The Southern Comfort Series Box Set

by Clark O'Neill, Lisa

  He probably should have called it a night at that point, instead of waiting for her like some kind of… stalker – shit, maybe Chris actually had a point – but he was so caught up in the emotion of seeing her again that he seemed to have lost his common sense. And working the cases he had today – the young woman stuffed into the drain pipe, the rape victim he’d spoken with again – made him all the more worried about this damn neighborhood in which she was living. Not to mention the fact that something about her brother’s accident still gave him an itch between the shoulders.

  The light went on in Sam’s apartment, he could see it filtering between the blinds, and… damn, there were a couple broken slats that he hadn’t noticed last night. From his current position in the alley, he could see her windows much better, and he had no doubt that if he walked over on foot he’d be able to peer right in. The perfect setup for a peeping Tom.

  He needed to get her out of there, and soon.

  No sooner had he thought it than the blinds flew up, yanked hard by a feminine arm. Sam stood, hands fisted on hips, glaring out the window. Her whole body trembled with what looked an awful lot like rage.

  Well. Apparently she’d seen him.

  Scowling, Sam pushed at the bottom sash, struggling with the old, paint-thickened framework until she managed to get the window up far enough to stick her head out.

  “Joshua Harding!” she screamed, loud enough to wake the winos who were sleeping it off in the alley. Josh cringed, wondering what the hell had gotten into her. And it really wasn’t the best idea for her to be broadcasting his identity in this particular vicinity. “I know you’re out there,” she continued, “so you better just show yourself now!”

  O-kay. Sam sounded more than a little pissed. And he figured he’d better calm her down before she drew even more unwanted attention. Reluctantly, he climbed out of his truck, hitting the alarm and sending the more coherent of the two drunks a warning glance before abandoning his vehicle. Hotfooting it toward the crazily ranting woman of his dreams, Josh approached the window, palms held low, as if he were calming a wounded animal.

  “Sam,” he said in his best hey-there’s-no-need-to-get-crazy-here voice, “is there a problem?”

  Samantha looked at him like he was nuts.

  And given his behavior the past couple days, it was quite possible that he was.

  But given Sam’s behavior just now, he guessed that made two of them.

  “I will not,” she told him through clenched teeth, “be manipulated or pushed by any man, including you.” She held up a scrap of cream-colored silk and frothy black lace, which had no doubt at one time been a very sexy negligee. Before someone took a pair of scissors to it.

  “Okay.” He said out loud, still utterly confused by her unexpected behavior. Was she telling him that she didn’t like him following her, or that she didn’t want him thinking of her as a sex object? Was this sort of like when women burned their bras?

  “Did you send me this to freak me out?” she seethed. “And then when that didn’t work quickly enough you trashed my apartment to really scare me? Do you really think I’m that incapable of making my own decisions?”

  What? “Whoa.” Josh zeroed in on the critical part of that statement. “Are you saying that somebody trashed your apartment?”

  Sam crossed her arms over her chest, and gave him an assessing look. “Are you trying to tell me that you had nothing to do with this?” She stepped back from the window, allowing Josh a clear view inside. The place looked like a cyclone had torn through it.

  JOSH paled, then quickly released his weapon from its holster. He was through the window and had Sam tucked behind him before she understood fully what was happening. He aimed his gun at the closed bathroom door – a spot she hadn’t bothered to check – and Sam realized she’d made a critical blunder. She’d assumed – maybe because she was overly tired, maybe because she’d reached an emotional boiling point – and consequently may have put both of their safety in jeopardy. “I want you to go out through the window,” he instructed her in a low voice, “get into my truck, lock the doors and call 911. My cell phone’s in the cup holder.”

  Sam may have been stubborn, but she wasn’t stupid. She took the keys he offered, scrambled through the open window and hightailed it to his vehicle. Once inside, she grabbed the phone, punched the appropriate numbers, and watched Josh through the window as she waited for the emergency operator to pick up.

  Swallowing hard, Sam followed his path through the tiny kitchen area, and then lost sight of him as he approached the bathroom. The light clicked on – a good sign, she hoped? – just as the 911 operator asked her to describe her emergency. “Yes, I’d like to report a breakin.” She quickly gave the address.

