The Black Widow
The Black Widow
BEVERLY BARTON
The spine-tingling thriller about a depraved female serial killer from the Sunday Times and New York Times bestselling author.Jordan Price doesn't look like your typical serial killer…Young and beautiful, she exudes innocence and vulnerability. But after her latest husband dies in mysterious circumstances, Rick Carson is forced to consider her capable of cold-blooded murder.The deeper he delves into the string of deaths which stalk Jordan, the more dangerous the game of cat-and-mouse becomes. The targets are changing and suddenly no one is safe.If Jordan is as innocent as she claims, Rick may have placed in a brutal killer's crosshairs. But if she's guilty, Rick will pay in blood…
BEVERLY BARTON
THE BLACK WIDOW
Copyright (#ud7bab574-08dc-508e-a925-f4b92dd9053b)
Published by AVON
A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain as Coldhearted by HarperCollins 2008
This eBook edition published 2018
Copyright © Beverly Barton 2008
Cover design © Diane Meacham Design 2018
Cover photograph © Shutterstock
Beverly Barton asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9781847560612
Ebook Edition © May 2018 ISBN: 9780007328925
Version: 2018-06-04
Contents
Cover (#u380f6321-719e-58cf-82f4-dcf9a6b00476)
Title Page (#u1ae8edff-0978-5686-bdeb-6088e74a4832)
Copyright (#u803a80ae-d66b-51d5-ae0b-53a20f9edb77)
Prologue (#u8887498a-fc8f-5da2-bf32-cfb6adf1b503)
Chapter 1 (#ud7745958-a58a-5f0b-9af0-89d7173c2ffe)
Chapter 2 (#u5e765d72-a9d8-51a6-8a79-6367c72c5f99)
Chapter 3 (#u435f6730-4e8c-5f76-88eb-c97fb3e5e30d)
Chapter 4 (#u2b7c889a-9afe-5c0a-a4f0-c5bbe4855490)
Chapter 5 (#u3873834e-b42e-50fa-a495-5ba9762b2876)
Chapter 6 (#u87c7546f-475b-5666-a6c3-7d180a928337)
Chapter 7 (#u9ecf1a1f-a40e-5ff5-9a7c-afa21744fafd)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 32 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 33 (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by Beverly Barton (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#ud7bab574-08dc-508e-a925-f4b92dd9053b)
Perhaps the best thing he could do for himself and every-one he loved was to commit suicide.
Dan Price stared at the Glock pistol lying atop his desk. He had bought the 9mm automatic for his wife, but she had refused the gift, politely reminding him of her aversion to guns. But at his insistence, she had gone with him to the practice range and learned to use the weapon, only to please him. But to his knowledge, she had never carried the pistol, never kept it in her room or in her car.
If his sweet Jordan had any idea that he was contemplating taking his own life, she would do her best to convince him that no matter what the future held, she would stand by him. It was her basic integrity and loyalty that had first attracted him to the woman who had become his greatest political asset.
Dan lifted the half-full glass of Kentucky bourbon to his lips and finished off the remainder. The liquor burned a path down his esophagus and hit his belly like fire. He coughed a couple of times, then wiped his mouth, picked up the bottle, and poured himself another drink.
If he was going to do this—and he fully intended to end his life tonight—he knew he couldn’t do it stone cold sober. He wasn’t that courageous. Before he could put the hammer-forged barrel into his mouth and pull the trigger, he needed to be more than a little drunk.
He sipped on the bourbon as he leaned back in the swivel desk chair and let his gaze travel over the room. His private study, as it had been his father’s and grandfather’s before him. An impressive room inside a 200-year-old antebellum mansion, part of an estate that had been in his family since before the War Between the States. Generations of Price men had served their country, first in wartime and then in local, state, and national politics. In Georgia, the name Price was synonymous with public service.
If he killed himself, how would that affect his family’s good name? No Price man had ever taken the easy way out of a bad situation.
But could he continue, knowing what the future held for him? Could he condemn Jordan to such a life? And what about Devon? And his brother, Ryan? They would never desert him, and that would mean great sacrifices for each of them.
You don’t have to do this tonight. You have time.
But how much time? Six months? A year?
Dan finished off his second drink and poured himself a third.
The grandfather clock in the hall struck twice. Two in the morning.
He unlocked the file cabinet in the bottom drawer of the desk, rummaged through the folders until he found the file he wanted. A copy of his will. His lawyer kept another copy and a third was inside his safe at the house in Bethesda. The contents of his will were not secret to anyone. Everything he possessed would be equally divided among Jordan, Devon and Ryan. Jordan had protested, telling him that she didn’t expect such an enormous legacy, but he had quieted her protests with a tender caress.
“I owe you more than I will ever be able to repay,” he’d told her.
Dan finished off his third drink.
Minutes ticked by as he contemplated the Glock on his desk. Grandfather Price’s antique desk. Family lore claimed the desk had belonged to Jefferson Davis, a contemporary of his ancestor, General John Ryan Price.
Dan poured another glass of bourbon, picked up the bottle and the glass and walked over to the leather Chester-field sofa. He sat down, placed the bottle on the floor, and considered his options. Death was preferable to the fate that awaited him.
Dan’s eyelids flicked open and shut. In the twilight zone of being half-awake/half-asleep, he didn’t immediately realize where he was or what had awakened him so abruptly. Woozy from sleep and too much bourbon, Dan recalled that he had contemplated suicide to solve his problems, but in the end, drunk and, oddly enough, thinking more clearly than he had when he’d been sober, he had realized that killing himself would have been the coward’s way out.
Dan swatted at something cold against his cheek. His fingertips raked across the metal object. He opened his eyes fully, stared up at the woman leaning over him, and smiled. She did not return his smile. His gaze zipped from her familiar face to his own hand holding the 9mm, its barrel pressed firmly against his head. And it was only when he tried to ease the gun away from his head that he realized her hand covered his, her index finger squeezed tightly over his against the trigger.
“What the—!”
Before he could react, she forced his finger down against the trigger, firing the gun at point blank range directly into his brain.
Dan’s last thought was that someone he’d trusted completely had just killed him.
Chapter 1 (#ud7bab574-08dc-508e-a925-f4b92dd9053b)
Jordan Price was a cold-hearted bitch. Cool, controlled and calculating. If she was a better actress, she would at least show some sign of emotion. She could fake tears or heave a deep, grieving sigh. Anything to indicate she felt at least a modicum of remorse over her husband’s death. But the lady hadn’t shed a tear. Not during the church funeral attended by hundreds and not at the graveside service for family and close friends.
Rick Carson had met her type before—alluring and dangerous. He hadn’t known the late Senator Price personally, but he sure as hell felt sorry for the poor bastard. Every man, even a damn politician, deserved a wife who mourned him.
As the light drizzle increased and quickly turned into a downpour, black umbrellas popped open to shield the small crowd of mourners surrounding the open gravesite. The scalloped edges of the burgundy-red canopy sheltering the immediate family, seated in double rows of four chairs each, flapped loudly as the April wind whipped unmercifully through the nearby trees.
Small town, southern cemeteries were pretty much inter-changeable, many of the headstones dating back to the early 1800s and a few graves marked with only large rocks. Rick figured that, for the most part, his dirt poor ancestors lay in unmarked graves throughout the South, from Virginia to Kentucky and on into his home state of Mississippi. His father had been the first in his family to acquire a high school diploma and Rick had been the first to graduate from college. He had about as much in common with the dearly departed senator as a buzzard has in common with a peacock.
The woman at Rick’s side raised her open umbrella just enough to clear the top of his head, which due to her being five-ten meant she’d lifted it only a few inches to accommodate his six-two height. Nicole Powell was his boss’s wife—actually she was Griff’s bride of seven months and co-owner of the Powell Private Security and Investigation Agency. If Griff wasn’t out of the country right now, he’d be here instead of Rick, who had worked for the agency the past five years.
As the minister uttered the final prayer in the 20-minute ceremony that had included the mournful wail of a bagpiper’s rendition of “Amazing Grace,” Rick shifted his attention from Nicole back to Mrs. Price. She sat ramrod straight, her chin tilted upward, her teeth clenched, and her eyelids slowly closing. Reverent enough to shut her eyes, but not enough to bow her head, the widow took a deep breath. Was she weary of having to pretend to care and wishing this day would end? Or was she desperately trying to control any emotion she might feel?
The man sitting beside Jordan Price casually reached over and grasped her folded hands resting in her lap, then took one hand in his and clutched it tightly. She didn’t react in any way when he placed their entwined hands between them. Rick sensed these two shared an intimate bond. Nic had told him that this sinfully handsome guy, who at the funeral had showed far more emotion than the widow, had been Dan Price’s assistant for 12 years. Rumor had it that Devon Markham had been like a son to the senator. So, what did that make him to the senator’s attractive, young wife? A friend or a lover?
The minister, a gray-haired gentleman with a kind face and a commanding voice, ended the service by inviting those in attendance to join the family at the Price home for an after-funeral reception. This type of affair was the southern, Protestant version of a wake.
While the others seated stood up and shook hands with the preacher, Markham assisted the widow to her feet, placed his arm around her waist and took a protective stand at her side.
“Let’s get out of here,” Nicole whispered. “I’ll wait and speak to Claire and Ryan at the reception.”
“Did they tell you why they were interested in hiring Powell’s?” Rick kept in step with Nic’s long-legged gait as they made their way toward her Escalade.
“No. All Claire said when she called to tell me about Dan Price’s funeral arrangements was that Ryan needed to speak to me after the funeral about hiring Powell’s. Considering what she and Ryan were going through at the time, I thought the particulars could wait.”
Glancing over his shoulder, Rick took one final look at Mrs. Price. Dry-eyed and rigid, she spoke to the minister. Markham clung to her, not she to him, which implied that she was the stronger of the two and they both knew it.
What was it about the woman that intrigued Rick so? Maybe it was nothing more than her being beautiful. Beautiful, fragile, vulnerable—and heartless. His instincts were usually right on the money and it was highly unlikely he was wrong this time, but for some gut-level reason, he wanted to be wrong about the widow being heartless.
Nicole stopped, turned, and called to him. “What’s the matter?”
He realized Nic had walked on ahead of him and he was standing in the rain staring at a woman he didn’t know and instinctively didn’t like. He caught up with Nic, clicked the OPEN button on his remote to unlock the SUV, and then rushed to open the passenger door for her.
Once seated inside, he started the engine and backed up the car. “What do you know about Jordan Price?”
Nicole shrugged. “Not much really. Counting today, I’ve met her a total of four times. The first time was Claire and Ryan’s wedding. Then again at Michael’s christening and the last time was at her wedding, when she married Dan.”
Rick drove slowly down the narrow one-lane road that led out of Oak Hill Cemetery. “She’s a lot younger than he was. Do you think she married him for his money?”
Nic laughed. “I have no idea.” She glanced at Rick. “Why so curious about Jordan Price?”
Rick’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. Damn good question. Why was he so curious about the widow? Yeah, sure, he found her attractive. And yeah, her seemingly unfeeling attitude disturbed him. Maybe she reminded him a little too much of his own callous, conniving stepmother, who had sucked his father dry during their marriage and had cheated Rick and his sister out of their meager inheritance.
Rick grunted. “Damn if I know. I just thought it odd that the lady hasn’t shed a tear all day.”
“Some people cry in private,” Nic said. “And the reality of death doesn’t always hit a person right away. It often catches up with them weeks later and then they fall apart.”
“Yeah, either is a possibility.”
“But you’re not buying it, are you?”
“Young, beautiful widow buries older, wealthy husband, without any show of emotion whatsoever. And the husband’s handsome, young assistant holds her hand and clings to her during the funeral.”
“You’re painting a really ugly picture, you know. Dan Price committed suicide. He wasn’t murdered. Besides, Claire and Ryan like Jordan. And if Jordan hadn’t been a good wife to Dan, neither Claire nor Ryan would think so highly of her, would they?”
“Hey, it’s nothing to me one way or another,” Rick said. “It’s not my family, not my concern. I don’t know these people.”
And he didn’t want to know them, especially not Jordan. But if Ryan Price hired Powell’s and he was assigned to the case—what then?
She watched from an upstairs window as the hordes descended on Price Manor, Dan’s ancestral home.
A gray day, with the heavens weeping, seemed appropriate for the funeral services. Daniel Price had been loved and respected. It was only fitting that the weather reflected the somber mood of the occasion.
We made it through the funeral without breaking down. That’s good. The reception won’t be as difficult. We’ll be able to reminisce about Dan without being morbid. We can laugh about our memories of him instead of cry. In many ways, Dan was a truly good man. A good husband. But if he’d been allowed to live, he would have become a very bad husband, a noose around our necks, a burden we shouldn’t have had to bear.
It will take time for us to heal from this tragedy, but eventually, we’ll move on, just as we’ve done in the past.
She hadn’t wanted to kill Dan, but she’d had no choice. Not really. If only he had followed through with his plans and had killed himself, he could have saved her the trouble. But apparently, he had lost his nerve at the last minute. As much as she had cared for Dan, she had realized that she couldn’t allow him to ruin their lives. If he had lived, they would have suffered along with him each day. It would have been so unfair. Hadn’t they already suffered enough? By killing Dan, she had protected them from years of anguish. And in the long run, his early death had been truly merciful for him, too. With Dan and his problems out of the way, they could look forward to raising their baby without the burden of a sick husband.
A baby.
Their baby.
They had wanted a baby for such a long time.
When she was a child, Jordan had dreamed of living in an antebellum mansion, something to equal the splendor of Scarlett O’Hara’s beloved Tara. The first time Dan had brought her to his ancestral home in Priceville, Georgia, she had felt an odd sense of homecoming, as if this was where she belonged. For the past three years, she had enjoyed the time they’d spent here far more than their time in D.C. But when she married Dan, she had accepted the fact that she would be a political wife, that she would play the game by the rules. Although she was often uncomfortable with the façade she and Dan had presented to the world, she had never regretted her decision to commit herself to their marriage. He had offered not only security for herself, but for her family whose members depended on her.
Jordan pressed her open palm lightly against her still flat abdomen. Dan was gone, but not lost to her forever. Not as long as the child growing inside her lived, he or she would be a link to her husband. Her son or daughter would carry on the Price name and honor a generations-old heritage. When they had discussed bringing a child into the world, Dan had prophesied that their offspring would one day be president.
Oh, Dan, why? Why did you do this horrible thing?
She had found out she was pregnant the day before Dan killed himself and had intended to share the news with him that evening. But after dinner, he had closed himself off in his study and she’d never seen him alive again.
A part of her refused to believe that Dan had taken his own life; but the alternative was equally unbelievable. Yes, Dan had enemies, both personal and political, but no one truly hated him, certainly not enough to kill him.
You have too much to deal with right now without trying to figure out what happened and why. There will be time enough for that later. You have to go downstairs and greet your guests. Dan’s friends and enemies, his associates, his family and his constituents.
First and foremost Daniel Price had been a public servant, in one form or another, all his life, just as his father and grandfather had been. The very least she owed Dan was to uphold the family traditions and keep his untainted public image as shiny bright as it had been for the past 55 years.
Jordan felt Devon’s presence moments before he reached out and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. She sighed deeply, then forced a wavering smile and turned to look at her oldest and dearest friend.
“People are asking about you,” Devon said. “Do you feel up to facing the mob?”
Jordan nodded. “Almost ready. Give me a couple more minutes.”
“It doesn’t seem real, does it? Dan gone. You and I left to—” Devon choked down his tears. “Why did he choose such a drastic solution? He should have known once he told us about the diagnosis of early-stage Alzheimer’s, we would have been there for him every step of the way. He could have had some good years still ahead of him.”
Jordan caressed Devon’s cheek, tenderly brushing away his tears. “I don’t know. Maybe this was his way of protecting us.”
A light tap on her half-open bedroom door alerted them that they were not alone. Devon stiffened as Jordan glanced over his shoulder and her gaze locked with Tobias Harper’s dark, penetrating glare.
“Pardon me, Miss Jordan, but Mr. Ryan asks that you come downstairs as soon as possible.” The elderly servant, who had been in the Prices’ employ since he was a boy, had loved Dan as much as she and Devon. And like them, he had known the real Daniel Price. “Please, ma’am. Mr. Ryan needs you.”
“Tell him I’ll be down right away.”
Tobias nodded, then turned and disappeared up the hall.
Devon offered her his arm.
She shook her head. “No, you should go down first and I’ll follow in a few minutes. The last thing we want is anyone speculating about the two of us.”
Devon’s lips lifted in a sad smile. He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips for a light kiss. Then she stood and watched as he walked away. In private, she and Devon could comfort each other, could share their grief. But in public, they had to be discreet, in honor of Dan’s memory as much as to protect themselves from gossip and ridicule.
Squaring her shoulders, taking a deep breath, and steeling her nerves, Jordan marched out of her bedroom suite and hurried down the hall. She paused when she reached the top of the right side of the double curving staircases. The string quartet at one side of the large foyer was all but drowned out by the hum of conversation filling the foyer and both front parlors. No doubt by now, dozens of people were already milling through the dining room to partake of the lavish buffet.
When she descended the stairs, her sister-in-law, Claire, broke away from Ryan in the receiving line and came to meet her. Sweet, lovely Claire, with her bright hazel eyes and warm smile. Her sister-in-law was also her friend. She tried her best not to envy the other woman, who was madly in love with her husband, and also had a strong marriage and an adorable three-year-old son.
Claire circled Jordan’s waist with her arm and gave her a quick hug. “Everyone’s been asking about you.”
“I needed a little time to myself after the graveside service.”
“I know, but poor Ryan is on the verge of collapsing. This whole ordeal has simply been too much for him.”
Jordan wanted to tell Claire that it had been too much for all of them, not only Ryan, but instead she said, “Why don’t you take him back to the kitchen and see if you can get him to eat a bite. I’ll take over here.”
“Thanks, Jordan. I knew I could count on you. You’ve been our strength. I don’t know what we’d have done with-out you.”
“Go…go…” She shooed Claire away. “Take care of your husband. I’ll handle everything else just fine on my own.”
You’ve been our strength.
How many times had Jordan been told that she was always the strong, capable, take-charge person in good times and bad? Her earliest memories were those of being a caretaker. First, when she was only ten, to her sick and dying mother, then afterward to her grieving father. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when she hadn’t been taking care of others. Perhaps that was her lot in life, her mission, her burden, her duty, the one thing at which she excelled.
After she replaced her brother-in-law in the receiving line, Jordan lost track of time. Eventually, her hand, which had been shaken countless times, became as numb as her emotions. The only way she could make it through this evening without losing her mind was to act and react by remote control. Shake hands. Accept sympathy. Don’t cringe when someone she barely knew hugged her. Agree that Dan had been a prince of a fellow and would be sorely missed. Move on to the next person and repeat the process.
Rick hated Price Manor on sight. The antebellum mansion was a relic from the South’s notorious past, a plantation house that had been passed down through the generations. No doubt, the Price family could trace their ancestors back to Europe, probably to nobility, albeit some of their predecessors had possibly been born out of wedlock, fathered by kings, princes, dukes and earls. Rick could trace his ancestry back to his hard-drinking, ornery grandpa Carson, whose claim to fame had been that he could whip any man in a fair fight. His father’s family home had been a Mississippi shit-shack, with a roof that leaked when it rained and floorboards so wide apart you could see the chickens pecking for worms in the rich soil under the house.
“Looks like something out of Gone with the Wind, doesn’t it?” Nicole said as they rolled up to the front veranda and stopped.
“Yeah,” Rick replied as he got out, handed his keys to the parking attendant and made his way around to the passenger side just as Nicole closed the door. Since it had stopped raining, he’d left the umbrella in the car. “Do your cousin and her husband live here, too?”
“No, they live in downtown Priceville, in an old Victorian house that belonged to Ryan and Dan’s maternal grandmother.”
“Both sides of the family had money, huh?”
“It seems so.” Nic cast him a sidelong glance as they reached the open front doors. “Keep your opinion of Jordan Price to yourself when we speak with Ryan and Claire later. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am. None of my business. Keep my mouth shut.”
Although it wasn’t raining, moisture hung in the air, heavy and damp. Rick would have liked to remove his black jacket and rip off his tie, get a little more comfortable and cooler. He definitely wasn’t a suit and tie kind of guy. Give him a pair of wash-worn jeans and a cotton shirt instead of fancy duds any day of the week.
Good God, the house was swarming with people, like maggots pouring out of a rotting corpse. The interior temperature had to be a good ten degrees warmer than the humid air outside. Body heat.
Rick and Nicole took their place in the reception line, apparently close to the end since only two couples were ahead of them, one pair offering their condolences to the widow—and to Devon Markham. Two women flanked Jordan, the one on her right, a tall, thin woman with a sharp nose and keen brown eyes, separated her from Markham. The woman on the left was older, but far more attractive. A full-figured blonde who oozed sex appeal. Rick got the distinct impression that both women had stationed themselves there to guard Jordan. Who were they to the young widow? Mother? Aunt? A former nanny?
As the other couples moved on, Nicole stepped up in line and, one by one, offered the foursome in the reception line her sympathy. Jordan reached out and took Nicole’s hand.
“I appreciate your driving in from Knoxville,” Jordan said. “I’m sure your being here is a great comfort to Claire.”
Rick said nothing, simply stuck to Nicole like glue and nodded his head to each of the older ladies. He had intended to pass by as unobtrusively as possible, but suddenly Jordan asked Nicole, “Is this your husband?”
Nic shook her head. “No, Griff is in England. This is Rick Carson, a Powell agent. He offered to drive down with me so I wouldn’t have to make the trip alone.”
Smooth, Nic. A little white lie to prevent an awkward moment.
He looked right at Jordan then. Big mistake. She gazed up at him with blue-gray eyes a shade lighter than the dark gray silk suit she wore, and Rick felt as if he’d been hit in the head with a sledgehammer. The lady took his breath away. Slender, fragile bones, porcelain skin, classically beautiful features. She looked as if she was on the verge of collapse and everything masculine in him wanted to reach out and offer her the support of his strong arms.
Her mouth curved upward in an almost smile. “That was very kind of you, Mr. Carson.”
How the hell did he respond to that? “Yes, ma’am. I’m very sorry about your husband.”
“Thank you.” The soft, sweet sound of her voice wrapped around him like satin cords, pulling him in, threatening to bind him to her.
Not until Nic grabbed his arm and gave it a yank did he realize he was still staring at Jordan, that he hadn’t moved an inch and was holding up the line of mourners still waiting to express their sympathy.
Once Nic had ushered him out of the foyer and into the parlor on the left, she said, “I need to find Claire and Ryan and see why he wants to hire Powell’s. After that, we can head for home.”
“We could split up and go in different directions to look for them,” Rick suggested. “Then meet back here in five minutes.”
“Okay. Good idea. You start your search in here and I’ll go into the other parlor,” Nic told him, then just as she turned around, she stopped and said, “Wait up. I see Claire. She’s motioning to me.”
Rick fell in step beside Nic as she headed toward the foyer again. He caught sight of Nic’s cousin, Claire, a leggy brunette almost as tall as Nic.
“Come on,” Nic said.
When they approached Claire, she met them at the pocket doors open to the foyer. “Ryan is in Dan’s study. He’s waiting for us.”
Rick followed the two women down the wide hall and into a dark-paneled room with three floor-to-ceiling windows on the back wall, and two walls covered with built-in bookshelves. Ryan Price stood, with his back to the door, in front of a fireplace topped with an ornately carved mantel. When he heard the door open, he turned slowly.
He moved forward and extended his hand, first to Nicole and then to Rick. “Thank you for coming to the funeral.”
“Dan was a good man,” Nic said. “I’m so sorry about what happened.”
Ryan grimaced. “I don’t know how to say this any other way, so here goes—I don’t believe Dan killed himself.”
“I see.” Nic glanced at Claire as if silently asking her if she agreed with her husband. “What makes you think he didn’t kill himself? It’s my understanding, from what Claire told me, that the local authorities and the Georgia Bureau of Investigation have ruled Dan’s death a suicide.”
As she rushed to her husband’s side, Claire said, “Officially, Dan’s death was ruled a suicide. But we were told that it’s difficult, if not sometimes impossible, to prove a suicide wasn’t murder. Especially when the person supposedly shot himself in the head.”
Ryan’s gaze settled on the sofa in front of the fireplace. “He was lying there when Jordan found him. The only fingerprints on the gun were Dan’s. And there was gunshot residue on his hand from where he had supposedly fired the weapon.”
“Then why—?” Nic asked, but Ryan cut her off.
“I knew Dan. Knew the kind of man he was. Under no circumstances would he have killed himself.” Ryan slipped his arm around Claire’s waist, obviously needing her com-fort and support. “I want to hire the Powell Agency to do a thorough investigation and find a way to prove that my brother didn’t commit suicide.”
Nic glanced at Claire again.
Claire cleared her throat, then said, “I told Nic that we discovered, after Dan’s death, that he was in the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s.”
Ryan heaved a deep sigh. “That information is not to go beyond this room.” He glared at Rick. Rick nodded. “Dan might have considered suicide, but I’m telling you that he wouldn’t have—” Ryan’s voice cracked. Swallowing hard, he turned his head sideways, averting his teary gaze.
“You realize the alternative to suicide is murder,” Nic said.
“Yes,” Claire answered for both of them.
“Do you have any reason to believe that someone murdered your brother?” Rick asked.
A loud, startled gasp came from the doorway. All heads turned. Jordan Price had opened the door and stood there, eyes wide with shock, her mouth parted and her pale cheeks suddenly flushed.
“Oh, my God, no, no! You can’t honestly believe that someone murdered Dan.”
Chapter 2 (#ud7bab574-08dc-508e-a925-f4b92dd9053b)
“Oh, Jordan, I’m so sorry.” Claire pulled away from Ryan and took a tentative step toward her sister-in-law. “We wanted to spare you—”
“Exactly what’s going on here?” Jordan asked as her gaze quickly flashed around the room, scanning the four people in her husband’s study.
Claire, all wide-eyed guilt but genuine concern, halted a few feet from Jordan as if uncertain of what to do or say.
“I wanted to wait until later to speak to you about this,” Ryan said. “You have enough to deal with as it is.”
With thick auburn hair, the tall, slender Ryan was a younger version of Dan. Only Dan’s eyes had been a brilliant topaz and Ryan’s were a honeyed brown.
Nicole Baxter Powell remained silent, her compassionate gaze focusing steadily on Jordan. Although Jordan had met the former FBI agent only a few times, she liked Claire’s cousin and had no reason to distrust her.
The man at Nicole’s side was a stranger, someone she’d never seen before today. His eyes, so dark they appeared almost black, bored into her, his stare intense and hostile. Hostile? Was her imagination working overtime? This man had no reason to be antagonistic toward her. They didn’t even know each other.
Jordan looked directly at Ryan. “Answer the man’s question. Do you have any reason to believe that someone murdered Dan, that his death wasn’t a suicide?”
Ryan frowned, emotional pain etched on his features as he faced Jordan. “I don’t believe Dan killed himself. It went against his very nature to take the coward’s way out. He was one of the strongest, bravest men I’ve ever known.”
“Dan was also loving and protective,” Jordan said. “If he believed that by taking his own life, he might spare us the agony of watching him die by slow degrees, then he might have—”
“No!” Ryan bellowed the one word as he clenched his hands into stiff fists and closed his eyes for a split second.
Startled by her brother-in-law’s vehement response, she tensed, every muscle in her body suddenly taut. “There’s more to this than just your belief that Dan wouldn’t commit suicide, isn’t there?”
“Tell her. She’ll find out sooner or later.” Claire looked from her husband to Jordan and then back to Ryan as if she couldn’t decide who needed her comfort more.
“Tell me what?” Jordan asked.
“I spoke to Steve privately the day the autopsy report came in,” Ryan said. “You know that Steve and I go way back, that we’ve been—”
“Yes, I know that you and Sheriff Corbett are good friends, so please stop stalling and just come right out and tell me whatever it is.”
“Steve agrees with me that, despite the coroner ruling Dan’s death a suicide and the fact he has no solid proof to the contrary, it’s possible that Dan didn’t kill himself. Steve says that details about a gunshot wound can rule out suicide, but they can’t prove it conclusively, that sometimes it’s a judgment call.”
Jordan felt cold, as if the temperature in the room had dropped a good 20 degrees in a matter of seconds. A chill rippled over her body causing her to quiver.
“You realize what you’re saying, don’t you? If Dan didn’t…if he wasn’t responsible, then that means someone else…” No, she refused to believe that anyone would kill Dan. “But that’s not possible. I found Dan lying over there—” she indicated the sofa with a glance “—with the gun still in his hand. The doors were locked and there was no evidence that anyone had broken into the house.”
“Who else was in the house other than you and the senator?” Mr. Carson asked.
Surprised by his question and by the fact that he had injected himself into what was a family matter, Jordan snapped her head around and glared at him.
“Rick!” Nicole Powell frowned at her companion.
“No, it’s quite all right,” Ryan said. “I want Mr. Carson to ask questions. If I hire Powell’s to do an independent investigation into Dan’s death, then—”
“If you do what?” Jordan felt as if she might faint. Had she heard Ryan correctly? Did he intend to hire an outside agency to dig deeper into the events surrounding Dan’s death? What was he thinking? Didn’t he realize that if the investigators unearthed too many facts about Dan’s life, they might discover a truth that Dan had kept hidden for years, one that could destroy his reputation?
“I know why you’re concerned,” Ryan told her. “That’s why I want to hire Powell’s, a firm with a solid reputation for honesty and integrity. Any information they uncover will be kept in strictest confidence.” He looked at Nicole. “Isn’t that right, Nic?”
“Yes, of course,” she replied.
“Do you need a glass of water, Mrs. Price?” Rick Carson asked. “Or maybe something a little stronger. You look as if you’re going to pass out.”
I don’t like you, Mr. Carson. I don’t like the way you look at me, as if you think you know something about me that no one else knows.
Claire rushed to Jordan, cupped her elbow and said, “Come sit down. Please. Would you like a drink? Ryan can fix you something or I can ring for Tobias—”
“No, I’m all right.” Jordan jerked away from her sister-in-law’s gentle hold and marched across the room, stopping directly in front of the rough-looking Powell agent. Although he wore a suit and tie, he exuded a raw, rugged masculinity that hinted that beneath the neat façade beat the heart of a primitive male.
“We don’t have to do this now, Mrs. Price,” Mr. Carson said.
“We had a full house that weekend because of the Easter holiday. The live-in servants were here. Tobias and Vadonna. My stepchildren, Kendra and Wes Brannon, were both home from college. Dan’s personal assistant, Devon Markham was here, as was my assistant, Rene Burke.”
Rick Carson’s gaze met hers head-on. Neither of them blinked.
“Who has a key to the house and knows the code for the security system?” he asked.
“Really, Mr. Carson, now is hardly the time to—” Claire injected.
“No, no, it’s perfectly all right,” Jordan said. “If Ryan hires the Powell Agency and Mr. Carson heads the investigation, I’m sure he’ll ask far more personal questions than that. We might as well get used to being interrogated.”
“Oh, please, let’s not do this now.” Claire slid her arm through her husband’s and reached for his hand.
“Claire’s right,” Ryan said. “This can wait. Jordan’s near collapse.” He looked pleadingly at Jordan. “I’m sorry. I didn’t handle this very well.”
“No, let’s do this now.” Jordan returned her gaze to Rick Carson. “If there is any possibility that Dan was murdered, I want to know. Consider yourself hired, Mr. Carson.”
Rick glanced from Jordan to Ryan, then looked directly at Nicole.
“Am I to consider this a firm offer?” Nic asked. “If so, then is Powell’s working for you, Ryan, or for Jordan?”
“For both of us,” Jordan replied. “Unless Ryan has any objections.”
“Of course not,” Ryan said. “If you’d like for me to handle the details—”
“And Mr. Carson will be in charge of the investigation, right?” Jordan asked.
