Divine Intervention (26 page)

"No!" she panted, ducking under his arm. "
Jesus!
We can't do this, Brandon!"

She stared at him, motionless and wide-eyed. "Oh my God! What was I thinking?" Her voice was breathless, filled with panic.

Confused, he stepped toward her. "What do you mean, Jasi? You want this as much as I do."

"It doesn't matter what I want," she answered harshly. "You and I? All we are is
business
. Don't you―"

His lips seared hers, stealing the oxygen from her, halting her angry words.

Jasi let out a ragged cry.
"Stop…"

His eyes found hers. "Then you'd better say
please
, Agent McLellan."

Brandon dropped his head and his hungry mouth branded her.

Lost in the heat of passion, Jasi fought to regain a grip on reality. It was a fragile thread that held her sanity intact. With her past history, she knew it was inevitable―the thread would break…eventually.

"Please, Brandon."

She heard him under his breath. Then his hands immediately dropped to his side.

She exhaled slowly, relieved.

Hauling the robe up around her shoulders, she remained silent, uncertain of what to say. She knew she was being unfair to him. But hell! Life was unfair.

Self-loathing made her turn away.

"I'm sorry. It's late. You have to leave."

Before I do something we will both regret.

Frustrated, Brandon grabbed her arm and spun her around. "Why won't you trust me?"

"Trust?" she hissed. "How can I trust you, Brandon? I don't really know you."

"Then get to know me," he said bluntly.

Jasi wanted to tell him what had happened to the last man she had gotten to
know
. But it was too dangerous―for both of them.

You have to end it, Jasi!

"Listen, Brandon. After this case is over, you're going to go back to your job and I'm going to go back to mine. We won't see each other again. I don't need that in my life."

"You're afraid, Jasi. Our jobs? Those are just complications and―"

"And I don't
need
complications," she interrupted, bitterness and a trace of regret edging her voice.

"We could make this work," Brandon insisted, running a hand through her hair.

For a moment, she almost believed him.

Then, shaking her head, she said, "No, we can't.
I
can't."

He stepped away from her, giving her a hard, penetrating look.

"So you want to ignore what just happened between us?" His voice was sharp, bitter.

"Brandon! There's
nothing
between us! There can't be! Don't you get it?"

Jasi felt her annoyance mounting. Why wouldn't he listen to her? She had to make him see that nothing could happen between them.

Even if she wanted it to.

She watched him clench his teeth.

"We're still working this case together, Jasi. I won't leave until it's over."

"I know," she replied softly.

She watched him walk to the door. Her heart was pounding rapidly, but this time not from sexual passion.

What was it about Brandon Walsh that made her blood boil with frustration…and desire? What was there about the man that made her lungs ache to scream his name? That made other parts of her body ache?

"What did you say to me after I kissed you the first time?" he asked suddenly, pausing at the door.

She went still.

"When I promised that I wouldn't let you jump off a cliff," he prodded. "You whispered something in my ear."

She shivered slightly and when she spoke her voice was dull, dead. "I said '
too late'
."

Too late.
Those two words strangled her.

Brandon gave her a piercing stare.

A second later he was gone.

Alone, Jasi felt like someone had kicked her in the stomach. Her eyes blurred with unshed tears.

Were they for Brandon―or for her?

Her past history with men and relationships in general gripped her like a noose around her neck, strangling every breath of hope, every sign of life that kept her human. But worse than that was her acceptance of that noose. It was almost as if she had carefully woven each strand, braided each rope―created the noose from her very existence.

A trail of tears escaped down her cheek and she batted at them angrily.

"Stop wanting something you can't have, Jasmine McLellan!" she moaned.

Caring for Brandon Walsh would only prove to be dangerous to her. She knew that. It was her curse! The one she carried with her everywhere she went. The last man she loved was lying at the bottom of the ocean somewhere. Her job had killed him.

No! She was better off alone, focussing her attention on capturing serial killers. And living with the dead.

But how do I turn off these emotions?

Push them away and solve the case, came the answer.

Gathering her inner strength, she took a deep breath, meditating on her heartbeat. Confident that she could maintain her composure, she hailed Ben on his data-com.

"I'll meet you downstairs tomorrow at eight," she said firmly. "Tell Natassia I'm going to bed.

"Jasi, are you okay?" Ben's voice sounded hesitant, worried.

"I'm fine. I'll see you in the morning."

"Uh, okay then. Is Brandon still―"

Click.

Jasi abruptly ended the call.

She perched on the edge of the bed, staring at the silent data-com in her hands. She didn't want to answer Ben's questions. Or talk about Brandon.

What she wanted was to find the serial arsonist. And if that turned out to be Cameron…

I am a professional. Nothing will stand in my way.

Not even Cameron Prescott.

Or Brandon Walsh.

Taking a deep breath, she activated his number.

"Hey, it's me," she said hastily. "We're meeting downstairs tomorrow. Eight o'clock sharp."

"Fine," came his cool reply.

"Brandon? I-I'm sorry," she whispered.

There was an unbearable silence on the other end.

