made good on his threats.
Sam owed Jeannie his life. He'd never told anyone except his niece Elizabeth about everything that had happened the night he washed ashore on Le Bijou Bleu. And he'd had no choice but to level with Elizabeth. Since she'd been psychic since childhood, she would have read his mind anyway.
Sam sat at the table in the semidarkness. The only light came from a fluorescent fixture over the sink. He was pretty sure he could handle things here alone, but if necessary, he'd send for J.T. Blackwood, one of his partners, or Hawk or Kane, the new members of his agency.
Sam grunted, the sound containing an element of humor. He recalled a female acquaintance once comparing him to J.T. She'd said that where Sam was Chivas Regal, J.T. was pure white lightning; they were as different as night and day, and yet both possessed the power to kick you on your butt.
* * *
Waking with a start, Jeannie lay in the darkness, listening to the sound of her own breathing. She had been dreaming—a sweet dream at first. But it had turned dark and frightening. She had been dancing in Sam Dundee's arms, not needing her cane, her legs strong and sturdy. She felt free and happy and totally safe. Then Sam had been ripped from her arms and she cried out, but no one heard her screams. And then Sam had returned to her, broken and bruised and writhing in pain, but he wouldn't allow her to touch him.
The dream had been so real. Too real. She wiped away the tears that had gathered in the corners of her eyes. Was the dream a premonition, or just the result of a traumatic day? Surely the latter, for she knew she would never dance in Sam's arms. And who could bring such a strong and powerful man to his knees? But then she remembered that Sam had been shot and dumped in the ocean six years ago. Sam was a strong, powerful man, but he was not invincible.
Slipping out of bed, Jeannie felt for her cane. Leaning on the wooden stick, she walked across the room, pulled back the curtains and gazed out at the dawn. Fingers of pale pink light wiggled across the charcoal sky. She glanced down into the courtyard at the back of the house and saw a shadowy figure standing against the wall, near the trailing red rosebush, barren in late summer.
The faint moonlight blended with the first tentative rays of sunlight. Pressing her face against the windowpane she sought a better look at the man. He stepped away from the wall, and she knew instantly that it was Sam Dundee. Few men were as big and tall as he; few possessed his broad shoulders and tawny blond hair. She wondered what he was doing up at this hour. Had he been restless and unable to sleep? Had nightmares kept him awake?
Turning his head, he looked up at her window. Jeannie sucked in her breath. Had he seen her? Yes, she knew he had. He continued staring up at her and she down at him. She laid her hand on the windowpane. He nodded his head.
What would it take, she wondered, to reach his soul, to get inside him and free him from his pain and anger and guilt? He would never willingly allow her to help him.
'Somehow, I'll find a way to save you, Sam Dundee,' she vowed.
« ^ »
Sitting at the mahogany table in the dining room, Sam glanced away from Jeannie Alverson, who was nibbling on a banana muffin and sipping her morning coffee. Sam stared at the ceiling, only half noticing the intricate plaster molding that complemented the graceful plaster detailing in the dado and cartouche panels. He had gotten very little sleep last night, but that didn't bother him. It took days of sleep deprivation before Sam felt the effects. Lack of sleep wasn't what was bothering him, nor the small group of people gathered on the sidewalk across from the Howell home.
What was bothering Sam was Jeannie herself.
He could not allow himself to become involved with Jeannie. A close relationship could be dangerous for both of them. For a woman like Jeannie, a delicate, tenderhearted, spiritual creature, he would mean disaster. Sam knew himself only too well. He was a hard-edged, tough realist who had nothing to give a woman except a brief physical encounter. Jeannie would want more—more than he could ever give her. By keeping his distance, both physically and emotionally, he'd be doing them both a big favor.
'Do you think there will be a problem for Jeannie leaving the house?' Julian Howell asked. 'It's not even eight o'clock and already there's a crowd outside.'
Sam glanced toward the head of the table, where Dr. Howell sat, his dark eyes filled with concern. 'I can control the crowd temporarily. The limo will arrive shortly and I can whisk Ms. Alverson away without incident. Don't worry, Dr. Howell, I know what I'm doing. If I thought I couldn't handle the situation, I'd have already called the police.'
'I wasn't questioning your abilities, Mr. Dundee. I was simply voicing my concern.' Julian's long, thin fingers gripped his china cup, his hand quivering slightly.
'I understand,' Sam said. 'But rest assured that nothing is going to happen to Ms. Alverson.'
'I spoke with Marta before I came down for breakfast.' Jeannie looked at Sam for the first time since she'd walked into the dining room. She had deliberately avoided eye contact, knowing how difficult it would be to stop herself from trying to mentally connect with him, something he would resist. As far as he was concerned, he had come to Biloxi to do a job and repay a debt. She had to respect his desire to be left untouched by her empathic powers.
'What's the situation at the school?' Julian asked.
'Marta said that things are relatively quiet. There are only a few people waiting around outside.' Sam's steely gaze surveyed her. She tilted her chin, continuing to stare directly at him. 'You think going to the school is a mistake, don't you, Mr. Dundee?'
'I think you're asking for trouble by exposing yourself.' Sam picked up his coffee, swallowed the last of the warm liquid and set his cup on the saucer. 'My job would be a lot easier if you stayed at home. You would be a lot safer. By the time we arrive at the school, the crowd probably will have doubled.'
'There are people counting on me at the school.' Could she make him understand how important her job was, how essential helping the children was to her? 'I can't allow the frenzy that has taken over my life to deprive the children of the guidance and comfort I give them.'
'If you want to go to work today, then I'll take you to work.' Sam scooted back his chair and stood. 'But if anything goes wrong and I think you're risking your life, you'll take my advice. You'll do what I tell you to do.'
Jeannie glared at Sam. She had to stop herself from making a biting retort. She wanted to scream that he wasn't going to tell her what to do, that she wouldn't allow him to order her around. Although Julian and Miriam had guided her gently through her teen years, they had been careful not to try to control her life, well aware of the scars left on her soul by her stepfather's domination.
Jeannie laid her napkin on the table, eased her chair back and stood, lifting her cane from where she had hung it on the chair arm.
'Will you check and see if the limousine has arrived?' she asked Sam, then leaned over and kissed Julian on the cheek. 'Don't worry about me. I'm in capable hands.'
Jeannie did not see Sam's body tense, but she sensed his reaction. Watching him exit the room, she marveled at the sensations coursing through her, at the pure sensual longing that came over her. These feelings weren't new, but they were unique. She had felt them only twice. Six years ago, with Sam Dundee. And now.
But why? Why, out of all the men in the world, did she respond only to this particular man?
Returning, Sam halted in the doorway. 'The limousine is here. We can leave whenever you're ready.'
Walking over to Sam, Jeannie took his arm. The moment she touched him, she sensed the anger and pain simmering inside him, just below the very controlled surface of his emotions.
He walked slowly, adjusting his long strides to her shorter, partially unbalanced gait. She curled her fingers around his forearm, tightening her grip when he opened the door and guided her outside.
Shouts from the group on the sidewalk bombarded them the moment they stepped onto the side porch. Cameras clicked, flashes blinded, voices rose higher and higher. In the background, the Righteous Light brethren chanted, 'Witch!' as they held their posters high above their heads.
Sam hurried Jeannie into the waiting limousine, got in beside her and slammed the door. She touched his shoulder, then jerked her hand away and stared at him, into those blue-gray eyes that told her she shouldn't be