“Yes,” Nic replied. “Unless you’d prefer another agent, Rick will head the investigation and will have all of Powell’s resources at his disposal. If, once he begins the investigation, he feels that more agents are needed, he will make the request to you and Ryan for your approval before contacting headquarters. And since y’all are family—” she glanced pointedly at Claire—“Powell’s will offer a discounted rate for our services.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Jordan’s jaw tightened. “Spare no expense. You agree, don’t you, Ryan?”
“Yes, of course,” he replied.
“I’ll fax y’all the contract first thing in the morning and Rick will return and begin the investigation tomorrow,” Nicole explained, then walked over and offered her hand to Jordan, who accepted it immediately. “We’ll find out what happened to Dan. I promise. If he was murdered…” She squeezed Jordan’s hand, then released it and nodded to Rick. “We should get going.”
“I’ll see y’all out,” Claire said, then followed her cousin and Rick Carson as they left the study.
When she and Ryan were alone, Jordan stared at the new sofa which had replaced the one where only weeks ago she had discovered her husband’s lifeless body on Good Friday. On first awakening that morning, she had gone to his room, hoping to share the good news of her pregnancy with him while everyone else was still asleep. But when she saw that his bed had not been slept in, she suspected he had fallen asleep in his study the night before, as he occasionally did. Upon entering the study, she had called his name, but he hadn’t answered.
Now, with her eyes wide open, she could still envision the exact moment she realized Dan was dead. Before she noticed the bullet hole in his right temple, a single wound just above his cheekbone, she saw the dark red blood that discolored the gold silk cushion under his head and the gun that he clutched in his hand.
“Jordan?”
Ryan’s soft, smooth voice snapped her out of her thoughts and brought her back to the present moment.
He laid his hand on her shoulder. She heaved a deep sigh.
“I don’t know which I hate more,” Ryan said. “The thought that Dan would actually kill himself or that someone murdered him.”
Jordan shrugged off Ryan’s hand and walked away. Pausing as she reached out to open the door, she glanced over her shoulder. “If Dan was murdered, I want his murderer found and punished. But I do not want Dan’s good name sullied. I’ll hold you personally responsible for making sure of that.”
“God, Jordan, do you think I want anyone to find out the truth about Dan or about his relationship with you?”
“Then see to it that what was our personal business remains just that.” She narrowed her gaze, issuing her brother-in-law a gentle warning. “And from now on, no more secret meetings with the Powell Agency. I’m to be included in any discussions with Mr. Carson. Is that understood?”
She didn’t give Ryan a chance to reply. She’d made her point. Her brother-in-law’s motives had been admirable— he had wanted to spare her more anguish, especially today. But he had underestimated her as so many people did. Even after knowing her for several years, he saw only the façade that she presented to the world. Few people knew the real Jordan Harris Brannon Price. Sometimes, she wasn’t sure she knew herself. She had buried her true self beneath so many protective layers in order to survive that very little, if any, of the sweet, innocent, somewhat naïve girl she’d once been still remained.
Nothing in her life had turned out the way she had hoped it would. None of her youthful dreams had come true. The girl who had been engaged to Robby Joe Wright, who had longed to be a grade school teacher and the mother of at least three children, was only a vague, melancholy memory.
Twice before, fate had given her two choices: let tragedy defeat her or make her stronger. She had that same choice now. And if she knew nothing else about herself, she knew one thing—Jordan Price was a survivor.
Rick kicked back in Nicole’s Cadillac Escalade and relaxed as they flew along Interstate 75, halfway between Priceville and Chattanooga. The lady drove like a bat out of hell, slowing down only when absolutely necessary. Right now she was speeding along at 85 and the limit was 70.
“If you don’t want to head this case, I can assign someone else.” Nic cast a sidelong glance his way.
“What makes you think I don’t want the case?”
Nic chuckled softly. “Oh, maybe your obvious animosity toward Jordan Price for one thing. You can’t go into an assignment with an open mind if you’ve already found the client guilty.”
“You think I believe Mrs. Price killed her husband?”
“Do you?”
“Do I think the lady is capable of murder? I’m not sure. Maybe. She’s one cool customer.”
“Just because she wasn’t hysterical with grief today doesn’t mean she didn’t love Dan.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t,” Rick agreed. “But look at the facts. He was twenty years older, rich and powerful, and his death may not have been suicide. What’s the first rule of thumb in a case such as this?”
“Suspect the wife.”
“Right. And add to that scenario a young lover and you’ve got a recipe for murder.”
“You’re assuming that Jordan and Devon Markham are lovers,” Nic said. “I think you’re wrong about that.”
“Why do you think I’m wrong?”
“Woman’s instinct.”
Rick laughed. “Care to elaborate?”
“Yes, I think they love each other, but they’re not in love. They don’t look at each other or touch each other the way a couple in love does.”
“You can tell if a couple is in love from watching the way they look at each other?”
“I told you that my theory is not based on scientific facts, just good old-fashioned woman’s intuition.”
“Okay, say I buy your theory. That doesn’t rule out Jordan Price as a suspect.”
“Jordan is not a suspect. She’s our client,” Nic reminded him. “She hired us, remember?”
“Ryan Price hired us. She jumped on the bandwagon when she realized that we were going to do an investigation. After all, if she had put up a protest, it would have made her look guilty.”
“I think maybe I should put Holt Keinan or Maleah Perdue on this case.”
“Don’t.”
Nic gave him another sidelong glance, her gaze questioning him. “Give me one good reason why I should hand this case over to you, all things considered?”
“Because I want to be proven wrong,” he admitted. “I don’t want Jordan Price to be guilty.”
“Hmm…You surprise me. I never suspected—”
“That I find the lady intriguing? That I’m as susceptible as the next guy to a beautiful, vulnerable woman?”
“Okay, the case is yours,” Nic told him. “But if I get one complaint from either Jordan or Ryan, I’ll jerk your ass off the case and put another agent in charge. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am. I understand.”
By seven that evening, the house had cleared, the string quartet had left and the caterers had cleaned up and gone. Only family and close friends remained, only those to whom Dan Price had been far more than a colleague, an acquaintance, another good old boy, or just their senator. The numbness that had encompassed Jordan for the past few weeks, from the moment she discovered Dan’s body until this evening, began to fade. She wished that she could remain in the semi-frozen emotional state, acting and reacting with control and logic. But sooner or later, she would have to confront the truth and deal with her personal grief.
“Do you want us to stay here tonight?” Claire asked. “I can call my mother and ask her to either keep Michael until tomorrow or bring him here.”
Jordan tried to smile at her sister-in-law, but the effort failed. “No, please, you and Ryan should go home. You’re less than five miles away, if I were to need you. Besides”— she glanced over her shoulder into the parlor—“I have more than enough company.”
“How is Devon holding up?” Claire whispered.
“In public, he’s holding it together. In private…he’ll make it through this somehow. I’ll take care of him.”
“You always have, haven’t you?”
Jordan nodded. “Making plans for the baby will help us both. I just wish I’d had the chance to tell Dan…”
“You’re thinking that if he’d known about the baby, he wouldn’t have…that he might still be alive.”
Jordan’s gaze connected directly with her sister-in-law’s. “Claire, do you believe that Dan was murdered?”
Claire sighed heavily. “I don’t know. Ryan is convinced that Dan didn’t kill himself. It definitely wasn’t an accident, so that leaves only murder.”
“I can hardly bear the thought that Dan committed suicide, but the thought that someone murdered him is almost more than…” Jordan paused and took a deep breath. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it together, the family, those of us who loved Dan.”
Ryan came up to them and draped his arm around Claire’s shoulders. “Ready?”
“Yes, whenever you are.”
He looked at Jordan. “I’ll let Nicole know that Mr. Carson can stay with us during the investigation. And I apologize again for not consulting you first.”
“I understand your motives,” Jordan said. “And as for Mr. Carson staying with you and Claire—that won’t be necessary. We have more than enough room for him here, far more room than y’all have.”
“Are you sure?” Ryan asked. “I got the feeling that you didn’t especially like Mr. Carson.”
“I don’t know Mr. Carson. But if Nicole thinks he’s the best agent to spearhead the private investigation, then I have no objections. After all, she’s the expert, not you or I.”
“Believe me, I don’t want to think that someone murdered Dan, but it’s the only explanation that makes sense to me.”
“You mean that it’s the only explanation you will accept.”
“Yes, it is the only explanation I’ll accept,” Ryan agreed. “I refuse to believe that Dan would commit suicide, not even after being diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.” His face flushed with aggravation. When Claire leaned into him, he tightened his hold around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring hug. “I’m okay, honey.”
“You should both go home and try to get some rest,” Jordan said. “I’ll contact Nicole and inform her that we decided Mr. Carson will stay here at Price Manor during the investigation. And I’ll tell the others tonight that we have hired the Powell Agency to look into the circumstances surrounding Dan’s death.”
Claire offered her a wavering smile, and then she ushered Ryan out the front door. Jordan closed her eyes and prayed for strength. The very last thing she and this family needed right now was a private detective sticking his nose into matters that were highly confidential.
But if Dan really had been murdered?
“Jordan, are you all right? You’re as white as a sheet.” The country twang to Roselynne’s voice was quite distinctive. Her stepmother had been raised on a farm on Sand Mountain in the northeastern tip of Alabama and had lived a rather hard life before marrying Jordan’s father. Jordan had been twelve years old. Her own much-adored mother had been dead for less than two years and in the beginning, Jordan had despised Roselynne.
She turned to face her stepmother, a voluptuous blonde whose clothing tastes ran to animal prints, four-inch heels, and oversized jewelry. Today, even though her hair was teased and her makeup was heavy, she wore a simple black dress, albeit one that hugged every generous curve of her 58-year-old body. Trailing along behind Roselynne, her daughter Tammy paled in comparison, like a little brown wren alongside a red bird.
“I’m all right. Just tired.”
“Well, of course, you’re tired. Who wouldn’t be after the day you’ve had. Good God, I think the whole damn state of Georgia tramped through this house and probably half of Tennessee to boot.” Roselynne placed her fleshy arm around Jordan’s shoulders. “Are you hungry, honey?” She snapped her fingers at Tammy. “Go get your sister a plate of food and some iced tea.”
“No, please, I couldn’t eat a bite.” Jordan looked at her stepsister, their gazes meeting for a millisecond before Tammy bowed her head shyly and clasped her hands together in front of her.
“Lord help you, girl,” Roselynne hugged Jordan to her side. “You’re going to waste away to nothing.”
“I’d be more than happy to fix something for you,” Tammy offered, her voice not much more than a whisper.
Before Jordan could reply, Darlene Wright came into the foyer and eyed Roselynne and Tammy with her usual disdain. “Will you please leave her alone and stop nagging her. What Jordan needs is peace and quiet.” She shooed Roselynne aside. “Why don’t we go up to your room? I’ll draw you a nice warm bath and if you’d like, I’ll have Vadonna bring up a tray later.”
“Jordan doesn’t need to be alone.” Roselynne squinched her face in a sourpuss frown directed at Darlene. “She needs to be surrounded by family.” She emphasized the word family.
Jordan closed her eyes for a moment, wishing that just this once her stepmother and Darlene could put aside their personal differences. From the moment the two women first met, more than a dozen years ago when Jordan became engaged to Darlene’s son, Robby Joe, they had disliked each other. During the years since, nothing had changed. Each laid claim to being Jordan’s surrogate mother, each loving Jordan in her own unique way, each adding immensely to the burden of family responsibility that weighed heavily on Jordan’s shoulders.
Within those brief minutes when Jordan gathered her thoughts before she took charge of the situation, the other members of her family-and-friends entourage migrated from the two parlors into the foyer. She had hoped to find a few moments alone with Devon to tell him about hiring the Powell Agency before telling everyone else. But with all those eyes focused on her, everyone waiting expectantly for her to say or do something that would put them at ease, she decided that there was no point in putting off the inevitable.
“Please, everyone, I need to share some information with y’all,” Jordan said. “Afterward, I’ll need a few moments alone with Devon and then I plan to go to my room—alone—and I’d appreciate no one disturbing me tonight.”
“Oh, Jordan, honey, you shouldn’t be alone,” Roselynne said.
“Good God, Mother, leave her alone,” J.C. called from the other side of the foyer. “Jordan doesn’t need you smothering her with your show of motherly affection.”
“Johnny Cash Harris, my affection for your sister is genuine and you damn well know it!” Roselynne glared at her son, who stood lounging insolently against the doorframe, a glass of his usual scotch and soda in his hand.
“Will all of you please listen to what I have to say.” Jordan spoke louder than she had intended, but her tone and volume achieved the effect she had wanted. To a person, everyone quieted and looked right at her.
“We’re listening,” Devon told her as he came forward, pausing a few feet away, his sky-blue eyes focused on her.
Jordan cleared her throat. “Y’all know that the GBI coroner ruled Dan’s death a suicide.” She took a deep breath. “But I’m afraid there is some question as to whether or not it’s possible that Dan didn’t kill himself.”
When rumbling noises spread through the foyer, Jordan held up a restraining hand. “Please, hush…right now. Ryan and I have hired the Powell Private Security and Investigation Agency to conduct an investigation into Dan’s death. Tomorrow, a Powell agent, Mr. Rick Carson, who was at the funeral today with Claire’s cousin, Nicole Powell, will arrive here at Price Manor. Mr. Carson will be staying here during the course of the investigation. I want y’all to treat Mr. Carson as our guest and cooperate with him fully.”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying, that there is reason to believe that Dan was murdered?” Rene Burke, Jordan’s assistant and longtime friend voiced the question that no doubt was going through everyone’s mind.
“Yes.” Jordan held her hands open at either side of her body in a defensive stance, a silent warning for the others to keep their distance. She’d had as much sympathy and comforting today as she could endure. “Any questions or concerns you have will have to wait until tomorrow. I’ll see all of you in the morning.” She held out her hand to Devon. “I need to speak with you a moment. Alone.” Her gaze traveled around the room issuing a silent order to everyone present.
Within two minutes, the foyer had cleared, leaving Jordan and Devon completely alone.
“Hiring the Powell Agency wasn’t your idea,” Devon said, keeping his voice low and quiet.
“No, it was Ryan’s idea. I just happened to walk right into the middle of a secret meeting he and Claire were having with Nicole Powell and Mr. Carson.”
“Does Ryan really believe that Dan was murdered?”
“Yes, I think he does.”
“You realize what might happen, don’t you? If the investigator digs too deeply into Dan’s personal life—”
“I wish we could find a way to prevent him from finding out the truth,” Jordan said. “But I don’t know if that’s possible. I have the distinct impression that Mr. Carson already suspects something.”
“Suspects what?”
“I think he believes that I killed Dan or perhaps that you and I killed him because we’re lovers.”
Chapter 3 (#ud7bab574-08dc-508e-a925-f4b92dd9053b)
Robby Joe smiled and held open his arms. She went flying into his loving embrace, feelings of pure happiness enveloping her. He was the most important person in the world to her. He was the man she loved, her future husband, the father of the children she would have one day.
When she was with Robby Joe, she felt that nothing bad could ever happen to her again, that all the bad things in her life were behind her forever. Their June wedding was only a month away, an elaborate affair that his mother had insisted on paying for, even down to helping Jordan pay for a beautiful wedding dress that she otherwise couldn’t have afforded.
With her arms wrapped around Robby Joe’s neck and her head resting against his shoulder, Jordan sighed with deep contentment. Sunlight struck the one-carat diamond on her finger. Gazing at her engagement ring, she thought about the night this past October when Robby Joe had proposed. A starlit night, a carriage ride, a declaration of love.
“I love you,” she whispered in his ear. “I love you so much.”
“I love you, too,” he told her.
Jordan closed her eyes, savoring this moment of pure joy.
Suddenly, she could no longer feel Robby Joe’s arms around her, couldn’t feel his warmth and his strength.
“Robby Joe?”
When she opened her eyes, she found herself all alone. She held up her left hand. Her engagement ring sparkled on her third finger.
She heard someone weeping, soft, mournful sobs. Who was crying and why? Something terrible must have happened. Someone was very sad.
“Robby Joe, where are you? Do you hear that woman crying? Why is she crying?”
Jordan woke with a start, gasping for breath, her heart racing and perspiration dampening her skin. She opened her eyes and tossed back the covers. Her bedroom lay in semi-darkness, the only illumination coming from the mellow glimmer of moonlight shining through the French doors leading to the balcony. She swung out of bed, slipped her feet into the quilted satin house shoes in front of the nightstand, and reached for the satin robe lying across the antique cedar chest at the foot of the mahogany sleigh bed.
The pain radiating from deep inside her seemed as immediate and potent as it had the day she and Darlene buried Robby Joe. Twelve years ago.
Jordan unlocked the French doors, opened them, and stepped out onto the balcony that overlooked the back courtyard and the rose garden. After yesterday’s heavy rain, the earth smelled rich and fresh, and a hint of gold overspread the dark sky, a prelude to the approaching dawn.
She hadn’t dreamed about Robby Joe in a long time, not in years. But she supposed that Dan’s recent death and funeral had reawakened long-buried memories in her subconscious. Like so many of her memories, those of Robby Joe were memories of happiness that had ended in sorrow. Sometimes it seemed that her life had been little more than a series of tragic events.
Watching her mother dying a little each day with the cancer that ravaged her body would have been traumatic for anyone, but for a child of ten, it had been devastating. During that final year, she had been the glue that held her family together. She, a mere child, had been the one who had comforted her dying mother and consoled her grief-stricken father.
And then less than two years later, when Daddy had brought home a new bride, a woman as different from her own mother as night is from day, Jordan had withdrawn into a secret place inside herself. She had been polite to her stepmother, even though in the beginning she had intensely disliked the loud, flashy, bleached blonde. She had shared her room with her shy little stepsister without complaint and endured her teenage stepbrother, who at the age of fourteen, smoked, cursed, drank beer and claimed he was screwing their 17-year-old neighbor.
Meeting Robby Joe her sophomore year of college had changed her life. He was such a dreamboat: good looking, smart, kind and caring. And he came from a good family. They dated on and off for over a year, falling in love slowly. Their junior year, he had invited her home with him for Thanksgiving. Since Robby Joe was an only child, Jordan had been afraid his widowed mother would resent her, perhaps even dislike her. But nothing could have been further from the truth. As it turned out, Darlene Wright and Jordan’s mother had been sorority sisters at Ole Miss. And Darlene’s genteel, cultured persona reminded Jordan of her mother. By the time she and Robby Joe had become engaged, she thought of his mother as her second mom. They had far more in common than Jordan would ever have with her stepmother.
Everything had been so perfect, perhaps too perfect.
If only Robby Joe hadn’t died. How different her life would have been if—
Damn it, don’t do this to yourself!
She had stopped playing the “what if ” game years ago. She had given up all her foolish young dreams of passionate love, of children born from that love, of a happily-ever-after. Harsh reality had slapped her in the face repeatedly, knocking all romantic notions out of her head.
She had cared for Dan and had respected him. But she had not been in love with him. She had lost a dear friend and she would miss him terribly. But her heart wasn’t shattered. She didn’t feel as if she, too, had died. It wasn’t the same as it had been when she lost Robby Joe.
Jordan laid her open palms on her still flat belly. She was barely six weeks pregnant. Only her family and closest friends knew, but sometime soon, she would have to share her news with the world. She wanted this baby, who would be raised as Dan Price’s child and would be Dan’s heir. But she wouldn’t have to raise her son or daughter alone. Devon would be a father to the child, loving it for so many reasons.
Rick parked his Jeep Wrangler down the street from the Dade County Courthouse. After getting out, locking up, and stuffing his keys into the pocket of his jeans, he jaywalked across Case Avenue. He located the sheriff’s department without any trouble since he’d called ahead this morning and asked for exact directions. Trenton, the county seat, with a population of less than 2000, was located south of Priceville, so after he finished his business here, he’d have to backtrack a few miles.
Although the Powell Agency would do in-depth research during the course of this case, an agent always began an assignment with basic info. While compiling barebones information about Priceville and the Price family, Rick had looked up Sheriff Steve Corbett. The guy had been sheriff since the late nineties and had worked as a Trenton policeman for a number of years before running for elected office. He had a spotless reputation, was known as a straight arrow kind of man with a wife and two kids, and he taught Sunday school.
Rick had spoken to Sheriff Corbett personally on his drive from Knoxville. He had set up an appointment for 11:30 to meet with the sheriff and the two officers in charge of the investigation into Dan Price’s death: Lt. Nolan Trumbo and Lt. Haley McLain.
The minute he announced himself, he was shown into the sheriff’s office. A broad-shouldered, heavy-set man with a thick, dark mustache and military-short graying hair came from around the desk and offered Rick his hand. In his peripheral vision, Rick noticed a female officer immediately stand at attention.
Sheriff Corbett pumped Rick’s hand in a cordial, good old boy way. “Come on in, Mr. Carson, and meet Lt. McLain. I’m afraid Nolan Trumbo had a family emergency this morning. You’ll meet him later.”
They exchanged a strong cordial handshake; then Rick turned to the lieutenant. “Ma’am.”
She nodded and offered him a hint of a smile, responding in a friendly manner without being flirty. The deputy, probably in her mid-to-late thirties, filled out her uniform quite nicely, with curves in all the right places. She wore her light brown hair cut short with wispy curls framing her heart-shaped face.
“Take a seat.” Sheriff Corbett indicated a chair to the right of his desk as he sat down in his leather swivel chair behind the desk. “I’ve spoken to Ryan and assured him that this office will cooperate with the Powell Agency’s independent investigation.”
“We appreciate that,” Rick said as he lowered himself onto the metal folding chair.
“You understand that the Georgia Bureau of Investigation took over and it was their medical examiner who did the autopsy on Dan, so, in a way, my hands have been tied,” Corbett explained. “Officially, Dan’s death has been ruled a suicide, but with Ryan’s doubts and Haley here not a hundred percent convinced, I’m glad Ryan hired your outfit to dig around and see what y’all can find.”
“I’m working for Jordan Price, too,” Rick said. “She and her brother-in-law hired Powell’s.”
“Yeah, that’s what Ryan told me. He sure hated to upset Jordan so soon after the funeral.” Corbett made a clicking sound with his tongue as he shook his head. “It was hard enough for her to have to accept that Dan killed himself, but if Ryan’s right, it’s going to be even more difficult for her to know somebody murdered her husband. She’s been a pillar of strength for Ryan and Claire. I don’t know what they’d have done without her to step in and handle all the details. She’s a mighty fine lady and Dan was as lucky as a man could be to have had her for his wife.”
How could he reply to that comment? Obviously Sheriff Corbett had fallen under the Jordan Price spell. Rick glanced up at the deputy, who stood rigid and silent. “Do you agree with Ryan Price that his brother didn’t kill himself?”
She looked to the sheriff for permission to speak, and answered only after he nodded. “I have my doubts.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“The evidence points to suicide,” Lt. McLain said. “Senator Price’s right hand showed evidence of firearms residue and trace metal indicating he was holding the gun when it was fired. Also, the skin around the wound showed a powder tattoo, which indicates—”
“That the weapon was fired from no more than two feet away,” Rick completed her statement.
“That’s right.” She nodded. “The GBI ballistics lab did a test firing, and their findings, along with one other fact— that there was a contact wound and an impression of the muzzle on the senator’s head, indicating the weapon came in direct contact—suggest suicide.”
“What makes you think it wasn’t suicide?” Rick looked her right in the eye. “Nothing you’ve told me indicates that the senator’s death wasn’t—”
“You’re right,” she replied. “On the surface, the evidence points to suicide. But since this was my case, I made a point of thoroughly studying the autopsy report— even reading between the lines, if you want to call it that. A few things seemed a bit off to me, but I dismissed them as nothing but my investigator’s curiosity and possibly my imagination. But the more I thought about it, the more I knew I couldn’t let it go. So, I told Steve…uh, Sheriff Corbett and he agreed with me.”
“Exactly what seemed ‘off’ to you?” Rick asked.
“For one thing, the autopsy report showed arthritis in the senator’s hands, including the fingers of his right hand, which might have made pulling the trigger painful.”
“Painful but not impossible,” Rick said. “The evidence clearly showed that his finger pulled the trigger, right?”
“Right. He could have pulled the trigger. But there was something else—the senator’s trigger finger was broken and there was bruising on the top of his hand.”
Son of a bitch!
“You think that somebody grabbed the senator’s hand, forced the gun into it, and squeezed their hand over his hard enough to bruise his hand. And this person pressed down so hard when they forced his finger against the trigger that it broke the bones.”
“It’s all speculation,” Sheriff Corbett said. “But coupled with Ryan’s sincere conviction that his brother would never have killed himself, it’s enough to question if the senator might have had a little assistance in shooting himself.”
“The senator wasn’t a small or weak man,” Lt. McLain said. “Either he would have had to have been drugged or the person who forced the gun into his hand had to be quite strong. The autopsy showed no evidence of drugs, but I found evidence at the scene that he’d been drinking.”
“Apparently the GBI didn’t think this info was significant proof of murder or they wouldn’t have ruled the death a suicide.”
“Apparently,” Lt. McLain said. “And you do realize that it’s highly unlikely that we can prove it was murder.”
“But if we work under the assumption that it was murder and not suicide, we can look for a killer. In order to prove our theory, we will have to find the murderer and if possible, get a confession.”
“Then you believe I might be right to question the GBI’s Medical Examiner?” she asked.
“Yeah, I think there’s a good possibility you’re right and he’s wrong.”
“I know what we’ve got isn’t much,” the sheriff said, “but it’s a start. Anything you need from us, just let us know. You can contact Haley day or night while you’re on this case. She’ll be available.”
When Corbett glanced at her, Haley McLain said, “Yes, sir.” Then she looked at Rick. “Our department doesn’t have the budget or the manpower—or for that matter, the authority—to investigate further. The M.E.’s official decision was suicide, but if Powell’s can prove otherwise, then we can reopen this case.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve got a list of possible suspects, do you, Lieutenant?”
Haley cleared her throat. “No, I’m afraid I don’t.”
Rick figured by the nervous way she cut her eyes toward Corbett and then cast her gaze to the floor that the deputy did have a list, even if it was just a mental tally of who might have had a reason to murder Senator Daniel Price.
“I’d like to take a look at the case files, including the autopsy report,” Rick said.
Corbett nodded. “Haley, why don’t you walk Mr. Carson out and see that he gets copies of whatever he needs.”
“Yes, sir.”
Rick fell into step behind the curvy brunette, his gaze settling on the sway of her trim hips, noting how her slacks cupped her firm buttocks, not a panty line in sight. That meant one of two things: either she wasn’t wearing panties or she was wearing a thong. Either was damn sexy. And the thought intrigued him.
While they waited for the sheriff’s secretary to copy the files on the Price case, Haley offered Rick a cup of coffee, which he accepted.
“If Dan Price was murdered, who heads your suspects list?” Rick asked.
“I told you that I don’t have a—”
“A political adversary? A disgruntled constituent? The loyal assistant? The grieving widow?”
Haley eyed him over her half empty coffee cup and took a sip before responding. “The husband or wife is usually the chief suspect until he or she is ruled out. But from what I know about Mrs. Price, people believe she’s practically a saint.”
Rick grunted. “I guess I’ll find out for myself pretty soon. I’m going to be staying at Price Manor for the duration of this investigation.”
“And whose idea was that?”
“Mrs. Price invited me to stay.”
“And naturally you agreed.”
Rick shrugged.
“There’s something else I’ve heard about Mrs. Price.”
“What’s that?” Rick asked.
“That the lady can be very persuasive.”
She watched from the upstairs window while the Powell agent parked his Jeep in front of the house. They didn’t want him here. He was not welcome, but he mustn’t know that, just as no one must ever find out that Dan had told her about the Alzheimer’s diagnosis. How fortunate that he had trusted her so completely, enough so that she was able to plant the idea of suicide in his mind. If only he had followed through…Water under the bridge. She had to accept the reality of their situation and deal with it accordingly.
They would have to be polite to Mr. Carson; how ever, there was no reason for them to be friendly.
Ryan had done what he thought best and the rest of them had to live with his decision. She’d had no idea that Dan’s brother would refuse to believe he had killed himself, especially not after the medical examiner ruled his death a suicide. Why couldn’t he have accepted their findings? If he had, they could all move on and put the unfortunate incident behind them.
But now we have to be very careful not to give Mr. Car son any reason to suspect us. He has no proof that Dan did not commit suicide and unless we slip up and do or say something suspicious, Mr. Carson can investigate as long as he’d like and in the end, he’ll still have no proof. We didn’t make any mistakes that night.
Tobias met Mr. Carson in the middle of the drive way. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but after only a few moments, Tobias took the man’s suitcase and he returned to his Jeep. Apparently he was taking the vehicle around to the garage at the side of the house.
She stepped away from the window, turned, and walked into the bathroom. She studied her reflection in the mirror. Pale. Dark circles under her eyes. She was a woman in mourning. That’s what she wanted Mr. Carson to see.
Jordan met Tobias as he entered the foyer, a black suitcase in his hand. He paused and said, “Mr. Carson has arrived, Miss Jordan. I had him park in the garage. I told him that you would be waiting for him in your study.”
“Yes, thank you.”
“In which room should I put his things?”
“I had Vadonna air out Mr. Ryan’s old room. It’s one of the larger bedrooms and is quite masculine. I believe it will suit Mr. Carson, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am. It should.”
Jordan took a deep breath. She dreaded having a stranger living in her home almost as much as she hated the thought that he would be trying to prove that someone had murdered Dan. But by keeping Mr. Carson close, she would be able to oversee his investigation on a day-to-day basis and all information would come to her before it reached Ryan.
Instead of going directly to her study, she made a detour through the kitchen. Vadonna lifted her head and turned from where she was loading the dishwasher.
“Yes, ma’am, is there something you need?”
“I’d like a fresh pot of decaf coffee for two delivered to my study in about ten minutes, please. Until then, I don’t want to be disturbed. I’ll be speaking privately with Mr. Carson.”
“Yes, ma’am, coffee in your study in ten minutes.” Vadonna closed the dishwasher and hit the START button. “Oh, Miss Jordan, have you seen Mrs. Wright in the past few minutes? She was concerned that you hadn’t joined them for lunch and said she might take you up a tray.”
“No, I haven’t seen Darlene, but if you do, please tell her that I’m fine and I don’t want anything to eat.”
Vadonna nodded.
Jordan left the kitchen and made it halfway to her study before Rick Carson entered the house. She looked down the long hall to where he stood in the foyer, his head tilted upward as he scanned the open staircases leading to the second level. Yesterday, she had paid little attention to the dark-haired man who had attended Dan’s funeral with Claire’s cousin. But today, as she studied him while he was unaware of her presence, she realized that he was the type of man who wouldn’t ordinarily be overlooked. It wasn’t because he was tall, muscular and attractive in a rough and rugged sort of way, but because he exuded a raw masculinity that disturbed her as it probably did every woman he met.
Don’t just stand here gaping at the man. Meet and greet. Put a pleasant expression on your face and welcome him.
Jordan walked down the hall. Rick looked directly at her as he waited for her to come to him.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Carson.” She held out her hand. “Welcome to Price Manor.”
He hesitated for a millisecond before he clasped her hand. His grip was strong yet gentle and his hand was warm and hard. She was suddenly acutely aware of him in that age-old way a woman is aware of a virile man.
She jerked her hand away, hating how his touch had made her feel. But she managed to keep a pleasant expression on her face.
“Before I show you up to your room so that you can settle in, will you please come into my study for a few moments. I’d like to speak to you privately.” Jordan indicated the direction with a sweep of her right hand.
When she glanced at Rick Carson, she noticed that he was staring at her left hand. She looked down and realized the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the windows had hit her engagement ring and wedding band, making the diamonds sparkle with brilliant fire. She dropped her left arm to her side and pressed her palm against her thigh.
