"Yeah, they're blood," Sam said. "But not necessarily human blood."
"Just what are the police going to do about this?" Ollie asked. "Folks don't have the right to be sending bloodstained Bibles to other folks and as good as accusing them of being a witch."
"Ollie, there's nothing you can do about this," Jeannie said. "Lieutenant Painter will handle the matter—won't you, Lieutenant?"
"I'll be glad when all this business with the reporters and the sick folks and that crazy preacher comes to an end." Ollie continued mumbling to herself as she walked over to the kitchen cabinet. "I'll fix us all some coffee. I doubt we'll be getting any sleep tonight."
"I'll give y'all a call if we find out anything," Lieutenant Painter said.
"Please let me know if the blood is human or animal," Jeannie said.
Sam grabbed the Bible out of her hands. "There's no way we'll be able to prove Maynard Reeves is the gift-giver, but I don't have a doubt that this—" he snapped the Bible shut "—is the good reverend's handiwork."
"He's doing more than accusing me of being a witch." Jeannie shivered, the reality of the warning hitting her full force. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.
"He's threatening your life." Sam handed the Bible to Lieutenant Painter. "We have to find some sort of evidence against Reeves and put a stop to him before—"
"I know Maynard Reeves wants me dead," Jeannie said. "He's going to try to kill me."
"We'll do everything we can to help." Painter held the white Bible securely in both hands. "But without some hard evidence, our hands are tied." He nodded, smiling sadly at Jeannie, who returned his smile, then he left the kitchen.
"Coffee is nearly ready," Ollie said. "Dr. Howell will be home soon, and when he finds out what happened tonight, he's going to be terribly upset."
Jeannie sat down at the kitchen table. "There's no need to worry Julian about this until tomorrow." She looked up at Sam. "Maynard Reeves is going to try to kill me, isn't he?"
Sam knelt down in front of Jeannie. Taking her face in his hands, he looked her directly in the eye. "The truth?" he asked.
"Between us, always," she said.
"Since you refused to join his ministry, Reeves has convinced himself that your empathic powers came from the devil. He sees it as his duty to destroy the evil, and the only way he can do that is to kill you."
Jeannie gasped several times, repeatedly sucking in gulps of air. Sam put his arm around her. She laid her head on his shoulder, accepting his comforting caress.
"I won't let him succeed, Jeannie. I promise. I'll keep you safe. I'll guard you with my life."
Jeannie closed her eyes. One tear caught in her eyelashes, another trickled slowly down her cheek. Unconsciously she began absorbing the rage inside Sam. The hatred and anger centered on Maynard Reeves, but spread out in tiny waves toward anyone who meant Jeannie harm.
Sam was prepared to kill to protect her. Jeannie had never felt that type of hatred. Not even when she longed to be free from her stepfather's cruelty had she wished him dead. Jeannie wasn't sure she was capable of killing, even to defend her own life. There was a gentleness in her soul that longed to ease pain and suffering, to eliminate hatred and fear. Could she ever understand the barbaric ability to kill?
Safe in Sam's arms, the cruelties of the world far away, Jeannie delved into her soul, into that minuscule spot where a fragment of Sam's soul remained from their joining six years ago. Such a fragile link, one she knew Sam would sever if he was aware of its existence.
He kissed the side of her face, his lips brushing it tenderly, as he stroked her shoulders and back, soothing her with his touch.
In an instantaneous flash that left her as quickly as it had come, Jeannie knew exactly what Sam was. Sam Dundee, her protector, was a unique creature. He was an elegant savage, a compassionate warrior, and only if she was strong enough to become his equal could they ever truly be united.
Chapter 6
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"No. Absolutely not." Crossing his arms over his chest, Sam Dundee gave Jeannie his killer glare, the look that had made many a formidable opponent quake in his boots.
"Yes! Definitely yes." Jeannie didn't glance up from the task at hand, transferring the contents of her shoulder bag to a beige leather purse.
"It's out of the question." What would it take to get through to this woman? Didn't she realize that every time she went out in public, she was exposing herself to danger?
