Beverly Barton Bundle

by Beverly Barton

  “I see.” She looked directly at Griff. “Another top secret meeting of the Amara Triad, huh?”

  “Not top secret,” Griff said. “I saw no reason to wake you since neither of us got much sleep last night. I thought you needed your rest. I intended to fill you in later.”

  “Fill me in now.”

  Griff nodded. “You know that the Knoxville PD did not reveal the details about Kristi Arians’s murder, telling the press only that her throat had been slit and that was the cause of death. But we know that whoever killed her, mutilated her by cutting numerous triangular-shaped pieces out of her arms and legs.”

  “Go on.” But Nic knew before he spoke exactly what he was going to tell them.

  “Whoever killed Shelley Gilbert slit her throat and cut triangular pieces of flesh from her arms and legs,” Griff said.

  “Oh, my God.” Nic felt sick to her stomach.

  Smelling freshly brewed coffee, Lorie followed the scent straight to her kitchen. Bracing herself for whatever lay beyond the closed door—be that Mike still here or Jack having returned or another deputy on guard duty—she squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. Before leaving the bathroom, she had washed her face and brushed her hair, but she hadn’t bothered with a robe since her lightweight sweats and T-shirt were presentable.

  Mike stood at the stove busily scrambling eggs in a bright green nonstick skillet that she had bought at a discount store even though it didn’t match anything in her red, white, and black kitchen. She had fallen in love with that stupid skillet the moment she saw it.

  He glanced at her. “Morning.”

  “You’re still here.”

  “Yep.” He nodded to the table. “I heard you stirring about so I went ahead and set the table. I hope I used the right dishes.”

  She glanced at the white Corning Ware plates she had bought at Wal-Mart for everyday use. “They’re fine.”

  “There’s coffee.” He hitched his thumb in the direction of the coffeemaker.

  After preparing herself a large mug of coffee, she pulled out a chair and sat down. Cupping the mug in both hands, she brought it to her lips and sampled the dark brew. Although it was a little stronger than she liked, she welcomed the caffeine fix.

  Mike spooned half the scrambled eggs into her plate and the other half into his. Then he put the platter filled with buttered toast between the jars of strawberry and peach jelly.

  “I couldn’t find any bacon or sausage,” he said as he picked up his mug and sat in the seat opposite her.

  “I usually don’t eat a big breakfast, just cereal and juice. I seldom buy bacon or sausage.”

  Mike nodded, then picked up his fork and dove into the fluffy scrambled eggs. After eating half the eggs and two half slices of toast, he washed it all down with the remainder of his coffee. He wiped his mouth, shoved back his chair, and got up.

  “Want a refill while I’m getting mine?” he asked, holding up his mug.

  “No, thanks. I’m good.”

  He glanced at her plate. “You aren’t eating.”

  “I’m not used to someone making breakfast for me.”

  “Really?” He stared at her, a skeptical expression on his face. “I find it hard to believe that not one of the men you’ve dated cooked breakfast for you.”

  “Maybe that’s because none of the men I’ve dated have spent the night and stayed over for breakfast.”

  “You don’t expect me to believe that you’ve been celibate for the past nine years.” Mike refilled his mug.

  “I don’t care what you believe. Maybe I have been celibate all these years. Maybe I haven’t. It’s possible that I’ve always spent the night at my date’s house. Or maybe he came here and once we finished screwing each other senseless, I sent him away.”

  Mike sat back down at the table and looked right at her. “Do you get some perverse pleasure out of taunting me?”

  Lorie laughed in his face. “Last night you told me that your personal life was none of my business. That works both ways, you know. Who I’ve had sex with during the past nine years or if I’ve had sex is none of your business.”

  “You’re absolutely right,” he told her.

  She stared at him, surprised by his instant agreement. “That was too easy. What’s going on?”

  “I’m tired of every conversation we have turning into an argument. And since most of the time that’s been my fault, I’m the one putting a stop to it.”

  “I’m amazed.”

