King's Ransom (18 page)

"Ransom? Why
in God's name would someone try to kidnap me? I don't have any family. I don't
have money like that
...
do I?"

She sounded so
little . . . and so lost. King sighed, wanting to assure her, yet knowing that
the rest of what he had to say was only going to make matters worse.

"No,
baby," he said. His voice became even huskier as emotion thickened his
speech. "I don't think they expected you to come up with the half million."

Jesse's mouth
flew open, and she sank back on the edge of the bed with a stunned expression
on her face.

"Half a
million . . . dollars?" she asked, her eyes wide with shock. "They
are
crazy. I don't
have anything like that."

Jesse watched
King pace before the window, jam his hands in his pockets and then turn to face
her, an almost defiant expression on his face.

"I don't
think you were the target, Jesse. I think I was. You were just the
victim."

Jesse heard the
pain in his voice and saw the guilt on his face. She realized with startling
clarity that he was probably correct. But she wouldn't allow the guilt he stood
ready to accept.

"None of
this is your fault. No more than it's anyone's fault to be a victim of any
crime. Greed is what's at fault, King. Not you. And not me."

King let out a
slow, uneasy breath. Gratitude for her understanding made him feel a bit
easier, yet he was uncertain if Jesse had grasped the full implication of the news.
He walked over to the bed and sat down beside her. He separated her hands from
their tight wad in her lap and lifted first one and then the other up to the
light. They were very nearly well. All that remained was the tiny network of
red lines that faded more with each passing day.

"You know
what this means now, don't you?"

Jesse looked up
at the expression of concern on his face and something . . . some other
indefinable look that he kept trying to hide. His face was so dear, just as the
man himself. She restrained from touching him, letting her eyes caress him
instead.

His dark hair lay
in tousled abandon. There was a piece of grass stuck in the collar of his
shirt, and Jesse watched his dark eyes follow her every movement.

"Yes,"
she finally answered, then slowly pulled her hands away. "It means this is
not over. That they could try again."

She couldn't
disguise the tremble in her voice, nor the tears that sprang to her eyes. She
also knew that she might not be as lucky if a next time ever came. Jesse wanted
to scream. She wanted to cry.
It wasn't fair, and it was no one's
fault.

"I think I
want to be alone now," she whispered, refusing to look at the hurt and
rejection she knew was on his face.

"I'll leave
you for now, Jesse Rose," King whispered as he leaned over and brushed
the top of her head with his lips. "But you'll never be alone. Not as long
as I'm alive. Remember that."

She let the tears
spill over and the sadness come as King left her room. Was this nightmare ever
going to end?

Lynch was gone
all right. The man slammed the phone down with a furious jerk and began to
pack. Lynch had disappeared from the house. He was not in the city. He was gone
from the state. His sources were good; the information solid. He had a
terrible, sinking feeling that he knew where Lynch was headed.

He looked at
himself in the dresser mirror, saw the peeling paint and the crack on the wall
behind him, but couldn't look at the face staring back in accusation. How had
he let this happen? It had gotten out of hand so quickly. All he'd wanted was
what was due him. No one was to have gotten hurt. He knew he was on a downhill
road, and the only thing waiting for him at the bottom was disaster . . .
unless . . . unless he could find Wiley Lynch soon.

He grabbed his suitcase
and headed for the door. Now there was only one place left for him to go. He
had to go back, to the beginning.

"Thanks for
coming," Duncan said, as he greeted King. "Come in, please. I've just
returned from a short trip. The place is messy."

King frowned as
he followed his uncle into the room. He hated these visits. He was always ill
at ease around Duncan. And the only time he received an invitation to visit was
when Duncan was short of money.

He watched with a
forced lack of expression as Duncan sauntered over to a wet bar opposite the
living room window and poured himself a drink. He shook his head, refusing
Duncan's offer to pour him a glass.

Duncan shrugged
and downed the shot of whiskey neat, fortifying himself for what lay ahead. He
walked toward the window of his Tulsa high-rise apartment and looked over the
skyline of the metropolis.

The apartment was
the epitome of good living and as usual, way beyond Duncan's means. But he
liked to live fast and high, and this was the best way to go.

"How much do
you want?" King drawled, anxious to get the meeting over with.

Duncan turned his
head sharply and swallowed the angry retort that bubbled into his mouth. He
supposed he deserved that.

"I don't
want any money. I want to know how Jesse's doing."

Duncan's refusal
of money left King speechless. That was a first! He narrowed his eyes and a
muscle in his jaw clinched and jerked before he answered.

"She's fine.
Recovering from a sunburn. Maggie said she told you about the ransom
note." King watched a strange, dark look come and go on Duncan's face.

"Yes, she
told me," Duncan answered, and then turned his back to King as he
continued. "You've got to be careful. He may try again."

King watched
Duncan's strange, evasive behavior, and felt a sense of confusion at everything
going on around him. He'd had just about all of the odd little answers and
hints he was going to take. He took a deep breath and threw his suspicions out
into the room between them.

"Duncan, why
is Jesse afraid of you? What's between you? She told me you visited her in St.
Louis," King accused. "What the hell did you do to her?"

"Do? I
didn't
do
anything.
And of course I visited her. Just because she moved didn't mean she died."