"I have not missed church in years. I'm not asking to attend the regular service the way I usually do. All I'm asking is for you to take me to the early-morning prayer service. There won't be many people at church." Jeannie snapped her purse shut, then smiled at Sam. "Now, I'm ready to go whenever you are."
"I'm not ready."
Jeannie surveyed him from head to toe, leisurely inspecting every inch of his massive body. She drew in a deep breath. Shivers of remembrance rippled through her, memories of a kiss that had rocked the very foundation of her life, memories of being held lovingly, protectively, in those enormous arms.
Sam was devastatingly handsome, and the very picture of a successful businessman in his navy blue double-breasted suit, a gold Rolex his only piece of jewelry.
Any other man Sam's size would look like a muscle-bound gorilla in a suit, but not Sam Dundee. His tailored clothes fit him to perfection, his thick blond hair styled by an expert and his massive hands recently manicured. He possessed an air of unpretentious sophistication, one Jeannie felt certain he had cultivated over the years.
But inside the expensive clothes lay the finely honed body of an athlete. Beneath the polished exterior beat the heart of a primitive male. Chip away his refined facade and you'd find brute strength. Sam Dundee had the soul of a warrior.
"Like what you see?" His mouth curved into a smirk. "Thinking about staking a claim?"
Jeannie willed herself not to blush at his comment. He'd caught her shamelessly assessing his physical attributes. "Actually, I was noticing that you look like you're ready to go to church."
"I advise you not to attend services today."
"I'm going to church," Jeannie said. "Are you going with me, or do I have to go by myself?"
"Doesn't Dr. Howell go to church?"
"Julian is a Catholic. He's going to Mass with Marta before they go out for lunch."
"You're damned and determined to do this, aren't you?" Sam shook his head, frustration boiling inside him, threatening to overflow. He wanted to make Jeannie stay at home, where he knew he could keep her safe and protect her from a threatening world.
"I've looked outside the house, and there's not one reporter or protester in sight." Clutching her purse in her hand, Jeannie laced her arm around Sam's. "And I don't think we have to worry about Reverend Reeves today. After all, this is Sunday, and he'll be preaching to his Righteous Light brethren."
Accepting defeat, Sam eased his arm around Jeannie's waist. "Yeah, he's probably firing them up with a sermon on witches. No doubt quoting from the Old Testament."
"Exodus," Jeannie said, knowing she would never be able to forget the Bible verse marked in blood, blood she prayed the police lab would find to be animal and not human. "You're right, of course, Sam. Just because I'll be safe from Maynard Reeves at my church, that doesn't mean he isn't inciting his followers to condemn me as a witch."
Sam tightened his hold around Jeannie's waist, wanting to pick her up in his arms, carry her upstairs and lock her away from the evil she could not escape in the outside world.
Jeannie walked slowly, carefully, always aware of her limited abilities to maneuver and her dependency on her cane.
Sam adjusted his gait to Jeannie's step-by-step movements. His gut twisted into knots as he watched her struggle with the simple task of walking. It would be so easy for him to carry her to the car and then carry her into the church when they arrived. But Jeannie would never allow it. She was fiercely, stubbornly proud. Sam marveled at her strength and determination.
The late-August morning held a hint of autumn, especially in the refreshingly cool breeze blowing in off the Gulf waters. The sun's early warmth blended with the wind, creating perfect weather.
Sam seated Jeannie on the passenger side of her Lexus. She had insisted he dismiss the limousine, telling him she felt uncomfortable riding in the big gray Cadillac.
He reached for the shoulder harness at the exact moment Jeannie did. Jerking her head up, she looked into his eyes, and he knew she saw clearly what he was thinking. His hand covered hers; she didn't pull away. With quick precision, he snapped her seat belt in place, stood up straight and closed the door. Jeannie's gaze focused on her clasped hands, placed atop the purse in her lap. Sam got in on the driver's side, fastened his safety belt and started the engine.
Jeannie knew that he would never be able to touch her again without wondering if she was experiencing his emotions, feeling what he felt. Friday night, the moment he realized she had gotten inside him, that she had become a part of him, he had withdrawn from her. Was he so afraid to share himself, to open himself up to another person, even someone who cared for him?
