King's Ransom (6 page)
Authors: Sharon Sala
Sheila's gasp was
nothing to the rage King felt as they walked into Jesse's bedroom. Nothing had
been cleaned, nothing had been moved. For the first time he realized just how
valiantly Jesse had struggled and how desperately she'd fought to survive. His
voice came out in a dark, ugly threat and his entire body shook as he turned to
Shockey and growled a warning.
"You better
find him before I do."
Shockey nodded
with a silent promise as well as a silent warning to King, and then left them
to their task.
It was completed
in haste and silence. No one spoke much until they were outside.
"Sheila,"
King said, watching the little blond get into her car. "I'm sorry you had
to go through this. But Jesse and I really appreciate your help. I probably
wouldn't have packed any of the right stuff."
"I didn't go
through anything," she answered. "Jesse is the one who's suffered.
And as far as help, I didn't do so much. She would have done the same, and
more, for me." She started her car and began to back from the short drive,
then stopped and lowered her window. "Take good care of Jesse," she
called. "She's a good friend. Please don't hurt her!"
King frowned as
he watched her hesitant wave and then she disappeared around the curve. Why
would she think I'd hurt Jesse? None of this made any sense at all.
Physical therapy was
a nightmare. Jesse was extremely nervous. Everyone was a stranger. She could
hardly concentrate on the therapist's instructions, for her furtive observation
of the people that kept coming and going through the therapy room. The guard
hadn't come with her to therapy; at least she hadn't seen him. She desperately
wished King would hurry and get back. This was the first time she'd been alone
since the attack. The staff went about daily duties and Jesse wished she was
back in her room. Every time she saw someone that fit the general description
of the intruder, her heart would skip a beat. Twice she'd forced herself not to
demand the unsuspecting men remove their shirts so she could see for herself if
there were wounds on their upper bodies. She was driving herself into a state
of paranoia she knew wasn't healthy. But someone she didn't know had tried to
kill her. Until he was apprehended, Jesse was going to be afraid.
"Dear
Lord," Jesse whispered to herself. "What if they never find him? How
do I learn to cope with this?"
Finally the
therapist was through. She left with a promise to tell a nurse that Jesse could
go back to her room. Jesse sighed impatiently as she watched her exit between
the tall, swinging doors that led back into the hall. It had been a matter of
some argument whether she should walk down one floor to have her therapy.
Finally, they had insisted she be brought down in a wheelchair. It was hospital
policy. So she waited for someone to come and take her back to relative safety.
Jesse alternated
between anticipation and joy when she thought about going back to the ranch
with King— seeing Maggie again, all her old friends, and, she'd have to admit
to herself, even Duncan.
who looked so like King be the absolute and total opposite in personality?
was the light. As a child, that was how Jesse had pictured them. But
and she was not. Any problems she had with him were to be kept to herself. She
was the outsider, not he. So she held her silence.
Her daydreams
were interrupted as the swinging double doors opened. A man wearing hospital
whites entered, pushing a wheel chair. Jesse's heart gave a sharp thud and she
began to shake. He looked like . . . he was the same age and build. Jesse
looked around wildly. He couldn't be coming for her. It had to be for someone
else. It was then she realized she was all alone in the room. The man kept
coming toward her with a smile on his face. She stood, frantically searching
for an exit, a door into another room. Somewhere to run? A place to escape?
There was nothing!
"Miss
LeBeau?" the male nurse questioned, as he saw her agitation escalate.
Something was wrong. Maybe they'd sent him to the wrong place. Or maybe this
wasn't the right patient. "I came to get you and . . ." but he never
got to finish his sentence.
"Nooo!"
Jesse moaned softly, and started backing slowly away. Her fear was so great she
didn't think she was going to be able to breathe. She couldn't go through this
again. He said he came to get her. She was too frightened and hurt to fight
again. "Please," she begged, holding her hands out in front of her
with a motion for him to come no closer.
Oh God! Not again!
Suddenly it dawned
on the man. He knew who this was and he wanted to wring his supervisor's neck.
This was the young woman who had been attacked several days ago. They should
have known to send a female nurse. They'd made such a point of having no men
enter her room, and this mistake, innocent though it may be, could do her
irreparable harm. It was obvious to him that he was a vivid reminder of her
recent ordeal.
"Miss
LeBeau, please." He spoke in a calm, authoritative manner. "I'm not
going to hurt you. I'm just a nurse. But I understand, okay? You wait there and
I'll call someone else to take you back to your room."
Jesse knew he was
talking. She could see his lips moving. But the blood was roaring in her ears
so loudly, she couldn't hear what he was saying. Then he stopped. He was
backing slowly toward the door. She saw him call out to someone in the hall.
She stood helplessly, waiting in terror.
"I need some
help down here," he called urgently, motioning toward the nurses' station.
"Some of you get down here quick, and you better be female."
King and one of
the staff doctors were on their way to physical therapy to see how Jesse was
progressing. He wanted to talk to the therapist himself and see if there was
anything specific he might do to help her regain mobility in her fingers and
hands after they went back to the ranch.
He saw a male
nurse standing at the end of the long hallway, half in and half out of the
swinging doors, saw a flurry of activity at the station as several of the
nurses started hurrying toward the man in the doorway, and felt a twinge of
apprehension. When he got close enough to read the sign over the doorway where
they were headed, he started to run. It was the physical therapy room.
Something was wrong and instinct told him it was with Jesse.
