The Southern Comfort Prequel Trilogy Box Set

by Lisa Clark O'Neill

  “I’ll handle them when I get there. Five minutes, tops. Stay put.”

  “Alright.”

  “I’m switching to hands free,” Jack said, doing just that as he put his car in gear and merged into traffic. “So feel free to keep talking.”

  “Okay. Although I can’t think of what to say. I think I just need to put my head between my knees for a minute.”

  “Then do that.” Clenching his jaw, Jack punched it to make the light, cutting off an SUV as he switched lanes to turn the corner. He ignored the sound of the blaring horn, concentrating instead on the faint sound of Caitlin drawing in deep breaths and then releasing them. “I’m almost there.”

  “Thank you.”

  For some reason those whispered words of gratitude seemed to travel through Jack’s ear and lodge in his throat. Cursing under his breath, he cut down an alley to avoid the heavier traffic on the main thoroughfares, although even the side streets were crowded. You couldn’t sneeze without hitting a dozen tourists, or having them hit you.

  Jack’s brows drew together. And maybe it was as simple as that. Maybe Caitlin had simply stepped into the street in front of someone who wasn’t from around here and wasn’t paying attention. But it didn’t sound like they’d stuck around to see if she was okay, which in and of itself wasn’t overtly suspicious. People hit and ran fairly regularly, as he could attest, since he’d defended a couple such cases in court. It wasn’t admirable, but it also wasn’t a deliberate attempt to inflict harm. So Jack was withholding judgment until he saw Caitlin and got the whole story. Hopefully there were a couple of witnesses who’d seen what happened.

  He made the final turn and saw the commotion toward the middle of the street. As this block was primarily residential, traffic wasn’t as thick. However, a vehicle was stopped in the road, blocking movement.

  Jack pulled his car to the curb, double parking. “I’m here,” he said into his phone. “So I’m going to disconnect the call now.”

  “Okay.”

  Jack shoved his phone into his pocket, first walking and then trotting toward the area where Caitlin’s alleyway connected with the road. An older woman stood off to the side, talking on her phone – Jack pegged her as the one who’d likely called nine-one-one – and a man squatted next to her, blocking most of Jack’s view. But one slender foot stuck out, the strap on the sandal attached to it visibly broken. The man reached out a hand, touched his fingers to Caitlin’s ankle.

  Jack frowned.

  “Caitlin?”

  The random guy turned his head, but Jack ignored him. His attention was focused on Caitlin. The noonday sun shone right into her flushed face, and she raised a hand to shield her eyes as she looked up. A scrape marred one cheek, and the front of her dress bore signs of having lost a battle with the pavement. Her phone was face up, and he could see that the screen was indeed not just cracked, but almost shattered.

  The hand which held it was shaking.

  “Jack.”

  At the sound of his name Jack halted his visual inventory of her injuries, his gaze connecting with hers. The moment seemed to draw out, though Jack realized that it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds.

  He also realized he wasn’t breathing.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I was just having a look at her ankle to see if she maybe sprained it,” the random guy said.

  “It’s fine,” Caitlin said, addressing both of them. “I just twisted it a little as I went down.”

  “Are you sure? It looks a little puffy here.” The dude ran his hands over her ankle again, moving one further up her leg than Jack thought it needed to be.

  “I’ll take over,” Jack said, stepping forward so that the other man was pretty much forced to lean back.

  “I know first aid,” he insisted.

  “As do I. I’m also her attorney.”

  The kid, because upon closer inspection, Jack doubted he was more than twenty-three or twenty-four, lifted his hands in a gesture that was more smartass than concession. “Wouldn’t want to get in the middle of some client-attorney privilege.”

  But he stood up, moving out of the way, so Jack didn’t really care about his attitude. As long as he was keeping his hands to himself.

  Jack squatted down, visually examined Caitlin’s ankle for himself before lightly touching it with two fingers. No swelling or bruising, but they weren’t always present in the initial stages of a sprain. “Can you move it?” Jack asked quietly.

