Jessica held the doorknob so hard she winced with pain. A moment of panic seized her and held her motionless. Was that her bodyguard?

“You’re obviously Jessica Kincaid.”

His low, rough-sounding voice had a strange effect on her nerves. She stiffened. “And who might you be?”

“Brant Harding, your bodyguard.”

Jessica swallowed, suddenly at a loss for words. The first thought that came to mind was the word dangerous: with his dark, brooding looks, he reminded her of a stalking panther.

Wetting her lips, she said inanely, “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“That’s obvious.”

She flushed, something she didn’t do often. “Won’t you come in?”

He strode into the room. Reluctantly she closed the door behind her, fighting off the insane feeling that she was sealing her doom.

His Touch
Mary Lynn Baxter

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-six

Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter Thirty-eight

Chapter Thirty-nine

Chapter Forty

One

The instant she walked into her town home, Jessica Kincaid sensed something was not quite right. She tried to mask her uneasy feelings and not let on, but her efforts didn’t work. Her friend called her hand.

“What’s wrong?”

Frowning, Jessica peered at Veronica Nash and forced a smile. “Why do you think something’s wrong?”

Veronica’s pixie features turned into a matching frown. “Because I know you, that’s why. You looked spooked.”

“I am,” Jessica admitted with blunt honesty, deciding it was foolish to hide the truth from her friend any longer.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?” Veronica asked, her tone pressing.

Jessica smothered a sigh, at the same time running her hands through her short, highlighted brown hair. “How ’bout we get comfy first and have a cup of coffee?”

“Works for me.” Veronica proceeded to toss her purse on the floor, then plop down on the sofa. “Need any help?”

Jessica shook her head. “I think I can handle it.”

If only that were true about the rest of her life, Jessica thought, puttering around in her bright yellow-and-green kitchen. Once the coffee was dripping, she paused and took a deep breath.

As mayor of Dallas, Texas, one of the most up-and-coming cities in the south—in the nation, for that matter—she couldn’t give in to this unexpected turn of events. She had to come up with a way to handle things herself and not involve the police.

“Sure you don’t need help?”

Veronica’s lively voice made Jessica move. “I’m coming. I was just woolgathering,” she added, walking back into the living room with a tray.

Once they were sipping the hot coffee, Veronica’s dark eyes pinned her. “So what has you so uptight? And not just tonight, either. You’ve been different lately.”

“I’m being harassed by some nutcase.”

Veronica coughed, obviously strangling on the liquid. When she sat the cup down on the coffee table, her eyes were wide and questioning. “Are you serious?” She flapped her hand impatiently. “Sorry, forget I asked that. Of course you’re serious. That’s not something to joke about, especially given your job.”

“You’re right. It’s been going on for some time now.”

“So why haven’t the police already caught the pervert?”

Jessica hesitated, looking away from Veronica’s direct stare. “Because I haven’t involved them.”

“That’s crazy,” Veronica said in a blustering tone. “They work for you, for heaven’s sake.”

“True, but—”

“What’s the deal, then?”

“You know what the deal is, Ronnie. Ever since I fired the police chief and suspended two popular officers, I’m not the most loved person around city hall.”

“Ah, for a second those minor points slipped my mind.” Though her voice held a slice of humor, Veronica’s features remained grave. “But surely there’s someone on the force you can depend on?”

Jessica didn’t respond. Instead, she gazed around the room, her eyes settling on the items that brought her comfort: photographs of her and Porter, her deceased husband, live plants she nurtured herself, and other mementos that had personal meaning. Once she had believed that her home in an upscale part of the city was indeed her safe haven.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. No longer did she feel that sense of security when she walked in, that feeling of peace. In fact, she felt the opposite, as if her privacy had been totally invaded, emotionally and physically.

If only Porter were here, he would know what to do. If her husband were still alive, she wouldn’t be in this precarious position to start with, she reminded herself. He would still be the mayor, and she would be the loving, supportive wife behind the scenes.

A deep sigh escaped Jessica when she felt Veronica’s piercing eyes on her once again.

“I want all the gory details,” her friend said. “And I’m not letting you off the hook until I hear them.”

Jessica plucked at a thread on the black silk slacks covering her long, slender legs. She knew her friend meant what she said. Veronica’s features were growing graver by the second.

“First off, I’ve been receiving phone calls on all my phones, cell included, mostly obscene. And irritating as hell. Even though I have caller ID, it’s failed to identify the caller. The screen either registers Out of Area or Unknown Name.”

“Go on.”

“E-mails, too. I’ve been unable to trace them, either. They’re obviously sent from different, untraceable locations, like public libraries and Internet cafés.”

“I can tell there’s more.”

“I’m being followed, or stalked, whatever term you want to give it.”

“And you’ve done nothing? Good grief, Jessica, that’s insane.”

Jessica bit down on her full lower lip. “You’re right. I can’t argue with you. Still…” Her voice faded.

“No excuse will hold water, so don’t waste your breath.” Veronica paused, pressing her lips together. “Anything else?”

“Not so far.”

Veronica gave her a look before she bounded off the sofa, walked to the fireplace and leaned against it. “What in the world is wrong with you? Your life could be in real danger—is in real danger. Yet you’ve done nothing.”

“I’ve taken some precautions,” Jessica said, her tone defensive.

“Such as?” Veronica countered, not bothering to mask her disbelief.

Jessica flushed, adding to the natural color in her cheeks. “I just kept thinking the harassment would come to an end, that whoever was behind it would get tired and move on.”

“Not if he, she or they have an agenda. If someone is out to harm you, they’re not likely to stop until that’s accomplished.”

“I did buy a gun.”

“But you can’t use it, right?”

“Right.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

Jessica’s stark blue eyes narrowed on her friend. “You’re not making this any easier, you know?”

Veronica shrugged. “I know, and I’m sorry. But you’re scaring the you-know-what out of me.”

“I’ve had every intention of learning, but with things in such turmoil at the office, I just haven’t had the time.”

“Learning to fire a gun is fine, but you have to alert the police. You need round-the-clock protection.”

Jessica shook her head. “I’m not prepared to go that far. I still think this too shall pass.”

“That’s just wishful thinking, and you know that.”

Jessica released another pent-up sigh, her mind seeming to splinter off in a million different directions, which made her crazy. She was used to her life running according to plan and on schedule. Suddenly her well-oiled machine had careened off course, just like it had after Porter died, making her feel out of control, a feeling that didn’t sit well with her.

Since her father’s desertion at an early age, she had ceased to be a child. With her mother’s strong, albeit bitter, influence, she had become a savvy, self-assured person who had learned to care for herself, to protect herself, especially from emotional traumas. And while she had indeed relied on Porter for many things, she had never lost that fierce sense of self and independence.

“Jessie.”

Veronica’s use of her pet name drew her out of her musings, and Jessica swallowed hard.

“You were thinking about Porter, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“He’s been dead four years now,” Veronica pointed out gently. “He can’t take care of you any longer.”

“He never took care of me in the sense you mean,” Jessica said, feeling she had no choice but to defend herself. “He was just always there.” Jessica stood. “Hold your thought. I’m going to dash upstairs for a sec. I’ll be right back.”

The instant she strode into her bedroom, Jessica pulled up short. She just managed to clasp her hand on her mouth to smother the gasp. A dead rose lay across her pillow. For a long moment she was too dumbstruck to move. A sick feeling settling in the pit of her stomach, she whirled and practically ran back downstairs.

“That was quick,” Veronica said, the twinkle back in her eyes, then suddenly turned sober. “What happened?”

“There’s…there’s a dead rose on my pillow.”

Without saying a word, Veronica tore toward the bedroom, then back with equal speed. “That does it. You can’t afford to mess with this sicko any longer, regardless of how he got in. The fact that someone did is all that counts.”

Jessica eased back onto the sofa, that sick feeling still churning her stomach. “You’re right. Push has come to shove.”

“So let’s start by pushing the police into action. Under the circumstances, I know you’re reluctant to do that, having clearly decided not to involve them. But now you have no choice.”

Jessica rose again. “I’ll make the call.”

A short time later two officers had come and gone, with little to show for their actions. The person or persons had left no trace, though they’d dusted for finger-prints, as well as checking for method of entry. Apparently they’d jimmied the door, which had been easy due to stupidity on her part. She’d left without setting her alarm, something she’d often done in the past with no consequences. This time it had been costly.

“The pervert could be any guy off the street,” Veronica said. “Or it could be a direct result of you cleaning house at the precinct. Someone with a grudge.”

Jessica reached for her coffee and took a sip, only to make a face. The coffee was now tepid. “Possibly, though I have my doubts,” she pointed out. “I think it’s just some crazy off the streets.”

“I wish I could be that sure. What about that land deal that’s been making headlines lately?”

“There’s nothing there to incite an attack.”

“Something has and you…we have to get to the bottom of it ASAP. Thurmon will know what to do.”

Thurmon was Veronica’s husband, a retired Secret Service agent, now in business for himself as the owner of a highly successful security firm.

“You’re thinking of a bodyguard, right?”

“Absolutely, and I know who Thurmon will suggest.”

“Just who might that be?” Jessica asked in a tone tainted with sarcasm. Having someone underfoot all the time didn’t bear thinking about. This entire scenario seemed too preposterous for words.

“Brant Harding, an old friend, who worked with Thurmon in the Secret Service. However, convincing Brant to take the job will be difficult.”

“Then why bother?”

“Because he’s the best, even better than Thurmon. But he’s become a recluse for reasons we won’t go into now. Still, there’s hope, because he owes Thurmon big time—his life actually. We also have another thing in our favor. His teenage son, from whom he’s estranged, lives in this area. Since Brant wants to mend fences, I’m thinking that will be our ace in the hole.”

Jessica crossed her arms over her breasts. “I don’t know, Veronica. That —he— doesn’t sound like a good idea to me.”

“You let Thurmon be the judge of that. You just sit tight while I call my better half.”

Jessica kept silent while her insides continued to churn and her thoughts reverted to that lifeless rose on the pillow. She shuddered and crossed her arms tighter.

Two

Too bad the fishing was lousy.

Today of all days. When he needed to unwind.

Brant Harding reeled in his line, then peered at the lake, noticing again how perfect the water was. Blue and spring clear, so clear he could see the colors in the polished rocks underneath. Still, he couldn’t get a bite no matter what kind of bait, live or artificial, he used.

Letting out a sigh, Brant shoved his battered Stetson back and squinted up at the sun. Maybe it was too hot. Even though it was just the beginning of May, the sun had already sprouted a mean stinger.

A hot spring and summer were predicted for Arkansas and the rest of the South. So what if that messed up the fishing? He would get over it in due time, he told himself, shaping his mouth into a sarcastic twist. If only that were all he had to worry about, he’d be one lucky bastard. Only it wasn’t, not by any stretch of the imagination.

Wary of where his thoughts were heading, Brant gathered his gear and made tracks for the cabin at the top of the hill that overlooked the hundred acres he’d inherited when his parents had died several years ago, killed instantly in a head-on car collision.

He’d built this place himself and knew he’d made the right decision. He’d chosen the best site on the choice land, opting for an umbrella of tall pines and oaks. He called it a cabin, but it was hardly that, though it was rustic and uncluttered. Still, it had all the amenities he or anyone else could want.

Except a woman.

Not interested.

Brant’s gut tightened, and his lean, well-chiseled features hardened. Definitely not in the market. Those days were over. He’d been down the marriage road once, and that was enough to last him a lifetime. What he needed was another dog, he told himself as he walked into the cool, airy great room and tossed his hat on the back of a chair.

The interior reflected a relaxed atmosphere. Deep, rich colors, natural wood finishes and comfortable furnishings created a warm feeling.

However, something was missing. Butch, the old hound that had been with him for years, had died. Until then, he hadn’t felt lonely in his isolated domain. Now he did, which didn’t sit too well with him. He was here by choice not by chance. Hounds were a dime a dozen at the local pound in the nearest town, Mountain Home. Next time he went in for groceries and other supplies, he would see what he could do.

Meanwhile, he had a much more pressing and important issue to resolve—what to do about his son, Elliot. Feeling the urge for a cold beer, Brant made his way into the kitchen, an offshoot of the great room, and opened the fridge.

After downing several swigs, he peered at the clock. Five. No problem. Since his isolation, he’d made it a point not to indulge himself before late in the afternoon and then only sparingly. It would be so easy to drown his troubles in booze, but he wasn’t about to fall into that trap. He’d seen too many of the guys he’d worked with do that to no good end.

Yet it felt damn good to feel the edge dull somewhat after having gone another round earlier with his ex-wife, leaving him furious and frustrated. She seemed determined to throw monkey wrenches into his plans to see his seventeen-year-old son.

