His Touch

by Mary Lynn Baxter

  “God, what a mess,” she said in a forlorn voice.

  He didn’t respond, though his eyes meshed with hers again. Fear of another kind followed in the wake of a heartbeat. No longer could she deny the heightened sexual tension that crackled between them.

  That kiss, in the dark.

  That was what this awareness was all about. The heat behind his eyes told her as much, making her feel hot and breathless. And alarmed. It would be so easy to give in to those flaring emotions, to fling herself into his arms.

  One wrong move on her part or his and she would do just that.

  Then what?

  “We can’t keep ignoring it.”

  Her heart turned over. “Ignoring what?”

  His expression told her he didn’t buy her innocent act, but he didn’t call her hand. “That kiss.”

  Kisses. She wanted to correct him but didn’t.

  “It’s forever there. We have to deal with it.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Well, I do,” he said flatly.

  Jessica swallowed hard, then waited.

  “I was out of line. What’s your excuse?” Brant let go of an expletive. “That also was out of line. I took advantage of both you and the situation that night.”

  Her gaze drifted before returning to his tight features. “Only because I let you,” she whispered.

  His features twisted. “The gentlemanly thing would be to say I’m sorry.”

  “Only you’re not.” That statement was barely audible.

  “I’m sorry, all right. But not sorry I kissed you.”

  Jessica was clutching the arms of the chair for imaginary support as she felt an unsteady tremor in her knees.

  “Which gives you every right to boot my ass,” he added bitterly.

  “Suppose we just forget it?”

  His eyes nailed her. “Can you?”

  “Yes,” she lied.

  “Then so can I.”

  Another silence fell between them, a mocking silence, Jessica thought, hysteria once again close to the surface.

  Brant abruptly cleared his throat at the same time as he rose to his feet. “I’m going to bed.” He peered down at her, his eyes dark and hungry. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  She drew a trembling breath and peered up at him.

  “Don’t,” he rasped, “or I won’t walk out of here.”

  She shifted tear-filled eyes, though it took every ounce of strength she had. Yet when he walked out, she nursed an empty sense of abandonment.

  And hated herself.

  Eighteen

  Thurmon tugged on his mustache as he closely eyed Brant. “What’s with you?”

  Brant pretended ignorance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Bull.” Thurmon’s eyes darted to the right and then to the left, as though making sure no one was paying attention to them. Then, leaning nearer Brant, he added, “Bullshit.”

  Brant grinned.

  He and Thurmon were in Tony’s office, which was within seeing distance of Jessica’s, though she was behind closed doors in a meeting. Thurmon had called and said they needed to meet, a meeting that was long overdue to Brant’s way of thinking.

  He was eager to get something going, anything that would move things along. He felt like nothing was getting done, that the search for the pervert was moving at a snail’s pace.

  Having to depend on someone else to gather information was the pits, even if it was his friend and former cohort, who was as sharp and capable as he was himself. Still, there was a difference. He would much rather have been out in the field than stuck inside.

  Maybe if he’d been stuck with someone other than Jessica, then…

  “You’d like to kick my ass, wouldn’t you?”

  Thurmon’s blunt question took Brant aback for a second. Then he grinned again, briefly. “Now that you mention it, yeah, I would.”

  “I know you hate being cooped up, that it’s making you crazy.” Thurmon’s eyes drilled him from below bushy brows. “Yet I sense there’s more to your agitation than that.”

  Brant sipped his coffee, trying to sort through his thoughts. He had no intention of telling Thurmon about the knife edge he was walking when it came to Jessica, how he’d already breached the unwritten code of conduct.

  Thurmon wouldn’t be shocked. The hell he wouldn’t, Brant corrected mentally. He wouldn’t be at all happy with that lapse in judgment. Frankly Brant wasn’t, either. Furthermore, he was at a loss as to how to handle the increasingly volatile situation.

  “I know things still aren’t right between you and Elliot.”

