King's Ransom (3 page)

It was the first
time in nearly three years that he'd seen Jesse. They'd spoken off and on, but
always by phone. Jesse kept him at a distance emotionally, and King was still
at a loss as to why. One day everything had been normal, and the next thing he
knew, she had taken a job and left the Double M Ranch. He hadn't been able to
decipher his feelings then, and he was still unable to put his feelings for
Jesse into words. She was just his Jesse, the kid who'd followed him all over
the ranch and then turned to him in desolation when Andrew McCandless died. The
friendship he'd felt for the young girl had deepened into a close relationship
with the woman. But he hadn't had time to absorb the difference before Jesse
left. There was still a big hole in his life that no one had been able to fill.

He started to
touch her, anything to stop the horrible nightmare that was stuck on instant
replay in her mind. But the decision was taken from his hands. She thrashed out
wildly, bumping one of her bandaged hands on the guard rail. The pain
penetrated her semiconscious state with a rude awakening.

Jesse moaned and
blinked, trying to assimilate her surroundings and the unfamiliar smells that
assaulted her senses. Her heart accelerated. She couldn't stifle the small
scream that slipped from her lips as she saw the silhouette of a tall man
standing beside her bed. It was only after she heard the familiar, husky voice
that she allowed her heart to slow down to a sprint instead of the race in
which it had been indulging.

Oh God!
she thought.
He looks so big
and gorgeous and worried.
And for the first time since her ordeal
had begun, Jesse felt safe.

"King?"
she whispered, afraid to believe her own eyes.

"Jess,"
he said softly, holding out his hand to let her make the initial contact.
"Oh, Jesse Rose, what did he do to you, honey?"

It was the old,
familiar term of endearment that did it. Jesse hadn't been able to cry, but now
she felt it coming from so deeply inside her, she was afraid she couldn't stop.
No one ever called her Jesse Rose but King. No one else would dare.

King reached down
and lowered the guard rail on one side of her bed.

"Will you
let me hold you, Jess? I just need to feel for myself that you're all in one
piece. You've scared Maggie and me out of years we couldn't spare, sweetheart."

The husky plea
was unnecessary, because the moment the rail went down, Jesse was in his arms.

He gathered
Jesse, bedclothes and all, in a gentle but fierce embrace, breathing a sigh of
relief in the dark cloud of hair on her neck. He felt her tremble and heard her
trying to swallow the misery that wanted out of her heart.

"Just let it
go, Jesse Rose. I've got you now, honey. And, I swear to God, no one will ever
hurt you like this again. Do you hear me? No one!"

King swung her up
in his arms, cradling her like he would a child, and carried her to a big,
stiff-backed chair by the window. He lowered himself carefully and swaddled
Jesse in his lap like a baby.

She let herself
absorb the essence of this man . . . her King. Once he'd been her world. And then
. . . She stifled the thoughts and buried her head against his shirt front
instead. She couldn't deal with old hurts. The new ones were too overwhelming.
Sobs flowed into deep, racking gulps of misery, and the strong arms that
cradled her kept her from flying apart.

"I was
scared, so scared, King. I thought I was going to die!"

"I know,
honey. I know. It's okay now, Jesse," he muttered as he rocked her gently
in his arms. "Cry all you want. I won't let you go."

Jesse cupped her
bandaged hands carefully against her chest and let the tears flow, relishing
the utter and complete feeling of security that crept inside her heart. For the
first time since her attack, Jesse believed she would survive. She wasn't alone
now. King wouldn't let anyone hurt her again. She believed that as surely as
she knew the sun would rise each day.

The guard outside
the door heard Jesse's sobs and carefully peeked inside to assure himself that
all was well. The big man seemed to have everything under control. And it was
obvious that the girl was glad to see him. He nodded once at King's sharp look
of distrust toward the opening door, and then quietly pulled it closed.

TWO

Several hours
later, Captain Shockey and another officer who doubled as a police artist came down
the hall to Jesse's room. The guard saw them approaching and stood at
attention.

"Anything
new?" Shockey asked, as he started into Jesse LeBeau's room.

"That
McCandless fellow you called got here just before noon. He's still
inside."

Shockey grunted in
surprise. He looked down at his watch and noted it was almost four in the
afternoon. Almost twenty-four hours had elapsed since the girl's attack, and
they still had no strong leads. Just a blood type, the knife the girl had taken
away from the intruder, and a trail of blood that ended in the middle of a
street. No fingerprints, no witnesses other than the girl, and she hadn't been
able to give much of a description. Shockey was hoping the police artist could
get more since she'd had a chance to calm down. Shockey was beginning to
believe this wasn't just a random, spur-of-the-moment attack. It had been
thought out to the degree that the perpetrator was wearing some kind of
surgical gloves and had an accomplice waiting. But waiting for what? If they
had been planning to steal her belongings, the accomplice wouldn't have been
parked so far away. They knew from the trail of blood and its abrupt end just
about where the accomplice had waited. It was too far to carry televisions,
stereos, silver, and the like. And, in Shockey's experience, someone intent
on rape or murder didn't usually work with an accomplice. Something just didn't
ring true on this one.
Well,
he thought, as he
stepped around the guard at the door,
maybe we'll get lucky and come up with a
pretty good sketch.