Once he’d plopped down on the sofa and crossed his legs on the coffee table, Brant finished the beer, then set the bottle down. He needed a shower, but he wasn’t in the mood, not when his thoughts were cluttered with his ex.

Marsha Harding Bishop knew just which strings to jerk to get him riled, especially when it came to money and their kid. Since she’d finally married the man with whom she’d had an affair and who had become more of a father to Elliot than he himself had ever been, the money issue had resolved itself. Preston Bishop owned an accounting firm and made big bucks.

More power to him.

Brant couldn’t give a rip about the money. He had plenty of his own, mostly inherited from his parents, but what the hell—money was money. He didn’t need much of the green stuff, anyway, not to live the way he lived. Most of it was in trust for his son, and Marsha knew that. Yet it hadn’t made one whit of difference in her attitude toward him.

When he’d called and asked to speak to Elliot, she hadn’t had to say a word for him to sense her hostile attitude. He’d envisioned her otherwise attractive features tightening and her slender shoulders stiffening.

“He’s not here.”

“Are you sure?”

That comment had turned the hostility in her voice to ice. “I don’t lie, contrary to what you think.”

“Come on, Marsha, who do you think you’re talking to? You’ve lied, all right, but that’s water under the bridge. I’m through arguing with you. Right now, all I care about is talking to my son.”

“I told you, he’s not here.”

Brant controlled his rising temper with an effort. “Will you give him a message?”

Silence.

“Dammit, Marsha, when are you going to stop using Elliot as a weapon to get back at me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said, the ice in her voice thickening.

Again, Brant controlled his temper and words. He was treading in a current he couldn’t master, at least not over the phone. He hated the damn things, anyway. He would much rather be looking her in the face when he talked to her. Maybe then she could see the sincerity laced with the desperation in his eyes.

At the moment, however, he had no recourse but to back down. “Forget it. I’ll call him back later.”

“Was there anything in particular you wanted?”

“Yeah,” he said in a clipped tone. “I want to see him.”

“I don’t—”

“You might as well stop fighting me, Marsha. I’ve made up my mind that Elliot’s going to be a part of my life.”

“We’ll see about that,” she countered before the dial tone abused his ear.

Releasing his pent-up temper, Brant followed suit and slammed the receiver down.

Just thinking about that conversation made his blood boil again. Damn her. Cool it, buddy, he cautioned himself, taking deep breaths. He couldn’t totally blame her for the quagmire he was in with his only child. He’d gotten himself into it, and it was up to him to get out.

Trouble was, he didn’t know how. He needed Marsha’s help and cooperation. But apparently he was never going to get it, which meant he would have to depend on himself.

Feeling as if his insides were in a meat grinder, Brant walked onto the deck and, leaning the bulk of his weight on the handrails, stared at the lake and wooded hills beyond. The sun was beginning to set, and the picture before him was awesome. But this evening, the beauty and calmness of his sanctuary failed to soothe his seething mind and heart.

Would he be forced to pay for his sins forever?

Maybe coming here had been a mistake. Maybe he should’ve headed to Texas, to the Metroplex area, right off. By now he might have established a new relationship with his son instead of awkward phone conversations in between playing telephone tag.

He’d been forced into early retirement due to gunshot wounds he’d received during his long tenure as a Secret Service agent. It was while he’d been protecting the First Lady three years ago that the life-altering incident had occurred. He’d taken a bullet in the stomach and another in the right leg. Both wounds had been severe, and he’d nearly died, especially from the gut shot.

Since then, he’d become more or less a recluse, trying to recover in mind and body. But instead of healing, he found himself often lonely and discontented. Both stemmed from the burning need to bridge the growing estrangement from his son. For his own sanity, he had to find a way to become a part of Elliot’s life again. A sad commentary was that he hadn’t ever been the hands-on dad he should have been. Marsha’s beef against him on that score was right on target.

Facing that brutal truth had been the first big hurdle he’d had to jump. Admitting he was wrong came hard for him. Since he’d come here, he’d realized where he’d gone wrong, especially when it came to Elliot.

Following his divorce from Marsha eight years ago, the breach between him and Elliot had widened. At age forty-two he had no plans to remarry and add to his family, so the need to regain his son’s love and trust had become a frantic effort of the soul.

Now he feared he might have to venture away from his safe compound and uncomplicated way of life. He was reluctant to make such a bold move, since his mind still had a long way to go before recovering from the trauma it had suffered.

Yet he couldn’t rule that out, though the thought made him break out in a cold sweat. He no longer sought people out for their company. He craved the space and solitude of the mountains. The thought of returning to city life with all its hustle and bustle was repugnant to him. He had to figure out a way to get Elliot here, to the cabin, for a lengthy visit.

Now that he could maneuver without a cane, he would just have to come up with a workable plan.

“What the hell?” he muttered suddenly, as the noise coming from behind finally penetrated his beleaguered senses. On striding back into the living room, he realized someone was pounding on the front door. For some reason it was locked. When had he done that?

“Hold your horses,” he muttered, wondering who the hell his unwanted visitor was. He had neighbors, but they weren’t close ones and rarely came calling. A chill shot through him. Had something happened to Elliot? Of course not, he rationalized. If it had, he would be the last to know.

By the time he reached the door and jerked it open, sweat saturated his forehead and upper lip.

“Knocked your dick in the dirt, didn’t I, old friend?”

Brant’s only response to his long-time friend Thurmon Nash’s caustic comment was shocked silence.

Thurmon grinned, slapped him on the shoulder, then strode past him into the living room. There he whirled, his grin gaining strength by the second. He was tall and slightly overweight, with a bushy mustache that added to his strong features. His prematurely gray hair and blue eyes enhanced his commanding presence. Shrewd intelligence made him a friend and businessman for whom Brant had the greatest respect.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Brant demanded when he finally found his voice.

“How ’bout a cold one before we get down to the nitty gritty?”

Wordlessly Brant headed for the kitchen and returned with two beers. He handed one to Thurmon, who then made himself comfortable in the nearest leather chair.

Brant took a seat on the matching sofa. For a moment they nursed their beers in companionable silence.

“You didn’t come all this way for a social call.” Brant’s words were a flat statement of fact.

“You’re right, I didn’t.”

“If it’s about me joining you as a partner in your security firm, I haven’t changed my mind.”

“I’m not here about that, though the offer still stands.”

“Thanks again, but no thanks.”

“Can’t blame a fellow for trying.”

“Is Ronnie all right?”

“Great. Blowing and going, as always.”

“Still in practice with that same high-flying attorney, huh?”

“Yep. And making him a shit-load of money, too.”

“When is she going to take a timeout and have a kid?”

Thurmon sighed. “It’s her call. And from the way it’s looking, maybe never. We’re both on the career fast track and can’t seem to get off.”

Changing the subject, Brant said, “So unload.”

Obviously choosing to ignore Brant’s push to get to the point, Thurmon crossed a leg over one knee and looked around. “This is still a great place, but aren’t you lonely as hell here?”

“I’m used to being alone. I was married for twelve years.”

“Funny.”

Brant kept his features bland.

“Don’t you think you’ve been hiding long enough?”

That comment irritated the hell out of Brant. He hadn’t seen his friend for heaven knows how long and didn’t appreciate being raked over the coals for his style of living, rather than shooting the bull about things they had in common.

“I’m treading on dangerous ground, aren’t I?” Thurmon asked in the growing silence.

“You read my mind.”

“Are you still the same expert marksman you once were?”

Surprise raised Brant’s eyebrows. “Why?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Okay. Yeah, I am. As a matter of fact, I practice just about every day.” He wanted to add that it whiled away some of the hours, but he didn’t dare. To admit that would add fodder to Thurmon’s case against him. “Why?” he asked again.

“I have a favor to ask, that’s why.”

Brant’s guard, along with his hackles, rose. “Why do I sense I’m not going to like what’s coming next?”

“Because you’ve became paranoid?”

Brant snorted.

Thurmon laughed, then said, “Did I mention how good it is to see you, how much I miss having your ill-tempered self around?”

“No. But I take no offense, considering the source.”

Thurmon’s laugh merely deepened before his features sobered once again. “Actually it’s my wife who wants the favor.”

“Then why didn’t she ask? She knows my number.”

“She knew I wanted an excuse to see your sorry ass.”

“Veronica’s not in any kind of trouble, is she?”

“Nope. But she has a friend who is.”

“So? You have a security company, take care of it. I’m out of that business forever. All I care about now is mending fences with my kid.”

“How’s that going?”

“It’s not. If Marsha had her way, I’d never see him again.”

“Nothing like a woman scorned.”

“Hell, she’s the one who had the affair.”

“After you were never home.”

Brant’s eyes narrowed. “You were in the same boat and Ronnie never cheated on you.”

“True, but we didn’t have a kid who needed his father, either.”

Brant cursed, feeling Thurmon’s arrow hit where it hurt most—his heart. “That’s still no excuse for what Marsha did. But like I told her, that’s water under the bridge. I hold no grudges. Instead I’m moving forward and trying to fix things.”

“I’m about to give you that opportunity.”

“How’s that?” Brant’s voice overflowed with suspicion. He didn’t trust his friend as far as he could throw him.

“By getting you back to Texas.”

“Ah, so that’s where this is going? Figures.”

“Veronica’s friend needs a bodyguard, and you’re the best I have to offer.”

“Are you deaf? I just told you I don’t do that anymore. But then, you knew that before you came all this way.”

Thurmon leaned forward. “First off, you owe me. And while I never intended to remind you of the fact that I saved your life, I’m doing it now.”

“That’s hitting below the belt.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. But you also know how I feel about Ronnie. I’ll do anything I can to keep her happy. And she wants you to help her friend, so here I am.”

“Tightening the screws,” Brant said, barely suppressing his fury at being shoved into a corner with no way out.

“I wouldn’t do this if it weren’t of utmost importance.”

“Somehow that doesn’t loosen the screws any,” Brant responded tightly.

“If you help me out, you’ll be doing yourself a favor, as well. You’ll be close to Elliot and can mend those fences close up instead of from afar.”

Brant rose. “You’re a blackmailing SOB.”

Thurmon seemed to take no offense at the harsh words. “You’ll thank me, my friend. You wait and see.”

God, Brant hoped so. But he was afraid, something he could never let Thurmon or anyone else know. Yet he was even more frightened of never seeing his son again. So whether he liked it or not, the die had been cast.

Brant sat back down. “So what’s the problem?”

Three

Jessica sat at her desk in her office at city hall, her mind in an uproar. She had so many items on her agenda she didn’t know where to start. As a result, she simply hadn’t started. Instead she’d poured herself a second cup of coffee and was drinking it at leisure, something she rarely did.

Today, however, was going to be an especially difficult one, and she needed extra fuel to help her get through it. First off, she had a meeting scheduled with Councilmember Lance Saxon, her biggest adversary regarding the current brouhahas with the police and over the land annexation.

The bottom line was that Saxon didn’t like her personally or professionally. She suspected his disfavor stemmed from the fact that she was a woman. He couldn’t seem to surmount that hurdle and deal with her accordingly. He’d never said as much, of course—he had more political savvy than that. Still, she sensed his feelings. Like Porter, she had an uncanny knack for reading people.

Saxon was also outspoken and adversarial. Often she was capable of putting him in his place without losing her dignity or her professionalism, but there were times when he pushed her too far and felt the sting of her tongue.

She hoped this morning she could maintain her cool professionalism and make him understand once and for all her actions concerning the chief and the land. Since the controversy had occurred, Saxon had managed to swing several other councilmembers over to his side.

Not a good thing.

Jessica sighed, then took another sip of her coffee, letting her gaze wander around the room. Nice. Soothing. Smart. Those were the words that jumped to mind as her eyes touched on the mint-green and gold tapestry-covered chairs, the tall, full plants placed just right for the sunlight to perform its magic, and the artwork that adorned the wall, gathered from her trips abroad with Porter.

At the moment her office felt more secure than her home, as the office hadn’t been invaded by her nemesis. Jessica shivered, her thoughts reverting to her conversation with Veronica last evening and the decision she had made.

All morning she’d been regretting giving Veronica the green light on the bodyguard gig. Given more time, surely she could work through this situation on her own. On the other hand, the rose incident had frightened her to the core.

Someone hated her.

Enough to kill her?

Jessica gripped the cup so tightly she could see her knuckles turn white. She wouldn’t let this pervert win, dammit. She wouldn’t. Even if it meant having a stranger invade her life for a while. She could cope with that. But could the council? Should she even tell them?

Under the circumstances, what choice did she have? To date, the only one besides Veronica who knew about the threats was her assistant, Tony Eason, and even he didn’t know about this latest one. She dreaded telling him for more reasons than one.