  Thurmon was fishing, which was okay. Brant knew his friend took full responsibility for him being there, in a situation he loathed. Maybe it wouldn’t be much longer until they were all out of their misery.

  Yet he still couldn’t leave, Brant reminded himself, not until his relationship with Elliot took a turn for the better. He blew out a harsh breath.

  “Before we get down to the nitty gritty on Jessie, what’s the latest you’ve heard from Elliot?” Thurmon pushed.

  “I haven’t heard from him at all. Not since dinner.”

  “That’s partly why you’re out of sorts.”

  “I just thought it would be so much easier.”

  “No, you didn’t. You knew you had your work cut out for you.”

  Brant rubbed his neck. “He blames himself for the divorce. Go figure that.”

  “From what little I know about kids, that’s pretty normal.”

  “I guess so, though I wasn’t expecting it.” Brant didn’t bother to mask the bleak despair that was gnawing at him. “If you could’ve seen the look on that kid’s face and heard the pain in his voice…”

  “Knocked your dick in the dirt, I would imagine,” Thurmon said in a deep, sympathetic tone.

  “I tried to explain without going into any sordid details.” Brant’s face turned grim. “But hell, what do you say to a kid who thinks his mother walks on water?”

  “Man, that’s a tough one. I couldn’t begin to advise you there.”

  “Ah, it’ll all work out,” Brant said in a frustrated tone. “It just has to. I’ll never forgive myself if it doesn’t.” He paused. “I just should’ve been there more.”

  “Hell, man, you were making a living.”

  “Still, if I had known how unhappy Marsha was, I—”

  “What would you have done?” Thurmon interrupted, disgust coloring his voice. “She was always unhappy, or at least that’s the way I read her. And she made you damned unhappy right along with her.”

  “Marriage made in heaven,” Brant quipped sarcastically.

  “In hell’s more like it.”

  “Enough about me,” Brant said caustically. He peered at his watch. “I suspect Jessica will be out of her meeting shortly.”

  Thurmon’s lips twitched. “Jessica, huh?”

  “Go to hell.”

  Thurmon pitched his head back and laughed. “Ah, so you two are getting along, after all.”

  “Not worth a shit, actually,” Brant muttered darkly.

  Thurmon’s laughter died. “Want to explain?”

  “She wishes I would go away. It’s as simple as that.”

  “And you feel the same way.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “I was hoping—” Thurmon broke off, then flung his body back in the chair. “Hell, you don’t want to know what I’m thinking.”

  In spite of himself, Brant smiled. “Probably not.”

  “Just stop beating up on yourself, okay?”

  “Good advice, and I suggest you do the same.”

  “Then you’re not deserting?”

  Brant picked up on the still-anxious note in Thurmon’s voice and forced himself to reassure his friend. “No, I’m not deserting anyone. But I can’t promise she won’t boot me out.”

  “Dammit, Brant, you haven’t gone and done anything stupid, have you?” Thurmon’s eyes we
re fierce. “Something you’re hell-bent on hiding?”

  When Brant dwelled on the evening he’d kicked her stepson out the door, his insides knotted. It had been that damp spot on her breast that had done it, that had shot his temperature up and caused an instant erection.

  He had ached to put his lips against that spot. Who was he kidding? With little prompting, he would have jerked her into his arms, eased her down on the floor or table—hell, it didn’t matter—and buried himself in her, then ridden her hard.

  Brant shifted in the chair, hoping to ease the sudden discomfort between his legs.

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  Brant cleared his throat. “Uh, yes. And the answer is no, I didn’t do anything you need to know about. So you can get your shorts out of a wad. I’ll get the job done, and so will she. Speaking of job, anything new on those cops?”

  Thurmon seemed to immediately relax. “They’re both in debt up to their eyeballs, which makes a man desperate.”

  “And desperate men take desperate measures.” Brant shoved back his chair and crossed one long leg over the other. “Are they tailing Jessica?”