  “You’re amazed that I can be reasonable?” He grinned. “We’re going to be together a lot from here on out. I don’t want to spend most of that time fighting with you.”

  “You shouldn’t be here, you know. You should let Jack look after me until I can hire a new bodyguard. I’m sure the Powell Agency can—”

  “Damn it, Lorie, I don’t want to argue about this. I’m here and I’m not going away. You’re stuck with me.”

  “Until?”

  “Until you’re no longer in danger.”

  All right. If he could do this, then she could. If he could live in her house, see her day in and day out, sleep just down the hall from her and resist the undeniable attraction between them, so could she. But by God, she wasn’t going to make it easy for him.

  Lorie, Lorie, Lorie, what are you thinking? Mike is doing what he believes is the right thing to do. His reasoning might be a little skewed, but his heart was in the right place. Mike Birkett was a good man. Instead of making things difficult for him, she needed to help him. No matter what happened between them while they were together, when it was all over, she would have to let him go back to his normal life, a life that could never include her.

  “I don’t like that look in your eyes,” Mike said. “You’re plotting something.”

  “No, you’re wrong,” she told him and surprised both of them when she reached across the table and clasped his hand. “Thank you, Mike.”

  “For what?” He did not jerk his hand away as she halfway expected.

  “For being you. For being the kind of man who would risk his life for an old friend.”

  He maneuvered their hands until hers was nestled inside his. They stared at each other for an endless moment, and then she pulled her hand away and got up to dump her cold coffee and pour herself a fresh cupful.

  Oh dear God, this was going to be hard, damn hard. But she had to keep things on a platonic basis with Mike, for his sake as well as for hers.

  Lila Newton had just come on duty at Green Willows Rehabilitation and Convalescence Center when Ransom Owens arrived at 8:05 A.M. His name was not on the list of acceptable visitors, a list that had been provided by his son, Tyler. As a general rule, Lila was a stickler for rules and regulations, but she also had a soft spot in her heart for Ransom. Actually, she’d had a secret crush on him when they were kids. Her father had been the Owens family’s gardener and Ransom had always treated her kindly, always like the young gentleman he’d been. So, what did it hurt to allow him a few minutes alone with his former wife a couple of mornings each week? After all, it was obvious that the poor man still loved her. And he timed his arrival so that he could feed her breakfast, a chore that would have otherwise fallen to one of the aides. Of course, if his visits upset Ms. Owens, she’d have put a stop to them, but when Lila checked on her after each visit, her patient seemed quite serene.

  “Morning, Lila,” Ransom said as he approached the nurses’ station.

  “Morning, Mr. Ransom.”

  “How is she today?” he asked.

  “I was just going to check on her,” Lila said. “Would you care to walk with me? If they haven’t brought Ms. Owens’s breakfast, I’ll see to it right away.”

  “Thank you, Lila. You’ve been a good friend to me and to Terri.” He fell into step beside her as they made their way down the corridor.

  One of the aides walked out of room 107, smiled at Lila, glanced at Ransom, and hurried to the delivery cart parked in the hallway. Lila entered the room first and ch
ecked on her patient, who sat semi-upright in the bed, two pillows beneath her head. Theresa Lenore Tyler Owens, known to one and all as Terri, had once been a beautiful woman. Remnants of that youthful beauty remained, in the blue eyes, the golden hair, the slender curves of her shapely body. But her once peaches-and-cream complexion was mottled and splotchy, her arms and legs an unhealthy white. And her former full, pouting lips were now thin and drawn, the right side of her mouth drooping. She held her stiff right arm close to her stomach.

  Terri had been a resident here at Green Willows for several months, her rehabilitation slow and emotionally frustrating. She suffered from aphasia, which affects the ability to talk, listen, read and write. The stroke had occurred on the left side of the brain, the side containing the speech and language center, and had created a severe weakness in the right side of her body. Unfortunately, Terri also suffered from a mild form of dysarthria, where the muscles used for talking were affected by the stroke, causing slowed, slurred and distorted speech.

