Witness (36 page)

Jeannie laughed. “You can't possibly be referring to Mr. Dundee.”

Reeves jumped to his feet, obviously unnerved by her reaction. “I most certainly am. I came here in good faith, expecting a private audience with you.”

“I have no secrets from Mr. Dundee. You see, he is my protector. His job is to make sure no harm comes to me. He isn't a threat to anyone, unless—”

“Yes, yes, I quite understand.” Reeves sat down again, slowly, focusing his attention on Jeannie's smiling face. “When you called and asked to see me, I hoped that you'd changed your mind about joining my ministry. It isn't too late. All I have to
do is go outside—” leaning toward Jeannie, Reeves lowered his voice “—and tell the Righteous Light brethren and the media that I fought the devil for your soul and won.”

The urge to giggle would have overcome Jeannie if she hadn't been aware of the threat behind the reverend's offer. “But you haven't fought the devil for my soul, because my soul is my own, and my powers are not derived from any evil source.”

“If you do not use your powers in his name, doing his work, then Satan controls you. There is much good you could do. You and I together could form a strong force to combat this sinful world.”

Jeannie noticed the wild, glazed stare in Reeves's eyes, an almost otherworldly glimmer. Ripples of suspicion jangled her nerve endings.

In so many ways, Maynard Reeves reminded her of her stepfather, a man who had exploited her, never caring that his fanatical needs had condemned her to a living hell. She hated remembering those endless days and nights of pain from which she'd had no escape. Only in God's own good time and in his way had she been set free. She would never willingly be used to further an unscrupulous minister's career.

“I spent my childhood as the main attraction of my stepfather's ministry.”

“And you would be the crown jewel in mine!” Reeves rose from the settee, lifting his arms as if to beseech heaven. “There is nothing that we couldn't do—together!”

Jeannie knew there was only one way to discover the truth, to prove or disprove her suspicions. But how would Sam react? His interference could prove disastrous. She had to make him understand that he was not to interrupt her probe, not even if she appeared to be in danger.

She called out to Sam silently. He didn't try to block her entrance into his mind, because he hadn't been expecting it. She glanced across the room at him; he gave her a quizzical
look. Why wouldn't he open his mind and allow her to connect with him? If only he would admit that a telepathic link existed between them, it would be so easy.

I'm going to connect with Reverend Reeves,
Jeannie told Sam telepathically, hoping he would open his mind to her.

Sam clenched his teeth. A muscle in his jaw twitched. He uncrossed his arms, lowered them to his sides, and knotted his hands into tight fists. He wouldn't listen to her. He had to shut her out once again.

Jeannie lifted her cane, braced the tip on the floor and rose from her chair. “Reverend Reeves, you understand all about possessing special powers, don't you?”

Spreading his arms in a circular motion as he brought them downward, Reeves stepped back, his legs bumping into the edge of the settee. “I know that there are powers from the devil and powers from God, and that those from the devil must be destroyed and those from God must be cultivated and used in his service.”

Seemingly spellbound, Reeves watched her walk slowly toward him. He didn't so much as flinch when she reached out and touched him.

Jeannie held his hand with a strong but gentle clasp. Within seconds, she sensed a subdued energy pulsating weakly inside him. Gradually the sensations grew stronger, and the transference began in earnest. Fear. Pain. Anger. So much anger.

Sam moved inward from the far wall, stopping a few feet behind Reeves. She could not relay a telepathic message to Sam as long as she was connected to Reeves, and she dared not break the tenuous bond she had just formed.

Closing her eyes, Jeannie blocked out the world around her and concentrated on Maynard Reeves's emotions, on the haunted thoughts and painful memories swirling around in his mind. She sensed him trying to pull away, trying to break their link. But he was powerless against Jeannie's determination.

Sensing Maynard's fear, Jeannie connected to the memories
he was recalling.
Don't whip me again. Please, Mama, don't. I promise I'll never do it again. I'll be good.

She felt the pain, the child's pain that had twisted and festered and rotted within Maynard Reeves.

She saw the blood dripping from welts on the little boy's buttocks.
No, Daddy. I'm sorry. I don't want the mean old devil inside me. I'll make him go away. I'll never use his evil powers again.

Anger. He would rid the world of Satan's magic, the way his parents had beaten it out of him. But a residue of that power remained inside him. Nothing he did could make it go away. But no one knew. No one must ever know that, sometimes, he used the power. And sometimes he prayed for more.

