The Southern Comfort Series Box Set

by Clark O'Neill, Lisa

  Sam had been so single-minded in her quest that she hadn’t noticed the boat had slowed. It tossed and swayed in the rough water but was no longer making forward progress. Looking around now, it became obvious he’d heard the door slam.

  Or maybe he was just a suspicious bastard and figured she’d attempt an escape.

  Either way, she had no doubt that she was looking her death in the face. From the expression of icy hatred contorting his features, it was clear that he planned to kill her.

  “Did you incapacitate my son or merely screw him into complacency?” He looked her over with visible disdain. “Regardless, this works out better all around. It saves me the trouble of dealing with you after he’d tired of you.”

  Sam trembled as he let out a raspy chuckle, the sound as disturbing as a fingernail drawn over glass. Shifting her eyes toward the life vest, she wondered if she should try and grab it as she pitched herself over. There was very little chance she would survive the effort, but she refused to just stand here and die.

  “They’ll find my body,” she said, hoping to distract him long enough to get the mesh strap hooked around her foot. “And when they do you can rest assured that my fiancé won’t stop hunting you until he has your head on that silver platter.”

  As a distraction technique it was effective enough, because Alan seemed to find that amusing. He laughed out loud, lowering the gun just a fraction, and shook his perfect blond head. “It’s too bad I have to kill you now.” Genuine mirth wreathed his face. “Breaking your spirit would have been truly entertaining.”

  He raised the gun higher and Sam poised herself to jump, but a loud mechanical honk temporarily stilled both their actions.

  “Alan Wilcox,” came a deep voice over some sort of intercom, and Sam spotted an approaching speedboat. “This is the City of Charleston police. Drop your weapon and put your hands in the air!”

  Josh, Sam thought, a surge of hope bubbling through the terror. Somehow Josh must have found her, and he’d sent the cavalry. They were still too far back to make out more than the general shape of her saviors, but they were closing in fast.

  She smiled with relief and love, swaying a little on her feet. A beam of bright light cut through the dark blanket of stormy night. The distinct chopping sound of approaching helicopter blades made her heart skip with happiness. Wind whipped her hair into a vortex, and she raised an arm to shield her flooded eyes.

  She glanced toward Alan Wilcox, feeling just the tiniest bit smug. But the look of murderous rage which suffused his face brought her right back to reality.

  She remembered what he’d said earlier.

  If he was destined to go down, he was obliged to take her with him.

  Knowing what he was about to do, Sam prepared to dive to the side, but a blur of movement caught her eye just as her feet left the surface of the deck.

  “Dad, no!”

  Dane, head still bleeding from where she’d hit him, crashed into her with the force of a train. A sharp report echoed from the gun, and Sam felt the impact of the bullet hitting his body. She cried out in raw horror knowing he’d taken the brunt of his father’s wrath for her.

  “Dane!” She forced his name past her damaged vocal cords. Her back hit the slippery deck just as the light from the helicopter shined directly on them.

  Dane’s limp body landed on hers and sent them both sliding into the bench.

  “NO!” Josh watched Alan Wilcox fire at Sam. A fraction of a second later the police sniper next to him picked off Wilcox like a tin can on a country fence.

  “Damn,” the officer swore as Wilcox went flying backward. He obviously realized he’d been a moment too late to keep the man from firing in the first place.

  “Get me down there. Now!” Josh yelled desperately into his headset. From his position in the open door he could see Sam sprawled awkwardly beneath Dane Wilcox, and neither of them was moving. A dark stain bloomed like a sickening rose across the back of Wilcox’s sweater.

  “Sir.” One of the two paramedics onboard laid a restraining hand on Josh’s arm. “You need to let us go first. In fact, it might be better if you wait here until we have a chance to get them stabilized.”

