she smelled, the intimacy of her body pressed so tightly against his. “It’s all right. You’re safe now,” he whispered as he patted her back.
Beneath the comforting press of her breasts against his chest, he could feel the beating of her heart. He continued to soothe her with soft words, at the same time patting her back in a rhythmic cadence that mirrored the pace of her heartbeats.
Finally her sobs began to ease, but still she clung to him as if he were a lifeline in a sea of tears. Jesse felt her heartbeat slow, returning to a more normal pace. Her weeping halted altogether, but still she remained in the circle of his arms.
She raised her head, as if to look at him. Her lashes were still damp, long dark spikes that emphasized the beauty of her eyes despite their slight redness. “Thank you,” she whispered with a tremulous smile. “That had been building for a while.”
“Tears are supposed to be cathartic,” he replied. “You want to talk about it some more?” he asked. He wished she’d move away as he felt himself responding in a decidedly unwanted way. But she remained unmoving, her lower body still pressed against his.
“In a minute. What I’d like to do right now… I’d like to know what you look like.” She removed her arms from around his neck and instead placed a hand on either side of his face. “I can only see you through touch. Do you mind?”
Before he could reply, her fingertips moved across his forehead, down the bridge of his nose, then across his eyes. Slowly, deliberately, her cool fingers explored the contours of his face, each touch evoking heat inside him.
“What color are your eyes?” she asked, her breath warm on his face. He realized his heart was now beating a rhythm faster than normal.
“Blue.”
She nodded, and continued her exploration of his facial features. Slowly, methodically, her hands continued to work.
When her fingers danced across his lips, he fought an impulse to open his mouth and kiss her fingertips. He breathed in relief when she moved to his hair.
“Black,” he said, answering the question before she could verbalize it.
“Thank you,” she said, and finally stepped back from him. “I’m sorry about ruining your breakfast.”
“You didn’t ruin anything,” he replied. “I’d already finished my omelet when you got upset. So, you want to talk? You don’t have to,” he added hurriedly. “It’s not imperative that you tell me anything. I understand if you don’t trust me.”
“Trust you?” She smiled ruefully. “If I can’t trust you, then I’m utterly lost. I’d like you to know what happened. I think maybe I need to talk about it.”
“Why don’t we go into the living room?” he suggested. In there he could gain enough distance from her that he wouldn’t be able to smell her sweet fragrance. Physical distance would provide emotional distance, and at the moment that’s exactly what he needed.
In the living room, she sat on the sofa and Jesse sank into the chair facing her. He watched the emotions that played across her face as she rubbed her forehead and prepared to share with him the events that had destroyed life as she knew it.
“It wasn’t unusual for me to spend the evening with my sister, Alicia, and her husband, John.” She placed her hands in her lap, her fingers laced together. Her knuckles were slightly whitened by the tension that held her unnaturally stiff. “This particular night was like a hundred others, except that instead of driving my car to their place, I took a cab.”
“Why?” he asked with a cop’s curiosity.
“I was tired and Alicia had told me earlier in the day that she’d bought the makings of strawberry daiquiris and I didn’t want to have to worry about driving home after having a couple of drinks.”
She frowned and her knuckles appeared to whiten even more as she continued. “If only I’d driven my car. If only my car had been parked out front….” Her voice trailed off.
“Don’t go there,” Jesse said softly, knowing well how easily self-recriminations could destroy a person.
She nodded, then continued. “I had been in the house just a few minutes when we heard a car pull up out front. John looked out the window and told me to get in the closet.” Her frown deepened. “Any other time I would have balked at the suggestion, but something in his tone of voice made me obey without question. John and Alicia were police officers, and John often worked undercover, so I thought perhaps he was worried about whoever was there seeing me.”
She pulled her hands apart and stood, as if finding it impossible to sit still while she told the full story. Jesse leaned forward and pulled the coffee table away from the sofa, giving her room to pace without danger of bumping her knees.
“Two men came in the front door, and the minute I saw them, I almost stepped out of the closet. The two men were police officers.” She raised a hand to push a strand of hair off her face, and Jesse noticed her hand trembled.
She paced the space in front of the sofa, the tight jeans displaying her slender legs. “But before I could open the closet door and step out, the two men shot John and Alicia.” Her voice rose slightly and she stopped walking and drew a deep breath, as if to marshal her emotions.
Jesse realized he was holding his breath. Two cops, murdered by two other cops. No wonder Bob Sanford and Kent Keller had immediately whisked her away. It was an ugly scenario.
“Apparently I passed out in the closet. When I came to, I was blind and in a hospital room. That’s when I met Bob Sanford, who explained to me that John and Alicia had been working for Internal Affairs and investigating a group of dirty cops.”
“And apparently the dirty cops learned of IA’s investigation and John and Alicia’s part in it,” Jesse said.
She nodded. “And now John and Alicia are dead, and the good guys are hoping my sight will return so I can identify the two men who killed them.”
“Can you identify them?”
She sank down to the sofa once again. “Oh, yes. Their faces are burned into my mind. Unfortunately, at the moment I’m a blind witness.”
“And what happens if you never regain your sight?” He could tell the question pained her as she winced.
She straightened her back. “I refuse to consider that possibility.”
He heard the strength of conviction in her voice, but he also heard an underlying fear.
He decided to leave that particular topic alone. “You mentioned a group of dirty cops… Did anyone tell you how many were in the group?”
“Bob Sanford told me there are eight. The Renegade Eight is what they call themselves. Unfortunately, nobody seems to know exactly who the eight are.” She forced a smile in his direction. “It seems I have a small posse probably seeking my whereabouts and praying for my death.”
“Don’t worry, little lady, the sheriff of Mustang knows how to handle a posse of desperadoes.” Jesse did his best John Wayne imitation, and was rewarded by her laughter.
“Performing that kind of a bad imitation would definitely make desperadoes run for the hills,” she said. “We’re a long way from Chicago—that’s where I’m from. Surely nobody could track me all the way here.”
Jesse frowned. He wasn’t so sure. He knew as well as anyone that cops could be quite resourceful when it came to seeking out information they wanted. Knowing there may be as many as eight dirty cops seeking her, definitely was a sobering thought.
If three people knew where she was, that was two too many. He wouldn’t feel comfortable until he got word that the eight cops had been arrested and put behind bars.
“Do you want to know my real name?” she asked.
“No,” Jesse hurriedly replied. “I don’t