“You’re here awfully early.”

“Ah, good morning,” Jessica said to the short but stout young man who all but fluttered into her room, dressed outlandishly, as usual. He had on a brightly flowered tie and salmon-colored sports coat. She winced inwardly at the combination but didn’t let on. “I was just thinking about you.”

Tony Eason smiled while shoving his small wire-rimmed glasses closer to the bridge of his nose. Once he’d removed his hand, his gray-green eyes peered into hers, something he always did, as if gauging her mood for the day.

He was single, in his early thirties, efficient and precise as a prim schoolteacher. The buzz around city hall was that Tony was gay. She discouraged and disapproved of such gossip when it pertained to anyone, but especially Tony. He was completely dedicated to her and the job, and she couldn’t imagine what she would do without him, and his sex life was no one’s business but his own.

“So how was your evening?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Uh-oh, what happened?”

“More of the same, only worse.”

Tony perched on the edge of her large desk, placing the folders he was carrying on his lap. “This has gone on far too long.”

“I know.”

“So what happened?”

Jessica filled him in, leaving nothing out.

“Lord a mercy, we’ve …you’ve got to do something.”

“I am.” She told him then about Veronica and Thurmon’s friend.

“Mmm.” Tony rubbed his smooth chin. “A bodyguard. Not a bad idea. I should’ve already thought of that.”

“How do you think the council will react?”

“They’ll be concerned.”

“Or tell me I deserve it.”

Tony lifted a sooty brow, too perfect to belong to a man. “Saxon, perhaps, but he’s a pompous you-know-what.”

Jessica smiled. “He thinks he’s right and I’m wrong. That’s his prerogative.”

“I don’t think you could please the man no matter what you did.”

Jessica smoothed a pleat on her coral Ralph Lauren slacks that had a matching jacket hanging on the coatrack. She had purposely dressed in what she referred to as high style. Although her outfit was tailored, it was also very feminine. Even though she worked in a man’s world, she never wanted to join that world. She was content with herself as a woman and what she’d accomplished.

“Porter would know how to handle Saxon,” she finally said, more for her benefit than Tony’s.

“If your husband were still mayor, there wouldn’t be anything to handle.”

“So you also think it’s me?”

“Sure do. He can’t get over the fact that a woman is running the city. I bet he chokes on that every meal. Pleasant thought, isn’t it?”

Jessica almost smiled. “Shame on you.”

“Ah, forget him.” Tony gestured with a hand. “Even if he doesn’t come around to your way of thinking, the others will. The city has too much to lose.”

“We’ll see. But never forget how much influence Saxon wields or how much money he has. Both are synonymous with power.”

“I’m betting on you.”

“In any event, I’m going to send each member a letter explaining what’s going on, especially since I’m getting a bodyguard.”

“That’s probably smart.” Tony paused. “So when’s this bodyguard supposed to come on duty?”

“I’m not sure. Could be any time now, I suppose. Thurmon and Veronica are in charge of the arrangements.”

“Meanwhile, do you think it’s wise for you to be alone? I can always bunk on your sofa.”

“Absolutely not, even though I appreciate the offer.” Jessica’s full lips thinned. “I’m not about to let this maniac totally rule my life.”

“You’ll be careful, though, won’t you?”

Jessica heard the anxiety in Tony’s voice and realized how foolhardy she must sound. Last night’s incident, in particular, was not something to be taken lightly. Still, it was hard to admit she needed anyone. She’d grown so used to taking care of herself that she resented the loss of that God-given right.

“I promise I won’t take any unnecessary chances. But I’m sure Veronica and Thurmon will see that I don’t, so you can rest easy.”

“Good.” Tony stood, then peered at his watch. “Since it’s almost time for Saxon’s appointment, I’ll let these files slide until later.”

“Not if they’re important.”

“Nothing that can’t wait until after he leaves.” Tony paused, his features becoming solemn and pinched. “There is one more thing. I debated about telling you.”

“Don’t ever do that.” Jessica came as close to snapping at him as she ever had. “What is it?”

“Dale Lipton. He’s thrown his hat back into the mayoral ring.”

Jessica groaned out loud. “That’s not good news.”

“And Saxon will be backing him. Count on it.”

“Oh, I know. Lipton and Saxon are not only good friends but business partners of sorts, or so I’ve heard.”

“No problem. You’ve got class and smarts. They have neither.” He massaged the top of his head. “Besides, you’ve already trounced Lipton once. You can do it again.”

“I won’t give in or up without a fight. Last election, he fought low and dirty.”

“But you didn’t, and that’s why you beat him.”

Tony grinned at the same time his glasses slipped down on his nose, making him look like a figure out of a comic magazine, especially as a twig of unruly hair was sticking up from the crown of his head. But she didn’t dare say a word. He would have a fit if he knew his hair was mussed.

“As soon as things in the office and in my personal life settle, we’ll find a new chief, then I’ll get started on my reelection plans.”

“I have several people in mind to manage the next one. Well-qualified people.”

“Good. We’ll get together on that soon.”

Tony headed toward the door. “Oh, something else.”

“What?”

“Since the council okayed that Zurich mayoral conference, does that mean I’m to make plans for you to attend?”

“Of course. It’s a chance I’d be foolish to pass up.”

“Well, with all this mess going on, I wasn’t sure.”

Jessica didn’t hesitate. “Now you are.”

“Great. I’ll buzz personally when Saxon arrives.”

“Thanks,” Jessica said with a downturn of her mouth.

Tony’s lips twitched. “Any time.”

Once she was alone, Jessica stood, walked into her bathroom and trashed her cold coffee. But instead of heading back to her desk and tackling the phone messages and mounds of paperwork, she went to the window and stared at the Dallas skyline.

Lovely city. Lovely time of the year. Her favorite, in fact. The flowers and trees were in full bloom. Everything looked and smelled fresh, especially after a cleansing rain shower like the one they’d had last night.

Now the sun was shining. Maybe that was a good omen.

She needed that. Since Porter’s death, she had made her career her life in an effort to soak up the loneliness that oftentimes haunted her. She knew she had been a good mayor. She had made things happen for the city—good things. She definitely earned more money than she was paid rather than being paid more than she earned.

Her goal was to continue to be the best, most conscientious mayor she could be, then seek reelection, a prospect that no longer loomed brightly. But it would, as soon as she rode out the current political storm. Because she felt so justified concerning her bold actions, she was determined to remain strong and unbending in her decisions.

The chips would just have to fall where they would.

Her buzzing phone jolted her back to the moment at hand. She crossed to the desk and pressed the button. “Yes.”

“Mr. Saxon’s here.”

“Send him in.” Jessica walked to the coatrack and slipped into her jacket just as the door opened and Saxon strode in.

“Morning, Mrs. Kincaid.”

He rarely showed her the respect of her title, which didn’t bother her. It merely showed how unprofessional and insulting he could be when it suited him. Today was apparently one of those days.

“Good morning,” she forced herself to say as politely as possible. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“I hope you’ll still feel that way after I leave,” he countered with his usual bluntness.

She ignored that and asked him to sit down.

Lance Saxon was of average height, with a balding head and jowls that shook when he made any kind of sudden movement. The circumference of his middle was also noticeable, indicating that he lived the good life to the max.

He took a seat, but by the time she sat behind her desk, he was standing again, seeming to tower over her, his nostrils flaring.

Keeping her emotions in check, Jessica smiled, then asked, “So what’s on your mind?”

“Oh, I think you know. But for starters, I insist you reinstate the police chief.”

Thirty minutes later Lance Saxon strode out of her office, but not before stopping, turning and firing off one more verbal round. “Rest assured, you won’t get away with your actions, Mrs. Kincaid.”

Though her legs were less than steady, Jessica had forced herself to follow him to the door with another smile plastered on her face. Now that he was actually leaving her office, her hand circled the knob so hard she experienced a wince of pain.

That was when she saw him.

Standing in her outer office, staring at her. A moment of panic seized her and held her motionless. Had her nemesis managed to get… No. The pervert harassing her wouldn’t look like this man.

Was that her bodyguard?

Most likely, she assured herself, feeling her stomach unknot. As far as she knew, she didn’t have any more appointments until after lunch. Where was Tony? Not at his desk, unfortunately.

“You’re obviously Jessica Kincaid.”

His low, rather rough-sounding voice had a strange effect on her nerves. She stiffened. “And who might you be?”

“Brant Harding, your bodyguard.” His lips twitched, as if he would have loved to smile, only his lips wouldn’t cooperate.

Jessica swallowed, suddenly at a loss for words. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but it wasn’t the likes of this man. For some crazy reason, she felt an instant visceral response. The first thought that came to mind was the word dangerous; with his dark, brooding looks, he reminded her of a stalking panther.

No man had ever struck her with such animal force, leaving her more than a little disconcerted.

Wetting her lips, she said inanely, “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“That’s obvious.”

She flushed, something she didn’t do often. “Won’t you come in?”

He strode into the room. Reluctantly she closed the door behind her, fighting off the insane feeling that she was sealing her doom.

Four

Jessica sensed Brant Harding was as uncomfortable with the situation as she was. It didn’t take any brain-power to figure that out. So why had he come? And why didn’t she just send him on his way? Good questions, but with no good answers.

“Shall we get down to business?”

Although his tone was not exactly brusque, it touched on it. “I have no problem with that,” she said, feeling her temper rise, which was totally out of character for her. It took a lot to rile her, but there was something about this man that set her on edge. As the seconds ticked on, that edge seemed to sharpen.

Why hadn’t she asked Veronica more about him when she’d had the chance? She kicked herself mentally for that oversight. At the time, however, she had assumed he was an older man, the Saxon type, perhaps, with a bald spot on the top of his head. Well, he certainly wasn’t old—early to mid-forties, she gauged. Nor did he have a bald spot.

Shifting her thoughts abruptly, Jessica turned and made her way into her office proper.

Brant didn’t sit down, but then, she didn’t invite him to, either. Briefly their eyes met before both looked away.

However, Jessica didn’t have to stare at him to know what he looked like. The image of his tall, well-honed body dressed in a pair of casual slacks, sports shirt and boots was imprinted on her mind. He seemed to dominate her office, and it wasn’t small, either. It was the man himself. He exuded that kind of power and authority.

No wonder he was a crackerjack agent. Still, that didn’t excuse his curt behavior. Without having to be told, she knew no one had been able to make him show up here—favor or no favor. She imagined Brant Harding did his own thing, in his own time.

Handsome? No. His features, which were etched with an almost bitter overtone, were too strong for that. Noticeable? Oh, yes. His thick dark hair was entwined with silver and appeared like it wanted to curl, which merely added to its richness. And his dark eyes were surrounded by thick sooty lashes, lashes that most women would kill for, herself included.

A living, breathing work of art was what he was.

Clearing her throat and hoping she’d successfully maintained her composure, Jessica jerked her mind back on track. Remembering her manners, she offered him a cup of coffee.

“No, thanks. But I would like to know who that guy was and what he meant by his parting shot.”

He was also a man who came straight to the point, Jessica noted. A man who apparently didn’t believe in wasting words.

“His name is Lance Saxon, and he’s a councilmember.”

“He’s obviously not happy with some of your latest decisions.”

“That’s an understatement. He’s by far my biggest critic.”

“Is it because of the police stink?”

“So you know about that.”

He shrugged his shoulders, which were the width of a fullback’s. “Thurmon told me you’d cleaned house.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. What I did was relieve the chief of his duties, along with two officers whom I put on suspension.”

Dark eyebrows quirked. “Sounds pretty drastic to me, but I’m sure you had your reasons.”

God, he was irritating. “Evidence was uncovered that the officers were on the take and the chief knew it but did nothing. In addition, there was strong evidence of police brutality, not just in one incident but several. The same officers were involved each time.”

Jessica paused and drew a clear breath. “Pending further investigation, I thought it best for the city that I take such a bold move.”

“So everything is well documented.”

“I have folders filled with complaints,” Jessica said.

“So you do indeed have your guns loaded.”

“That seems to surprise you,” she responded in a testy tone, having difficulty hiding her growing irritation. “Or maybe it’s that you don’t approve.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “It doesn’t matter what I think.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t.

” Brant’s eyes narrowed. “It’s what the council thinks that matters.”

“If I were a m—” Jessica broke off, choking on the word man.

Brant finished the sentence for her. “If you were a man, you might have more support, right?”

“That’s right,” she said, unable to suppress the bitterness that sometimes caught her unawares. “I suppose you feel the same way.” Not that she gave a damn.

Again he seemed a bit shocked at her directness, though his tone was even and unruffled. “Actually, I don’t have an opinion one way or the other.”

