Guarding Jeannie tp-5

by Beverly Barton

  Lieutenant Painter stopped Sam, questioning him about Maynard Reeves and how Jeannie had known there were bombs set to explode aboard the Royal Belle. Sam gave the lieutenant all the information he had, knowing it wouldn't be enough to arrest Reeves.

  "I'll haul him in for questioning," Painter said. "But unless we can find some solid evidence to link him to this bombing, then he'll get off scot-free."

  "Then you'd better find some sort of evidence, and soon," Sam said. "Otherwise—"

  "Don't step over the line, Dundee. You're one of the good guys, remember?"

  "Yeah, sure." Sam checked his watch. The damn thing was still running, even though the crystal was broken. Nearly two hours had passed since all hell had broken loose. Most of the parking lot had been cleared, and half a dozen ambulances had taken the injured to hospitals in Biloxi and surrounding towns. Several dozen people remained, waiting for returning ambulances.

  Sam spotted Morgan Kane standing near the one remaining ambulance. As he drew near Kane's side, Sam looked inside the ambulance, and for one split second his heart stopped. Jeannie sat beside a badly burned dark-haired woman, holding her hand, absorbing her pain.

  "What the hell's going on?" Sam gripped Kane's shoulder. "How did she get here?"

  "Ms. Alverson sent Ms. McCorkle to look for you, and when she couldn't find you, she told me Ms. Alverson wanted to see me."

  "You took Jeannie out of the car? You brought her here?" Sam's facial muscles tensed. He glared at Kane. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

  "She said she wanted to help these people, and she told me it would be all right with you as long as I was with her." Kane reached inside his jacket, pulled out Sam's Ruger and handed it to him. "She gave me this. It's yours, isn't it?"

  Sam stuck the gun in his holster. "How many people has she helped?"

  "How many?"

  "Yeah, how many?"

  "Ten, maybe twelve."

  Sam cursed, the words strong and expressive.

  "Hey, I don't know what the hell she's been doing," Kane said, "but every person she touched seemed to get better instantly."

  "Didn't you happen to notice that she's been suffering more and more every time she helped another person?" Sam knew exactly what she'd been doing. She'd gone from person to person, alleviating their pain, absorbing enough of their suffering to reduce their chances of dying. Just thinking about what she'd put herself through tormented Sam.

  "Where's Marta McCorkle?"

  "She stayed with Ms. Alverson until a few minutes ago, then she left to look for Dr. Howell," Kane said. "Look, Sam, I'm sorry if by doing what Ms. Alverson asked I put her in some sort of danger. I haven't left her side for a second."

  "Forget it," Sam said. "The damage's done. Besides, I know how persuasive Jeannie can be."

  Releasing his hold on Kane, Sam stepped up into the ambulance. Jeannie was too deep into her healing trance to see him. Her colorless face was streaked with tears—the tears of others. He jerked her away from the burned woman. Jeannie groaned, then opened her eyes and stared at him.

  "Sam, no. Please, just this one more. She's in so much pain." Jeannie tried to lift her hand to clutch Sam's sleeve. Her hand wouldn't cooperate. She let it fall to her side.

  "You're in pain," he told her, pulling her out of the ambulance and lifting her into his arms. "You're so weak you can't even lift your hand. I'm taking you home. Now."

  "But I can't—"

  "We're not discussing it."

  Standing just outside the open doors of the ambulance, Sam motioned to Kane. "After you and Hawk make your statements to the police and get a once-over in ER, fly back to Atlanta and take a few days off."

  Jeannie squirmed in Sam's arms. "I don't want to leave. These people are suffering … because of me, because … Maynard Reeves wanted … to kill me."

  Not only was Sam not going to allow Jeannie to do any more healing tonight, but once he took her home, he had no intention of allowing her out in public again. Somehow he'd persuade her to leave town, If Reeves was determined to see the "witch" burn, Jeannie wouldn't be safe anywhere Reeves could find her.

  Ignoring Jeannie's pleas, Sam spoke to Kane again. "Phone J.T. and tell him to call in as many favors as need be, but I want something found on Reeves that can give the police reason to force him to stay away from Jeannie." Sam knew that, somewhere out there, someone knew something about Reeves's past dealings. A thirty-two-year-old zealot with obvious mental problems was bound to have screwed up, at least once, in the past.

