The Christmas Target

Ross glanced at Jessica over the rim of his glass with a sympathetic smile and an it-won’t-help-to-argue look.

At the same time, an elderly man with Far Eastern features and wearing a white chef’s jacket appeared in the doorway.

“Dinner is served, Mrs. McGarrett,” he announced in a heavily accented voice, then disappeared down the hallway toward what Jessica assumed was the kitchen.

Jessica set her wineglass aside and stood when Fiona did. If the woman insisted on treating her like a guest rather than an employee, Jessica didn’t know how she would get any work done. She wanted to finish her assignment and go home. Back to the warmth and familiarity of Miami.

And away from the alluring charm of Sheriff Ross McGarrett before she broke her own rules about emotional involvement.

FROM HIS PLACE at the foot of the mahogany dining table, Ross studied his grandmother, seated at the head of the table, and tried to assess her motives. Fiona’s gracious hospitality was usually tinged with a subtle aloofness, but she’d dropped her customary reserve around Jessica. Maybe her warmth toward their guest was the result of sympathy for Jessica’s harrowing experiences. Or simply an extension of her friendship with Max Rinehart, her childhood friend. Whatever the reason, his grandmother was treating Jessica as if she were practically a member of the family.

Ross hadn’t become successful as a sheriff without learning to read people well, however, and he couldn’t help feeling something else besides sympathy or old friendship was going on behind his grandmother’s bright green eyes. Fiona was up to something, and not knowing what she was scheming made him uneasy. When Fiona set her mind to something, the rest of the world—and Ross in particular—had better watch out.

“My compliments to your chef. The sirloin tips are extraordinary.” Jessica, seated between Ross and Fiona, was the epitome of politeness, but Ross could sense undercurrents in her, too. Remarkably self-possessed, even after a day that would have driven a strong man to some serious drinking, she couldn’t quite hide her impatience to be about her work.

Maybe she had a family at home in Miami and she was anxious to return to them for the holidays. She wasn’t wearing an engagement or wedding ring, but that fact meant nothing in today’s business world. It seemed improbable such a gorgeous creature didn’t have a husband or a lover eager for her return.

Jessica Landon was definitely a contradiction in terms. A strong personality resided in that tiny, fragile form. She’d handled being shot at, then sideswiped and stranded in near-zero temperatures without hysterics. With her sun-streaked auburn hair, startling blue eyes and honey-golden tan, she was a living work of art. With a mind, evidently, judging from her competency in her profession, as efficient and analytical as any computer. Her strictly business manner was certainly at odds with the emotions she generated in Ross. With a blink of surprise, he found himself remembering how she’d felt in his arms and wondering whether he’d enjoy kissing her.

He squelched that thought instantly. Just being in the McGarrett employ was dangerous enough for Jessica. Ross didn’t want to endanger her further by having anyone believe he had feelings for her. Which he didn’t, he assured himself. He hardly knew the woman.

But he’d sure like to know her better.

“The storm should pass by morning,” Fiona was saying, “and crews will have the roads cleared by the next day. Saturday’s Ross’s day off, so he can show you the ranch.”

Alarm flashed across Jessica’s heart-shaped face, and Ross took pity on her. “Not on horseback,” he assured her. “We’ll take the SUV. It has four-wheel drive.”

“I can ride if you’d rather,” she said.

“Didn’t know folks went in for horses in Miami,” Ross commented, unable to hide his surprise.

“I learned at boarding school,” Jessica said. “If I seemed reluctant, it isn’t about riding. It’s about taking time away from my work.”

“Nonsense,” Fiona insisted. “Seeing the ranch and how it operates is part of your job. And Ross will be happy to show off the Shooting Star.”

“You must be anxious to get home for the holidays,” Ross said.

Jessica patted her mouth delicately with the fine linen napkin. “Not really.”

His statement hadn’t prompted any revelations so he tried again, this time taking a more blunt approach. “Is your family in Miami?”

“My mother and father both live in Europe,” Jessica said, adding with a small grimace, “although, not together.”

“I think,” Fiona commented with a wicked gleam in her eyes, “what my grandson wants to know is if you’re married.”

Ross choked on a bite of sirloin and coughed to clear his throat.

Jessica, cool as a mountain spring, turned her blue-eyed gaze on him and waited for his spasm to pass.

“Is my marital status relevant to my assignment?” she asked with seeming innocence.

“It’s the law officer in me.” Ross hoped his excuse would cover his grandmother’s bluntness. “Makes me curious about people.”

Jessica’s eyes twinkled and a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, resurrecting Ross’s thoughts of kissing her. “I don’t have a rap sheet, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I should say not,” Fiona said heatedly. “Max Rinehart wouldn’t stand for it.”

Turning from Ross to Fiona, Jessica launched into an anecdote about Max teaching his oldest grandson to windsurf. Ross was so entranced by the lilting cadence of her voice, he didn’t realize until long after she’d concluded her story that she’d effectively sidestepped both his and his grandmother’s inquiries.

Jessica was a paradox. And a puzzle. He’d never met a woman who so willingly passed up an opportunity to talk about herself. He considered her reticence a challenge, one he was ready to meet.

“We’ll need the name and number of your next of kin,” Ross told her. “Just in case of an emergency while you’re staying with us.”

“An emergency?” She smiled so sweetly, he knew without a doubt she was toying with him. “You mean like being shot at by bank robbers or run off the road and left to freeze to death? How many more emergencies can I expect?”

“We really live a very quiet life here,” Fiona said quickly. “The emergency number is just routine.”

“You can always contact Max.” Jessica had smoothly avoided once again revealing any personal information.

Just as Ross was beginning to wonder if she had something to hide, she spoke again. “Forgive me. I don’t mean to appear rude, but I always make a point of separating my professional and personal life. Your hospitality is gracious and appreciated, but I have to remain impersonal and objective to do my job appropriately.”