  “Good morning, Ms. Owens. You’ve got a visitor,” Lila said as she spoke directly into Terri’s face. “It’s Mr. Ransom. He’s going to feed you your breakfast.”

  Terri Owens’s large blue eyes moved side to side and up and down as if searching for her ex-husband, but finally she gazed up and looked directly at him. He pulled a straight-back chair over to the edge of the bed and sat beside her.

  “You’ll have the usual twenty minutes,” Lila told him before quietly leaving the room.

  She stood in the doorway and watched while Mr. Ransom removed the plastic lid from his ex-wife’s breakfast plate.

  “You’ve got eggs and grits and a biscuit.” Mr. Ransom picked up the single-serving size jelly. “And there’s grape jelly.”

  Lila continued watching while he went about the task with the tenderness and patience of a mother feeding her infant. And all the while, he talked to Terri, telling her what a fine April morning it was and how the spring flowers were in full bloom. Lila shook her head sadly as she walked away and returned to the nurses’ station.

  I wonder if Terri Owens has any idea just how lucky she is. Mr. Ransom is one in a million, that’s what he is. After the way she up and left him and their little boy and brought such shame on his family and hers, you’d think he would hate her, that he wouldn’t want to ever see her again.

  But love is a strange and wondrous thing. And Sweet Jesus, it can certainly make fools of us all.

  “You don’t have to do this, you know,” Mike said.

  “I want to,” Lorie told him. “It’s the least I can do for Shelley.”

  “You’ve already answered all our questions, mine and Wainwright’s. You’ve signed an official statement. That should be enough. Let Griffin Powell read your statement and—”

  The doorbell rang. Mike and Lorie looked at each other and then at the door.

  “They’re here,” she said.

  Mike crossed the room and opened the front door. Jack Perdue and Buddy Pounders had escorted their guests from their car to the porch. Mike had asked Jack to join them that afternoon, and Buddy was the deputy on guard duty.

  Standing six-four, Griffin Powell towered over most guys, even men such as he and Jack, who both stood over six feet. The former UT quarterback filled out his fashionable suit with massive shoulders and thickly muscled arms. The man’s size alone was intimidating. Add the fact that he was a billionaire into the mix and it was no wonder he had a reputation for always getting what he wanted, one way or the other.

  Nicole Powell stood at her husband’s side, a tall, attractive brunette, exuding an air of self-confidence. She held out her hand. “It’s nice to see you again, Sheriff Birkett, despite the circumstances.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Mike held open the door. “Y’all come on in. Lorie’s waiting for us in the living room.”

  “We appreciate Ms. Hammonds agreeing to this meeting,” Nic said.

  “She and Ms. Gilbert hit it off right from the start,” Mike said. “They were well on their way to becoming friends.”

  Nic Powell entered the living room first. She marched straight over to Lorie and spoke to her quietly. The two women shook hands.

  “Won’t you sit down, please,” Lorie said.

  When Lorie sat in her favorite easy chair, Mike took his place behind her, his hands loosely gripping the back of the chair.

  Once everyone was seated, Griff Powell said, “Whenever you’re ready, Ms. Hammonds, please tell us everything you remember about the day before Shelley was killed.”

  “The entire day?” Lorie asked.

  “Yes, the entire day, from when the two of you got up until you went to bed that night.”

  “All right. I…uh…let’s see. Shelley was already up when I awoke. We drank coffee, ate breakfast, talked, and—”

  “What did you talk about?” Griff asked.

  “I’m not sure. Nothing really. How I hated being a prisoner in my own home. How maybe we should both take up knitting.” Lorie smiled. “Shelley was a nice person, you know. I liked her.” Tears misted her eyes. “She told me that her parents were dead, but she had a sister who lived in Phoenix and a couple of little nephews. She was going out there for a visit when her assignment with me ended.”

  “Her sister is flying in to Knoxville tomorrow,” Nic said. “She’ll make all the arrangements, pack away Shelley’s things and close up her apartment.”

  “Please continue with what you remember about the day before Shelley died.” Griff steered her back to what he felt was important.

