Witness (27 page)

“I know you're right.” Jeannie led Julian down the hall and into the library, then rang for Ollie, asking her to bring them a pot of tea.

“I've heard of this Reeves fellow,” Julian said. “He and his followers have a reputation for being dangerous fanatics. His threats aren't idle threats.”

“He frightens me, too.” Jeannie squeezed Julian's hand. “I sensed his hatred when I refused to join him.”

“You need protection,” Julian said as he sat down on the oxblood-leather sofa. “I want to hire a bodyguard for you.”

“A bodyguard? Surely that's not necessary. Perhaps the police—”

“The police won't provide you with twenty-four-hour-a-day protection, and that's what you need.”

“Julian, do you realize what hiring a bodyguard would mean?” Jeannie asked. “We would have no privacy. This man would live in our house, share our meals, go with me everywhere I went.”

“Exactly.” Julian slapped his hands down atop his thighs. “And I know just the man for the job.”

“You do?”

“Yes, I do. That fellow you and Manton brought in from Le Bijou Bleu a few years back. That big blond DEA agent who came by here to see you after he was released from the hospital. I can't remember his name.” Clicking his tongue, Julian frowned. “What was his name?”

“Sam. Sam Dundee.” Intense memories flashed through Jeannie's mind at the mere mention of his name.

Sam Dundee. In the six years since she'd found him lying on her beach at Le Bijou Bleu, she hadn't forgotten the man whose pain she had endured, whose emotional agony she had shared—the man whose very soul had joined with hers for a fleeting moment.

No, Sam Dundee would never return to Biloxi, not even for her. He might have promised that if she ever needed him, he would help her, but how could she hold him to that promise?

“I'm sure Mr. Dundee is far too busy to be bothered with coming to Biloxi,” Jeannie said.

“Nonsense. The man sent you his business card when he opened his private security business, didn't he? He wouldn't have done that if he hadn't wanted you to be able to reach him if you needed his assistance.”

“Why don't you call Mr. Deaton? Our lawyer should be able to line us up with a reputable security firm.”

“I don't understand your reluctance to call this Dundee fellow. After all, he does owe you his life. I'm sure the man will want to repay his debt to you.”

Jeannie had thought she'd never seen Sam Dundee again. There had been no legitimate reason to contact him. Over the years, she had come to realize that the link she'd made with Sam had not been severed, that in some strange way they remained connected. He was still a part of her soul. Such a joining had never happened to her, before or since, and admitting the strength of their bond, even to herself, unnerved Jeannie.

“Mr. Dundee won't come to Biloxi himself.” She had known the day he came by the house to thank her and say goodbye that he had no intention of ever returning to the Gulf. What had happened to him on his last DEA assignment had changed his life forever and put him on the run from guilt and remorse. The day she found him on her beach, she had felt his emotional agony, as well as his physical pain.

“I'll call him all the same.” Julian patted Jeannie's hand. “I'm sure he'll want to repay his debt to you. And if he can't come personally, I'm sure he'll send one of his associates.”

“I wish you wouldn't insist on—”

“What's wrong, my dear? Is there something about Mr. Dundee I don't know? Some reason I shouldn't call him?”

“No, of course not. It's just that…” Jeannie groaned, then took Julian's hand into hers, instantly sensing his unease and his great fear for her. She shouldn't be arguing with Julian. He was an old man with a weak heart. If calling Sam Dundee would put his mind at ease, then she'd make the phone call.

“I'll call Mr. Dundee,” Jeannie said.

Julian smiled. “Yes, yes, by all means, call the man. Ask him to fly down as soon as possible. Tonight, or tomorrow at the latest. We should have him here before your press conference tomorrow.”

Jeannie hugged Julian, then kissed his weathered cheek. “I still have the business card Mr. Dundee sent me. It's upstairs in my address book. After we have our tea, I'll call him in Atlanta and let him know I need his help.”

“Your Mr. Dundee is the answer to my prayers,” Julian said. “You know I'd give my life to protect you, but I'm an old man, and do well to take care of myself. As a surgeon, I've spent my whole life helping other people, and now I can't help the person I love most in this world.”

