His Touch

by Mary Lynn Baxter

  “It is. The bastard tried to run us off the road this evening.”

  Thurmon let go of an expletive, then asked, “Is Jessie okay?”

  “Believe it or not, she is.” Brant angled his head. “Come on in. It’s nut-cutting time.”

  When they returned to the living area, a tray with coffee and cookies sat on a table. “There’s iced tea if either of you would rather have it,” Jessica offered.

  “Thanks, honey, this is fine,” Thurmon said, crossing to her and giving her a hug. “Want me to call Ronnie to come over?”

  Jessica shook her head mutely.

  Watching her, Brant sensed that another onslaught of tears was close, which showed how distraught she was. Mayor Jessica Kincaid was not a crybaby. What she’d been through, however, was enough to undermine anyone’s strength and courage.

  “I’ll give her a call later,” Jessica finally said.

  Thurmon nodded, then faced Brant. “Have you got anything?”

  Brant gave him the partial plate number, as well as a description of the van. Thurmon immediately picked up the phone, dialed, then barked orders into the receiver.

  “I also called Detective Reeves at headquarters,” Brant added. “He’s also on it. Even as we speak, I suspect he and his men are combing the site. But it’s a waste of time, except maybe for the tire prints.”

  “You’re right. Your skid marks will probably be all that’s visible. And there may be some paint from the car on the SUV.”

  “I’m tired of this shit, Thurmon.”

  Thurmon rubbed his jaw, his grim features mirroring Brant’s. “We should be hearing something shortly.”

  Jessica and Thurmon had just sat down, ignoring the goody tray, when Jessica’s phone rang. “I’m sure it’s Reeves.” She reached for it, only to slam it back down seconds later, her face stark white. “It was…him.”

  “Dammit,” Brant muttered. “What did he say?”

  Jessica’s breath seemed to flutter through her lips. “Next time I won’t be so lucky.”

  Brant and Thurmon’s cursing ripped through the air simultaneously.

  “I think he’s trying to kill me.” This time Jessica’s voice was barely above a whisper, and every ounce of color had drained from her face.

  Brant crossed to her side and, without thought, pulled her into his arms. When he felt her relax against him, his hold tightened, even though Thurmon was staring at him with raised eyebrows and a stunned expression.

  Offering no explanation, Brant gave Jessica one last squeeze, then gently released her. “We’ll get the sonofabitch. He won’t hurt you.”

  Her eyes were wide and frightened. “I know that.”

  With that vote of confidence, Brant put distance between them, though he loathed letting Jessica out of his arms for one second.

  Thurmon’s cell phone rang, which refocused all their attention. He said in a jubilant tone, “Got it. Thanks.”

  Brant didn’t waste time or words. “You got a name?”

  “Wesley Stokes. The bastard was driving his father-in-law’s van.”

  Brant rammed a fist into his palm. “Paydirt.”

  “So the cops are responsible after all,” Jessica murmured in a somewhat dazed tone.

  “That’s right, honey,” Thurmon said, though his eyes were on Brant.

  “Since it’s not Wesley’s own vehicle, we still don’t have proof enough to arrest the bastard.”

  Thurmon smoothed his mustache. “Right, but we’ll get it.”

  “Damn straight we will,” Brant said in a deadly tone.

  “Do you think Dick Wells was in the van with him?” Jessica asked.

  “Absolutely,” Brant said.

  Thurmon stood. “I’m outta here for now so Jessie can get some rest. Meanwhile, I’ll be devising a plan to nail these bastards before they carry out their threat and have another go at you.” His gaze had fallen on Jessica.

  Brant nodded. “I’ll call you later, then.”

  “I’ll see myself out.”

  Once they were alone, Brant concentrated on Jessica, who looked ready to collapse, though there was a stubborn lift to her head.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I think you know,” she declared with a spark in her voice.

  “Yeah, a way to beat them at their own game.”

  “Right.”

