Jessica could only nod. Somehow the name Liz seemed familiar to her, but she couldn’t quite place it. She took another drink of the water, on her own this time, and finished collecting her scattered thoughts.
“Where am I?” she asked at last.
“Oh, dear,” Liz said, then laughed good-naturedly. “I forgot to introduce myself. Well, I’m Liz Keaton—used to be Guiness—Mitch’s sister. And this little rascal is my stepson, Andrew. He likes to quote statistics, but don’t let him fool you. He’s a sucker for strawberry ice cream.”
This time Andrew blushed, but he didn’t refute the statement.
“You were in a shoot-out,” he announced, this bit of information seeming to appeal to him tremendously. “Did you know firearms kill thirty-six thousand people a year?”
Weakly, Jessica shook her head. This didn’t seem to phase him.
“My father says guns are bad, you shouldn’t have to use violence to fight violence. A real hero uses his mind.”
If only he knew, Jessica thought. She was saved from replying, however, by the door suddenly flying open. Judging by the sudden paling of Liz’s face, Mitch had arrived.
“Liz,” he practically roared. “What the hell did you think you were doing, locking me in like that?”
“Letting you sleep,” she replied casually. Her brother towered over her, easily twice her size, but she didn’t even flinch. “You’re losing your touch, Mitch. It used to only take you fifteen minutes to break out of a room.”
“This place is built like a damn stone prison,” he informed her darkly. Then abruptly he noticed that Jessica’s eyes were no longer closed but looking at him. The next words died completely in his throat, his entire face suddenly softening. “Hey,” he said quietly. “You’re awake.”
Jessica could only nod, no longer trusting herself to speak. Mitch looked tall and powerful and vital, and she didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone more beautiful in her life. He was alive. She hadn’t killed him. He was alive, and he was here.
Liz saw the look pass between her brother and the mysterious woman on the bed. Being madly in love with her husband herself, she didn’t require an interpreter to understand the sudden intensity.
“Andrew,” she began tactfully, “why don’t you help me go make brownies for Jessica?”
Andrew looked as if he would have argued, but Liz’s hand was already firm on his shoulder, guiding him from the room.
“Remember, Mitch,” she called out over her shoulder, “she’s still weak and needs plenty of rest.”
The closing of the door saved her from her brother’s succinct reply.
“How are you doing?” Mitch asked as soon as they were alone.
“Tired,” she admitted, her eyes still fastened to his face. He looked slightly paler and like he might have lost some weight. But then he grinned at her, and she felt her heart leap in her chest. She moved over slightly in the bed, and he took that as an invitation to sit down on the edge.
For a long while, neither of them said anything. They just drank in each other’s presence, the fact they were here and alive and together.
Finally Mitch bent down and gently kissed her lips.
“I’ve been waiting a long time to do that,” he said softly. Three days to be exact.
She nodded, her now-blue eyes growing dark.
“Kiss me again,” she whispered. He complied, a slow leisurely kiss that made her feel at once warm and protected. She had to consciously fight the urge to wrap her arms around his neck and bury her head against his shoulder. For one intense moment she could see him fighting with Les and the fear rippled through her.
Mitch felt her shudder against him and understood. “It’s okay now,” he soothed. “It’s all over, Jessica.”
“Jessica?” she asked.
He looked at her with calm brown eyes. “Since Capruccio is dead now, there’s no need for you to be Jess McMoran anymore. You can have your life back now. Go back to fashion shoots and international jaunts.”
He said the words simply enough, not even aware he was holding his breath until she abruptly turned away, her blue eyes focusing starkly on the wall.
“But is it really over?” she asked softly.
He nodded. “I helped file the paperwork myself, sweetheart. Capruccio is as dead as dead gets, and without him the contract on your head is worthless. Les never acknowledged a successor and he didn’t have any children, so the police are predicting an internal struggle for power, now. At any rate, no one really cares about Les or Jessica Gavornée anymore.”
“Maybe I’m not really Jessica Gavornée,” she said at last. “Maybe Les was right, and I’m still Mary Morgan.” She turned abruptly, pinning him with her intense blue gaze. “I shot at him, Mitch. I was willing to kill to save you, to save myself. All my life I’ve hated the violence. Yet six men are dead because of me, and I would have taken Les’s life myself if I’d aimed better.”
