The Southern Comfort Prequel Trilogy Box Set

by Lisa Clark O'Neill

He glanced her direction. “Caitlin is going with me.” It had been his initial instinct to bring her there, and he should have insisted that she stayed.

  “Says who?”

  “Says me.”

  “Because you’ve kept her so safe up to now?”

  “No, I haven’t. Because I’ve been trying to be sensitive and considerate, and not a high-handed asshole. But since consideration almost got her killed tonight, I’m reverting to type.”

  “Excuse me,” Caitlin said. “I’m sitting right here. And as I stated previously, I’m not some sort of breakable figurine to be placed on a shelf. That goes for you too, Connie.” She aimed a look at her friend. “I know you have this tendency to think that I’m inept, and helpless, but I’m neither of those things. And it’s not Jack’s fault that I was attacked tonight. I thought he was being a little overzealous in checking us in under another name, and switching hotels, and all of this secretive bullshit. Obviously, I was mistaken. It appears that someone is very determined to kill me.”

  Connie’s lips had turned white where she pressed them into a line. “I don’t think you’re inept.”

  “Sure you do. But it’s not just you. It’s Lance, and Theresa, too. My whole life I’ve been coddled, and I’ve allowed it to go on for long enough. I love you, and I appreciate your support and your concern, but it’s well past time that I managed my own affairs. That includes my physical safety. And right now, I feel the safest place for me is at Jack’s.”

  She glanced his direction. “But on my own terms. I will not be treated like chattel.”

  “If he irritates you,” Ainsley interjected “just give me a call and I’ll pick you up. And before you say anything, Jack, remember that I am her attorney. And my aim is almost as good as yours.”

  Which was true. After her life had been threatened last fall, Ainsley’s fiancé had started giving her lessons. He was former military, and a sharpshooter. The last time they’d gone to the range together, she’d very nearly outshot him.

  But as much as he trusted Ainsley with Caitlin’s legal wellbeing, he sure as hell wasn’t trusting her with her life.

  “I’ll be on my best behavior,” he intoned.

  “See that you are. Is Elise waiting for me downstairs?”

  “At the car,” Jack said.

  “Then I will bid you all a goodnight. Or perhaps a good morning is more accurate.”

  Flipping her long dark hair over her shoulder, she leaned down to give Caitlin a hug. With one last loaded glance toward Jack, she left, passing Lance Cavanaugh in the doorway.

  “Our bags are packed, Connie.”

  She glanced at her fiancé. “Are you aware that we will be going alone?”

  “Ah, if you mean did I know that Jack wanted to take Caitlin with him, yeah. He mentioned it.” He looked toward his sister. “I’m guessing you’re okay with that.”

  Caitlin nodded. “I am.”

  “Well.” Lance scratched his cheek. “Then I guess that’s settled.”

  “Settled?” Connie said incredulously. “Don’t you think we should do something a little more proactive? Like get the hell out of this city and take Caitlin with us? She’s almost been killed. Three times! I can’t believe you’re being so blasé about this.”

  “I’m not being blasé,” Lance said, obviously controlling his irritation. “I’m being practical. As much as I would like to whisk her away, she’s still the subject of a police investigation, and leaving town doesn’t exactly paint her in the best light. From everything I’ve learned, Jack’s house is probably safer than anything I could come up with on short notice. And since he saved Caitlin’s life tonight, I’m kind of inclined to trust him with her safety.”

  Connie took a series of short, choppy breaths, color flaring in her cheeks. “Fine.” She dropped the shirt she was holding. “Fine. Since no one else appears to be concerned, I guess I’m just overreacting. Far be it from me to want to do whatever it takes to keep Caitlin from being murdered. How silly of me. This is definitely a time to be practical and considerate. Because those two things totally stop homicides from happening. And maybe if we all just hold hands and sing Kumbaya, the person trying to kill her will recognize the error of his ways, and turn himself in without further ado.”