“Good,” she muttered, turning away from his intense gaze.

“Not all on the council are on your side, I take it.”

Jessica faced him again. “Saxon especially, like I said. He’s determined to make me reinstate the chief and the officers, then make a public apology.”

“And you intend to fight him?”

“To the end. I did what I felt was right, but only after I carefully weighed all the evidence. And consequences. Trust me, it wasn’t an easy decision. And in the long run, it could cost me dearly.”

“Your job.” A blunt statement of fact.

“Yes.”

“Do you think Saxon might be behind the threats toward you?”

Jessica was taken aback. “Of course not. He’s a pillar of the community, plus he’s one of the wealthiest men in the city.”

“So?”

She stiffened. “So I don’t think it’s Saxon. He’s pompous and everything that goes with that, but he’s no fool.”

“That remains to be seen.”

Jessica tightened her lips. Talking to him was like constantly bumping into a brick wall.

“What else is going on in your professional life that might generate this kind of menace?”

“There’s a big land deal pending,” she said, following a deep sigh. “More to the point, there’s a huge tract of land I’m trying to annex into the city. In fact, I thought I had all the loose ends tied and knotted, that it was a done deal, only I’ve suddenly encountered severe opposition.”

“Such as?”

“Industry. One of the major land owners, who’s actually a friend of mine, has been approached by a worldwide industrial company. This company wants to build a plant on part of the land. As it stands now, the community where it’s located has a much cheaper tax rate than the city of Dallas.”

“If you get your way, then the company might want to move elsewhere.”

“Most likely they will.”

“Which will screw the owners out of a mega deal.” Brant rubbed his chin. “Not a great scenario.”

“There’s more, I’m afraid,” Jessica added. “The other portion of the land is being developed for garden homes. A polling firm was hired to question the interested parties. The community won hands down, citing city taxes again.”

“Sounds like another hornet’s nest.”

“Maybe.” Jessica stiffened. “Nonetheless, I’m going to fight them on it.”

“Is the council behind you?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Could anyone connected with the land project be responsible for the threats?”

“I have no idea, though my first thought would be no.”

Brant rubbed his jaw. “What about your friend?”

“Curtis Riley? Absolutely not.” This time she was empathic.

His eyes drilled her. “How do you know?”

“I just know,” she said with cold emphasis.

“Okay, how ’bout your personal life?”

Jessica bristled. “That’s not an issue.”

“At this point, Mrs. Kincaid, everything’s an issue.” He gave her a hard stare. “And everyone.”

“Not as far as I’m concerned.”

The air suddenly crackled with suppressed hostility.

“Look, if I’m going to do my job effectively,” Brant said, his slightly curled lip registering his impatience, “you have to be forthcoming.”

“Need I remind you it’s not your job yet?” The words were out before she could stop them. Now it was too late to recall them. In that moment the already charged atmosphere seemed to heighten another degree.

“Fine.” Brant pushed away from the wall where he’d been leaning. “When you decide, I’ll be at the Nashes’ house.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

Brant turned at the door, his eyes narrowed to slits. “You have twenty-four hours to make up your mind, then I’m out of here.”

The moment she was alone, Jessica’s entire body wilted. She hadn’t realized she’d been so uptight until then. Biting down on her lower lip, she walked back to her desk and sat down.

Brant Harding had the potential to rev up her nerves as much or more than the threats against her. The idea of having him invade her life was unthinkable. Where did that leave her?

Back at square one.

He had told Thurmon this was crazy, that he wasn’t the right man for the job. Since he’d met the woman, he knew that for a fact. Thank God her clear dislike of him had gotten him off the hook.

She wasn’t about to hire him.

Even so, he thought as he sat in his car in his friends’ driveway, he wasn’t looking forward to conveying the news to them. If he weren’t careful, the whole episode could turn around and bite him on the ass. The monkey had to rest on Jessica’s back. But whether she would assume that responsibility remained to be seen.

That was her problem, not his.

He might as well get out and get his chore over with. Yet he didn’t budge. Instead he took his cell phone out of his pocket with every intention of calling his son. Then it dawned on him that Elliot was probably still in school. Or was school out? Hell, he didn’t even know what his kid was up to. All the more reason why he needed to hang around, he reminded himself, bitterness swelling inside.

But working for that uptight broad was not the answer.

She might be a looker as well as a mover and a shaker, with that lovely face, short tousled hair that moved when she did, and those long, shapely legs, and thin, well-curved body. Too much for him to handle. He would be the first to admit that, and he didn’t feel the least bit shamed by it.

A cold fish under a warm designer outfit.

That had been his initial reaction and that hadn’t changed. Hell to work for, too, he would bet. Spoiled, used to having her own way. Nah, he didn’t need that extra headache. Thurmon would just have to find someone in his firm who would suit her needs. He wished them the best of luck.

Come morning, he was hauling ass back to Arkansas. In just the small amount of time he’d been in the city, his stomach had been knotted. He despised crowds and concrete. He’d had enough of both.

Once he was back on his own turf, he would have to start working on another plan for patching things up with his son. Just because this arrangement hadn’t panned out didn’t mean he’d lost his determination. He would merely have to take another tack.

Moments later, Brant was inside the Nash house, sitting at the kitchen table watching Veronica whip up a bowl of chicken salad for sandwiches. A tray of cheese and fruit was already on the table, along with three choices of bread.

“As you guessed, Thurmon had to run to the office and handle a problem,” she said, turning and smiling at him.

“Figures.”

“You of all people should understand that,” she said, adding to her smile.

“It’s been a long time, but yeah, I understand. It goes with the territory.”

“I’m still not used to it, though. I don’t think I’ll ever be.”

“But you’ve hung in.”

She obviously picked up on the bitterness in his tone, because her animated features sobered. “Are you still smarting from Marsha’s betrayal?”

“No. We should never have married to begin with. The part I regret is Elliot.”

“Have you spoken to him yet, let him know you’re in town?”

He heaved a sigh. “I almost called a few minutes ago, but I didn’t know if he was in school or not.”

“I don’t think it’s quite out yet, but close. Anyway, you’ll have plenty of time now that you’re back for a while.” She paused. “Which brings us to the reason you’re sitting here. How did your meeting with Jessica go?”

Brant didn’t flinch, though he picked up on the anxious note in her voice. “It didn’t.”

“What does that mean?” Veronica’s voice rose a level.

“I don’t think your friend was impressed with me.”

“That’s crazy. You’re the best at this kind of thing.”

“You’ll have to take that up with her.”

“Exactly what did she say?”

“That she’d call me. I told her she had twenty-four hours to make up her mind. But I think it’s already made up.”

“Oh dear,” Veronica said, gnawing on her lower lip. “You can’t desert her, Brant. You just can’t.”

“Hey, she’s the one who’s making that call, not me. I asked some questions she didn’t want to answer, and that seemed to be that.”

“She’s a very private person. Her job forces her to be.”

“I can respect that, but at the same time, when your life’s in danger, you have to make adjustments.” He toyed with a fork. “She apparently hasn’t reached that conclusion yet. Until she does…” He let his voice trail off, but Veronica got his drift.

“I’m really worried about her. She’s so damned independent, yet she misses depending on Porter.”

“What happened to him?”

“He died of a heart attack. He was twenty-five years older than she was. I know what you’re thinking, but it worked for them.”

“Whatever.”

Veronica eased down in the chair across from him. “Promise me you won’t give up. Not until I’ve talked to her again, anyway. Thurmon, too.”

Brant blew out his breath. He hated feeling trapped in the middle of a situation he couldn’t control. Granted, he wanted to help his friends, to do right by them. At the same time, he had to look out for his own best interest.

And watching over Jessica Kincaid was not in his best interest. Still, he had given her a deadline, and he intended to honor that. “All I can promise is to wait for her call.”

Veronica toyed with her lip. “She can be really stubborn.”

“If I get the green light, I’ll do my best.”

“Fair enough,” Veronica said, looking slightly relieved. “Maybe she’ll come to her senses.”

He doubted that, but he kept his mouth shut.

Five

“Sure you don’t want me to bunk on the sofa?”

“Thanks again, Tony, but no.” Jessica softened her words with a smile. “You escorted me this evening and made sure I got home. That’s more than enough.”

He made his familiar hand gesture. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. If you need me or the police, don’t hesitate to call. There are a lot of officers who are still backing you.”

Jessica’s features turned pensive. “I wish I could be sure of that. Sometimes I feel like daggers are being thrown at me. Sort of paranoid, I know, but—” She broke off with a small shrug.

“Trust me,” Tony said in an adamant tone, “that’s not the case. You did the right thing. Don’t forget that.”

“Thanks for those encouraging words.” Jessica smiled. “I needed them. Thanks again, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“I’m not leaving until I check the house.”

A few minutes later Jessica bolted the door behind Tony and headed to her bedroom for a quick shower. She’d had a soaking bath before going to the art exhibit, but for some unexplainable reason, she felt the need for a hot shower. Maybe it would calm her fractured nerves.

She hadn’t said anything to Tony, but during her meanderings through the exhibit she’d felt certain she was being followed, as if evil eyes and footsteps followed every step she took. Of course, she hadn’t been able to spot anyone who appeared out of the ordinary. But that hadn’t meant anything; when it came to stalkers, she would be easy to fool.

All the more reason why you need protection, she told herself.

Thrusting that unwanted thought aside, Jessica peeled off her silk black dress and hung it up. That was when the phone rang. She froze, chills running through her. But after checking the caller ID, she breathed a relief of sorts.

It was her stepson. Since it was late, his calling couldn’t be good news. This wasn’t the first time he’d pulled such a stunt, either. “Hello, Roy,” she said as pleasantly as possible.

“Where have you been?”

Jessica squelched her tart reply, not up to having a verbal slinging match with him. She already had too much friction and discord in her life to add him to the list. “At a charity function, doing my job.”

“Look, I want to come over.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.”

“No, Roy, you can’t. It’s too late.”

“It’s only eleven o’clock, for chrissake.”

“That’s late for me.”

“Make an exception.”

“Is something wrong?” Perhaps this time there was a legitimate reason for his call, not just one of his pleas for extra money.

“Yeah, there’s a lot wrong. I want my money.”

Jessica sighed silently, turning a deaf ear to the desperate note she heard in his voice. He was up to his same old tricks, and she refused to be hoodwinked again.

“I don’t want you here,” Jessica stressed, though she hid her anger. “So don’t waste your time.”

“I’m coming anyway.”

“Go ahead,” she said in the same tone, though she firmed it up a bit. “But I won’t let you in, and if you cause a ruckus, I’ll call the police or someone else in the complex will.”

“Dammit, Jessica—”

“You can damn me all you want, Roy, but I’m not going to talk to you in person tonight.”

“You can go to hell.”

With that, he slammed the phone down in her ear. Wearily, Jessica eased down on the bed and ran her hands back and forth though her thick hair.

She didn’t know when her relationship with Roy had begun deteriorating. Yes, she did: soon after Porter died and Roy found out she’d been made executor of his trust fund. When the will was probated, Roy had been sure he would get his inheritance in one lump sum. Porter had made sure that hadn’t happened, which had stirred bad feelings.

Still, Roy had moved in with her for a few months, trying to get on his feet after starting a new job. Then he moved out. She guessed the only reason that brief time together had worked was because he was never there, so they had rarely seen one another.

Apparently, though, his animosity toward her had been silently festering and she hadn’t realized it. Porter had never taken the time to discuss his will. She had assumed she would inherit her share and Roy his, with no strings attached to either. Well, there had been strings attached, all right, and Roy had never forgiven his dad for what he saw as a betrayal. He hadn’t forgiven her, either, for not relinquishing her hold over his money.

Too bad. Roy would just have to continue to live within his means instead of outside them. After all, he was thirty-three years old, with a responsible job at a respected computer firm, making good money. And he wasn’t married. She couldn’t imagine why he was always broke.

Booze, she suspected. Or worse.

But that wasn’t her problem. He wasn’t her problem, and she refused to let herself worry about him. While she would help him, had helped him, she refused to further indulge his taste for the high life. If she did, he would soon be broke.

Holding to that thought, Jessica got up and finished undressing, then stepped into the shower. Shortly afterward she climbed into bed, but sleep eluded her.

Tossing back the sheet, she crossed to the computer and reached for the switch, only to hesitate. Then, furious with herself for letting her nemesis win, she clicked it on. If there were any messages from him, she would have to face them sooner or later.

She had several messages, the last one from her cowardly enemy. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to read the words.

You Stink-Ass Bitch. You’re Not Much Longer

For This World.

