Sam's chest tightened with fear. The sickening taste of panic rose in his throat. "I'll make sure she doesn't do anything stupid."
A weak smile faded from Julian's lips. He nodded. Sam made his way across the parking lot, stepping around people lying on the ground and speaking to the policemen he passed. He scanned the area, wondering where Kane and Hawk might be, hoping they were both all right.
Lieutenant Painter stopped Sam, questioning him about Maynard Reeves and how Jeannie had known there were bombs set to explode aboard the Royal Belle. Sam gave the lieutenant all the information he had, knowing it wouldn't be enough to arrest Reeves.
"I'll haul him in for questioning," Painter said. "But unless we can find some solid evidence to link him to this bombing, then he'll get off scot-free."
"Then you'd better find some sort of evidence, and soon," Sam said. "Otherwise—"
"Don't step over the line, Dundee. You're one of the good guys, remember?"
"Yeah, sure." Sam checked his watch. The damn thing was still running, even though the crystal was broken. Nearly two hours had passed since all hell had broken loose. Most of the parking lot had been cleared, and half a dozen ambulances had taken the injured to hospitals in Biloxi and surrounding towns. Several dozen people remained, waiting for returning ambulances.
Sam spotted Morgan Kane standing near the one remaining ambulance. As he drew near Kane's side, Sam looked inside the ambulance, and for one split second his heart stopped. Jeannie sat beside a badly burned dark-haired woman, holding her hand, absorbing her pain.
"What the hell's going on?" Sam gripped Kane's shoulder. "How did she get here?"
"Ms. Alverson sent Ms. McCorkle to look for you, and when she couldn't find you, she told me Ms. Alverson wanted to see me."
"You took Jeannie out of the car? You brought her here?" Sam's facial muscles tensed. He glared at Kane. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"
"She said she wanted to help these people, and she told me it would be all right with you as long as I was with her." Kane reached inside his jacket, pulled out Sam's Ruger and handed it to him. "She gave me this. It's yours, isn't it?"
Sam stuck the gun in his holster. "How many people has she helped?"
"How many?"
"Yeah, how many?"
"Ten, maybe twelve."
Sam cursed, the words strong and expressive.
"Hey, I don't know what the hell she's been doing," Kane said, "but every person she touched seemed to get better instantly."
"Didn't you happen to notice that she's been suffering more and more every time she helped another person?" Sam knew exactly what she'd been doing. She'd gone from person to person, alleviating their pain, absorbing enough of their suffering to reduce their chances of dying. Just thinking about what she'd put herself through tormented Sam.
"Where's Marta McCorkle?"
"She stayed with Ms. Alverson until a few minutes ago, then she left to look for Dr. Howell," Kane said. "Look, Sam, I'm sorry if by doing what Ms. Alverson asked I put her in some sort of danger. I haven't left her side for a second."
"Forget it," Sam said. "The damage's done. Besides, I know how persuasive Jeannie can be."
Releasing his hold on Kane, Sam stepped up into the ambulance. Jeannie was too deep into her healing trance to see him. Her colorless face was streaked with tears—the tears of others. He jerked her away from the burned woman. Jeannie groaned, then opened her eyes and stared at him.
"Sam, no. Please, just this one more. She's in so much pain." Jeannie tried to lift her hand to clutch Sam's sleeve. Her hand wouldn't cooperate. She let it fall to her side.
"You're in pain," he told her, pulling her out of the ambulance and lifting her into his arms. "You're so weak you can't even lift your hand. I'm taking you home. Now."
"But I can't—"
"We're not discussing it."
Standing just outside the open doors of the ambulance, Sam motioned to Kane. "After you and Hawk make your statements to the police and get a once-over in ER, fly back to Atlanta and take a few days off."
Jeannie squirmed in Sam's arms. "I don't want to leave. These people are suffering … because of me, because … Maynard Reeves wanted … to kill me."
Not only was Sam not going to allow Jeannie to do any more healing tonight, but once he took her home, he had no intention of allowing her out in public again. Somehow he'd persuade her to leave town, If Reeves was determined to see the "witch" burn, Jeannie wouldn't be safe anywhere Reeves could find her.
Ignoring Jeannie's pleas, Sam spoke to Kane again. "Phone J.T. and tell him to call in as many favors as need be, but I want something found on Reeves that can give the police reason to force him to stay away from Jeannie." Sam knew that, somewhere out there, someone knew something about Reeves's past dealings. A thirty-two-year-old zealot with obvious mental problems was bound to have screwed up, at least once, in the past.
Jeannie took a deep breath. "Sam Dundee!" Her voice trembled. "If you don't let me help these people, I'll … I'll never forgive … you. Don't you see? It's my … fault."
He felt her exhaustion in every cell of his body, his nerve endings alert to her weakness. And he knew she was exerting her last ounce of strength to fight him.
"Lift your hand and touch my face," Sam told her. "Let's see if you have the strength to do more than you've already done."
She tried, but her hand would not cooperate. Tears welled up in her eyes. "Damn you, Sam. Damn … you." With that said, her energy expended, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.
Holding her close, Sam carried her away from the death and destruction that surrounded them.
* * *
Sam opened the French doors that led out onto the upstairs balcony. Dawn light coated the eastern horizon, to the left of the Howell home. Overhead, a pink glow coated the charcoal sky. A warm, pleasant breeze blew in off the gulf. Sam looked across the road at the deserted beach and, just beyond, the pale gray water.
Turning his head, he glanced into the bedroom, checking once again on Jeannie. She had thrown off the sheet and light blanket, leaving her body, from the waist up, exposed to the early-morning air. She had slept fitfully the past few hours, occasionally moaning in her sleep. But she seemed peaceful for the moment, her face serene, her breathing evenly paced.
Beautiful beyond compare, Sam thought. With her waist-length hair spread out over her pillow and across her shoulder, she lay there in the floor-length cream silk gown Ollie had put on her early yesterday morning, when Sam brought her home from the Royal Belle disaster. She had been asleep more than twenty-four hours. When Julian rushed home yesterday, he had assured Sam that it was perfectly normal for Jeannie to require extended periods of rest after using her extraordinary skills, especially to the extent she'd used them after the casino bombing.
Sam had left Jeannie's side only long enough to shower and change clothes. Ollie had remained with her, bathing her and slipping her into a gown. Sam hadn't eaten all day yesterday, until Ollie brought him his dinner on a tray. She'd threatened his life if he didn't eat every bite of the hearty meal.
Julian had spent the past twenty hours at the hospital. Although officially retired, he was needed, because of the sheer number of patients brought in from the Royal Belle.
Last night, Sam had slept at Jeannie's side, holding her in his arms whenever she cried—and she'd cried often—never once waking. He had wondered how long it would take her to recover from the ordeal she'd experienced. What could it possibly be like to endure that much pain and anguish?
If he could have stopped her, he would have. When he should have been taking care of her, he'd been busy saving other people's lives—just as, in her own way, Jeannie had been.