  “It gave out when I tried to stand a few minutes ago – when I was talking to you – but I think that’s just because I was so shaky. It hurts a little, but I don’t think it’s bad.”

  Her voice was essentially steady, though Jack could hear the fine tremor which flowed just beneath the surface. He figured it was a geyser that would erupt sooner or later. But now, he needed to keep her focused so that he could figure out what the hell had just happened.

  “You know first aid?”

  His lips twitched at her skeptical tone. “I played football through college, so I have a lot of firsthand experience with injuries. Plus my younger brother is a doctor. He browbeat me into taking a basic first aid course. You have a mark on your cheek. Did you hit your head?”

  “Not when I jumped out of the way of the car.” She looked slightly embarrassed. “When I tried to get up the first time, I fell over. Bumped my cheek. It’s a miracle I didn’t break this pair of glasses, too. But anyway, I crawled back here.” She gestured toward the brick wall against which she leaned.

  Jack’s lips thinned in displeasure. “Any other injuries?”

  “Nothing major. I’m mostly just shaken up.”

  “With perfectly good reason. You rest for another minute, and then I’m going to have you walk me through what you remember. Okay?”

  When she nodded, he looked over his shoulder, spoke to her erstwhile hero. “I’m going to need to ask you a few questions.”

  “You a cop?”

  “I believe we’ve already established that I’m her attorney. The cops will be here soon. I want to have a clear understanding of what happened before they get here.”

  The guy looked around antsily. “They’re going to want to talk to me, aren’t they?”

  The sixth sense Jack had developed over the years kicked in, and he stood up to face him. “They are. It’s important to have eyewitness testimony to establish the facts in a case like this. However, if you’re concerned about talking to them for some reason, you can run it by me first. I’m a criminal defense attorney.”

  He divided a look between Jack and Caitlin, finally addressing her. “What’d you do?”

  “None of your business,” Jack answered for her. “Just as whatever it is you’re worried about is none of hers. Do you have a dollar?”

  “What?”

  “A dollar.”

  “Uh, I guess.”

  “Give it to me.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because then anything you tell me I won’t be required to mention to the police due to that attorney client privilege you were so concerned about a moment ago.”

  “Oh.” He mulled that over and then reached into his pocket. “That’s a good idea.”

  “That’s why you’re paying me the big buck,” Jack said as he accepted the dollar bill. “What’s your name?”

  “Mine? It’s Dusty. Dustin Miller.”

  “Jack Wellington. I’m your temporary legal counsel. Did you see what happened, Dusty?”

  “Only partly,” he admitted, running a hand with tattooed knuckles through his shoulder length brown hair before pointing toward the end of the street. “I was just turning when I saw her throw herself out of the way, and an SUV go speeding off.”

  “Did you happen to catch a license plate?”

  “No, the light was green, so the vehicle didn’t stop. All I can tell you is that it was black, with tinted windows. Square shape to the back. Maybe a Jeep?”

  “When you say sped off, do you mean t
hat they did or did not appear to be aware of the fact that they’d almost hit someone?”

  “Oh, they knew it. You don’t drive that fast down a one way city street unless you’re running away from the cops or drunk. Or both. Plus, when they turned the corner up at the next intersection, I could hear their tires squealing.”

  Jack figured they didn’t have much time left, and the woman across the street had just hung up and looked like she was planning to come their way. “Why didn’t you want to talk to the police?”

  “Oh. Yeah. I may or may not have a small amount of a possibly illegal substance in my car.”

  Jack figured it was something along those lines. “Why don’t you move your car out of the street,” he said loudly enough for the other woman’s benefit “so that you’re not obstructing traffic. Maybe around the corner. And then you can walk back here and talk to the police about what you saw.”

  “Right,” the guy said, a little too brightly. “I think I’ll do that. I wouldn’t want my car to cause someone to have an accident.”