  “Like hell,” Josh growled, barely resisting the urge to push the man aside. He knew they were concerned he’d outright slaughter either or both of the Wilcoxes, if they weren’t already dead, so he contained the rage which boiled like oil inside him and promised to stay out of their way. Then he moved away from the open door and allowed the two men to move quickly past him. The pilot maneuvered her bird until they could safely make the descent, and after the EMTs had touched down on the deck Josh was almost immediately there behind them. One of the men went over to do a cursory check on Alan Wilcox, although it was fairly clear the bastard was past help. The other deftly began to move the man’s son from where he’d collapsed on top of Samantha.

  “Sam!” Josh fell on his knees beside her. Her eyes fluttered open as he gently stroked her head, and relief crashed over him in a violent wave.

  “Josh…” She started to reach for him, but he quickly stilled her movement.

  “Shh, be still, honey. I’m here.” He fought the urge to shove Wilcox aside, snatch her up and clutch her to him. The skin he stroked beneath trembling fingers was damp and chilled and pale, and the part of his brain not consumed with rage figured that she was in shock. The other paramedic had joined his partner in the process of moving the younger Wilcox – who apparently was still clinging to life – but it wasn’t happening quickly enough to suit Josh’s current lack of patience.

  “Get him off of her!” he growled, not caring about professional courtesy. He could make amends with these people later.

  “We have to move him carefully,” one of the men said reasonably. “The bullet appears to have –”

  “I don’t care!” He just wanted him away from Sam. The sky began to spit rain at them in angry, stinging drops, and Josh quickly shed his CPD windbreaker to hold it tent-like over her head.

  “He saved me,” Sam whispered, voice so strangled that Josh wanted to rage. “Dane j-j-jumped in front of the bullet.”

  “I know he did, honey.” Josh released one hand from its grip on the jacket to brush a tangle of hair back from her beseeching eyes. Finally, Wilcox was lifted away, then lowered carefully onto the deck beside them. But frankly he could muster no sympathy for the wounded man because it was his fault Sam was here in the first place. In fact, Josh hoped that the bastard…

  Josh’s breath snagged as he caught sight of the blood that darkened her thin blue T-shirt.

  Probably Wilcox’s, the rational voice in his head informed him even as his free hand went on a frantic quest. “Sam, are you hurt?” he demanded gently, looking around for any sign of a wound.

  Had the bullet gone through Wilcox’s body and penetrated Sam’s as well?

  “Shit.” The breath he drew was painful, as panic exploded inside him like a bomb. If he lost her now after all they’d come through he would absolutely lose his mind.

  His fingers located a small hole in the T-shirt near the site where fresh blood was welling. It dripped down her side to run with the water on the deck, forming a small river of diluted crimson.

  “She’s been hit!” he yelled to the others, who were busily attending Wilcox. One of the paramedics abandoned his work on Dane to scramble to Sam’s side.

  “Sam,” Josh said harshly, when he noticed her eyelids fluttering. He abandoned the jacket and cupped her face in an effort to force her to remain conscious. “Stay with me, Sam!”

  But despite the rain which now pelted her face, she sank beyond his reach.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  FROM somewhere deep inside the dream Sam heard the familiar voice cajoling her to waken. But it was so lovely and peaceful in the fuzzy vision that she resisted the desire to surface. Pain, some part of her brain whispered, while her dream self cocked her head to listen. There would be pain when she abandoned this cloud-like world, so she tuned
the beloved voice out.

  He can wait, she thought mildly, strolling across the verdant field to where the river beckoned. It babbled playfully through the cattails that held firm against the steady flow, and from off to her right came the sound of the mill as the wheel spun slowly in the current. The sky overhead was a pure cerulean, the clouds fat and white as sheep in the meadow. Sam lay down on the bank to watch them shift across the sky, changing shape in rhythm with the resonant voice.. She could listen to him forever. How many times had he made the words leap from the page with just his voice when he regaled her with stories of fairies? Or scared her with the tale of the mean old troll who lived under a bridge near the river?

  There’d been a footbridge, not unlike the one which spanned the river she lay next to, not far from their childhood home.

  She’d only been willing to cross the old wooden boards when she’d ridden on her brother’s back.

  Sam’s eyes drifted open as the realization hit her, and she angled her head to the side. She met the hazel eyes gazing back at her with an achingly hopeful expression.