Another threat. Sick to her stomach, Jessica shut down the computer and began pacing the floor. Brant Harding? Was he the answer? The only answer? Just thinking about him and his strong appeal made her uneasy, though certainly in a different way. Yet she had to admit, there was also something about him that made her feel safe and secure. Her instincts told her he would take care of her.

Or did that feeling stem from something else—a more basic instinct?

Shrugging that absurd thought aside, Jessica paused in her thoughts and in her pacing. It was just that she felt so alone, so incredibly lonely. So frightened. Maybe if she and Porter had had a child… What was wrong with her? Her husband hadn’t wanted another child, nor had she. She had never thought of herself in terms of motherhood, anyway, probably because her own mother hadn’t set all that great an example.

Jessica’s eyes darted to the picture of her mother, father, sister and herself that she kept on the secretary in her bedroom, the only picture still in existence of them as a family. She had hidden this one from her mother’s vicious rampage. She had never figured out why, since that time in her life had been one of the most painful.

Even now, just thinking about that fateful day when she’d learned her father had abandoned them, her breathing turned labored and the room spun. Time had never softened that blow.

She had been barely seven years old and had walked into the kitchen one summer morning to eat breakfast. Her mother had been sitting at the table, sobbing.

“Mommy, what’s wrong?” she had asked, racing up to her.

“Your father’s gone, that’s what,” Opal had spat. “The sorry coward just walked out, leaving nothing behind but this lousy note.” She held it up, then proceeded to rip the paper into tiny pieces.

“Don’t cry,” Jessica pleaded. “He’ll be back. He’s just gone to work.”

“No, he hasn’t!” Opal cried again, then, grabbing her, shook her until her teeth banged together. “Don’t you understand? He’s gone forever.”

“No,” she whimpered, after her mother turned her loose, though her little heart was beating so hard she found it difficult to speak. “He loves us. He wouldn’t do that.” Huge tears spilled from her eyes and soaked her cheeks.

“He hates us!” Opal cried, her features twisted with bitterness. “Don’t you ever forget that. And don’t ever mention his name again. As far as I’m concerned, he’s dead. You hear that? He’s dead.”

Fearing her mother was going to grab her again, Jessica stepped out of harm’s way, whirled and ran to her room, where she cried until she couldn’t cry anymore. Then she got up and went to the window that overlooked the front yard. She stood there all day and night waiting for her daddy to come back home.

He never did.

From then on, her life was never the same. Her mother changed, turned into a mistrusting, bitter woman who continually bad-mouthed men, instilling in both her girls how important it was for them to stand on their own, never to trust or depend on a man for anything, especially their livelihood.

Jessica had taken that lesson to heart, rarely ever dating until she went to college. Even then, she had only one serious relationship, which failed when she refused to marry the boy.

Only after she graduated from law school and began practicing law had she dated anyone else seriously, and that was Porter. That had been a giant step for her.

Scar tissue covered a portion of her heart. And every so often thoughts of her mother and that awful day would prick that tissue and reopen the wound. She would hemorrhage from the heart again.

Like now. Feeling the wetness on her face, Jessica grabbed a tissue out of the box. This weak display of emotions would never do. The tears resulted from the havoc she was going through, mainly the threats against her.

Once that was fixed, her life would surely revert to normal. So how was she going to stop the menace? Simple. Do what she should already have done.

With a resigned sigh, Jessica reached for the phone and punched out the Nashes’ phone number, praying she wasn’t making a big mistake.

Six

He would rather have a root canal than be confined indoors, doing what he’d sworn he would never do again. Brant thought he had learned long ago never to say never. He guessed he hadn’t.

He could look for a scapegoat all he wanted, but there wasn’t any. He had no one to blame but himself for letting his conscience overrule his sound judgment. A cynical smile altered his lips.

Face it, Harding, you don’t have a conscience.

He had lost that years ago. Yet something was sure as hell playing pull and tug with his insides or he wouldn’t be in this predicament. His son. He was that something. If it hadn’t been for Elliot, he wouldn’t have fallen victim to Thurmon’s arm twisting in the first place.

But dammit, wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to do any good or change one thing. Besides, it wasn’t like him to look back. Maybe that had to do with the fact that he was a trained marksman whose eyes were always ahead, on the target.

He admitted that part of his ill humor stemmed from the improbability of the situation that had again sneaked up on him and bitten him in the rear.

He really hadn’t expected her to call. In fact he’d been stunned. After their encounter the day before, he’d figured he would be making plans to see Elliot, then return to Arkansas.

Brant wondered what happened to make her change her mind. When she’d called the Nashes’ house and told him he had the job, she had asked him to meet her at her office the following morning. Early.

He was there at the appointed time. He suspected she was, too, alone behind closed doors. Not a good idea. Brant peered at his watch just as the door to her office opened and Jessica walked out.

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Harding,” she said in her cool, polite manner.

It was obvious she wasn’t any happier with the situation today than yesterday. She wasn’t happy with him or what he represented, that was the bottom line. Too bad. She got the entire package, whether she wanted it or not.

“I’m willing to make this as painless as possible for both of us,” he responded in the same tone.

An uneasy silence fell between them.

Her assistant picked that moment to breeze in, and she introduced him. The young man was dressed so comically it was all Brant could do to keep a straight face. And smiles didn’t come easy to him. Still, that bow tie and black-and-white shoes he had on should’ve been outlawed in the work place. On second thought, they should have been outlawed, period.

He shrugged inwardly. As long as Eason was competent and Jessica was comfortable with him, Brant couldn’t care less. The guy’s mode of dress was the least of his concerns.

“I know we need to talk, to lay some ground rules,” she said, “but it’ll have to wait.” Pausing, she glanced back into her office. “I have a full agenda today,” she added awkwardly, obviously having difficulty dealing with this abrupt change in her life—a stranger invading it.

For a moment Brant felt a pinch of sympathy for her. But it passed just as quickly. He wasn’t about to develop feelings for her one way or the other. As soon as he nailed whoever was behind this menace, he would be gone. Until then, he would have to suck it up, the same as she would.

“No problem. If you need me, I’ll be here.”

“Where?”

He picked up on the panic in her voice, and his lips twisted. “Wherever you want.”

“Surely not in my office proper.”

This time her tone was so strained it came out a raspy whisper. For some reason that small change added to her attractiveness. Realizing his thoughts had betrayed him, Brant mentally shook himself.

“Not unless you want me there,” he said, knowing damn well she didn’t.

“No,” she countered quickly. “Here in the reception area will be fine.” Her gaze shifted to a stack of magazines. “Maybe you can keep occupied.”

“Don’t worry about me. Waiting and watching is what I do.”

She visibly let go of a breath. “Fine, then.”

Once she was back at her desk, Tony turned to him. “Please bear with her.” His eyes were anxious. “It’ll take her a while to get use to this drastic change.” He paused and touched his plastered-down hair. “But I’m glad you’re around. This person who’s after her apparently means business.”

Brant was instantly on the alert. “Has something else happened?”

“Yes,” Tony said almost in a hushed tone. “In case she doesn’t mention it to you, ask her about the e-mail she received last night.”

Ah, so that was what had made her call him. She’d gotten scared. Good. She was wising up. This pervert could end up harming her. No longer. The sicko would have to go through him to get to her.

“Thanks for the tip.”

Tony nodded, then went into Jessica’s office and shut the door.

Although it had been a long day, it hadn’t been boring—too much activity. He’d been busy handling traffic. There had been a steady stream of people in and out of Jessica’s office all day. Millie, her girl Friday, had identified them beforehand, as if sensing Brant would have stopped them otherwise.

In addition, he’d touched base with Thurmon a couple of times, though they hadn’t been able to talk much. But then, there really wasn’t anything to talk about, since he hadn’t had time alone with Jessica to talk over the situation. His instincts told him she’d planned her day that way.

Maybe not. Maybe he wasn’t being fair. He had to hand it to her; she was one busy lady, with her fingers in every pie in the city, which could be what had landed her in the jam to begin with. She had royally pissed off someone, that was for sure.

Now, as the work day came to an end, Brant leaned against the wall and crisscrossed his arms over his chest. The office had finally emptied, leaving Jessica alone. She suddenly appeared in his line of vision. She looked weary. Or maybe concerned was a better word.

What was on her mind? Him, probably, he told himself with his usual cynicism. What to do with him after they left here. Well, he wasn’t jumping through hoops over spending the evening alone with her, either. But that was part of the job, occasionally one of the hazards. In this case, it was definitely the latter.

He hadn’t meant to stare at her as she moved about her office, but in spite of himself, his gaze held steady. Just for a moment he indulged himself. No doubt she was an eye grabber. A classy one at that.

Great profile.

Great hair, too, the blond highlights looking like streaks of sunlight every time she moved her head.

And those legs. They seemed to go on forever beneath the skirt of her suit, another designer one, he bet.

And her breasts. He couldn’t ignore them. Never. Through the silk blouse, he was privy to just a hint of their upright fullness. She chose that moment to stretch, thrusting those breasts front and center, her nipples pushing against the silk. Brant’s breath caught in his throat.

Muttering an oath, he was about to jerk his eyes away when she caught them with her own. For a second it was as if he’d been shocked with a sudden jab of electricity.

Muttering another curse, he was the first to look away. Then he strode to the window and stared below at the beehive of activity. Traffic was bumper-to-bumper. What was he doing here? His worst nightmare. He fought to get control of his runaway emotions, which were telling him to bolt.

Why did she have to be such a looker? Why couldn’t she have been as homely as a mule eating briars through a picket fence? Luck of the draw. And the draw hadn’t been in his favor.

He hadn’t felt the need or the desire to get laid in a long time. He couldn’t allow himself to entertain that thought now. His son was the only thing he should be concerned with, certainly not his sexual needs.

And when and if he scratched that itch in his groin, it wouldn’t be with the likes of Jessica Kincaid, who lived in a different world from him, worlds that would never mesh in a million years. That aside, he simply wasn’t interested.

Marriage hadn’t agreed with him. Still, he wasn’t sorry he’d bitten that bullet. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have Elliot. Thinking about his son miraculously refocused him. He peered at his watch, thinking this might be a good time to try to reach Elliot. He had just flipped his cell phone open when she appeared in the door.

He swung around. She stood at a distance, a hint of a frown on her face.

“I’m about ready to call it a day.”

He cleared his throat. “I’m ready when you are.”

“I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“No problem. Your time is mine.”

She didn’t respond, though she hesitated for a minuscule second before walking back into her domain, her narrow derriere filling out her skirt to perfection.

Brant’s lips thinned into a pencil straight line.

“Does she always work this late?”

Wesley Stokes glared at his partner, Dick Wells, who occupied the seat beside him in his pickup, then curled his lips, showing off crooked, tobacco-stained teeth. “How the hell would I know?”

Wells shrugged narrow shoulders that matched his slight build and dark, clean-cut features. “Thought maybe you might have checked out her schedule.”

They had been sitting across the street from the city hall parking lot waiting for Jessica to leave. So far, she hadn’t made an appearance, and it was nearly six thirty.

Stokes’ glare harshened as he shifted his tall, beefy body in the seat so as to get a better look at his partner. “Hey, we’re in this together, right? Or have you conveniently forgotten that?”

“You know I haven’t,” Wells snapped.

“Then why didn’t you take care of it?”

“I’ve had other stuff on my mind,” Wells muttered.

“If you think you’re alone, think again.” Stokes’ tone was filled with contempt.

“Jan’s been raising old billy about me being on suspension,” Wells admitted almost reluctantly. “I’ve been spending most of my time trying to calm her down. She walks around wringing her hands, convinced we’re going to be living on the street in our car.”

Stokes snorted. “To hell with that nonsense. I told my old lady to keep her mouth shut or I’d shut it for her.”

“I can’t get by with that,” Wells said, down-in-the-mouth.

“Sure you could. You just don’t have the balls. If you’d backhand her a time or two, she’d straighten up. With a busted lip, she’d find it damn hard to nag.”

Wells cut him a look. “You’re a real bastard, Stokes. Did anyone ever tell you that?”

“Most likely, though I didn’t pay ’em no mind. I do what I have to to keep the peace in the family. When you got four kids making demands all the time, you run a tight ship.”

“I’ve got two kids myself, but I’d never hit my wife.”

“You might before we get out of this jam,” Stokes pointed out bluntly. “So don’t be taking that holier-than-thou attitude with me.”

Wells frowned. “Don’t you think the mayor will be forced to back down?”

Stokes snorted again, this time louder. “So far, Gaston Forrester hasn’t been able to budge her.”

Forrester was the interim chief, who had sworn he was on their side and who had promised to speak a good word on their behalf.

“That’s what worries me,” Wells said, following a deep sigh. “Absolutely nothing seems to be shaping up in our favor.”

“Which is why we have to take matters in our own hands and try and talk some sense into the hardheaded bitch.”

