ANGEL MEETS THE BADMAN Read online

  My Jake. He had to look down and squeeze the bridge of his nose, because those words, and the way she had said them, touched a raw spot somewhere inside him. Flossie still believed in him. He could barely comprehend that.

  "Sara would never choose to run off with a strange man," Marcus said. "Never."

  "Well now, I disagree with you there, young man. She and Jake … there was something special between those two. I saw it right off," Flossie said, sounding utterly sure of herself.

  Jake felt Sara's eyes on him. He tried not to look at her, but wound up looking anyway.

  "Are you telling me this guy was coming on to my sister?" a deep voice growled. And it was louder than it had been before. Jake snapped his gaze back to that porch and saw that now all the other Brand men were looking there, as well.

  "He was what?" shouted one.

  "He'd better hope to God the cops find him before I do," said another.

  "Hell," said the redhead. "I've got a longer rope in the truck."

  Sara squeezed Jake's arm. "You're right," she said. "We'd best go. We'll get to a phone, and I'll call Garrett and … explain things."

  Jake stared hard at her. She had told him about her family, but, to be honest, he had been taking most of what she said with a grain of salt. Now he saw that they were just as protective, just as close-knit and every bit as hot tempered as Sara had claimed they were … and then some. And he was in more hot water than he had even begun to realize. And even with that knowledge, there was something about all this that gave him a knot in his belly. It must be something to have a family like this one. Every last one of the bunch dropping whatever they might be doing to come charging to the rescue when another one of the bunch was in trouble.

  Imagine that.

  Hell, if he'd had a family like that, his mother never would have been turned away without a dime.

  He never would have tried that idiotic stunt he had, or wound up wasting half his life in jail.

  Another voice came then, breaking into his thoughts. A deep, quiet, familiar voice.

  "You won't be needing any rope, Brand, and you won't be doing my nephew any harm. I understand you're upset and worried for your Sara. But try to keep in mind that my wife and I just lost our only daughter."

  Jake turned slowly. It was his uncle. Bert looked foreign standing on the porch in a dark-gray suit instead of his usual white one.

  "I'm so sorry," the weeping female said. "This must be horrible for you both."

  "Not so horrible that we would believe for one minute that Jake had anything to do with this. He's like a son to us, Mrs. Brand. And we aren't going to stand by and see him railroaded like he was before. I don't care if every last one of you are peace officers."

  Jake couldn't believe what he was hearing.

  "I told you," Sara whispered. "They love you, those two. You were just too blind to see it."

  Jake blinked hard, keeping his eyes averted. This was hitting him hard. How had he not known this? How had he not seen it?

  "Whether he's guilty of your daughter's murder or not," the big one with the badge said, "doesn't change the fact that he's a wanted man, and that he's taken Sara with him on his flight from justice."

  Jake drew a deep breath, turned to Sara and, taking her hand, drew her away, more deeply into the bayou. When they were out of earshot, he said, "Go on, Sara. Go to the house, go be with your family. It's where you belong. Just … just make sure they take you home. You can't hang around here, even for one night. You have to leave. And I mean immediately. Okay?"

  She looked up at him, her brown eyes damp as they searched his face. "Because the killer might come after me next, right, Jake?"

  Swallowing hard, Jake finally gave a nod. "It's not that I think it's likely. Just that … it's possible."

  "It's likely. You know something you haven't told me, don't you, Jake? Something important enough that it made you decide to take me with you in the first place."

  He couldn't look away from the hold she had on his eyes.

  "Tell me," she whispered. "I have every right to know if my life is in danger. You know I do."

  Swallowing hard, he knew she was right. "That night … when I went into your bungalow to get the pills for Flossie…" Drawing a breath, he gripped her shoulders, held them gently but firmly, wanting her to know he was right there, close to her. "I thought I heard someone slipping out the back door."

  Her head drew backward, and her eyes flared. "The killer."

  "I can't be sure. But … it could've been."

  "God, Jake, you should've told me!"