Jeannie swayed on her feet as she slowly, patiently, drew the fear and pain and anger from Maynard Reeves's alter ego, a frightened and badly abused little boy. The pain was no longer physical, but a deep psychological hurt that tormented Reeves. Poor, poor little boy. Swaying unsteadily, Jeannie gripped her cane, then drew in deep, gasping breaths. Tears welled up in her eyes. Through the mist of her pain—sad, pitiful little Maynard's pain—she heard Sam moving closer. Not yet, she tried to tell him. Almost. Please wait. But she knew he hadn't heard her.

Sam grabbed Reeves by the back of his neck, jerking him away from Jeannie, tossing him down on the floor. Reeves cried out, covering his head, as if to protect himself from an expected blow.

Jeannie could no longer brace her weak legs with the aid of her cane. Her knees buckled, but before she slumped to the floor, Sam lifted her into his arms. She felt the strength that held her safely in its embrace, and knew nothing could harm her. The pain would pass, but it would take time to make its way through her mind, through her body, through her heart, before shattering into nothingness within her soul.

Reeves rose from the floor into a crouch, looking wild-eyed and frightened, like a cornered animal. “My God! My God!
Her power is strong, so strong. I could feel her draining my very soul out of me.”

“You're out of your mind!” Sam didn't even look down at Reeves as he walked out of the parlor with Jeannie in his arms.

“Only a witch could possess such powers.” Reeves stood, his legs trembling, his hands shaking. “Only Satan's child.”

Sam ignored the man, his only thoughts of Jeannie's comfort and safety. “Ollie! Ollie!” He stopped at the foot of the stairs when Ollie Tyner came bustling down the hallway.

“What's wrong?” Seeing Jeannie in Sam's arms, Ollie gave Reeves a condemning stare. “What's he done to her?”

“Show Reverend Reeves to the door, Ollie,” Sam said.

“Gladly.” Flinging open the front door, Ollie planted her hand on her hip and waited for Reeves to depart.

“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live!” Reeves shouted as he entered the foyer, his face suffused with color, his eyes glazed over with a rage born of realization.

“Get out of here!” Sam tilted his head just a fraction, just enough to glare at Reeves, giving the other man the full impact of his killer stare.

Standing in the open doorway leading to the porch, Reeves pointed an accusatory finger at Sam. “You protect the devil's daughter. When God destroys her, he will smite you down, also.”

Ollie slammed the door on Reverend Reeves, hitting him squarely in the rear end. Swiping the palms of her hands together, she smiled. “Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

“Activate the alarm system,” Sam said. “We don't want any snakes trying to crawl back into the house. I'm taking Jeannie to her room.”

“I'll bring her up some tea in a bit.” Ollie shook her head sadly. “When she comes out of it, she'll be thirsty.”

Sam nodded his agreement, then carried Jeannie upstairs and laid her on her bed. She clung to him, refusing to release
her hold around his neck. Sitting down on the bed, with his back braced against the headboard, he lifted her onto his lap. She cuddled against him.

“Sam?” Her voice was weak, breathless.

“I'm here.”

“Reeves…Reeves is…” She didn't have the strength to speak.

“Hush. It's all right. He's gone, and I'll never let him get close enough to touch you. Not ever again.” Sam held her close, wishing that he could somehow absorb the aftershocks of pain hitting her now.

She lay quietly, her breathing gradually returning to normal as the color reappeared in her face. Sam stroked her back, soothing her, longing to give her his strength.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. “I'm all right. Don't worry so.”

“Don't talk. Just rest.” He caressed her face with his fingertips, each touch filled with deep concern.

“Reeves was psychic as a child,” she said.

“What?”

“His powers are very limited, but they do still exist.”

“You tapped into those powers? Is that what happened?”

“Partly.” Lifting her head off Sam's shoulder, she stared him directly in the eye. “Only his parents knew about his abilities, and they beat him severely anytime he used them. They—”

“Shh…shh… You're overexerting yourself.” He placed his right index finger over her lips.

Jeannie covered his hand with hers and pulled it away from her face. “His parents thought little Maynard had received his psychic powers from the devil. They abused him unmercifully. There is so much pain and anger and fear inside him. I had just tapped into those emotions and had begun to drain them when you broke our connection.”