  “Is the perpetrator in the dwelling with you ma’am?”

  “No.” Sam watched the window for Josh. Where the hell was he? “At least I don’t think so.”

  “Okay. Then I want you to stay on the phone with me until the police arrive. I’m dispatching a unit right now.”

  “Um, there’s already an officer on the scene.” There he was – popping up in the kitchen. He must have been checking the cabinets or something. “A friend of mine, Joshua Harding – he told me to call it in.”

  “Good,” the woman continued in her businesslike tone. “I’ll let the responding officers know that he’s there.”

  The operator wanted her to stay on the line, but Josh crawled out the window and trotted over to the truck, so Sam assured the woman she was out of harm’s way and snapped the phone shut as she rolled down the window. Josh looked at her, handsome face grim as she’d ever seen it, lifting in one gloved hand the shredded remains of the negligee.

  “We need to talk,” he said sternly, just as a siren sounded down the street.

  Sam glanced at the ruined garment, then back into angry blue eyes.

  “Yeah,” she agreed glumly. “I guess you’re right.”

  AFTER the police left, Sam sat on the arm of the ruined sofa, watching Josh’s back as he locked the door. His white shirt bore a smudge of dirt just beneath his shoulder blades, from where he’d climbed into her apartment, but other than that one small imperfection he was as gloriously magnificent as ever. It hurt her eyes to look at him, so she studiously shifted her gaze.

  The first gray light of the approaching dawn streamed through the open window, along with the sounds of the city waking crankily from its slumber to the tune of car horns and distant voices.

  Josh ran weary fingers through his hair as he turned to look at her, clearly more worried than angry now that he’d had time to cool down.

  “I’m sorry.” His apology caught her off guard. “I had… no right to follow you around, invade your privacy, or attempt to maneuver you in any way. But I had nothing to do with this, Sam. You have to know that.”

  “I do.” And if she’d been thinking clearly, she would never have accused him. Josh was many things, but violent wasn’t one of them. “But I’ve lived here since July, and haven’t had any trouble until I ran into you again. And to get the gift and have you show up admitting you’d followed me and then to come home to this…” she gestured to the shambles left of Donnie’s apartment, “well, it just seemed to make sense at the time.”

  “It does,” he agreed, still standing tiredly in front of the door, “from a logical standpoint. And if I’d been using my brain, I would have realized how uncomfortable my behavior would make you. Especially after… Collin.”

  Collin. Her emotionally abusive and domineering ex. It still pained her that Josh knew the gory details.

  “But I was worried, Sam. When I saw you at Murphy’s, I knew that you wouldn’t have put yourself in that situation unless you were desperate. And when I found out about Donnie, and everything that was going on…” He glanced around at the mess. “I’m not going to apologize for being worried, though. Because it looks like I was right.”

  Sighing, Sam rubbed at the sand which seemed to coat her eyes. Josh mov
ed closer, squatting at her feet.

  “I didn’t want to interrupt you when you were giving your statement earlier, but you said the negligee showed up in a box addressed to you last night?”

  “Yeah,” she agreed. “But it was just my name, no address. So whoever bought it delivered it personally.”

  “Or had someone do it for them. But either way, we know that they know where you live.” He cleared his throat, and looked uncomfortable. “Have you been seeing someone, Sam? Do you have any idea who sent it to you? Maybe someone you didn’t want to mention to the police?”

  Sam gave him a measuring look. “Why, because I’m involved with another crazy, over-possessive man, and can’t muster up the common sense to report him?”

  Josh blinked, but didn’t take the bait.

  Sam blew out a breath filled with frustration. “No, Josh. Okay? I haven’t been involved with anyone, crazy or otherwise, for over two years.” Like she wanted him to know that.

  Humiliated, ticked off, she shot off the sofa and paced to the kitchen counter. Scooped up what was left of her small African violet. The bastard had broken its pot. “You’re sure this isn’t just a burglary? Maybe somebody hopped up on drugs?”