  “Donnie,” she gasped, voice full of wonder and a terrible uncertainty. She was afraid that if she reached out to touch him, he’d disappear beneath her hand. Like the idyllic setting in the dream from which she’d surfaced, some things were too good to be real.

  But the lines around his mouth, the hollows of his once-rounded cheeks lent credibility to what she was seeing. And the pain of long suffering in his face when he smiled spilled a river of tears from her eyes.

  “Hey sweetheart,” he said softly, throat constricted with his own flood of tears. He closed the book he’d been reading and Sam looked down to where it lay on his lap. The Mill on the Floss. It explained certain parts of her dream. Then her eyes drifted lower, toward where her brother’s spindly legs peeked from beneath a blanket. It was tucked around him as he sat in a wheelchair which had been pushed beside her bed.

  Her bed, that was in the hospital.

  Sam glanced at her own covered legs, felt the flash of pain in her side, and just like that memory came tumbling back.

  She reached toward her brother with so much relief and love that it had both of them sobbing like babies.

  “I’m sorry,” she half-laughed, smearing tears across her cheek with her free hand. Donnie squeezed her fingers in his, the grasp weak yet incredibly solid. There was so much she needed to say to him that she had no idea where to start. “How long have you…” she trailed off, the question drifting on a tide of emotion. Another lump caught her throat in a hopeless clog making it impossible for her to speak.

  But as always he knew the direction she’d been headed.

  “About… a day and a half, I guess,” he told her, scratching at the light stubble which roughened his chin. “Apparently about the time you went missing was right when I was… coming out of the coma.” He swallowed past his own painful lump. “Sam, I am so sorry I got you messed up in this. I never meant for –”

  “Stop it,” she admonished, brow furrowing. “Whatever you did or didn’t do, you couldn’t have known how things would turn out.” She thought of all the things Alan Wilcox had told her. “Did you really take that evidence? The thumb drive? The photos that showed Alan with that girl?”

  A look of raw pain contorted his face. “I didn’t know what else to do. She was already dead when I saw her lying there. I didn’t even know who she was, but I couldn’t just do nothing to help her. The gambling, I was willing to look the other way – they were paying me pretty well to do so – but I’d be damned before letting him get away with murder. So I took the stuff and ran. I hid it back at my apartment, then tried to get the hell out of town. I thought I could just call the cops – anonymously, you know? – and tell them where they could find it. But one of his thugs caught up with me before I could make it.”

  “Really?” Her side was burning like it’d been stabbed with a hot poker, but she refused to dwell on that now. The miracle of her brother sitting beside her made her own issues pale in comparison. “They, um, trashed your apartment a couple weeks ago.” Which made so much more sense now that she knew the reason. “But apparently they came up empty.”

  “I hid the stuff in a book,” he said, which had her smiling because it should have been obvious. “Crime and Punishment.”

  Sam laughed, then hid a wince from the pain. “I should have known.” She smiled, readjusting their fingers until they twined together. “But I took all your stuff to your storage facility when I moved in to the apartment. There wasn’t enough room for both mine and yours.”

  “I know,” he said, surprising her. “Josh told me. A couple of FBI agents questioned me yesterday and I told them what I did with the thumb drive. I had no idea about the mob…” a look of pure terror flashed briefly in his eyes. “I probably would have had a heart attack on the spot if I knew what I was getting involved with. But anyway,” he shook his head. “Josh gave them the key from your ring. I believe they’ve already, uh, seized it. Or whatever it is one does with evidence.”

  Then a rueful smile lifted the corners of his mouth, and Sam felt her own lips quirk in response.

  “I understand I’ll be giving you away, soon?”

  And hearing her brother phrase it like that made her smile wobble like a drunken sailor. To have Donnie a part of her wedding was like the icing on the happiness cake. “Oh, Donnie.” Her voice broke pitifully with unspent emotion. “Y-You have no idea how h-happy I am to see you!”