She knew what this man, this trained investigator, was thinking. The three-carat diamond flanked by two smaller half-carat diamonds and coupled with a diamond-studded platinum wedding band all but screamed rich widow. He no doubt believed that her husband had spoiled her with outrageously expensive jewelry. But the rings, as with the other jewelry Dan had given her, had been for show. At the time, she had tried to dissuade him from buying her the gaudy rings. But he had insisted, telling her that it would be expected for a man with his wealth to buy his second wife rings that would equal or exceed the value of those he had bought his first wife.
Jordan and Rick Carson exchanged heated glances before she turned and headed for her small study at the rear of the house. She didn’t look over her shoulder to see if he was following, but she knew he was. Not only could she hear his heavy footsteps, but she could feel his presence as if it were a shadow hovering over her. Watching her. Examining her.
The man made her nervous.
She didn’t pause when she reached the open door that led into her private sanctuary. This room had once been part of a back porch that had spanned the length of the house, but sometime in the past 50 years, a section of the porch had been enclosed and divided into two rooms. A glass encased sunroom filled with antique white wicker lay on the right side and her study on the left. A wall of windows faced the back courtyard. The ceiling and two walls boasted old beaded board painted a pale peach and what had once been the exterior wall was white-washed brick. She had decorated the room herself and had chosen each item, each piece of furniture, with great care. This was the only room in the entire house that was hers alone. Even though she had not shared a bedroom with Dan, her room, like the others in this old mansion, held priceless antiques and had been professionally decorated.
Jordan paused in front of the beige-and-brown striped settee, then turned slowly to face her guest. Their gazes clashed. Jordan swallowed.
“Please, take a seat,” she told him as she eased down onto the settee.
“Yes, ma’am.” He took the rust-colored easy chair across from her. “Is there some kind of problem?”
“I hope not, but if there is, I think we need to resolve it as soon as possible. Agreed?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ryan trusts you because you’re employed by Nicole and Griffin Powell and normally I trust Ryan’s judgment. But I need to be certain that I can trust you to keep any personal information you uncover during your investigation completely private and never reveal it to anyone other than Ryan and me.”
“I can assure you that, unless I uncover something that directly incriminates either you or Ryan in your husband’s death, all information will be kept in strictest confidence.”
Jordan’s heart stopped for a millisecond. Was this man saying what she thought he was? Was he implying that— No, surely he wouldn’t dare suggest that either she or Ryan might have been responsible for Dan’s death.
“Mr. Carson, are you actually suggesting that Ryan or I might have—”
“Look, let’s lay our cards on the table right now. I’m a straightforward kind of guy and since you’re paying for my services through the Powell Agency, you have a right to know that my only goal is to find out if your husband was murdered and if he was, who killed him. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand. That’s why Ryan and I hired you.”
When he leaned forward, Jordan instinctively withdrew, pressing back against the sofa, her body unconsciously trying to escape from the threat she sensed he posed.
“Then you won’t object if I ask you one simple question, will you?”
Her heart raced at breakneck speed.
“Ask your question,” she said.
He looked her square in the eye, his dark, penetrating stare pinning her to the spot. “Mrs. Price, did you kill your husband?”
Chapter 4 (#ud7bab574-08dc-508e-a925-f4b92dd9053b)
Rick could tell that his question had not surprised Jordan Price. She glowered at him with those cool blue-gray eyes, her expression an odd mixture of hurt and anger. But she stayed perfectly calm. Only the telltale clenching of her jaw and the hard glare revealed any emotion.
“Would you believe me if I told you that I did not kill my husband and that I cared deeply for him?”
“Cared deeply? Odd choice of words, Mrs. Price.”
“Honest choice of words,” she said. “I loved Dan, but not in some silly, youthfully passionate way. Our marriage worked for both of us. In our own fashion, we were quite content.”
“Another odd choice of words.”
“But once again an honest choice.”
“You’re not much for deep, passionate feelings, are you?”
She stared at him, a glimmer of something unsettling bubbling just below the surface, a hint of fury, a tinge of inner fire.
Don’t go there, Carson. Do not for one minute believe that she hasn’t used this feminine trick on other men. What she wants is for you to believe that you’re the one man on earth who could bring her dormant passion to life. Don’t be a fool. Don’t fall for her oh-so-smooth act.
He gave her a thorough once-over, not subtle in the way he appraised her physical assets. Yeah, so his manner was a bit on the crude side, not the least respectful. But in his book—the Rick Carson book of rules and regulations—a person had to earn his respect.
Jordan was willowy slender, but not skinny. Her hips rounded nicely and her breasts were large enough to fill a C-cup bra. He surmised her height and weight: five-four, a hundred and twenty pounds. Her creamy skin was like fine porcelain, unmarred by the sun or a tanning bed. She possessed an almost ethereal quality, like an angelic statue brought to life.
“You’re staring,” she told him, her voice slightly breathless.
Yes, he was. He was staring at a beautiful woman, but one he suspected was deadly. Was Jordan Price a black widow? Or was she what she appeared to be—sad, vulnerable, and in need of a strong shoulder to lean on?
Rick shook off the latter thought. He wasn’t here to give comfort. His job was to investigate a murder.
“Let’s say for the sake of argument that I believe you, that you didn’t kill your husband. Do you have any idea who did?”
She lifted her slender hand and smoothed back an errant strand of ash blonde hair. The thick mass was pulled loosely away from her face and secured with a silver clasp into a broad bun at the nape of her neck. Other than the ostentatious set of rings on her left ring finger, her jewelry was minimal, only a silver-and-gold watch and a pair of small, discreet diamond earrings.
Goddamn, why did she have to be so beautiful?
“I have no idea who killed Dan, if indeed he was murdered,” Jordan said. “He had political enemies, of course, but certainly none of them would have killed him.”
“What about personal enemies?” Rick tried his best not to skim his gaze over her body again, but his best wasn’t good enough. Sitting there in a pair of navy blue slacks and a white cotton sweater, she was hardly dressed for sex appeal, but he found her sexy as hell. When he returned his attention to her face, his gaze collided with hers.
“I don’t know of anyone who would want to kill Dan.”
He sensed that she might be withholding something. But why? Did she suspect Devon Markham and was protecting him because they were lovers?
“You do realize that if there was bad blood between your husband and another person, I’ll find out while I’m investigating. So, why don’t you save me some time and just tell me.”
She drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. He noted the rise and fall of her breasts. Damn it, he had to stop lusting after Jordan. First and foremost, it was hardly professional to have the hots for your employer. And second and probably even more important, it would be stupid to become emotionally involved with a woman he suspected of murder.
“Dan and his ex-wife, Jane Anne, were not the best of friends, but I don’t think she’s capable of murder.” Jordan paused for a moment and glanced toward the closed door to her study. “My stepbrother, J.C., and Dan have had a few arguments. J.C. is a gambler and last year, he got himself into deep debt. Dan helped him, but when he went to Dan again this year, Dan turned him down.”
Rick nodded. “And that’s it. His ex-wife and your stepbrother?”
“As far as I know. Dan was highly respected and people in general liked him. He was a man with a good heart.”
She clenched her teeth and swallowed. If she was faking emotion, she was doing a really good job. Unable to stop himself, Rick reached out and clasped her hand. Their gazes met and God help him, it was all he could do not to pull her into his arms to comfort her.
He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, then abruptly released her. “I’ll need office space of some type while I’m here.” That’s it, Carson, stick to Powell Agency business and steer clear of any monkey business. “Access to high-speed Internet, a fax machine, a copier and printer. Could that be arranged in whatever room you’ve—?”
“All of it is available in Dan’s study. He used that room as his home office. Feel free to arrange things any way you’d like. I’ll inform Tobias and Vadonna that the room will be yours to use while you’re here.”
“Are you sure you want me using your husband’s study? I mean, considering that’s where he died.”
Jordan clutched her hands together and moistened her lips with a quick, light lick.
Did she have any idea what kind of an effect she had on him? Sure she did. She was playing him and he’d damn well better not forget it.
“Yes, I’m sure you may use Dan’s study. I—I hadn’t been back in there until yesterday when I interrupted your private conversation with Ryan.”
“Everyone is a suspect until I rule them out, including you and Ryan. If you have a problem with that, I need to know now.”
She almost smiled. Her lips curved upward ever so slightly and he noted a faint trace of laughter in her eyes. “Please, call me Jordan. And may I call you Rick?”
He nodded. What sort of game was she playing? Please, call me Jordan. And may I call you Rick?
A soft rap on the half-open door interrupted them.
“Yes, come in, please,” Jordan said, as if she was expecting someone.
A plump, middle-aged woman entered the room, a silver tray in her hands. She set the tray on Jordan’s desk.
“Thank you, Vadonna,” Jordan said.
“Yes, ma’am. Will there be anything else?”
“No, thank you, that will be all.”
While the woman exited, Jordan indicated the silver pot and accessories on the tray. “Would you care for coffee?”
Rick shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
Jordan focused on him. “You laid your cards on the table, Rick, and asked me point blank if I killed my husband. Now it’s my turn to be brutally honest. I don’t like you. I don’t want you here invading my home and my grief, taking away my privacy and questioning my integrity. But if my husband was murdered, I want his killer found and brought to justice. I want you to do your job. However, if you do anything to sully Dan Price’s reputation, I’ll see to it personally that you regret it. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, ma’am. Crystal clear. Any skeletons your husband had in his closet will remain there.”
She sighed heavily. “I expect to be kept up-to-date on the investigation. For now, a daily report will suffice.”
The lady was accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed. The privilege of wealth—her dead husband’s wealth. “Will every morning right after breakfast be suitable for my daily report or do you prefer for me to report right before bedtime?”
“Every morning works for me.” A cool, succinct reply.
When she stood, he stood.
“I’ll have Tobias show you to your room. If there’s anything you need, please let us know.” As she walked toward the door, he followed. “Dinner is at seven.”
She opened the door and ushered him out of her study, effectively dismissing him. “If you’ll wait in the foyer, I’ll find Tobias.”
He watched her as she walked away. She moved with a fluid grace that came as naturally to her as breathing. Jordan Price’s kind of class couldn’t be learned. It was innate.
If he didn’t watch his step, the lady would have him wrapped around her little finger in no time at all.
Rene washed hurriedly, removing the smell of sex from her body, then not bothering to dry off, she yanked on her thong and pulled up her slacks. As she hooked her bra, she noticed a bruise on her left breast. J.C. liked to bite, not forcefully enough to bring blood to the surface, but hard enough to bruise. While slipping on her blouse, she returned to the bedroom and found J.C., still naked, sprawled in the center of the bed, a rakish smile on his too-handsome face.
“What’s the hurry, babe? Sister won’t need you this after noon. She’s got that stud Powell agent to keep her company.” J.C. chuckled.
“Will you shut up! What a thing to say, to imply that Jordan would find Mr. Carson sexually appealing and poor Dan not cold in the ground.”
“Dead’s dead. Dan’s as dead now as he will be six months from now. Besides, you and I know that she wasn’t getting any from old Danny boy.”
“Hush! You say the most awful things. Have you no respect for your sister and Dan?”
“I respected my brother-in-law’s power and money. And I respect the hell out of Jordan, frigid bitch that she is.”
“Get up, take a shower and get dressed,” Rene told him, hating herself for having succumbed to J.C.’s immeasurable charm once again. The guy could be a real jerk, but he was dynamite in bed. At least she thought so. Maybe the fact that she was halfway in love with him colored her vision.
“The only reason you think Jordan is frigid is because she can so easily resist you.” Picking up a comb from the vanity, she raked it through her short black hair. “For God’s sake, she’s your sister and you still hit on her. You’re a real ass, you know that?”
J.C. slithered out of bed like the snake he was, and stood to his full five-eleven height. Lean, lightly muscled, his skin appearing darker than it actually was because of his sandy hair and pale blue eyes, the man was gorgeous.
As his gaze glided over her sensually, he moved toward her, then reached out and jerked her up against him. “She’s my stepsister. Technically, if I screwed her, it wouldn’t be incest.”
“You’re a worthless shit.”
He grinned, rubbed his semi-erect penis against her and grabbed her butt. “Yeah, but I’m your worthless shit, aren’t I?”
Rene pulled away from him. “I’m not fool enough to think you’re exclusively mine. Not when I know you’ll fuck just about anything with a pussy.”
J.C. laughed. “Honey, you know you’re my favorite pussy.”
Ignoring him as he turned and headed for the bathroom, Rene inspected herself in the mirror. She needed lipstick. Otherwise, she’d do.
She hadn’t seen Jordan since breakfast this morning and it was past time she checked in with her boss. It had taken her a while to adjust to working for Jordan instead of with her. They had met when they’d been in college, both working two jobs to pay their tuition. A few years after graduation, Jordan had called her out of the blue and offered her a position at the Atlanta PR firm where Jordan had just received a promotion. They had remained friends ever since and when Jordan married Senator Daniel Price and needed a personal assistant, she’d offered her the job. She had snapped it up posthaste.
Halfway along the upstairs hall and lost in her thoughts, Rene almost ran over Darlene Wright, who stepped aside just in time to prevent being hit head-on.
“Good afternoon.” Rene spoke to the old biddy simply out of courtesy.
Turning up her sharp, birdlike nose, Darlene gave Rene a condescending glance. “Have you seen Jordan?”
“Not since breakfast. Why?”
“I know she was expecting Mr. Carson, the Powell agent, and I wanted to make sure she’s all right and that his arrival didn’t upset her.”
“Why should his being here upset her? After all, she hired him, didn’t she?”
Darlene snorted. “I suspect that Ryan gave her little choice. If he had simply accepted the medical examiner’s findings, it would be unnecessary for Jordan to suffer more than she already has.”
“You’re right.” As much as she hated to agree with this snooty old bitch, she, too, didn’t want to see Jordan put through the wringer. “But all we can do is stand by and try to help her as much as we can. And pray that Dan wasn’t murdered.”
“I’m sure he wasn’t. After all, who would want to kill a lovely man like Dan?”
“He was a sweetie, wasn’t he?” Rene sighed. “Our poor Jordan. She has the damnedest luck with men.”
Darlene gasped. “What a terrible thing to say!”
“Oh, crap. You know I didn’t mean anything by what I said. I just meant if anybody’s had enough tragedy for two lifetimes, it’s our Jordan.”
“If my Robby Joe had lived…” Her voice trailed off on a fragile, whispery moan.
Damn, she didn’t want to hear about Robby Joe being the love of Jordan’s life. Not again. Not today. If Darlene had spouted off that tale of woe once, she’d done it a million times.
“Look, if I see Jordan, I’ll tell her you’re looking for her.” Rene eased around Darlene and headed straight for the back stairs.
“She’s not in her study,” Darlene called. “And she’s not in her room.”
“Okay. Thanks for telling me.”
Two places not to look for Jordan: her bedroom and her study.
She’d search for her boss, and if she didn’t find her soon, she’d try calling Jordan on her cell phone. But she doubted that would do any good. Jordan’s phone was probably turned off to prevent taking unwanted calls.
After scouring the downstairs, even the kitchen and bathrooms, Rene stepped out the back door, pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her pants pocket and lit the cigarette. She had all but given up smoking, but in dealing with Dan’s death, she had reverted to an old bad habit for solace. Drawing in deeply, she sighed with contentment as she paced back and forth on the porch.
Suddenly she heard soft weeping. The sound came from behind the hedges that screened the small back porch from the patio surrounding the pool. She took another draw on the cigarette, stepped off the porch and walked out into the yard. As she turned the corner of the tall hedge-row, she felt a prickle of apprehension and sensed she was being watched. After looking right and left, she glanced up, her gaze scanning the second-story windows. A dark shadow stood at one of the windows.
Rick Carson stared down, but not at her.
She followed his line of vision and gasped. Holy shit!
Rene made a beeline to where Devon stood on the patio, Jordan wrapped in his arms. When she approached, Jordan lifted her head from Devon’s chest.
“Is something wrong?” Jordan asked.
“You two are putting on quite a show for our resident detective,” Rene told them. “Don’t look now, but Rick Carson is watching you two from his bedroom window and God only knows what he’s thinking.”
Chapter 5 (#ud7bab574-08dc-508e-a925-f4b92dd9053b)
Rick was definitely a fish out of water with this bunch. To start with, he was underdressed for dinner. But how was he to know the other three men would be in suits and ties? He supposed it didn’t matter. After all, he wasn’t really a guest, just another employee and he wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d been asked to eat in the kitchen with Tobias and Vadonna. As he entered the dining room, he ran his hand over his face. He should have shaved again since his beard grew fast and despite having shaved this morning, he already sported a five o’clock shadow. As for his clothes: he wore jeans, a blue chambray shirt and a lightweight brown twill jacket. He had dropped the only suit he owed, the one he’d worn to the funeral yesterday, by the cleaners on his way out of town this morning.
Passing his gaze over the room’s occupants, he immediately noticed that Jordan was missing. As he surveyed the large dining table set for ten, he got a whiff of an overly sweet but probably expensive perfume.
“Well, honey, you stick out like a sore thumb, don’t you?” The woman’s voice whispered in his ear. When he turned to his left, he glanced down at the overblown bleached blonde who was grinning at him as if she knew all his secrets. “Of course, some of us prefer our meat raw.” Her laughter radiated from deep in her throat, a husky, lifetime smoker’s rumble.
He cocked one brow and smiled at the woman who was a good 20 years his senior. “I believe we met briefly yesterday. I’m Rick Carson. I’m from the Powell Private Security and Investigation Agency.”
She took his hand in hers and held it. Her smile accentuated the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. Laugh lines. He’d bet this woman had done a lot of laughing in her life.
“I’m Roselynne Harris. Jordan’s mama.” When he looked at her questioningly, she amended her statement. “Well, stepmama, actually. I married her daddy when Jordan was twelve. But I love that gal as if she were my own, love her just like I do Tammy and J.C.”
“Tammy and J.C.?”
“My other kids. Jordan’s Daddy adopted my boy and girl. He was a good man. Jordan takes after him.” She pointed first to the petite brown-eyed, brown-haired woman standing in the corner alone. Sad-faced and plain, Tammy apparently sensed her mother’s scrutiny and turned to stare wide-eyed at Roselynne. “I named her after Tammy Wynette. You know she was the queen of country music. ‘Stand by Your Man’ was one of her big hits.” Roselynne’s gaze traveled around the room, lighting on the lanky, blond guy who was talking to the two teenagers. From their strong physical resemblance—dark hair and eyes, tall and slender—the teens could easily pass for twins.
“That’s my boy there.” Roselynne pointed at the blond. “That’s my J.C., my pride and joy. Named him after Mr. Country Music himself, Johnny Cash. I was on my way to a career as a country singer when I met my first husband.” She lowered her voice back to a whisper. “Got myself knocked up and married the good-looking, worthless bum.”
“It happens,” Rick said. “Who are the twins talking with your son?”
“Oh, them? That’s Kendra and Wes Brannon. But they’re not twins, just brother and sister. She’s eighteen and he’s twenty. They’re Jordan’s stepchildren.”
“Hmm…They were here Easter weekend when Senator Price died, weren’t they?”
“Uh, yeah, I guess they were. That was that weekend. We were all in and out. The kids were in from college. He goes to Auburn and she’s over at the University of Georgia, where Jordan went.”
“You said that y’all were in and out during that weekend. Do you know if everyone here tonight was in and out of the house when Dan Price died?”
Roselynne paused before she spoke, something Rick figured she didn’t do all that often. He had her pegged for the type who seldom wasted time thinking about what she said. “Devon is—was Dan’s assistant. He lived wherever Dan and Jordan lived. And Rene—” she pointed to the attractive brunette deep in conversation with Devon Markham “—is Jordan’s assistant and lives here, too, when they’re in Georgia. I believe she has her own place in D.C.”
“What about you and your children, where do y’all live?”
“Playing investigator?”
“Not playing, Mrs. Harris. Just doing my job.”
She grinned. “Call me Roselynne. Everybody does.”
Yeah, he’d bet everybody did. Every man she’d ever met. “Okay, Roselynne, so where do you—?”
“J.C. travels quite a bit, but when he’s in town, he stays with me part of the time. Tammy’s got some health issues, needs some looking after, if you know what I mean.” Roselynne tapped her right temple. “My girl’s high strung and nervous.”
Was that Roselynne’s motherly way of saying her daughter was mentally unbalanced?
“Jordan’s kids are away at college, but home to them is wherever Jordan is. They adore her, just like we all do.”
“I hear the lady is practically a saint.”
“As far as I’m concerned she is.” Roselynne’s eyes misted. “To know Jordan is to love her. Take my word on that. You won’t find a single solitary soul who’ll say one word against her.”
“I find that hard to believe. Even saints have enemies.”
“Not our Jordan,” Roselynne said emphatically.
“What are you telling this man about Jordan?” The woman who had just walked up in front of them glared at Roselynne, contempt in her gaze.
“Mrs. Harris was just telling me what a saint Jordan is,” Rick said.
The woman turned her sharp stare at him, her eyes small and dark. She looked down her thin, hawkish nose at Rick, dismissing him as an inferior being.
“I’m Rick Carson, the Powell agent that Mrs. Price and her brother-in-law hired to investigate Senator Price’s death.” Rick offered her his hand.
She glowered at his hand for a good half minute, as if considering the possibility that he was somehow contaminated. Finally she grasped his hand in a firm, confident shake.
“I’m Darlene Wright. Jordan’s—” she hesitated, as if uncertain of their relationship “—Jordan’s friend. Jordan’s mother, Helene, and I were sorority sisters and friends. I think of Jordan as my daughter and she thinks of me as her mother.” Darlene cast Roselynne a sidelong glance, her expression daring the other woman to contradict her.
“So it seems that Mrs. Price is a fortunate woman— she has two mothers.”
Before either woman could respond, the room fell into an instant hush and all eyes turned to the doorway. Jordan entered the dining room quietly. But her presence captured everyone’s attention, their reaction to her entrance as reverent as if she were the Queen of England, or maybe an angel come down from heaven.
How did one small, fragile woman command such devotion?
Had he pegged her all wrong? Was she the cold-hearted bitch who hadn’t shed a tear at her husband’s funeral? Was she the beautiful, vulnerable widow he instinctively wanted to comfort? Was she the adulterous wife who was having an affair with her husband’s assistant? Was she the much adored daughter to two women? Was Jordan Price really a candidate for sainthood or was she a heartless murderer?
Rick watched as, one by one, Jordan’s admirers swarmed around her. Although they showed concern for her, and it was obvious that they all cared about her and she them, Rick got an odd vibe. It was almost as if they fed off her, draining her of her strength and energy, absorbing her light into their darkness.
Hell, where had that weird thought come from? Absorbing her light into their darkness. Getting a little deep there, Carson. Next thing you know, you’ll need some hip boots to wade through the crap.
Jordan parted her sea of devotees and came to him, pausing when she was within arm’s reach. “Good evening, Mr. Carson…Rick.”
“Jordan.” He nodded.
“I hope your accommodations are satisfactory. If not—”
“The room is fine. Thanks.”
“I apologize for keeping y’all waiting,” she said. “I was on the phone with the governor. He wanted me to know that he’s appointing Gary Werneth to complete Dan’s term. He—” Her voice trembled. She closed her eyes and bowed her head.
Everyone in the room seemed to move forward, as if ready to envelop Jordan with comfort or catch her if she fell. But it was Kendra Brannon who actually wrapped her arms around her stepmother and hugged her.
Jordan returned the hug, then pulled free and announced, “Please be seated, everyone. I’ll let Vadonna know we’re ready for dinner to be served.”
During the hour and a half it took to complete the four-course meal, Jordan made a great effort to put everyone at ease. Rick had been placed between Rene Burke, Jordan’s assistant, and Darlene Wright. Both women treated him with cordial respect, but neither was actually friendly. Across from him, Tammy Harris spoke only when spoken to, and eyed Rick shyly when she thought he wasn’t looking. Jordan included Rick in the conversation whenever possible, as did her stepmother, Roselynne, but for the most part, everyone ignored him. They probably thought of him as the proverbial white elephant in the room. No one was openly rude to him, but he sensed a mixture of antagonism and curiosity from Jordan’s family and friends.
After dinner, as everyone rose to their feet and milled around the room, Jordan made her way to him, pulled him aside, and asked, “Would you join Devon and me in my study?”
“Sure.”
She motioned to Markham who stood halfway across the room, watching and waiting. She snaps her fingers and he comes running, Rick thought. How many poor bastards had been at her beck and call the way her husband’s handsome young assistant was?
Both Rick and Markham fell into step behind Jordan as she led them away from the others, down the hall and into her private sanctum. After closing the door behind her, she reached out and took Markham’s hand in hers. Rick looked from their clasped hands to their faces. Whatever this was about, they were presenting a united front.
“I want to clear something up right now,” Jordan said. “There is no need for you to try to find out what my relationship with Devon is. Don’t waste your time when it’s better spent trying to find out if Dan was murdered and if so, who killed him.”
“Are you ordering me not to—”
“Jordan and I are not lovers,” Markham said.
Yeah, tell me another one and maybe I’ll believe it. “If you say so.”
“Devon and I have known each other since we were children,” Jordan said. “He’s been my best friend for as long as I can remember, in grade school and in high school. But we are not lovers. We’ve never been lovers.”
“Okay. You’re not lovers, just good friends. I got it.”
“And if you’re concocting any other scenarios where Jordan and I killed Dan, then erase those from your mind,” Markham told him. “We both loved Dan. Neither of us would have ever done anything to hurt him.”
“Who do you think would have had a reason to hurt him?” Rick asked. “Mrs. Price claims that she can’t think of anyone who might have had a motive to kill Dan. She doesn’t think that the senator’s disgruntled ex-wife or her money-grubbing stepbrother is capable of murder. What do you think, Mr. Markham?”
Devon Markham’s movie idol handsome face flushed, but other than that he kept his feelings completely under control. “I agree with Jordan. The divorce was difficult for Jane Anne, but eventually she and Dan moved beyond what had happened in the past. I can’t say they were friends, but they certainly weren’t enemies. As for J.C.—he’s a charming good old boy, but—” Markham glanced toward Jordan and shrugged “—but despite the fact he is part of Jordan’s family, the man isn’t worth shooting. It would be a waste of good lead.”
“Well, thanks for the information,” Rick said. “Nobody wanted Dan Price dead, but the man’s dead nevertheless. Possibly, somebody went to a great deal of trouble to make his death look like a suicide.” Rick swung his right index finger back and forth, pointing at Jordan and Markham. “And you two are really good friends, but not lovers, so I shouldn’t waste time suspecting that either of you or the two of you together might have killed the senator for reasons unknown. Have I got all that right?”
“See here, Mr. Carson.” Markham released Jordan’s hand and confronted Rick face-to-face. “There’s no excuse for such insulting behavior. Jordan has endured more than enough these past few weeks without having to deal with attitude from you.”
Rick looked directly at her. Big mistake. She had that woeful look of a sad, vulnerable creature greatly in need of solace. And God help him, he wanted to give the widow a lot more than solace.
She laid her hand on Markham’s arm. “It’s all right, Devon. Really. I believe Mr. Carson…Rick…was simply playing devil’s advocate. He didn’t mean to be insulting.” She gave Markham’s arm a tender, loving squeeze. “Would you mind leaving us alone? Rick and I have a few other matters to discuss.”
Markham looked at her questioningly, evidently hesitant to leave her alone with Rick. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
Markham glowered at Rick, issuing him a silent but definite warning before he reluctantly walked out of the room.
The moment they were alone, Jordan closed her eyes and sighed.
Very effective. Sweet and helpless. And here I am, a big, strong shoulder to lean on. God, how stupid did she think he was?
“From here on out, take all the pot shots at me you want,” Jordan said. “But Devon is off limits. I can take whatever is dished out, by you, by anyone, by life in general. But Devon can’t. Dan’s death has hit him hard. I know someone like you can’t possibly understand another man being emotionally fragile, but that’s exactly what Devon is right now. If you hurt him, I’ll—”
“What do you mean, someone like me?”
“A tough guy. All macho rough and proud of it.”
“It seems I’m not the only one who’s made a gut reaction judgment call. Yesterday, I pegged you for a cold-hearted bitch and today you’ve decided that I’m a Neanderthal, all brawn with no brains or feelings.” When he moved toward her, she took one step back, then halted and stood her ground as he approached. When only a hairsbreadth separated them, he looked down at her and asked, “If you’re wrong about me, maybe I’m wrong about you.”
“Am I wrong about you, Mr. Carson?”
“Partially. Am I wrong about you, Mrs. Price?”
“I’ll leave that for you to decide when we become better acquainted.”
It was all he could do to keep his hands off her. The only problem was, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss her or shake the living daylights out of her.
After Rick left her study, Jordan locked the door and turned out all the lights, except the one on her desk. She walked to the windows and looked out into the darkness. A powerful, almost unbearable ache welled up inside her and for the first time since Dan’s death, she allowed the pain freedom. She stopped trying to control it, temporarily succumbing to her grief. Standing alone in the shadows, unable to cry, she trembled as the sadness engulfed her. She grieved for Dan, for a future that would never be, and for a past that she could not change.
She closed her eyes and moaned quietly. She wanted to scream, to rant, to curse the heavens. If it were within her power to go back a few short weeks and change things, would she? For her child’s sake?
How many more good years might Dan have had? One? Five? They would never know. His untimely death had saved all of them and at the same time had cheated them. Even if Devon could not see both sides of the issue, she could. If that made her the cold-hearted bitch that Rick Carson had accused her of being, then she accepted the condemnation. Life was never all black or all white; instead it was shades of gray. People were never all good or all bad, but myriad combinations.
Had life and circumstances taken away all that was pure and good and loving inside her? Had she truly become cold hearted, so much so that she could admit, if only to herself, that perhaps Dan’s death would free her from the lie her life had become?
Forgive me, Dan. Please forgive me.
We both deserved so much more than what we had to settle for, a marriage without passion, living two separate lives, one in public and the other in private.
Jordan slumped down into the nearest chair, bent over and covered her face with her hands, effectively muffling her moans. She wanted to cry, wished she could weep cleansing tears, allowing them to flow freely until she was spent. Crying would be such a relief. She curled up in the large, overstuffed chair, pulled the folded afghan from the arm, opened it, and wrapped it around herself.
Tomorrow morning she would face what lay ahead: the reading of Dan’s will, the private investigation into his death, Gary Werneth taking Dan’s place in the senate, holding together and providing for her hodgepodge of a family, bringing her child into the world without his or her father, accepting the fact that she was destined to live the rest of her life without love.
But tonight, she didn’t have to be strong and brave. She didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. She didn’t have to feel guilty or blame herself for what had happened.
All she had to do was survive one more night.
She tapped softly on the door. She was concerned about Jordan. Devon should have stayed with her. He had always been such a comfort to her, had been at her side through all her tragedies. But perhaps this time, Devon couldn’t give her what she needed because he, too, was grieving a personal loss. He had loved Dan, as they all had loved him. What would happen to them now that Dan was gone? Unless he had changed his will without informing anyone, Jordan stood to inherit a third of his vast fortune. If only she’d been able to tell him about the child she was carrying, he might have divided things up differently. Even now, it was possible that a clever lawyer could protest the will and claim a portion of Dan’s wealth for his son or daughter. But no matter what Jordan decided to do about the inheritance, there was no need to worry. Jordan would take care of her. She’d take care of all of them, just as she’d been doing for years.
“Jordan…Jordan, are you all right?” She tried the handle and found the door locked. Oh, my, that wasn’t a good sign. “Please, Jordan, let me in. We’ll talk. Please, Jordan…”
Silence.
“If you need anything…Oh, Jordan, I’m so very sorry about Dan.”
Why wouldn’t she answer? It wasn’t like Jordan to shut her out of her life this way.
“I love you, Jordan, so very much. You know I’d do anything for you. Anything.”
No reply. No response of any kind.
She pressed her forehead against the closed door and laid both hands, palms open, flat against the door frame on either side. “I’ll never leave you. I promise that you can depend on me as long as I live.”
Rick took the call from fellow Powell agent, Maleah Perdue, at nine-thirty that night.
“I’ll fax you everything we’ve got in the morning,” Maleah told him. “But I thought I’d fill you in on some information I found more than interesting.”
