Taming Jesse James (19 page)

“Seth?”

“Give the teacher an A-plus.” He saluted her with the bottle.

Keep him talking. Talking and drinking,
until Jesse had time to get there or until he passed out, so she could escape.

“How did you get the gun?”

Sylvester grinned at his own cleverness. “Wasn't hard. I made my boy give me the key to their fancy house so I could get in whenever I wanted. They never even knew I'd been there. Not like at your house. I didn't even get close before you saw me and called the police.”

She thought of the intruder, that dark, menacing shape outside her window. “That was you?”

He snickered but didn't answer.

“Why me?”

“You dropped right into my lap, sugar.” He seemed to have a little trouble getting the words out and she prayed he was too drunk to notice as she casually stretched her leg out and pretended to shift positions
while she carefully slid a thick, five-inch-long shard of glass from the shattered coin jar closer, hiding it under her shoe.

“My kid said you and our pretty-boy police chief were close. Thought I'd see if he was tellin' me more lies. For once he was right. The minute you saw me, you called him, didn't you?”

“He's the police chief. Of course I called him.”

“Aw, come on. You don't have to fool ol' Hob Sylvester. You're doin' him, aren't you?”

She flushed at his crudeness.
Keep him talking. Even if you don't like what he's saying.
“What does that have to do with anything?”

“When I saw you, I came up with a great idea. Kill two birds with one stone, you know, and make them both pay for screwing up my life. While I'm setting up that son of a bitch Garrett to take the fall when you're found shot to death with his gun, I can also make Jesse Harte bleed by taking away something of his. It's the least I can do for my old football buddy.” His cold smile oozed hatred.

“What did Jesse do to you?”

“Ruined my life, that's what he did!” He threw the empty bottle against the wall suddenly and she shuddered at the crash. “If it wasn't for him, I would have played college ball and maybe even the pros. I was one hell of a wide receiver. Had colleges knockin' down my door. University of Wyoming, Colorado. UNLV. They all wanted Hob Sylvester on their roster, I'll tell you what. Then Jesse Harte had to go and ruin it for me.”

“How?” she whispered.

“Last game of the regular season, scouts in the stands, and QB hotshot Harte decides to blow off the
game. He didn't even show up! How was I supposed to let the scouts see what I could do when I had that wussy Troy Smoot throwing for me?”

She didn't understand half of what he was saying. Football wasn't exactly one of her areas of expertise, but besides that, his words began to slur.

She cursed her stupid knee. If not for that, she could probably easily outrun a man who was more than half-drunk, even down a slippery mountainside.

Jesse, please hurry.

“Him and Garrett and that bitch I married are in it together. And now they have to pay. That's all. You just made the mistake of getting messed up with the wrong guy, sugar.”

He was crazy. He had to be if he thought this ridiculous plan would actually work, that anyone would blame Seth Garrett for her death.

“Guess we might as well get to it, right?” He lifted the gun and she couldn't help flinching.

“Here? You're going to kill me here, now?”

“Why not?”

She drew a shaky breath, scrambling for an answer. In the end, she decided to play to his ego. “Seems to me a smart man like you would realize the police would never believe Seth would bring me out here to kill me,” she pointed out. “All the clues except the gun will point to you. Your fingerprints have to be all over this place.”

He scratched his head. “So where should we go?”

She had the sudden, hysterical urge to laugh. Was the man actually drunk—or insane—enough to think she was going to give him a blueprint for her own murder? “Where would Mayor Garrett do it?”

His big, dissipated face suddenly brightened. “I
know. The courthouse. The sumbitch practically lives there. Come on, let's go.”

He gestured with the gun toward the door. Her time was running out.

Sarah pretended to stumble as she rose, and staggered to her knees. While still down, she quickly closed her fist around the thick glass shard, heedless of it slicing through her skin.

As her fingers folded around the sharp, cold glass, a strange, empowering strength flowed through her. She might go down in the end, but this time she would go down fighting, damn it.

She stayed on the ground for several seconds, until Sylvester turned toward her, snarling impatiently. “Come on. Hurry up.”

It wasn't hard to make a distressed noise. “My knee. I have problems with it sometimes. I don't think I can get up.”

He muttered a harsh curse. “You better not be faking,” he warned, but stretched a hand out to help her up.