Wells shook his head, his frown darkening his features. “What if that tactic backfires?”

“Then we’ll move to plan B.”

“And what is plan B?”

Stokes grunted. “Dunno. At least not yet.”

Wells rolled his eyes. “Great.”

Stokes’ beefy hand tightened around the steering wheel. “You know, your attitude’s really pissing me off.”

“Sorry,” Wells retorted. “It’s just that I’m scared shitless that we may lose our jobs permanently.”

“Not if I have my way, we won’t,” Stokes declared. “Trust me, I’m not going to take her poking her nose in where it doesn’t belong. It’s high-time someone convinced her she doesn’t have balls and can’t hold her own with those of us who do.”

“I hope you’re right, because my family is running out of money fast.”

Stokes laughed bitterly. “Lucky you. We’ve been out. We were broke before I got suspended.”

“If only you hadn’t smacked the guy that one last time, we—”

“Cut that crap,” Stokes interrupted, his voice shaking with anger. “You were right there with me, so you don’t have the right to start squealing like a stuck pig.”

“Still, I wouldn’t have beat him half to death.”

“Well, you ain’t me, and as senior partner, that was my call. Besides, with a do-good mayor running the department, thugs are going to take over the city. That’s why those of us working the streets have to take charge.”

When Wells would have responded, Stokes sat up straighter in the seat. “Dammit, man, she’s almost to her car and here we sit.” He slapped Wells on the arm. “Come on, let’s haul ass before she does.”

Seven

“I want you to ride with me.”

Jessica paused midway to her vehicle and peered up at Brant, but not before slipping on her sunglasses, hiding her amazement. “Whatever for?”

A muscle worked in Brant’s jaw, indicating he was not pleased at being questioned. He had a lot to learn about her. Ride home with him? Why, that was crazy. So was his overbearing manner, a flaw she refused to overlook.

She knew he was used to people asking how high when he said jump, especially since he’d worked for the White House. However, her situation was a far cry from Pennsylvania Avenue, and she didn’t intend to be told what to do at every turn.

“For safety reasons,” Brant said into the tense silence. “But then, you ought to know that.”

She ignored those pointed words. “What about my car?”

“I’ll see to that later.”

“I’ll pass, thank you.”

His jaw worked harder, which told her he was furious. Seconds passed while they stared at each other, as though waiting to see who backed down first.

“I’ll follow you,” Brant said through tight lips. “But I insist you take me to my vehicle, since it’s parked across the lot.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, surely that’s not necessary?”

“Do you intend to take issue with everything I suggest?”

Though his harsh bluntness took her slightly aback, she held her ground. “Look, there’s no one around. I’ll be okay.”

“Fine, I’ll get my car. It’s just over there. Meanwhile, don’t move. Stay where I can see you.”

Fuming inwardly at his high-handed treatment of her, Jessica had her hand on the door handle when she heard her name.

“Mayor, wait up.”

Jessica whirled around and stiffened. Wesley Stokes and Dick Wells seemed to have come out of nowhere and were making their way at a rapid clip toward her. Had they seen Brant? More to the point, had Brant seen them?

Of course he had, which undoubtedly had sent his fury up another notch.

Although she was not afraid of the two suspended cops, she felt her own fury mount. It took a lot of nerve on their part to approach her in the parking lot. But then, she wasn’t surprised. It was poor judgment calls like this that had landed them in trouble in the first place. This latest move certainly wouldn’t help matters.

“Sorry to approach you like this,” Dick Wells said without hesitation, though the rest of his entire manner was indeed hesitant. For an instant she almost felt sorry for him. But only for an instant. Of the two men, Wells had a possibility of holding on to his job, but only if she could get him out from under Stokes’ influence. Stokes was one tough renegade cop, who required close scrutiny.

“What do you want?” Jessica demanded before either of them could come any closer.

“We’d like our jobs back, ma’am,” Wells continued in a humble tone, his eyes veering off in another direction.

Stokes didn’t have that problem, Jessica noticed. His eyes pinned her as if she was a worm under a knife. If she weren’t mistaken, he’d been drinking. What a disgusting man.

“This is not the time or place for such a discussion.”

“Well, just when is a good time?” Stokes said in a demanding tone.

“With your attitude, never, Mr. Stokes.”

His face flushed and his eyes flared. “You think you’re—”

Jessica backed up, only to hit the side of her car.

“Take a hike, both of you,” Brant ordered in a cold, steely voice. “Now!”

Both men stared at Brant as if trying to decide if he was someone to be reckoned with. Apparently they thought so, for they turned without another word and strode off.

Jessica refused to look at Brant. She didn’t have to. I told you so would be written in every line of his face.

“Get in,” he snapped, opening the door for her. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Silently she got behind the wheel, feeling like a child who had been reprimanded, a feeling she abhorred and wouldn’t tolerate. But now was not the time to have a confrontation with Brant. Her home would suffice.

Twenty minutes later, she drove into her garage. Once they were inside, he didn’t waste any time. “Who were those guys?”

She told him.

He gave her a hard stare. “Do you realize they could have harmed you?”

“No. They might be stupid, but not that stupid.”

“Are you always this mule-headed?”

Jessica didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

For an instant she thought she saw a flash of humor in his eyes. That couldn’t be. If this man ever smiled, his face would probably crack. What had she gotten herself into?

“Well, someone’s out to harm you, Mrs. Kincaid, and it could very well be one or both of them. If I were betting, I’d say the big one, the one who was looming over you, wouldn’t think twice about doing whatever it took to get his job back.”

“That’s Wesley Stokes. If I have my way, he’ll be off the force permanently.”

“I think he knows that, which is all the more reason why he’s been elevated to the top of the suspect list.”

Jessica frowned. “It’s possible, of course. But I doubt he has the intelligence to pull off the threats. Dick Wells might be a different story. I know he’s computer savvy.” She paused and took a deep breath, already so tired of this situation she could scream. But that wouldn’t do anything. She simply had to get through these bumpy spots in the road, then maybe she could get on with her life.

“His computer expertise sends up a red flag,” Brant said. “As far as the Stokes character goes, I wouldn’t put anything past him. He’s street smart, the most dangerous kind of smarts.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” she admitted on a sigh.

“Good. So from now on, when I suggest something—anything—that’s in your best interest, I expect you to do it.”

She threw her head back to look at him. “I’m not a child, Mr. Harding. And I resent being treated like one.”

“Then I think we’re both wasting our time.”

A hostile silence descended over the room.

“You mean there can’t be a happy medium?”

“Not with me. If I’m to do my job, then it’s my way or no way.” He paused as if to let those words sink in.

Damn his stubbornness. More to the point, who did he think he was? It wasn’t too late to fire him. It was on the tip of her tongue to do just that, but the words stuck in her throat. “Look, maybe we should postpone this discussion for another time. It’s been a long day for both of us.”

Brant shrugged his shoulders. “It’s your call. Tell me where I can bunk in for the night, then I suggest you give what I just told you serious thought.”

“Follow me,” she said through tight lips.

A short time later, Jessica was still harboring ill will toward her unwanted houseguest. She had taken a hot bath, hoping to relieve her tension and chaotic thoughts, to no avail. If anything, she was more agitated than ever. Just his presence was responsible.

After she was in her robe, it dawned on her that she hadn’t had anything to eat, nor had he. The thought of food was as unappetizing as going downstairs and running into him, but she wondered if he was hungry. Manners should have prodded her to tell him he was welcome to use the kitchen.

Too late now. Anyway, she wasn’t sure she could have uttered those words. What an impossible situation. Her gaze went to the computer, but she dared not boot it up for fear of what she would read. She would have loved to e-mail Veronica, but she couldn’t deal with anything else this evening.

When the phone rang, whether it was her land line or her cell, her instinct was to answer it. But unless she knew for sure who the caller was, she wouldn’t do it. Life was definitely too short to live like this.

All the more reason not to relieve Brant Harding of his duties.

Following their earlier conversation, she’d had every intention of doing just that, deciding she definitely couldn’t subject herself to such an invasion into her privacy. And while the thought remained tempting, her sound judgment once again came to her rescue. If she refused Brant’s help, she would be doing herself a grave injustice.

After all, this was indeed a dangerous game she was playing. And before the game came to an end, the stakes could escalate even more.

Jeopardizing her very life.

The ringing of her cell phone jarred her from her thoughts. Only after the caller ID registered a familiar number did relief wash through her.

“Hey,” she said.

“So how are things going, friend?”

“You don’t want to know.” Jessica eased onto the bed, then propped her head on a stack of pillows.

“Uh-oh,” Veronica said. “Not so good, huh?”

“I was just about to call you.”

“More harassment, I’m assuming.”

“That and—” She broke off, deciding not to blurt out her feelings concerning Brant.

“Go on,” Veronica urged in a seemingly innocent tone.

Jessica wasn’t fooled for a second. She would bet her friend either knew exactly what was going on or had a pretty good idea. “I don’t want to do this,” Jessica admitted at last.

“I know you don’t, but what choice do you have?”

“Isn’t there someone else in Thurmon’s office who could do the job?”

Silence hummed through the line.

“Not as well as Brant.” Veronica sighed. “Do you just not like him or what?”

Jessica was reluctant to admit that, fearing it might lead to much more probing questions, questions she wasn’t prepared to answer. Yet she had no intention of lying to her friend, not now, not ever.

“For some reason, he just rubs me the wrong way.”

Veronica chuckled. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“Then why on earth did Thurmon pick him?”

“He’s told you already. Brant’s the best at what he does. And since you’re my dearest friend, I’m determined that you have the best.”

Jessica sighed. “While I love you dearly for your care and concern, I’m just not sure I can handle his strong personality.”

“You’re one to be talking. I can see why you two would butt heads.”

“It’s just that he’s so…” Jessica’s voice faded as she realized how whiny and childish she must sound. Veronica, of all people, shouldn’t have to bear the brunt of her dilemma.

“Bossy and strong-willed? Was that what you were going to say?”

“Yes.”

“Look, you’ll get adjusted, but not in one day. You’re expecting too much, too soon.”

“You’re right, I know. Still…” Again Jessica’s voice faded, while her frustration rose.

“Still nothing. Just chill and go with the flow. It’ll all work out, maybe much sooner than expected. If Brant’s as good as my better half says, and I have no reason to believe otherwise, he’ll find the jerk who’s dealing you all this misery and deal him some misery of his own.”

Jessica blew out her breath.

“Where’s Brant now?”

“In the downstairs guest room.”

“So…out of sight, out of mind?”

“Right.”

“Look, you can face this mess again tomorrow. Tonight you need to get some sleep, knowing you’re in safe hands.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Good. Let me hear from you.” Veronica paused with a chuckle. “Don’t be too hard on the poor guy, okay?”

In spite of herself, Jessica smiled. “I’ll get you for that.”

“Later then.”

After she replaced her phone in its case, Jessica’s good humor fled. Somehow, she would endure. That was what she’d done all her life, and her inner strength wouldn’t fail her now.

Clinging to that thought, she turned over and closed her eyes.

Eight

He hadn’t wanted to take Thurmon up on his offer, but he had. Desperation had been the driving force. Marsha had given him the runaround long enough. He still hadn’t seen or talked to his son, because every time he called, he either didn’t get an answer or his ex-wife picked up. He’d had enough.

So when Thurmon had told him he would cover for him with Jessica that afternoon, he’d said okay. Brant’s features twisted. He knew Jessica wouldn’t be upset. On the contrary, she would be relieved.

They had been together for several days now. And while those days had been uneventful as far as threats went, the tension between them had continued to mount.

He was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. He sensed that she flat out didn’t like him and wasn’t comfortable with him under her roof. Well, he felt the same way, only he was careful not to let that show. He’d been trained not to reveal his emotions while on the job.

However, with Jessica Kincaid, that was hard to do. He was too damn aware of her as a woman. That was the problem. Her perfume drove him nuts. Everything about her drove him nuts. When she walked into a room, it seemed to come alive. She had that type of infectious personality. Laughter would ring from her office one moment, and the next she would ream someone out for not doing his duty.

She was definitely a contradiction, which made her all the more exciting. But though he admired her professionalism and her personality, most of the time he wanted to throttle her.

Jessica wasn’t into rules and regulations. Unless she set them. He’d learned that. He’d also learned she was fearless. He still wasn’t convinced she realized just how much danger was lurking around her, especially now that the pervert had backed off for a few days. That unpredictability was unnerving.

Not as unnerving as Jessica herself. What he had to keep in mind was that she might as well be the First Lady. That was how off-limits she was to him. Not that he wanted it any other way, he assured himself quickly. He didn’t, though it made him more uneasy with each passing day that his awareness of her only seemed to be heightening.

