His Touch Read online

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 fo
r 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 assistan
t 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.”