“Shoot,” Rick said.
“I’ve formed a theory based on the preliminary info we’ve gathered. Let’s see if you agree after I present the evidence.”
“Evidence? You sound like you’ve decided who our killer is.”
“We aren’t a hundred percent sure Senator Price was killed, are we?”
“Not a hundred percent,” Rick said.
“If he was murdered, at this point in the investigation, I’ll give you odds that the wife killed him.”
Rick’s gut tightened. “Based on what evidence?”
“You already know that Daniel Price was not Jordan Price’s first husband, don’t you?”
“Yeah. So what?”
“She was a widow when she married the senator, so now at the ripe old age of thirty-four, she’s been widowed twice,” Maleah told him. “Actually, she was almost widowed three times.”
“Explain.”
“When she was twenty-one, she was engaged to a man named Robby Joe Wright. Three weeks before their wedding, he died in a one-car accident. Then a few years later, when the lady was in her late twenties, she lost husband number one, Boyd Brannon, in a hunting accident, and now her second husband supposedly committed suicide. Odd, don’t you think, that three men who loved Jordan Price have died?”
“Are you saying you think she killed all three men?”
“Maybe. Possibly. I’m going to dig deeper and find out if she gained financially from Robby Joe Wright’s death or Boyd Brannon’s death. Want to bet me that she did? Let’s say fifty bucks?”
A sick feeling hit Rick in the pit of his stomach. “If I was sure the lady was innocent, I’d take you up on that bet.”
“But you’re not sure, are you? You’re wondering, just like I am, if maybe Jordan Price is a black widow.”
Chapter 6 (#ud7bab574-08dc-508e-a925-f4b92dd9053b)
Rick spent his first night at Price Manor alternating between a restless sleep riddled with odd dreams and episodes of wide-awake floor-walking. There was something about staying in this old mansion that didn’t set right with him. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but if he did, he would be on the lookout for the late senator. He’d sure like to ask Dan Price who had killed him.
A couple of times during the night, he could have sworn he’d heard footsteps in the hall outside his door. And then once, he woke up because he was dead certain he’d heard someone scream. But when he had checked the hall, it had been empty and silent. Apparently, he’d been suffering from some really weird nightmares.
It didn’t help that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what Maleah had told him about Jordan. The lady had lost two husbands and a fiancé in the span of twelve years, each man having met an untimely death. Okay, so it was possible that she was simply very unlucky in love. But what were the odds that a woman who hadn’t even celebrated her thirty-fifth birthday would have buried three men who had loved her?
While Rick shaved and showered, he listed all the reasons he should not jump to conclusions, reasons he should not assume Jordan was guilty of murdering her husband. Then he listed the logical reasons why she could have murdered three men. By the time he had dressed and was ready to go downstairs for breakfast, he had come to one conclusion—he should call Nic and ask her to replace him on this assignment. The bottom line was simple: he suspected his employer of murder. Before he phoned Nic, he needed to speak to Jordan. She would be expecting his first report this morning and the least he could do was confront her with the information and give her a chance to defend herself.
Once downstairs, Rick caught a glimpse of Tobias as he entered the dining room.
“Good morning, Mr. Carson.” Tobias nodded, then carried a silver coffee pot into the dining room and placed it on a silver tray atop the sideboard.
Rick paused in the open doorway. “Has Mrs. Price come down yet?”
“Yes, sir. Miss Jordan is in her study.”
“Thanks.”
Rick checked his wristwatch as he headed toward Jordan’s study at the back of the house. Seven-thirty. Apparently, she was an early riser, just as he was. Except for the servants, the downstairs appeared to be empty of other inhabitants. He wondered just how many people had actually spent the night here and how many had finally made their way home.
When he neared Jordan’s study, he heard voices coming from inside, but he couldn’t make out the conversation. The door stood ajar, more than halfway closed, so he paused and listened without making his presence known.
“You don’t have to do this today,” a female voice said.
Rick thought it sounded like Rene Burke, but he wasn’t a hundred percent sure.
“The sooner the better,” Jordan said. “The longer we wait, the more speculation there might be about who the father of this child is.”
Child? What child?
“You make a valid point,” Rene replied. “I’ll put together a press release, that is, assuming you don’t want to make the announcement yourself.”
“No, I think it would be in poor taste for me to speak publicly so soon after Dan’s death. But please express how happy I am about the baby and how much Dan and I wanted this child.”
The news hit Rick like an anvil dropped on his head. Jordan Price was pregnant!
“Oh, sweetie, if Dan had only known…,” Rene said. “At least this way, you’ll always have a part of Dan with you. We all will, all of us who loved Dan. And anyone who knows you would never question your child’s paternity.”
“Thank you for saying that,” Jordan told her assistant. “From now on, the most important thing in my life is my child. He or she comes first. I will do whatever it takes to protect my baby and give him or her the best life possible, even without Dan here to help me.”
“He will have Devon and his Uncle Ryan for male role models and all of us to love him. And he’ll grow up knowing what a fine man his father was.”
After knocking on the partially closed door, Rick swung it open all the way. “Am I interrupting anything? If so, I can come back later.”
The two women turned quickly to face him, both obviously surprised by his intrusion.
“No, please, come in,” Jordan said. “Rene was just leaving.” She turned to her assistant. “I’d like to read over the press release before you contact the media.”
“Certainly.” Rene offered Rick a forced smile as she walked past him and out of the room.
“Would you care for coffee?” She indicated the carafe on her desk. “I’m afraid it’s decaf. Or if you prefer hot tea, I can—”
“Coffee’s fine, but it can wait. I’m here, as promised, to report to you.”
“Yes, of course. I suppose I wasn’t expecting anything this soon.”
Rick looked her over, from head to toe. She didn’t look pregnant. No tummy bulge, not even a slight one. She was slender and pale. Too pale. Weren’t pregnant women supposed to glow?
How could he confront a pregnant woman with his suspicions? He had already asked her if she’d killed her husband and she’d told him that she hadn’t. What if he pointed out that she’d lost two husbands and a fiancé and implied how unlikely that all three died of natural causes and it upset her? He didn’t like the idea of upsetting Jordan, especially considering her condition.
“Look, I think you should know that I overheard your conversation with Ms. Burke,” Rick confessed. “At least enough to know that you’re pregnant.”
Sighing, she nodded slowly. “My pregnancy isn’t a secret. Everyone in my family and close circle of friends already knows. And after the press release later today, the whole world will know.”
Rick glanced at her flat stomach. “You’re not showing. You must not be very far along.”
“About six weeks.”
“And the senator didn’t know you were pregnant?”
“No. I had planned to tell him that morning when I found him in his study.”
“You want this child, don’t you? I heard you say that your child was the most important thing in your life.”
“We wanted a child. Dan and I. I just wish he could have…” She swallowed hard.
Rick gritted his teeth. She seemed so sincere, so genuinely sad.
“Dan would have been such a good father. He was a good man. Kind and caring. He would have loved this child so much.”
When she unconsciously laid her hand over her belly in such a gentle, protective movement, Rick sensed how much this child meant to her. She wasn’t faking the depth of her feelings. And if she loved his child, didn’t it stand to reason that she had loved Dan Price?
“Look, is there anything I can do for you?” Rick took a tentative step toward her, desperately wishing he could erase the pain he saw in her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Carson…Rick.” Jordan tried to smile. “I’m all right. Really I am.” She changed the subject quickly. “You’re here to give me a report, aren’t you?”
He watched while she poured herself a cup of decaf from the carafe on her desk. She took a sip of the black coffee.
“I really don’t have anything to report,” he said. “Nothing you don’t already know.”
She took several more sips of coffee, then set the cup and saucer on her desk and glanced at Rick. “I sense there’s something you wanted to say to me.”
“It can wait.”
“Please, won’t you sit down? Have some coffee and tell me whatever it is.”
His experience with pregnant women was very limited. He’d never been married or fathered a child. His sister was older than he, so he hadn’t seen his own mother pregnant. And after devoting most of her life to her career, his sister had married only a couple of years ago and she and her husband had adopted a ten-year-old last year.
Rick didn’t sit. Instead, he walked over to Jordan and looked her right in the eyes. “I received a report from Powell’s last night.”
“A report on what?” she asked, her expression one of total innocence.
“A report on you.”
Her expression didn’t alter except for a slight flickering of her eyelashes that hinted surprise. “You requested a report on me?”
“It’s standard procedure. I’ll get one on Ryan, too, probably later today.”
“Did you find anything of interest in the report, something that adds to your suspicions?”
“You’ve had several tragedies in your life.”
“I’d say that’s an understatement.”
He suspected that she was forcing herself not to break eye contact, to continue looking directly at him. “It’s no secret that Dan is the third man that I’ve loved and lost. My fiancé died in a one-car accident shortly before we were to be married. I was twenty-one. My first husband was killed in a hunting accident when we’d been married only two years. And now, Dan…Neither Robby Joe nor Boyd was murdered, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Murder can be made to look like an accident,” Rick said and when her face went chalk white and her eyes widened in shock, he wished he’d kept that assessment to himself.
Jordan slumped into the chair behind her desk, her movements indicating that she could barely manage to stand on her own two feet. Rick took several tentative steps toward her, concerned about her welfare.
She held up a restraining hand. “No, please. I’m all right. Just shocked that you would even consider such a thing was possible.”
“Look, I was hired for a specific reason and I have to consider every aspect of the situation, which means looking into the past. The senator’s past, your past, and the past of anyone who had an opportunity to kill Dan Price.”
“I know you’re just doing your job, but the very idea that Robby Joe’s death or Boyd’s was anything other than an accident is ludicrous.”
“Look, I’m sorry if I upset you, especially since you’re pregnant,” Rick said. “I think maybe we should discuss Powell’s sending in another agent to replace me, all things considered. I’m probably not the best man for this job.”
“No! I don’t want another agent,” Jordan said vehemently. “I—I don’t want to start all over again with someone else. You’re here. You’re qualified. If you weren’t, Nicole wouldn’t have sent you. Am I right?”
“Yes, ma’am, you’re right. But I thought that since—”
“I’m not offended that you think I might have killed Dan. In your place, I might question my innocence, too, especially after learning that Dan was not the first man in my life who died unexpectedly. But I didn’t kill Dan anymore than I killed Robby Joe or Boyd. I’m not afraid of the truth and the truth is that Robby Joe’s death and Boyd’s death were terrible accidents. And if Dan really was murdered, I’m not his killer.”
Damned if he didn’t believe her. At least for the moment. She looked so sincere, sounded so sincere, and sent out strong I’m-sweet-and-innocent vibes. Everything in him wanted to believe her without question. He wanted her to be just what she seemed, a grieving, pregnant widow who really had cared deeply for her husband and wouldn’t have harmed a hair on his head.
Maybe he should stick around, stay on the job and prove to himself that Jordan was innocent of any wrongdoing. Wasn’t that what he wanted?
“Will you please reconsider leaving, Mr. Carson? Please stay and continue to investigate Dan’s death.” She gave him a pleading look that had him all but dropping to his knees and begging her to forgive him for ever doubting her. Damn, she was good. Either that or he was far too susceptible to her charm.
“Yeah, sure, I’ll consider staying, if that’s what you really want.”
“It’s what I want, someone impartial who will find out the truth about Dan’s death.” She offered him a fragile, seductive smile.
Hell, he was reading far more into her delicate smile than she intended. He wanted it to mean something personal. It didn’t and he damn well knew it didn’t.
You can’t stay here. You’re too vulnerable to Jordan’s charm to remain impartial. You know she could be guilty of three murders, but you want her to be innocent because you want to screw her.
There, he’d said it. He had admitted that he was thinking with his dick and not his brain. And he suspected he wasn’t the first man who’d let his libido take over and his good judgment go out the window where Jordan Price was concerned.
Before he had the chance to refute his agreement to stay on as the Powell agent investigating her husband’s murder, they both heard a loud ruckus, the sounds of shouting, screaming and running feet coming from somewhere nearby.
What the hell?
Jordan shot up out of her chair and muttered under her breath, “Oh, Lord, what now?”
When they both headed toward the door, Rick falling into step behind Jordan, Tammy Harris came flying into the room, a wild-eyed expression on her face. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she rushed to Jordan. She wrung her hands together, all the while gulping for air.
Jordan grabbed Tammy’s trembling hands. “What’s wrong?”
“Help, please help,” Tammy blurted out, her voice shaky.
Jordan squeezed Tammy’s hands. “Calm down. Everything will be all right. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
A loud thump followed by another and then another gained their attention. Tammy glared through the open doorway, sheer terror in her eyes.
“You have to stop them before they kill each other,” Tammy finally managed to say on one long, hurried breath.
“Who?” Jordan asked.
“J.C. and Wes,” Tammy told her. “They’re fighting.”
“What happened? Why are they fighting?”
“Stop them, please.” Tammy jerked her hands free of Jordan’s tenacious hold. “I can’t stand it. I can’t. You have to stop them before they kill each other.”
“Okay, okay. Just calm down.”
Kendra Brannon’s appearance halted Jordan outside her study.
“Jordan, you have to do something,” Kendra said. “Wes and J.C. are fighting and it’s all my fault. J.C. was sort of flirting with me and Wes went berserk. You know how protective he is. He thinks J.C. is too old to be flirting with me.”
“Damn!” Jordan huffed loudly. “J.C. is too old to be flirting with you. But Wes shouldn’t have started a fight over it. Come with me. Now.” Jordan glanced from Kendra to Tammy. “We’ll put a stop to things before someone gets hurt.”
Kendra eyed Rick, who stood inside the study. “Shouldn’t he come, too? He looks like he could handle J.C. and Wes.”
“Want me to take care of this for you, Mrs. Price?” Rick asked, dreading the thought of breaking up a fist-fight.
“Please, come with us,” Jordan told him. “But let me handle things. I’m used to playing referee and peacemaker in this family.”
By the time they made their way to the scene of the brawl, the fight that apparently had begun inside the house had moved out onto the veranda. Just as Jordan opened the front door, Wes knocked J.C. down the steps and onto the lawn.
“I want you two to stop this stupid fighting right this minute!” Jordan shouted in an I-mean-business, authoritarian voice.
J.C. came up from the ground swinging, his face bloody and sweat dampening his silk shirt. Taking a stand, Wes prepared to defend himself, a look of pure hatred on his face.
“Enough!” Jordan ran across the veranda and down the steps.
Shit! She was heading straight toward the two battered fighters and neither one seemed aware of her presence.
Don’t do it, honey. Don’t step between them.
But that’s exactly what Jordan did, walked right between J.C. and Wes, with both men ready to continue clobbering each other. Rick went after her, but didn’t reach her in time to prevent her from putting herself in harm’s way.
“Don’t interfere, Jordan,” Wes said. “I’m going to beat the crap out of him, so help me God. After I finish with him, he’ll think twice before he touches Kendra or any other girl young enough to be his daughter.”
“Oh, for goodness sake, Wes, all he did was kiss me,” Kendra shouted. “And I didn’t try to stop him!”
Jordan glowered at J.C. “Leave. Now. Go home and stay there. We’ll talk later.”
J.C. wiped the blood from his mouth. He smirked at Jordan. “Just keep the kid away from me.” He glanced at Kendra. “Hell, keep both of those brats away from me.”
When he started to walk off, Wes lurched for him, but Jordan grabbed Wes by the shoulders and shook him. J.C. meandered away, around the house, whistling to himself. Wes threw off Jordan’s hold, obviously intending to go after J.C.
In his peripheral vision, Rick noted that the entire house-hold had come out on the veranda—Roselynne, Darlene, Rene, Devon and both servants—just as Wes shoved Jordan’s hands off his shoulders. Rick realized that Wes had pushed Jordan harder than he’d intended and she was falling backward. Only when Rick dashed straight to her and caught her just before she hit the ground did Wes realize what he’d done. That realization stopped him cold.
“Oh, God, Jordan, I’m sorry,” Wes said.
Rick swooped a dazed Jordan up in his arms, something primeval inside him wanting to protect her, needing to keep her safe from this swarm of vultures hovering around her.
Chapter 7 (#ud7bab574-08dc-508e-a925-f4b92dd9053b)
Jordan grabbed hold of Rick by instinctively throwing her arm around his neck. Momentarily stunned by what had happened, she stared into his eyes. Their gazes connected and instantly locked. Knowing she had to remove herself from such intimate contact with this man, she inhaled and exhaled a deep, steadying breath before saying, “Please, put me down.”
Rick hesitated for a split second, then eased her onto her feet.
“Thank you,” she mouthed the words quietly.
He didn’t get a chance to say anything before the adoring Jordan Price tribe swarmed around her, each person professing their concern. But Devon Markham cut through the other groupies and all but pushed Rick aside.
“Are you okay?” Devon asked, genuine worry marring his handsome features.
“I’m fine.” She patted him on the arm and then turned to the others. “The show’s over. Everything is going to be fine. Please, all of you, go back inside.”
Tobias and Vadonna returned to the house immediately, while no one else hurried back inside; instead they began mumbling among themselves.
“Wait up, Wes,” Jordan called to her stepson. “We need to talk.” She looked from Wes to his sister. “You, too, Kendra. Both of you go sit down. I’ll be there in a minute.” She turned to Rick. “Please, go eat breakfast and get your day started. I have to do my job as their stepmother and sort things out with them before I send them both back to school.”
“I don’t mean to interfere, but shouldn’t you confront your stepbrother about making advances to a teenager first?”
Jordan grimaced. “No, the children first. I’ll deal with J.C. later.”
Rick nodded, then left her to handle the family situation on her own. She squared her shoulders and walked across the lawn, up the steps and onto the veranda. Wes sat in one of the big wicker chairs, his legs spread, his shoulders and head drooped, and his hands clutched together between his knees. Kendra paced back and forth. Pausing when Jordan approached, she looked at her in a wide-eyed, pleading manner.
“Wes overreacted to something that was none of his business in the first place,” Kendra said.
Pointing her index finger in Kendra’s face, Jordan gave her a stern, disapproving, maternal glare. “J.C. kissed you, right?”
“Yes.”
“Did anything else happen?”
“No.”
“Has he kissed you before?”
“Once.”
“Kendra Diane Brannon, you are eighteen years old. J.C. is thirty-six. Do the math. He’s twice your age and has had five times more experience. He is a sweet-talking womanizer who uses and discards women as if they were Kleenex.”
“But—”
“No buts,” Jordan said. “Whatever he’s said to you, whatever you think you feel for him, forget it.”
“You’re not being fair,” Kendra whined, reminding Jordan of just how immature her stepdaughter was.
Maybe it was her fault that Kendra still saw the world through rose-colored glasses, but she had so wanted to protect her from life’s harsh realities as long as possible. When Jordan had married Boyd, Kendra had been a shy, starved-for-motherly-affection little girl of ten, the same age Jordan had been when she’d lost her own mother. She had reached out to Kendra immediately, offering her the love and attention she had so desperately needed.
“I’m being sensible. I am protecting you because I love you. And in case you have any doubts, let me spell this out for you. This subject is closed. After breakfast, I want you to go upstairs and pack your bags. You’re going back to university today instead of this weekend.”
“Oh, Jordan, do I have to…” Kendra stopped mid-sentence, heaved a deep, overly dramatic sigh and said, “Okay, I’ll go.”
“You know I’m doing what I believe is best for you under the circumstances.”
“Yes, ma’am. I know.”
“Go on inside. I need to talk to Wes. Alone.”
As soon as Kendra left, Jordan turned to Wesley. He wouldn’t look at her. Instead, he stared at the floor. Even though he was now a young man of twenty, broad shouldered and six feet tall, she would always see him as he’d been when she first married Boyd, a hostile twelve-year-old who was determined to hate his new stepmother. It had taken her a year of hard work to win him over and make him realize that she didn’t expect to take his mother’s place, that she wanted her own place in his life and his heart.
“Look at me, Wes.”
He hazarded a quick glance up at her.
“You should have come to me when you saw J.C. kiss Kendra and let me handle the problem. All you achieved by physically attacking J.C. was to bruise and bloody both of you and create a hullabaloo within the family.”
“Yeah, well, it did more than that,” Wes told her. “It made me feel damn good to hit him.”
Barely managing not to smile, Jordan laid her hand on Wes’s shoulder. “I suppose it did. There have been a few times when I’ve wanted to knock some sense into J.C.”
“I don’t see how you can stand having that sleazeball around. He’s worthless and everybody knows it. Even Devon, who likes just about everybody, has no use for J.C.”
“J.C. is my stepbrother. He’s family.”
“Have you considered the possibility that he killed Dan?”
The question genuinely startled Jordan. “No, I haven’t because despite all of J.C.’s faults, he’s not capable of murder.”
“Yeah, he is,” Wes said. “Everyone is. He kept hitting up Dan for money and when Dan didn’t come through the last time, J.C. got really pissed. What if he thought by killing Dan, you’d inherit and—”
“J.C. did not kill Dan. We don’t even know for sure that Dan was murdered.”
Wes shrugged. “Just don’t trust him, okay? You’re too smart for that, but at the same time, you’ve got a really soft spot when it comes to taking care of friends and family.” Wes rose to his feet. “Please, be careful around him.”
“I appreciate your concern.”
“I’ll go pack, too.” Wes grinned. “I figure you’ll want me to leave when Kendra does.”
Jordan slipped her arm around her stepson’s waist. “It’s for your own good. You two have missed more than enough school this semester and I know y’all stayed on because you’re concerned about me. Don’t be. I’m going to be all right. Devon’s here, as is Roselynne and Darlene, not to mention Rene.”
“Gee, that makes me feel a lot better,” he said sarcastically. “Devon’s a basket case since Dan died, and Roselynne and Darlene both need keepers, so Rene’s the only person left you can actually count on. Her and that Carson guy. I know you don’t like him, but I have a feeling he’s okay.”
“Yes, I have the same feeling. If I can ever convince him that I’m not some black widow who’s killed two husbands and a fiancé—”
“You’re joking? He can’t possibly think you whacked Dan or that you killed Dad or—”
“It’s his job to find out the truth,” Jordan said. “And that’s what I want, what we all want.”
Wes hugged her and kissed her cheek. “If you need me, I’ll just be a phone call away. I wish…”
“What do you wish, honey?”
“I wish you had someone to take care of you the way you take care of all of us. More than anyone I know, you deserve to be happy.”
A knot of emotion tightened Jordan’s throat, making it impossible for her to respond. She and Wes exchanged a tender mother-son moment that needed no words.
Tammy yanked open the front door to the home she shared with their mother and marched into the living room. J.C. took a puff on his cigarette, then blew out a spiral of smoke. His little sister looked spitting mad.
“What’s up, buttercup?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood.
“How could you? Are you out of your mind?”
“Me? Nope. You’re the sibling with a few loose screws, not me.” He twirled his index finger beside his temple to indicate she was crazy.
Tammy bristled at his attempt to be funny. “Kendra is Jordan’s stepdaughter so that makes her off limits to you.”
“No woman is off limits to me if I want her and believe me I want Kendra. I’d like to pop her cherry if one of those college boys hasn’t already done it. And if they have, then I could show her the difference between being diddled by a boy and fucked by a man.”
“You’re disgusting. You know that, don’t you? Mama should have put you in a sack and drowned you in the river when you were born.”
J.C. chuckled, then took another draw on his cigarette. “Sugar, you’re the one who should have been put down like a rabid dog. You’re nothing but a burden on Mama and on Jordan.” He placed his cigarette in the ashtray on the side table. “Poor, pitiful, little Tammy.”
She came at him with teeth bared and claws out, lunging on top of him like the wild creature she was. She managed to rake his cheek with her fingernails before he manacled both of her wrists and forced her to her knees.
“You’re hurting me,” Tammy cried.
He increased the pressure, making her scream for mercy.
“Johnny Cash Harris, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Roselynne yelled as she came through the door. “For pity’s sake, let her go.”
He loosened his tight hold, but didn’t release his sister. “She’s gone loco again. If I hadn’t grabbed her, she’d have done worse than scratch my face. She’s crazy and it’s time you put her away someplace where she can’t kill anybody else.”
Roselynne stomped toward them, hellfire and damnation in her eyes. J.C. jerked Tammy to her feet as he stood and then he shoved her toward their mother. Tammy went running into Roselynne’s open arms.
Soothing her child with comforting strokes, she murmured endearments. “Now, go to the bathroom and wash your face while I talk to J.C.”
“Yes, Mama,” Tammy said, meek as a lamb.
J.C. had never understood how their mother could so easily control Tammy with a few words and a tender touch. The only other person who came close to controlling his crazy little sister was Jordan. But Jordan had a way with people in general, not just Tammy.
As soon as Tammy disappeared into the bathroom, their mother turned on him. “Damn it, boy, what am I going to do with you? Manhandling your sister is not allowed. How many times do I have to tell you? And as for the other, about her killing somebody—I don’t want to hear you spouting off such nonsense ever again. You hear me?”
“It’s not nonsense and you know it. Don’t tell me that it hasn’t crossed your mind that Tammy might have killed Dan.”
“Shut your mouth! Nobody’s proved that Dan didn’t kill himself.”
“Ryan Price thinks Dan was murdered. And so does that Powell agent who’s snooping around.”
“Everybody’s got a right to their opinion. Just because Ryan can’t accept the fact that Dan committed suicide doesn’t mean he didn’t do it. And Rick Carson is being paid to be suspicious, to snoop around and find out what’s what.”
J.C. laughed. “I’d like to be a fly on the wall when he unearths the truth about Dan and Jordan’s marriage.”
“Whatever he finds out, he’ll keep to himself. It’s a rule of some kind that private eyes have.”
“Aren’t you the least bit curious about the baby?” J.C. asked. “It’s kind of difficult for a woman to get pregnant if her husband isn’t screwing her.”
“I don’t want to hear anymore talk like that either. The baby Jordan is carrying is Dan Price’s kid, Dan’s heir. You got that?”
J.C. winked at his mother. “Yeah, I got it. And if she gets more of Dan’s money for that kid, then it’ll mean more for all of us, right?”
“You’re a greedy, ungrateful—”
“I just tell it like I see it.” He narrowed his gaze and studied his mother for a couple of seconds. “You didn’t by any chance know, before Dan killed himself, that he had Alzheimer’s, did you, Ma?”
J.C. was creating problems they didn’t need. She’d probably have to deal with him sooner rather than later. The very thought of disposing of him was abhorrent to her since he was part of the family. She had put up with his bad behavior, excused his misdeeds, and refrained from killing him because he had not posed a real threat to them. Not until now. He had become a liability. Even before she’d killed Dan, she had known it was only a matter of time before J.C. would have to be eliminated. His actions were hurting them more and more all the time. She couldn’t allow him to continue upsetting them, not with a baby on the way. Nothing and no one was more important than their child.
She would simply have to wait for the right moment and then strike. And it had to look like an accident. If only she could have found a way to have made Dan’s death look accidental instead of like suicide, as she had some of the other deaths.
Killing J.C. immediately was out of the question. First of all, she never eliminated someone without reason and that required her to consider all sides of a situation. Once she had made her decision, as she had with J.C., she formulated a plan. That took time, days, even weeks. She couldn’t do anything to bring suspicion on herself, especially this soon after Dan’s death. And she certainly couldn’t take any undue chances with a private detective living here at Price Manor.
But when the time was right, she would remove J.C. from their lives, just as she had removed all the others who had betrayed them, either intentionally or simply by an act of fate.
Jordan waved goodbye to Kendra and Wes as they drove away. As much as she would have loved having them here until Sunday, sending them off today had been the right decision. She couldn’t risk what might happen if they stayed and Kendra disobeyed her and encouraged J.C.’s attention. Her stepbrother couldn’t be trusted around any woman who appealed to him, and young, inexperienced girls like Kendra appealed to him greatly. She remembered all too well how he’d come on to her more than once when she’d been in her teens. For years, she was able to fend him off without any real harm done, but eventually, she’d had to go to Roselynne. She never knew what her stepmother had said or done, but whatever it had been, Jordan had never had to fight off J.C. again.
“We’ll miss them, won’t we?” Darlene came up beside Jordan so quietly that Jordan jumped.
“Oh, dear, I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m so sorry.”
She smiled at Darlene. “It’s okay. I guess I’m a little edgy this afternoon.” She draped her arm through Darlene’s and smiled. “Yes, we will miss them, but sending them back to school will save us from having any more problems for the time being.”
“You should send J.C. packing,” Darlene said. “That man…” She sighed. “I hate to speak ill of anyone, but J.C. is nothing but trouble.”
“I know, but we’ll give Roselynne a chance to deal with him first and if that doesn’t work, I’ll ask him to leave. He’s stayed longer than he usually does when he visits. I really didn’t expect him to stay this long.”
“He’s waiting for the will to be read, hoping when you come into your inheritance, you’ll be generous with him and Roselynne and Tammy.”
“I suppose you’re right about his reasons for staying. Maybe I should tell him that although I’ll take care of Roselynne and Tammy, I’ve washed my hands of him. He won’t have any more luck getting money from me than he did getting it from Dan.”
“I…uh…really shouldn’t say this, but…well, have you ever considered the possibility that J.C. killed Dan?”
“Let’s walk.” Jordan tugged gently on Darlene’s arm.
Darlene nodded agreement and the two women strolled down the long drive that led from the house to the county road half a mile away.
“Are you upset with me for—?” Darlene asked.
“No, of course not,” Jordan replied. “It had never entered my mind that J.C. might have killed Dan. But you’re the second person today who has suggested that J.C. could be a murderer.”
“Was Wesley the other person?”
“Yes.”
“Wesley is a very bright boy. I know that Roselynne and her children are family, but if it turns out that Dan was murdered, I think Mr. Carson and the sheriff should look to those three first. I’ve seen Tammy throw some hysterical hissy fits over the years. There’s no telling what she might do. And Roselynne…well, if there’s any money involved…”
“Mr. Carson suspects that I might have killed Dan,” Jordan said.
Darlene gasped. “That’s the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard.”
“No, it isn’t. Not really. When you look at the facts, that my fiancé, my first husband and now my second husband have all met untimely deaths—”
“Robby Joe’s death was an accident, a tragic accident that almost destroyed us. How could anyone think that you killed him when you loved him with all your heart?”
Jordan stopped, took both of Darlene’s hands into hers and smiled warmly at Robby Joe’s mother, a woman who was as dear to her as anyone on earth.
“Robby Joe was the love of my life.” Jordan kept her smile in place even though she wanted to cry. She had to stay strong, for Darlene’s sake as well as her own.
“If the baby is a boy, I wish you could name him Robby Joe, but I know that’s out of the question.” Darlene laid her open palm over Jordan’s flat belly.
“I haven’t thought about names. Besides, this may be a little girl.” She laid her hand over Darlene’s on her stomach.
“If it is, you should name her after your mother.”
“My mother and Dan’s mother—Elizabeth Helene.”
“And Daniel, Jr., if it’s a boy?”
A cold chill rippled through Jordan. No, she couldn’t name her son Daniel, Jr. “There’s plenty of time to decide on a name. I’m sure that in seven months, we’ll come up with something perfect for our baby.”
Darlene sighed as she removed her hand from Jordan’s stomach. “You are so generous to share your child with us, with me and Devon and the others. Your son or daughter will be the closest thing to a grandchild that I’ll ever have.”
“He will be a very lucky child to have so many people to love and care for him—or her. My family and friends and Dan’s family and friends.”
Jordan glanced toward the sky and noted the swirling dark clouds. “I believe it’s going to rain. Maybe we’d better head back to the house.”
Darlene gazed skyward. “You’re right. It looks like a springtime storm is brewing.”
They walked hurriedly up the drive, barely making it onto the veranda before the first raindrops hit the ground. By the time they were inside, the bottom fell out and distant flashes of lightning zigzagged through the sky.
