Coldhearted

by Beverly Barton

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

  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?”<
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  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 gorgeou
s.

  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.”