Duncan was
smooth. His manner was cool. He didn't know what Jesse had told King, but he
doubted she'd said much. Knowing his nephew as he did, if she'd told the whole
story, he would have been greeted with a punch in the nose. King was so single-minded
about everything.

Duncan had
learned long ago to persuade, not provoke. Still, he'd never been able to
achieve the measure of success that seemed to fall into King's lap. He failed
to see that King worked long and hard to earn the respect and rewards that
Duncan felt were his due by virtue of birth alone. They were so alike, and yet
so different.

Duncan cast a
sly, sideways glance at King's stiff, defensive attitude and couldn't resist a
final dig.

"Didn't you
ever visit Jesse? She was very lonesome."

King looked long
and hard at his uncle's bland expression. He didn't believe anything that came
out of his mouth.

"I asked you
a question," King whispered. "What happened in St. Louis? Why is
Jesse afraid of you?"

Duncan glanced
quickly at King, and saw him waiting for an answer with an expression on his
face that made Duncan very nervous.

"She has
nothing to be afraid of," he said quietly, and walked toward King.
"Not from me . . . not anymore."

"What do you
mean . . . anymore?" King asked with a husky growl, and took a step
forward.

Duncan waved him
angrily away, his voice rising to a shout.

"The person
Jesse needs to fear is still out there. We have to make certain he doesn't get
close to her again. What are you doing to protect her?" Duncan's voice was
hard. His demeanor startled King. He answered with no reservations.

"She's never
alone," he said. "The men have seen the video of Lynch. They have the
police sketch posted in the bunk house, but Jesse doesn't know it. And I don't
want her to. Please don't say anything. I don't want her to feel like she's
under guard."

Duncan nodded and
walked toward his front door, carrying the refilled glass of whiskey in his
hand.

"Well, King,
thanks for coming. I just couldn't help worrying, and I felt uncomfortable
talking about it in front of Jesse. If there is anything I can do to help,
don't hesitate to ask. I will do anything you need." Then a strange, sad
expression filled his eyes and he took a big gulp of whiskey. "I can do
anything except come up with the half million."

King tried to
hide his surprise. This odd visit was coming to a very unusual end.

Duncan slapped
him jovially on the back as he left.

"Catch you
on the offer of a loan some other time, nephew. I'm never going to be this
noble again."

The two men
stared silently at each other for what seemed an eternity, each looking at a
mirror image of the other and at . . . what might have been.

Finally King held
out his hand and caught Duncan off guard. Duncan gulped hard, swallowed a big
knot of misery he'd been carrying around forever, and muttered as he and King
shook hands, "See you around, boy . . . and take good care of Jesse."

The door shut in
King's face and left him standing in the apartment hallway, feeling as if
Duncan's farewell had been final.

King couldn't
sleep. His conversation with Duncan kept replaying in his mind. He'd suspected
something had happened between Jesse and Duncan. Now, he was convinced of it.
Why wouldn't Jesse talk to him? She used to talk to him constantly about everything.
The niggling truth answered his own questions. She used to talk to him, but he
suspected he rarely listened. He hadn't listened. He hadn't noticed Jesse
changing and growing. He'd let her grow up and away, and never realized what
he'd had until it was gone. Then he hadn't known how to get it
...
or her . . . back.

"King?"
Jesse's soft voice startled him. He turned over in bed. She was silhouetted in
the doorway of his bedroom.

"What is it,
honey?" he asked softly, but suspected he already knew the answer.

"I can't
sleep," she whispered. "My sunburn hurts and I can't get Lynch's face
to go away."

The catch in her
voice was his undoing.

"You want to
stay here for a while? The bed is big. I won't bump your sunburn, but I can't
promise not to snore."

Jesse tried to
stifle a sob. King's attempt to lighten her mood only made it worse.

King was out of
bed in an instant. Sunburn or not, he needed to hold her, satisfy himself that
she was here and safe. Twice today he had realized how close he'd come to losing
Jesse. It was only this morning, but it seemed a lifetime ago, that Tariq had
come tearing down the hill toward home with an empty saddle. He couldn't forget
the complete and sudden sense of loss that had encompassed him. Then, after his
visit to Duncan, he'd realized how far away he'd let her slide without even
realizing it. He didn't know how he was going to do it, but he wanted Jesse
back.

"Come here,
honey," he whispered, carefully hugging her against his bare chest.

He felt every curve
and pulse point of Jesse against his skin and through the lightweight fabric of
his pajama bottoms.

A fierce surge of
desire, so intense it made his legs shake, swept over him. He stepped away,
aware that if he remained too close, Jesse would also feel his need. He knew he
couldn't get back in his bed with Jesse ever again and not make love to her.
There was no nobility left in him, no more restraint.

"Lie down,
Jess," he growled in a husky whisper. "I'll go get your sunburn stuff.
Maybe that will help a little. I can't do anything about Lynch except promise
you with my life that he won't get close to you again."

"Okay,"
Jesse agreed, and reluctantly let him go. Sunburn or not, she'd felt his body
harden and knew he felt something for her, if only lust by proximity. Then she
felt ashamed. She was actually beginning to consider taking him on any terms
that he'd offer.