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BEVERLY BARTON
The spine-tingling thriller about a depraved female serial killer from the Sunday Times and New York Times bestselling author.Jordan Price doesn't look like your typical serial killer…Young and beautiful, she exudes innocence and vulnerability. But after her latest husband dies in mysterious circumstances, Rick Carson is forced to consider her capable of cold-blooded murder.The deeper he delves into the string of deaths which stalk Jordan, the more dangerous the game of cat-and-mouse becomes. The targets are changing and suddenly no one is safe.If Jordan is as innocent as she claims, Rick may have placed in a brutal killer's crosshairs. But if she's guilty, Rick will pay in blood…
BEVERLY BARTON
THE BLACK WIDOW
Copyright (#ud7bab574-08dc-508e-a925-f4b92dd9053b)
Published by AVON
A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain as Coldhearted by HarperCollins 2008
This eBook edition published 2018
Copyright © Beverly Barton 2008
Cover design © Diane Meacham Design 2018
Cover photograph © Shutterstock
Beverly Barton asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9781847560612
Ebook Edition © May 2018 ISBN: 9780007328925
Version: 2018-06-04
Contents
Cover (#u380f6321-719e-58cf-82f4-dcf9a6b00476)
Title Page (#u1ae8edff-0978-5686-bdeb-6088e74a4832)
Copyright (#u803a80ae-d66b-51d5-ae0b-53a20f9edb77)
Prologue (#u8887498a-fc8f-5da2-bf32-cfb6adf1b503)
Chapter 1 (#ud7745958-a58a-5f0b-9af0-89d7173c2ffe)
Chapter 2 (#u5e765d72-a9d8-51a6-8a79-6367c72c5f99)
Chapter 3 (#u435f6730-4e8c-5f76-88eb-c97fb3e5e30d)
Chapter 4 (#u2b7c889a-9afe-5c0a-a4f0-c5bbe4855490)
Chapter 5 (#u3873834e-b42e-50fa-a495-5ba9762b2876)
Chapter 6 (#u87c7546f-475b-5666-a6c3-7d180a928337)
Chapter 7 (#u9ecf1a1f-a40e-5ff5-9a7c-afa21744fafd)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 32 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 33 (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by Beverly Barton (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#ud7bab574-08dc-508e-a925-f4b92dd9053b)
Perhaps the best thing he could do for himself and every-one he loved was to commit suicide.
Dan Price stared at the Glock pistol lying atop his desk. He had bought the 9mm automatic for his wife, but she had refused the gift, politely reminding him of her aversion to guns. But at his insistence, she had gone with him to the practice range and learned to use the weapon, only to please him. But to his knowledge, she had never carried the pistol, never kept it in her room or in her car.
If his sweet Jordan had any idea that he was contemplating taking his own life, she would do her best to convince him that no matter what the future held, she would stand by him. It was her basic integrity and loyalty that had first attracted him to the woman who had become his greatest political asset.
Dan lifted the half-full glass of Kentucky bourbon to his lips and finished off the remainder. The liquor burned a path down his esophagus and hit his belly like fire. He coughed a couple of times, then wiped his mouth, picked up the bottle, and poured himself another drink.
If he was going to do this—and he fully intended to end his life tonight—he knew he couldn’t do it stone cold sober. He wasn’t that courageous. Before he could put the hammer-forged barrel into his mouth and pull the trigger, he needed to be more than a little drunk.
He sipped on the bourbon as he leaned back in the swivel desk chair and let his gaze travel over the room. His private study, as it had been his father’s and grandfather’s before him. An impressive room inside a 200-year-old antebellum mansion, part of an estate that had been in his family since before the War Between the States. Generations of Price men had served their country, first in wartime and then in local, state, and national politics. In Georgia, the name Price was synonymous with public service.
If he killed himself, how would that affect his family’s good name? No Price man had ever taken the easy way out of a bad situation.
But could he continue, knowing what the future held for him? Could he condemn Jordan to such a life? And what about Devon? And his brother, Ryan? They would never desert him, and that would mean great sacrifices for each of them.
You don’t have to do this tonight. You have time.
But how much time? Six months? A year?
Dan finished off his second drink and poured himself a third.
The grandfather clock in the hall struck twice. Two in the morning.
He unlocked the file cabinet in the bottom drawer of the desk, rummaged through the folders until he found the file he wanted. A copy of his will. His lawyer kept another copy and a third was inside his safe at the house in Bethesda. The contents of his will were not secret to anyone. Everything he possessed would be equally divided among Jordan, Devon and Ryan. Jordan had protested, telling him that she didn’t expect such an enormous legacy, but he had quieted her protests with a tender caress.
“I owe you more than I will ever be able to repay,” he’d told her.
Dan finished off his third drink.
Minutes ticked by as he contemplated the Glock on his desk. Grandfather Price’s antique desk. Family lore claimed the desk had belonged to Jefferson Davis, a contemporary of his ancestor, General John Ryan Price.
Dan poured another glass of bourbon, picked up the bottle and the glass and walked over to the leather Chester-field sofa. He sat down, placed the bottle on the floor, and considered his options. Death was preferable to the fate that awaited him.
Dan’s eyelids flicked open and shut. In the twilight zone of being half-awake/half-asleep, he didn’t immediately realize where he was or what had awakened him so abruptly. Woozy from sleep and too much bourbon, Dan recalled that he had contemplated suicide to solve his problems, but in the end, drunk and, oddly enough, thinking more clearly than he had when he’d been sober, he had realized that killing himself would have been the coward’s way out.
Dan swatted at something cold against his cheek. His fingertips raked across the metal object. He opened his eyes fully, stared up at the woman leaning over him, and smiled. She did not return his smile. His gaze zipped from her familiar face to his own hand holding the 9mm, its barrel pressed firmly against his head. And it was only when he tried to ease the gun away from his head that he realized her hand covered his, her index finger squeezed tightly over his against the trigger.
“What the—!”
Before he could react, she forced his finger down against the trigger, firing the gun at point blank range directly into his brain.
Dan’s last thought was that someone he’d trusted completely had just killed him.
Chapter 1 (#ud7bab574-08dc-508e-a925-f4b92dd9053b)
Jordan Price was a cold-hearted bitch. Cool, controlled and calculating. If she was a better actress, she would at least show some sign of emotion. She could fake tears or heave a deep, grieving sigh. Anything to indicate she felt at least a modicum of remorse over her husband’s death. But the lady hadn’t shed a tear. Not during the church funeral attended by hundreds and not at the graveside service for family and close friends.
Rick Carson had met her type before—alluring and dangerous. He hadn’t known the late Senator Price personally, but he sure as hell felt sorry for the poor bastard. Every man, even a damn politician, deserved a wife who mourned him.
As the light drizzle increased and quickly turned into a downpour, black umbrellas popped open to shield the small crowd of mourners surrounding the open gravesite. The scalloped edges of the burgundy-red canopy sheltering the immediate family, seated in double rows of four chairs each, flapped loudly as the April wind whipped unmercifully through the nearby trees.
Small town, southern cemeteries were pretty much inter-changeable, many of the headstones dating back to the early 1800s and a few graves marked with only large rocks. Rick figured that, for the most part, his dirt poor ancestors lay in unmarked graves throughout the South, from Virginia to Kentucky and on into his home state of Mississippi. His father had been the first in his family to acquire a high school diploma and Rick had been the first to graduate from college. He had about as much in common with the dearly departed senator as a buzzard has in common with a peacock.
The woman at Rick’s side raised her open umbrella just enough to clear the top of his head, which due to her being five-ten meant she’d lifted it only a few inches to accommodate his six-two height. Nicole Powell was his boss’s wife—actually she was Griff’s bride of seven months and co-owner of the Powell Private Security and Investigation Agency. If Griff wasn’t out of the country right now, he’d be here instead of Rick, who had worked for the agency the past five years.
As the minister uttered the final prayer in the 20-minute ceremony that had included the mournful wail of a bagpiper’s rendition of “Amazing Grace,” Rick shifted his attention from Nicole back to Mrs. Price. She sat ramrod straight, her chin tilted upward, her teeth clenched, and her eyelids slowly closing. Reverent enough to shut her eyes, but not enough to bow her head, the widow took a deep breath. Was she weary of having to pretend to care and wishing this day would end? Or was she desperately trying to control any emotion she might feel?
The man sitting beside Jordan Price casually reached over and grasped her folded hands resting in her lap, then took one hand in his and clutched it tightly. She didn’t react in any way when he placed their entwined hands between them. Rick sensed these two shared an intimate bond. Nic had told him that this sinfully handsome guy, who at the funeral had showed far more emotion than the widow, had been Dan Price’s assistant for 12 years. Rumor had it that Devon Markham had been like a son to the senator. So, what did that make him to the senator’s attractive, young wife? A friend or a lover?
The minister, a gray-haired gentleman with a kind face and a commanding voice, ended the service by inviting those in attendance to join the family at the Price home for an after-funeral reception. This type of affair was the southern, Protestant version of a wake.
While the others seated stood up and shook hands with the preacher, Markham assisted the widow to her feet, placed his arm around her waist and took a protective stand at her side.
“Let’s get out of here,” Nicole whispered. “I’ll wait and speak to Claire and Ryan at the reception.”
“Did they tell you why they were interested in hiring Powell’s?” Rick kept in step with Nic’s long-legged gait as they made their way toward her Escalade.
“No. All Claire said when she called to tell me about Dan Price’s funeral arrangements was that Ryan needed to speak to me after the funeral about hiring Powell’s. Considering what she and Ryan were going through at the time, I thought the particulars could wait.”
Glancing over his shoulder, Rick took one final look at Mrs. Price. Dry-eyed and rigid, she spoke to the minister. Markham clung to her, not she to him, which implied that she was the stronger of the two and they both knew it.
What was it about the woman that intrigued Rick so? Maybe it was nothing more than her being beautiful. Beautiful, fragile, vulnerable—and heartless. His instincts were usually right on the money and it was highly unlikely he was wrong this time, but for some gut-level reason, he wanted to be wrong about the widow being heartless.
Nicole stopped, turned, and called to him. “What’s the matter?”
He realized Nic had walked on ahead of him and he was standing in the rain staring at a woman he didn’t know and instinctively didn’t like. He caught up with Nic, clicked the OPEN button on his remote to unlock the SUV, and then rushed to open the passenger door for her.
Once seated inside, he started the engine and backed up the car. “What do you know about Jordan Price?”
Nicole shrugged. “Not much really. Counting today, I’ve met her a total of four times. The first time was Claire and Ryan’s wedding. Then again at Michael’s christening and the last time was at her wedding, when she married Dan.”
Rick drove slowly down the narrow one-lane road that led out of Oak Hill Cemetery. “She’s a lot younger than he was. Do you think she married him for his money?”
Nic laughed. “I have no idea.” She glanced at Rick. “Why so curious about Jordan Price?”
Rick’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. Damn good question. Why was he so curious about the widow? Yeah, sure, he found her attractive. And yeah, her seemingly unfeeling attitude disturbed him. Maybe she reminded him a little too much of his own callous, conniving stepmother, who had sucked his father dry during their marriage and had cheated Rick and his sister out of their meager inheritance.
Rick grunted. “Damn if I know. I just thought it odd that the lady hasn’t shed a tear all day.”
“Some people cry in private,” Nic said. “And the reality of death doesn’t always hit a person right away. It often catches up with them weeks later and then they fall apart.”
“Yeah, either is a possibility.”
“But you’re not buying it, are you?”
“Young, beautiful widow buries older, wealthy husband, without any show of emotion whatsoever. And the husband’s handsome, young assistant holds her hand and clings to her during the funeral.”
“You’re painting a really ugly picture, you know. Dan Price committed suicide. He wasn’t murdered. Besides, Claire and Ryan like Jordan. And if Jordan hadn’t been a good wife to Dan, neither Claire nor Ryan would think so highly of her, would they?”
“Hey, it’s nothing to me one way or another,” Rick said. “It’s not my family, not my concern. I don’t know these people.”
And he didn’t want to know them, especially not Jordan. But if Ryan Price hired Powell’s and he was assigned to the case—what then?
She watched from an upstairs window as the hordes descended on Price Manor, Dan’s ancestral home.
A gray day, with the heavens weeping, seemed appropriate for the funeral services. Daniel Price had been loved and respected. It was only fitting that the weather reflected the somber mood of the occasion.
We made it through the funeral without breaking down. That’s good. The reception won’t be as difficult. We’ll be able to reminisce about Dan without being morbid. We can laugh about our memories of him instead of cry. In many ways, Dan was a truly good man. A good husband. But if he’d been allowed to live, he would have become a very bad husband, a noose around our necks, a burden we shouldn’t have had to bear.
It will take time for us to heal from this tragedy, but eventually, we’ll move on, just as we’ve done in the past.
She hadn’t wanted to kill Dan, but she’d had no choice. Not really. If only he had followed through with his plans and had killed himself, he could have saved her the trouble. But apparently, he had lost his nerve at the last minute. As much as she had cared for Dan, she had realized that she couldn’t allow him to ruin their lives. If he had lived, they would have suffered along with him each day. It would have been so unfair. Hadn’t they already suffered enough? By killing Dan, she had protected them from years of anguish. And in the long run, his early death had been truly merciful for him, too. With Dan and his problems out of the way, they could look forward to raising their baby without the burden of a sick husband.
A baby.
Their baby.
They had wanted a baby for such a long time.
When she was a child, Jordan had dreamed of living in an antebellum mansion, something to equal the splendor of Scarlett O’Hara’s beloved Tara. The first time Dan had brought her to his ancestral home in Priceville, Georgia, she had felt an odd sense of homecoming, as if this was where she belonged. For the past three years, she had enjoyed the time they’d spent here far more than their time in D.C. But when she married Dan, she had accepted the fact that she would be a political wife, that she would play the game by the rules. Although she was often uncomfortable with the façade she and Dan had presented to the world, she had never regretted her decision to commit herself to their marriage. He had offered not only security for herself, but for her family whose members depended on her.
Jordan pressed her open palm lightly against her still flat abdomen. Dan was gone, but not lost to her forever. Not as long as the child growing inside her lived, he or she would be a link to her husband. Her son or daughter would carry on the Price name and honor a generations-old heritage. When they had discussed bringing a child into the world, Dan had prophesied that their offspring would one day be president.
Oh, Dan, why? Why did you do this horrible thing?
She had found out she was pregnant the day before Dan killed himself and had intended to share the news with him that evening. But after dinner, he had closed himself off in his study and she’d never seen him alive again.
A part of her refused to believe that Dan had taken his own life; but the alternative was equally unbelievable. Yes, Dan had enemies, both personal and political, but no one truly hated him, certainly not enough to kill him.
You have too much to deal with right now without trying to figure out what happened and why. There will be time enough for that later. You have to go downstairs and greet your guests. Dan’s friends and enemies, his associates, his family and his constituents.
First and foremost Daniel Price had been a public servant, in one form or another, all his life, just as his father and grandfather had been. The very least she owed Dan was to uphold the family traditions and keep his untainted public image as shiny bright as it had been for the past 55 years.
Jordan felt Devon’s presence moments before he reached out and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. She sighed deeply, then forced a wavering smile and turned to look at her oldest and dearest friend.
“People are asking about you,” Devon said. “Do you feel up to facing the mob?”
Jordan nodded. “Almost ready. Give me a couple more minutes.”
“It doesn’t seem real, does it? Dan gone. You and I left to—” Devon choked down his tears. “Why did he choose such a drastic solution? He should have known once he told us about the diagnosis of early-stage Alzheimer’s, we would have been there for him every step of the way. He could have had some good years still ahead of him.”
Jordan caressed Devon’s cheek, tenderly brushing away his tears. “I don’t know. Maybe this was his way of protecting us.”
A light tap on her half-open bedroom door alerted them that they were not alone. Devon stiffened as Jordan glanced over his shoulder and her gaze locked with Tobias Harper’s dark, penetrating glare.
“Pardon me, Miss Jordan, but Mr. Ryan asks that you come downstairs as soon as possible.” The elderly servant, who had been in the Prices’ employ since he was a boy, had loved Dan as much as she and Devon. And like them, he had known the real Daniel Price. “Please, ma’am. Mr. Ryan needs you.”
“Tell him I’ll be down right away.”
Tobias nodded, then turned and disappeared up the hall.
Devon offered her his arm.
She shook her head. “No, you should go down first and I’ll follow in a few minutes. The last thing we want is anyone speculating about the two of us.”
Devon’s lips lifted in a sad smile. He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips for a light kiss. Then she stood and watched as he walked away. In private, she and Devon could comfort each other, could share their grief. But in public, they had to be discreet, in honor of Dan’s memory as much as to protect themselves from gossip and ridicule.
Squaring her shoulders, taking a deep breath, and steeling her nerves, Jordan marched out of her bedroom suite and hurried down the hall. She paused when she reached the top of the right side of the double curving staircases. The string quartet at one side of the large foyer was all but drowned out by the hum of conversation filling the foyer and both front parlors. No doubt by now, dozens of people were already milling through the dining room to partake of the lavish buffet.
When she descended the stairs, her sister-in-law, Claire, broke away from Ryan in the receiving line and came to meet her. Sweet, lovely Claire, with her bright hazel eyes and warm smile. Her sister-in-law was also her friend. She tried her best not to envy the other woman, who was madly in love with her husband, and also had a strong marriage and an adorable three-year-old son.
Claire circled Jordan’s waist with her arm and gave her a quick hug. “Everyone’s been asking about you.”
“I needed a little time to myself after the graveside service.”
“I know, but poor Ryan is on the verge of collapsing. This whole ordeal has simply been too much for him.”
Jordan wanted to tell Claire that it had been too much for all of them, not only Ryan, but instead she said, “Why don’t you take him back to the kitchen and see if you can get him to eat a bite. I’ll take over here.”
“Thanks, Jordan. I knew I could count on you. You’ve been our strength. I don’t know what we’d have done with-out you.”
“Go…go…” She shooed Claire away. “Take care of your husband. I’ll handle everything else just fine on my own.”
You’ve been our strength.
How many times had Jordan been told that she was always the strong, capable, take-charge person in good times and bad? Her earliest memories were those of being a caretaker. First, when she was only ten, to her sick and dying mother, then afterward to her grieving father. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when she hadn’t been taking care of others. Perhaps that was her lot in life, her mission, her burden, her duty, the one thing at which she excelled.
After she replaced her brother-in-law in the receiving line, Jordan lost track of time. Eventually, her hand, which had been shaken countless times, became as numb as her emotions. The only way she could make it through this evening without losing her mind was to act and react by remote control. Shake hands. Accept sympathy. Don’t cringe when someone she barely knew hugged her. Agree that Dan had been a prince of a fellow and would be sorely missed. Move on to the next person and repeat the process.
Rick hated Price Manor on sight. The antebellum mansion was a relic from the South’s notorious past, a plantation house that had been passed down through the generations. No doubt, the Price family could trace their ancestors back to Europe, probably to nobility, albeit some of their predecessors had possibly been born out of wedlock, fathered by kings, princes, dukes and earls. Rick could trace his ancestry back to his hard-drinking, ornery grandpa Carson, whose claim to fame had been that he could whip any man in a fair fight. His father’s family home had been a Mississippi shit-shack, with a roof that leaked when it rained and floorboards so wide apart you could see the chickens pecking for worms in the rich soil under the house.
“Looks like something out of Gone with the Wind, doesn’t it?” Nicole said as they rolled up to the front veranda and stopped.
“Yeah,” Rick replied as he got out, handed his keys to the parking attendant and made his way around to the passenger side just as Nicole closed the door. Since it had stopped raining, he’d left the umbrella in the car. “Do your cousin and her husband live here, too?”
“No, they live in downtown Priceville, in an old Victorian house that belonged to Ryan and Dan’s maternal grandmother.”
“Both sides of the family had money, huh?”
“It seems so.” Nic cast him a sidelong glance as they reached the open front doors. “Keep your opinion of Jordan Price to yourself when we speak with Ryan and Claire later. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am. None of my business. Keep my mouth shut.”
Although it wasn’t raining, moisture hung in the air, heavy and damp. Rick would have liked to remove his black jacket and rip off his tie, get a little more comfortable and cooler. He definitely wasn’t a suit and tie kind of guy. Give him a pair of wash-worn jeans and a cotton shirt instead of fancy duds any day of the week.
Good God, the house was swarming with people, like maggots pouring out of a rotting corpse. The interior temperature had to be a good ten degrees warmer than the humid air outside. Body heat.
Rick and Nicole took their place in the reception line, apparently close to the end since only two couples were ahead of them, one pair offering their condolences to the widow—and to Devon Markham. Two women flanked Jordan, the one on her right, a tall, thin woman with a sharp nose and keen brown eyes, separated her from Markham. The woman on the left was older, but far more attractive. A full-figured blonde who oozed sex appeal. Rick got the distinct impression that both women had stationed themselves there to guard Jordan. Who were they to the young widow? Mother? Aunt? A former nanny?
As the other couples moved on, Nicole stepped up in line and, one by one, offered the foursome in the reception line her sympathy. Jordan reached out and took Nicole’s hand.
“I appreciate your driving in from Knoxville,” Jordan said. “I’m sure your being here is a great comfort to Claire.”
Rick said nothing, simply stuck to Nicole like glue and nodded his head to each of the older ladies. He had intended to pass by as unobtrusively as possible, but suddenly Jordan asked Nicole, “Is this your husband?”
Nic shook her head. “No, Griff is in England. This is Rick Carson, a Powell agent. He offered to drive down with me so I wouldn’t have to make the trip alone.”
Smooth, Nic. A little white lie to prevent an awkward moment.
He looked right at Jordan then. Big mistake. She gazed up at him with blue-gray eyes a shade lighter than the dark gray silk suit she wore, and Rick felt as if he’d been hit in the head with a sledgehammer. The lady took his breath away. Slender, fragile bones, porcelain skin, classically beautiful features. She looked as if she was on the verge of collapse and everything masculine in him wanted to reach out and offer her the support of his strong arms.
Her mouth curved upward in an almost smile. “That was very kind of you, Mr. Carson.”
How the hell did he respond to that? “Yes, ma’am. I’m very sorry about your husband.”
“Thank you.” The soft, sweet sound of her voice wrapped around him like satin cords, pulling him in, threatening to bind him to her.
Not until Nic grabbed his arm and gave it a yank did he realize he was still staring at Jordan, that he hadn’t moved an inch and was holding up the line of mourners still waiting to express their sympathy.
Once Nic had ushered him out of the foyer and into the parlor on the left, she said, “I need to find Claire and Ryan and see why he wants to hire Powell’s. After that, we can head for home.”
“We could split up and go in different directions to look for them,” Rick suggested. “Then meet back here in five minutes.”
“Okay. Good idea. You start your search in here and I’ll go into the other parlor,” Nic told him, then just as she turned around, she stopped and said, “Wait up. I see Claire. She’s motioning to me.”
Rick fell in step beside Nic as she headed toward the foyer again. He caught sight of Nic’s cousin, Claire, a leggy brunette almost as tall as Nic.
“Come on,” Nic said.
When they approached Claire, she met them at the pocket doors open to the foyer. “Ryan is in Dan’s study. He’s waiting for us.”
Rick followed the two women down the wide hall and into a dark-paneled room with three floor-to-ceiling windows on the back wall, and two walls covered with built-in bookshelves. Ryan Price stood, with his back to the door, in front of a fireplace topped with an ornately carved mantel. When he heard the door open, he turned slowly.
He moved forward and extended his hand, first to Nicole and then to Rick. “Thank you for coming to the funeral.”
“Dan was a good man,” Nic said. “I’m so sorry about what happened.”
Ryan grimaced. “I don’t know how to say this any other way, so here goes—I don’t believe Dan killed himself.”
“I see.” Nic glanced at Claire as if silently asking her if she agreed with her husband. “What makes you think he didn’t kill himself? It’s my understanding, from what Claire told me, that the local authorities and the Georgia Bureau of Investigation have ruled Dan’s death a suicide.”
As she rushed to her husband’s side, Claire said, “Officially, Dan’s death was ruled a suicide. But we were told that it’s difficult, if not sometimes impossible, to prove a suicide wasn’t murder. Especially when the person supposedly shot himself in the head.”
Ryan’s gaze settled on the sofa in front of the fireplace. “He was lying there when Jordan found him. The only fingerprints on the gun were Dan’s. And there was gunshot residue on his hand from where he had supposedly fired the weapon.”
“Then why—?” Nic asked, but Ryan cut her off.
“I knew Dan. Knew the kind of man he was. Under no circumstances would he have killed himself.” Ryan slipped his arm around Claire’s waist, obviously needing her com-fort and support. “I want to hire the Powell Agency to do a thorough investigation and find a way to prove that my brother didn’t commit suicide.”
Nic glanced at Claire again.
Claire cleared her throat, then said, “I told Nic that we discovered, after Dan’s death, that he was in the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s.”
Ryan heaved a deep sigh. “That information is not to go beyond this room.” He glared at Rick. Rick nodded. “Dan might have considered suicide, but I’m telling you that he wouldn’t have—” Ryan’s voice cracked. Swallowing hard, he turned his head sideways, averting his teary gaze.
“You realize the alternative to suicide is murder,” Nic said.
“Yes,” Claire answered for both of them.
“Do you have any reason to believe that someone murdered your brother?” Rick asked.
A loud, startled gasp came from the doorway. All heads turned. Jordan Price had opened the door and stood there, eyes wide with shock, her mouth parted and her pale cheeks suddenly flushed.
“Oh, my God, no, no! You can’t honestly believe that someone murdered Dan.”
Chapter 2 (#ud7bab574-08dc-508e-a925-f4b92dd9053b)
“Oh, Jordan, I’m so sorry.” Claire pulled away from Ryan and took a tentative step toward her sister-in-law. “We wanted to spare you—”
“Exactly what’s going on here?” Jordan asked as her gaze quickly flashed around the room, scanning the four people in her husband’s study.
Claire, all wide-eyed guilt but genuine concern, halted a few feet from Jordan as if uncertain of what to do or say.
“I wanted to wait until later to speak to you about this,” Ryan said. “You have enough to deal with as it is.”
With thick auburn hair, the tall, slender Ryan was a younger version of Dan. Only Dan’s eyes had been a brilliant topaz and Ryan’s were a honeyed brown.
Nicole Baxter Powell remained silent, her compassionate gaze focusing steadily on Jordan. Although Jordan had met the former FBI agent only a few times, she liked Claire’s cousin and had no reason to distrust her.
The man at Nicole’s side was a stranger, someone she’d never seen before today. His eyes, so dark they appeared almost black, bored into her, his stare intense and hostile. Hostile? Was her imagination working overtime? This man had no reason to be antagonistic toward her. They didn’t even know each other.
Jordan looked directly at Ryan. “Answer the man’s question. Do you have any reason to believe that someone murdered Dan, that his death wasn’t a suicide?”
Ryan frowned, emotional pain etched on his features as he faced Jordan. “I don’t believe Dan killed himself. It went against his very nature to take the coward’s way out. He was one of the strongest, bravest men I’ve ever known.”
“Dan was also loving and protective,” Jordan said. “If he believed that by taking his own life, he might spare us the agony of watching him die by slow degrees, then he might have—”
“No!” Ryan bellowed the one word as he clenched his hands into stiff fists and closed his eyes for a split second.
Startled by her brother-in-law’s vehement response, she tensed, every muscle in her body suddenly taut. “There’s more to this than just your belief that Dan wouldn’t commit suicide, isn’t there?”
“Tell her. She’ll find out sooner or later.” Claire looked from her husband to Jordan and then back to Ryan as if she couldn’t decide who needed her comfort more.
“Tell me what?” Jordan asked.
“I spoke to Steve privately the day the autopsy report came in,” Ryan said. “You know that Steve and I go way back, that we’ve been—”
“Yes, I know that you and Sheriff Corbett are good friends, so please stop stalling and just come right out and tell me whatever it is.”
“Steve agrees with me that, despite the coroner ruling Dan’s death a suicide and the fact he has no solid proof to the contrary, it’s possible that Dan didn’t kill himself. Steve says that details about a gunshot wound can rule out suicide, but they can’t prove it conclusively, that sometimes it’s a judgment call.”
Jordan felt cold, as if the temperature in the room had dropped a good 20 degrees in a matter of seconds. A chill rippled over her body causing her to quiver.
“You realize what you’re saying, don’t you? If Dan didn’t…if he wasn’t responsible, then that means someone else…” No, she refused to believe that anyone would kill Dan. “But that’s not possible. I found Dan lying over there—” she indicated the sofa with a glance “—with the gun still in his hand. The doors were locked and there was no evidence that anyone had broken into the house.”
“Who else was in the house other than you and the senator?” Mr. Carson asked.
Surprised by his question and by the fact that he had injected himself into what was a family matter, Jordan snapped her head around and glared at him.
“Rick!” Nicole Powell frowned at her companion.
“No, it’s quite all right,” Ryan said. “I want Mr. Carson to ask questions. If I hire Powell’s to do an independent investigation into Dan’s death, then—”
“If you do what?” Jordan felt as if she might faint. Had she heard Ryan correctly? Did he intend to hire an outside agency to dig deeper into the events surrounding Dan’s death? What was he thinking? Didn’t he realize that if the investigators unearthed too many facts about Dan’s life, they might discover a truth that Dan had kept hidden for years, one that could destroy his reputation?
“I know why you’re concerned,” Ryan told her. “That’s why I want to hire Powell’s, a firm with a solid reputation for honesty and integrity. Any information they uncover will be kept in strictest confidence.” He looked at Nicole. “Isn’t that right, Nic?”
“Yes, of course,” she replied.
“Do you need a glass of water, Mrs. Price?” Rick Carson asked. “Or maybe something a little stronger. You look as if you’re going to pass out.”
I don’t like you, Mr. Carson. I don’t like the way you look at me, as if you think you know something about me that no one else knows.
Claire rushed to Jordan, cupped her elbow and said, “Come sit down. Please. Would you like a drink? Ryan can fix you something or I can ring for Tobias—”
“No, I’m all right.” Jordan jerked away from her sister-in-law’s gentle hold and marched across the room, stopping directly in front of the rough-looking Powell agent. Although he wore a suit and tie, he exuded a raw, rugged masculinity that hinted that beneath the neat façade beat the heart of a primitive male.
“We don’t have to do this now, Mrs. Price,” Mr. Carson said.
“We had a full house that weekend because of the Easter holiday. The live-in servants were here. Tobias and Vadonna. My stepchildren, Kendra and Wes Brannon, were both home from college. Dan’s personal assistant, Devon Markham was here, as was my assistant, Rene Burke.”
Rick Carson’s gaze met hers head-on. Neither of them blinked.
“Who has a key to the house and knows the code for the security system?” he asked.
“Really, Mr. Carson, now is hardly the time to—” Claire injected.
“No, no, it’s perfectly all right,” Jordan said. “If Ryan hires the Powell Agency and Mr. Carson heads the investigation, I’m sure he’ll ask far more personal questions than that. We might as well get used to being interrogated.”
“Oh, please, let’s not do this now.” Claire slid her arm through her husband’s and reached for his hand.
“Claire’s right,” Ryan said. “This can wait. Jordan’s near collapse.” He looked pleadingly at Jordan. “I’m sorry. I didn’t handle this very well.”
“No, let’s do this now.” Jordan returned her gaze to Rick Carson. “If there is any possibility that Dan was murdered, I want to know. Consider yourself hired, Mr. Carson.”
Rick glanced from Jordan to Ryan, then looked directly at Nicole.
“Am I to consider this a firm offer?” Nic asked. “If so, then is Powell’s working for you, Ryan, or for Jordan?”
“For both of us,” Jordan replied. “Unless Ryan has any objections.”
“Of course not,” Ryan said. “If you’d like for me to handle the details—”
“And Mr. Carson will be in charge of the investigation, right?” Jordan asked.
“Yes,” Nic replied. “Unless you’d prefer another agent, Rick will head the investigation and will have all of Powell’s resources at his disposal. If, once he begins the investigation, he feels that more agents are needed, he will make the request to you and Ryan for your approval before contacting headquarters. And since y’all are family—” she glanced pointedly at Claire—“Powell’s will offer a discounted rate for our services.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Jordan’s jaw tightened. “Spare no expense. You agree, don’t you, Ryan?”
