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“Good. So from now on, when I suggest something—anything—that’s in your best interest, I expect you to do it.”
She threw her head back to look at him. “I’m not a child, Mr. Harding. And I resent being treated like one.”
“Then I think we’re both wasting our time.”
A hostile silence descended over the room.
“You mean there can’t be a happy medium?”
“Not with me. If I’m to do my job, then it’s my way or no way.” He paused as if to let those words sink in.
Damn his stubbornness. More to the point, who did he think he was? It wasn’t too late to fire him. It was on the tip of her tongue to do just that, but the words stuck in her throat. “Look, maybe we should postpone this discussion for another time. It’s been a long day for both of us.”
Brant shrugged his shoulders. “It’s your call. Tell me where I can bunk in for the night, then I suggest you give what I just told you serious thought.”
“Follow me,” she said through tight lips.
A short time later, Jessica was still harboring ill will toward her unwanted houseguest. She had taken a hot bath, hoping to relieve her tension and chaotic thoughts, to no avail. If anything, she was more agitated than ever. Just his presence was responsible.
After she was in her robe, it dawned on her that she hadn’t had anything to eat, nor had he. The thought of food was as unappetizing as going downstairs and running into him, but she wondered if he was hungry. Manners should have prodded her to tell him he was welcome to use the kitchen.
Too late now. Anyway, she wasn’t sure she could have uttered those words. What an impossible situation. Her gaze went to the computer, but she dared not boot it up for fear of what she would read. She would have loved to e-mail Veronica, but she couldn’t deal with anything else this evening.
When the phone rang, whether it was her land line or her cell, her instinct was to answer it. But unless she knew for sure who the caller was, she wouldn’t do it. Life was definitely too short to live like this.
All the more reason not to relieve Brant Harding of his duties.
Following their earlier conversation, she’d had every intention of doing just that, deciding she definitely couldn’t subject herself to such an invasion into her privacy. And while the thought remained tempting, her sound judgment once again came to her rescue. If she refused Brant’s help, she would be doing herself a grave injustice.
After all, this was indeed a dangerous game she was playing. And before the game came to an end, the stakes could escalate even more.
Jeopardizing her very life.
The ringing of her cell phone jarred her from her thoughts. Only after the caller ID registered a familiar number did relief wash through her.
“Hey,” she said.
“So how are things going, friend?”
“You don’t want to know.” Jessica eased onto the bed, then propped her head on a stack of pillows.
“Uh-oh,” Veronica said. “Not so good, huh?”
“I was just about to call you.”
“More harassment, I’m assuming.”
“That and—” She broke off, deciding not to blurt out her feelings concerning Brant.
“Go on,” Veronica urged in a seemingly innocent tone.
Jessica wasn’t fooled for a second. She would bet her friend either knew exactly what was going on or had a pretty good idea. “I don’t want to do this,” Jessica admitted at last.
“I know you don’t, but what choice do you have?”
“Isn’t there someone else in Thurmon’s office who could do the job?”
Silence hummed through the line.
“Not as well as Brant.” Veronica sighed. “Do you just not like him or what?”
Jessica was reluctant to admit that, fearing it might lead to much more probing questions, questions she wasn’t prepared to answer. Yet she had no intention of lying to her friend, not now, not ever.
“For some reason, he just rubs me the wrong way.”
Veronica chuckled. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
“Then why on earth did Thurmon pick him?”
“He’s told you already. Brant’s the best at what he does. And since you’re my dearest friend, I’m determined that you have the best.”
Jessica sighed. “While I love you dearly for your care and concern, I’m just not sure I can handle his strong personality.”
“You’re one to be talking. I can see why you two would butt heads.”
“It’s just that he’s so…” Jessica’s voice faded as she realized how whiny and childish she must sound. Veronica, of all people, shouldn’t have to bear the brunt of her dilemma.
“Bossy and strong-willed? Was that what you were going to say?”
“Yes.”
“Look, you’ll get adjusted, but not in one day. You’re expecting too much, too soon.”
“You’re right, I know. Still…” Again Jessica’s voice faded, while her frustration rose.
“Still nothing. Just chill and go with the flow. It’ll all work out, maybe much sooner than expected. If Brant’s as good as my better half says, and I have no reason to believe otherwise, he’ll find the jerk who’s dealing you all this misery and deal him some misery of his own.”
Jessica blew out her breath.
“Where’s Brant now?”
“In the downstairs guest room.”
“So…out of sight, out of mind?”
“Right.”
“Look, you can face this mess again tomorrow. Tonight you need to get some sleep, knowing you’re in safe hands.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Good. Let me hear from you.” Veronica paused with a chuckle. “Don’t be too hard on the poor guy, okay?”
In spite of herself, Jessica smiled. “I’ll get you for that.”
“Later then.”
After she replaced her phone in its case, Jessica’s good humor fled. Somehow, she would endure. That was what she’d done all her life, and her inner strength wouldn’t fail her now.
Clinging to that thought, she turned over and closed her eyes.
Eight
He hadn’t wanted to take Thurmon up on his offer, but he had. Desperation had been the driving force. Marsha had given him the runaround long enough. He still hadn’t seen or talked to his son, because every time he called, he either didn’t get an answer or his ex-wife picked up. He’d had enough.
So when Thurmon had told him he would cover for him with Jessica that afternoon, he’d said okay. Brant’s features twisted. He knew Jessica wouldn’t be upset. On the contrary, she would be relieved.
They had been together for several days now. And while those days had been uneventful as far as threats went, the tension between them had continued to mount.
He was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. He sensed that she flat out didn’t like him and wasn’t comfortable with him under her roof. Well, he felt the same way, only he was careful not to let that show. He’d been trained not to reveal his emotions while on the job.