Jeannie sat silent and unmoving, aware that Sam opposed this short trip down Beach Boulevard to the small Congregational church where she'd been a member for a dozen years. Although Julian was Catholic, his wife Miriam had been a Protestant who attended one of the oldest congregations in Mississippi, and she had taken Jeannie to services with her.
Sam headed the Lexus east, up Beach Boulevard, occasionally glancing at Jeannie, who seemed spellbound by the view of the Gulf through her side window. Why did his throat tighten and his heart pound every time he looked at her? He'd known women more beautiful, women more voluptuous. And he'd certainly known women more experienced. But he couldn't remember ever looking at a woman and being so captivated by her loveliness, her gentleness, her compassion.
Jeannie had secured her long brown hair in a soft bun at the nape of her neck. Loose tendrils of silky beige curled about her ears and forehead. The outfit she wore, a cream shirtwaist dress with a pastel flowered scarf tied around her neck, was as understated as her beauty, and suited her fragile facade.
Every time Sam glanced her way, she was tempted to look at him, to confront him, but she didn't. Instead, she gazed at the Gulf, at the murky water and the barrier islands she could barely see in the distance. One huge gambling casino after another—a reproduction of a pirate ship, an old riverboat—lined the coast, and rows of motels flanked Beach Boulevard. The beach was empty, except for the gulls. Jeannie knew that if she rolled down her window she would be able to smell the fishy scent so prevalent along the Gulf shore.
Within a few minutes, Sam caught a glimpse of the small Congregational church in the distance, a white cross positioned prominently above the arched upstairs windows. He turned the Lexus onto the narrow street beside the wooden church, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw only four cars in the parking area and only a woman and a child outside the building.
Not one relevant detail of Jeannie Alverson's life had escaped being printed in the newspapers or broadcast on the television and radio. Everyone in Biloxi, Gulfport, Pass Christian and Ocean Springs knew where Jeannie went to church. Hell, the whole state of Mississippi probably knew. Luckily, no one would be expecting her to arrive at church for early-morning prayers, since this was not her normal routine.
Sam parked the Lexus, rounded the car and helped Jeannie to her feet. With his arm securely planted around Jeannie's waist, he led her up the sidewalk.
Suddenly, the little boy who had been standing beside his mother at the front of the church fell to his knees at Jeannie's feet. She stopped dead still and stared down at the dark-haired child. A thin woman with huge brown eyes stepped forward and lifted the child to his feet.
"Please, Jeannie, help my little boy. I came early, wanting to be first in line to see you. Matthew is only six years old, and he lives with unbearable pain. Touch him and take away his pain." Tears streamed down the woman's pale face and dripped off her nose and chin. "He's such a little thing. It isn't right that he suffers so much."
Sam nudged Jeannie, urging her to move on, not to stop, but she leaned against him and whispered. "She didn't ask me to heal him. All she asked was that I take away his pain. I can do that much for the child."
"No, Jeannie, don't." The bitter, metallic taste of fear coated Sam's tongue. If she took away the child's pain, didn't that mean she would have to endure it?
"What's wrong with Matthew?" Jeannie asked.
"He has a severe form of arthritis that causes him great pain. He's been suffering all night. When I heard on TV that you always attend Sunday services here, I knew what I had to do. I've been here over an hour, waiting, knowing in my heart you'd come today and that you'd help my child."
Jeannie looked at Matthew. Such a pretty little boy, but his eyes told the story of his suffering. "Bring Matthew inside the church with me."
The woman grabbed Jeannie's hand and kissed it. "Thank you." New tears filled her eyes. "God bless you." She lifted her child into her arms.
"Jeannie?" Sam questioned her, yet he knew he couldn't stop her doing what her heart dictated.
"The minister's study is down the hall to the left. When we're inside the vestibule, it'll be the first door," she told him.
Jeannie made certain the woman and her son entered the building first, and then she followed, Sam helping her maneuver the short row of steps. Once inside, Jeannie went directly to the minister, who stood at the doorway to the sanctuary. When she whispered her request, he simply nodded his agreement and glanced forlornly at Jeannie, then smiled at the tormented woman and her sick child.