“I'm sorry, but I can't waste my time worrying about what
happened to Reeves when he was a child, what psychological damage his parents caused that turned him into a lunatic.”

Jeannie squeezed Sam's hand. “He sees me as a threat, now more so than before. I know his secret. I know that he believes, despite all that he's done and everything his parents did, that the devil still occasionally works through him.”

“What are you not telling me?” Sam lifted her hand to his lips.

“He was willing to join forces with me, had I been agreeable. He knows that I know he was willing to sell his soul to the devil in order to share my power.” Jeannie took a deep, cleansing breath, releasing all the residue of Reeves's emotions. “He cannot allow me to live. He sees me as an evil threat, a seducer with the devil's own power.”

Sam buried his lips in Jeannie's open palm, then grabbed her into his arms, holding her with fierce protectiveness. “I'll never let him near you again. Whatever it takes, I'll keep you safe.”

“Yes, Sam. I know you'll guard me with your life.”

“Damn right about that!”

S
TEPPING ABOARD THE
Royal Belle
was like entering another world. Nineteenth-century charm and lavish elegance combined with the glitter and excitement of Las Vegas. The gambling casino, docked just off the Biloxi shore, was a security problem. Public access gave anyone the opportunity to come and go as they pleased. A quick and unobserved getaway would be simple—drive out of the parking lot and onto Beach Boulevard or escape by private boat. It would be easy to get lost in the horde of tourists who flooded the area from daylight to dark.

Three decks high, gaming on two levels and a restaurant-lounge on the third, the floating palace was ideal for a society charity function. Although two levels had been secured for the private affair, the bottom level of the riverboat remained open to the public, which meant it was possible for an uninvited guest to slip by security.

When Sam had been unable to dissuade Jeannie from attending this black-tie affair, he'd asked Rufus Painter to the Howell home for a private meeting. Painter agreed with Sam's opinion of Maynard Reeves as a fanatic, with the potential to become violent, but since the man stayed just within the law, Painter's hands were tied. Sam understood the officer's limitations. Before the police could do anything about Reeves, they needed some sort of proof that the man had broken the law.

Sam had stayed on the right side of the law all his life. He'd done a stint in the marines before college, and then joined the Drug Enforcement Administration. And since starting his own
private security agency, he had, for the most part, adhered to government rules and regulations.

But to keep Jeannie Alverson safe, he was willing to do anything, and if that meant breaking a few rules, Sam wasn't about to lose any sleep over it. Yeah, he and Painter understood each other. They both had jobs to do; they were just bound by slightly different codes of conduct.

Yesterday, he'd had J.T. send down a couple of Dundee Private Security's newest recruits. He'd told J.T. the two-day stint would give the men some experience in the field and allow him to evaluate their performance. He knew J.T. didn't buy the excuse, but he was too good a friend to ask questions, even after Sam told him the agency would cover the cost.

Gabriel Hawk, a former CIA agent, and Morgan Kane, once a navy SEAL, hardly needed any field experience. Sam had evaluated their records thoroughly before bringing them into the business to replace two of his best men. Ashe McLaughlin wouldn't be returning. He had married his childhood best friend and decided to move back home and begin a new life. And Simon Roarke, who'd been severely wounded in the line of duty, needed several months to recover.

Upon their arrival from the airport yesterday morning, Sam had left Hawk at the Howell home to guard Jeannie while he and Kane checked out the
Royal Belle.

 

E
VEN WITH HIS
own men assisting the private security provided by the
Royal Belle,
Sam felt uneasy. He had halfway expected to find a troop of Righteous Light brethren picketing the casino, but to his great relief, there hadn't been a sign of Reeves or his followers. Sam wasn't so sure that was a good sign. He'd much rather have these people out in the open than sneaking around in dark corners.

Constantly vigilant, Sam repeatedly scanned the room, which was filled with the Mississippi Gulf's elite, along with visitors from Mobile and New Orleans. Many of the people who
belonged to Julian Howell's social circle, though cordial and nauseatingly polite to Jeannie, had watched her every move for the past hour during dinner. What the hell were they expecting? That she'd sprout wings and fly? Or cast a spell over the whole room? Unfortunately, there had been one dear old lady who, despite her breeding and sophistication, had been unable to refrain from requesting that Jeannie heal her spastic colon.

Julian rose from his chair, held out his hand to Marta McCorkle and asked her to dance. The warmth of her smile softened the age lines around her eyes and mouth, making her appear years younger than sixty.

