His Touch

by Mary Lynn Baxter

  His ultimate fate as her bodyguard would have been taken out of his hands. He could live with that. Couldn’t he? After slapping some cologne on his face, he peered at his watch. Too early to make his appearance.

  His eyes shifted to the phone and his thoughts to Thurmon. Without wasting any more time, he picked it up and called his friend.

  “Hey, anything new?” he asked, knowing full well there wasn’t.

  Thurmon saw through his bluff. “Not that I’m aware of, but I’m sure you know that.”

  Brant let that slide. “I just wanted to remind you not to leave this up to the cops. You know what a mess Jessica’s stirred up in the precinct. That will work against her now.”

  Thurmon was quiet for a moment; then, in a slightly irritated tone, he said, “You’ve already told me that. You don’t sound like yourself. It’s not Jessie, is it?”

  “I haven’t seen her this morning,” Brant said in a hedging tone, guilt stabbing at him for having taken advantage of her at another vulnerable time. “But you know how closemouthed she is,” he added, for lack of anything else to say.

  “Do I ever, and so does Ronnie.” Thurmon paused, then asked bluntly, “What’s this call really about? I know you, and something’s wrong.”

  “I told her I couldn’t do this anymore, that you should replace me.”

  “Dammit to hell,” Thurmon snapped. “That’s not going to happen.”

  “It’s her call, Thurmon,” Brant said, certain that she would be glad to see the last of him at this point.

  That fact seemed to stop him momentarily. “If you’d quit wallowing in self-pity long enough, the truth would be obvious. She didn’t get hurt, because you saved her life.”

  “Luck, pure dumb luck,” Brant lashed back.

  “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I’m asking you not to bail out, not when things are heating up. To replace you now wouldn’t be in her best interest. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  More than you’ll ever know, my friend, which is the problem. “Of course it does, but ultimately it’s Jessica’s decision.”

  “Let me know,” Thurmon said, his disgust obvious.

  “I have a favor to ask of you,” Brant said.

  “You have more balls than you’ve got brains.”

  Brant laughed without mirth. “Maybe that’s why we get along so well.”

  “So let’s have it. What do you want?”

  “Will you give Elliot a summer job?”

  A moment of silence followed.

  “I can do that,” Thurmon replied at length. “But not for you. For the kid.”

  Brant’s laughter was genuine this time, though he knew Thurmon was scowling. “Thanks, old buddy. I’ll let Elliot know.”

  “You’re a real son of a bitch.”

  “No one knows that better than me,” Brant muttered. “Keep in touch.”

  “Yeah,” Thurmon muttered darkly before all but slamming down the receiver.

  Seconds later, Brant punched in Marsha’s number. He hoped his son was at home and he didn’t have to leave a message. He couldn’t wait to tell Elliot the good news. Maybe a job would be the turning point in their relationship. Right now, he was grabbing at any straw he could find.

  “Hello?” Elliot said at the other end of the line.

  “Hey, it’s your dad.”

  “Hello,” Elliot repeated, without nearly as much enthusiasm.

  Still, Brant felt a sense of pride at his son’s deep-sounding voice. At seventeen, he was no longer a kid, but rather a young man on the threshold of his life. And to think he’d missed so much of that life.

  “I have some good news for you.”

  “What?”

  “My friend’s agreed to put you to work.”

  “Super!”

  “So you like that idea, huh?” Brant asked, feeling like he’d just won a million dollars.

  “Wait’ll I tell Mom.”

  “Whoa. That’s not the way to handle this. It’s your mother’s call. You explain the job to her and how it won’t interfere with practice, then see what she says. I bet she’ll agree.”

  “What if she doesn’t?”

  “Let’s think positive, okay?”

  “I’ll give it my best shot.”

  “Good. When I find out more details, I’ll get back to you, or Mr. Nash will.”

  “Super!” Elliot exclaimed again, then hung up.