Once inside the study, Jeannie sat in a sturdy wooden chair directly in front of a bookshelf-lined wall.
"Please, close the door, Sam."
He didn't want anything to do with this. If he couldn't prevent what was going to happen—and he knew couldn't—he'd prefer to step outside and wait.
"You don't have to stay, if you'd rather not," Jeannie said. Oh, he'd rather not, all right, but he would. Hell would freeze over before he'd leave her alone at a time like this. He closed the door, then blocked the entrance with his massive body. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stood there, a silent sentinel, feeling powerless against Jeannie's determination.
"Bring Matthew to me." Jeannie held open her arms.
The mother placed her child in Jeannie's lap and knelt at her feet. Jeannie encompassed Matthew's skinny little body with her arms. She closed her eyes. Matthew squirmed.
"Don't be afraid, sweetheart. All I'm going to do is hold you, and very soon the pain will go away and you won't hurt for a while."
The wide-eyed mother wiped the tears from her eyes. Jeannie sighed. A soft brightness surrounded her; a sweet, flowing current rippled through her body. The first minute twinges of discomfort ebbed and flowed, coming and going, then returning to stay. Jeannie gasped. Sam flinched. Matthew sobbed.
The minister's opening prayer floated down the hallway from the sanctuary, the words muted by the closed door of the study. Acting as a receptacle, Jeannie allowed Matthew's pain to slowly drain from his body. She was still aware of her surroundings, of the child's mother trembling at her feet, of Sam staring at a spot somewhere over her head, refusing to watch the performance of her task.
Sam gritted his teeth. He focused his vision on the certificates on the wall behind the minister's desk. Matthew breathed so deeply that the sound drew Sam's attention. The boy appeared relaxed, almost asleep, as he lay in Jeannie's arms. All the color had drained from Jeannie's face, leaving her normally rosy cheeks pale. Sam looked away, taking note of every picture on the walls, scanning the bookshelves, tracing the stripes in the wallpaper, searching for stains on the carpet.
Jeannie groaned, low and soft in her throat, the sound gaining Sam's instant attention. She had released her hold on Matthew. Her arms lay at her sides, her hands gripping the edge of the chair. Her body shivered, once,
twice, and then she opened her mouth, leaned her head back and sucked in gulps of air. As she continued drawing in deep breaths, she began to moan quietly.
She was experiencing physical pain. Matthew's pain. And there was absolutely nothing Sam could do to help her. Sweat broke out on Sam's forehead. Moisture coated the palms of his big hands.
Time ceased, standing still for the four people in the minister's study. When Matthew slipped out of Jeannie's lap and into his mother's open arms, Sam didn't know for sure whether minutes or hours had passed. The torment he'd felt at watching Jeannie suffer seemed to have lasted for hours, but when he looked at his Rolex, he realized that less than fifteen minutes had gone by.
When Matthew's mother tried to thank Jeannie, she did not receive a response. Jeannie appeared to be unconscious.
"It doesn't hurt, Mommy," Matthew said, smiling broadly. "I don't hurt at all." The boy pulled free of his mother and walked around the room. "And I can walk, and it still doesn't hurt." Matthew raced around the room in a circle. Grabbing the child by the shoulder, Sam halted his jubilant running.
"Please, take Matthew and go," Sam said. "Jeannie's done all she can for him. She needs her rest now."
"Thank her again for me," the woman said. "Even if the relief lasts only a few hours. Tell her for me."
"I'll tell her."
Sam held open the door for Matthew and his mother. Once out in the hallway, Matthew stopped, turned around and waved at Sam. Sam waved back at the child.
"Mommy said the angel at this church would take away my pain, and she did."
Closing the door, shutting out the world and all its problems, Sam leaned his shoulders and head back against the stained wood surface and closed his eyes for one brief moment. Then he looked at Jeannie, who was lying slumped in the chair, tears sparkling in her dark eyelashes like diamonds on sable. He walked over, bent down on one knee and pried her clenched fists away from the chair's edge.
"Jeannie?"
She moaned. Her eyelids flickered. Sam brought her hands to his lips, opened her palms and anointed them with kisses. Jeannie moaned again.
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