  “I don’t think that really falls under practical,” Lance mused. “Connie,” he said when she pushed past him into the other room. And then he glanced back at Jack and Caitlin. “I guess now isn’t the best time for jokes.”

  “She’s… overwrought,” Caitlin told him.

  “Yeah, I get that.” He studied his sister. “Are you sure this is what you want to do? Because I will take you out of here, legal advice be damned.”

  Caitlin met Jack’s gaze for several seconds, and then nodded toward her brother. “Yes.”

  “Okay.” He turned toward Jack. “If anything happens to her, I’m coming after you. And I won’t be singing Kumbaya.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Lance in turn hugged Caitlin, whispering something in her ear that elicited another nod, which he followed with a fierce “I love you.”

  Jack wondered when the last time was that he’d verbally told one of his brothers he loved them. Sure, they all knew it. As a family, they were close. But they weren’t… demonstrative, he guessed. Even last night, when he’d visited the hospital, he hadn’t told Jesse he loved him. He’d slapped his back and given him a one-armed hug, and made the typical congratulatory remarks interspersed with wisecracks.

  And they’d almost lost Jesse last year.

  Maybe it was easier with sisters. Or maybe Jack just needed to open his damn mouth and say it.

  After Lance left them alone, Jack shared a lengthy look with Caitlin. Their relationship had undergone several rapid changes in the short time they’d known each other, and he sensed it was about to change again.

  “Ready?”

  She stood up, dropping the blanket which had been wrapped around her shoulders. “Yes.”

  Jack grabbed the shirt that Connie dropped, placing it in the bag before he shouldered it. Then he gestured for Caitlin to precede him. Lance and Connie must have already left, because their bedroom door stood open, the room beyond it empty.

  They were almost to the door when Jack noticed something sticking up from behind the pillow on the sofa. “Caitlin. Is that your manila envelope?”

  “What?” She turned around, squinting. “Oh. Yes, it’s Lance’s. Thank you. I never would have seen it without my glasses. They… broke when I fell.”

  Her voice faltered on the latter half of that sentence, causing Jack’s gut to tighten. She looked composed, but that was more than likely at least partially façade. Eerie calm in the aftermath of trauma wasn’t all that uncommon. But he knew from experience that the façade would eventually crumble.

  She retrieved the envelope, and they didn’t talk when they left the room, closing the door firmly behind them. The spot in the hallway where her assailant had lain, bleeding, stood between them and the elevator. By way of unspoken agreement, they headed toward the stairs instead.

  Jack paid a valet to retrieve his car. He wasn’t about to leave Caitlin alone to go fetch it, and the last thing he wanted was to parade her through the darkened street.

  After tipping the young man, he stowed her bag in his trunk. They didn’t speak for the first several minutes.

  “Where did you learn to shoot?”

  Jack glanced over. Caitlin was looking out the window at the sleepy city, caught in that grey area that comprised the last couple hours before dawn. “A former client attempted to slit my throat. Almost succeeded. It was pretty motivational in terms of self-defense.”

  Her head snapped around, the amount of white showing around her eyes reflecting her shock. “Tonight.” She cleared her throat several times before continuing. “He… uh… I think he planned to do that. To me.”

  Rage caused Jack’s nostrils to flare, but he kept his tone even. “Why do you think that?”

 
“He grabbed my face. My chin?” She demonstrated having her head pulled back, exposing her throat. “And he had a knife – a switchblade.” She paused for several beats. “He told me it wasn’t personal.”

  She’d obviously recited this story several times to the cops, and was able to tell it relatively calmly. Like it had happened to someone else, as she’d done at the police station. She was obviously good at that – telling stories that happened to other people. It was what she did. And that mental distancing allowed a degree of security, of space for people to process what had happened. But like the façade, that space was eventually going to close in.

  “Wasn’t personal?”

  “And then when I managed to grab my key chain. The pepper spray? After I shot it in his face he said he would have killed me for free.”

