“When was this?” Jesse examined the marks with a frown. “Before you were hit?”
“I…” Man, he wasn’t quite sure. “I don’t think so. Seems to me it was after. She was pulling at me, and her nails dug into my arms. Everything was… sort of surreal. But I know she wanted me to get in her car. My head felt like a bowling pin, and when I grabbed it my hand came away bloody. Had to have been after.”
“Do you remember anything about her car?”
Jordan closed his eyes, tried to drum up a mental image. His head throbbed, but he knew his brother – and FBI agent – as well as whatever detectives might be assigned his case would want as many details as they could get. “Uh… red. I think. Small. A coupe, maybe.” He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “I couldn’t even hazard a guess as to make or model.”
“I’m guessing a license plate number is too much to ask.”
Jordan’s half-lidded gaze said: get real. But there was something… “I think there was a chain around it. The plate.” Though something still wasn’t right. “Except, I don’t think the chain was on her car. It –”
“Wait, wait.” Jesse held up a hand, eyes sharpening like blue razors. “You’re saying there was a second car involved?”
“I think so. Seems to me I must have been in the trunk of the second car. I felt the chain with my heel, and it made me wonder how I lost my shoe. The woman threw it at me when she kicked me out of her car. I thought it was damn rude.”
“Kidnappers these days. They just don’t have any manners.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Noticing the tray of food next to the bed, Jordan lifted the silver cover. “Did you eat my breakfast?”
“Believe me, I did you a favor. What were you doing at the Marriott on River Street? That’s where they found your car.”
“Ah, that.” Jordan grimaced, pushing the remnants of something egg-like off to the side. “I got roped into giving a speech. Steve Finch phoned me a couple of days ago and called in a favor. He was scheduled to give a lecture to a group of bureaucrats about that joint task force we were on last year. Something came up last minute, so I was the stand in.”
“So you were leaving that conference when you were attacked?”
“Sounds like. But honestly, I don’t remember.”
“Pretty common with an injury like yours. It might come back to you, it might not.” Voices sounded in the hall, and Jesse climbed to his feet, ambling to the door to peer through the crack. “Looks like the detectives are back. Get ready to go through everything again.” He turned, and his jaw was set. “I’ll hold my tongue, because it’s their jurisdiction. But make no mistake, little bro. From this point on, I’ve got your back.”
CHAPTER THREE
THERE was a goon in Ava’s parking lot. Heaven help her, she got so angry every time she looked through the window that she nearly howled like the dogs in her kennel.
Protection, her ass. Her uncle just wanted to intimidate her.
“Staring isn’t going to make him go away, Dr. Martinez. Believe me, I’ve already tried.”
Hands on hips, Ava turned toward her assistant. Auburn hair spilled from beneath a blue bandana as Katie’s head popped up from behind the computer monitor, putting Ava in mind of a colorful jack in the box.
“What are you going to do?”
“I have no idea.”
Abandoning her hunting-and-pecking, Katie came around the reception counter to join Ava at the window. “That guy’s facial craters might warrant a visit from NASA.”
Ava couldn’t help but laugh. “I knew there was a reason I hired you, Katie.”
“You mean other than the fact that I blew you away with my extensive knowledge of everything that walks on four legs, not to mention my outstanding public relations prowess and exceptional secretarial skills?”
“You barely knew how to turn on the computer.”
“I’m getting better, aren’t I?”
“Well you certainly couldn’t have gotten any worse. But just for the record, One-Eyed Jack convinced me. Anyone who can give him a bath without losing their own eye deserves your meager salary.”
“Nah, Jack’s a sweetie.” As if on cue, the aptly-named gray feline rubbed against Katie’s long, long legs. He circled around her in a figure eight, giving Ava a wide berth. “I think he’s still mad at you for that rabies shot.”
“He’ll get over it.” Ava watched the cat jump onto the counter, where he flicked his tail to show how wrong she was.
“Homemade Sin out there is going to scare off all your business.”
Ava turned back toward the window. The man was exceptionally ugly, all oily dark hair and pockmarked skin encased in a dirty wife beater. Chains of gold dripped like gilded sweat.