“You
can
help me, and you do, just by loving me.”

And Sam Dundee could help her. He could provide what Julian could not, the protection she so desperately needed. Now, after six long years, she would see him again—the man who haunted her dreams and possessed a part of her soul, the man whose power over her she feared far more than she feared Maynard Reeves.

 

S
AM
D
UNDEE LOOSENED
his black-and-gray silk tie, then flipped through the stack of newspaper articles piled on top of his desk. Jeannie Alverson stared up at him from the black-and-white photograph some determined reporter had snapped of her as she was leaving her home several days ago. Hell! The woman had become front-page news across the country.

They were calling her a miracle worker. A healer. A psychic. An empath with unlimited powers.

A tremor shook Sam's shoulders. For six years he'd told himself that he had imagined what happened on that beach, when an angel of mercy held him in her arms. He had pretended he'd been delusional, that she had not drawn his pain from him. He had not wanted to believe she had delved into his mind and eased the torment he had felt—still felt—knowing he'd been responsible for the deaths of others. But here the truth was—in print. Or was it the truth? Hell, it couldn't be. No one possessed those kinds of powers.

Sam picked up the remote control, switching on the videotape
of the newscasts from the past several days—the ones dealing with the Mississippi empath who had once been touted throughout the south as a child healer.

He froze the picture the moment the camera zoomed in for a close-up shot of Jeannie. Jeannie. She was as hauntingly lovely as her name. Even though Sam knew the woman's strength, had experienced it firsthand, he saw the sadness in her eyes, the vulnerability in that soft, endearing face.

Jeannie Alverson had somehow bewitched him six years ago, leaving him unable to forget her. He owed her his life. There was no doubt about it. He had felt compelled to see her after his release from the hospital, to find out if what he remembered had really happened. But once he looked into her hypnotic brown eyes, all he'd wanted was to get away from her before it was too late. His gut instincts had warned him that if he ever became involved with Jeannie, he would never be able to escape.

Sam stopped the VCR tape. Damn, what was he doing to himself? Jeannie was a part of his past, a part of that dark, devastating misery he had endured in Biloxi. He could not remember Jeannie without remembering all the rest. Perhaps that was his punishment, never being able to put the past behind him.

Several quick taps on his closed office door brought Sam's head up and focused his vision on the opening door. His secretary peeped in.

“I'm leaving early, Sam.” Gertie Saunders waved her ring-clad fingers at her boss. “Everybody's out except J.T. He said to tell you he'll bring in some sandwiches for the two of you in about five minutes.”

“Thanks, Gert. Have a nice dinner.”

“I will,” the attractive grandmother of three said, a flirtatious smile on her face. “My gentleman friend is taking me somewhere special.”

“Well, in that case, feel free to come in late tomorrow morning.”

Gertie had worked for Sam since he'd opened his Atlanta office, nearly six years ago. A recent widow, with two sons in college, she hadn't worked outside the home in twenty-five years, but hiring her was the smartest thing Sam had ever done. She ran his office like a well-oiled machine, and she knew how to keep him and his partners in line. No one intimidated Gertie Saunders, not even J. T. Blackwood, and J.T. could intimidate the devil.

The telephone rang just as Gertie was closing the door. “You want me to get that?” she asked.

“No, I'll get it,” Sam said. “You don't want to keep your gentleman friend waiting.”

Sam picked up the receiver. “Dundee Private Security. Dundee speaking. How may I help you?”

“Sam?”

Every nerve in his body froze instantly. He hadn't heard that voice in over six years, but he would never forget it. He heard it in his dreams, whispering his name, comforting him, reassuring him.

“Jeannie? Jeannie Alverson?”

“I suppose you've read about me in the newspapers and seen the stories on television.”

“You're headline news.”

“My whole world is topsy-turvy. My life's a mess. I can't go anywhere or do anything without being followed by reporters, and people begging me to heal them, and now…”

“And now what?” She wasn't calling him to discuss the details of her life that he'd seen on television for the past few days. No, there had to be something wrong, terribly wrong, for Jeannie Alverson to contact him.