  “Not that we know of. Actually they’ve been sticking pretty close to home. Except for a couple of times.”

  “Oh?” Brant leaned forward.

  “They’ve met with the assistant chief. According to our source, Gaston Forrester will get the nod from the council as the new chief. Has Jessica said anything to you about that?”

  “No, but you can bet I’ll say something to her,” Brant said. “Especially since it appears they’re plotting against her.”

  Thurmon massaged his chin before moving to his mustache. “She might not know what Forrester’s up to.”

  “If not, then she should.”

  “I’m assuming the e-mails and phone calls are still coming?”

  “But erratically, which I find strange,” Brant said in a thoughtful tone. “It’s almost like the sicko gets sidetracked or something.”

  “Well, as long as the bastard doesn’t get back in the house.”

  “He’ll have to walk over me,” Brant said with deadly coldness.

  “That’s why you’re there.”

  “What about Riley?” Just saying his name irritated Brant. Even if the man wasn’t guilty of anything, he would like to smash his face.

  Thurmon raised his eyebrows. “You don’t like him, do you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Me either. Never did. And so far, he appears as clean as a sterilized needle.”

  “I still want him watched,” Brant said, his eyes hard. “Also, add her stepson to the list.”

  “Roy? When did he get to be a problem?”

  “Since he got on drugs.”

  “I’ll be a sonofabitch.”

  Brant told him about the episode at the house.

  When he finished, Thurmon shook his head. “You’re right. He does bear watching.”

  “Jessica’s a bit vulnerable where he’s concerned, and that worries me.” Brant frowned. “If he doesn’t get some help or some money soon, Roy-boy’s going to topple over the edge.”

  “That’s why you’re there, good buddy, to see that he doesn’t take Jessie with him.”

  “On the other hand,” Brant said in a faraway tone, “we may not be on the right track at all. It could just be some off-the-street pervert with an ax to grind who strikes out of the blue at random.”

  Thurmon looked at his watch, then got to his feet. “I don’t think so, and neither do you. But I’ll be in touch, and you do the same. I’ve got to get back to the office before no telling what happens.”

  Brant stood, as well.

  “Keep in mind that any time you need to see Elliot, I’ll cover for you.”

  “Thanks. I’d love to be able to take you up on that offer.”

  “Hope you do. Later, then.”

  Brant nodded, and after Thurmon was gone, he turned toward Jessica’s office. The door was still closed. He drew in a slow breath, then let it out, his mind spinning.

  Jessica was worn-out.

  The ladies from the beautification committee never seemed to know when enough was enough. If Tony didn’t stop scheduling her meetings one on top of the other, she was going to strangle him. However, she knew he was doing the best he could. There was so much to get done and not enough hours in the day.

  The budget was top priority. She had been working on it herself, but remained hopeful for the retreat. Getting the staff’s input was of paramount importance to her. Money. That was the holdup. The council had to approve funding for such an endeavor, even though it was just for one day.

  Now, however, Jessica had regrouped, switched her thoughts in a totally different direction. Her elderly friend and strongest supporter was due any minute. She simply adored Willie Baker. Since Porter’s death, he had transferred his loyalty to her.

  She couldn’t wait to see him, certain he’d asked for an appointment because he’d heard about the threats against her and wanted to offer his help, which was typical of him. Too, she hoped he would continue to back her reelection efforts with money.

  Heretofore, he’d been adamant about contributing heavily to both Porter’s and her coffers. Plus, he was someone whose advice she always heeded. When it came to politics, she trusted Willie as much as she had Porter.

  She couldn’t imagine not having his support.

  Jessica had just finished replenishing her lipstick when Millie announced his arrival. He strode in with a smile on his round face, though she noticed it lacked its usual warmth.

  Thinking her imagination was overacting again, Jessica gave him a brilliant smile and hugged him. “Oh, Willie, it’s so good to see you.”

  “Likewise, girlie,” he said, huffing and puffing as usual.