  Mike reached down and gripped Lorie’s shoulders and gave them a reassuring squeeze before releasing her. She tilted her head and gazed up at him, her fragile smile conveying her appreciation for his presence.

  Lorie talked. The others listened. Occasionally either Griff or Nic would ask her a question and if she got off track, Griff would nudge her back onto the subject. An hour later, after she had shared every detail that she could recall with the Powells, Lorie rose from her chair.

  “I’d like some iced tea. Would anyone else care for something to drink?”

  “Iced tea would be nice,” Nic replied. “May I help you?”

  “That’s not necessary, but thank you.”

  Without saying a word, Mike followed Lorie when she left the room. He exchanged an entertain-these-people glance with Jack and headed for the kitchen. The moment he opened the door, he stopped. Lorie stood with her back to him, her shoulders trembling as she muffled her sobs by placing her hands over her mouth. Acting purely on instinct, he went over and draped his arms around her. She leaned back, allowing him to partially support her as she cried. After taking a deep, calming breath, she turned, looked at him with teary eyes, and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  He held her close, embracing her as she laid her head on his chest. “I’m here. I’ve got you, honey. Everything is going to be all right. I promise.”

  Chapter 25

  Casey used his friend Jason’s cell phone to make the call. He had met Jason at one of their AA meetings and the two had hit it off immediately. It had been a long time since he’d actually had a friend—a real friend—so he did his best to never impose on Jason’s kindness. From time to time, Jason gave him a few bucks, occasionally took him out for a decent meal, and had even offered to let Casey stay with him and his family. As much as he would have liked taking Jason up on the offer, he knew Jason’s wife Heather had been relieved when he had declined. And who could blame her? Although the few times he’d seen Heather, she’d been nice to him, he realized she had genuine doubts about exposing her children to a guy such as he.

  Sometimes he felt guilty for not telling Jason the truth—that he was not penniless. He had chosen a low-key, under-the-radar homeless person’s lifestyle. It suited his purposes, at least for the time being.

  Finding an out-of-the-way park bench, Casey sat down, dialed the number, and waited. The warm afternoon sun warred with the cool April breeze. Summer was just around the corne
r, but a hint of winter lingered in the wind. Springtime birds chattered in nearby trees and squirrels scurried from branch to branch.

  As always, the maid answered the telephone. “Laura Lou Roberts’s residence.”

  “Please tell Ms. Roberts that it’s Casey.”

  “Yes, Mr. Lloyd, I’ll tell her.”

  Casey nervously tapped his index finger against the edge of the phone as he waited. A couple of minutes later, he heard that familiar throaty voice. A dozen years ago, he had found that husky tone sexy. One of his many deadly mistakes.

  “Hello, sweet boy,” Laura Lou said.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “Doing okay for an old woman.”

  “You’ll never be old. And you’ll always be vibrant and sexy.” He told her what he knew she wanted to hear. He had learned years ago how to please her in order to get what he wanted. “I miss you. Life isn’t the same without you.”

  Her gravelly laughter grated on his nerves, the sound bringing back too many unpleasant memories from a time when he’d been little more than her lapdog.

  And what are you now? You’re practically licking her butt, albeit via a long-distance phone call. Whispering sweet nothings in her ear, giving the old heifer a thrill.

  But it wasn’t the same as in the past. This time, he was in control, even though she didn’t know it. To get what he wanted, what he needed, he would have bedded the devil. And it wouldn’t be the first time.

  Her laughter quickly altered and changed to heavy coughing. When she managed to control the coughs, she told him, “One of these days, I’m going to come see you and collect on all your promises and IOUs.”

  He doubted seriously that the day would ever come when she would visit him. Her vanity would keep her away. She preferred for him to remember her as she had been in the past, not as she was now. He had heard through mutual “friends” in LA that Laura Lou had not gone under the knife for any recent nips and tucks, that she had lost so much weight she looked like a skeleton, and that her four-packs-a-day cigarette habit had resulted in emphysema that required her to haul around a portable oxygen tank wherever she went.