Was it only yesterday that he’d found his eyes locked on her breasts when she’d thrown her head back and laughed? When it had dawned on him what he was doing, he’d jerked his gaze away and let loose an expletive.

He’d been alone too long, he guessed. That was the only feasible explanation he could come up with for his unorthodox behavior. Maybe this torture would end sooner rather than later, so he could get back to his life.

But not before he spent time with his kid.

Which was why he was sitting across the street from Elliot’s house on the off chance he might catch him when he came home from school, then talk to him face-to-face. Brant knew it was a long shot, but he had to do something. He’d thought about waiting at the school, but since he didn’t even know what kind of car Elliot drove, it would be like hunting a needle in a haystack.

He had no idea if Marsha had been relaying his phone messages to Elliot or not. Brant suspected she hadn’t, though he couldn’t swear to it.

His son knew he was in town and had his cell number. So far, Elliot had made no effort to contact him. Brant rubbed the back of his neck, then peered at his watch.

Was this opportunity going to be wasted after all? Time was getting away from him, and he hadn’t made any headway. If only he could grab his boy and they could head back to Arkansas for a couple of weeks together. He would teach him how to fish, hunt and garden.

Brant almost laughed at that last thought. Elliot would probably think he’d lost his mind. Most kids would, and Brant suspected his own wouldn’t be any different.

His urge to laugh suddenly dried up. His son was seventeen, and he didn’t know anything about him, what he liked to do, what he liked to eat, what he dreamed about.

Nothing.

Brant gripped the steering wheel with his strong, tanned hands and squeezed. God, if only he could undo the sins of the past, what a difference it would make in his life. Unfortunately that was not the way things worked.

His screw-ups had started a long time ago. When Marsha had divorced him, Elliot had been nine. Most of those nine years, he’d been gone. And afterward—well, he rarely ever saw his kid. In a nutshell, he’d never known his son—not as a baby, a toddler, an adolescent or a teenager.

Brant’s gut twisted, and sweat dotted his upper lip. Somehow, he had to rectify that. He didn’t think he could live with himself if he didn’t. He glanced at his watch again, trying to temper his growing anxiety. Rarely did anything shake him. For the most part he was steady as a rock, or had been before he was shot. Since then, he’d had to work just to keep body and soul together. That was another reason why he hadn’t wanted an assignment.

He didn’t feel he was ready. But when Thurmon put the squeeze on him, he hadn’t had much choice. At least it gave him the opportunity to see his son, an opportunity he wouldn’t have had otherwise.

“Damn,” Brant muttered, lurching upright.

While he’d been deep in thought, Elliot had driven up and was getting out of his Mustang. For a second paralysis seemed to hold Brant in his seat. His eyes feasted on the one human who was part of himself. Pride rose in him. Even from this distance, he could see what a good-looking young man Elliot had become. Tall and strapping, just like he’d been at that age, with the same profile. His hair, however, was light brown, like his mother’s.

Forcing himself to move, Brant jumped out of his vehicle and crossed the street. “Elliot, wait up.”

His son whirled and stared at him wide-eyed; then his dark eyes narrowed and his lips thinned. Brant’s heart faltered as he thought Elliot was going to turn his back on him.

“Hello, son,” Brant forced himself to say before his own nerve failed.

“Hi,” Elliot muttered, shifting his gaze.

“I hope you don’t mind me stopping by,” Brant said, hearing the awkwardness in his voice and hating it.

Elliot shrugged. “Whatever.”

Brant strove for a decent breath. This was going to be even harder than he’d anticipated—for both of them. He was sweating like he’d been chopping logs at the cabin, and it wasn’t even hot.

“You know I’m going to be close by for a while.”

“Yeah, right.”

Brant refused to be defeated. “I thought maybe we might get together soon, maybe go out to dinner.”

“Whatever,” Elliot said again, finally looking at him.

The pain and confusion mirrored in his son’s eyes almost brought Brant to his knees. What if he couldn’t fix their broken relationship? What if the gulf was too wide to breach? No. He wouldn’t think like that. He would make things work. Whatever it took.

Now that he’d seen his son, no way was he leaving, even if Jessica Kincaid fired his ass tomorrow.

“Look, Elliot, I want a chance to make things right between us.”

Elliot’s eyes flared. “Why?”

“Because you’re my son.” And because I love you. But for some reason those words stuck in Brant’s throat. “I want us to get to know one another. I want to find out what you’re up to, where you plan to go to school.” He broke off. “Stuff like that.”

Elliot’s mouth took a bitter turn. “Don’t you think it’s a little late?”

Brant ignored his sarcasm and kept his voice calm. “No, I don’t.”

“You never cared before.”

“I always cared, Elliot,” he said with patience. “It’s just that—” Brant broke off, refusing to make any more excuses for the way he’d treated his son.

“Look, you’re right on target with your contempt of me. I’ll admit that. And I know saying I’m sorry won’t do the trick. Instead, I want to show you.” He paused, trying to gauge Elliot’s reaction, only he couldn’t. His features were as blank as a stone wall. “So what do you say?” Brant pressed. “You have any free time?”

“I’ll call you,” Elliot said, pawing at the ground with the toe of his left running shoe.

That wasn’t the answer Brant wanted, so his initial response was to say no, to set a time and place right then. Beg, if necessary. But he held his tongue. If he pushed, he sensed Elliot would push back. Get further away. At least Elliot hadn’t told him to get lost. And while that was a mere crumb, he was grateful for it.

“Calling me will work,” Brant said at last, blowing out his pent-up breath. “That’ll work just fine.”

Elliot nodded, shoving both hands down in the pockets of his jeans and not responding.

“You have my cell number, right?” Brant asked. He felt foolish, but he was loathe to end the conversation. Just being near his son gave him a new lease on life.

“Elliot?”

Brant froze. Marsha. He hadn’t even known she was home, but then, he hadn’t cared. When he’d darted up the driveway, he’d had tunnel vision. Everything else had fled his mind. Now, looking up and seeing his ex-wife standing outside the front door brought reality home with a bitter jolt.

She hadn’t changed much in the years since their divorce, except that her hair was more frosted, probably to cover up the fact that she was getting older and grayer. Perhaps she’d put on a bit more weight as well. Yet she was still attractive in an ordinary sort of way. She was short and curvy, with a reserved manner.

Her main goal in life had been to marry and have a home and children. She had resented his job from the get-go, mainly because he’d been away from home so much. Back then, he’d blamed her for that, throwing it back in her face how much she liked to spend the money he made.

So many mistakes. But losing her was not one of them, except that it had affected Elliot and their relationship. Still, he didn’t have anyone to blame for that but himself, certainly not Marsha, although she had done everything in her power to keep that wedge between them.

His downfall had been letting her get away with it. No longer. He was ready to fight.

“Hello, Marsha,” he said into the growing, hostile silence.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, her eyes pinging from him to Elliot, concern knitting her brows.

Elliot, in turn, kept looking down, as though he wished he were anywhere but there or that he could simply disappear. Brant didn’t blame him. His son had been caught in the middle his entire life.

That was also about to stop.

“I came to see Elliot.” Since you obviously haven’t bothered to give him my messages. Like so many other words, they remained unspoken.

“I can see that,” she retorted.

“We’re planning a time to get together for dinner.”

“I didn’t say that,” Elliot countered with defiance in his tone.

Brant clamped down on his emotions. “Well, I’m hopeful that will be the case.”

“Elliot, come on inside,” Marsha said. “I’m sure you have some homework.”

For a minute his son looked as if he wanted to argue, which was another crumb Brant snatched. But then Elliot muttered something under his breath, strode up the steps and slammed the door behind him.

“Thanks, Marsha. I really appreciate that.”

“No one gave you permission to come here.”

“Dammit, I don’t need permission to see my son, certainly not from you.”

“Ah, so now you’ve decided to become the model parent,” she spat, her tone as nasty as her features.

“That’s right. I made that promise to myself. I also promised I wasn’t going to have a verbal slinging match with you about Elliot.”

“What about Elliot?” she flared back.

“What about him?”

“He has no say-so in this. Right now, he’s a happy, normal young man who has a father. And it’s not you.” Marsha paused, as though giving him time to digest that thought. “It’s Preston. He’s taken your place in Elliot’s life.”

Those harsh words cut like she’d taken a knife and slashed his heart to pieces. Yet Brant never so much as flinched. “No matter what has happened in the past, Elliot is my son. And no matter how much you wish that weren’t true, it is.”

“I’ll continue to fight you.”

“That’s your prerogative. But I’m not giving up unless it comes from Elliot. You can hate me all you want, but I’m asking you not to let your hate spill over to our son.”

“Stay away from here, Brant.”

“For god’s sake, Marsha, you’re being unreasonable. Why not let Elliot make some choices on his own? He’s certainly old enough.”

“Because I don’t trust you not to hurt him again,” she said, her voice shaking with anger. “He’s suffered enough at your hands.”

“I swear to you, that won’t happen,” Brant said in a soft tone. “And while I might have done some unpardonable things in your eyes, I’ve never lied to you.”

“Somehow I take little comfort in that.”

“Can’t we just please reach a truce, for Elliot’s sake?”

“I’m making no promises, Brant, either way. I’ll talk to Preston.”

Brant clamped down on his lip so hard to stop his retort that he tasted blood. “You do that, but it’s not going to change things. Meanwhile, leave the boy alone. Use me as a whipping boy all you want, but don’t stand Elliot beside me. He deserves better.”

“And you can go to hell.”

“Thank you very much, but I’ve been there for some years now.”

For once Marsha didn’t seem to have a comeback. Instead, she let out a deep sigh, then said bitterly, “I doubt I’ll have much to say about it, anyway. As much as I hate to admit it, Elliot’s as stubborn as you when he makes up his mind.”

“Then let him make it up.” Brant stopped short of pleading.

“I told you, I’m making no promises.” With that she turned and flounced back into the house.

Brant remained rooted to the spot, feeling much like he had the day he’d gotten shot in the gut. Numb all over. That was when he noticed Elliot standing at the window, peering out, his face pinched in sadness.

Pain, as lethal as the strongest narcotic, shot through Brant’s system, almost sending him to his knees. Dejected, he turned and walked back to his vehicle.

Nine

The situation had worsened. Jessica didn’t think she would ever adjust to having another man in the house, especially a stranger. She kept telling herself something was terribly askew when one had to have a bodyguard.

The reality of that was appalling. Determined to reroute her thoughts, she opened the French doors onto the small balcony and stepped outside. Evening was settling in, and the temperature was quite pleasant. Soon, however, the heat from the brutal blast of summer would hit Texas with a vengeance, the Dallas area in particular, with very little rain to ease the pain.

Still, she wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. This lovely, high-profile city was home, the place where she lived and worked, the most important thing in her life, the reason she climbed out of bed each morning. Since she had lost Porter, she’d had to refocus, though not a lot. Without children, it was logical and easy to focus on their careers—his more than hers, as she was the backbone behind him, or so he’d told her many times.

The pain of losing Porter had subsided, thank goodness. Time had taken care of that. Now she could think of him with fond, sweet memories that were to be cherished at moments like these, when she was down-and-out. A bird sang merrily in a nearby oak tree that draped over her small deck. The oak’s thick foliage served as an umbrella against the sun during the heat of the day.

Jessica heard a sound and leaned over the railing slightly, peering down. Immediately, her heart almost stopped beating. Someone was there. She leaned farther, but whoever it was had gone.

Brant? Had he been outside? Or had her imagination been playing tricks on her? Instead of thinking about him, she forced herself to peruse the vibrant annuals, their colors bursting from the various pots spaced around the area. But her thoughts refused to cooperate. Then she heard that sound again.

With her heart thumping at an even faster rate, Jessica moved slightly, then peered down once again. Brant in the flesh. Her breath caught, and every nerve in her body jumped to high alert.

He stood unmoving with his hand shoved into his pocket, staring into the twilight. Instead of the slacks he’d worn today, he was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Not sloppy, but definitely comfortable.

Jessica swallowed hard, feeling her heartbeat move from her chest to her throat, where it seemed to pound without mercy. She was behaving like an idiot, like someone totally out of control. She fought to remove her gaze. Nothing doing. It was like her eyes had been welded to him, embracing everything about him, from his tanned muscled arms to his powerful thighs. It hit her suddenly what the problem was: he was simply too male to suit her.

A dose of trouble wrapped in a sexy package.

She wondered how he perceived her, especially when those eyes seemed to touch every part of her body when he looked at her.

Jessica shivered.

That was when he turned and looked up. In the remaining light, their gazes met and held. Her cheeks blazed, and her mouth went dry. Words she would ordinarily have no problem speaking jammed in her throat.