“You can aim fine,” Mitch told her abruptly, his brown eyes serious. “I saw you with those two-liter bottles. You have no problem at all hitting a target. However, you did miss Les and that’s not unusual. There’s a big difference between firing at plastic bottles and a human being. Agents have to learn how to shoot in the field, to overcome that resistance. Your heart knows the difference. If you truly hadn’t cared, Jess, you would have hit him as easily as you did those bottles.”
She was still quiet. “I wanted to hit him, though,” she said softly. “At that moment I wanted him dead.”
“You didn’t kill him, Jess,” Mitch repeated. “The cops did.”
He could still see the guilt on her face, the torment in her eyes, and it tore at him. He just wanted the whole mess behind them. He wanted to hold her in his arms, and keep her safe. He wanted to look to the future, instead of drowning in the past. He wanted to wake up with this woman every morning of his life and gaze into her intelligent blue eyes. He wanted to be there for her when she needed him, in sickness and health and death do us part. He wanted the whole nine yards.
She turned in the bed, wincing a little as the movement pulled her leg.
“Why are we here?” she asked at last, changing topics altogether.
“I’m still working things out with the Office of Professional Relations,” Mitch told her. “Remember, Capruccio had to get his information from somewhere. I didn’t want to take any chances of bringing either of us in until the whole situation was resolved. I did call Merill, the case agent in charge, though, after I called the police. He has some ideas on who the person probably is. It seems one of our billing people has developed an expensive gambling problem. I guess in addition to processing the expenses, he decided to make a bit of money by selling the name of the retreat to Capruccio. While Merill takes care of him, I told him we would keep a low profile.” And he’d tried talking to Cagney, but his brother seemed to have withdrawn completely after the shooting. His leg was healing, but the shadows in his eyes weren’t.
Yesterday he’d called Mitch and announced he was quitting the force. Then, before Mitch could react, he’d simply hung up. Neither he nor Liz have been able to reach Cagney since.
Before him, Jessica nodded, her hand reaching out to lay next to his. Unconsciously, she began to doodle a little pattern on the back of his palm with her finger. He felt warm and strong. Her heart fluttered again, her stomach tightening.
“And the police?” she asked.
Abruptly he grinned at her. “I’ve been meaning to thank you,” he said softly. She looked at him, not understanding. “It seems you told a Mrs. Abbott what was going on. She gave the license number of the car to her husband and he called it in. With my brother Cagney having already put an APB out on us, the police found the car pretty quickly. They followed us to Capruccio, not wanting to risk a confrontation with us still in the vehicle, then got into position. You did good, Jess. But then, that doesn’t surprise me.”
“I didn’t think she understood.”
“She reads lips.”
“Oh.”
She wanted him. She wanted him to lie down beside her so she could rest her head on his shoulder. She wanted to feel his arms around her, holding her, keeping her safe. He alone knew all her secrets, yet he’d never turned away from her. He alone had kept all his promises to her. He was her magician, and she wanted to keep him.
She just didn’t know how to say the words.
“Are you all right?” Mitch asked finally. Her face looked peculiar, kind of tight. He thought for a moment she might cry, but then that passed, as well.
“Will...will you lie with me?” she said finally. Her gaze skittered up, and once more he was struck by her eyes. And then it hit him. She looked vulnerable and afraid.
“Of course,” he said, his voice gruff. He lay down carefully, not wanting to hurt her. But she pushed herself into his arms the first moment she could, resting her head upon his shoulder as he drew his other arm around her. She was wearing just an old T-shirt of Liz’s. He’d seen her in it before in the last couple of days when he’d cared for her. Now the picture was suddenly arousing in his mind, and he found his body responding.
Forcefully he reminded himself of Liz’s parting words and settled for caressing Jess’s bare arm instead. He could feel her relaxing against him, and he thought it might be the most perfect sensation in all the world.
“What are you thinking?” he asked at last.
Jessica didn’t answer right away. Her throat was tight and her eyes once more burned with tears she didn’t completely understand. It was too perfect in his arms, she thought thickly. She wanted and needed him so much, when she’d sworn never to want or need anyone.