Sam noticed the way Jeannie watched the couples on the dance floor and couldn't help wondering if she had ever danced.

“Would you like to go downstairs and play the slot machines?” Sam asked.

“Not yet,” she said. “I haven't finished my dessert.” Lifting her spoon, she dipped into the chocolate mousse.

Sam concentrated on Jeannie's mouth. Full. Soft. A warm peach color. And so inviting. She ate the spoonful of mousse, then unconsciously licked her bottom lip. Sam swallowed, thinking of how her tongue had felt, mating with his, sampling his taste.

His gaze moved over her face, across her nose and her delicately tinted cheeks to her expressive brown eyes. When she smiled at him, her eyes smiled, too. Her pale eyes were almost identical in color to her beige-streaked ash brown hair.

Sam tried to return her smile, but somehow he had never perfected the art of smiling. Without opening his mouth, he curved his lips slightly. His niece Elizabeth had told him he needed to smile more, that he most certainly needed to laugh occasionally. And sometimes, with Elizabeth, he had.

“Everything's just perfect, isn't it?” Jeannie reached across the table, laying her hand flat, her palm open, gesturing for him to respond. “The weather is wonderful, not too hot, even
for August. The casino is lovely, and everyone is having a good time.”

Julian and Marta had kept a steady stream of conversation going during dinner, but Jeannie had been very quiet. He had noticed she wasn't prone to idle chitchat and that suited him fine. What didn't suit him was the way she kept getting inside his head. He had felt her probing a couple of times and had blocked her entrance. They were alone at the table now. If she had something to say to him, she could use the normal means of communication.

“Are you having a good time?” he asked, glancing at her hand, wanting to cover it with his. But if he touched her, she would connect with him. She would feel what he felt. And he'd be powerless to stop her.

“I'm pleased that we've had such a good turnout. If this function brings in a lot of money for the Howell School, Mr. VanDevere, the CEO of the company that owns the
Royal Belle,
has agreed to make it an annual affair.”

Sam followed Jeannie's gaze to the dance floor, to Marta in Julian's arms. The older couple were gliding smoothly in a slow two-step.

Sam glanced down at Jeannie's hand again. She curled her fingers, relaxed them, curled them, relaxed them, signaling him to touch her. “How long have Julian and Marta been dating?”

“For several years. They've known each other since they were children. Julian and Miriam were close friends with Marta and her husband, who died a year after Miriam.”

“Julian told me before we left the house that he wouldn't be coming home until morning.” Sam watched her face for a reaction. “He said that you'd know where to reach him.”

“He and Marta have been lovers for about a year now.” Jeannie's smile widened. A sigh of humming laughter vibrated from her throat. “You aren't surprised, are you?”

“No. Besides, it's none of my business.” He wished she'd
take her hand away; the temptation to accept her invitation overpowered his common sense.

He laid his hand in hers. She grasped it gently. He repeated the gesture. Sam stared directly into her compelling brown eyes and knew he'd have a hell of a time denying this woman anything. Just as a tingle of awareness passed between Jeannie and Sam, Hawk tapped him on the shoulder.

Sam released Jeannie's hand, scooted back his chair and stood. He stepped away from the table, making sure Jeannie couldn't overhear his conversation. “What's wrong?”

“Maynard Reeves just arrived with a lady named Danette Suddath.” Hawk inclined his head to the left.

Sam scanned the area to their left, catching a glimpse of Reeves's sandy hair, gleaming in the muted lounge light. Swearing under his breath, he grabbed Hawk by the arm. “Why the hell did the guards let him in here?”

“The lady has an invitation, and he's her guest,” Hawk said. “Kane is making a phone call to check on this Suddath woman, but she acts like she belongs here. She's spoken to several people, calling them by their first names.”

“Reeves is a strong antigambling advocate.” Sam repeatedly clenched and unclenched his hands. “I wonder how he'll justify socializing in this den of iniquity.”

“I'll keep tabs on Reeves,” Hawk assured Sam. “And as soon as Kane gets any information on the woman, I'll let you know.”

“I don't want Reeves here, but there seems to be nothing we can do at the moment.”

Turning around in her seat, Jeannie called out to Sam. “Is something wrong? Is there some problem I should know about?”

“Make sure he doesn't come anywhere near her,” Sam told Hawk. “Stop him before I have to.”

