King's Ransom (5 page)

Maggie lifted a
large bowl down from one of the cabinets and began to assemble the ingredients
necessary for double fudge chocolate cake. It was Jesse's favorite.

"Maggie,"
Duncan
persisted,
"where
is
King, if he's not here?" He sighed
to himself and resisted the urge to shout. She was so infuriating. She knew
what he wanted. Why didn't she just come out and tell him? Everybody treated
him like a fool. If they only knew, he was nobody's fool.

"We got a
call. Jesse's been hurt. She's . . ." but she wasn't allowed to finish her
sentence.

"Hurt?"
he shouted. "Why wasn't I notified? What happened? Was it a car accident?
What? Dammit, woman, talk. Don't I count for anything around here?" He
grabbed Maggie roughly by the shoulders and shook her.

"You weren't
notified because, as usual, you weren't home," Maggie said, and shrugged
out of his tight grasp. "And
...
it wasn't an accident. Someone tried to kill her."

The look on
Duncan
's face surprised
Maggie. Tears came to his eyes and his mouth worked, trying to speak past the
emotion that threatened to choke him. He finally pulled himself together and
wiped a hand roughly across his face. He reached blindly behind him and, when
he felt the wooden back of the kitchen chair, lowered himself carefully into
the seat as if his legs would no longer hold him.

"Kill
her?" he mumbled. "No . . . no, not kill her. How bad is she hurt? Is
she . . . disfigured in any way?"

Maggie gasped
aloud at his lack of sensitivity and then frowned. That
would
matter most to
someone of his caliber. She refused to answer him until he looked up with a
pitiful expression on his face. She reluctantly relented.

"King called
about two hours ago," she said, continuing to measure ingredients into
the mixing bowl. She had to keep herself busy, too. She was too horrified by
what had happened to her girl to let herself stop and think of the implications
until she actually held Jesse in her arms. "I don't think she's hurt too badly.
She had some severe lacerations on her hands and some bruising on her face, but
other than that, I believe she's okay."

"Thank
God!" he whispered aloud, and buried his face in his hands. "If her injuries
are minimal, then we must be thankful that she is alive. I'm just so glad she's
still the same."

"I doubt
she'll ever be the same," Maggie snapped, and began stirring vigorously.
She had to do something to keep her hands off this man. He made her so mad.

Duncan
got slowly to
his feet and shoved his hands in his pockets. He began backing out of the
kitchen, bidding Maggie goodbye as he continued his crawfish exit.

"I'll call
you later to check on Jesse. Maybe I'll go see her as soon as she's able to go
home."

"She's not
going home. King is bringing her here," Maggie said.

"Here?
Wonderful,"
Duncan
said, his attitude of dejection changing by the minute. "I'll just give
them time to settle in, and then I'll be over. Cheer her up and all. It'll be
great to see her again."

"You better
call first," Maggie warned, but her words bounced off the closing of the
front door. Duncan McCandless was gone. He'd disappeared as quickly as he'd
appeared.

She shook her head,
dismissing the futility of trying to make him into something he was not. His
brother Andrew had been the only one with any sense. King was following in his
father's footsteps, but for some reason, Duncan McCandless just hadn't figured
out how to grow up.

THREE

King spent his
nights with Jesse on a cot furnished by the nursing staff, going back to the
hotel every day just to shower and change. He wanted to be at the hospital for
her, as much for her protection as for her peace of mind. The intruder who'd
attacked Jesse was still unapprehended. He'd simply vanished. The few leads the
police received went nowhere. No hospital, no medical facility of any kind in
the entire state had reported a man with the kind of injuries Jesse had
inflicted. The police had begun to talk of the possibility of the perpetrator
lying dead and still undetected. However, neither King nor Captain Shockey
agreed with that theory. They believed he was out there somewhere, hiding,
biding his time.

King had been
reluctant to leave Jesse for even a short time until one of her friends from
school heard of her attack. She started coming by every day after her summer
classes were dismissed. Her name was Sheila. King liked her and could see why
Jesse liked her, too. She was short and blond, funny and forthright, and best
of all, she made Jesse smile. Everyone else skirted around Jesse's attack. They
were afraid to say the wrong thing—afraid that what they said would hurt her
feelings or bring back bad memories. But not Sheila. She was the best thing
that could have happened at this point in Jesse's life. It did King good to
hear Sheila's anecdotes and her suppositions of the probable nightmares Jesse's
intruder was having, too. Sheila's nonsense was closer to the truth than they
could have imagined. Lynch's days and nights were pure hell.

Lynch was going
crazy. He'd been shut inside his house for days. The shades were drawn, and he
had no way to cool himself in the sweltering heat. The utilities had been cut
because of non-payment. He was running out of food. He needed to get some more
peroxide to treat his slowly healing cuts and, most of all, he needed a drink.
He'd made up his mind that, when it got dark, he was going out. There was an
all-night convenience store less than four blocks from his duplex, and after
midnight hardly anyone frequented the location. The only problem was that he
didn't have any money. But he'd worry about that later. Right now, he needed a
drink and he needed food. He settled back to wait for sundown. He had a plan.

King's phone call
to Maggie had been just what she needed. He smiled as he replaced the receiver,
patting his pockets to make certain he had all the papers and keys necessary to
go back to the hospital. His assurance that Jesse was healing and that they
would be home day after tomorrow was good news indeed. Her stitches were to
come out in the morning. Then, after going over minor exercises in physical
therapy, Jesse would be released.