  Jeannie took a deep breath. "Sam Dundee!" Her voice trembled. "If you don't let me help these people, I'll … I'll never forgive … you. Don't you see? It's my … fault."

  He felt her exhaustion in every cell of his body, his nerve endings alert to her weakness. And he knew she was exerting her last ounce of strength to fight him.

  "Lift your hand and touch my face," Sam told her. "Let's see if you have the strength to do more than you've already done."

  She tried, but her hand would not cooperate. Tears welled up in her eyes. "Damn you, Sam. Damn … you." With that said, her energy expended, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

  Holding her close, Sam carried her away from the death and destruction that surrounded them.

  * * *

  Sam opened the French doors that led out onto the upstairs balcony. Dawn light coated the eastern horizon, to the left of the Howell home. Overhead, a pink glow coated the charcoal sky. A warm, pleasant breeze blew in off the gulf. Sam looked across the road at the deserted beach and, just beyond, the pale gray water.

  Turning his head, he glanced into the bedroom, checking once again on Jeannie. She had thrown off the sheet and light blanket, leaving her body, from the waist up, exposed to the early-morning air. She had slept fitfully the past few hours, occasionally moaning in her sleep. But she seemed peaceful for the moment, her face serene, her breathing evenly paced.

  Beautiful beyond compare, Sam thought. With her waist-length hair spread out over her pillow and across her shoulder, she lay there in the floor-length cream silk gown Ollie had put on her early yesterday morning, when Sam brought her home from the Royal Belle disaster. She had been asleep more than twenty-four hours. When Julian rushed home yesterday, he had assured Sam that it was perfectly normal for Jeannie to require extended periods of rest after using her extraordinary skills, especially to the extent she'd used them after the casino bombing.

  Sam had left Jeannie's side only long enough to shower and change clothes. Ollie had remained with her, bathing her and slipping her into a gown. Sam hadn't eaten all day yesterday, until Ollie brought him his dinner on a tray. She'd threatened his life if he didn't eat every bite of the hearty meal.

  Julian had spent the past twenty hours at the hospital. Although officially retired, he was needed, because of the sheer number of patients brought in from the Royal Belle.

  Last night, Sam had slept at Jeannie's side, holding her in his arms whenever she cried—and she'd cried often—never once waking. He had wondered how long it would take her to recover from the ordeal she'd experienced. What could it possibly be like to endure that much pain and anguish?

  If he could have stopped her, he would have. When he should have been taking care of her, he'd been busy saving other people's lives—just as, in her own way, Jeannie had been.

  Sam looked back at the vastness of the ocean, the endless water and sky. In a few hours, traffic would begin to move, the beach would slowly fill, the all-nighters would leave the casinos and the early-morning crowds would arrive. And the local and state authorities would continue to sift through the remains of the Royal Belle for evidence. They'd keep questioning employees and patrons alike, hoping someone could shed some light on whoever had planted the bombs.

  Awaking with a start, Jeannie sat straight up in bed, her mouth forming a silent cry. She glanced down at her body, then at her bed and around the room. Someone had removed her clothes, slipped on her gown and put her to bed. Sam? She smi
led. Sam and Ollie.

  A soft breeze surrounded her, chilling her bare arms. She hugged herself, took in a deep breath and blinked her eyes several times. The room lay in semidarkness, the only light coming from the windows, the faint, rosy illumination of daybreak.

  She saw Sam standing on the balcony, his broad shoulders slightly drooped. He's tired, she thought, and worried. He wore dark slacks, slightly wrinkled. Had he slept beside her during the night? She had a vague memory of being held in his arms, a faded recollection of his wiping away her tears.

  Usually the epitome of the well-dressed gentleman, Sam looked a bit disheveled in his wrinkled slacks, the tails of his pale blue shirt hanging around his hips, his hair windblown.

  She searched the room, looking for a walking cane. Her favorite, a gift from Miriam, had probably burned inside the Royal Belle. Jeannie shuddered at the memory, the sound of the explosions echoing in her ears as well as the cries of wounded people. So many people in pain.