Hawk nodded, then made his way across the room, heading
directly to the lounge area. Sam held out his hand to Jeannie. Staring up at him, she gave him a quizzical look.

“No problems,” he lied, and wondered how long it would take her to realize the truth. “Hawk was just checking in with me.” Sam wiggled his fingers. “Come on, Jeannie, dance with me.”

He saw the warm, glowing light in her eyes die. Dammit! Had she already seen through his lie? Was she aware of Reeves's presence?

“I—I don't dance,” she said.

“What?”

“I don't dance, because of my legs.” She bowed her head deliberately, to avoid looking at Sam. “You know I can't walk without my cane. I can't dance. I'd only make a spectacle of myself if I tried.”

“Have you ever tried?”

“Once, when I was a teenager. Miriam tried to teach me, but we soon realized it was hopeless. I'm not able to move without bracing myself with my cane.”

Sam lifted her walking stick and handed it to her. “How about a stroll around the deck instead?”

Raising her head, she nodded agreement, a flicker of a smile forming on her lips. She stood, supporting herself with her cane, and took Sam's hand. He slipped his arm around her waist and led her away from the lounge area and out onto the open deck of the riverboat.

It was not quite eight-thirty, and the sun had just set. The summer twilight spread gold across the sky, gilding the clouds, as the aureate Gulf waters rhythmically bathed the tawny shore. The evening breeze, pleasant and soothing, caressed Jeannie's hair; several loose tendrils blew across her cheeks.

They walked the length of the deck, reaching a secluded corner. The music from the live band echoed on the wind and water. Sam slowed their walk, then halted. Jeannie glanced up at him.

“Are you going to tell me why you rushed me outside so quickly?” she asked, sensing the tension in Sam's big body, knowing from merely touching him that he was concerned about something.

Tightening his hold around her waist, he turned her to face him. He lifted her left hand, placing it on his shoulder. “Hold on tight,” he said, then took her cane out of her hand. Gasping loudly, she grabbed his other shoulder with her right hand. He hung her cane on the deck rail.

“What are you doing?”

“We're going to dance. I'll support you securely in my arms. Trust me. You can dance. You can dance with me.”

“Sam, no, I—”

“No one can see us. We're all alone out here.”

“I can't. I—”

“Kick off your shoes, then lift your left foot and put it on top of mine,” he told her. “What?”

“Don't ask questions. Just do as I say.”

She obeyed his command, stepping out of her shoes and placing her left foot on top of his. “I don't see how my stepping on your feet is going to—”

“Haven't you ever seen little girls dancing with their fathers?”

“You can't mean…”

“Put your right foot on mine. We're going to dance.”

“I'm not a little girl. I'm a grown woman. And I'm not light as a feather.”

“I'm a big man, with big feet,” he said. “And you're a small woman, with small feet. You'll feel as light as a feather to me.”

Slowly, reluctantly, she lifted her right foot and placed it atop his. The moment the deed was completed, Sam moved, cautiously, without any sense of rhythm at first, allowing Jeannie a few moments to adjust to the new and unusual sensation of
someone else actually walking for her. And that was all Sam did for a while, simply walked her backward and forward. With her arms draped around his neck, her body pressed intimately against his, she gradually relinquished all control to Sam. Her trust in him was that great.

“See how easy it is when you do what I tell you to do?”

She jerked her head up, glaring at him, but when he smiled, she smiled, too, unable to resist the magnetism of his smile. No wonder he didn't do it often, or so completely. His smile was devastating.

“You like being right, don't you?” Laying her head on his chest, she cuddled closer, and was pleased when she heard his indrawn breath.

“Yeah, I like being right.” With one hand still bracing her back, he eased his other hand downward, from her waist to the curve of her buttocks.

The romantic strains of “I Love How You Love Me” floated on the night air, strings and brass blending into a sweet harmony. Sam moved his big body to the soft, slow melody, encompassing Jeannie in his embrace as he carried her across the deck, her small feet welded atop his much larger ones. Their bodies swayed in perfect unison, in tune with each other and the flow of the music.

She closed her eyes, absorbing the beauty of the moment, allowing herself to enjoy the pleasure of dancing and the joy of being in Sam Dundee's strong arms. She had never known anything like this incredible sensation. Dancing. Dancing in Sam's arms. Gliding across the floor as if she had wings on her feet.