But King still had
to get inside Jesse's house and pack enough of her belongings for a long stay.
He had made up his mind she wasn't coming back to
St. Louis
until it was safe. Now, he had to
convince Jesse.

She wasn't going
to be as easy to persuade as she'd been when he first arrived. Then, she'd been
so frightened and in so much pain she'd pretty much let him make the rules.
But as she grew stronger, so did her will. Jesse was obviously still very
relieved to see King come back into her room each day, but she had re-erected
that secret wall of silence between them. A couple of times King had tried to
draw her out; get her to talk about her decision to leave the ranch. Each time,
Jesse would change the subject. He knew in no uncertain terms that now was not
the time. She wasn't ready to deal with it, so he let it drop. But time was
running out, and so was King's patience. She
had
to come with him.
She didn't have a choice until the intruder was caught.

The hospital room
was dark and quiet. The only light came from the hallway outside the partially
opened door. King watched the play of emotions on Jesse's face. She hadn't said
no. She hadn't said yes. In fact, she hadn't said anything at all. That was
what was bothering him.

"Jesse, for
the love of . . ." then he caught himself. Anger would get him nowhere. He
took a deep breath and started over. "Honey, I just don't understand. The
ranch is your home. You'll be safe there with your family."

But Jesse's soft
interruption startled him. He didn't know what to make of it.

"I know that
you'll take care of me, King. You always have. But you're not
really
my family. I
don't have any family." The harshness of her words was softened with a
smile. "Just very dear friends."

Her denial hurt
in a way he could never have imagined, yet he refused to be deterred.

"Okay,"
he agreed, letting his breath out in slow, measured puffs of frustration.
"I'm not your brother, but by God, I feel like one, and I want you safe.
Is that so bad?"

He knew the
instant he said he felt like her brother that he was lying to himself and to
Jesse. But the thought behind it was sincere, and he let his statement stand.

Jesse read the
hurt in his face and knew he'd never understand. That's partly why she'd left.
She hadn't wanted a brother. She'd wanted more from King than he could give.

"I'm not
your sister," she said more harshly than she intended, and took a deep
breath before she continued. "Most of the time I don't feel like I belong
to anyone. I teach other people's children, not my own. I go home to an empty
house and grade papers until I get tired and, usually, I just go to bed. I know
I made my choices, and though they aren't what I particularly desired, they're
mine. But I appreciate, more than you can ever know, that you were here for me.
I couldn't have survived this nightmare without you. And
..."

King held his
breath.

"And,"
she continued, "I'll come home with you. But just until the man is
apprehended. Then I have to come back to this life and my job. This is my world
now, King. It's the only one I belong to."

King breathed a
huge sigh of relief and pulled Jesse into a big hug. He felt her momentary
resistance and then smiled to himself as he felt her relax, allowing him the
familiarity. Just as soon as he got her back to the ranch, he was going to get
to the bottom of her silence.

Jesse knew every
word she spoke and every denial she put in his way would only make King more
determined to crack the shell of secrecy she'd erected around herself. She
didn't know what was going to happen when she went back to the Double M with
King. The only thing she did know was that pretending he was her brother was
not going to work again.

Jesse was in
therapy, being briefed on the types of exercises she must do to regain full
mobility in her hands. Her stitches had been removed earlier in the day, and
while she was horrified at the maze of tiny red lines crisscrossing her palms,
she counted herself lucky to be alive still. Scars were something with which
she could deal.

King had made
arrangements with Sheila and Captain Shockey to meet at Jesse's house and pack
the needed clothes for their trip. Sheila willingly agreed. She had been at
Jesse's home often enough to be able to find anything they would need. Shockey
had agreed earlier to accompany King. While it was still the scene of a crime,
King had free access with Jesse's permission.

It was pure
curiosity on Shockey's part to see how McCandless would react. He had a gut
feeling there was more, to Jesse LeBeau's attack than just a pervert crawling
through a window. Until a case was solved, he trusted no one.

King's cab pulled
into Jesse's driveway as Sheila and

Shockey arrived.
He was glad. He wanted to get this over with as soon as possible.

"It's not a
pretty sight," Shockey warned as they entered the stuffy confines of the
darkened interior.

Sheila shuddered
and looked about nervously, half expecting someone to jump from behind a sofa
or out of a closet.

"It wasn't a
pretty thing to do to anyone. I don't imagine it is," King growled, his
voice even deeper and rougher than usual. He raked his hand through his hair,
ruffling the ends out of order. He just wanted this job over with. This was the
first time he'd been to Jesse's home. He felt curious and a little guilty. He
should have come sooner. He looked around, searching for signs of the Jesse he
knew. There were none. It may as well have been a hotel room. Nothing looked
lived in. There were no pictures, no mess, no personal items . . . nothing. Her
life here was a puzzle. It looked like she'd just been eating and sleeping
here, not really living. It almost looked like she'd been waiting. But waiting
for what?

"Well, come
on," King said. "Let's get this over with. Lead the way,
Captain."

Shockey made a
mental note. A plus for McCandless. He didn't know where the rooms were
located. Funny, if they're so close, he hadn't been inside this house.
Something didn't add up.