This would never do.

“Nice evening,” he commented, then raked his long fingers through his dark hair.

His voice had just enough harsh strength in it to further assault her senses. She couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or if he really meant it. It wasn’t important. It wouldn’t be wise to enter into a light, bantering conversation with him. Ever. That in itself would be asking for trouble. Strictly business. The less she knew about him, the better off she would be. He, on the contrary, seemed to think everything about her life should be an open book.

But this mess she’d gotten herself into for whatever reason wasn’t his fault. She had to remember that and not take her mounting frustrations out on him.

She didn’t know much about him. But she knew enough to realize he didn’t take orders nearly as well as he gave them.

“It’s lovely,” she finally forced herself to say, though she barely got the words past her dry lips.

He didn’t respond for a second, but he didn’t stop looking at her, either. “Hopefully we’ll nail the bastard and I’ll be out of here ASAP.”

Jessica flushed at his uncanny ability to read her mind. “I hope so, too,” she responded, not about to apologize for anything, including her attitude.

“Try and get some sleep,” he said, following another moment of strained silence.

“Do you need anything?” She hadn’t planned on continuing the conversation, but a myriad of hidden emotions seemed to be driving her to say meaningless, irrational things.

“I’m fine. You don’t need to concern yourself about me.”

Something in his tone further irritated her. “I’m not,” she said coldly. “It’s just that you are in my home.”

His lips turned into a smirk of sorts. “Trust me, I’m aware of that.”

Her flush deepened. “Good night.”

She didn’t know what his response was to her abrupt words or departure. Moreover, she didn’t care. If that conversation was anything to judge by, this was going to be a worse ordeal than she’d first imagined.

Only after she was back in the sanctuary of her room did Jessica breathe a clear breath. As Brant had said, she could hope it wouldn’t take long to find the pervert, then both of them would be out of their misery.

Although she wasn’t sleepy in the least, Jessica slipped out of her clothes. That was when her stomach rumbled and she realized she was hungry. She supposed she could wander downstairs and grab a quick snack. Or not. She might cross paths with Brant again.

So what if she did?

If not tonight, then certainly in the morning and all during the day, she reminded herself, slipping into a caftan. Still, she didn’t move toward the door. Instead, she grabbed a folder out of her briefcase and headed for her desk, where she turned on the computer.

Her first instinct was to check her e-mail, but, as usual these days, she hesitated, choosing to finish her work first. If she had a frightening or degrading message, it would upset her and detour her concentration.

If only the phone would cooperate. As if compelled by the same magnet that had drawn her to Brant, her gaze sought the beige instrument. In the process her eyes caught on Porter’s picture, which sat beside it. For a moment a wave a despair washed through her.

How dear and gentle he had been, and how she missed him, despite the fact that passion had never really figured in their relationship. Even though she’d shared his bed, he had never stirred the embers of her emotions. Oftentimes she’d wondered if she was capable of feeling such stirrings. Having been reared to distrust men, she’d been a virgin when she’d married Porter.

Because of that, her husband had treated her like a fragile piece of porcelain in bed. Out of the bedroom, however, he’d treated her like an equal, which had become the strength and underpinnings of their solid marriage. It had been through him that she had overcome so much pain, making her strong-willed and resilient, strengths she knew would get her through this latest ordeal.

Yet when she’d told her mother she was getting married and to whom, Opal Cannon had been outraged.

“Have you lost your mind?” she’d asked, a frown adding unflattering years to her otherwise unlined face.

Jessica had stiffened. “That’s a hurtful thing to say.”

“I don’t care,” Opal declared with a sweep of her pudgy hand. “I thought I’d done a better job of rearing you than that.”

“Oh, Mother,” Jessica said, her tone brimming with sadness. “I wish you could let go of the past. What Daddy did has almost ruined your life.”

“And you’re about to do the same thing.”

Jessica shook her head adamantly. “Not all men are like Daddy. Contrary to what you think, some have sticking power.”

Opal’s frown deepened. “And you think Porter does?”

“Without question.”

“What about that son of his?”

Jessica stiffened. “What about him?”

“If you think he’s going to put you before that kid, think again. You’ll always be second.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Even if he hated his own flesh and blood, you’re still making a big mistake. Why, he’s old enough to be your father, for heaven’s sake.”

“That’s all right.”

“Is that what you’re looking for, huh? Someone to take his place?”

“Of course not. How can you say that?”

“Because that’s what it looks like from the outside. You’re a successful attorney with a bright future in front of you, with the sky as the limit.”

“Marrying Porter’s not going to change that.”

“That’s what you think,” Opal countered scornfully. “Before you know it, you’ll be dancing to his tune.” She paused, her breathing becoming more labored by the second. “What about your desire to go into politics?”

“He’ll support me.”

“Dream on, honey.” Opal’s tone was tainted with bitterness. “He has political aspirations of his own, if I’m not mistaken.”

Jessica crossed her arms over her chest as if seeking protection from the sharp blows of her mother’s criticism. “That he does, and I’ll support him one hundred percent. If need be, mine can wait.”

Opal threw up her hands. “For all the headway I’m making, I might as well be talking to a brick wall. You’re as obstinate as that sorry daddy of yours.”

Jessica winced visibly. It seemed her mother took delight in taking her own hurt and anger out on her just because she’d been close to her father and had even been willing to forgive and forget, if only Farrell had made the effort to make amends before his death. Of course, he hadn’t, which made the pain of his rejection that much harder to bear. But she had managed. Unlike her mother, she’d moved on and grieved over the loss of her dad, silently, in the darkest corner of her heart.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Mother. However, I’m not asking your permission to marry Porter.”

“Then what are you asking?”

“Your blessings, actually.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t give them.”

That cut to the core. “What happens when Joan decides to get married? Will she be subjected to the same lecture?”

“No because she won’t make that mistake. She has better sense.”

“Sure, Mother,” Jessica responded, making an effort to hide her smile and her disdain. Her younger sister had had numerous boyfriends, a fact that she’d hidden from their mother. One day, though, Joan would meet Mr. Right and marry him. Jessica would be curious to see her mother’s reaction to her favorite child’s rebellion.

“You go ahead and take the leap,” Opal said into the silence. “But mark my words, you’ll be sorry.”

Needless to say, she and her sister both had defied Opal, and both marriages had been successful. Joan, fortunately, was still married, with three children whom Opal doted on. As for herself, she had never been able to completely forgive or forget her mother’s hurtful words or hostile attitude.

Suddenly the phone rang. The caller ID identified her mother’s number. Was that mental telepathy or what? She hadn’t heard from Opal Cannon in over a month, something that wasn’t out of the ordinary.

Since her mother had remarried—a shock in itself, considering her attitude toward men—and moved to Florida, she and Opal had drifted further apart.

“Jessica?”

“I’m here, Mother.”

“I was just thinking about you,” Opal said in the hesitant tone that was usual when she spoke to her elder daughter. “So I decided to call.”

“I was thinking about you, too, actually.”

“Oh.”

Jessica heard the surprise in Opal’s voice and felt the old sting of guilt. Her mother had tried throughout the years to patch things up between them, but it never quite worked. Jessica had decided long ago that the blame rested equally between them, which lessened her penchant for beating up on herself.

“Are you and Chris all right?” Chris was Opal’s husband, a good man and a good provider, for which Jessica was thankful. Long after her father had deserted them, leaving her mother to support two young children on a teacher’s salary, Opal’s resentment had continued to fester. She had sworn she hated men and would never have another.

She’d vowed to make it on her own. That endeavor had been difficult, especially financially. Yet Opal had done remarkably well. It was in the emotional arena that she had failed.

“We’re fine,” Opal acknowledged into the silence. “How ’bout you?”

“All right,” she lied. “Busy as usual. I’m about to jump-start my bid for reelection.”

“That’s a plus. But are you sure everything’s all right? I read where you’re embroiled in a controversy, something to do with the police force, if I recall.”

Jessica smothered a sigh. “Your recall is on target. The investigation is still ongoing, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Well, you were always the strong one in the family.”

Jessica thought she heard a note of envy in her mother’s voice, but maybe she was mistaken. Anyway, it didn’t matter. Her mother’s opinion, good or bad, had ceased to sway her one way or the other.

Sad but true.

“When are you coming to Florida?”

“Oh, Mother, I have no idea.” She wanted to invite Opal to visit her, but right now was not a good time. Her mother’s presence would only complicate things, not help.

“Is there perhaps another man in your life?”

Brant Harding’s face suddenly came to mind. Horrified, Jessica gripped the receiver until she had no feeling left in her hand. “Absolutely not.”

“It wouldn’t hurt, you know,” Opal said in a slightly offended tone. “Porter was more of a father than a husband. Now that I’ve married Chris, I know what it’s like to have a real man and a real marriage.”

“As I’ve said before,” Jessica told her in a tight voice, “I’m happy for you. But I’m not interested in remarrying—now or ever.”

“Whatever.” Opal’s tone was resigned. “Joan and the kids send their love.”

“Give them mine, too. Look, as soon as things settle here, I’ll try to get to Florida.”

“We’d all love that.” Opal’s voice had perked up considerably. “We’ll talk again soon. Meanwhile, you take care.”

“You, too.”

Once the receiver was back in place, it hit home one more time that no “I love yous” had been exchanged. An even sadder fact.

She was grateful for the sudden noise that pulled her out of her reverie. Realizing it was her stomach rebelling once again, Jessica decided to raid the kitchen or she could forget about sleeping. Besides, she figured by now he was in his room asleep.

Wrong.

The instant she entered the kitchen, she pulled up short, her eyes widening.

Brant.

Her pulse rate soared. He was kneeling, his back to her, rummaging through the cabinets. That in itself was no big deal. Like her, he was apparently hungry. The big deal was the way he was dressed.

Only in jeans, which rode low on his waist.

Her gasp must have alerted him that he was no longer alone. He turned slowly, and for the second time that evening, their eyes met and held.

Ten

Sparks.

No, actually, her insides felt like rockets erupting on the Fourth of July. This kind of reaction to Brant had to stop. Somehow she had to maintain control when she was around him. The constant awareness of him as a man was wearing thin.

Discipline. It boiled down to that. Nothing more complicated than that.

Only it was.

The way she reacted to him in a physical sense made it very complicated. She couldn’t get past this absurd need to touch him. Jessica felt her face flame. For heaven’s sake, how could she feel this way about a man almost as frightening, in his way, as the pervert interfering in her life?

“Hello again,” Brant finally said, relieving the smothering silence while rising slowly to his feet.

Jessica swallowed and forced herself to smile, though she knew it fell far short of genuine. “Are you looking for something to eat?”

She might as well cut to the chase so she could get back to her room. But for the moment it appeared she would have to carry on a cordial conversation whether she wanted to or not.

“Actually, I was looking for a lightbulb, then I was going to make some coffee.” He paused, massaging his slightly shadowed chin. “I hope you don’t mind.”

She gave him an incredulous stare. “Not about the coffee, certainly. But why on earth are you looking for a bulb?”

“The light’s out in the small hallway next to my room.”

His room?

Jessica swallowed the hysteria bubbling in the back of her throat. “I know it is. But it’s not the bulb. Something’s wrong with the electrical system, and I just haven’t had it fixed.”

“No problem. I can take care of it. I’m a whiz at that kind of work. I wired my entire cabin.”

She couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. “That’s not your job.”

“I know, but I don’t mind.” He paused and angled his head. “Unless you do, that is.”

“Not at all,” she said lightly. It suddenly dawned on her that underneath her caftan, she was nude. Could he tell?

“Why don’t I make the coffee?” he said, once again breaking the silence.

Jessica shook her head, venturing farther into the room, suddenly feeling like a stranger in her own house. Renewed resentment welled up inside her. She curled her nails into the palms of her hands, wincing against the sting of the pain.

“I’ll do it, but thanks, anyway,” she said, sounding out of breath.

He shouldn’t be here. More to the point, he shouldn’t look so damn manly and attractive, half naked, standing in front of her. In all fairness, bare chested hardly qualified as naked. Still, he should have on more than a ragged pair of jeans and no shoes.

Maybe at the root of her dismay was the fact he exhibited what she’d always envisioned as the perfect male “bod.” Hairy chested, but not too much hair. Tanned skin. Flat abs. Muscled, but not too muscled. Even the scar that jig-jagged down one side before disappearing beneath the waistline didn’t detract. In fact, it made him appear that much more rugged and manly.

In a nutshell, perfect.

And he acted like nothing out of the ordinary was happening, that it was his God-given right to parade around her home as he pleased, dressed any way he pleased. That galled her. It should have occurred to him that she just might appear unexpectedly.

Apparently that was no big deal to him.

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