  Brant stared at the empty receiver for a moment, wishing Elliot had at least said, “Thank you, Dad.” Maybe he was expecting too much too soon. Thanks of some sort would come later, when things were on a better footing. He couldn’t lose his faith or his patience.

  While that conversation with Elliot had been a shot to his ailing heart, he still had to face Jessica and what had transpired between them, figuring that would more than likely sour the remainder of his morning, if not his day.

  Thinking the time was decent enough to approach her, Brant walked out of his room. He checked the living room first, then the kitchen. She wasn’t in either place, which meant she was still in her room. Surely she was dressed and ready, though maybe not. She’d suffered yesterday from more than one source, he reminded himself bleakly.

  He reached her door and found it cracked. That was the only reason he deemed it appropriate to intrude. He knocked, then cracked the door even wider. That was when he saw her, sitting on the side of the bed, shaking and pale, looking as though she’d been sucker-punched in the stomach.

  The sicko had struck again.

  Fear, infused with outrage, heightened Brant’s adrenaline. Yet for a moment, he couldn’t seem to move. Then he strode toward her and knelt beside her. “Jessica, what happened?”

  She held the cell phone out to him, disgustingly vulgar music pouring out of it.

  He slammed it shut and stood motionless, too furious to move.

  She lifted her traumatized eyes to him. “Promise you won’t leave.”

  Twenty-five

  Jessica was behind closed doors, and he was at his usual station in the outer office. From all appearances, nothing had changed. Only it had, though nothing had been discussed.

  Unspoken words and thoughts simmered below the surface. Sooner or later, though, they were going to have to face their volatile relationship and come to terms with it.

  Since he hadn’t left.

  Her earnest plea had obliterated his defenses, gotten to him on the gut level. When he’d found Jessica sitting on her bed that morning, she had seemed at a loss, helpless, totally out of character for her. She was the bravest and most together woman Brant had ever known.

  But the sick chain of events had begun to take its toll. He had seen signs of her cracking on the way to work, and even now. He still couldn’t get the image of her face out of his mind.

  That rap music blasting out of her cell phone had been a shock, frightening and demeaning, the lyrics dealing with sex and death. While that lowlife way of getting to her hadn’t shocked him, it had her.

  She wasn’t used to dealing with the scumbags of the world. But he was. That was why he’d sworn then and there to protect her as best he could. Yet he was having a tough time adjusting to the softening of his hard edges. Since he’d become a recluse, he’d turned into a self-absorbed cynic, his only vulnerability his desperate desire to make things right with Elliot.

  At the moment, however, his son seemed easier to handle than Jessica. When he’d told her he wouldn’t desert her until the pervert was apprehended and behind bars, her relief had been obvious, something he’d almost cautioned her against.

  He wasn’t a safety net.

  And, having tasted her body, he wasn’t sure he could stay away from her. “I thought you’d be eager to send me packing,” he’d told her.

  After last night.

  Though he didn’t speak those words, she wasn’t rattled to the point she didn’t get what he meant. Her gaze didn’t waver. “I need you.”

  No one had ever said those words to him, cer
tainly not Marsha. He groaned inwardly at the added pressure. Yet it was all he could do not to sweep her in his arms again, hold her and promise he would never let anyone hurt her. Ever. But he didn’t. He had the good sense to hold himself in check, realizing in the heat of frustration and lust that that was a promise he couldn’t keep.

  “I’ll do my best,” he said in a strained voice. “But about last night…”

  Jessica shifted her gaze, the color still absent from her face. “It should never have happened.”

  “Then you’re sorry,” he said, his mouth twisting along with his heart. He didn’t know what he’d expected. His fantasy, of course, would have been an eagerness for a repeat performance.

  But her aloof, practical approach was the right one. For both of them. Otherwise… He didn’t dare go down that path.

  She was looking at him again, anyway, having just wet her lips, lips stained with some kind of berry color that gave them a sexy, just-bitten look. His nerves tingled, the heat of last night returning with a vengeance.

