hadn’t wanted him to stop.

  Her breath caught as she realized that she had actually admitted that seamy fact to herself. But she still couldn’t tell Veronica. She didn’t dare.

  “You’re just tapping into that overactive imagination of yours,” Jessica said. “I’m still having trouble adjusting to this drastic change in my life. As you say, I’ve always been independent to a fault, something that never bothered Porter. Actually, he encouraged it.”

  “But you will show the e-mail to Brant?”

  “Of course.”

  Veronica gave her another long stare, then shrugged. “You two haven’t had words, have you?” she pressed. “From what I know of Brant, he’s about as headstrong and obstinate as you.”

  “Definitely not a match made in heaven.” More like hell, Jessica added silently, thoughts of last night reigniting her senses.

  “Well, at least he doesn’t turn you on.”

  “What?” Jessica gasped in an appalled tone.

  “You heard me. I’d be hard-pressed not to jump his bones if I weren’t happily married.”

  Jessica gave her an astonished look. “You’re crazy.”

  “You’re blind.”

  “You’re pushing your luck, my friend. When would I have time for a relationship?”

  “You’d have to make time, something you’re not prepared to do. Don’t worry. I know Brant’s not your cup of tea. I was just teasing about him. I know how hard all this has been for you, and I’m really concerned first and foremost for your safety and second for your sanity.”

  Veronica paused and took a sip of her iced latte. “I also know having someone shadow your every move has got to be horrible. Just think of how the First Family must feel. They’re constantly living in a fishbowl.”

  “And that’s not for me. I have to have freedom to think and do as I please.”

  “You will again soon, I promise.” Veronica reached out and squeezed Jessica’s hand. “Brant will make this all go away, one way or the other. Thurmon keeps reassuring me he’s the best at this kind of thing, though I’ve noticed a difference in him since he took those bullets.”

  “Was it really bad?”

  “Awful. He almost died. Any time you’re gut-shot, you’re in trouble.”

  “Well, he seems to have bounced back.”

  Veronica frowned. “Not entirely. According to Thurmon, Brant’s reflexes aren’t as sharp as they used to be. The bullet in his leg is the reason for that. Yet all in all, he’s still a crackerjack agent and shouldn’t have been forced into retirement. He got a dirty deal.”

  “I’m sorry
about that. I’m also sorry about his problems with his son.”

  Veronica sighed. “That’s another whole ball of wax. I could strangle Marsha.”

  “His ex-wife?”

  Veronica nodded in the affirmative. “She’s a selfish whiner, always has been and always will be. She’s using Elliot to punish Brant for doing his job, a job he had when he married her.”

  “Maybe they’ll work it out.”

  “He deserves better. One of these days, I hope he can put his bitterness behind him and learn to trust again. Then maybe he’ll find a woman who appreciates him for who and what he is. Despite his aloof, brooding nature, he’s a straight up kind of guy.”

  Jessica barely heard the last accolade for dwelling on the idea of him finding another woman to love. Then it hit her what she was thinking. The very idea that she could be jealous of another woman in Brant’s life was ludicrous.

  Veronica suddenly interrupted her thoughts.

  “Oops, I’ve got to run. I have a nail appointment in twenty minutes. If I’m late for that, I’ll be late getting back to the office, too.”

  “Me too. I’m swamped with work.”

  They rose together; then Veronica reached out and gave her a brief hug. “You will cooperate with Brant, won’t you?”

  “Yes, Ronnie, you know I will,” Jessica said, holding on to her patience.

  Veronica’s features cleared, and she smiled broadly. “Good girl.”

  “I hope she pulls your nails out one by one.”

  Veronica laughed out loud. “You’ll thank me one of these days for being an interfering broad.”

  “That remains to be seen,” Jessica responded, trying not to smile.

  “Come on, let’s get Brant.”

  Jessica turned and saw that he was weaving his way toward them. Her stomach plunged to her knees when she realized anew how very dangerous this man was to her vulnerable heart.

  Fifteen

  He was nervous.

  Brant felt perspiration pop out on his upper lip and forehead, an absurd reaction, considering the circumstances. He was having dinner with his own son. Why would he be sweating that?

  Because the stakes were so high.

  First off, he’d been damn lucky he was getting to see Elliot alone for any length of time. The opportunity had arisen when Veronica had invited Jessica for dinner this evening. Thurmon had said he would be around to keep an eye on Jessica.

  Still, Brant didn’t feel good about leaving her, especially after she’d shown him the e-mail she’d received the last evening.

  I’m Still Around, Bitch.

  After he’d read that, his blood pressure had shot up. Jessica had said very little. Nonetheless, he’d known how she had felt.

  “Is this ever going to end?” she’d asked in a tight voice.

  “Since the bastard’s e-mails are from Internet cafés, libraries and no telling where else, they’re hard to trace. Same goes for the cell calls. This guy’s a tough nut to crack. And Thurmon’s solely responsible for physically tracking him down, since I’m tied down.”

  She must have heard the frustration in his voice, because she’d frowned. “I’ve already told you, you don’t have to be with me every second.”

  “Yes, I do, unless you’re with Thurmon and Veronica.”

  She hadn’t said another word, but that wasn’t unusual. Since that heated kiss, she’d avoided speaking to or looking at him as much as possible. What a messy situation, and he blamed himself. He’d taken distinct advantage of her and needed his rear kicked. Thinking that crackpot had broken into her place again, she’d been frightened out of her wits. Fear had made her vulnerable and susceptible.

  Susceptible to a lowlife like himself.

  While Brant couldn’t change what had happened, he could make damn sure he didn’t step across that professional line again.