King was dozing
between trying to balance himself in the stiff-backed chair and stretching his
long legs against the corner wall while still cradling Jesse safely in his
arms. She looked so tiny and so hurt, yet there was something different about
her. He supposed it was just that he hadn't seen her in so long. He gazed hard
at the delicate shape and plane of her face while he held her against his
heartbeat. While he was trying to absorb this new and different person he held
so intimately within his arms he fell asleep.

The sound of the
door hitting against the back wall woke him instantly. He straightened up from
his slumped position, knew he was going to have a crick in his neck, and glared
silently at the intruders, indicating with a look at Jesse that they keep
quiet. It did little good. Evidently the older of the two men who entered
wasn't the patient type.

"You'd be
King McCandless," he said, making no effort to lower his voice.

Jesse jumped at
the sudden, loud voice and uttered a small cry of fright as she awakened to two
men looming over her.

"Dammit!"
King muttered. "It's okay, Jesse," he said roughly, and began to pull
himself from his slumped position while not losing his hold on Jesse.

"What?
What's wrong?" Jesse asked, trying to absorb the presence of the other men
in her room. She sensed King's antagonism. Had something happened while she was
asleep that she'd missed?

"Nothing's
wrong, honey," King muttered. He laid Jesse back in bed, quickly pulling
the covers around and over her to shield her bare legs and thighs from the two
men. "They were just leaving."

Jesse recognized
the ominous tone of voice and knew that, if she didn't intervene, King would
find himself in trouble for assaulting a police officer.

"Wait,
King," Jesse urged, placing a bandaged hand carefully on King's arm. It
wasn't much of a restraint, but her voice was all that was necessary. King
focused on the intensity of her eyes, imploring him to listen. "They're
police. They told me earlier, before you arrived, that they would be back. I
just forgot. Captain Shockey," Jesse said. "This is King McCandless.
He's the son of the man who finished raising me after Daddy died. He's just
about all the family I have."

A funny pain shot
through King's chest as Jesse spoke the words "all the family." He
hadn't realized how true that was, and felt guilty that he'd let so much time
pass without forcing her to come home, or at least talk about what made her
leave. Unfortunately, now was not the time. Jesse's imploring look slowed his
anger and he gently brushed the hair away from her face. He sighed, then turned
back to the men.

"Shockey,"
he acknowledged, as the older of the two men shook hands with him.

"Sorry for
the intrusion," he said, for all who cared to listen. It was all the
apology they would get. He had a job to do. "This is Officer Ramirez, Miss
LeBeau. He's going to try and help you remember all you can about the man who
attacked you and then try to draw his likeness. But he'll need your help.
You've got to think of the intruder, what he looked like, what he felt like,
what he smelled like." He saw the look of horror on the woman's face and
wondered if she had enough spunk in her to do the job. She'd been through a lot
already. "I know you don't want to, little lady. But I need you to close
your eyes and pull this man out from wherever you've buried him. Okay?"

His blunt,
matter-of-fact manner was just what Jesse needed to fortify herself for the
ugly job ahead of her.

Jesse's lips
trembled and the tears that pooled in her eyes slipped down her cheeks, past
the dark, purple bruise on her face. King shook with fury. She wasn't up to
this. He started to intervene when Jesse's voice stopped him.

"I'll do
whatever it takes, Captain. I want him caught more than you do. If he's not,
I'll never feel safe again."

"Good
girl," he said, and motioned for Ramirez to come forward.

The police artist
had been through this many times and did all he could to put the victim at
ease. His low, soothing voice and casual manner soon had Jesse absorbed in
trying to remember every minute detail.

As Jesse worked
with the police artist, losing herself in the task of remembering what she'd
been so desperately trying to forget, King stepped away from her bed and
motioned Shockey aside.

"When they
let Jesse go," King said, "I'm taking her back home with me."
His words were almost a dare for the older man to disagree. To King's surprise,
he did not.

"Probably a
good idea. She doesn't need to be alone at this point." He squinted his
eyes a bit as he leaned back and looked up at the big man who'd backed him into
a corner of the room. Damned if he couldn't use someone like McCandless on the
force.

"Where's
home anyway?" Shockey asked, and pulled a notebook from his jacket pocket.
"Might need more information from Miss LeBeau and you'll want to know when
the man is apprehended. We'll need her to come back and indentify him then, you
know."

King nodded in
agreement and the look of peace and pleasure that suffused his face was
noticeable when Shockey mentioned home.

"Home is the
Double M Ranch southeast of
Tulsa
and
Broken Arrow
,
Oklahoma
.
We raise a few cows, enough feed for them to get by, and once in a while, drill
an oil well or two. But most of that was my father's love. Mine are the
horses."

Shockey didn't
raise an eyebrow, but he made a silent note to himself to do some more checking
on this big man.
Drill an oil well or two,
he thought to
himself with a grin.
Oilmen were a breed alone.
They were big
gamblers, used to taking chances, but so were the horse breeders.

"You race
'em?" he asked nonchalantly.

"No,"
King answered, and the light in his dark eyes gave away his deep love for the
land and the horses that ran on it. "I raise them and sell them. And they're
Arabians, not racehorses."

Arabians! That
was
a costly
enterprise. Shockey knew he would certainly check into this man's background.
He didn't know much about the business, but he suspected this man could
probably buy or sell just about whatever he chose. There was an air about him.
And that name . . . King. Hell of a name to stick on a man. He seemed to be
doing okay with it, though. Didn't let it intimidate him at all. Shockey
interrupted his own rambling thoughts and said, "Yeah, well, that's just
about all I need here. When Ramirez is through, you're pretty much free to
go."