His Touch Read online

  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 t
hings 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 carryi
ng 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?”