  He smiled at the woman – again, a bit too cheerfully – and then hotfooted it toward his car.

  The woman frowned at him as he walked by her, lips thinned in disapproval of the young man’s long hair and tattoos. But then she turned to look at Caitlin, disapproval switching to concern.

  “I saw that car, not even paying a lick of attention, practically run you down, young lady. I hope you’re not hurt too badly.”

  For some reason, that comment was accompanied by a glare in Jack’s direction. “I’ll make sure she’s properly checked out by medical professionals,” he assured her.

  “Good.” She nodded. “Probably drunk, like so many of these tourists over the past weekend. The driver of the car that almost hit you,” she clarified for Caitlin. “Not you, dear. Are you her husband?”

  “I’m her attorney,” Jack said.

  “Attorney?”

  “That’s right ma’am.” And because he decided she was probably the leader of her neighborhood watch, the type to narc on her neighbors if she spotted them doing something in their own backyard that she didn’t like– lord knew he ran up against them often enough in court – added “and a family friend.”

  Caitlin looked at him sharply, but the older woman again nodded in seeming approval. Jack figured if he’d said that Caitlin was being investigated for killing a man she supposedly picked up in a bar and he was her defense lawyer, her willingness to talk to him might be slightly hampered. “Can you tell me what you saw?”

  “Isn’t that what I just did? I was walking up the street when this black vehicle starts driving slowly by, and I glanced over to get a look at the driver – because direct eye contact will usually let them know they’re not dealing with a soft target – but the windows were tinted too dark for me to see inside.” She sniffed. “Drug pushers, no doubt. Anyway, they sort of idled there for a moment, and I pulled my phone from my purse so that I could call the police if they tried anything funny. Then this young lady,” she glanced down at Caitlin “started out from the alley there and across the road, and the Hummer just…” she brushed her hands past each other to indicate something taking off quickly. “Almost like they were aiming for her.”

  “You sound pretty certain about the make of the vehicle.”

  “I have a son who’s career military. He always says that Hum-vees are so uncomfortable he couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to drive one around recreationally. So I’m familiar with the brand. This was the smaller version.”

  Which could probably be mistaken for a four door Jeep upon quick glance. “I don’t guess you happened to see the license plate?”

  Her dark eyes narrowed. “I did one better. I took a photo of it.”

  If Jack didn’t think it would get him clobbered with her purse, he would have kissed her. “Seriously?”

  Her smile spread slowly, making them conspirators. “You betcha. I told you I already had my phone out, ready to call the police. When I realized what was going down, I turned on my camera.”

  “I sensed,” Jack told her “that you were the type of woman to kick ass and take names.”

  “My son’s a Marine. Where do you think he got it?”

  Jack’s amusement was tempered by the sound of approaching sirens, and he turned around. “Caitlin?” he said when he saw her face. He quickly moved over so that he could squat down beside her, touch his fingers lightly to her cheek. “Are you in pain?”

  She shook her head, looking distressed. “It’s not that. That woman, what kind of car did she say it was?”

  “A Hummer. Smaller model.”

  “That’s what I thought.” She closed her eyes. “I think it was Ryan’s.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “I really don’t think this is necessary,” Caitlin said, gesturing to the bandage wrapping her ankle. “The EMT said it wasn’t sprained.”

  “She said that if it was sprained, it was likely very minor, and she didn’t think an X-ray was necessary. She did, however, agree with me, that wrapping it wouldn’t hurt, and would help alleviate any swelling if it should start. Particularly since it’s the same foot that you already injured.” He opened his passenger side door, gesturing for her to get in. When she hesitated, he cocked one elegant dark brow. “Would you like me to call my co-worker so that she can tell you about the inconvenience of hobbling around in an ankle boot? She was in one for several weeks last fall. An ounce of prevention is probably better, don’t you think?”

  Caitlin scowled. “You were insufferable as a child, weren’t you?”