  She wanted to go to Sam, to tell him that she was all right and that she forgave him for being so bossy and high-handed. She'd been so tired, so completely drained, that she hadn't been rational. Sam had done the right thing in forcing her to leave the disaster area.

  Moving to the side of the bed, Jeannie slid her legs off the edge. She had no idea how she looked. She couldn't see a mirror from where she sat. Threading her fingers through her hair, she combed it to each side, allowing the mass to fall down her back. She lifted the twisted bodice of her gown to properly cover her breasts and smoothed out the wrinkles over her stomach and legs.

  "Sam." Her voice sounded weak and very faint, even to her own ears.

  He turned quickly. The moment he saw her, his lips curved into that seldom-used but devastating smile. "Jeannie." With a few giant steps, he was at her side, kneeling, slipping his arms around her.

  She cradled his head in her lap and caressed his head, her fingers brushing over the stubble of his cheeks. He hadn't shaved, she realized. Since when? How long had she been asleep?

  "This isn't the morning after the casino bombing, is it?" she asked.

  Lifting his head, he looked up into her eyes, wanting nothing more than to protect her from the world, from all the ugliness, from a truth he could not change. "You've been asleep over twenty-four hours. Do you remember fainting in the back of the ambulance?"

  "Yes, sort of. I remember telling you I'd never forgive you if you made me leave."

  "I did what I thought was best for you. I brought you home." Sam rose to his feet, then sat down beside her on the bed. "Ollie undressed you and washed you and put you in your gown while I took a shower and changed clothes."

  "You've stayed with me all this time, haven't you? You even slept with me last night."

  "How do you know all that?"

  "I sensed your presence." She leaned against him; he put his arm around her waist.

  "How do you feel?" He kissed her forehead.

  "Tired. But I'm all right."

  "You did too much."

  "It was a horrible disaster. So many injured people." She clutched Sam's hand. "Did anyone die?"

  Sam took a deep breath. "Two of the casino's security men didn't make it off the riverboat. They were caught in the bottom-deck explosion. Only those two. There are about a dozen in critical condition, but, luckily, we had evacuated almost the entire casino when the bombs exploded."

  "Have the police arrested Maynard Reeves?"

  "They have no evidence against Reeves."

  "But I know he's responsible." She bit her fingers into Sam's arm, tugging on his sleeve. "I sensed all those horrible emotions inside him. He couldn't block what he was feeling."

  "I know, Jeannie. I know." Sam tried to soothe her, stroking her back with one hand while he cupped her chin in the other. "But they can't arrest Reeves just because you say you sensed his guilt."

  She pulled away from Sam, covering her face with her hands as she bowed her head. She sat there for several minutes, then tossed back her head, squared her shoulders and turned to Sam. "I need some fresh air. Find me a cane, please. And walk out on the balcony with me."

  "I can carry you outside." He stood, but before he could lift her, she threw up her hand to stop him.

  "I want to walk." She nodded toward the huge, ornately carved wardrobe. "Look in the wardrobe. There should be two or three canes in there."

  Sam obeyed her command without hesitation. He'd learned that sometimes it was easier not to fight Jeannie, especially when she was damned and determined to have her own way. He retrieved a black metal walking stick, with a gold tip and a fancy flower design engraved on the handle.

  Handing her the cane, he watched while she positioned the tip on the floor and lifted herself to her feet. He walked behind her, not touching her, and followed her out onto the balcony. The downstairs veranda and the upstairs balcony surrounded the three-story antebellum-style house on all four sides.

  "I never tire of looking at the ocean," she said. "This is a beautiful view, but nothing to compare with the view from the veranda of my house on Le Bijou Bleu."

  Mention of the island where Sam had washed ashore six years ago brought back painful memories to him. Memories he had tried to erase from his mind.

  "We should go to your island," Sam said. "There, I might be able to keep you safe."

  She shivered from the chill of the early-morning breeze as it tickled her bare arms and shoulders. "Maynard Reeves wants to kill me, and he doesn't seem to care how many people he has to destroy to do it."

  Sam wrapped his arms around her. "Julian told me that only a handful of people even know about Le Bijou Bleu, that when your parents bought the island they used it as a retreat and kept its location a secret."