  "You were so afraid that night. I didn't want to add to that. All I wanted to do was keep you safe, and I knew damned good and well that I couldn't do that if I let them lock me up. You would have been a sitting duck. No one would have believed me if I'd tried to tell them, and I—" He stopped talking, because the look on her face was so … so surprised. So … misty.

  "You did all this just to protect me?" she whispered.

  "No. No, that's not what I meant—"

  "That's exactly what you meant. Suppose you had just let them arrest you, and the killer had come after me, Jake? You would have been cleared. Don't tell me you didn't think of that."

  "I … I didn't."

  Sighing, she hugged his neck, resting her head on his chest. "I'm not going anywhere except back to that ramshackle house in the bayou with you, Jake. I have an idea how we can solve this whole thing. But we'll need to plan it carefully."

  "Sara—"

  "Don't argue." She pressed a finger to his lips. "You'll be doing enough of that once you hear my plan. So save it." Then, drawing her finger away, she replaced it with her lips. Her kiss was soft and so sweet. And he wished he could think of a way to make her understand that the things she was imagining, dreaming of, could never be.

  He let her lead him back to the boat, climbed in and pushed off, and he told himself not to be so damned glad she'd chosen to stay with him.

  They floated deeper in the darkness, and the only sounds around them were the deep-throated frogs and the night birds and the soothing swish of the water. The occasional snort of a boar or the roar of a gator. The steady, gentle slapping of water against the hull. Sara stared steadily behind them, her face troubled.

  "What is it, hon?" he asked her.

  Pursing her lips, she shook her head. "My cousin Jessi. She wouldn't have stayed behind. I know her too well not to know that. I don't like that we didn't see her there, Jake."

  "Hey, don't worry. I'm sure your cousin Jessi is fine."

  She frowned and looked up at him as if he were dense. "It's not her I'm worried about."

  It was dark by the time they got back to the ramshackle house deep in the bayou. Twice Sara thought she heard something in the water and started, as memories of the alligator came back to haunt her. Jake, too, had tensed, then relaxed again when the sound hadn't been repeated. As before, he helped her out, then they lifted the small boat and carried it to its nest amid the brush, where it was safely out of sight. Then they walked toward the house, as, in hushed voices, they continued their conversation.

  "It's out of the question, Sara," Jake said. "Trying to get to a phone to call them would just be too risky."

  "Then what do you suggest we do?"

  Jake opened the screen door. It creaked, and they both went still and looked around them nervously.

  "It's odd out here tonight," Sara said.

  "It's all in your head." But Jake hurried her through the door, and when he closed it, he took his time, as if trying to ensure that no more squeaking would result. Inside, he quickly lit the lamp, filling the musty-smelling room with soft light, making things seem just a little less scary. "But we shouldn't stay here much longer. It's risky, spending too long in one place."

  She nodded, coming inside, kicking the sofa several times and then sitting down. "A moving target's tougher to hit," she said.

  "Exactly. So back to the matter at hand." He came to sit beside h
er.

  "Supper?" she asked.

  He tried to scowl at her, but she saw the affection behind it. It was such a small thing, but it warmed her to her toes.

  "I was talking about how we contact your family without using a phone."

  "Oh, that. Well, why don't we just write them a note?" She studied his face in the lamplight. She thought he was beautiful. Rough edges and all. He hadn't shaved since they'd been on the run, and his whiskers made him even sexier, she thought.

  "How do we deliver it?" he asked.

  "Hey, I can't think of everything. It's your turn."

  Staring at her, he sighed. "Supper. I can think better on a full stomach."

  They dined on canned meats and crackers, washing it down with sips from a bottle of fruit juice. Then Jake curled onto one end of the sofa and patted the spot beside him.

  Sara looked at it.

  "You like it in my arms and you know it, teacher," he teased.

  "And you like me being there."

  "Yeah. I do." He lowered his eyes. "I know we haven't really talked about … about what happened between us."