He brushed her breast as he reached for her. If not for that, she might not have had the courage, but in that moment he became Tommy DeSilva. All her hatred toward what had been done to her focused on him.

With a grunt of rage, she drew her hand back and aimed for his eyes with all her strength.

With a scream of pain, Sylvester backed away, clutching at his face. Bile rose in her throat at the sight of him, like something out of a horror movie—the glass shard sticking out of one eye, blood pouring everywhere.

She nearly collapsed right then as the past jerked back to the present, but she knew she wasn't safe. Not
while he still had a gun. With one hand she snagged the keys to the truck off the counter where he'd left them and raced out the door as fast as her knee would allow.

Half skidding, half jumping, she made her way down the slippery steps and was almost to the truck when a wild shot rang out behind her. She didn't take time to look, just leapt for the cab of the truck, then fumbled with both locks.

She wasted a few scary moments trying to figure out which key would start the truck, then she jammed the right one in. It worked! The truck rumbled to life just as another shot rang out, shattering the passenger window. Sarah didn't wait around anymore. She muscled the truck into gear, thanking heaven her father had bothered to teach her how to drive a manual, then roared through the darkness.

She was halfway down the mountain, trying her best to drive with shaking hands and tears of shock running down her face, when she heard the first siren.

“O
kay. Twelve stitches down, just a few more to go. Can you hang in there?”

Sarah nodded at the short, competent doctor with the steel-gray buzz cut and kind blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. She had never been treated by a doctor wearing a bolo tie before.

“Good girl.” He smiled and hunched back over her palm to continue repairing the damage she had done to herself by wielding a broken shard of glass with her bare hand.

“How's the pain?” the nurse asked.

Numb. Just like the rest of her. She had novocaine where her emotions, where her soul, were supposed to be. “Fine.” She mustered a smile. “Can't feel a thing.”

“Let me know when it starts to wear off,” Dr. Wallace said. “We can give you another shot.”

She nodded. All she wanted to do was close her eyes
for a while and pretend the past two hours had never happened. But the white-coated professionals at the Salt River Health Clinic wouldn't give her that luxury. Not when there was poking and prodding and bandaging to be done.

It didn't really matter. She doubted if she would be able to forget, even for a moment. Lucky her—she now had a lovely assortment of nightmares to choose from each night.

Besides, what she
really
wanted was Jesse's arms around her once more, for him to gather her up against that broad, hard chest and hold her there forever.

The few fleeting moments after he yanked her out of Hob Sylvester's battered pickup and into his arms had been the only time she'd felt completely safe since she had walked out to her car after school.

She had sobbed with relief as he held her fiercely. It was over. Jesse was there and everything would be okay.

But the embrace had been brief. After making sure she wasn't seriously injured, he had handed her off to Officer Hernandez with terse instructions to take Sarah to the clinic while he dealt with Sylvester.

The doctor stopped stitching at her sudden frown. “Are the shots wearing off? Are you regaining feeling?”

“No. I was just…I was wondering how he is. Sylvester.”

The kindness vanished from the doctor's eyes. Instead they looked flinty, angry. Not at her, she realized, but at the man who had wreaked such havoc in her life and others.

“Last report I had, the chopper crew had him stabilized,” he answered. “The doctors at the University
of Utah will take care of him. Who knows, they might even be able to save the sight in that eye. Won't do him much good in prison, though, and that's exactly where the sleazebag is headed.”

As Chris Hernandez drove her to the clinic, the police radio in her vehicle had squawked the entire time. Through the crisp communications, Sarah learned that Hob Sylvester had surrendered to Jesse and county sheriff's deputies without a fight, in too much agony from his injury to stage much of the fuss she suspected Jesse had been hoping for.

She closed her eyes, trying to block the memory of that terrible moment when she had lunged toward him with that glass shard. Another nightmare to add to her list.

She wouldn't regret it, though. She had only been protecting herself, had done what she had to. If she ever did have a twinge of guilt at possibly causing a man to lose the sight in one eye, all she had to do was remember Corey and his bruises and the gruesome, obscene mark of ownership his own father had left scarred into his back.

“Okay.” Dr. Wallace tied off the last stitch. “We're all done here.”

“May I go home now?”

“I don't have any reason to keep you any longer. Do you have a ride home?”

“Yes. I'll take her.”