“Yes, of course,” he replied.
“I’ll fax y’all the contract first thing in the morning and Rick will return and begin the investigation tomorrow,” Nicole explained, then walked over and offered her hand to Jordan, who accepted it immediately. “We’ll find out what happened to Dan. I promise. If he was murdered…” She squeezed Jordan’s hand, then released it and nodded to Rick. “We should get going.”
“I’ll see y’all out,” Claire said, then followed her cousin and Rick Carson as they left the study.
When she and Ryan were alone, Jordan stared at the new sofa which had replaced the one where only weeks ago she had discovered her husband’s lifeless body on Good Friday. On first awakening that morning, she had gone to his room, hoping to share the good news of her pregnancy with him while everyone else was still asleep. But when she saw that his bed had not been slept in, she suspected he had fallen asleep in his study the night before, as he occasionally did. Upon entering the study, she had called his name, but he hadn’t answered.
Now, with her eyes wide open, she could still envision the exact moment she realized Dan was dead. Before she noticed the bullet hole in his right temple, a single wound just above his cheekbone, she saw the dark red blood that discolored the gold silk cushion under his head and the gun that he clutched in his hand.
“Jordan?”
Ryan’s soft, smooth voice snapped her out of her thoughts and brought her back to the present moment.
He laid his hand on her shoulder. She heaved a deep sigh.
“I don’t know which I hate more,” Ryan said. “The thought that Dan would actually kill himself or that someone murdered him.”
Jordan shrugged off Ryan’s hand and walked away. Pausing as she reached out to open the door, she glanced over her shoulder. “If Dan was murdered, I want his murderer found and punished. But I do not want Dan’s good name sullied. I’ll hold you personally responsible for making sure of that.”
“God, Jordan, do you think I want anyone to find out the truth about Dan or about his relationship with you?”
“Then see to it that what was our personal business remains just that.” She narrowed her gaze, issuing her brother-in-law a gentle warning. “And from now on, no more secret meetings with the Powell Agency. I’m to be included in any discussions with Mr. Carson. Is that understood?”
She didn’t give Ryan a chance to reply. She’d made her point. Her brother-in-law’s motives had been admirable— he had wanted to spare her more anguish, especially today. But he had underestimated her as so many people did. Even after knowing her for several years, he saw only the façade that she presented to the world. Few people knew the real Jordan Harris Brannon Price. Sometimes, she wasn’t sure she knew herself. She had buried her true self beneath so many protective layers in order to survive that very little, if any, of the sweet, innocent, somewhat naïve girl she’d once been still remained.
Nothing in her life had turned out the way she had hoped it would. None of her youthful dreams had come true. The girl who had been engaged to Robby Joe Wright, who had longed to be a grade school teacher and the mother of at least three children, was only a vague, melancholy memory.
Twice before, fate had given her two choices: let tragedy defeat her or make her stronger. She had that same choice now. And if she knew nothing else about herself, she knew one thing—Jordan Price was a survivor.
Rick kicked back in Nicole’s Cadillac Escalade and relaxed as they flew along Interstate 75, halfway between Priceville and Chattanooga. The lady drove like a bat out of hell, slowing down only when absolutely necessary. Right now she was speeding along at 85 and the limit was 70.
“If you don’t want to head this case, I can assign someone else.” Nic cast a sidelong glance his way.
“What makes you think I don’t want the case?”
Nic chuckled softly. “Oh, maybe your obvious animosity toward Jordan Price for one thing. You can’t go into an assignment with an open mind if you’ve already found the client guilty.”
“You think I believe Mrs. Price killed her husband?”
“Do you?”
“Do I think the lady is capable of murder? I’m not sure. Maybe. She’s one cool customer.”
“Just because she wasn’t hysterical with grief today doesn’t mean she didn’t love Dan.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t,” Rick agreed. “But look at the facts. He was twenty years older, rich and powerful, and his death may not have been suicide. What’s the first rule of thumb in a case such as this?”
“Suspect the wife.”
“Right. And add to that scenario a young lover and you’ve got a recipe for murder.”
“You’re assuming that Jordan and Devon Markham are lovers,” Nic said. “I think you’re wrong about that.”
“Why do you think I’m wrong?”
“Woman’s instinct.”
Rick laughed. “Care to elaborate?”
“Yes, I think they love each other, but they’re not in love. They don’t look at each other or touch each other the way a couple in love does.”
“You can tell if a couple is in love from watching the way they look at each other?”
“I told you that my theory is not based on scientific facts, just good old-fashioned woman’s intuition.”
“Okay, say I buy your theory. That doesn’t rule out Jordan Price as a suspect.”
“Jordan is not a suspect. She’s our client,” Nic reminded him. “She hired us, remember?”
“Ryan Price hired us. She jumped on the bandwagon when she realized that we were going to do an investigation. After all, if she had put up a protest, it would have made her look guilty.”
“I think maybe I should put Holt Keinan or Maleah Perdue on this case.”
“Don’t.”
Nic gave him another sidelong glance, her gaze questioning him. “Give me one good reason why I should hand this case over to you, all things considered?”
“Because I want to be proven wrong,” he admitted. “I don’t want Jordan Price to be guilty.”
“Hmm…You surprise me. I never suspected—”
“That I find the lady intriguing? That I’m as susceptible as the next guy to a beautiful, vulnerable woman?”
“Okay, the case is yours,” Nic told him. “But if I get one complaint from either Jordan or Ryan, I’ll jerk your ass off the case and put another agent in charge. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am. I understand.”
By seven that evening, the house had cleared, the string quartet had left and the caterers had cleaned up and gone. Only family and close friends remained, only those to whom Dan Price had been far more than a colleague, an acquaintance, another good old boy, or just their senator. The numbness that had encompassed Jordan for the past few weeks, from the moment she discovered Dan’s body until this evening, began to fade. She wished that she could remain in the semi-frozen emotional state, acting and reacting with control and logic. But sooner or later, she would have to confront the truth and deal with her personal grief.
“Do you want us to stay here tonight?” Claire asked. “I can call my mother and ask her to either keep Michael until tomorrow or bring him here.”
Jordan tried to smile at her sister-in-law, but the effort failed. “No, please, you and Ryan should go home. You’re less than five miles away, if I were to need you. Besides”— she glanced over her shoulder into the parlor—“I have more than enough company.”
“How is Devon holding up?” Claire whispered.
“In public, he’s holding it together. In private…he’ll make it through this somehow. I’ll take care of him.”
“You always have, haven’t you?”
Jordan nodded. “Making plans for the baby will help us both. I just wish I’d had the chance to tell Dan…”
“You’re thinking that if he’d known about the baby, he wouldn’t have…that he might still be alive.”
Jordan’s gaze connected directly with her sister-in-law’s. “Claire, do you believe that Dan was murdered?”
Claire sighed heavily. “I don’t know. Ryan is convinced that Dan didn’t kill himself. It definitely wasn’t an accident, so that leaves only murder.”
“I can hardly bear the thought that Dan committed suicide, but the thought that someone murdered him is almost more than…” Jordan paused and took a deep breath. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it together, the family, those of us who loved Dan.”
Ryan came up to them and draped his arm around Claire’s shoulders. “Ready?”
“Yes, whenever you are.”
He looked at Jordan. “I’ll let Nicole know that Mr. Carson can stay with us during the investigation. And I apologize again for not consulting you first.”
“I understand your motives,” Jordan said. “And as for Mr. Carson staying with you and Claire—that won’t be necessary. We have more than enough room for him here, far more room than y’all have.”
“Are you sure?” Ryan asked. “I got the feeling that you didn’t especially like Mr. Carson.”
“I don’t know Mr. Carson. But if Nicole thinks he’s the best agent to spearhead the private investigation, then I have no objections. After all, she’s the expert, not you or I.”
“Believe me, I don’t want to think that someone murdered Dan, but it’s the only explanation that makes sense to me.”
“You mean that it’s the only explanation you will accept.”
“Yes, it is the only explanation I’ll accept,” Ryan agreed. “I refuse to believe that Dan would commit suicide, not even after being diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.” His face flushed with aggravation. When Claire leaned into him, he tightened his hold around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring hug. “I’m okay, honey.”
“You should both go home and try to get some rest,” Jordan said. “I’ll contact Nicole and inform her that we decided Mr. Carson will stay here at Price Manor during the investigation. And I’ll tell the others tonight that we have hired the Powell Agency to look into the circumstances surrounding Dan’s death.”
Claire offered her a wavering smile, and then she ushered Ryan out the front door. Jordan closed her eyes and prayed for strength. The very last thing she and this family needed right now was a private detective sticking his nose into matters that were highly confidential.
But if Dan really had been murdered?
“Jordan, are you all right? You’re as white as a sheet.” The country twang to Roselynne’s voice was quite distinctive. Her stepmother had been raised on a farm on Sand Mountain in the northeastern tip of Alabama and had lived a rather hard life before marrying Jordan’s father. Jordan had been twelve years old. Her own much-adored mother had been dead for less than two years and in the beginning, Jordan had despised Roselynne.
She turned to face her stepmother, a voluptuous blonde whose clothing tastes ran to animal prints, four-inch heels, and oversized jewelry. Today, even though her hair was teased and her makeup was heavy, she wore a simple black dress, albeit one that hugged every generous curve of her 58-year-old body. Trailing along behind Roselynne, her daughter Tammy paled in comparison, like a little brown wren alongside a red bird.
“I’m all right. Just tired.”
“Well, of course, you’re tired. Who wouldn’t be after the day you’ve had. Good God, I think the whole damn state of Georgia tramped through this house and probably half of Tennessee to boot.” Roselynne placed her fleshy arm around Jordan’s shoulders. “Are you hungry, honey?” She snapped her fingers at Tammy. “Go get your sister a plate of food and some iced tea.”
“No, please, I couldn’t eat a bite.” Jordan looked at her stepsister, their gazes meeting for a millisecond before Tammy bowed her head shyly and clasped her hands together in front of her.
“Lord help you, girl,” Roselynne hugged Jordan to her side. “You’re going to waste away to nothing.”
“I’d be more than happy to fix something for you,” Tammy offered, her voice not much more than a whisper.
Before Jordan could reply, Darlene Wright came into the foyer and eyed Roselynne and Tammy with her usual disdain. “Will you please leave her alone and stop nagging her. What Jordan needs is peace and quiet.” She shooed Roselynne aside. “Why don’t we go up to your room? I’ll draw you a nice warm bath and if you’d like, I’ll have Vadonna bring up a tray later.”
“Jordan doesn’t need to be alone.” Roselynne squinched her face in a sourpuss frown directed at Darlene. “She needs to be surrounded by family.” She emphasized the word family.
Jordan closed her eyes for a moment, wishing that just this once her stepmother and Darlene could put aside their personal differences. From the moment the two women first met, more than a dozen years ago when Jordan became engaged to Darlene’s son, Robby Joe, they had disliked each other. During the years since, nothing had changed. Each laid claim to being Jordan’s surrogate mother, each loving Jordan in her own unique way, each adding immensely to the burden of family responsibility that weighed heavily on Jordan’s shoulders.
Within those brief minutes when Jordan gathered her thoughts before she took charge of the situation, the other members of her family-and-friends entourage migrated from the two parlors into the foyer. She had hoped to find a few moments alone with Devon to tell him about hiring the Powell Agency before telling everyone else. But with all those eyes focused on her, everyone waiting expectantly for her to say or do something that would put them at ease, she decided that there was no point in putting off the inevitable.
“Please, everyone, I need to share some information with y’all,” Jordan said. “Afterward, I’ll need a few moments alone with Devon and then I plan to go to my room—alone—and I’d appreciate no one disturbing me tonight.”
“Oh, Jordan, honey, you shouldn’t be alone,” Roselynne said.
“Good God, Mother, leave her alone,” J.C. called from the other side of the foyer. “Jordan doesn’t need you smothering her with your show of motherly affection.”
“Johnny Cash Harris, my affection for your sister is genuine and you damn well know it!” Roselynne glared at her son, who stood lounging insolently against the doorframe, a glass of his usual scotch and soda in his hand.
“Will all of you please listen to what I have to say.” Jordan spoke louder than she had intended, but her tone and volume achieved the effect she had wanted. To a person, everyone quieted and looked right at her.
“We’re listening,” Devon told her as he came forward, pausing a few feet away, his sky-blue eyes focused on her.
Jordan cleared her throat. “Y’all know that the GBI coroner ruled Dan’s death a suicide.” She took a deep breath. “But I’m afraid there is some question as to whether or not it’s possible that Dan didn’t kill himself.”
When rumbling noises spread through the foyer, Jordan held up a restraining hand. “Please, hush…right now. Ryan and I have hired the Powell Private Security and Investigation Agency to conduct an investigation into Dan’s death. Tomorrow, a Powell agent, Mr. Rick Carson, who was at the funeral today with Claire’s cousin, Nicole Powell, will arrive here at Price Manor. Mr. Carson will be staying here during the course of the investigation. I want y’all to treat Mr. Carson as our guest and cooperate with him fully.”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying, that there is reason to believe that Dan was murdered?” Rene Burke, Jordan’s assistant and longtime friend voiced the question that no doubt was going through everyone’s mind.
“Yes.” Jordan held her hands open at either side of her body in a defensive stance, a silent warning for the others to keep their distance. She’d had as much sympathy and comforting today as she could endure. “Any questions or concerns you have will have to wait until tomorrow. I’ll see all of you in the morning.” She held out her hand to Devon. “I need to speak with you a moment. Alone.” Her gaze traveled around the room issuing a silent order to everyone present.
Within two minutes, the foyer had cleared, leaving Jordan and Devon completely alone.
“Hiring the Powell Agency wasn’t your idea,” Devon said, keeping his voice low and quiet.
“No, it was Ryan’s idea. I just happened to walk right into the middle of a secret meeting he and Claire were having with Nicole Powell and Mr. Carson.”
“Does Ryan really believe that Dan was murdered?”
“Yes, I think he does.”
“You realize what might happen, don’t you? If the investigator digs too deeply into Dan’s personal life—”
“I wish we could find a way to prevent him from finding out the truth,” Jordan said. “But I don’t know if that’s possible. I have the distinct impression that Mr. Carson already suspects something.”
“Suspects what?”
“I think he believes that I killed Dan or perhaps that you and I killed him because we’re lovers.”
Chapter 3 (#ud7bab574-08dc-508e-a925-f4b92dd9053b)
Robby Joe smiled and held open his arms. She went flying into his loving embrace, feelings of pure happiness enveloping her. He was the most important person in the world to her. He was the man she loved, her future husband, the father of the children she would have one day.
When she was with Robby Joe, she felt that nothing bad could ever happen to her again, that all the bad things in her life were behind her forever. Their June wedding was only a month away, an elaborate affair that his mother had insisted on paying for, even down to helping Jordan pay for a beautiful wedding dress that she otherwise couldn’t have afforded.
With her arms wrapped around Robby Joe’s neck and her head resting against his shoulder, Jordan sighed with deep contentment. Sunlight struck the one-carat diamond on her finger. Gazing at her engagement ring, she thought about the night this past October when Robby Joe had proposed. A starlit night, a carriage ride, a declaration of love.
“I love you,” she whispered in his ear. “I love you so much.”
“I love you, too,” he told her.
Jordan closed her eyes, savoring this moment of pure joy.
Suddenly, she could no longer feel Robby Joe’s arms around her, couldn’t feel his warmth and his strength.
“Robby Joe?”
When she opened her eyes, she found herself all alone. She held up her left hand. Her engagement ring sparkled on her third finger.
She heard someone weeping, soft, mournful sobs. Who was crying and why? Something terrible must have happened. Someone was very sad.
“Robby Joe, where are you? Do you hear that woman crying? Why is she crying?”
Jordan woke with a start, gasping for breath, her heart racing and perspiration dampening her skin. She opened her eyes and tossed back the covers. Her bedroom lay in semi-darkness, the only illumination coming from the mellow glimmer of moonlight shining through the French doors leading to the balcony. She swung out of bed, slipped her feet into the quilted satin house shoes in front of the nightstand, and reached for the satin robe lying across the antique cedar chest at the foot of the mahogany sleigh bed.
The pain radiating from deep inside her seemed as immediate and potent as it had the day she and Darlene buried Robby Joe. Twelve years ago.
Jordan unlocked the French doors, opened them, and stepped out onto the balcony that overlooked the back courtyard and the rose garden. After yesterday’s heavy rain, the earth smelled rich and fresh, and a hint of gold overspread the dark sky, a prelude to the approaching dawn.
She hadn’t dreamed about Robby Joe in a long time, not in years. But she supposed that Dan’s recent death and funeral had reawakened long-buried memories in her subconscious. Like so many of her memories, those of Robby Joe were memories of happiness that had ended in sorrow. Sometimes it seemed that her life had been little more than a series of tragic events.
Watching her mother dying a little each day with the cancer that ravaged her body would have been traumatic for anyone, but for a child of ten, it had been devastating. During that final year, she had been the glue that held her family together. She, a mere child, had been the one who had comforted her dying mother and consoled her grief-stricken father.
And then less than two years later, when Daddy had brought home a new bride, a woman as different from her own mother as night is from day, Jordan had withdrawn into a secret place inside herself. She had been polite to her stepmother, even though in the beginning she had intensely disliked the loud, flashy, bleached blonde. She had shared her room with her shy little stepsister without complaint and endured her teenage stepbrother, who at the age of fourteen, smoked, cursed, drank beer and claimed he was screwing their 17-year-old neighbor.
Meeting Robby Joe her sophomore year of college had changed her life. He was such a dreamboat: good looking, smart, kind and caring. And he came from a good family. They dated on and off for over a year, falling in love slowly. Their junior year, he had invited her home with him for Thanksgiving. Since Robby Joe was an only child, Jordan had been afraid his widowed mother would resent her, perhaps even dislike her. But nothing could have been further from the truth. As it turned out, Darlene Wright and Jordan’s mother had been sorority sisters at Ole Miss. And Darlene’s genteel, cultured persona reminded Jordan of her mother. By the time she and Robby Joe had become engaged, she thought of his mother as her second mom. They had far more in common than Jordan would ever have with her stepmother.
Everything had been so perfect, perhaps too perfect.
If only Robby Joe hadn’t died. How different her life would have been if—
Damn it, don’t do this to yourself!
She had stopped playing the “what if ” game years ago. She had given up all her foolish young dreams of passionate love, of children born from that love, of a happily-ever-after. Harsh reality had slapped her in the face repeatedly, knocking all romantic notions out of her head.
She had cared for Dan and had respected him. But she had not been in love with him. She had lost a dear friend and she would miss him terribly. But her heart wasn’t shattered. She didn’t feel as if she, too, had died. It wasn’t the same as it had been when she lost Robby Joe.
Jordan laid her open palms on her still flat belly. She was barely six weeks pregnant. Only her family and closest friends knew, but sometime soon, she would have to share her news with the world. She wanted this baby, who would be raised as Dan Price’s child and would be Dan’s heir. But she wouldn’t have to raise her son or daughter alone. Devon would be a father to the child, loving it for so many reasons.
Rick parked his Jeep Wrangler down the street from the Dade County Courthouse. After getting out, locking up, and stuffing his keys into the pocket of his jeans, he jaywalked across Case Avenue. He located the sheriff’s department without any trouble since he’d called ahead this morning and asked for exact directions. Trenton, the county seat, with a population of less than 2000, was located south of Priceville, so after he finished his business here, he’d have to backtrack a few miles.
Although the Powell Agency would do in-depth research during the course of this case, an agent always began an assignment with basic info. While compiling barebones information about Priceville and the Price family, Rick had looked up Sheriff Steve Corbett. The guy had been sheriff since the late nineties and had worked as a Trenton policeman for a number of years before running for elected office. He had a spotless reputation, was known as a straight arrow kind of man with a wife and two kids, and he taught Sunday school.
Rick had spoken to Sheriff Corbett personally on his drive from Knoxville. He had set up an appointment for 11:30 to meet with the sheriff and the two officers in charge of the investigation into Dan Price’s death: Lt. Nolan Trumbo and Lt. Haley McLain.
The minute he announced himself, he was shown into the sheriff’s office. A broad-shouldered, heavy-set man with a thick, dark mustache and military-short graying hair came from around the desk and offered Rick his hand. In his peripheral vision, Rick noticed a female officer immediately stand at attention.
Sheriff Corbett pumped Rick’s hand in a cordial, good old boy way. “Come on in, Mr. Carson, and meet Lt. McLain. I’m afraid Nolan Trumbo had a family emergency this morning. You’ll meet him later.”
They exchanged a strong cordial handshake; then Rick turned to the lieutenant. “Ma’am.”
She nodded and offered him a hint of a smile, responding in a friendly manner without being flirty. The deputy, probably in her mid-to-late thirties, filled out her uniform quite nicely, with curves in all the right places. She wore her light brown hair cut short with wispy curls framing her heart-shaped face.
“Take a seat.” Sheriff Corbett indicated a chair to the right of his desk as he sat down in his leather swivel chair behind the desk. “I’ve spoken to Ryan and assured him that this office will cooperate with the Powell Agency’s independent investigation.”
“We appreciate that,” Rick said as he lowered himself onto the metal folding chair.
“You understand that the Georgia Bureau of Investigation took over and it was their medical examiner who did the autopsy on Dan, so, in a way, my hands have been tied,” Corbett explained. “Officially, Dan’s death has been ruled a suicide, but with Ryan’s doubts and Haley here not a hundred percent convinced, I’m glad Ryan hired your outfit to dig around and see what y’all can find.”
“I’m working for Jordan Price, too,” Rick said. “She and her brother-in-law hired Powell’s.”
“Yeah, that’s what Ryan told me. He sure hated to upset Jordan so soon after the funeral.” Corbett made a clicking sound with his tongue as he shook his head. “It was hard enough for her to have to accept that Dan killed himself, but if Ryan’s right, it’s going to be even more difficult for her to know somebody murdered her husband. She’s been a pillar of strength for Ryan and Claire. I don’t know what they’d have done without her to step in and handle all the details. She’s a mighty fine lady and Dan was as lucky as a man could be to have had her for his wife.”
How could he reply to that comment? Obviously Sheriff Corbett had fallen under the Jordan Price spell. Rick glanced up at the deputy, who stood rigid and silent. “Do you agree with Ryan Price that his brother didn’t kill himself?”
She looked to the sheriff for permission to speak, and answered only after he nodded. “I have my doubts.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“The evidence points to suicide,” Lt. McLain said. “Senator Price’s right hand showed evidence of firearms residue and trace metal indicating he was holding the gun when it was fired. Also, the skin around the wound showed a powder tattoo, which indicates—”
“That the weapon was fired from no more than two feet away,” Rick completed her statement.
“That’s right.” She nodded. “The GBI ballistics lab did a test firing, and their findings, along with one other fact— that there was a contact wound and an impression of the muzzle on the senator’s head, indicating the weapon came in direct contact—suggest suicide.”
“What makes you think it wasn’t suicide?” Rick looked her right in the eye. “Nothing you’ve told me indicates that the senator’s death wasn’t—”
“You’re right,” she replied. “On the surface, the evidence points to suicide. But since this was my case, I made a point of thoroughly studying the autopsy report— even reading between the lines, if you want to call it that. A few things seemed a bit off to me, but I dismissed them as nothing but my investigator’s curiosity and possibly my imagination. But the more I thought about it, the more I knew I couldn’t let it go. So, I told Steve…uh, Sheriff Corbett and he agreed with me.”
“Exactly what seemed ‘off’ to you?” Rick asked.
“For one thing, the autopsy report showed arthritis in the senator’s hands, including the fingers of his right hand, which might have made pulling the trigger painful.”
“Painful but not impossible,” Rick said. “The evidence clearly showed that his finger pulled the trigger, right?”
“Right. He could have pulled the trigger. But there was something else—the senator’s trigger finger was broken and there was bruising on the top of his hand.”
Son of a bitch!
“You think that somebody grabbed the senator’s hand, forced the gun into it, and squeezed their hand over his hard enough to bruise his hand. And this person pressed down so hard when they forced his finger against the trigger that it broke the bones.”
“It’s all speculation,” Sheriff Corbett said. “But coupled with Ryan’s sincere conviction that his brother would never have killed himself, it’s enough to question if the senator might have had a little assistance in shooting himself.”
“The senator wasn’t a small or weak man,” Lt. McLain said. “Either he would have had to have been drugged or the person who forced the gun into his hand had to be quite strong. The autopsy showed no evidence of drugs, but I found evidence at the scene that he’d been drinking.”
“Apparently the GBI didn’t think this info was significant proof of murder or they wouldn’t have ruled the death a suicide.”
“Apparently,” Lt. McLain said. “And you do realize that it’s highly unlikely that we can prove it was murder.”
“But if we work under the assumption that it was murder and not suicide, we can look for a killer. In order to prove our theory, we will have to find the murderer and if possible, get a confession.”
“Then you believe I might be right to question the GBI’s Medical Examiner?” she asked.
“Yeah, I think there’s a good possibility you’re right and he’s wrong.”
“I know what we’ve got isn’t much,” the sheriff said, “but it’s a start. Anything you need from us, just let us know. You can contact Haley day or night while you’re on this case. She’ll be available.”
When Corbett glanced at her, Haley McLain said, “Yes, sir.” Then she looked at Rick. “Our department doesn’t have the budget or the manpower—or for that matter, the authority—to investigate further. The M.E.’s official decision was suicide, but if Powell’s can prove otherwise, then we can reopen this case.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve got a list of possible suspects, do you, Lieutenant?”
Haley cleared her throat. “No, I’m afraid I don’t.”
Rick figured by the nervous way she cut her eyes toward Corbett and then cast her gaze to the floor that the deputy did have a list, even if it was just a mental tally of who might have had a reason to murder Senator Daniel Price.
“I’d like to take a look at the case files, including the autopsy report,” Rick said.
Corbett nodded. “Haley, why don’t you walk Mr. Carson out and see that he gets copies of whatever he needs.”
“Yes, sir.”
Rick fell into step behind the curvy brunette, his gaze settling on the sway of her trim hips, noting how her slacks cupped her firm buttocks, not a panty line in sight. That meant one of two things: either she wasn’t wearing panties or she was wearing a thong. Either was damn sexy. And the thought intrigued him.
While they waited for the sheriff’s secretary to copy the files on the Price case, Haley offered Rick a cup of coffee, which he accepted.
“If Dan Price was murdered, who heads your suspects list?” Rick asked.
“I told you that I don’t have a—”
“A political adversary? A disgruntled constituent? The loyal assistant? The grieving widow?”
Haley eyed him over her half empty coffee cup and took a sip before responding. “The husband or wife is usually the chief suspect until he or she is ruled out. But from what I know about Mrs. Price, people believe she’s practically a saint.”
Rick grunted. “I guess I’ll find out for myself pretty soon. I’m going to be staying at Price Manor for the duration of this investigation.”
“And whose idea was that?”
“Mrs. Price invited me to stay.”
“And naturally you agreed.”
Rick shrugged.
“There’s something else I’ve heard about Mrs. Price.”
“What’s that?” Rick asked.
“That the lady can be very persuasive.”
She watched from the upstairs window while the Powell agent parked his Jeep in front of the house. They didn’t want him here. He was not welcome, but he mustn’t know that, just as no one must ever find out that Dan had told her about the Alzheimer’s diagnosis. How fortunate that he had trusted her so completely, enough so that she was able to plant the idea of suicide in his mind. If only he had followed through…Water under the bridge. She had to accept the reality of their situation and deal with it accordingly.
They would have to be polite to Mr. Carson; how ever, there was no reason for them to be friendly.
Ryan had done what he thought best and the rest of them had to live with his decision. She’d had no idea that Dan’s brother would refuse to believe he had killed himself, especially not after the medical examiner ruled his death a suicide. Why couldn’t he have accepted their findings? If he had, they could all move on and put the unfortunate incident behind them.
But now we have to be very careful not to give Mr. Car son any reason to suspect us. He has no proof that Dan did not commit suicide and unless we slip up and do or say something suspicious, Mr. Carson can investigate as long as he’d like and in the end, he’ll still have no proof. We didn’t make any mistakes that night.
Tobias met Mr. Carson in the middle of the drive way. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but after only a few moments, Tobias took the man’s suitcase and he returned to his Jeep. Apparently he was taking the vehicle around to the garage at the side of the house.
She stepped away from the window, turned, and walked into the bathroom. She studied her reflection in the mirror. Pale. Dark circles under her eyes. She was a woman in mourning. That’s what she wanted Mr. Carson to see.
Jordan met Tobias as he entered the foyer, a black suitcase in his hand. He paused and said, “Mr. Carson has arrived, Miss Jordan. I had him park in the garage. I told him that you would be waiting for him in your study.”
“Yes, thank you.”
“In which room should I put his things?”
“I had Vadonna air out Mr. Ryan’s old room. It’s one of the larger bedrooms and is quite masculine. I believe it will suit Mr. Carson, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am. It should.”
Jordan took a deep breath. She dreaded having a stranger living in her home almost as much as she hated the thought that he would be trying to prove that someone had murdered Dan. But by keeping Mr. Carson close, she would be able to oversee his investigation on a day-to-day basis and all information would come to her before it reached Ryan.
Instead of going directly to her study, she made a detour through the kitchen. Vadonna lifted her head and turned from where she was loading the dishwasher.
“Yes, ma’am, is there something you need?”
“I’d like a fresh pot of decaf coffee for two delivered to my study in about ten minutes, please. Until then, I don’t want to be disturbed. I’ll be speaking privately with Mr. Carson.”
“Yes, ma’am, coffee in your study in ten minutes.” Vadonna closed the dishwasher and hit the START button. “Oh, Miss Jordan, have you seen Mrs. Wright in the past few minutes? She was concerned that you hadn’t joined them for lunch and said she might take you up a tray.”
“No, I haven’t seen Darlene, but if you do, please tell her that I’m fine and I don’t want anything to eat.”
Vadonna nodded.
Jordan left the kitchen and made it halfway to her study before Rick Carson entered the house. She looked down the long hall to where he stood in the foyer, his head tilted upward as he scanned the open staircases leading to the second level. Yesterday, she had paid little attention to the dark-haired man who had attended Dan’s funeral with Claire’s cousin. But today, as she studied him while he was unaware of her presence, she realized that he was the type of man who wouldn’t ordinarily be overlooked. It wasn’t because he was tall, muscular and attractive in a rough and rugged sort of way, but because he exuded a raw masculinity that disturbed her as it probably did every woman he met.
Don’t just stand here gaping at the man. Meet and greet. Put a pleasant expression on your face and welcome him.
Jordan walked down the hall. Rick looked directly at her as he waited for her to come to him.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Carson.” She held out her hand. “Welcome to Price Manor.”
He hesitated for a millisecond before he clasped her hand. His grip was strong yet gentle and his hand was warm and hard. She was suddenly acutely aware of him in that age-old way a woman is aware of a virile man.
She jerked her hand away, hating how his touch had made her feel. But she managed to keep a pleasant expression on her face.
“Before I show you up to your room so that you can settle in, will you please come into my study for a few moments. I’d like to speak to you privately.” Jordan indicated the direction with a sweep of her right hand.
When she glanced at Rick Carson, she noticed that he was staring at her left hand. She looked down and realized the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the windows had hit her engagement ring and wedding band, making the diamonds sparkle with brilliant fire. She dropped her left arm to her side and pressed her palm against her thigh.
She knew what this man, this trained investigator, was thinking. The three-carat diamond flanked by two smaller half-carat diamonds and coupled with a diamond-studded platinum wedding band all but screamed rich widow. He no doubt believed that her husband had spoiled her with outrageously expensive jewelry. But the rings, as with the other jewelry Dan had given her, had been for show. At the time, she had tried to dissuade him from buying her the gaudy rings. But he had insisted, telling her that it would be expected for a man with his wealth to buy his second wife rings that would equal or exceed the value of those he had bought his first wife.