  “And they will make another attempt, especially with the council meeting looming. Apparently they know their ass is grass. That’s why they’re willing to go for broke.” Brant paused, clenching his jaw and staring into space. “Only this time, I’ll be waiting.”

  “No, I will.”

  Although Jessica’s tone was soft, she might as well have shouted. The effect on him was the same. He flinched visibly. “Have you lost your mind?” Then, realizing how angry that question sounded, he toned down his voice. “Look, I know where you’re coming from on this, how you feel, but—”

  Jessica cut him off. “I’m going to be the bait.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  She stood, her eyes suddenly sparking to life. “I’m the one with everything to lose if they aren’t stopped. Besides, you work for me, which means I get my way.”

  Though he showed no outward response to her crazy idea, Brant was furious and offended. “It’s because you hired me that I have the right to make that call. And that call is no.”

  Jessica bowed her head, then said flatly, “My decision is nonnegotiable.”

  Thirty-seven

  “Is everything in place?” Brant asked, his features set and grim.

  Thurmon nodded. “I still don’t like this.”

  “Neither do I, but it’s the only way.”

  Thurmon shifted his holster belt. “You’re the boss.”

  “Actually, Jessica’s the boss.” Brant spoke with a mixture of sarcasm and humor.

  “That goes without saying. Hell, man, the sooner you figure that out, the better you’ll make it in this old world.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “Yep,” Thurmon said.

  “What makes you such an authority?” Brant asked, purposely killing time by stringing out this inane conversation.

  “Years of marital bliss,” Thurmon answered arrogantly.

  Brant smirked. “The verdict’s still out until I ask Veronica.”

  “Be my guest,” Thurmon responded with a nonchalant grin.

  “Oh, believe me, I will.”

  Thurmon was silent for a moment; then he cocked his head. “What’s with you and Jessie? Don’t you think it’s time you leveled with me?”

  “No.”

  Thurmon barreled on. “You took her in your arms like you had every right, like you made a habit of it. And don’t tell me that’s none of my business, either.”

  “It’s none of your business,” Brant said blandly.

  “You’re a first class…” Thurman’s voice trailed off.

  Ignoring him, Brant glanced at his watch, then back up at Thurmon, his features once again set and determined. “Let’s do it.”

  Wesley Stokes reached for a toothpick and dug around his crooked teeth. “How much longer are we gonna sit here?”

  “As long as it takes,” Dick Wells said in a hard voice. “I’m tired of this shit. Her shit, to be exact.”

  They were parked down the street from Jessica’s town house, having chosen a spot that allowed them to see her whether she left through the gate or through the front door. It was after dark, and they were trying to decide when to make their move. A desperate move.

  Stokes dug some food out from between two teeth, wiped it on his jeans, then cut his companion a look. “It’s about damn time you got pissed.”

  “Oh, I’ve been that way a long time, I just have a different way of showing it.”

  Wesley snorted. “Whatever.”

  “She’s one hard-nosed bitch,” Wells said. “At first, I thought she’d soften, or that Forrester would soften her, convince her to hire him. If tha
t had happened, it would’ve been a no-brainer for us. We’d be off suspension before a cat could lick his tail.”

  “Could still happen, you know,” Wesley said, continuing to pick his teeth. “The council meeting ain’t happened yet, even though she’s been interviewing all those other big city dudes with more social skills than street skills.”

  “Word has it that she’s chosen one of those dudes, too,” Wells said. “Which means she’ll be calling Forrester soon and giving him his walking papers.”

  Stokes cut Wells another glance. “You think that’s really the way it’s gonna come down?”

  “I’d bet my mother’s life on that.”

  Stokes snorted again. “Hell, Wells, you ain’t got no mother. You were hatched.”

  “Funny,” Wells responded sarcastically. “Anyway, you know she doesn’t like Forrester. He’s told us that all along. Neither does the city manager.”

  “If something doesn’t happen soon,” Stokes said, tossing the used toothpick out the window, “my old lady’s gonna kick my ass out and probably send the kids with me.”

  “God help those kids.”

  “What about me?” Stokes snarled. “I ain’t got no other place to go.”

