The Southern Comfort Prequel Trilogy Box Set

by Lisa Clark O'Neill

  He wasn’t quite sure why he was thinking about birds.

  Probably because it was easier than thinking about the fact that an extremely dangerous psychopath had Jillian in his sights. Or supposedly had. But given the fact that the information Alexei passed to Jillian regarding his role in setting up a sting had checked out, Jesse thought that the events of the past month made sense. If Igorevich wanted Jillian dead, he could have killed her, a multitude of times and in a multitude of ways. As Jillian herself had pointed out.

  But subtly threatening her, drawing law enforcement attention to her, was one way to in turn draw Alexei’s attention. The Christmas… imagery, for lack of a better turn, was a message. As was the presence of the LSD at both Losevsky and Gannon’s deaths. Messages that only Alexei Markov would fully understand.

  They had an APB out for Markov – as well as Igorevich, who, now that they knew who they were looking for, met the description of the man who’d given Jillian the laced mint at the wedding. Jillian had spent the day answering questions. Now that it was strongly suspected if not outright confirmed that the notorious Russian criminal was the man whom they were after, all of the alphabet agencies wanted in on the case. Jesse had hated like hell to subject her to it, but didn’t have a choice. From this, he couldn’t protect her. And at least she’d had Ainsley there to safeguard her rights.

  Not to mention that with her cooperation, they had a chance of bringing Igorevich down. So right now most of the law enforcement officials in the area were inclined to view Jillian favorably.

  “Oh. I didn’t know you were ba…”

  Jillian’s voice trailed off when Jesse turned away from her bedroom window.

  “Wow.” She yanked the edges of the towel, which was the only thing covering her, closer together. “I’m sorry, it’s really inappropriate under the circumstances, but you look… incredible.”

  Jesse glanced at the dark suit he wore, and then back at Jillian. “I could say the same thing about you.”

  “My hair is dripping wet, you could fit a week’s worth of groceries in the bags beneath my eyes and I’m wearing a towel.”

  “Your point?”

  She shook her head, smiling, but the smile quickly faded. “I would ask how the funeral was, but that has always struck me as an inane question. Funerals are never pleasant.”

  “There was quite a turnout, as you’d expect, with lots of pomp and circumstance.”

  Jillian bit her lip. “I read one article online that claimed he committed suicide. And another that suggested foul play.”

  “There’s still some question,” Jesse admitted “although the evidence is leaning toward the latter.” Particularly since Gannon had a fairly significant amount of sleep-inducing cold medicine in his bloodstream. Which might explain why he didn’t put up more of a fight if he didn’t hang himself willingly.

  The question remained as to why Gannon had been targeted, either murdered or forced into taking his own life. Was he on Igorevich’s payroll? Or had he run afoul of the man’s organization somehow?

  “He had a little boy.”

  “Yeah.” Jesse nodded at Jillian. “And that sucks.”

  She looked down at the floor, where water from her hair had dripped. “I want to do something. To help.” She glanced back up. “If there’s a scholarship fund or something that’s been set up…”

  “There is,” Jesse said. “I’ll get you the information.” And he would be making a donation himself. He might not have liked Gannon, but the man hadn’t deserved to die. And the kid sure as hell didn’t deserve to grow up without his father. “You’re shivering,” Jesse noted, wanting to step forward, take her in his arms and warm her. But if he did that, he didn’t quite trust himself to stop there. “I’ll let you get dressed.”

  He started toward the door.

  “Is the policewoman still downstairs?” Jillian asked as he drew even with her.

  “I relieved her. Brian is keeping watch outside, though. He’ll follow us to the safe house.”

  Her tired eyes drifted closed. “I hate this. Christmas is in two days. People should be with their families instead of babysitting me. Brian should be with his family. You should be with your family.”

  Jesse hesitated, and then reached forward to cup her face between his hands. “Maybe I am.”

  Her eyes popped back open. “You –”

  “Jillian?”