  He was short and overweight for what there was of his height. However, there was nothing short about his smile or generous-hearted nature. They were as big as his frame.

  “How about some coffee?” Jessica asked, motioning for him to sit down.

  “Sara’s put me on the unleaded stuff. You don’t by chance have that?”

  Jessica’s face fell. “No, but I bet I could scrounge some up.”

  “Don’t bother. I’ve already had my quota for the day.” He paused, his cataract-clouded eyes appraising her. “What’s this about a bodyguard? What in the Sam hill’s going on?”

  “So you haven’t heard?”

  “Heard what?” he demanded, on the alert.

  Jessica filled him in on the details.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Willie said, clearly agitated. “I can’t believe you’ve managed to keep that out of the news.”

  “I have Tony to thank for that.”

  “And you have no idea who’s behind it?”

  “We have our suspicions, but no tangible proof as yet.”

  “Well, that fellow out there seems perfectly capable of handling anything.” Willie’s eyes twinkled. “He grilled me good and proper.”

  Dismayed, Jessica apologized. “I’m sorry about that, Willie. I didn’t have time to tell him hands off on you.” She frowned. “He has a tendency to be a bit pushy.”

  “Not to worry, my dear. That means he’s doing his job.”

  “I guess,” Jessica said in an evasive tone. She had to be so careful not to let her emotions show when Brant was mentioned. Her reaction to him still remained a mystery, and she would be mortified if anyone picked up on it.

  “So tell me what brings you here.” Jessica smiled. “I’d like to think you just wanted to say hello and discuss my reelection campaign. You know how I depend on you for advice.”

  “Actually, I wanted to talk to you, but not about your campaign.”

  An uneasy feeling caused her stomach to bottom out. It wasn’t what he’d said so much as the way he’d said it. “What’s on your mind?”

  “I want you to rethink your position on this land deal, my dear. And perhaps the fired chief, as well.”

  Jessica�
�s eyes widened. “You don’t approve?”

  “No, I don’t,” he replied bluntly. “And I think you’re severely crippling your chances of reelection if you don’t back off.”

  Feeling as if she’d just been blindsided, Jessica clenched her hands at her sides and fought for composure.

  Nineteen

  Roy was nervous.

  Maybe that was because he wasn’t high. Yet at the same time, he was also wired. He’d been out of drugs for days. That little twit he shacked up with had used them all while he’d been busting his ass trying to make a dime.

  If she hadn’t been such a wild woman in the sack, he would have dumped her a long time ago.

  Roy blinked several times, and finally his eyes adjusted to the figure in front of him. He blinked again, surprised to see that the man looked like an average, decent guy.

  For some reason he hadn’t expected his contact to look normal. Guess he’d seen too many movies, Roy told himself with a sneer.

  He narrowed his eyes a bit more as he approached the man, who stood solemn-faced and unmoving. On closer observation, he was actually nice looking, could have been any Joe Blow walking down the street. Youngish, with dark hair and eyes, there was nothing outstanding about him except his clothes. They appeared tailor-made to fit his slight frame.

  However, one thing was different. His eyes; they set him apart. They were as cold and empty as a dead man’s. Roy shivered inwardly, his steps faltering.

  Roy had no idea who he was or anything else about him. His girl had set up the meeting, having told him she knew someone who would sell them all the drugs they wanted, and at a discounted price.

  Since he was so desperate, Roy chose to believe her. Sober as he was now, he figured there had to be a catch. When something seemed too good to be true, it usually was. Still, he had kept the meeting, and so had the man, which couldn’t be all bad.

  They had agreed to meet at dusk, outside an office complex at the edge of a middle-class section of the city, another thing that surprised Roy. He’d expected some clandestine gathering in a shady motel.

  Whatever this guy had going, he apparently wasn’t intimidated by the law. A cynical smile separated Roy’s lips. Maybe he had the right cops in his pocket. Frankly he didn’t give a rip either way. All he wanted was drugs, then he would be on his merry way.