  “Grace isn’t going to kick you out,” Wells said coldly. “So stop bellyaching. That’s why we’re here. We’re going to put ourselves out of our misery once and for all. You’re not the only one with a heavy note to grind each month. I got a wife and kid, too, you know.”

  Stokes rubbed his distended gut. “Hell, as much grief as we’ve dealt that bitch, you’d think she would’ve wised up by now and figured out she couldn’t mess with the police force and get by with it, bodyguard or no bodyguard.”

  He shifted his hand from his stomach to his grizzled chin, narrowing his eyes. “Especially after she found that dead rose on her pillow, not to mention all those calls. I made them as threatening as possible, without giving myself away.”

  “What do you think about the e-mails? I busted my balls writing those, thinking she’d finally get it and shape up. At least hire Mayfield back, if nothing else.”

  “What about the chunk of concrete?” Stokes demanded. “Are you forgettin’ that?”

  Wells scowled. “Of course not.”

  “Even if the calls and e-mails failed,” Stokes continued in a coarse voice, “that alone should’ve done the trick. Hell, if that guy who’s sucking up to her hadn’t knocked her out of the way, it’s a good possibility she’d be six feet under right now.”

  “In light of our screwup in the van, I wish it had.” Wells’ breath was shallow while he slapped at a mosquito buzzing around his head. “These damn things are starting to chew on my flesh.”

  “Mine, too,” Stokes said, also slapping at one. “That’s why I ask how much longer we’re gonna sit here in this heat, waiting for something to happen.”

  “Until it happens, I guess,” Wells said wearily. Then, with more force, “You got any better ideas, Einstein?”

  “Me?” Stokes bared his crooked teeth. “Hey, you’re supposedly the brains behind this operation. What with all them computer skills you got, I thought you would’ve figured something else out by now.”

  “You figure something out,” Wells challenged in a nasty tone. “You’re the one who’s always wanting to put the hurt on her.”

  “You think I’m blowin’ hot air, don’t you?”

  “I don’t give a shit about it,” Wells said savagely. “I just want my job back—and now.”

  “Then suck it up and let’s break in. We did it once. We can do it again.”

  “I don’t think so.” Wells’ voice held contempt. “We just got lucky that time. Caught her in a senior moment when she forgot to set her alarm. And what about Harding? You want to come up against him? I don’t think so.”

  “You’re right,” Stokes agreed, disgust sharpening his voice. “He’s never out of her sight, always sniffing around her like a dog in heat.” He paused and let go of a belly chuckle. “Ever wonder what it’d be like to get between those legs?”

  “Like dipping your wick in a glass of ice water, most likely,” Wells muttered. “I’ll pass, thank you.”

  “Not me. That’s my fantasy, making love to her before I wring her scrawny neck.”

  Wells’ lips turned up in a snarl, his gaze settling on Stokes. “You’re sick.”

  Stokes shrugged. “Some might say that’s just what being a man’s all about.”

  This time Wells snorted, his features distorted with contempt.

  “Hey, would you just look at this?”

  Wells swung his head around, his mouth dropping open. “Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing? Or am I having a senior moment?”

  “That you ain’t,” Stokes said, scratching his chin again and literally licking his chops. “That’s her stud, Harding, all right, leaving the house.”

  “And without her, too.”

  “What a stroke of luck,” Stokes said, sounding amazed as he leaned forward and peered through the windshield. “Ain’t no mistake, either. It’s Harding, all right, in the flesh.”

  “Thank God for streetlights,” Wells muttered, sitting straight up.

  “We’re outta here.”

  Wells checked his gun. “I’m ready. But before we go, is this it?”

  “Are you asking if we’re going to kill the bitch?”

  Wells swallowed. “I guess so.”

  “Whatta you think?”

  Wells swallowed again. “She’s left us no choice, right?”

  “Just keep tellin’ yourself that, and you’ll be just fine and dandy.”

  “I’m ready as I’ll ever be,” Wells said in a resigned tone. “Even though Harding drove off, my guess is he won’t be gone long.”