  Katie’s voice came from downstairs, interrupting her. Jillian sighed her dismay.

  “I need to talk to her. She’s leaving to spend Christmas with her parents at their new place in Florida.”

  “I know. Brian told me. You were supposed to go, too.”

  “So was he,” she sighed. “And anyway, I wouldn’t want to put them in danger.”

  He stroked his thumbs over her cheekbones before releasing her. “Get dressed. I’ll tell Katie you’ll be right down.”

  He started out the door.

  “Jesse?”

  He glanced back over his shoulder.

  “As far as Christmas gifts go, that was the best one you could have given me.”

  Jesse wasn’t one to speak carelessly or to say things he didn’t mean, but the words that came to him seemed to be the right ones. “Consider it the first of many.”

  JILLIAN hadn’t taken the time to dry her hair, so she shoved the thick, damp mass of it into a bun and secured it with a few bobby pins as she descended the basement stairs. She wanted to go ahead and give Katie her Christmas present – a series of framed black and white photos Jillian had taken of the restaurant – so she’d had to quickly retrieve them from where she’d hidden them in her studio.

  With all that had happened in the past few weeks, she hadn’t even had time to wrap them. She was going to see if there was a pretty bag in the storage room to shove them in before she handed them over. Her inner Christmas freak demanded that she make the effort, no matter how crazy her life had become.

  And her life had certainly become crazy. She’d been harassed, drugged, jailed, met the brother she’d thought was dead and… fallen in love.

  No matter how improbable it seemed to her logically, her heart knew that she’d recognized Jesse right from that first moment. From that first click. If circumstances had been different, she imagined that their relationship would have progressed a lot more slowly, with more caution on both of their parts. But life or death situations tended to cause people to throw emotional caution to the wind.

  Regardless, she had little doubt that they would have reached this place eventually. When she was with him, it just felt right. Like… home.

  Padding barefoot across the cold concrete floor, Jillian wished she’d thought to slip on her shoes before coming down here, but she didn’t want to hold Katie up too long. It was twilight now, and her friend had to drive several hours to reach her destination.

  Shivering slightly despite the sweater she’d thrown on over jeans, Jillian opened the door to the storage room and flipped on the light. Although they’d straightened things up after the cops had raided their decorations, seeing the space where the missing tubs should be made Jillian’s stomach twist. She still didn’t know how exactly the lights connected to Detective Gannon’s death, but her mind filled with all sorts of bizarre and terrible possibilities. She understood why he couldn’t, but she wished that Jesse had told her exactly what happened. Sometimes it was so much worse to have things left to the imagination.

  Jillian opened up one of the remaining tubs, searched through wrapping paper and bows and ribbons, but didn’t see any bags. Shoot. Maybe she could just stick a bow on the photos?

  Not perfect, but better than nothing.

  Selecting a large red one from the tub, Jillian then replaced the lid.

  Her hand flew up to stifle a startled scream as she turned around. “Mr. Pratt,” she said in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

  He smiled, his expression sympathetic. “I’m sorry dear. But I’m afraid it is time.”

 
“Time for…” the question trailed off when Jillian realized that his accent was different. Not southern. In fact it sounded…

  “No,” she said, backing up until she was pressed against the wall. The wall which now featured a hole where a section of shelving had swung out, unnoticed by her as she’d rummaged through the Christmas wrapping. She gaped at it, and then turned her head back toward him in disbelief.

  “You’re not really Mr. Pratt’s brother.”

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said in Russian. “I am Vitaly Igorevich.” He executed a brief bow before casually aiming a silenced gun at her head. “And I would advise you not to scream.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  SHE considered screaming anyway.

  Jillian didn’t even have her pepper spray. She hadn’t thought to put her bracelet on after her shower, since she was in her own house. And guarded by federal agents.

  Still in shock over the revelation, she nonetheless was able to reason that being shot in her own basement was preferable to being dragged off God knew where to suffer some possibly more horrible fate. Almost certainly more horrible.