  She shrugged. "Yeah, we did. You said it didn't mean anything, and I said it did." She licked her lips. "I don't supposed you've changed your mind yet?"

  "Sara…"

  She shrugged. "I didn't think so. Well, you will. I know that … but I suppose until you do, I ought to exercise a little sanity. A little … self-preservation."

  "I'd never hurt you, Sara."

  She smiled sadly. "You wouldn't mean to." But he would if she let herself fall any more deeply in love with him than she already had.

  "If you don't want us to … have sex—"

  "Make love," she interjected.

  He looked at her, frowning. "If you don't want it to happen again, it's not going to. Okay?"

  "Promise?" she asked.

  He nodded, making a screwed-up Boy Scout salute and muttering, "Convict's honor."

  She smiled softly at him and curled up beside him. Jake tugged a blanket over them both, and Sara marveled at how cozy and safe she felt in his arms. This was perfect. Right. Why couldn't he see that? They would be so good together.

  "So are you going to tell me about this plan of yours?" he asked her after a while. And she thought he was having as much trouble settling into sleep as she was.

  "Well … I guess I could." She gnawed, her lip, knowing he would object—and loudly. "My thought was that if we catch the real killer, you'll be free and clear."

  "Makes sense." He rolled onto his back and folded his arms, resting his head on his palms. "I wonder who it is?"

  "My money's on that pretty boy we saw her with at the jazz club," Sara said. "Maybe she broke it off with him like you told her to and—" She bit her hp. "Oh, damn, I didn't mean—"

  "Don't think I haven't been wondering the same thing. Maybe she did take me seriously. And maybe she tried to dump the jerk, and killing her was his reaction." Jake shook his head. "I seem to have a knack for getting people killed without really even trying, don't I?"

  "She slept around a lot, Jake, you told me that yourself."

  He nodded. "So?"

  "So it could have been any one of the men she was playing with. Don't start blaming yourself for this. It's way too early for that."

  He sighed. She decided to get back to her plan, if for no other reason than to distract him from feeling lousy over Vivienne's death.

  "We know the killer—whoever he is—thinks I saw him. So he wants to shut me up."

  "Maybe," Jake said.

  Sara shrugged. "So the solution is obvious. I go back, make sure everyone knows I'm back, hang out at the bungalow alone and wait for him to come after me."

  Jake sat up so fast that Sara almost fell on the floor. "Are you out of your freaking mind?"

  "No. No, you haven't heard the whole plan yet!"

  "No, just the insane part, right?"

  "But that's just it. It would only look insane. We could get Garrett and Marcus and all the others set up all around the place. They'd be out of sight, but close by, and when the killer came for me, they could just jump out and grab him."

  "And hope he didn't bring a gun, and hope that if he did, he's a lousy shot, because he's damn well going to have time to squeeze at least one round off at your pretty head before they beat him bloody."

  "Oh, for crying out—"

  "No."

  "But, Jake—"

  "No. I won't let you put your life on the line for me. And I'll tell you something else, your cousins and your brother wouldn't let you do that, either. And if they would, then I'd have to personally kick all their asses for dereliction of duty. Now, are we clear on this?"

  Sara pouted, crossed her arms in front of her and sighed. "Yes."

  "You sure?"

  She nodded. "It was a good idea. You're just stubborn."

  "I'll come up with a better idea. One that doesn't involve putting my favorite kindergarten teacher in front of a killer with a big old bull's-eye painted on her forehead. If it's all the same to you."

  She looked sideways at him.

  "Sara, you want to know something?"

  "What?" she asked.

  "The death of that old man … it haunts me. Still, to this day, it haunts me. I can never take back what I did. I can never give him back the years or months or days he lost because of me. Now how the hell do you suppose I could live with myself if something happened to you? Hmm?"

  She lowered her head and her arms. "Okay. Okay, all right. I get it."

  "So you won't go trying anything? Promise?"

  "I promise." She lay back down, rolled onto her side and pulled up the covers. "But you wouldn't care so much if you didn't love me," she muttered under her breath, her words barely audible.