  “Pretty much,” he informed her honestly. “There was too much personalization to the destruction. Taking a knife to your clothes like that…it suggests the perpetrator knows you. That he harbors feelings of resentment and anger. A junkie looking for something to steal to acquire a fix wouldn’t care about taking the time to do something that specific. He or she might trash the place, sure, but that would be out of desperation or frustration more so than anger.”

  Sam thought of the negligee, even more confused over who could have sent it. “You think the two things are connected, don’t you? The lingerie and the break in?” When Josh nodded, she felt wearier than she had before. This was so not what she needed. “But does it make sense for some whack-job to pay all that money for a gift one night, and then destroy it the next?”

  “I’m not an expert, by any means, but you know as well as I do that this type of person can have a Jekyll and Hyde personality. It’s one of the ways they’re able to successfully manipulate their victim. Loving and giving one minute, violent and unpredictable the next.”

  Sam knew. She knew that very well. An image of her father, using the bat he’d given Donnie for Christmas to break his son’s leg materialized in her mind’s eye. She blinked it away, only to have the play-by-play of the bitter end of her destructive relationship with Collin pop up in its place.

  Why, she wondered again, did she have to attract the bottom feeders?

  “Sam?” Josh prodded gently.

  “Sorry. I was…” Sam shook her head, unconsciously rubbing her hands down her arms, leaving a trail of soil from the violet. “Never mind. It’s not important.”

  JOSH disagreed, thinking that it was probably important as hell, but he didn’t want to push her into talking if she wasn’t ready. About the past, at least. But the present was another story. “Can you think of anyone, Sam, who’s made you feel uncomfortable? Maybe someone you see at the hospital? Or the place that you volunteer?”

  Too late, Josh realized what he’d given away. Sam’s brows snapped together with her glare.

  “You followed me to the Family Violence Center?”

  Ah. So that’s where she volunteered. It made sense, given her history with abusive men.

  And he felt like a louse, because he’d violated her privacy again. “No,” he confessed, in the interest of full disclosure. No more half-truths or manipulation, because she didn’t need that from another man. “I asked a friend of mine to check on you at work. He overheard you telling your boss where you’d be last night. Not my business.” He held up his hands when her scowl grew even hotter. “Please let me apologize for the error of my ways. I was just afraid that you would, you know, pull a Houdini again, and then I wouldn’t be able to think of anything else because I’d be worried. My health would lapse,” he added with a straight face. “Probably lose my job…”

  Despite herself, Sam laughed, ran a hand through the mess of her hair. “Just don’t let it happen again, Harding. Okay? If you want to know something, ask.”

  “Scout’s honor.” He held up three fingers.

  HE was the hottest Boy Scout she’d ever seen.

  Deciding that wasn’t productive thinking, Sam tried to recall the patrons at the bar. “So your friend… he was the big, blond gay guy, nursing a beer like it was the last one on earth?”

  Josh blinked, then let out a rich chuckle. “What gave him away?”

  “The lack of tattoos depicting naked women,” she responded dryly. “And he smelled good. I was wondering what his deal was. I thought maybe he’d come for the –” And then she just shut up.

  “Gambling?” Josh provided.

  “Oh God.” Sam sank down into one of the chairs at the table, the only one that wasn’t broken. “You know about the gambling? Please, please tell me that you’re not going to shut the place down.”

  “Hey.” Josh moved closer, laid his hand upon her shoulder. “You’re worried about losing your job?”

  “I’m worried about losing Donnie’s health care. If the place goes out of business, there’s a pretty good chance they won’t continue to pay his premiums.”

  Josh gently squeezed her shoulder. “I won’t say anything, Sam. And believe me, neither will Chris. He’s a computer genius, and if he wanted to gamble, he could probably go to Vegas and clean house. He wouldn’t waste his time at the Roadhouse.”

  Chris, Sam repeated to herself. She’d heard Josh use that name, a long time ago. She wondered if it was the same guy.

  “Uh, Chris said that your boss was… not what he expected. Sort of preppy. Real nice to you.”