  Not to mention she refused to be used as a pawn to lure her brother.

  But Mr. Pra… Vitaly Igorevich, she mentally corrected, put a stop to that plan before she could open her mouth.

  “I have your brother,” he said, pulling out a cell phone with the hand not holding the gun. He swiped the screen with his thumb, bringing up a photo of Alexei, tied to a chair in a windowless room. A room that closely resembled this one, minus the tubs of decorations. He was visibly beaten and bloodied, his chin resting on his chest.

  Jillian’s hand once again flew to her mouth.

  “I will kill him slowly, with as much pain as I can extract, if you do not come along quietly. More, I will kill your friend and your lover while they wait for you upstairs. How easy to surprise them. Who would suspect an old man?”

  “You’re a monster,” she said.

  He shrugged, and then gestured with the gun toward the door that she’d never known was hidden in the wall. She wondered if Katie knew. Almost certainly not. And once it was closed again, they’d have no idea where she’d gone. They’d think she’d somehow left or been taken from the building, when in reality she was just next door. They might talk to the man they believed to be Mr. Pratt – the crotchety but harmless elderly neighbor – to ask if he’d seen anything, but they’d have no reason to suspect him.

  Jillian certainly hadn’t.

  She peered at him now, noting that the accent wasn’t the only thing that was different. He stood straight, making him taller than he’d always appeared, and nothing about him seemed infirm. She knew that he wasn’t nearly as old as he’d pretended to be.

  She tried desperately to think of a way to stall, to somehow alert Jesse, but the thought of him coming down the stairs, unaware that he was walking into danger, was more than she could bear. Igorevich would kill him. She had no doubt.

  “Let’s go.”

  With a brief flare of panic, Jillian gave one last thought to making a run for it, but knew that it would mean consigning three people she cared about immensely to death. She feared it was already a certainty for Alexei – and herself – but at least Katie and Jesse would be spared.

  She hoped.

  Trembling all over, she pulled away from the wall. Surreptitiously, she dropped the ribbon on the floor behind her. Like a giant breadcrumb.

  Igorevich glanced down at it, and then smiled a little smile that caused ice to form in her veins. “Pick it up.”

  Jillian bent down slowly.

  “Don’t try anything,” he added when she considered doing just that. One well-placed snap kick could dislocate his kneecap. He might get off a shot, but he wouldn’t be strolling up the stairs afterward.

  But she would likely be dead, and Jesse – or Katie – would be imperiled if they came down to investigate why she was taking so long.

  Jillian stood. He motioned again with the gun. And though she tried to move, Jillian found that her legs had turned to jelly.

  Impatient with her now, Igorevich reached around with his free hand and grabbed her by the hair, pressing the gun into her temple as he yanked her toward the door. He pushed her through, and then closed the door behind him, sliding a lock into place. They were in a room not much different than the one they’d just left, only this one was much smaller. Jillian noticed a black case of some sort standing in the corner, alongside a music stand and a couple of large chest-style freezers.

  When he noticed Jillian staring, Igorevich nodded toward the case. “I’m not sure if you knew that your neighbor played the trumpet. A jazz quartet in his younger years. The room beside this one is soundproofed, as he didn’t wish to disturb anyone when he practiced. Considerate of him, was it not?”

  Jillian swallowed. He spoke of Robert Pratt in the past tense. “You killed him.”

  “Of course,” he said nonchalantly, and then patted the top of one of the freezers. “I’m afraid he wasn’t able to enjoy the pryaniki after all.”

  When Jillian only stared at the freezer in horror, Igorevich went on to explain. “I needed to be close to you without arousing any suspicion. After researching your neighbors, I discovered that Mr. Pratt lived alone and had no close relatives to miss him if he failed to make contact. Except for his adoring brother, of course.”

  He executed another short bow, as if she should applaud his performance.