  "What did you say?"

  "Nothing," she said, sounding sulky. "Good night, Jake."

  "Good night, Sara."

  * * *

  Chapter 11

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  She fell asleep after another hour of tossing and turning, only to wake up what seemed like mere minutes later when nature called rather demandingly. Slipping out of Jake's arms wasn't easy. He'd wrapped himself around her, tucked her head upon his chest and was cradling her like a lover. And, God, it felt good. She tried to move carefully, not to wake him.

  "Where you going?" he asked, sounding wide awake already.

  "Why aren't you sleeping?" She tipped her chin up to look at him in the darkness. The lamp had burned out. Out of kerosene, probably.

  He made a deep-throated sound, like a growl. "You figure that one out, honey. Besides, I asked first."

  "I, um, need to use the outhouse."

  "Okay." He sat up slowly, easing her off him, never really breaking contact, though. When he got to his feet, one arm was still around her shoulders, and she rose with him. "Let's go."

  "You don't have to—" she began.

  "The hell I don't. You're scared to death to go out there alone in the dark. Don't even try to deny it."

  Licking her lips, Sara didn't try. "I'm trying to beat those old fears into submission, Jake. It's … it's just not easy. They've been with me a long time."

  His hand came to cup her chin, tipped her head up, and his eyes sparkled darkly. "I wasn't criticizing. You're one of the bravest women I've ever met. And that's no lie."

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah. So come on." He walked her out of the house, around to the back and then went into the old outhouse before her, thumping around in there to scare away any unwanted visitor of the fur-bearing variety. Finally he came back out and said, "The coast is clear."

  "Great." With a sigh of reluctance, almost glad of the darkness, Sara went inside and took care of her pressing needs. It didn't take her very long. She didn't much like the idea of this dark, decrepit outhouse, and she didn't even want to think about what might pop up from below and where it might bite her!

  She was back outside in very short order. But when she stepped out of the outhous
e into the night, Jake seemed to have simply … vanished.

  Sara had only been gone for a second when Jake felt the cold barrel of a handgun pressing against his spine, and heard a very low voice whispering, "Get your hands up and keep quiet, or I'll blow you right in half."

  He complied.

  The gun prodded him, and he walked where it seemed to want him to walk, beyond the outhouse and into the trees just past it.

  "Right there. Stop, and don't turn around."

  Jake stopped. And he didn't turn around. "Just who are you, and what do you want?" he asked.

  "I ask the questions here. You just answer when I tell you to. Where's Sara Brand?"

  "That depends on who's asking," Jake said slowly. He wasn't going to risk that this might be the killer he was talking to.

  "The person holding this gun to your spine is asking, that's who. Now tell me where she is before I run out of patience."

  Something moved in the bushes. There was a solid whack, a thud, and the barrel was no longer pressing into his spine. Jake turned around, fishing rapidly in his pockets for the flashlight he hadn't dared use until now. The gunman, whoever he'd been, was on the ground in a heap, but Jake barely looked at him. His beam of light and his attention were all on Sara, standing beyond the fallen figure, a limb the size of a baseball bat clutched in her hand.

  "Are you all right, Jake?" she asked. She was wide-eyed and breathless, staring down at the gunman.

  "Fine, chère. Damn, you're something, you know that?" He moved closer, stepping over the body to hug her close, taking the limb from her hand, although she was clutching it so tightly he had to work to get it.

  "Was it … was it him?" she asked in a whisper.

  Jake turned, aiming the beam of his light down on the attacker, hoping to God it was Vivienne's killer, so this whole thing could be over before Sara went through any more trauma.

  His light spilled onto shoulder-length red hair and an elfin face with high cheekbones and long lashes resting on them.

  "Ohmigod!" Sara cried. "It's Jessi!" She immediately dropped to her knees beside the woman, yanking the light out of Jake's hand and aiming it at the woman's head in search of whatever damage her blow had caused to the Brand female's cranium.