  Sam blinked, throwing off her wayward thoughts about Josh’s personal life, and realized what he was hinting at. “Uh-uh. Just stop that train of thought right now. Before you go getting all up in his grill, I can assure you that there is no way that Dane is responsible for all of this.” She pointed to a hole in the plaster.

  JOSH flicked his eyes toward the destruction and frowned. “This guy has money?” he asked, thinking of the expensive lingerie.

  Sam laughed, lightly at first, and then harder. Apparently he’d cracked her up. “Oh, just a bit,” she said cryptically, between fits of amused laughter.

  Frustrated, Josh sank to his knees, then rocked back onto his heels. “Look, Sam, just because a guy has money or seems nice doesn’t mean that he isn’t capable of this. You know that.”

  She laughed even harder, which pissed him off. Why was she defending this asshole?

  “I’m sorry,” she finally responded to his scowl. “It’s just that my boss is Dane Wilcox.”

  “Of the Wilcox Corporation Wilcox’s?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Well shit. That made things considerably more complicated. Dane Wilcox was one of Charleston’s favorite sons – a golden boy who’d been blessed with the finest and best of everything – and heir to a considerable local empire. His father, Alan, owned a sizable chunk of the city, it seemed, and was good friends with a number of important movers and shakers.

  Including his good friend, the mayor.

  And his brother-in-law, the Chief of Police.

  Josh cursed Chris for not paying more attention.

  “You know,” he reminded Sam, “just because a man’s wealthy and well-connected, it doesn’t mean he can’t be this kind of criminal. In fact, sometimes men in his position feel that it entitles them to take whatever they want, or maybe makes them somehow above the laws which govern the regular Joes.”

  Sam was shaking her head before he’d even finished his sentence. “I’m sorry, Josh, but Dane wouldn’t pee all over my toiletries.”

  Josh frowned, not at all happy that she was still defending him. And while urinating on Sam’s intimate necessities did strike him as a little odd, he still thought there was enough evidenc
e to warrant checking the guy out. He made a mental note to talk to Clay, who was a behavioral specialist and had a wide knowledge of stalkers and other sexual predators. It made him sick to think that he and Chris had been joking about that – however innocently – and yet Sam seemed to be experiencing the real thing.

  He turned to face her, careful not to touch her again. The last thing she needed right now was to be crowded by a man. And the last thing he needed was a biological reaction he couldn’t control. “Okay.” He’d drop the Wilcox thing for the moment. “I want you to think, Sam. Have you noticed anyone else acting strangely around you lately? Maybe had the feeling you were being watched?”

  “Actually,” she admitted reluctantly, “there have been a few times over the past couple weeks that I’ve been… uncomfortable in the hospital parking lot. I’ve sensed another presence – not a, uh, friendly one, if you know what I mean.”

  Damn. Now her behavior the other night made perfect sense. “Anyplace else you’ve experienced that feeling? Work? Or here at home?”

  “No.” She chewed her bottom lip, ran a sweaty palm down one jean-clad thigh. “Not really. Maybe a few times I’ve been a little jumpy here, but I think that’s only to be expected. The neighbors aren’t exactly the borrow-a-cup-of-sugar type.”

  One more reason to get her the hell out of here.

  “You have a couple broken slats in your blinds,” he pointed out, motioning toward the window. “I noticed it from the alley. There was probably just enough space to enable someone who really wanted to to see in.”

  “Great,” she hissed between her teeth.

  “Ever notice any cars in the area that didn’t seem to belong?” He thought of the expensive boutique from which the negligee had come. Still liked Dane Wilcox for that one. “Maybe nicer than you’d expect to see around here? Or possibly one you may have seen at the hospital?”

  She laughed, completely without humor. “You wouldn’t believe what I’ve seen in this neighborhood. Let me tell you, vice doesn’t limit itself to the lower class. One of my upstairs neighbor’s most frequent visitors is a man who wears an Italian suit and drives a high-performance German sports car. You can’t miss the distinct noise of the engine when he comes roaring in. And from the sounds that filter down through the heat vents when he’s around, cars aren’t the only things he pays well in exchange for performance.”