But more disturbing was the fact that she knew, without question, that he was also exceptionally ruthless. And she had no doubt as to why he’d been posted. Her uncle was giving her a warning. Talk to anyone, about anything, and I’ll know it.
When she’d finally made it back to the club last night, the goons were gone – no doubt scrambling around trying to find the man who’d disappeared from their trunk – and Ricardo had been distracted. But he’d let her know that her loving uncle, worried about his only niece’s safety during her father’s upcoming trial, had ordered a security detail to see to her protection. Carlos was concerned about the associates of the man her father murdered seeking out Ava for reprisal.
Which was bullshit.
Her uncle just wanted to ensure that she stayed quiet during her father’s trial. Unlike her father, Ava had no loyalty to Carlos, and the bastard knew it. Which was why he’d sicced his ugly dog.
“Bastard.”
“Language,” Katie said. “Do you really think he’ll keep a tail on you twenty-four hours a day for the duration?”
“I don’t know. Hopefully, once he realizes I’m not inclined to play footsies with the prosecution, he’ll leave me alone. If it was his neck on the chopping block, I’d be standing over him with the axe, but I’m not about to do anything to hurt my father.”
“Why don’t you tell him that?”
“That would mean speaking directly to the man, which I haven’t done in over a year and a half.” Since her mother had disappeared.
Ava pressed her fingers to the pain that had begun to bang against her head like a nasty neighbor at the door. “I’m sorry, Katie. I never should have dumped this on you in the first place, but I felt it only fair you understood who you worked for. The severance package I offered still stands. I understand if you want to quit.”
“You keep saying that, Dr. Martinez, and I’m afraid you and I will have words.”
“Well I certainly wouldn’t want to be subjected to this if I had a choice.” Ava threw her hand away from her aching head. “And for the last time, will you please stop calling me Dr. Martinez?”
“Not between nine a.m. to five p.m. Outside business hours: Ava.”
Ava’s eyes rolled. “Lord save me from propriety.”
“You’ve just uttered a blasphemy against the Southern Ladies’ Sacred Code of Conduct. I’m covering my ears. “Uh-oh.” Her fingers flew to her lips instead. “Looks like Mrs. Phillips and her poodles just pulled in. The goon got out. He’s leaning against his car.”
Shit. Ava ducked out of sight. “Quick, tell me what’s happening.”
“Is the black or the white poodle Muffin?”
“Uh, the black one, I think.”
“Well, Muffin is currently trying to choke herself off her leash. She looks like she wants to take a bite out of the goon’s leg.”
“Tell me he didn’t pull a knife.”
“No, but he looks pissed.” Katie glared at Ava. “Now look what you’ve made me say.”
“Oh, hush it, Katie. Update.”
“Mrs. Phillips is trying to control Muffin, and the white one – what’s its name? Biscuit? Well, the white one just had an accident all over the front of her dress. That dog always has been ner
vous. Oh, the goon looked directly at Mrs. Phillips. That should be enough to scare that awful perm right out of her hair.” Katie allowed a moment of contemplation. “Maybe not such a bad thing.”
She reached out a hand toward Ava. “Get up. She’s coming, and she looks upset. You might want to go into the back. My people skills are better than yours.”
“Don’t you mean your ass-kissing skills?”
“There’s that language again. Run along now, before I’m forced to get out my soap.”
Ava couldn’t make it in time. She’d only gotten as far as the counter when the spectacle at the front door stopped her. Despite Mrs. Phillips’ considerable bulk, the woman could haul ass. Slap a saddle on her and she could have taken the Derby. The door flew open and she shot in, one poodle clutched to her breast, the other snapping and yanking against the tangle of hot pink leash around the woman’s feet.
Eyes wide and white as a nervous mare’s flew up to meet Ava’s. “Dr. Martinez, I’m sure you weren’t aware of it, but there’s an unsavory character lurking around in your parking lot.”
Unsavory was apparently Southern Lady lingo for scary-looking sonofabitch.
“Oh, bless your heart. Here, let me help you with that leash.” Katie rushed over to assist.