“There's a man named Maynard Reeves. He's the minister of a group who call themselves the Righteous Light Church.”

“Never heard of him.”

“He's based in New Orleans, but he has a congregation in Biloxi,” Jeannie said. “He's claiming I received my powers
from Satan, and he's threatened to destroy me. I believe he's fanatical enough to kill me if he has to.”

“Are you calling to ask for my help?”
No, don't ask me to come back to Biloxi. Don't ask me to face the demons that have haunted me for six years. Don't ask me to become personally involved in your life.

“Yes. Julian and I agree that I need a bodyguard until all this hullabaloo dies down and we are certain Reverend Reeves isn't a real threat to me.”

“Who's Julian?” Sam asked before he even thought, then suddenly remembered what he'd read about Jeannie having been raised by foster parents—Dr. and Mrs. Julian Howell.

“Julian is my father. My foster father.”

“So you and your father think you need a bodyguard.”
But not me,
Sam thought.
I'll send you my best man. I'll make sure you're safe, but I will not come back to Biloxi.

“Of course, we'll pay you your regular fee. It isn't a question of money.”

Sam swallowed hard. It wasn't a question of money for him, either. It was a matter of preserving his sanity. If he went to Biloxi to guard Jeannie, he would have to come to terms with his past. Jeannie Alverson would probably want to help him. He didn't want to be helped. He had become accustomed to living with the anger and guilt, had accepted it as his punishment.

“I'll send J. T. Blackwood to Biloxi tomorrow. He's one of my partners and the best at what he does.” Sam heard the indrawn breath, then the silence on the other end of the line. “I don't take bodyguard assignments myself. Not anymore.”

“Oh, of course, I understand. By sending your best man here to guard me, you'll still be keeping your promise to me.”

Why had he ever made that stupid promise?
If you ever need me, all you have to do is ask.
He supposed he'd thought she'd never need him. Hell, he'd prayed she'd never need him, that he'd never have to deal with what had happened between them.

“What difference does it make whether I come myself or I send someone just as capable?”

“It doesn't make any difference,” she said. “I understand. Believe me, I do.”

“Ms. Alverson, I owe you my life.” Blowing out an aggravated breath, Sam clutched the telephone fiercely. “I want to repay you, but…Biloxi holds a lot of really bad memories for me.”

“You still haven't forgiven yourself, have you?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I need help, Sam Dundee. My life could be in danger. If you feel you can't return to Biloxi, that you don't have the strength to face your ghosts, then send Mr. Blackwood. But ask yourself one thing. Do you really want to put my life in another man's hands?”

Bull's-eye. She'd hit the mark. Jeannie Alverson knew that for any other man the assignment would be nothing more than a job, but for Sam it would be personal.

“When do you need me?”

“Now,” she said. “By tomorrow at the latest. I'm holding a press conference at the Howell School tomorrow, and I really need—”

“You're doing what? Where?” Sam hollered at her.

“I'm holding a press conference at the Howell School, in the gymnasium.”

“What's this Howell School and why the hell would you agree to hold a press conference there?”

“The Howell School was founded by Julian's wife, Miriam, to help children with physical and mental challenges that make it difficult for them to receive the help they need in regular schools. I work at the school as a counselor. My degree is in psychology.” Pausing, Jeannie took a deep breath. “Julian and I decided to hold a press conference where I'll have the opportunity to explain to everyone the exact limitations of my powers. We think it's a wise course of action.”

“You're crazy if you hold a press conference anywhere,” Sam said. “But especially in a school gymnasium. You'll be too confined. It's a stupid idea. Don't do it.”

“I disagree,” Jeannie said. “The press conference is already set for ten tomorrow morning. Can you be here by then?”

What the hell was the matter with her reasoning? And with Julian Howell's? Didn't they realize that the press would eat her alive? “I'll fly my Cessna down first thing in the morning and meet y'all at the Howell School.”