At that deep, rough voice, Sarah's gaze flew to the door of the exam room. Jesse filled the doorway. An ugly smear of blood on the shoulder of his uniform gave her a bad moment, until she realized it was her own, from that brief time he had held her.

She almost flew into his arms right then, but checked
the impulse. She could hang on for a few more minutes, just until they were alone.

If she hadn't already restrained herself, the look in his eyes would have done the job.

He looked wild. As if fierce violence seethed just under his skin. In another man, she might have found that raw energy terrifying, but not with Jesse. In him, it was only unsettling.

“Are there any precautions she needs to take once she's out of here?” he asked the doctor.

“Just use common sense. Keep the bandage dry and change it a few times every day.”

“What about something for the pain?”

Sarah shook her head. “I don't want anything. I'll be fine.”

The doctor shrugged. “You heard the lady. She can take over-the-counter pain relief if necessary, or if the pain intensifies, give me a call and I'll write out a scrip.”

The doctor and nurse walked out of the exam room, leaving the two of them alone. Sarah waited for Jesse to pull her into his arms at last. Instead he stood by the door, his features stony and hard. “Are you ready?” he asked gruffly.

“I…yes. Please, take me home.”

A few moments later, Jesse had bundled her up and ushered her out to his waiting patrol vehicle, all without touching her once.

Baffled and hurt by his distance, she sat quietly in the passenger seat, listening to the tires humming on the wet road and the staticky voices on the scanner. What was wrong? What had she done to make him so angry?

“I'm going to have to ask you some questions,” he
finally said when they were a few blocks from her house. “Do you want to answer them tonight or in the morning?”

She frowned at his formal tone and wrapped her hands tightly around herself, trying to contain the chill spreading through her. What was wrong? What had she done?

“Tonight,” she murmured. “I have school tomorrow.”

“Don't you ever get a substitute?”

“When I need it. I won't need one tomorrow. I'm sure I'll be fine in the morning.”

He was quiet for several moments, his mouth in a tight line. “I didn't think you would want to be alone,” he finally said, “so I arranged for Cassie to stay the night with you. She's probably at your house now.”

I wouldn't be alone if you stayed with me,
she almost said.
If you stay and hold me and keep me warm.
She choked down the words. How could she say them when he obviously had gone to a great deal of trouble to fix things so he wouldn't have to stay with her?

He didn't want to be alone with her. She might still feel shocky and rattled, but she could figure out that much.

Where was the sexy, laughing man who had spent the night with her? Who couldn't seem to touch her enough over the two days? Who had awakened her by blowing raspberries on her stomach and had explored every inch of her skin with his powerful hands? Who had looked at her with a soft, aching tenderness glinting in his blue eyes?

Somehow between this morning when she had left his arms and tonight, that man had disappeared. This Jesse was a stranger, abrupt and distant and withdrawn.

“It was nice of Cassie to agree to stay,” she murmured, staring out the windshield at the wet road glistening in the headlights.

“She's worried about you. I'm sure she could stay a few nights or more if you need her to.”

He pulled into her driveway and turned off the engine but made no move to climb out. For the first time she saw the lines of strain around his mouth, the muscle clenching in his jaw, the wildness that turned his blue eyes dark and murky. He looked like a man just barely holding on to control.

She swallowed hard and gathered courage. If she could take on a man with a gun, surely she could confront the man she loved. “Jesse, what is it? Why are you so upset?”

Some of his fury bubbled out and the look he aimed at her was razor sharp. “Why the hell do you think I'm upset? You could have been killed tonight!”

She drew a deep, shuddering breath, remembering those terrible moments when she thought she would never see him again. “But I wasn't. I survived, Jesse.”

“No thanks to me. I should have been able to protect you. It was my job to keep you safe and I let Sylvester waltz right in and take you. Hell, I practically handed you to him on a silver platter.”

“Your job? Is that all it was?”

He didn't answer. In the dim moonlight she saw that muscle clench in his jaw again, but he didn't say anything. In the awful, drawn-out silence, she wondered if he was able to hear the crack and shatter of her heart.

She was a fool. She had begun to build stupid, silly fantasies of forever with a man who didn't know the meaning of the word. Who had probably slept with her
out of pity and obligation, only because she had practically begged him to.

“I changed my mind,” she said quietly, opening the door of the Bronco. “I don't think I want to answer any questions tonight. Now I think I would just like to go inside and sleep.”