  “So let’s haul ass and get this over with. My wife’s got grub waitin’ on the table, and it’s gettin’ cold.”

  Wells merely rolled his eyes at the same time he rolled out of the truck and followed Stokes into the darkness.

  A short time later, both men were sweating profusely, but Wells had managed to disengage the alarm system.

  “Are you ready?” Stokes asked, mopping his brow with the back of his beefy hand. “That took longer than I thought it would.”

  “That’s your opinion,” Wells shot back. “I made record time, actually.”

  “We’re lucky Harding’s not back.”

  “He isn’t, and that’s what counts.”

  They crept onto the deck, then, with ease, tripped the lock on the French doors and walked into the frigid air-conditioning. Stokes motioned for Wells to follow him. Tiptoeing, they made their way toward the hall, into the bedroom.

  It was empty.

  Stokes tilted his head toward the stairs.

  Wells nodded. With gun in hand, he led the way, treading cautiously up the stairs. Together, their hearts gonged in time with the grandfather clock.

  Following a check of one small bedroom, which was also empty, they made their way toward the third one, assured of finding their target. Once there, Stokes nodded for Wells to stand aside. Wells followed the silent order, widening his gaze and lifting his gun slightly higher.

  Stokes eased the door open, ever so gingerly, until the large master suite was visible. Luck was still with them.

  Jessica was in that great big bed.

  All alone.

  They crept inside, guns poised. Suddenly the room was flooded with light. They stopped in their tracks, a double barreled shotgun pointed at them.

  “Drop those guns,” Brant ordered. “Or I’ll drop you both in your tracks.”

  Thirty-eight

  The ordeal was over.

  Free at last.

  Jessica, however, was having difficulty realizing she no longer had to worry about answering the phone, checking her e-mail or looking over her shoulder. She had lived under fear’s umbrella for so long, she found it hard to reclaim her life.

  But then, her life wasn’t the same and never would be. Brant had cha
nged that. He had changed her. Just thinking about him this morning weakened her all over, especially after what he’d done to apprehend Stokes and Wells and put them behind bars.

  She rolled over in the bed, her sixth sense telling her she was alone. She was right. But she didn’t panic. She knew Brant was somewhere in the house, that he hadn’t left her. Not yet, anyway.

  He had truly placed himself in jeopardy to save her. She couldn’t rid her mind of the image of him facing down the two cops with their guns pointed at his heart, a heart that belonged to her.

  Since things had turned out the way they had, she owed her life to Brant. Thank God he hadn’t given in to her foolish demand to be the decoy. It appeared she had underestimated the desperation of the men. More than likely she wouldn’t have survived, because they had been prepared to kill her. Even now, she couldn’t quite comprehend that horror.

  A shiver darted through Jessica, and she crossed her arms over her chest. When she had posed that ridiculous idea to him, she had thought she would be able to get out of harm’s way in time for him to step in. Brant, of course, hadn’t seen it that way.

  “No, Jessica,” he’d told her again, his jaw clenched. “That’s not an option.”

  “And I told you, it’s not your decision.”

  “Look, I’m not going to argue with you about this. It’s my way or no way. And my way is no. What is there about that you don’t understand?”

  When she didn’t respond, he charged on. “If Stokes and Wells make their move tonight, then they’ll be out for blood. Your blood, dammit. And I won’t have it on my conscience.”

  “What about yours on mine?”

  “That’s not going to happen,” he said with steely confidence.

  “You’re that sure?”

  “I’m that sure. I know what I’m doing. And you don’t. Have you ever fired a pistol?”

  The question caught her off guard. Jessica frowned. “No, but—”

  “I don’t even want to discuss this anymore. I’m taking over. Otherwise…”

  She knew he purposely left the sentence unfinished, but she got the message loud and clear. He had reverted back to a hard-nosed, impersonal stranger, hell-bent on doing his job.

  And if she didn’t relent, he would walk. She had no doubt about that. “All right,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster, “we’ll do it your way.”