  Fuck. Fuck. Jack had suspected it, but hearing his suspicions confirmed in her distant, storytelling voice made it so much worse. Having someone want you dead was bad enough. Having someone want you dead to the point that they were willing to pay other people to do it was exponentially more frightening. It made almost every stranger you encountered someone whose motives you would question.

  From a legal standpoint, it made the case of self-defense against Harold Cox a bit stronger.

  From a personal standpoint, it was like opening a portal to hell.

  “I think he was a junkie,” she said. “He had that glassy-eyed look. You know? And that strikes me as a pretty big coincidence. Because Harold Cox was an addict, too.”

  “And Lydia Fasteland.”

  She looked at him with surprise. “Did Connie talk to you?”

  “No, why?”

  “Because she suggested that Lydia might have been abusing her prescription meds, and maybe she knew Harold through rehab.”

  Jack’s brows drew together. “That’s a pretty big supposition, given the size of the city of Atlanta. But anyway, she was right. Ethan told me that when he called.”

  “But you didn’t tell me?”

  “You’d just found out about your friend. I figured that was enough for you to deal with right then.”

  She sighed and turned back to the window. “My head hurts. And not because I smacked it. Will the police tell us who he was? The… man tonight?”

  “Yes. He’ll face charges, and they’ll need your testimony.”

  “Of course,” she said. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  She leaned her head back against the seat, and then rolled it toward Jack. “Thank you.”

  He didn’t have to ask what she meant. “I would have killed him. If he’d kept coming, he would be dead.”

  “I’m glad you won’t have that on your conscience. And it’s not like me – you would remember every detail. So even though I appreciate you saying that, I’m relieved it wasn’t necessary.” She hesitated a beat. “Do you think he’ll tell them who… who hired him? Assuming he was telling the truth about that and wasn’t just drugged out of his mind.”

  “If he does, we’ll hear about it. I made a deal with Clark and Donaldson.”

  “And you think they’ll hold up their end?”

  “I do, actually. Something happened – maybe the fact that you told them what this guy said, maybe something else. But something happened that leads me to believe they don’t hold you under quite as much suspicion. So that’s one plus in the column. We’re here.”

  She sat up, looked around.

  “What? Where are we? I thought we were going to your house.”

  “I said I was taking you home. I didn’t specify which one.”

  “This is a parking garage.”

  “Common for residential units in the city. It’s private and relatively secure, but I’m going to be crass and ask you to carry your bag. I want to have both hands free. Would you mind opening the glove box? Thank you.”

  Jack reached over, extracted the pistol he kept there.

  “You know, under different circumstances, I’d be a little alarmed by the fact that you seem to have guns stashed all over the place. But right now, I’m not going to complain.”

  Jack leaned over and kissed her. A quick stamp of approval. “When you get out, stand next to the concrete pillar, okay?”

  “Because it would deflect gunshots?”

  “Yes. And before you ask, no, I don’t expect anyone to take a shot at you. But I didn’t expect you to get jumped in the vending room of the hotel, either.”

  She sighed, but nodded. “Okay.”

  She did as he suggested, and Jack did a quick study of their surroundings before pulling her duffel bag from the car. “Here. Stay close to me as we’re walking. Elevator’s right there.”

  He’d driven until he found a space next to it.

  They made it to the elevator without incident, and Jack pushed the button for the top floor. When they arrived, he used his key card to open the elevator doors.

  “Stay behind me,” he told her.

  They walked past the darkened community room, as well as the bare bones gym – where a couple of early birds, or maybe night owls – were running on the treadmills. Followed by the door to the rooftop deck. At the end of the hall, Jack unlocked the last door.

  Something inside him shifted as he ushered Caitlin inside. Laying his gun on the table next to the door, he re-engaged the locks, and then took her bag from her as she looked around. She took several steps forward until she was standing in front of the floor to ceiling windows.

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah. The building isn’t exactly state of the art, and the apartment isn’t much, but the view is another story. This was my first apartment when I moved back to Savannah, and even after I could afford to buy a house, I didn’t want to give it up.”

