His Touch
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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.