“I don’t want to be a model anymore,” she said at last, the words husky. “I want to be a schoolteacher.”
Mitch’s hand stilled on her arm, then resumed its gentle strokes. “So be a schoolteacher,” he told her.
She nodded against his chest, but the simplicity of the situation didn’t ease the tightness in her throat. Suddenly unable to bear it, she raised her head and found his lips with her own.
He could taste the urgency in the kiss, taste the intensity and the pain. He half drowned in the onslaught, but he knew better than to give in this time. She’d turned to him like this in the past, only to shut him out again later. Gently he placed both his hands on her shoulders and drew her away.
Her eyes opened wide with confusion.
“You...you don’t want to kiss me?” she asked. The broken woundedness of the words threatened to tear out his heart. Very slowly he shook his head.
“I love kissing you, Jess,” he told her honestly, his brown eyes dark. “I could die a happy man, kissing you. But what is it
you
want?”
Her gaze slid down to his lips, her tongue darting out to lick her own in confusion. He felt the lightning rod of desire flash through his stomach. She’d be the death of him, yet.
“I want you,” she whispered.
He nodded, not doubting her words. But he needed her to want him for more than just the moment, for more than just the pain. He needed her to want him forever.
“Jess,” he said quietly, “why didn’t you ever tell the program about your mother?”
She shook her head, looking confused by this sudden question. “I told you before,” she said. “I promised my mother I wouldn’t tell anyone.”
“No,” Mitch said. “Maybe that’s what you tell yourself, but I don’t believe you. We weren’t just anyone, and the situation wasn’t a cocktail party or a
Vogue
interview. We were the people trying to save your life, and you held back vital information. Be honest, Jessica. Admit why you didn’t tell anyone. Admit that you didn’t trust us.”
Her gaze came down, unable to meet his eyes. Then suddenly, her head came up with a flare of intensity.
“Why should I have trusted you?” she demanded to know. “Because you told me to? My father used to tell me every day he’d never hit me again. And it didn’t mean a thing, Mitch. It didn’t mean one damn thing. And even you guys, swearing you could protect me when two attempts were made on my life in the first five months alone. People say things all the time. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Are you safe right now?” Mitch countered calmly. She looked startled. Then slowly she nodded her head. “Then I fulfilled my promise, Jess. I can’t vouch for other people, and I certainly can’t change what your father did. But I can tell you about Mitch Guiness. When I make promises, I intend to keep them. And I will fight with everything I have to do so.”
Slowly her eyes melted in front of him. She looked at him, and she remembered her mother’s words.
“I didn’t know who to trust. So I went back to the evil I knew, hoping it wouldn’t be as bad as before.”
For the first time, Jessica Gavornée wondered if she’d done the right thing. Shutting everyone else out, had she in fact created the same cycle her mother had? By running from everyone, she’d limited her options by limiting her avenues of help. Until in that one final instant, she’d faced her mother’s last choice and made the same decision.
Violence to end violence, blood flowing to blood.
Her head bowed down with the weight of the guilt. Mitch saw the gesture, and it broke his heart.
“Don’t,” he whispered, reaching down to catch her chin with his hand. “You can’t change the past, Jess. You knew two real bastards, and they made your life hell. But it’s not your fault. You survived. Now let it go, Jess. I told you in the beginning, you’ve got to learn just to let it go. Live in the darkness too long, and you’ll forget how to see the light.”
“I don’t know how,” she admitted brokenly. “Oh, Mitch, I just don’t know how.”
“With love,” he told her simply. “Mary Morgan/Jessica Gavornée/Jess McMoran, I love you.”
She looked so startled, he held his breath in his chest. Then slowly, ever so slowly, her face became composed and serious.
“Mitch,” she said, “I trust you.”
He nodded, still holding his breath.
“And I think I love you, too.”
He grinned, that wonderful magical grin that made her heart pitter-patter in her chest.
“I think it’s time for one last name,” he told her, stroking her arm leisurely. “Yes, I think Jessica Guiness would sound quite nice.”
She pretended to consider it for a moment, then beamed at him with a precious, new smile. “Jessica Guiness, the schoolteacher,” she told him.