  “Don’t,” she whispered.

  “Don’t what?” he asked deliberately, trying to rile her and not liking himself for doing it.

  “Look at me like that.”

  He cursed, then said in a low, husky voice, “What do you expect?”

  Jessica licked those stained lips again, seemingly at a loss as to how to deal with the situation. Deal with him.

  Brant dragged a deep breath through his lungs, his eyes darkening. “Look, we have to talk.”

  “You’re right, we do,” she said softly. “Only later.”

  He wondered now if she had really meant what she’d said or if she’d just bought herself some time. Eventually this would all end, and he would be gone.

  Suddenly brushing aside that thought, Brant made his way into the lounging area and helped himself to a cup of coffee. He was about to return to the main area when Millie appeared at the door.

  “Excuse me, sir, but there’s a lady to see you.” Her tone was uncertain, and her eyes kept darting around the room, as though searching for something that would take her gaze off him.

  Brant frowned his surprise. “To see me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He wanted to question her further but declined. Apparently she was uncomfortable enough with having to come get him, though he’d thought she’d gotten over her intimidation of him. Guess not.

  “Thanks, I’ll be right there,” he said, giving her a weak smile.

  She nodded, a curious light suddenly appearing in her eyes, which made him down the remainder of his coffee in one swallow. The instant he walked into the other room and saw her, he pulled up short.

  “Marsha, what the—” He broke off abruptly, realizing Millie was at her desk. And though her head was bowed, she could hear every word.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  Elliot. Brant’s chest tightened. Had something happened to him? Or had she merely come to take him to task in person over what he might or might not have done?

  “I thought about calling,” she said into the silence.

  That was when he noticed her heaving chest and the tears welling up in her eyes. Something was wrong. His heart bottomed out. Terribly wrong, or she wouldn’t be here. To have thought otherwise was crazy. She despised him and would go to any lengths not to see him.

  On closer observation, he noticed her face was devoid of makeup and splotchy. Her frosted hair was in total disarray. He’d never seen her look so frazzled.

  He forced himself not to panic. “Let’s go out in the hall.” He turned to Millie then and added, “I’ll be outside.” Left unsaid was, if Mrs. Kincaid should need me.

  “Yes, sir,” she replied, her eyes more curious than ever.

  Luck was on his side; the hallway was quiet, a miracle, as this place was usually a beehive of activity. He suspected his luck wouldn’t last long.

  “Elliot’s missing,” she said without preamble.

  His stomach bottomed out again. “Missing? What the hell does that mean?”

  “Don’t you dare holler at me.” She was close to hysterics.

  “I wasn’t hollering at you, Marsha,” he said, forcing himself to remain calm while trying to cope with her anxiety and his own temper. “Please, just tell me.”

  “I don’t know where Elliot is.”

  “Is that your way of saying he didn’t come home last night?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  “Yes, but they said there was nothing they could do until more time had elapsed.”

  “Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

  “I figured he was with you.”

  Brant almost lost it. “With me? Dammit, Marsha, you know better than that.”

  She laughed bitterly. “Oh, but I don’t.”

  How did one reason with someone who was so totally unreasonable? But why was he surprised? This was the type of thing that had split them, ended their marriage. When she got something lodged in her head, she refused to let it go, to admit that she might be wrong. Making that worse was her mistrust of him.

  But then, he’d given her reason for that, not that he’d ever been unfaithful to her, because he hadn’t, except with his time and his emotions, which was almost as detrimental. He’d spent far more time at work than he had at home. As far as his emotions went—well, she’d never even tapped them, not like Jessica….

  Shutting that thought off before it could take root, Brant forced himself to maintain a cool head. “I would never take him without your knowledge, nor would I allow him to play us against each other. How could you even think that?”

  “Because I don’t know you anymore, Brant.” Her eyes flashed. “In fact, I never knew you.”