Jordan and Rick Carson exchanged heated glances before she turned and headed for her small study at the rear of the house. She didn’t look over her shoulder to see if he was following, but she knew he was. Not only could she hear his heavy footsteps, but she could feel his presence as if it were a shadow hovering over her. Watching her. Examining her.
The man made her nervous.
She didn’t pause when she reached the open door that led into her private sanctuary. This room had once been part of a back porch that had spanned the length of the house, but sometime in the past 50 years, a section of the porch had been enclosed and divided into two rooms. A glass encased sunroom filled with antique white wicker lay on the right side and her study on the left. A wall of windows faced the back courtyard. The ceiling and two walls boasted old beaded board painted a pale peach and what had once been the exterior wall was white-washed brick. She had decorated the room herself and had chosen each item, each piece of furniture, with great care. This was the only room in the entire house that was hers alone. Even though she had not shared a bedroom with Dan, her room, like the others in this old mansion, held priceless antiques and had been professionally decorated.
Jordan paused in front of the beige-and-brown striped settee, then turned slowly to face her guest. Their gazes clashed. Jordan swallowed.
“Please, take a seat,” she told him as she eased down onto the settee.
“Yes, ma’am.” He took the rust-colored easy chair across from her. “Is there some kind of problem?”
“I hope not, but if there is, I think we need to resolve it as soon as possible. Agreed?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ryan trusts you because you’re employed by Nicole and Griffin Powell and normally I trust Ryan’s judgment. But I need to be certain that I can trust you to keep any personal information you uncover during your investigation completely private and never reveal it to anyone other than Ryan and me.”
“I can assure you that, unless I uncover something that directly incriminates either you or Ryan in your husband’s death, all information will be kept in strictest confidence.”
Jordan’s heart stopped for a millisecond. Was this man saying what she thought he was? Was he implying that— No, surely he wouldn’t dare suggest that either she or Ryan might have been responsible for Dan’s death.
“Mr. Carson, are you actually suggesting that Ryan or I might have—”
“Look, let’s lay our cards on the table right now. I’m a straightforward kind of guy and since you’re paying for my services through the Powell Agency, you have a right to know that my only goal is to find out if your husband was murdered and if he was, who killed him. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand. That’s why Ryan and I hired you.”
When he leaned forward, Jordan instinctively withdrew, pressing back against the sofa, her body unconsciously trying to escape from the threat she sensed he posed.
“Then you won’t object if I ask you one simple question, will you?”
Her heart raced at breakneck speed.
“Ask your question,” she said.
He looked her square in the eye, his dark, penetrating stare pinning her to the spot. “Mrs. Price, did you kill your husband?”
Chapter 4 (#ud7bab574-08dc-508e-a925-f4b92dd9053b)
Rick could tell that his question had not surprised Jordan Price. She glowered at him with those cool blue-gray eyes, her expression an odd mixture of hurt and anger. But she stayed perfectly calm. Only the telltale clenching of her jaw and the hard glare revealed any emotion.
“Would you believe me if I told you that I did not kill my husband and that I cared deeply for him?”
“Cared deeply? Odd choice of words, Mrs. Price.”
“Honest choice of words,” she said. “I loved Dan, but not in some silly, youthfully passionate way. Our marriage worked for both of us. In our own fashion, we were quite content.”
“Another odd choice of words.”
“But once again an honest choice.”
“You’re not much for deep, passionate feelings, are you?”
She stared at him, a glimmer of something unsettling bubbling just below the surface, a hint of fury, a tinge of inner fire.
Don’t go there, Carson. Do not for one minute believe that she hasn’t used this feminine trick on other men. What she wants is for you to believe that you’re the one man on earth who could bring her dormant passion to life. Don’t be a fool. Don’t fall for her oh-so-smooth act.
He gave her a thorough once-over, not subtle in the way he appraised her physical assets. Yeah, so his manner was a bit on the crude side, not the least respectful. But in his book—the Rick Carson book of rules and regulations—a person had to earn his respect.
Jordan was willowy slender, but not skinny. Her hips rounded nicely and her breasts were large enough to fill a C-cup bra. He surmised her height and weight: five-four, a hundred and twenty pounds. Her creamy skin was like fine porcelain, unmarred by the sun or a tanning bed. She possessed an almost ethereal quality, like an angelic statue brought to life.
“You’re staring,” she told him, her voice slightly breathless.
Yes, he was. He was staring at a beautiful woman, but one he suspected was deadly. Was Jordan Price a black widow? Or was she what she appeared to be—sad, vulnerable, and in need of a strong shoulder to lean on?
Rick shook off the latter thought. He wasn’t here to give comfort. His job was to investigate a murder.
“Let’s say for the sake of argument that I believe you, that you didn’t kill your husband. Do you have any idea who did?”
She lifted her slender hand and smoothed back an errant strand of ash blonde hair. The thick mass was pulled loosely away from her face and secured with a silver clasp into a broad bun at the nape of her neck. Other than the ostentatious set of rings on her left ring finger, her jewelry was minimal, only a silver-and-gold watch and a pair of small, discreet diamond earrings.
Goddamn, why did she have to be so beautiful?
“I have no idea who killed Dan, if indeed he was murdered,” Jordan said. “He had political enemies, of course, but certainly none of them would have killed him.”
“What about personal enemies?” Rick tried his best not to skim his gaze over her body again, but his best wasn’t good enough. Sitting there in a pair of navy blue slacks and a white cotton sweater, she was hardly dressed for sex appeal, but he found her sexy as hell. When he returned his attention to her face, his gaze collided with hers.
“I don’t know of anyone who would want to kill Dan.”
He sensed that she might be withholding something. But why? Did she suspect Devon Markham and was protecting him because they were lovers?
“You do realize that if there was bad blood between your husband and another person, I’ll find out while I’m investigating. So, why don’t you save me some time and just tell me.”
She drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. He noted the rise and fall of her breasts. Damn it, he had to stop lusting after Jordan. First and foremost, it was hardly professional to have the hots for your employer. And second and probably even more important, it would be stupid to become emotionally involved with a woman he suspected of murder.
“Dan and his ex-wife, Jane Anne, were not the best of friends, but I don’t think she’s capable of murder.” Jordan paused for a moment and glanced toward the closed door to her study. “My stepbrother, J.C., and Dan have had a few arguments. J.C. is a gambler and last year, he got himself into deep debt. Dan helped him, but when he went to Dan again this year, Dan turned him down.”
Rick nodded. “And that’s it. His ex-wife and your stepbrother?”
“As far as I know. Dan was highly respected and people in general liked him. He was a man with a good heart.”
She clenched her teeth and swallowed. If she was faking emotion, she was doing a really good job. Unable to stop himself, Rick reached out and clasped her hand. Their gazes met and God help him, it was all he could do not to pull her into his arms to comfort her.
He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, then abruptly released her. “I’ll need office space of some type while I’m here.” That’s it, Carson, stick to Powell Agency business and steer clear of any monkey business. “Access to high-speed Internet, a fax machine, a copier and printer. Could that be arranged in whatever room you’ve—?”
“All of it is available in Dan’s study. He used that room as his home office. Feel free to arrange things any way you’d like. I’ll inform Tobias and Vadonna that the room will be yours to use while you’re here.”
“Are you sure you want me using your husband’s study? I mean, considering that’s where he died.”
Jordan clutched her hands together and moistened her lips with a quick, light lick.
Did she have any idea what kind of an effect she had on him? Sure she did. She was playing him and he’d damn well better not forget it.
“Yes, I’m sure you may use Dan’s study. I—I hadn’t been back in there until yesterday when I interrupted your private conversation with Ryan.”
“Everyone is a suspect until I rule them out, including you and Ryan. If you have a problem with that, I need to know now.”
She almost smiled. Her lips curved upward ever so slightly and he noted a faint trace of laughter in her eyes. “Please, call me Jordan. And may I call you Rick?”
He nodded. What sort of game was she playing? Please, call me Jordan. And may I call you Rick?
A soft rap on the half-open door interrupted them.
“Yes, come in, please,” Jordan said, as if she was expecting someone.
A plump, middle-aged woman entered the room, a silver tray in her hands. She set the tray on Jordan’s desk.
“Thank you, Vadonna,” Jordan said.
“Yes, ma’am. Will there be anything else?”
“No, thank you, that will be all.”
While the woman exited, Jordan indicated the silver pot and accessories on the tray. “Would you care for coffee?”
Rick shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
Jordan focused on him. “You laid your cards on the table, Rick, and asked me point blank if I killed my husband. Now it’s my turn to be brutally honest. I don’t like you. I don’t want you here invading my home and my grief, taking away my privacy and questioning my integrity. But if my husband was murdered, I want his killer found and brought to justice. I want you to do your job. However, if you do anything to sully Dan Price’s reputation, I’ll see to it personally that you regret it. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, ma’am. Crystal clear. Any skeletons your husband had in his closet will remain there.”
She sighed heavily. “I expect to be kept up-to-date on the investigation. For now, a daily report will suffice.”
The lady was accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed. The privilege of wealth—her dead husband’s wealth. “Will every morning right after breakfast be suitable for my daily report or do you prefer for me to report right before bedtime?”
“Every morning works for me.” A cool, succinct reply.
When she stood, he stood.
“I’ll have Tobias show you to your room. If there’s anything you need, please let us know.” As she walked toward the door, he followed. “Dinner is at seven.”
She opened the door and ushered him out of her study, effectively dismissing him. “If you’ll wait in the foyer, I’ll find Tobias.”
He watched her as she walked away. She moved with a fluid grace that came as naturally to her as breathing. Jordan Price’s kind of class couldn’t be learned. It was innate.
If he didn’t watch his step, the lady would have him wrapped around her little finger in no time at all.
Rene washed hurriedly, removing the smell of sex from her body, then not bothering to dry off, she yanked on her thong and pulled up her slacks. As she hooked her bra, she noticed a bruise on her left breast. J.C. liked to bite, not forcefully enough to bring blood to the surface, but hard enough to bruise. While slipping on her blouse, she returned to the bedroom and found J.C., still naked, sprawled in the center of the bed, a rakish smile on his too-handsome face.
“What’s the hurry, babe? Sister won’t need you this after noon. She’s got that stud Powell agent to keep her company.” J.C. chuckled.
“Will you shut up! What a thing to say, to imply that Jordan would find Mr. Carson sexually appealing and poor Dan not cold in the ground.”
“Dead’s dead. Dan’s as dead now as he will be six months from now. Besides, you and I know that she wasn’t getting any from old Danny boy.”
“Hush! You say the most awful things. Have you no respect for your sister and Dan?”
“I respected my brother-in-law’s power and money. And I respect the hell out of Jordan, frigid bitch that she is.”
“Get up, take a shower and get dressed,” Rene told him, hating herself for having succumbed to J.C.’s immeasurable charm once again. The guy could be a real jerk, but he was dynamite in bed. At least she thought so. Maybe the fact that she was halfway in love with him colored her vision.
“The only reason you think Jordan is frigid is because she can so easily resist you.” Picking up a comb from the vanity, she raked it through her short black hair. “For God’s sake, she’s your sister and you still hit on her. You’re a real ass, you know that?”
J.C. slithered out of bed like the snake he was, and stood to his full five-eleven height. Lean, lightly muscled, his skin appearing darker than it actually was because of his sandy hair and pale blue eyes, the man was gorgeous.
As his gaze glided over her sensually, he moved toward her, then reached out and jerked her up against him. “She’s my stepsister. Technically, if I screwed her, it wouldn’t be incest.”
“You’re a worthless shit.”
He grinned, rubbed his semi-erect penis against her and grabbed her butt. “Yeah, but I’m your worthless shit, aren’t I?”
Rene pulled away from him. “I’m not fool enough to think you’re exclusively mine. Not when I know you’ll fuck just about anything with a pussy.”
J.C. laughed. “Honey, you know you’re my favorite pussy.”
Ignoring him as he turned and headed for the bathroom, Rene inspected herself in the mirror. She needed lipstick. Otherwise, she’d do.
She hadn’t seen Jordan since breakfast this morning and it was past time she checked in with her boss. It had taken her a while to adjust to working for Jordan instead of with her. They had met when they’d been in college, both working two jobs to pay their tuition. A few years after graduation, Jordan had called her out of the blue and offered her a position at the Atlanta PR firm where Jordan had just received a promotion. They had remained friends ever since and when Jordan married Senator Daniel Price and needed a personal assistant, she’d offered her the job. She had snapped it up posthaste.
Halfway along the upstairs hall and lost in her thoughts, Rene almost ran over Darlene Wright, who stepped aside just in time to prevent being hit head-on.
“Good afternoon.” Rene spoke to the old biddy simply out of courtesy.
Turning up her sharp, birdlike nose, Darlene gave Rene a condescending glance. “Have you seen Jordan?”
“Not since breakfast. Why?”
“I know she was expecting Mr. Carson, the Powell agent, and I wanted to make sure she’s all right and that his arrival didn’t upset her.”
“Why should his being here upset her? After all, she hired him, didn’t she?”
Darlene snorted. “I suspect that Ryan gave her little choice. If he had simply accepted the medical examiner’s findings, it would be unnecessary for Jordan to suffer more than she already has.”
“You’re right.” As much as she hated to agree with this snooty old bitch, she, too, didn’t want to see Jordan put through the wringer. “But all we can do is stand by and try to help her as much as we can. And pray that Dan wasn’t murdered.”
“I’m sure he wasn’t. After all, who would want to kill a lovely man like Dan?”
“He was a sweetie, wasn’t he?” Rene sighed. “Our poor Jordan. She has the damnedest luck with men.”
Darlene gasped. “What a terrible thing to say!”
“Oh, crap. You know I didn’t mean anything by what I said. I just meant if anybody’s had enough tragedy for two lifetimes, it’s our Jordan.”
“If my Robby Joe had lived…” Her voice trailed off on a fragile, whispery moan.
Damn, she didn’t want to hear about Robby Joe being the love of Jordan’s life. Not again. Not today. If Darlene had spouted off that tale of woe once, she’d done it a million times.
“Look, if I see Jordan, I’ll tell her you’re looking for her.” Rene eased around Darlene and headed straight for the back stairs.
“She’s not in her study,” Darlene called. “And she’s not in her room.”
“Okay. Thanks for telling me.”
Two places not to look for Jordan: her bedroom and her study.
She’d search for her boss, and if she didn’t find her soon, she’d try calling Jordan on her cell phone. But she doubted that would do any good. Jordan’s phone was probably turned off to prevent taking unwanted calls.
After scouring the downstairs, even the kitchen and bathrooms, Rene stepped out the back door, pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her pants pocket and lit the cigarette. She had all but given up smoking, but in dealing with Dan’s death, she had reverted to an old bad habit for solace. Drawing in deeply, she sighed with contentment as she paced back and forth on the porch.
Suddenly she heard soft weeping. The sound came from behind the hedges that screened the small back porch from the patio surrounding the pool. She took another draw on the cigarette, stepped off the porch and walked out into the yard. As she turned the corner of the tall hedge-row, she felt a prickle of apprehension and sensed she was being watched. After looking right and left, she glanced up, her gaze scanning the second-story windows. A dark shadow stood at one of the windows.
Rick Carson stared down, but not at her.
She followed his line of vision and gasped. Holy shit!
Rene made a beeline to where Devon stood on the patio, Jordan wrapped in his arms. When she approached, Jordan lifted her head from Devon’s chest.
“Is something wrong?” Jordan asked.
“You two are putting on quite a show for our resident detective,” Rene told them. “Don’t look now, but Rick Carson is watching you two from his bedroom window and God only knows what he’s thinking.”
Chapter 5 (#ud7bab574-08dc-508e-a925-f4b92dd9053b)
Rick was definitely a fish out of water with this bunch. To start with, he was underdressed for dinner. But how was he to know the other three men would be in suits and ties? He supposed it didn’t matter. After all, he wasn’t really a guest, just another employee and he wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d been asked to eat in the kitchen with Tobias and Vadonna. As he entered the dining room, he ran his hand over his face. He should have shaved again since his beard grew fast and despite having shaved this morning, he already sported a five o’clock shadow. As for his clothes: he wore jeans, a blue chambray shirt and a lightweight brown twill jacket. He had dropped the only suit he owed, the one he’d worn to the funeral yesterday, by the cleaners on his way out of town this morning.
Passing his gaze over the room’s occupants, he immediately noticed that Jordan was missing. As he surveyed the large dining table set for ten, he got a whiff of an overly sweet but probably expensive perfume.
“Well, honey, you stick out like a sore thumb, don’t you?” The woman’s voice whispered in his ear. When he turned to his left, he glanced down at the overblown bleached blonde who was grinning at him as if she knew all his secrets. “Of course, some of us prefer our meat raw.” Her laughter radiated from deep in her throat, a husky, lifetime smoker’s rumble.
He cocked one brow and smiled at the woman who was a good 20 years his senior. “I believe we met briefly yesterday. I’m Rick Carson. I’m from the Powell Private Security and Investigation Agency.”
She took his hand in hers and held it. Her smile accentuated the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. Laugh lines. He’d bet this woman had done a lot of laughing in her life.
“I’m Roselynne Harris. Jordan’s mama.” When he looked at her questioningly, she amended her statement. “Well, stepmama, actually. I married her daddy when Jordan was twelve. But I love that gal as if she were my own, love her just like I do Tammy and J.C.”
“Tammy and J.C.?”
“My other kids. Jordan’s Daddy adopted my boy and girl. He was a good man. Jordan takes after him.” She pointed first to the petite brown-eyed, brown-haired woman standing in the corner alone. Sad-faced and plain, Tammy apparently sensed her mother’s scrutiny and turned to stare wide-eyed at Roselynne. “I named her after Tammy Wynette. You know she was the queen of country music. ‘Stand by Your Man’ was one of her big hits.” Roselynne’s gaze traveled around the room, lighting on the lanky, blond guy who was talking to the two teenagers. From their strong physical resemblance—dark hair and eyes, tall and slender—the teens could easily pass for twins.
“That’s my boy there.” Roselynne pointed at the blond. “That’s my J.C., my pride and joy. Named him after Mr. Country Music himself, Johnny Cash. I was on my way to a career as a country singer when I met my first husband.” She lowered her voice back to a whisper. “Got myself knocked up and married the good-looking, worthless bum.”
“It happens,” Rick said. “Who are the twins talking with your son?”
“Oh, them? That’s Kendra and Wes Brannon. But they’re not twins, just brother and sister. She’s eighteen and he’s twenty. They’re Jordan’s stepchildren.”
“Hmm…They were here Easter weekend when Senator Price died, weren’t they?”
“Uh, yeah, I guess they were. That was that weekend. We were all in and out. The kids were in from college. He goes to Auburn and she’s over at the University of Georgia, where Jordan went.”
“You said that y’all were in and out during that weekend. Do you know if everyone here tonight was in and out of the house when Dan Price died?”
Roselynne paused before she spoke, something Rick figured she didn’t do all that often. He had her pegged for the type who seldom wasted time thinking about what she said. “Devon is—was Dan’s assistant. He lived wherever Dan and Jordan lived. And Rene—” she pointed to the attractive brunette deep in conversation with Devon Markham “—is Jordan’s assistant and lives here, too, when they’re in Georgia. I believe she has her own place in D.C.”
“What about you and your children, where do y’all live?”
“Playing investigator?”
“Not playing, Mrs. Harris. Just doing my job.”
She grinned. “Call me Roselynne. Everybody does.”
Yeah, he’d bet everybody did. Every man she’d ever met. “Okay, Roselynne, so where do you—?”
“J.C. travels quite a bit, but when he’s in town, he stays with me part of the time. Tammy’s got some health issues, needs some looking after, if you know what I mean.” Roselynne tapped her right temple. “My girl’s high strung and nervous.”
Was that Roselynne’s motherly way of saying her daughter was mentally unbalanced?
“Jordan’s kids are away at college, but home to them is wherever Jordan is. They adore her, just like we all do.”
“I hear the lady is practically a saint.”
“As far as I’m concerned she is.” Roselynne’s eyes misted. “To know Jordan is to love her. Take my word on that. You won’t find a single solitary soul who’ll say one word against her.”
“I find that hard to believe. Even saints have enemies.”
“Not our Jordan,” Roselynne said emphatically.
“What are you telling this man about Jordan?” The woman who had just walked up in front of them glared at Roselynne, contempt in her gaze.
“Mrs. Harris was just telling me what a saint Jordan is,” Rick said.
The woman turned her sharp stare at him, her eyes small and dark. She looked down her thin, hawkish nose at Rick, dismissing him as an inferior being.
“I’m Rick Carson, the Powell agent that Mrs. Price and her brother-in-law hired to investigate Senator Price’s death.” Rick offered her his hand.
She glowered at his hand for a good half minute, as if considering the possibility that he was somehow contaminated. Finally she grasped his hand in a firm, confident shake.
“I’m Darlene Wright. Jordan’s—” she hesitated, as if uncertain of their relationship “—Jordan’s friend. Jordan’s mother, Helene, and I were sorority sisters and friends. I think of Jordan as my daughter and she thinks of me as her mother.” Darlene cast Roselynne a sidelong glance, her expression daring the other woman to contradict her.
“So it seems that Mrs. Price is a fortunate woman— she has two mothers.”
Before either woman could respond, the room fell into an instant hush and all eyes turned to the doorway. Jordan entered the dining room quietly. But her presence captured everyone’s attention, their reaction to her entrance as reverent as if she were the Queen of England, or maybe an angel come down from heaven.
How did one small, fragile woman command such devotion?
Had he pegged her all wrong? Was she the cold-hearted bitch who hadn’t shed a tear at her husband’s funeral? Was she the beautiful, vulnerable widow he instinctively wanted to comfort? Was she the adulterous wife who was having an affair with her husband’s assistant? Was she the much adored daughter to two women? Was Jordan Price really a candidate for sainthood or was she a heartless murderer?
Rick watched as, one by one, Jordan’s admirers swarmed around her. Although they showed concern for her, and it was obvious that they all cared about her and she them, Rick got an odd vibe. It was almost as if they fed off her, draining her of her strength and energy, absorbing her light into their darkness.
Hell, where had that weird thought come from? Absorbing her light into their darkness. Getting a little deep there, Carson. Next thing you know, you’ll need some hip boots to wade through the crap.
Jordan parted her sea of devotees and came to him, pausing when she was within arm’s reach. “Good evening, Mr. Carson…Rick.”
“Jordan.” He nodded.
“I hope your accommodations are satisfactory. If not—”
“The room is fine. Thanks.”
“I apologize for keeping y’all waiting,” she said. “I was on the phone with the governor. He wanted me to know that he’s appointing Gary Werneth to complete Dan’s term. He—” Her voice trembled. She closed her eyes and bowed her head.
Everyone in the room seemed to move forward, as if ready to envelop Jordan with comfort or catch her if she fell. But it was Kendra Brannon who actually wrapped her arms around her stepmother and hugged her.
Jordan returned the hug, then pulled free and announced, “Please be seated, everyone. I’ll let Vadonna know we’re ready for dinner to be served.”
During the hour and a half it took to complete the four-course meal, Jordan made a great effort to put everyone at ease. Rick had been placed between Rene Burke, Jordan’s assistant, and Darlene Wright. Both women treated him with cordial respect, but neither was actually friendly. Across from him, Tammy Harris spoke only when spoken to, and eyed Rick shyly when she thought he wasn’t looking. Jordan included Rick in the conversation whenever possible, as did her stepmother, Roselynne, but for the most part, everyone ignored him. They probably thought of him as the proverbial white elephant in the room. No one was openly rude to him, but he sensed a mixture of antagonism and curiosity from Jordan’s family and friends.
After dinner, as everyone rose to their feet and milled around the room, Jordan made her way to him, pulled him aside, and asked, “Would you join Devon and me in my study?”
“Sure.”
She motioned to Markham who stood halfway across the room, watching and waiting. She snaps her fingers and he comes running, Rick thought. How many poor bastards had been at her beck and call the way her husband’s handsome young assistant was?
Both Rick and Markham fell into step behind Jordan as she led them away from the others, down the hall and into her private sanctum. After closing the door behind her, she reached out and took Markham’s hand in hers. Rick looked from their clasped hands to their faces. Whatever this was about, they were presenting a united front.
“I want to clear something up right now,” Jordan said. “There is no need for you to try to find out what my relationship with Devon is. Don’t waste your time when it’s better spent trying to find out if Dan was murdered and if so, who killed him.”
“Are you ordering me not to—”
“Jordan and I are not lovers,” Markham said.
Yeah, tell me another one and maybe I’ll believe it. “If you say so.”
“Devon and I have known each other since we were children,” Jordan said. “He’s been my best friend for as long as I can remember, in grade school and in high school. But we are not lovers. We’ve never been lovers.”
“Okay. You’re not lovers, just good friends. I got it.”
“And if you’re concocting any other scenarios where Jordan and I killed Dan, then erase those from your mind,” Markham told him. “We both loved Dan. Neither of us would have ever done anything to hurt him.”
“Who do you think would have had a reason to hurt him?” Rick asked. “Mrs. Price claims that she can’t think of anyone who might have had a motive to kill Dan. She doesn’t think that the senator’s disgruntled ex-wife or her money-grubbing stepbrother is capable of murder. What do you think, Mr. Markham?”
Devon Markham’s movie idol handsome face flushed, but other than that he kept his feelings completely under control. “I agree with Jordan. The divorce was difficult for Jane Anne, but eventually she and Dan moved beyond what had happened in the past. I can’t say they were friends, but they certainly weren’t enemies. As for J.C.—he’s a charming good old boy, but—” Markham glanced toward Jordan and shrugged “—but despite the fact he is part of Jordan’s family, the man isn’t worth shooting. It would be a waste of good lead.”
“Well, thanks for the information,” Rick said. “Nobody wanted Dan Price dead, but the man’s dead nevertheless. Possibly, somebody went to a great deal of trouble to make his death look like a suicide.” Rick swung his right index finger back and forth, pointing at Jordan and Markham. “And you two are really good friends, but not lovers, so I shouldn’t waste time suspecting that either of you or the two of you together might have killed the senator for reasons unknown. Have I got all that right?”
“See here, Mr. Carson.” Markham released Jordan’s hand and confronted Rick face-to-face. “There’s no excuse for such insulting behavior. Jordan has endured more than enough these past few weeks without having to deal with attitude from you.”
Rick looked directly at her. Big mistake. She had that woeful look of a sad, vulnerable creature greatly in need of solace. And God help him, he wanted to give the widow a lot more than solace.
She laid her hand on Markham’s arm. “It’s all right, Devon. Really. I believe Mr. Carson…Rick…was simply playing devil’s advocate. He didn’t mean to be insulting.” She gave Markham’s arm a tender, loving squeeze. “Would you mind leaving us alone? Rick and I have a few other matters to discuss.”
Markham looked at her questioningly, evidently hesitant to leave her alone with Rick. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
Markham glowered at Rick, issuing him a silent but definite warning before he reluctantly walked out of the room.
The moment they were alone, Jordan closed her eyes and sighed.
Very effective. Sweet and helpless. And here I am, a big, strong shoulder to lean on. God, how stupid did she think he was?
“From here on out, take all the pot shots at me you want,” Jordan said. “But Devon is off limits. I can take whatever is dished out, by you, by anyone, by life in general. But Devon can’t. Dan’s death has hit him hard. I know someone like you can’t possibly understand another man being emotionally fragile, but that’s exactly what Devon is right now. If you hurt him, I’ll—”
“What do you mean, someone like me?”
“A tough guy. All macho rough and proud of it.”
“It seems I’m not the only one who’s made a gut reaction judgment call. Yesterday, I pegged you for a cold-hearted bitch and today you’ve decided that I’m a Neanderthal, all brawn with no brains or feelings.” When he moved toward her, she took one step back, then halted and stood her ground as he approached. When only a hairsbreadth separated them, he looked down at her and asked, “If you’re wrong about me, maybe I’m wrong about you.”
“Am I wrong about you, Mr. Carson?”
“Partially. Am I wrong about you, Mrs. Price?”
“I’ll leave that for you to decide when we become better acquainted.”
It was all he could do to keep his hands off her. The only problem was, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss her or shake the living daylights out of her.
After Rick left her study, Jordan locked the door and turned out all the lights, except the one on her desk. She walked to the windows and looked out into the darkness. A powerful, almost unbearable ache welled up inside her and for the first time since Dan’s death, she allowed the pain freedom. She stopped trying to control it, temporarily succumbing to her grief. Standing alone in the shadows, unable to cry, she trembled as the sadness engulfed her. She grieved for Dan, for a future that would never be, and for a past that she could not change.
She closed her eyes and moaned quietly. She wanted to scream, to rant, to curse the heavens. If it were within her power to go back a few short weeks and change things, would she? For her child’s sake?
How many more good years might Dan have had? One? Five? They would never know. His untimely death had saved all of them and at the same time had cheated them. Even if Devon could not see both sides of the issue, she could. If that made her the cold-hearted bitch that Rick Carson had accused her of being, then she accepted the condemnation. Life was never all black or all white; instead it was shades of gray. People were never all good or all bad, but myriad combinations.
Had life and circumstances taken away all that was pure and good and loving inside her? Had she truly become cold hearted, so much so that she could admit, if only to herself, that perhaps Dan’s death would free her from the lie her life had become?
Forgive me, Dan. Please forgive me.
We both deserved so much more than what we had to settle for, a marriage without passion, living two separate lives, one in public and the other in private.
Jordan slumped down into the nearest chair, bent over and covered her face with her hands, effectively muffling her moans. She wanted to cry, wished she could weep cleansing tears, allowing them to flow freely until she was spent. Crying would be such a relief. She curled up in the large, overstuffed chair, pulled the folded afghan from the arm, opened it, and wrapped it around herself.
Tomorrow morning she would face what lay ahead: the reading of Dan’s will, the private investigation into his death, Gary Werneth taking Dan’s place in the senate, holding together and providing for her hodgepodge of a family, bringing her child into the world without his or her father, accepting the fact that she was destined to live the rest of her life without love.
But tonight, she didn’t have to be strong and brave. She didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. She didn’t have to feel guilty or blame herself for what had happened.
All she had to do was survive one more night.
She tapped softly on the door. She was concerned about Jordan. Devon should have stayed with her. He had always been such a comfort to her, had been at her side through all her tragedies. But perhaps this time, Devon couldn’t give her what she needed because he, too, was grieving a personal loss. He had loved Dan, as they all had loved him. What would happen to them now that Dan was gone? Unless he had changed his will without informing anyone, Jordan stood to inherit a third of his vast fortune. If only she’d been able to tell him about the child she was carrying, he might have divided things up differently. Even now, it was possible that a clever lawyer could protest the will and claim a portion of Dan’s wealth for his son or daughter. But no matter what Jordan decided to do about the inheritance, there was no need to worry. Jordan would take care of her. She’d take care of all of them, just as she’d been doing for years.
“Jordan…Jordan, are you all right?” She tried the handle and found the door locked. Oh, my, that wasn’t a good sign. “Please, Jordan, let me in. We’ll talk. Please, Jordan…”
Silence.
“If you need anything…Oh, Jordan, I’m so very sorry about Dan.”
Why wouldn’t she answer? It wasn’t like Jordan to shut her out of her life this way.
“I love you, Jordan, so very much. You know I’d do anything for you. Anything.”
No reply. No response of any kind.
She pressed her forehead against the closed door and laid both hands, palms open, flat against the door frame on either side. “I’ll never leave you. I promise that you can depend on me as long as I live.”
Rick took the call from fellow Powell agent, Maleah Perdue, at nine-thirty that night.
“I’ll fax you everything we’ve got in the morning,” Maleah told him. “But I thought I’d fill you in on some information I found more than interesting.”
“Shoot,” Rick said.
“I’ve formed a theory based on the preliminary info we’ve gathered. Let’s see if you agree after I present the evidence.”
“Evidence? You sound like you’ve decided who our killer is.”
“We aren’t a hundred percent sure Senator Price was killed, are we?”
“Not a hundred percent,” Rick said.