  “Are you implying that I outgrew it?”

  “No.” She lowered herself into his Porsche, a four-wheeled testament to insufferableness if she’d ever seen one. The man was so full of himself that he should be driving a passenger van to accommodate his ego. Then she smoothed her hands over the skirt of her dress, from which she’d tried to brush the remnants of asphalt, with varying success. “I was implying that it was more along the lines of a foundation on which you’ve continued to build.”

  “Fair enough.” He tilted his head. “Watch your dress.”

  Caitlin yanked the edge of it out of the door so that it wouldn’t be caught there when he closed it.

  She wasn’t sure why she was being so surly with Jack, considering he’d been nothing but helpful. Well, insufferable and helpful. A bit high-handed. Absurdly attractive.

  She almost hated him, really.

  She sniffed when he climbed in on the other side, his long legs barely fitting despite the fact that his seat was pushed all the way back.

  “Have you ever considered driving something larger? Like a bus?”

  “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head harder than you thought?”

  “My head is just fine, thank you.”

  “You look like you just swallowed a persimmon.” He started the ignition.

  “You look like you were just elected Most Imperious by your high school classmates.”

  “Most Likely to Succeed. And Best Looking.” He slid a glance her way, shrugged modestly. “They couldn’t decide between them.”

  Caitlin’s nostrils flared, and then she noticed the slight curve of his lips. “You’re baiting me, aren’t you?”

  He merged into traffic. “I figure you’re probably pretty pissed right about now, and need a target. Might as well be me. My skin’s thick.”

  “Probably because it’s coated with scales.”

  “Was that a snake reference? Because usually it’s sharks. Although why people think it’s an insult to equate lawyers with sharks escapes me, considering sharks are apex predators and pretty badass in general.”

  “I believe it’s the predator part that acts as the basis for the insult.”

  “Still doesn’t make sense. Would you rather be the rabbit or the wolf?”

  “Why are we talking in animal metaphors?”

  “I don’t know. You’re the writer.”

  Caitlin couldn’t decide if t
hat took the fight out of her or only made her more tempted to kick him. With her ankle that absolutely was not sprained, no matter how superior he was about it.

  “No wonder you’re single.”

  His brows climbed up his forehead. “And how do you know that?”

  “Connie googled you. She claimed my life is in your hands. Which is ridiculous, of course, considering I’ve saved myself twice in the past few days. Twice! If I’d been sitting around waiting for some man to save me, I would have been found dead in my bed or a smear on the pavement. But here I am. Fine!”

  “Except for your sprained ankle.”

  “You are a jerk.”

  “A jerk in whose hands your continued freedom rests, which I’m pretty sure is what your friend meant. Although I’m not sure what me not being married has to do with that, unless it’s a reflection of my ability to avoid a shackle.”

  Her mouth actually fell open. “I know you’re doing this intentionally. I know it. And I still want to beat you.”

  “Many have tried. Most have failed.”

  “Most?”

  “I lose a case occasionally. Very occasionally. But you can’t win them all.”

  “I’m sure that’s comforting to the people who end up behind bars. And that’s not the sort of beating I meant.”

  “I know.” He cocked a brow as he glanced at her. “I assumed you meant something physical.”

  That arc thing happened again, almost an electric current sizzling in the space between them. As angry and worked up as she was, the sudden jolt felt like oxygen to a flame. Caitlin was furious and upset and now suddenly – uncomfortably – sexually aware. Of her attorney. Who was a jerk.

  “Why didn’t you call detectives Donaldson and Clark this time?”

  He didn’t even blink at the change of subject. “Because we had two unbiased witnesses, and I thought that having them give their story to beat cops who were also unbiased, theoretically, would put us in a stronger position. Unless they find some prints on your car or that note – or someone who saw a suspicious person in the area, which is unlikely due to the street light being out – that threat isn’t real solid. Anyone could highlight some words on a book page, leave it on your windshield.”