  He maneuvered himself as best as his weakened limbs would allow until he was half-holding her against his shoulder. “You never gave up on me,” he whispered against her hair, stroking her arm with his free hand. “All this time, day in, day out, I knew you were always there for me.”

  “You heard me?” she asked softly, and the question was one of joy.

  “I have for quite some time. Not always, and not with any regularity that I could control, but sweetheart, I definitely heard you. Your voice was like a lifeline. I was so scared, when I couldn’t come out of the… fog in which I seemed to hover. There were times that I knew you were putting yourself in danger, and I couldn’t rouse myself to tell you what had happened. That man,” – he shook, his voice, his body, his soul – “that man tried to hurt you in my room.”

  “Shh.” Sam found herself comforting him as harsh sobs wracked his too-thin body. “It’s over, now.” And she believed that it truly was. There’d be questions and investigations, but they would handle all that together. “We’re both safe.”

  Donnie slowly calmed as Sam continued to hold him, until her throbbing side made her squirm uncomfortably against his arm. “I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, scooting back quickly as he could. “I should have been more careful of your injuries.”

  Sam glanced down at the bandages beneath her gown, which swathed her midsection like a mummy. Another disturbing reminder of all that she’d survived in the past week. “So I guess I was shot,” she muttered, disbelief edging out worry in her tone.

  “Just a flesh wound,” Donnie told her, absently fingering the scar from his own encounter with a bullet. “Not to make light, but the bullet apparently didn’t hit anything pertinent. It seems it was mostly… spent, I believe was the word Josh used, by passing through Dane’s body first. It didn’t have a lot of power left when it hit you, so it just sort of stuck in your side.”

  The thought of that made her sick. Sam looked down in misery, then flashed a worried glance at Donnie. “Is Dane…?”

  “He’s going to be okay,” he told her, and Sam sagged with relief. Whatever Dane may have done, he hadn’t deserved what happened, and she’d never forget the fact that he’d taken a bullet meant for her flesh. “I guess it was pretty much touch and go for a while, but the last word was that he was out of the woods.”

  Donnie’s anger mingled with regret and concern and she reached out to stroke his cheek. “Dane wasn’t a part of this,” she told him, because Dane deserved no less than the truth. Donnie h
ad been his friend also, and she knew he felt betrayed. Dane may not be able to forgive her for what she’d done to him, but at the least she could clear his name. “The murder, the mafia, you getting shot, my abduction – all of that was Alan. Dane was as shocked as I was to find himself fleeing the country. And I don’t think he ever would have gone through with it if his dad hadn’t scared him senseless. He… really cared for you, Donnie. He never could have hurt you.”

  Sam watched a sort of easement steady her brother’s expression and she knew she’d salved a hurt. Whether or not they patched things up, at least no lies lay between them. Sam fervently hoped that after the initial dust had settled, they’d find a way to salvage their friendship. Dane was a far better man than she’d ever given him credit for being.

  “His dad’s dead,” Donnie said flatly. “I wish I could have killed him myself.”

  “You and me both,” said a new voice, and Sam looked over toward the doorway. Josh stood with a travel cup from Starbucks. The smile that lit his face when he walked into the room made her heart lift with gossamer wings of love. “I leave for fifteen minutes to get a decent cup of coffee, and look who decides to wake up.”

  He stepped into the room and immediately behind him Sam was surprised to see Karen Davis. From her professional garb Sam assumed she’d already returned to work. She looked pale against the bright print of her scrubs and there were faint smudges beneath her eyes, but overall she looked much better than the last time Sam had seen her. “And if I’m not mistaken, that brother of hers disobeyed a direct order and climbed out of his wheelchair himself.” The look of barely disguised affection which bathed her face as she admonished him had Sam glancing with revelation at her brother.

  Of course, she thought, noticing the slight flush on her brother’s cheeks. She’d been an idiot not to have seen it sooner.

  Karen helped Donnie into his chair, and Josh moved around her bed to perch on the other side. “How are you feeling?” he inquired in an undertone, all trace of playfulness gone from his voice.