For a moment, Jasi thought he had hung up. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded tired, beaten.

"So am I, Jasi."

Then the data-com died―and a part of her died with it.

22

Someone called to her, plucking her from a thick fog of sleep. Jasi raised her head from the pillow―disoriented. All she wanted to do was sink back into the warmth of her bed but the voice kept nattering at her, invading her pleasant dreams.

"Jasi! Wake up!"

"Natassia?" she groaned, opening her eyes cautiously.

The shadowed blackness of the room wavered suddenly, a shift in time and space. Her hand crept from beneath the blankets, reaching for the Beretta she had tucked between the mattresses.

"Natassia, is that you?" she called out, immediately alert.

From the dark, she heard Brandon's voice, dry and full of sarcasm. "Do I sound like Natassia?"

She heard a whisper of footsteps as he moved closer. Then the mattress dipped suddenly.

"Idiot!"
she heard him mutter in irritation.

She wasn't sure if he was referring to her or himself.

Rolling over, she caught the vague shape of Brandon's arm stretching past her head. Suddenly the lamp beside the bed flashed, blinding her. She squinted and blinked until her vision cleared.

He was sitting on the edge of her bed.

She glanced at her watch.

It was just after midnight. She had only been asleep for an hour.

"Shit!" she muttered. "What are you doing here? And why are you whispering?"

He flicked his head at Natassia's empty bed. "I thought she was here and I didn't want either of you to clobber me."

Jasi eyed him suspiciously, shifting her position.

"How'd you get in?"

He threw her a leering grin. "Someone from housekeeping was in the hall checking the ice machine. I told him that I locked myself out and that a gorgeous redhead waited in bed for me…naked."

"I was asleep," she muttered dryly.

She sat up quickly and the blanket fell to her hips, exposing a thin t-shirt. "And as you can see, I'm not naked."

His searing eyes drifted slowly, leisurely, down her body. Then he caught sight of the pistol barrel pointed in his direction.

"Jasi, for crying out loud!" he hissed. "Put that thing away before it goes off!"

She gave a muffled snort, and then her gaze rested on the gun that was leveled at his groin.

"I
do
know how to use this thing, you know. I'm a highly trained CFBI agent, in case you've forgotten. This is an M9 Beretta. Fifteen rounds, double-action semiautomatic. It's lightweight."

She paused, admiring the gun in her hands and stroking it lovingly. Then she looked him dead in the eye.

"And lethal. I can take out a rat at fifty meters."

She held his gaze, unwavering.

"Fine, but I'm not a rat," he mumbled resentfully.

Her brow arched in skepticism and she pursed her lips.

He chuckled nervously. "Come on, Jasi. Point it somewhere else. I'd like to keep what you're aiming at."

"Then you'd better say
please
." She smiled mockingly.

"Please," he said between clenched teeth.

Jasi noticed Brandon began to breathe again when she lowered the Beretta and placed it on the nightstand.

"Are you going to tell me why you're sneaking around my room in the middle of the night?"

She glared at him, uneasy and distrustful. "And you better not tell me you're here to finish what you started."

"What
we
started," he grumbled belligerently.

"What?" She spared him a look, then reached for the robe she had dropped on the floor.

Brandon stood and paced nervously. "Nothing."

Unfolding herself from the tangle of sheets, she elbowed past him and flicked on the lamp at the table.

"Well? Why are you here, Walsh?"

"I couldn't sleep," he began. "I've been thinking about the case―about Cameron Prescott."

"You could have discussed your thoughts with Ben instead of―"

"I couldn't get through to Ben," he cut in. "His data-com is on privacy mode."

They both turned toward Natassia's empty bed.

Then Brandon faced her.

His expression was serious. "I don't think Cameron's finished. And I think I know who her next target is."

"Brandon," she said, straightening. "I still have doubts about Cameron's involvement."

Brandon reached for her hand.

"Don't," she warned him, pulling away.

Grabbing her hand, he forced something smooth and sleek into her palm.

"What's this?"

She opened her hand slowly.

In her palm was a Gemini lighter. "Gemini…the sign of the twins." Her head jerked upward. "Oh, shit. It was there all along. The goddamn clue was right in front of me!"

"You received one in the mail almost two months ago, didn't you?" he prodded.

"Yes."

Brandon gripped her shoulders lightly. "
Before
Charlotte Foreman was murdered. Jasi, each lighter is a
warning
. She drops the lighter to indicate that someone is next on her list. She's warning us that there's another victim."

Jasi gaped at him blankly.

"Martin Gibney," he explained.

"Gibney?"

"Cameron Prescott wants revenge. Gibney allowed the child abuse to continue and he was directly involved in her mother's death."

Jasi realized he made sense. There was something
right
about what he was saying.

Martin Gibney and Norman Washburn were the two doctors responsible for the death of the prostitute. Cameron and Ronald's mother. Cameron would be relentless in her pursuit for justice. Revenge for her mother's death, retaliation for the constant abuse both she and her brother had suffered at the hands of Charlotte Foreman, and retribution for her brother's subsequent drowning.