“Thank you, Katie.” Mrs. Phillips patted her hair back into the style Ava thought of as a drain clog.
“As I was saying, there’s a criminal element loitering outside. And to think, you pretty young ladies here alone. The police need to chase that riff-raff off. I’ll just dial 911 from my cellular.”
She started to reach for her purse and Ava shouted “No!”
The poodle at her breast let out a yip when the woman’s hand leapt to her heart instead. “Oh, Biscuit. My poor baby. Mommy didn’t mean to strike you.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Phillips. It’s just that –”
“That’s Dr. Martinez’s brother.”
“Oh, my dear.” Mrs. Phillips looked out the window in dismay, and Ava what the hell’d at Katie. She didn’t have a brother. “I… well. Brother, you say?”
“Yes. He’s in the private security business.”
Ava hip-checked her assistant on her way to take Mrs. Phillips’ arm. “Well, that’s enough about me. Let’s get Muffin and Biscuit vaccinated, shall we?”
“Oh. Yes, yes. Of course.” Mrs. Phillips patted her drain clog while Katie took charge of Muffin, blithely ignoring her employer’s glare.
With one last look toward the parking lot, Ava followed them toward the back.
CHAPTER FOUR
JORDAN’S lungs burned, his stitches itched, and sweat rolled down his back. His head beat like a drum with every slap of his feet on pavement.
It was heaven.
Ever since his mother had blown back into town in an overprotective maternal maelstrom, he’d been confined to his parents’ sofa. Never mind the fact that he was past thirty. As all five of Addison Wellington’s sons could attest, life went along easier once you learned to say: yes ma’am. Not a one of them under six-foot tall, but their petite mother snapped her fingers and, to a man, they fell in line.
But Jordan had pulled a fast one today. He’d cited some paperwork that needed attending as his excuse for escaping the house. If he neglected to mention the run he intended to indulge in afterward – well, he figured what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
Though his own body was starting to protest.
But hell, he was used to running five miles at least three days a week, so the confinement was making him crazy. And running helped clear his mind. Now, more than ever, Jordan needed to think clearly.
Longtime family friend Clay Copeland was flying in today to help Jordan prepare the prosecution for the Fuller trial. A member of the FBI’s Investigative Support Unit, Clay was an expert on serial killers, and his offender profiles and expert testimony had helped put a number of them behind bars. Given the circumstantial nature of their evidence – not to mention the fact that Jordan had been second choice for heading up this trial, even before his little medical mishap – the Chatham County DA’s office wasn’t taking any chances.
Jordan could have been mildly offended, but truth was, he wanted Clay’s input. He’d be the first to admit he’d been distracted the past week, but he still couldn’t see how he could argue, beyond a reasonable doubt, that Fuller was their man. In fact – and this was the point that was really sticking in his craw – he was even starting to have some doubts.
And if he couldn’t make the case for it, there was little chance a jury would believe it either.
Not what Jordan’s boss wanted to hear. No city wanted a serial killer on their hands, but for one that courted tourist dollars the way others pimped major league athletics, a knife-happy lunatic running amok wasn’t exactly good for business.
Pulling his ball cap lower, Jordan ran past a hedge of azaleas splashed with pink and white flowers. He was all for wrapping up the case, he mused as a few spent blooms fell beneath his feet. As long as he made damn sure he was sending the right man to prison.
Confederate jasmine sweetened the air, fresh and lovely as a pretty woman still warm from the bath. He loved spring, its riot of color and scent. The way nature just seemed to burst like a happy balloon, spreading bright confetti everywhere. Riding on the headiness of the exercise, the fresh air, Jordan crossed a small wooden footbridge before realizing he wasn’t alone.
And angling his head, caught the flash of blond on his right.
He’d been worried the dog wouldn’t be here.
Jordan first spotted the stray a few weeks back, following him from a distance, scuttling under the nearest bush whenever Jordan stopped, or stuck out a hand. It made him sick to think about what kind of abuse must have turned the dog skittish. You could tell from his big, goofy retriever face that he was meant for a family. For chasing balls in the backyard and sneaking scraps under the dinner table. The kind of dog he’d grown up with as a kid.