King heard the
male nurse's low voice explaining the situation as the others arrived. His
suspicion was confirmed. He looked past the group standing bunched in the
doorway as they discussed the best possible way to handle the situation without
further endangering the patient. King started to push past them.
"You can't
go in there, mister," a nurse said. "There's a patient in there who
needs special help. The staff psychiatrist is on his way."
"She doesn't
need anything but me," King growled, and started to force his way through
the group. "What in hell did you people do to cause this?" he
muttered. "She was fine when I left."
"Let him
pass," the doctor said as he arrived, quickly assessing the situation.
King stepped
inside the door and looked around, trying to determine what had triggered this
reaction. He could see nothing obvious but Jesse's intense fear. How was he
going to get through to her without causing her harm? He waited, hoping she
would come to him. But she didn't move, and the expression of horror on her
face didn't change.
Jesse had backed
herself as far into the room as she could go. When she felt the corner of the
wall cradle her back, she slid down weakly into a crouched position, unable to
run any farther. She hadn't taken her eyes from the man standing in the
doorway.
The man was
talking to people on the other side of the door, but she couldn't see their
faces. Maybe he called for help. If there were too many, she couldn't fight
them all. She moaned softly and beat her fists weakly against her knees.
Jesse's rationale was gone. She had flashbacked to the original attack, and was
living it all over again.
Her breath came
in sobs as she frantically searched the room's sparse furnishings for some kind
of weapon. She'd had one before, but she couldn't seem to find it now when she
needed it. The man was going to kill her. She just knew it! Her eyes followed
the baseboard as it ran the length of the room, still searching. There! Under
the window! A piece of pipe! That would work! Jesse fixed on the pipe's
location and began crawling on her hands and knees, oblivious to the pain in
her palms as she pulled herself across the floor. Someone was coming through
the doorway. She had to hurry. Jesse was breathing in harsh, choking gasps, her
mind fixed on gaining control of the weapon. She still wasn't ready to die. Her
fingers closed around the piece of metal as she clutched it tightly with both
hands. She pulled herself upright and stood silhouetted against the backdrop of
the bright midday sun streaming through the windows.
"Oh, dear
Lord!" one of the nurses whispered to herself, as the group stood in
shock, witnessing the terror and strength of heart that Jesse LeBeau possessed.
Tears burned and blurred the nurse's vision as she turned away, unwilling to witness
the suffering caused by the rape of Jesse LeBeau's mind.
"Be
careful," the doctor urged as King entered, standing ready to assist if
physical restraints became necessary. He was surprised that this had happened. The
patient had seemed in control. He supposed that alone should have alerted him.
No one could experience this type of trauma and not suffer some kind of emotional
stress.
"Jesse,"
King called. He stood unmoving in the center of the room. "Jesse, it's me,
King. Honey, put the pipe down. You know I won't hurt you, don't you,
baby?" He kept repeating the plea, over and over, hoping to reach some
part of Jesse that was still rational.
The deep, husky
rasp was so familiar. Jesse blinked furiously, trying to clear away the veil of
tears that kept blurring her vision. She heard him calling, over and over,
repeating her name in the same, safe, familiar voice. The man who'd hurt her
hadn't said her name. He'd only screamed ugly, foul things. This man was different.
He wasn't trying to hurt her. He wasn't screaming at her. Maybe . . . She began
to lower the pipe.
King cursed
softly under his breath and resisted the urge to wipe the sweat from his eyes.
Any sudden movement could startle her and send her back into the nightmare.
"Jesse
Rose," he called softly, and saw her begin to tremble. He breathed a harsh
sigh of relief as he watched the pipe slip from her shaky fingers and bounce
once before it rolled back against the wall.
"King?"
Jesse whispered, suddenly aware of her surroundings. It was the strangest
sensation. She didn't know how she came to be standing so far away from the
door, nor why everyone was looking at her so curiously. Her hands hurt. They
hadn't hurt like this in days. She gasped as she looked down at the rawness. A
few tiny drops of blood were seeping from one of the deeper scars.
"What
happened?" she moaned, and stumbled, but didn't fall. King's strong,
familiar arms gathered her close, pulling her safely against the comforting
beat of his heart. She buried her face in the soft linen shirt, recognized the
aftershave and the low growl in his voice, and relaxed.
King caught her
just as her legs gave way. He swung her up into his arms, softly murmuring over
and over against her cheek.
Jesse clung to
his strength. She felt as if she'd just run five miles uphill. She was limp and
shaking, and more and more aware of the small group of people whispering among
themselves as they witnessed the drama that had unfolded before their eyes.
"I'm
sorry," she mumbled, slowly realizing what must have happened, and
embarrassed at the turmoil she'd caused. She turned her tear-stained face up to
King, searching his face for approval. All she saw was a hard, tight-lipped
expression and flat, angry fury in his eyes. She thought it was directed at
her. "I got scared," she began. "And I couldn't find the guard,
and you weren't here
..."
"No!"
King said, brushing a gentle kiss against her brow. "Don't you apologize
for anything, Jess." His dark eyes flashed as he continued. "We're
the ones who should be sorry. I shouldn't have left you, and . . ." his
voice held a definite promise of menace, "I don't know where in hell your
guard is, but I'll bet I find out."
Jesse knew that
tone of voice and the expression on his face. She'd never been the recipient of
his anger, but she'd been a witness. It wasn't pretty.