  “Look, can’t we keep us out of this and just concentrate on our son?”

  “Since you’ve been back, he’s been a different person. Moody, mixed up.”

  “You’ve made that quite plain already. But that’s not the issue here. Did anything out of the ordinary happen yesterday?”

  She laughed another hysterical laugh. “The call about a job. Have you forgotten that?”

  “Of course I haven’t,” he snapped in spite of himself. “What does that have to do with him missing?”

  “I told him no, that he couldn’t take it.”

  Brant controlled the anger that tore loose inside him and expelled a ragged breath. “Why? Because of me?”

  “Absolutely not. It would interfere with him playing ball and getting a scholarship.”

  “So you two had a fight?” Brant asked, resisting the urge to shake her, to make her see that she was using Elliot to punish him.

  Marsha bowed her shoulders and shook her head. “There was nothing to fight about, actually. I simply told him he couldn’t take the job, and so did his fa—”

  “Preston is not his father,” Brant interrupted, not about to let that slide. It cut too deeply.

  Marsha tightened her lips. “If you had any decency about you, you’d—”

  “I’d what?” he interrupted again in a harsh tone, realizing he’d sunk to her level and brought personalities into this when he’d jumped all over her for the same thing. “Look, that’s not important right now. I’ll find him. Don’t worry.”

  Marsha’s eyes burned with hatred. “Still the fixer. Just pick up the phone and make a call, and voilà, the world’s all perfect once again.”

  Brant decided not to let that barb slide, either. “Isn’t that why you’re here? So I can fix it?”

  Brant had known that she was bitter and full of hatred toward him, but not to this extent. Time had done nothing to heal the wounds he’d apparently inflicted on her heart. While he would take some of the past regrets to the grave with him, he had moved on. As far as she was concerned, he never thought about her except as Elliot’s mother.

  Any other emotion was long dead. Too bad for her she hadn’t been able to bury their dead marriage and move
on, too.

  “Yes,” she finally admitted through clenched teeth. “Then I hope you have the decency—”

  “Don’t go there, Marsha, because it’s not going to happen. I want Elliot back in my life, and I intend to do everything in my power to make that happen.”

  “Damn you, Brant Harding. Damn you.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, but he’s my son, too. And no matter how much you wish that weren’t so, it is. Having said that, know that when I find him, I’ll bring him home where he belongs.”

  She made an unladylike sound.

  Ignoring her, Brant continued. “I’m not trying to take Elliot away from you. Never that. I just want to be a part of his life, as well. Why is that so hard for you to understand and accept?”

  He hadn’t talked to her with any civility in so long, he hadn’t known he was capable. But he was frightened, more frightened than he would ever admit to her. The thought of Elliot, in his vulnerable state, turning to drugs or alcohol was a horror he didn’t want to contemplate, but he had no choice.

  All the more reason to find him. Now.

  “Because you don’t deserve a place in his life. You deserted us, you bastard. For that you should have to pay as long as you breathe.”

  Brant rubbed his neck, desperate for words that would break through the cement wall of hostility surrounding her. Then, sensing that his efforts were futile and with time being of the essence, he told himself to screw it. Marsha would have to come to terms with him and Elliot in her own way. Like it or not.

  “Go home and wait. Meanwhile, I’ll find him.”

  “How? You’re tied to the mayor’s apron strings.”

  “Don’t you worry about the how,” he countered coldly. “I’ll do it.”

  “And when you do, don’t mollycoddle him.”

  Nearly choking on his fury, Brant counted to ten. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Twenty-six

  “I wish you would do what you’re supposed to be doing.”

  Brant swung around, irritation as well as worry mirrored in his eyes. “I am. I’m here with you, doing my job.”

  Jessica sighed, rearranging her feet under her on the sofa. She had eased her sandals off for comfort, knowing this was going to be a long evening. “I’ll be all right, Brant,” she said gently. “The woman you left to take care of me did just fine.”