His Touch. Mary Baxter Lynn

      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 for 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