However, with Jessica Kincaid, that was hard to do. He was too damn aware of her as a woman. That was the problem. Her perfume drove him nuts. Everything about her drove him nuts. When she walked into a room, it seemed to come alive. She had that type of infectious personality. Laughter would ring from her office one moment, and the next she would ream someone out for not doing his duty.
She was definitely a contradiction, which made her all the more exciting. But though he admired her professionalism and her personality, most of the time he wanted to throttle her.
Jessica wasn’t into rules and regulations. Unless she set them. He’d learned that. He’d also learned she was fearless. He still wasn’t convinced she realized just how much danger was lurking around her, especially now that the pervert had backed off for a few days. That unpredictability was unnerving.
Not as unnerving as Jessica herself. What he had to keep in mind was that she might as well be the First Lady. That was how off-limits she was to him. Not that he wanted it any other way, he assured himself quickly. He didn’t, though it made him more uneasy with each passing day that his awareness of her only seemed to be heightening.
Was it only yesterday that he’d found his eyes locked on her breasts when she’d thrown her head back and laughed? When it had dawned on him what he was doing, he’d jerked his gaze away and let loose an expletive.
He’d been alone too long, he guessed. That was the only feasible explanation he could come up with for his unorthodox behavior. Maybe this torture would end sooner rather than later, so he could get back to his life.
But not before he spent time with his kid.
Which was why he was sitting across the street from Elliot’s house on the off chance he might catch him when he came home from school, then talk to him face-to-face. Brant knew it was a long shot, but he had to do something. He’d thought about waiting at the school, but since he didn’t even know what kind of car Elliot drove, it would be like hunting a needle in a haystack.
He had no idea if Marsha had been relaying his phone messages to Elliot or not. Brant suspected she hadn’t, though he couldn’t swear to it.
His son knew he was in town and had his cell number. So far, Elliot had made no effort to contact him. Brant rubbed the back of his neck, then peered at his watch.
Was this opportunity going to be wasted after all? Time was getting away from him, and he hadn’t made any headway. If only he could grab his boy and they could head back to Arkansas for a couple of weeks together. He would teach him how to fish, hunt and garden.
Brant almost laughed at that last thought. Elliot would probably think he’d lost his mind. Most kids would, and Brant suspected his own wouldn’t be any different.
His urge to laugh suddenly dried up. His son was seventeen, and he didn’t know anything about him, what he liked to do, what he liked to eat, what he dreamed about.
Nothing.
Brant gripped the steering wheel with his strong, tanned hands and squeezed. God, if only he could undo the sins of the past, what a difference it would make in his life. Unfortunately that was not the way things worked.
His screw-ups had started a long time ago. When Marsha had divorced him, Elliot had been nine. Most of those nine years, he’d been gone. And afterward—well, he rarely ever saw his kid. In a nutshell, he’d never known his son—not as a baby, a toddler, an adolescent or a teenager.
Brant’s gut twisted, and sweat dotted his upper lip. Somehow, he had to rectify that. He didn’t think he could live with himself if he didn’t. He glanced at his watch again, trying to temper his growing anxiety. Rarely did anything shake him. For the most part he was steady as a rock, or had been before he was shot. Since then, he’d had to work just to keep body and soul together. That was another reason why he hadn’t wanted an assignment.
He didn’t feel he was ready. But when Thurmon put the squeeze on him, he hadn’t had much choice. At least it gave him the opportunity to see his son, an opportunity he wouldn’t have had otherwise.
“Damn,” Brant muttered, lurching upright.
While he’d been deep in thought, Elliot had driven up and was getting out of his Mustang. For a second paralysis seemed to hold Brant in his seat. His eyes feasted on the one human who was part of himself. Pride rose in him. Even from this distance, he could see what a good-looking young man Elliot had become. Tall and strapping, just like he’d been at that age, with the same profile. His hair, however, was light brown, like his mother’s.
Forcing himself to move, Brant jumped out of his vehicle and crossed the street. “Elliot, wait up.”
His son whirled and stared at him wide-eyed; then his dark eyes narrowed and his lips thinned. Brant’s heart faltered as he thought Elliot was going to turn his back on him.
“Hello, son,” Brant forced himself to say before his own nerve failed.
“Hi,” Elliot muttered, shifting his gaze.
“I hope you don’t mind me stopping by,” Brant said, hearing the awkwardness in his voice and hating it.
Elliot shrugged. “Whatever.”
Brant strove for a decent breath. This was going to be even harder than he’d anticipated—for both of them. He was sweating like he’d been chopping logs at the cabin, and it wasn’t even hot.
“You know I’m going to be close by for a while.”
“Yeah, right.”
Brant refused to be defeated. “I thought maybe we might get together soon, maybe go out to dinner.”
“Whatever,” Elliot said again, finally looking at him.
The pain and confusion mirrored in his son’s eyes almost brought Brant to his knees. What if he couldn’t fix their broken relationship? What if the gulf was too wide to breach? No. He wouldn’t think like that. He would make things work. Whatever it took.
Now that he’d seen his son, no way was he leaving, even if Jessica Kincaid fired his ass tomorrow.
“Look, Elliot, I want a chance to make things right between us.”
Elliot’s eyes flared. “Why?”
“Because you’re my son.” And because I love you. But for some reason those words stuck in Brant’s throat. “I want us to get to know one another. I want to find out what you’re up to, where you plan to go to school.” He broke off. “Stuff like that.”
Elliot’s mouth took a bitter turn. “Don’t you think it’s a little late?”
Brant ignored his sarcasm and kept his voice calm. “No, I don’t.”
“You never cared before.”