  And it was a performance, she realized. He’d been remarkably convincing as a harmless if annoying old man. From his flawless English – complete with southern drawl – to his bird-watching and cranky demeanor.

  “The door,” Igorevich continued in that oddly proud manner “was my own addition. It took a great deal of time and engineering in order to accomplish it without your knowledge, but the fact that you and Miss Parker are so often away from the house was helpful.”

  “You’re the one who messed with the alarm. Who took Jesse’s shirt.”

  “Why would I have need, when I had direct access?” He shook his head. “No, that was the idiot cop, although I do confess to tripping the breaker and turning on all of the light switches after he’d gone, just to create a bit of confusion.” He shrugged. “A man has to have some fun. I do not know why the cop was – what’s the word – snooping that night, although I suspect he wished to find evidence that the federal agents were protecting you. His timing was unfortunate. I don’t mean to be indelicate, but I’m afraid he saw one of my brother’s nurses leaving at a very late hour and in a rather… unprofessional state of attire. I feared it would eventually arouse his suspicion.”

  “Your brother’s…” Jillian stopped, realizing what he was implying. He’d had nurses – or women dressed as nurses, at any rate – stopping by on a regular basis as if to tend to his brother. Knowing what she knew now, Jillian highly doubted that those women were here in any kind of care-giving capacity. They were probably prostitutes – or, as Jesse had mentioned – some sort of sex slaves.

  The ball of nausea in her stomach became coated with a layer of anger.

  “But enough about me,” Igorevich said with false cheer, gesturing toward the door on the opposite wall. “Let’s go see your brother.”

  KATIE glanced at the kitchen clock. “I hate to rush her, but I really should be going. Maybe I’ll just run downstairs and hurry her along.”

  Jesse glanced up from the fresh cup of coffee he’d been blowing on, frowning at the basement door. “I’ll go,” he said, setting aside the coffee. “That way if there’s something she doesn’t want you to see, she won’t be upset.”

  “Thanks.” She offered him a smile. “And just so you know, the only reason I feel even remotely okay about leaving her is that I know you would defend her with your life.”

  “So would Brian. Or any of us, really. It’s our job.”

  She only smiled again. “Not in the same way you would.”

  Jesse hesitated with his hand
on the basement door. “I hope you don’t mind my being here, because after we catch this guy, I plan on that happening a lot.”

  Her smile turned into a grin. “I was counting on it.”

  With his own lips curving, Jesse started down the stairs. “Jillian?” he called when he neared the bottom. “Are you about finished? Katie wants to leave.”

  When no answer was forthcoming, Jesse frowned. “Jillian?”

  Light shone around the crack of the storage room door, but other than the hum of the heating unit, no other sound could be heard.

  Acting on an instinct that he didn’t question, Jesse removed his sidearm from the shoulder holster he’d worn beneath his suit. He moved quickly but quietly toward the storage room.

  Jesse pushed open the door, gun at the ready. The room was empty. He checked behind the stacks of plastic tubs, just to be sure, but there was no sign of Jillian.

  Jesse repeated the same process with the other rooms. The laundry room, the mechanical room, the other storage area and the half bath – none of them yielded either Jillian or any clues as to where she might have gone.

  Jesse pulled out his phone and strode toward the basement’s front entrance. “Hey,” he said when Brian answered. “Did Jillian come outside? Are you sure?” he asked when the response was negative. “Check her studio.”

  Jesse peered out through the iron bars which both decorated and guarded the front windows. The sidewalk was empty. Checking the door, he noted that the deadbolt was engaged. Just to make sure, he slid it back and opened the door.

  Jillian wasn’t in the little alcove beneath the front stairs.

  Shutting the door and relocking it, Jesse responded to Brian. “Are you positive she’s not there?” he asked again, checking the basement rooms one more time. “No, she isn’t upstairs. I was in the kitchen and she would have had to pass me on her way up from the basement. She had to have gone outside.”