“Sarah—”

She shook her head.
Go away. Go away before I break apart.
“Good night, Jess.”

Clutching her bandaged hand against her heart, she walked slowly, carefully into her house on old, tired bones.

 

Sometimes being clean and sober really sucked.

Right about now, Jesse would give just about anything for a good, stiff drink. Or two or three or ten. And it was only eight-frigging-thirty in the morning.

He had one mother of a headache squeezing his skull like a junkyard compactor. That's what happened when he tried to keep going for twenty-four hours on no sleep and way too much coffee.

The words and spaces on the incident forms in front of him all blurred together into one big gray mess and he blinked, trying to focus. It was a futile effort. How was he supposed to fill out the necessary paperwork of Sylvester's arrest when he couldn't concentrate on anything but fragmented, tortured images from the evening before?

The cold clutch of terror in his stomach at finding out Hob Sylvester had taken Sarah.

That terrible moment when he had pulled her, bleeding and sobbing, from that ratty pickup truck and into his arms.

Finding out from a ranting Sylvester that Jesse
couldn't live down his past, that it was an intrinsic part of his present—that one of the reasons Hob had targeted her, put her through a hell Jesse couldn't even begin to imagine, was because of him. Twisted revenge for some stupid thing he'd done sixteen years ago, in those awful, reckless months after his parents died.

The last image in his mind was the worst—the shattered hurt in Sarah's big green eyes right before she walked away from him.

He had wounded her. She had needed things from him the night before that he had been unable to offer.

He hadn't meant to hurt her, hadn't wanted to, but on some level he supposed it had been inevitable. Sooner or later she would figure out she deserved better.

His sweet Sarah.

His chest ached suddenly and the words swam before his eyes. Not his. She had never been his. He had been fooling himself to think a man with a hell-raising past could hold on to something so good.

He scrubbed his hands over his face and forced himself to turn back to the paperwork. He was on a short clock here—he would have to leave soon if he was going to make the five-hour drive to Salt Lake City to interrogate Sylvester in the hospital.

And wouldn't it be a treat trying to spend five minutes in the same room with the bastard without breaking him into tiny little pieces?

There had been more than a few moments the night before when he'd been tempted to indulge in a little police brutality while he arrested the son of a bitch. For Sarah. For Ginny. For Corey. The only thing stopping him had been the honor of his badge and the very real fear that if he started, he wouldn't be able to stop.

His phone suddenly buzzed and Lou's gravelly voice gritted over his intercom. “Boss, you have company coming in.”

“Not now, Lou. I'm busy. Just tell 'em I'm not here.”

“Too late.” His little sister stalked into his office, her eyes a dark, stormy blue and a fierce scowl on her face.

“You're an idiot,” Cassie snapped. “Did I ever tell you that?”

He did not need a confrontation with her today. He leaned back in his chair. “Good to see you, too, sis. And yes, I believe you've mentioned that a time or two.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

I need a drink. And a woman I can't have.
“What
isn't
wrong?” he murmured.

She shook her head in disgust. “Would you like me to round up a few puppies you can drop-kick, too, just for laughs? Because that's exactly what you did to Sarah last night.”

“I didn't do anything!”

“Yeah, that's the point, isn't it? She needed comfort. She needed to feel safe. She needed you, you big idiot! And you just ditched her like you were some kind of cabbie dropping off a fare.”

“It wasn't like that,” he muttered.

“What was it like?” His little sister didn't get mad very often. She had always been the calm one in the family, the peacemaker, but right now she churned with fury, like some vast, storm-tossed ocean.

At his continued silence, she shook her head in disgust. “You don't get it, do you? For some mysterious reason the woman is crazy in love with you, Jess. I've
seen the two of you together, I've seen the way you look at her and I know her feelings are not one-sided.”

“You don't know anything about this.”

“Maybe not. But I have seen you with plenty of women over the years. Too damn many, if you ask me.”

“I didn't ask you,” he muttered.

She went on as if she hadn't heard him. “And never once have you looked at any of them the same way you look at Sarah. You want to tell me why, then, you ran off when she needed you more last night than she's probably ever needed anyone in her life?”

“I had things to do. Loose ends to tie up, just like I do now,” he said, with a pointed look at the paperwork scattered across his desk.