  "Julian's right. Other than Julian and I, and of course Manton, only our lawyer and Marta even know about the island. I've used the place as my personal retreat all these years. When Miriam was dying, we visited Le Bijou Bleu several times. The trip always seemed to revitalize her."

  "You'd take her to the island and suffer her pain for her, wouldn't you?" Sam hugged Jeannie fiercely. "You'd take her away so that Julian wouldn't have to see the two of you in pain."

  "I loved Miriam like a mother." Jeannie sighed. "She was far more a mother to me than my own ever was."

  "Are you willing to go to Le Bijou Bleu and stay as long as it takes to free yourself from Reeves?" Sam asked.

  "What if he won't give up? What if he waits us out? You have a life of your own, Sam. I can't expect you to move to Le Bijou Bleu and live with me indefinitely."

  "We're digging into Reeves's past. Somewhere there has to be some information that will help us put a stop to him. Otherwise…"

  She gripped Sam's forearms where they crisscrossed her waist. "Otherwise what?"

  "Otherwise we'll have to find another way to get rid of the man."

  "I can't help but believe that God will punish him. He has committed so much evil in God's name. What greater sin could there be?"

  "I'll make arrangements for us to leave Biloxi immediately. The sooner I can get you out of Reeves's grasp, the better."

  "I can't leave yet," Jeannie said. "Not until…" She hesitated, turning her head and looking up at him. She wondered how he would react when she told him what she wanted.

  "Not until what?"

  "I want to stay a few more days, go to the hospitals and try to help the people who were injured in the bombing."

  "No! Absolutely not!"

  "Hear me out. Please."

  Releasing Jeannie, Sam walked around her and over to the balcony's edge. With his back turned to her, he gripped the top of the banister. "You damn near killed yourself night before last, and you expect me to allow you to—"

  "You do not allow me to do anything," Jeannie said. "Night before last, you were right. I had exhausted my energy. I wouldn't have been able to be of help to anyone. But I'm rested now. I need to help the people who are suffering because of me."

  "You're b
eing irrational, you know." He wished he could shake some sense into her compassionate little head. "You are not responsible for what happened to those people. Maynard Reeves is."

  "And he bombed the riverboat because I was on board!"

  "Dammit, Jeannie, what am I going to do with you?"

  She walked over to the balcony's edge and laid her hand over his. "Night before last, you were going to bring me home and make love to me."

  Every nerve in his body screamed. Neither of them spoke for endless moments. With her hand resting atop his, Sam and Jeannie watched the sun rise over Biloxi.

  Jeannie had never wanted anything as much as she wanted Sam Dundee to be a part of her life forever, but she knew how impossible the dream was. Would any woman ever capture Sam Dundee's heart? Did a woman exist who was strong enough to be his equal?

  Sam had never wanted anything as much as he wanted to protect Jeannie Alverson—from Reeves's insanity, from suffering the pain of others, and even from him. The desire he felt for this gentle, loving woman was so strong it could destroy her. He couldn't let that happen.

  "It's all right, you know." She stroked his hand. "I want you, too."

  "Jeannie?" His muscles tensed; his heartbeat accelerated.

  "If there had been no explosions aboard the Royal Belle, you and I would have become lovers yesterday morning, when we got back here to the house," she said.

  "You don't know that for sure."

  "Yes, I do. And so do you. I haven't forgotten what happened out on deck when we danced. I remember exactly how we both felt, what we both wanted."

  "Don't remind me."

  He turned around and looked at her. Dear God, what was he going to do about Jeannie Alverson? She was driving him insane. He couldn't remember ever wanting a woman so badly or ever being so scared. Once her life was no longer in danger, he would return to Atlanta. He'd be safe there, far away from Jeannie.

  She wanted too much from him. She wanted things that weren't in him to give. She thought he was a far better man than he actually was. She thought he was worth saving, worth suffering for, worth the pain of delving into his tormented soul. He'd never been a coward, never backed down from any challenge, but Jeannie was something else all together. What man was equal to the challenge of being Jeannie's mate, of understanding her enough to allow her to be the woman she was—an empath with a blessed talent? What man was strong enough to spend the rest of his life watching her suffer other people's pain.