“If he was murdered, at this point in the investigation, I’ll give you odds that the wife killed him.”
Rick’s gut tightened. “Based on what evidence?”
“You already know that Daniel Price was not Jordan Price’s first husband, don’t you?”
“Yeah. So what?”
“She was a widow when she married the senator, so now at the ripe old age of thirty-four, she’s been widowed twice,” Maleah told him. “Actually, she was almost widowed three times.”
“Explain.”
“When she was twenty-one, she was engaged to a man named Robby Joe Wright. Three weeks before their wedding, he died in a one-car accident. Then a few years later, when the lady was in her late twenties, she lost husband number one, Boyd Brannon, in a hunting accident, and now her second husband supposedly committed suicide. Odd, don’t you think, that three men who loved Jordan Price have died?”
“Are you saying you think she killed all three men?”
“Maybe. Possibly. I’m going to dig deeper and find out if she gained financially from Robby Joe Wright’s death or Boyd Brannon’s death. Want to bet me that she did? Let’s say fifty bucks?”
A sick feeling hit Rick in the pit of his stomach. “If I was sure the lady was innocent, I’d take you up on that bet.”
“But you’re not sure, are you? You’re wondering, just like I am, if maybe Jordan Price is a black widow.”
Chapter 6 (#ud7bab574-08dc-508e-a925-f4b92dd9053b)
Rick spent his first night at Price Manor alternating between a restless sleep riddled with odd dreams and episodes of wide-awake floor-walking. There was something about staying in this old mansion that didn’t set right with him. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but if he did, he would be on the lookout for the late senator. He’d sure like to ask Dan Price who had killed him.
A couple of times during the night, he could have sworn he’d heard footsteps in the hall outside his door. And then once, he woke up because he was dead certain he’d heard someone scream. But when he had checked the hall, it had been empty and silent. Apparently, he’d been suffering from some really weird nightmares.
It didn’t help that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what Maleah had told him about Jordan. The lady had lost two husbands and a fiancé in the span of twelve years, each man having met an untimely death. Okay, so it was possible that she was simply very unlucky in love. But what were the odds that a woman who hadn’t even celebrated her thirty-fifth birthday would have buried three men who had loved her?
While Rick shaved and showered, he listed all the reasons he should not jump to conclusions, reasons he should not assume Jordan was guilty of murdering her husband. Then he listed the logical reasons why she could have murdered three men. By the time he had dressed and was ready to go downstairs for breakfast, he had come to one conclusion—he should call Nic and ask her to replace him on this assignment. The bottom line was simple: he suspected his employer of murder. Before he phoned Nic, he needed to speak to Jordan. She would be expecting his first report this morning and the least he could do was confront her with the information and give her a chance to defend herself.
Once downstairs, Rick caught a glimpse of Tobias as he entered the dining room.
“Good morning, Mr. Carson.” Tobias nodded, then carried a silver coffee pot into the dining room and placed it on a silver tray atop the sideboard.
Rick paused in the open doorway. “Has Mrs. Price come down yet?”
“Yes, sir. Miss Jordan is in her study.”
“Thanks.”
Rick checked his wristwatch as he headed toward Jordan’s study at the back of the house. Seven-thirty. Apparently, she was an early riser, just as he was. Except for the servants, the downstairs appeared to be empty of other inhabitants. He wondered just how many people had actually spent the night here and how many had finally made their way home.
When he neared Jordan’s study, he heard voices coming from inside, but he couldn’t make out the conversation. The door stood ajar, more than halfway closed, so he paused and listened without making his presence known.
“You don’t have to do this today,” a female voice said.
Rick thought it sounded like Rene Burke, but he wasn’t a hundred percent sure.
“The sooner the better,” Jordan said. “The longer we wait, the more speculation there might be about who the father of this child is.”
Child? What child?
“You make a valid point,” Rene replied. “I’ll put together a press release, that is, assuming you don’t want to make the announcement yourself.”
“No, I think it would be in poor taste for me to speak publicly so soon after Dan’s death. But please express how happy I am about the baby and how much Dan and I wanted this child.”
The news hit Rick like an anvil dropped on his head. Jordan Price was pregnant!
“Oh, sweetie, if Dan had only known…,” Rene said. “At least this way, you’ll always have a part of Dan with you. We all will, all of us who loved Dan. And anyone who knows you would never question your child’s paternity.”
“Thank you for saying that,” Jordan told her assistant. “From now on, the most important thing in my life is my child. He or she comes first. I will do whatever it takes to protect my baby and give him or her the best life possible, even without Dan here to help me.”
“He will have Devon and his Uncle Ryan for male role models and all of us to love him. And he’ll grow up knowing what a fine man his father was.”
After knocking on the partially closed door, Rick swung it open all the way. “Am I interrupting anything? If so, I can come back later.”
The two women turned quickly to face him, both obviously surprised by his intrusion.
“No, please, come in,” Jordan said. “Rene was just leaving.” She turned to her assistant. “I’d like to read over the press release before you contact the media.”
“Certainly.” Rene offered Rick a forced smile as she walked past him and out of the room.
“Would you care for coffee?” She indicated the carafe on her desk. “I’m afraid it’s decaf. Or if you prefer hot tea, I can—”
“Coffee’s fine, but it can wait. I’m here, as promised, to report to you.”
“Yes, of course. I suppose I wasn’t expecting anything this soon.”
Rick looked her over, from head to toe. She didn’t look pregnant. No tummy bulge, not even a slight one. She was slender and pale. Too pale. Weren’t pregnant women supposed to glow?
How could he confront a pregnant woman with his suspicions? He had already asked her if she’d killed her husband and she’d told him that she hadn’t. What if he pointed out that she’d lost two husbands and a fiancé and implied how unlikely that all three died of natural causes and it upset her? He didn’t like the idea of upsetting Jordan, especially considering her condition.
“Look, I think you should know that I overheard your conversation with Ms. Burke,” Rick confessed. “At least enough to know that you’re pregnant.”
Sighing, she nodded slowly. “My pregnancy isn’t a secret. Everyone in my family and close circle of friends already knows. And after the press release later today, the whole world will know.”
Rick glanced at her flat stomach. “You’re not showing. You must not be very far along.”
“About six weeks.”
“And the senator didn’t know you were pregnant?”
“No. I had planned to tell him that morning when I found him in his study.”
“You want this child, don’t you? I heard you say that your child was the most important thing in your life.”
“We wanted a child. Dan and I. I just wish he could have…” She swallowed hard.
Rick gritted his teeth. She seemed so sincere, so genuinely sad.
“Dan would have been such a good father. He was a good man. Kind and caring. He would have loved this child so much.”
When she unconsciously laid her hand over her belly in such a gentle, protective movement, Rick sensed how much this child meant to her. She wasn’t faking the depth of her feelings. And if she loved his child, didn’t it stand to reason that she had loved Dan Price?
“Look, is there anything I can do for you?” Rick took a tentative step toward her, desperately wishing he could erase the pain he saw in her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Carson…Rick.” Jordan tried to smile. “I’m all right. Really I am.” She changed the subject quickly. “You’re here to give me a report, aren’t you?”
He watched while she poured herself a cup of decaf from the carafe on her desk. She took a sip of the black coffee.
“I really don’t have anything to report,” he said. “Nothing you don’t already know.”
She took several more sips of coffee, then set the cup and saucer on her desk and glanced at Rick. “I sense there’s something you wanted to say to me.”
“It can wait.”
“Please, won’t you sit down? Have some coffee and tell me whatever it is.”
His experience with pregnant women was very limited. He’d never been married or fathered a child. His sister was older than he, so he hadn’t seen his own mother pregnant. And after devoting most of her life to her career, his sister had married only a couple of years ago and she and her husband had adopted a ten-year-old last year.
Rick didn’t sit. Instead, he walked over to Jordan and looked her right in the eyes. “I received a report from Powell’s last night.”
“A report on what?” she asked, her expression one of total innocence.
“A report on you.”
Her expression didn’t alter except for a slight flickering of her eyelashes that hinted surprise. “You requested a report on me?”
“It’s standard procedure. I’ll get one on Ryan, too, probably later today.”
“Did you find anything of interest in the report, something that adds to your suspicions?”
“You’ve had several tragedies in your life.”
“I’d say that’s an understatement.”
He suspected that she was forcing herself not to break eye contact, to continue looking directly at him. “It’s no secret that Dan is the third man that I’ve loved and lost. My fiancé died in a one-car accident shortly before we were to be married. I was twenty-one. My first husband was killed in a hunting accident when we’d been married only two years. And now, Dan…Neither Robby Joe nor Boyd was murdered, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Murder can be made to look like an accident,” Rick said and when her face went chalk white and her eyes widened in shock, he wished he’d kept that assessment to himself.
Jordan slumped into the chair behind her desk, her movements indicating that she could barely manage to stand on her own two feet. Rick took several tentative steps toward her, concerned about her welfare.
She held up a restraining hand. “No, please. I’m all right. Just shocked that you would even consider such a thing was possible.”
“Look, I was hired for a specific reason and I have to consider every aspect of the situation, which means looking into the past. The senator’s past, your past, and the past of anyone who had an opportunity to kill Dan Price.”
“I know you’re just doing your job, but the very idea that Robby Joe’s death or Boyd’s was anything other than an accident is ludicrous.”
“Look, I’m sorry if I upset you, especially since you’re pregnant,” Rick said. “I think maybe we should discuss Powell’s sending in another agent to replace me, all things considered. I’m probably not the best man for this job.”
“No! I don’t want another agent,” Jordan said vehemently. “I—I don’t want to start all over again with someone else. You’re here. You’re qualified. If you weren’t, Nicole wouldn’t have sent you. Am I right?”
“Yes, ma’am, you’re right. But I thought that since—”
“I’m not offended that you think I might have killed Dan. In your place, I might question my innocence, too, especially after learning that Dan was not the first man in my life who died unexpectedly. But I didn’t kill Dan anymore than I killed Robby Joe or Boyd. I’m not afraid of the truth and the truth is that Robby Joe’s death and Boyd’s death were terrible accidents. And if Dan really was murdered, I’m not his killer.”
Damned if he didn’t believe her. At least for the moment. She looked so sincere, sounded so sincere, and sent out strong I’m-sweet-and-innocent vibes. Everything in him wanted to believe her without question. He wanted her to be just what she seemed, a grieving, pregnant widow who really had cared deeply for her husband and wouldn’t have harmed a hair on his head.
Maybe he should stick around, stay on the job and prove to himself that Jordan was innocent of any wrongdoing. Wasn’t that what he wanted?
“Will you please reconsider leaving, Mr. Carson? Please stay and continue to investigate Dan’s death.” She gave him a pleading look that had him all but dropping to his knees and begging her to forgive him for ever doubting her. Damn, she was good. Either that or he was far too susceptible to her charm.
“Yeah, sure, I’ll consider staying, if that’s what you really want.”
“It’s what I want, someone impartial who will find out the truth about Dan’s death.” She offered him a fragile, seductive smile.
Hell, he was reading far more into her delicate smile than she intended. He wanted it to mean something personal. It didn’t and he damn well knew it didn’t.
You can’t stay here. You’re too vulnerable to Jordan’s charm to remain impartial. You know she could be guilty of three murders, but you want her to be innocent because you want to screw her.
There, he’d said it. He had admitted that he was thinking with his dick and not his brain. And he suspected he wasn’t the first man who’d let his libido take over and his good judgment go out the window where Jordan Price was concerned.
Before he had the chance to refute his agreement to stay on as the Powell agent investigating her husband’s murder, they both heard a loud ruckus, the sounds of shouting, screaming and running feet coming from somewhere nearby.
What the hell?
Jordan shot up out of her chair and muttered under her breath, “Oh, Lord, what now?”
When they both headed toward the door, Rick falling into step behind Jordan, Tammy Harris came flying into the room, a wild-eyed expression on her face. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she rushed to Jordan. She wrung her hands together, all the while gulping for air.
Jordan grabbed Tammy’s trembling hands. “What’s wrong?”
“Help, please help,” Tammy blurted out, her voice shaky.
Jordan squeezed Tammy’s hands. “Calm down. Everything will be all right. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
A loud thump followed by another and then another gained their attention. Tammy glared through the open doorway, sheer terror in her eyes.
“You have to stop them before they kill each other,” Tammy finally managed to say on one long, hurried breath.
“Who?” Jordan asked.
“J.C. and Wes,” Tammy told her. “They’re fighting.”
“What happened? Why are they fighting?”
“Stop them, please.” Tammy jerked her hands free of Jordan’s tenacious hold. “I can’t stand it. I can’t. You have to stop them before they kill each other.”
“Okay, okay. Just calm down.”
Kendra Brannon’s appearance halted Jordan outside her study.
“Jordan, you have to do something,” Kendra said. “Wes and J.C. are fighting and it’s all my fault. J.C. was sort of flirting with me and Wes went berserk. You know how protective he is. He thinks J.C. is too old to be flirting with me.”
“Damn!” Jordan huffed loudly. “J.C. is too old to be flirting with you. But Wes shouldn’t have started a fight over it. Come with me. Now.” Jordan glanced from Kendra to Tammy. “We’ll put a stop to things before someone gets hurt.”
Kendra eyed Rick, who stood inside the study. “Shouldn’t he come, too? He looks like he could handle J.C. and Wes.”
“Want me to take care of this for you, Mrs. Price?” Rick asked, dreading the thought of breaking up a fist-fight.
“Please, come with us,” Jordan told him. “But let me handle things. I’m used to playing referee and peacemaker in this family.”
By the time they made their way to the scene of the brawl, the fight that apparently had begun inside the house had moved out onto the veranda. Just as Jordan opened the front door, Wes knocked J.C. down the steps and onto the lawn.
“I want you two to stop this stupid fighting right this minute!” Jordan shouted in an I-mean-business, authoritarian voice.
J.C. came up from the ground swinging, his face bloody and sweat dampening his silk shirt. Taking a stand, Wes prepared to defend himself, a look of pure hatred on his face.
“Enough!” Jordan ran across the veranda and down the steps.
Shit! She was heading straight toward the two battered fighters and neither one seemed aware of her presence.
Don’t do it, honey. Don’t step between them.
But that’s exactly what Jordan did, walked right between J.C. and Wes, with both men ready to continue clobbering each other. Rick went after her, but didn’t reach her in time to prevent her from putting herself in harm’s way.
“Don’t interfere, Jordan,” Wes said. “I’m going to beat the crap out of him, so help me God. After I finish with him, he’ll think twice before he touches Kendra or any other girl young enough to be his daughter.”
“Oh, for goodness sake, Wes, all he did was kiss me,” Kendra shouted. “And I didn’t try to stop him!”
Jordan glowered at J.C. “Leave. Now. Go home and stay there. We’ll talk later.”
J.C. wiped the blood from his mouth. He smirked at Jordan. “Just keep the kid away from me.” He glanced at Kendra. “Hell, keep both of those brats away from me.”
When he started to walk off, Wes lurched for him, but Jordan grabbed Wes by the shoulders and shook him. J.C. meandered away, around the house, whistling to himself. Wes threw off Jordan’s hold, obviously intending to go after J.C.
In his peripheral vision, Rick noted that the entire house-hold had come out on the veranda—Roselynne, Darlene, Rene, Devon and both servants—just as Wes shoved Jordan’s hands off his shoulders. Rick realized that Wes had pushed Jordan harder than he’d intended and she was falling backward. Only when Rick dashed straight to her and caught her just before she hit the ground did Wes realize what he’d done. That realization stopped him cold.
“Oh, God, Jordan, I’m sorry,” Wes said.
Rick swooped a dazed Jordan up in his arms, something primeval inside him wanting to protect her, needing to keep her safe from this swarm of vultures hovering around her.
Chapter 7 (#ud7bab574-08dc-508e-a925-f4b92dd9053b)
Jordan grabbed hold of Rick by instinctively throwing her arm around his neck. Momentarily stunned by what had happened, she stared into his eyes. Their gazes connected and instantly locked. Knowing she had to remove herself from such intimate contact with this man, she inhaled and exhaled a deep, steadying breath before saying, “Please, put me down.”
Rick hesitated for a split second, then eased her onto her feet.
“Thank you,” she mouthed the words quietly.
He didn’t get a chance to say anything before the adoring Jordan Price tribe swarmed around her, each person professing their concern. But Devon Markham cut through the other groupies and all but pushed Rick aside.
“Are you okay?” Devon asked, genuine worry marring his handsome features.
“I’m fine.” She patted him on the arm and then turned to the others. “The show’s over. Everything is going to be fine. Please, all of you, go back inside.”
Tobias and Vadonna returned to the house immediately, while no one else hurried back inside; instead they began mumbling among themselves.
“Wait up, Wes,” Jordan called to her stepson. “We need to talk.” She looked from Wes to his sister. “You, too, Kendra. Both of you go sit down. I’ll be there in a minute.” She turned to Rick. “Please, go eat breakfast and get your day started. I have to do my job as their stepmother and sort things out with them before I send them both back to school.”
“I don’t mean to interfere, but shouldn’t you confront your stepbrother about making advances to a teenager first?”
Jordan grimaced. “No, the children first. I’ll deal with J.C. later.”
Rick nodded, then left her to handle the family situation on her own. She squared her shoulders and walked across the lawn, up the steps and onto the veranda. Wes sat in one of the big wicker chairs, his legs spread, his shoulders and head drooped, and his hands clutched together between his knees. Kendra paced back and forth. Pausing when Jordan approached, she looked at her in a wide-eyed, pleading manner.
“Wes overreacted to something that was none of his business in the first place,” Kendra said.
Pointing her index finger in Kendra’s face, Jordan gave her a stern, disapproving, maternal glare. “J.C. kissed you, right?”
“Yes.”
“Did anything else happen?”
“No.”
“Has he kissed you before?”
“Once.”
“Kendra Diane Brannon, you are eighteen years old. J.C. is thirty-six. Do the math. He’s twice your age and has had five times more experience. He is a sweet-talking womanizer who uses and discards women as if they were Kleenex.”
“But—”
“No buts,” Jordan said. “Whatever he’s said to you, whatever you think you feel for him, forget it.”
“You’re not being fair,” Kendra whined, reminding Jordan of just how immature her stepdaughter was.
Maybe it was her fault that Kendra still saw the world through rose-colored glasses, but she had so wanted to protect her from life’s harsh realities as long as possible. When Jordan had married Boyd, Kendra had been a shy, starved-for-motherly-affection little girl of ten, the same age Jordan had been when she’d lost her own mother. She had reached out to Kendra immediately, offering her the love and attention she had so desperately needed.
“I’m being sensible. I am protecting you because I love you. And in case you have any doubts, let me spell this out for you. This subject is closed. After breakfast, I want you to go upstairs and pack your bags. You’re going back to university today instead of this weekend.”
“Oh, Jordan, do I have to…” Kendra stopped mid-sentence, heaved a deep, overly dramatic sigh and said, “Okay, I’ll go.”
“You know I’m doing what I believe is best for you under the circumstances.”
“Yes, ma’am. I know.”
“Go on inside. I need to talk to Wes. Alone.”
As soon as Kendra left, Jordan turned to Wesley. He wouldn’t look at her. Instead, he stared at the floor. Even though he was now a young man of twenty, broad shouldered and six feet tall, she would always see him as he’d been when she first married Boyd, a hostile twelve-year-old who was determined to hate his new stepmother. It had taken her a year of hard work to win him over and make him realize that she didn’t expect to take his mother’s place, that she wanted her own place in his life and his heart.
“Look at me, Wes.”
He hazarded a quick glance up at her.
“You should have come to me when you saw J.C. kiss Kendra and let me handle the problem. All you achieved by physically attacking J.C. was to bruise and bloody both of you and create a hullabaloo within the family.”
“Yeah, well, it did more than that,” Wes told her. “It made me feel damn good to hit him.”
Barely managing not to smile, Jordan laid her hand on Wes’s shoulder. “I suppose it did. There have been a few times when I’ve wanted to knock some sense into J.C.”
“I don’t see how you can stand having that sleazeball around. He’s worthless and everybody knows it. Even Devon, who likes just about everybody, has no use for J.C.”
“J.C. is my stepbrother. He’s family.”
“Have you considered the possibility that he killed Dan?”
The question genuinely startled Jordan. “No, I haven’t because despite all of J.C.’s faults, he’s not capable of murder.”
“Yeah, he is,” Wes said. “Everyone is. He kept hitting up Dan for money and when Dan didn’t come through the last time, J.C. got really pissed. What if he thought by killing Dan, you’d inherit and—”
“J.C. did not kill Dan. We don’t even know for sure that Dan was murdered.”
Wes shrugged. “Just don’t trust him, okay? You’re too smart for that, but at the same time, you’ve got a really soft spot when it comes to taking care of friends and family.” Wes rose to his feet. “Please, be careful around him.”
“I appreciate your concern.”
“I’ll go pack, too.” Wes grinned. “I figure you’ll want me to leave when Kendra does.”
Jordan slipped her arm around her stepson’s waist. “It’s for your own good. You two have missed more than enough school this semester and I know y’all stayed on because you’re concerned about me. Don’t be. I’m going to be all right. Devon’s here, as is Roselynne and Darlene, not to mention Rene.”
“Gee, that makes me feel a lot better,” he said sarcastically. “Devon’s a basket case since Dan died, and Roselynne and Darlene both need keepers, so Rene’s the only person left you can actually count on. Her and that Carson guy. I know you don’t like him, but I have a feeling he’s okay.”
“Yes, I have the same feeling. If I can ever convince him that I’m not some black widow who’s killed two husbands and a fiancé—”
“You’re joking? He can’t possibly think you whacked Dan or that you killed Dad or—”
“It’s his job to find out the truth,” Jordan said. “And that’s what I want, what we all want.”
Wes hugged her and kissed her cheek. “If you need me, I’ll just be a phone call away. I wish…”
“What do you wish, honey?”
“I wish you had someone to take care of you the way you take care of all of us. More than anyone I know, you deserve to be happy.”
A knot of emotion tightened Jordan’s throat, making it impossible for her to respond. She and Wes exchanged a tender mother-son moment that needed no words.
Tammy yanked open the front door to the home she shared with their mother and marched into the living room. J.C. took a puff on his cigarette, then blew out a spiral of smoke. His little sister looked spitting mad.
“What’s up, buttercup?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood.
“How could you? Are you out of your mind?”
“Me? Nope. You’re the sibling with a few loose screws, not me.” He twirled his index finger beside his temple to indicate she was crazy.
Tammy bristled at his attempt to be funny. “Kendra is Jordan’s stepdaughter so that makes her off limits to you.”
“No woman is off limits to me if I want her and believe me I want Kendra. I’d like to pop her cherry if one of those college boys hasn’t already done it. And if they have, then I could show her the difference between being diddled by a boy and fucked by a man.”
“You’re disgusting. You know that, don’t you? Mama should have put you in a sack and drowned you in the river when you were born.”
J.C. chuckled, then took another draw on his cigarette. “Sugar, you’re the one who should have been put down like a rabid dog. You’re nothing but a burden on Mama and on Jordan.” He placed his cigarette in the ashtray on the side table. “Poor, pitiful, little Tammy.”
She came at him with teeth bared and claws out, lunging on top of him like the wild creature she was. She managed to rake his cheek with her fingernails before he manacled both of her wrists and forced her to her knees.
“You’re hurting me,” Tammy cried.
He increased the pressure, making her scream for mercy.
“Johnny Cash Harris, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Roselynne yelled as she came through the door. “For pity’s sake, let her go.”
He loosened his tight hold, but didn’t release his sister. “She’s gone loco again. If I hadn’t grabbed her, she’d have done worse than scratch my face. She’s crazy and it’s time you put her away someplace where she can’t kill anybody else.”
Roselynne stomped toward them, hellfire and damnation in her eyes. J.C. jerked Tammy to her feet as he stood and then he shoved her toward their mother. Tammy went running into Roselynne’s open arms.
Soothing her child with comforting strokes, she murmured endearments. “Now, go to the bathroom and wash your face while I talk to J.C.”
“Yes, Mama,” Tammy said, meek as a lamb.
J.C. had never understood how their mother could so easily control Tammy with a few words and a tender touch. The only other person who came close to controlling his crazy little sister was Jordan. But Jordan had a way with people in general, not just Tammy.
As soon as Tammy disappeared into the bathroom, their mother turned on him. “Damn it, boy, what am I going to do with you? Manhandling your sister is not allowed. How many times do I have to tell you? And as for the other, about her killing somebody—I don’t want to hear you spouting off such nonsense ever again. You hear me?”
“It’s not nonsense and you know it. Don’t tell me that it hasn’t crossed your mind that Tammy might have killed Dan.”
“Shut your mouth! Nobody’s proved that Dan didn’t kill himself.”
“Ryan Price thinks Dan was murdered. And so does that Powell agent who’s snooping around.”
“Everybody’s got a right to their opinion. Just because Ryan can’t accept the fact that Dan committed suicide doesn’t mean he didn’t do it. And Rick Carson is being paid to be suspicious, to snoop around and find out what’s what.”
J.C. laughed. “I’d like to be a fly on the wall when he unearths the truth about Dan and Jordan’s marriage.”
“Whatever he finds out, he’ll keep to himself. It’s a rule of some kind that private eyes have.”
“Aren’t you the least bit curious about the baby?” J.C. asked. “It’s kind of difficult for a woman to get pregnant if her husband isn’t screwing her.”
“I don’t want to hear anymore talk like that either. The baby Jordan is carrying is Dan Price’s kid, Dan’s heir. You got that?”
J.C. winked at his mother. “Yeah, I got it. And if she gets more of Dan’s money for that kid, then it’ll mean more for all of us, right?”
“You’re a greedy, ungrateful—”
“I just tell it like I see it.” He narrowed his gaze and studied his mother for a couple of seconds. “You didn’t by any chance know, before Dan killed himself, that he had Alzheimer’s, did you, Ma?”
J.C. was creating problems they didn’t need. She’d probably have to deal with him sooner rather than later. The very thought of disposing of him was abhorrent to her since he was part of the family. She had put up with his bad behavior, excused his misdeeds, and refrained from killing him because he had not posed a real threat to them. Not until now. He had become a liability. Even before she’d killed Dan, she had known it was only a matter of time before J.C. would have to be eliminated. His actions were hurting them more and more all the time. She couldn’t allow him to continue upsetting them, not with a baby on the way. Nothing and no one was more important than their child.
She would simply have to wait for the right moment and then strike. And it had to look like an accident. If only she could have found a way to have made Dan’s death look accidental instead of like suicide, as she had some of the other deaths.
Killing J.C. immediately was out of the question. First of all, she never eliminated someone without reason and that required her to consider all sides of a situation. Once she had made her decision, as she had with J.C., she formulated a plan. That took time, days, even weeks. She couldn’t do anything to bring suspicion on herself, especially this soon after Dan’s death. And she certainly couldn’t take any undue chances with a private detective living here at Price Manor.
But when the time was right, she would remove J.C. from their lives, just as she had removed all the others who had betrayed them, either intentionally or simply by an act of fate.
Jordan waved goodbye to Kendra and Wes as they drove away. As much as she would have loved having them here until Sunday, sending them off today had been the right decision. She couldn’t risk what might happen if they stayed and Kendra disobeyed her and encouraged J.C.’s attention. Her stepbrother couldn’t be trusted around any woman who appealed to him, and young, inexperienced girls like Kendra appealed to him greatly. She remembered all too well how he’d come on to her more than once when she’d been in her teens. For years, she was able to fend him off without any real harm done, but eventually, she’d had to go to Roselynne. She never knew what her stepmother had said or done, but whatever it had been, Jordan had never had to fight off J.C. again.
“We’ll miss them, won’t we?” Darlene came up beside Jordan so quietly that Jordan jumped.
“Oh, dear, I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m so sorry.”
She smiled at Darlene. “It’s okay. I guess I’m a little edgy this afternoon.” She draped her arm through Darlene’s and smiled. “Yes, we will miss them, but sending them back to school will save us from having any more problems for the time being.”
“You should send J.C. packing,” Darlene said. “That man…” She sighed. “I hate to speak ill of anyone, but J.C. is nothing but trouble.”
“I know, but we’ll give Roselynne a chance to deal with him first and if that doesn’t work, I’ll ask him to leave. He’s stayed longer than he usually does when he visits. I really didn’t expect him to stay this long.”
“He’s waiting for the will to be read, hoping when you come into your inheritance, you’ll be generous with him and Roselynne and Tammy.”
“I suppose you’re right about his reasons for staying. Maybe I should tell him that although I’ll take care of Roselynne and Tammy, I’ve washed my hands of him. He won’t have any more luck getting money from me than he did getting it from Dan.”
“I…uh…really shouldn’t say this, but…well, have you ever considered the possibility that J.C. killed Dan?”
“Let’s walk.” Jordan tugged gently on Darlene’s arm.
Darlene nodded agreement and the two women strolled down the long drive that led from the house to the county road half a mile away.
“Are you upset with me for—?” Darlene asked.
“No, of course not,” Jordan replied. “It had never entered my mind that J.C. might have killed Dan. But you’re the second person today who has suggested that J.C. could be a murderer.”
“Was Wesley the other person?”
“Yes.”
“Wesley is a very bright boy. I know that Roselynne and her children are family, but if it turns out that Dan was murdered, I think Mr. Carson and the sheriff should look to those three first. I’ve seen Tammy throw some hysterical hissy fits over the years. There’s no telling what she might do. And Roselynne…well, if there’s any money involved…”
“Mr. Carson suspects that I might have killed Dan,” Jordan said.
Darlene gasped. “That’s the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard.”
“No, it isn’t. Not really. When you look at the facts, that my fiancé, my first husband and now my second husband have all met untimely deaths—”
“Robby Joe’s death was an accident, a tragic accident that almost destroyed us. How could anyone think that you killed him when you loved him with all your heart?”
Jordan stopped, took both of Darlene’s hands into hers and smiled warmly at Robby Joe’s mother, a woman who was as dear to her as anyone on earth.
“Robby Joe was the love of my life.” Jordan kept her smile in place even though she wanted to cry. She had to stay strong, for Darlene’s sake as well as her own.
“If the baby is a boy, I wish you could name him Robby Joe, but I know that’s out of the question.” Darlene laid her open palm over Jordan’s flat belly.
“I haven’t thought about names. Besides, this may be a little girl.” She laid her hand over Darlene’s on her stomach.
“If it is, you should name her after your mother.”
“My mother and Dan’s mother—Elizabeth Helene.”
“And Daniel, Jr., if it’s a boy?”
A cold chill rippled through Jordan. No, she couldn’t name her son Daniel, Jr. “There’s plenty of time to decide on a name. I’m sure that in seven months, we’ll come up with something perfect for our baby.”
Darlene sighed as she removed her hand from Jordan’s stomach. “You are so generous to share your child with us, with me and Devon and the others. Your son or daughter will be the closest thing to a grandchild that I’ll ever have.”
“He will be a very lucky child to have so many people to love and care for him—or her. My family and friends and Dan’s family and friends.”
Jordan glanced toward the sky and noted the swirling dark clouds. “I believe it’s going to rain. Maybe we’d better head back to the house.”
Darlene gazed skyward. “You’re right. It looks like a springtime storm is brewing.”
They walked hurriedly up the drive, barely making it onto the veranda before the first raindrops hit the ground. By the time they were inside, the bottom fell out and distant flashes of lightning zigzagged through the sky.
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BEVERLY BARTON
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: The spine-tingling thriller about a depraved female serial killer from the Sunday Times and New York Times bestselling author.Jordan Price doesn′t look like your typical serial killer…Young and beautiful, she exudes innocence and vulnerability. But after her latest husband dies in mysterious circumstances, Rick Carson is forced to consider her capable of cold-blooded murder.The deeper he delves into the string of deaths which stalk Jordan, the more dangerous the game of cat-and-mouse becomes. The targets are changing and suddenly no one is safe.If Jordan is as innocent as she claims, Rick may have placed in a brutal killer′s crosshairs. But if she′s guilty, Rick will pay in blood…