  “I can understand why.”

  “This was a cotton warehouse at one time,” he found himself saying, although he wasn’t sure why. “You can still see indentations from where they rolled storage bins, I guess, across the wood floors. Ships would bring the cotton in from plantations up river, and here they’d compress it into bales for reshipping. Or so I’ve heard.”

  She looked over her shoulder, the soft grey light of the approaching dawn turning her hair that odd shade he’d first noticed about her. Although this time he didn’t think it made her look older. It made her appear at once solid and ethereal, like an angel carved in stone.

  “We’re back by the river,” she pointed out.

  “I drove around for a while to shake off anyone who might be following us.”

  “If you had a place this close, why didn’t you stay here? Why take the room at the hotel?”

  “It wasn’t close enough.”

  He could see her begin to tremble. “If you hadn’t, I’d be dead.”

  “But I did, and you’re not.” Because he couldn’t stand it a moment longer, Jack dropped the bag, and then strode toward her. He framed her face with his hands. “You’re not. You’re very much alive.”

  The kiss exploded beyond anything Jack had intended. He’d aimed for reassurance, for comfort, but Caitlin’s façade crumbled beneath his hands. He’d expected it to happen sooner or later, maybe in the form of weeping or another outburst of anger.

  He hadn’t anticipated this.

  “Show me.” She opened her mouth over his, pleading, demanding. A whimpering sound escaped her throat. “Show me.”

  “Caitlin. I –”

  “Show me.”

  Show her that she was alive. He looked into her eyes, saw the raw need there, and just that quickly, Jack was lost.

  Not pausing to consider the wisdom of his actions, he bent down and boosted her up. She clung like a vine, arms circling his neck, legs closing around his waist. Jack nearly groaned when her core brushed against his quickly growing erection. Even through his slacks and her yoga pants, he could feel her soft heat.

  Kissing with almost none of the finesse of which he liked to believe himself capable, Jack strode toward the bed. The apartment was a studio loft, the sleeping area delineated by a p
latform instead of walls and a door. Being careful not to trip, Jack climbed the step, walked until his legs hit the bed.

  And then lowered them both onto it.

  He tried to pull back, to slow things down, but everything became heat and urgency. Caitlin’s fingers threaded through his hair, formed into fists that forced him closer, her breaths in between kisses coming in choppy bursts that were almost sobs. “You’re alive,” he said again, bracing himself on one forearm so that he could brush her tangled hair from her face. “You’re safe.”

  “I didn’t want to die.”

  Something inside him gave a vicious twist. “You’re safe,” he repeated, looking into her eyes so that she knew he meant it. “It’s over.”

  “Jack.”

  “I’m right here.”

  “Show me.”

  And God help him, he did. Her body felt small and soft beneath his, and he tried to be cognizant not only of his greater size and strength, but also of her injuries. However, she wasn’t having any of it. Any time he tried for gentleness, she arched and clutched and even nipped, demanding he give her more. She smelled good, she tasted better, and despite his best intentions Jack became filled with the primal need to conquer. To mark what he saw as his territory in the most elemental way.

  She tugged his shirt from his waistband, her nails digging into his back, and Jack broke the kiss long enough to undo a few buttons. When he leaned up, yanking the shirt off over his head, her hands trailed through the hair on his chest and then started grappling with his belt buckle.

  “Wait,” he said, his hands tangling with hers, both of them clumsy in their eagerness. “Let me do it.”

  “Hurry.”

  She shimmied and twisted until she had her own shirt bunched in her fist, tossing it off the end of the bed. Jack looked at her breasts, the breasts that that idiot Garland had referred to as a nice rack, and wanted to smack him both for ogling and for the understatement. She was a piece of art, an alabaster goddess, whatever flaws she might have only making the goddess human. Jack wanted to bask, to worship, but her urgency wouldn’t grant him respite. Both of them shoved down their pants, kicking them aside as best they could since their limbs were still mostly tangled together.