So Jordan courted the animal, patient, until he’d licked Jordan’s outstretched hand. He’d almost gotten close enough to slip the leash he carried from his pocket.
That was the Friday before his abduction. He hadn’t been by in nearly a week, and Jordan had worried about Animal Control.
But here the animal was. Faithful as a shadow.
The throb in his head began to churn in his stomach, and Jordan figured he’d better pack it in before his breakfast decided to pay a call. Collapsing onto a park bench, he dropped his head between his knees.
Warm fur brushed his leg.
Jordan opened an eye. The dog’s tongue lulled to the side, and Jordan had a chance to think the animal’s teeth looked pretty good. Though Christ, his breath could fell a rhino from twenty paces. Carefully extending his hand, he stroked it down the blond head, and was rewarded by the happy thump of a matted tail.
Dappled sunlight warmed their backs, shifting like liquid gold across the fur ruffled by Jordan’s fingers. He nearly swore when his cell phone rang, frightening the dog away.
And did curse when he checked the readout. “Hey, Mom.” If he cleared his throat, he’d sound guilty. “I was just finishing up. I’ll be on my way home in a minute.”
“Well, take your time, sweetheart. No need to rush. Though it’s such a fine day, I hate to think of you stuck behind a desk. You could do with some fresh air.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be sure to, uh, sit in the garden after lunch.”
“Speaking of, how does a nice barbeque sound?”
“Like a little slice of heaven.”
“Some slaw, potato salad, sweet cornbread?”
“My mouth is already watering.”
“Good. I called in an order at McCready’s. Since you’re already there at the park, swing next door and pick it up.”
“MRS. Wellington, you make a mean chocolate chip cookie.” Clay Copeland grabbed a cookie the size of a saucer fresh off the cooling rack. He broke off a piece, popped it into his mouth, chewing h
appily while she patted his cheek.
“I’m glad you like them, Clay.”
Leaning an elbow on the counter, Clay flashed the grin that had been known to charm lesser women right out of their shirts. “Run away with me to Antigua. We’ll drink rum in the moonlight and you can ply me with your decadent confections.”
“Clay, stop flirting with my mother and haul your butt over here,” Jordan said from his seat at the kitchen table.
“And bring that plate of cookies,” Jesse added.
Neither of them seemed overly concerned about the fact that he’d just attempted to seduce their mother. But then, they’d heard it all before. Ever since Clay had gone through Quantico with Jesse – and gotten a taste of Addison Wellington’s cooking – he’d been making similar propositions.
So far, Clay thought ruefully, she’d managed to resist.
Blue eyes twinkling, Addison handed Clay the plate. “One of these days, you handsome devil, I’m going to take you up on that offer.”
Clay rubbed a hand over his heart. “Don’t tease me that way, Mrs. W. You build up my hopes then dash them cruelly, time and again. It’s a wonder I keep coming back.”
“You come back for the food.”
“Beautiful, talented and wise.” With a wink he headed toward the enormous pine table that dominated the sunny kitchen. Flipped a ladder-back chair and straddled it. And pilfered two more cookies before relinquishing the plate.
“Greedy bastard.” Jesse tugged the cookies closer and snagged a couple for himself before reluctantly passing them to his brother.
“Ah, no thanks,” Jordan said absently. He pulled a legal pad and pen out of his briefcase.
Jesse tipped down his glasses to peer at him with suspicion. “Mom let you eat the dough before Clay and I got here, didn’t she?”
Jordan’s grin was fast, and wicked. “She likes me better than you.”
“I heard that, Jordan,” Addison called from the sink.
“Because you have ears like a bat.”
“And eyes in the back of my head. Don’t any of you ever forget it.” Folding the dish towel she’d been using into a neat rectangle that mystified Clay, she hung it on a clever little silver hook before heading toward the French doors. “Now. I have some rose bushes that need pruning. I’ll be in the garden, so if you want something, get it yourselves.”
The Southern Comfort Series Box Set Page 2