  That was when she’d told him she was having dinner at the Nashes’, then disappeared behind closed doors at her office. He’d immediately called Thurmon. During that conversation, he’d asked about the cops, Wells and Stokes.

  “My men haven’t reported anything out of the ordinary.”

  “Have you gotten a file together on them yet?”

  “Pretty much, and it’s Dick Wells who’s definitely the computer nerd.”

  “So focus in on him.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “Also, run a check on Curtis Riley.”

  “Riley? Surely you don’t think—”

  “Just take care of it, okay? I’ll explain later.” Of course, he had no intention of explaining anything, because he couldn’t. He just knew he didn’t like the cocky sonofabitch, and he didn’t trust him, either.

  “You’re the boss.”

  Brant snorted. “I wish.”

  “Don’t worry, Jessie will be in good hands this evening.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  “The hell you aren’t.”

  When Brant let that pass, Thurmon continued. “Spend the evening with Elliot and stop fretting like you’re going through menopause.”

  “Good thing I’m not looking into your baby blues right now,” Brant responded in a scathing tone.

  Thurmon laughed.

  “I’ve decided it’s not easy being a dad.”

  “But you are. And there’s no time like now for starting the rebuilding process,” Thurmon said, the laughter no longer in evidence.

  “I know, and believe me, I’m grateful.”

  “So good luck.”

  He would need more than luck, Brant had told himself later when he was getting ready to go pick up Elliot.

  When he’d first called his son, the boy had been reluctant to commit. Finally, though, he’d said yes, but only after Brant had refused to take no for an answer.

  For the better part of the afternoon, Brant had been rehearsing what he was going to say, but nothing he’d come up with sounded right, so he’d scrapped that idea. He would just have to go with his gut and hope he didn’t screw things up more than they already were.

  Now, as he waited for Elliot in the driveway of his home, he wiped the sweat off his brow. About that time his son appeared. What a good-looking kid, Brant thought again, pride swelling his chest.

  He was smart, too. According to Marsha, however, his grades weren’t as good as he was capable of. But then, what boy’s his age were? Most of them were more interested in sniffing girls than information in books.

  He couldn’t say anything. He’d been guilty of the same thing, until he realized push had come to shove and if he wanted to amount to a hill of beans, he’d better start cracking the books. He had confidence Elliot would do the same.

  By the time his son got in the car, Brant’s heart was pounding with both excitement and trepidation. He wanted to reach out and hug him, but he quelled that urge, sensing right off that Elliot wouldn’t take kindly to that.

  Tread softly, he warned himself. It’s been a long time.

  “You’re looking good, son,” Brant said instead, trying to lighten his tone as well as the suddenly tension-filled atmosphere.

  “Thanks,” Elliot muttered, a sullen twist to his mouth.

  Ignoring his son’s terse reply, Brant went on. “So where do you want to eat? I have no idea what’s in town.”

  Elliot shrugged his shoulders, football shoulders, like Brant’s own. Yet he didn’t even know if his son played that sport—or any other, for that matter. That truth pinched. Pinched hard.

  “C’mon,” Brant said, casting a quick glance at Elliot’s profile. “I know you’re bound to have a favorite.”

  Elliot shrugged again, then said, “Okay, let’s go to Little Joe’s Mexican place. It’s kind of a dump, though.”

  Brant grinned, then shoved the car in Reverse. “Sounds like my kind of place. Just tell me where it is.”

  “Want me to drive?”

  Brant didn’t hesitate. Anything that would warm his son to him. “Sure thing. Come on.”

  A few minutes
later, Elliot looked at him out of wide, slightly dazed eyes. “Man, this mother handles great.”

  Brant smiled, while secretly breathing a sigh of relief. If it took a 4-wheel-drive SUV to help clear the animosity between them, then so be it.

  Twenty minutes later found them in a booth in a typical Mexican restaurant that wasn’t quite a dump but close to it. However, it was spotlessly clean, Brant noticed, and probably had melt-in-your-mouth food.

  “I’m hungry,” Brant commented into the growing silence. “How ’bout you?”

  Elliot looked up from the menu. “Uh, sorta.”

  Now that they were out of the truck, Elliot’s face had grown sullen again, and that wary look had returned to his eyes. Maybe they should have just ridden around and forgotten eating. Brant dreaded these long periods of almost hostile silence. Too, he hated having to dig every word out of his son. But if that was what it took to start the healing process, he would dig.

  Almost immediately, they gave their orders to a gum-chewing waitress. Once she had shuffled off, Brant reached for his iced tea, all the while watching Elliot, groping for something to say that would trigger a positive response.

  He knew better than to depend on Elliot to take the conversational ball and run with it. That wasn’t going to happen.

  “So how are things?” Brant asked inanely.

  Elliot frowned. “What do you care?”

  Brant counted to ten. “I care a lot, and you know it.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Look, if you want me to grovel and say I’m sorry for the past, then I’ll do it.”

  Elliot’s tan took on a flush, and his eyes turned fierce. “Hey, you cut out on us, remember?”

  Not true. That’s your mom’s line of crap. “Maybe I did, but I’m back now, and I want to make things up to you.”

  “How?” Elliot asked, a sneer in his tone.

  “By seeing you as often as possible and sharing your life.”

  “Why, just so you can leave again?” Elliot demanded in a petulant note.

  The waitress brought their food, which forced Brant to swallow his comeback. Not a bad thing, considering he was holding on to both the truth and his patience by a mere thread.

  They ate in silence, especially Elliot, who wolfed his food down like the growing teenager he was. Brant wasn’t hungry, the strong, hot mix of the enchilada dinner suddenly turning his stomach. Or maybe it was his son’s attitude that had nixed his appetite.