The Southern Comfort Series Box Set

by Clark O'Neill, Lisa

  “We have an excellent forensic artist on staff,” Kathleen suggested. “And he’s a personal friend. I could probably arrange to get him over here to work with her.” But all that would take time. And time, right now, was the enemy.

  “I just want to give you fair warning that I plan on staying at my brother’s.” She had some leave coming to her, and she was starting it as of today. “Somebody needs to watch Sadie’s house, and I know it’s unrealistic to demand you use your manpower until you’re more certain that it’s warranted.”

  “Detective Murphy –”

  Kathleen waved off Miller’s protest before he could voice it. “I’m aware that this is not my case, not my jurisdiction. I know it’s personal and I should back off, but I’m not planning on getting in your way. Unless I think you’re dropping the ball. Then I will go through you if I have to.”

  Annoyance flashed over Miller’s face, slight amusement over Corelli’s.

  “Might be easier,” Anthony said mildly, “if we just try working together.”

  Her surprised gaze slammed into his dark one.

  “Might be easier,” he continued “for you to tell what’s off, what’s not during the interviews. We can ask the contractors to come by, and I see no problem with you listening in.”

  She nodded, pleased, appreciative.

  “You’ll need an unmarked car, then, watching the house. If the theory holds that these guys kept Sadie and Declan alive to throw off suspicion, their value plummets if they know we’re onto them.”

  “I think we can arrange that,” Miller agreed.

  “So you agree with me,” Kathleen sighed.

  “Let’s just say there’s enough here to stir my curiosity.”

  “You have that card with you?” Anthony asked. “The one with the contractors’ number.”

  “Of course.” She slid it out of the inside pocket of her linen jacket, passed it across the table.

  “You call your artist,” Miller said as he stood. “I’ll see about enlisting some backup, get a car over to Ms. Mayhew’s ASAP. Corelli, you handle the contractors.”

  “Got it.” Anthony held up the card.

  When Miller had made his retreat from the room, Anthony looked at her with concern. “You okay?” he asked gently.

  “I will be when we find them.”

  “Then let’s get busy,” he suggested, standing and offering a smile.

  When she wasn’t half-crazed from worry and grief, she owed a thank you to Anthony Corelli.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “OOOOMMMPH.”

  The air rushed out of Sadie’s lungs as she fell flat on her face. She’d survived two jumps from precarious heights, but a damn tree root had done her in.

  “You okay?” Winded, Dec braced his hands on his knees. He looked at her through a lock of hair gone damp with the sweat of exertion.

  “Fine.” She spit a leaf from her mouth. “Just tripped over a… ouch. Ow. Ouch.”

  “What? You twist your ankle?” Declan gingerly lowered himself to squatting as she rolled over and lifted her foot. The burning sting racing across her left sole suggested she was going to see blood when she looked.

  Yep. A whole bunch of it. Sadie tried not to go dizzy at the sight of all that red welling amongst the dirt and scratches.

  Her empty stomach churned.

  Declan took her foot in his hands, his expression grim as he examined the slice that was sullenly oozing. “You know, it’s hard not to appreciate the irony of the fact that you, the Imelda Marcos of the Lowcountry, are facing this situation while barefoot.”

  “Ha ha.”

  Sadie might have been irritated if she weren’t so worried. They’d taken off as soon as they heard that motor, not waiting around to see if it had been friend or foe. Declan had suffered in silence, both in catching her and in the act of running. She knew he had to be in terrible pain. Having no shoes was small potatoes in comparison.

  Physical discomfort twisted his features as he eased himself down to the ground. He extended his feet her direction. “Untie my boots.”

  “Dec,” she protested, hating that she’d held them up. Hating that he was hurt and still trying to protect her. “I’ll be fine. And it’s not like they’ll fit me anyway. It would only slow us down more.”

  He leveled her with a look. “I wasn’t implying you wear my shoes. But you can at least wear my socks. They’ll help keep your feet protected. Just hurry up. I don’t want to sit around any longer than we have to.”

  At that Sadie glanced over her shoulder, the adrenaline of fear creeping back through her veins. The woods were thick, densely shaded with old growth pine, the undergrowth a sea of spiky saw palmettos that swayed in the rustling breeze. Sunlight streamed in pale rays that only served to deepen the shifting shadows.

  Had that motor been Doug and Billy returning?

  Were they out there somewhere, even now?

  Shuddering, she turned to Dec’s laces, hands fumbling in her distress. The smell of the marsh was thicker here, a pungent presence in the air. Her stomach rebelled again. The panic she’d been trying so hard to keep down hit her like a fist, hard and swift.

  While they were no longer rotting in the cabin, they weren’t out of the woods yet, literally. The men could still catch up to them. They could die from exposure, or starvation. Gangrene could set in. One of them might get bitten by a poisonous spider.

  There could be snakes.

  The trees seemed suddenly dark and threatening, closing around her in a sickening brown and green swirl.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I feel like I’m going to throw up,” Sadie admitted, resting her forehead against her trembling thighs.

  “Better you than me. It’s starting to get embarrassing.”

  Sadie lifted her head. “You’re a real well-spring of warmth and compassion.”

  “No need to butter me up. I already agreed to give you the wood.”

  The mixture of mirth and concern swimming in his eyes had her own eyes filling unexpectedly. “You’re such an ass,” she told him.

  “And all yours, you lucky woman.”

  Sadie was starting to think that he meant it.

  Determined, she returned to untying his laces. The socks – malodorous but thickly cushioned – were fairly quickly exchanged. It took her a little bit longer to get his boots back on and laced up, but once she’d tied them he tried to stand.

  And went sheet white.

  Knowing that pity would only salt the wound, Sadie squelched the urge to offer comfort. She sighed and held out her hands. “Let me help you, you big dummy.”

  He scowled at her through the obvious pain in his ribs. “This would go better if you didn’t talk. Although there’s fat chance of that ever happening.”

  “If I remember correctly,” Sadie rejoined, grasping the hand he reluctantly extended. “You said you liked my big mouth.”

  “There are myriad ways in which I can think to enjoy it. Talking does not happen to be among them.”

  Bolstered by their familiar banter, they managed to haul him to his feet. Maintaining at least some semblance of normality was the only way they would get through this.

  “Before we run off blindly again, it might behoove us to form a plan.”

  “We seem to be headed toward the water,” Sadie commented. “Maybe we could see if there’s a dock of some kind, try to flag down a passing boat.”

  “WE could,” Declan agreed, trying to ignore the throbbing ache that had switched to his hand. He was a concert of painful injuries, but at least each one seemed to be playing solo. Which was odd, but he wouldn’t question it. Because God help him if they decided to harmonize. “The only concern is that if the assholes show up, that’s bound to be the first place they look. And they have the advantage of being both armed and able-bodied. We leave the shelter of the trees and they could pick us off like a couple of lame ducks.”

  “So… you think we should double back? Maybe try to find a roa
d?”

  Declan sort of doubted there was much of a road. The cabin they’d been imprisoned in was obviously abandoned, and had been for some time. And assuming there were other cabins around, this time of year didn’t see that many people anxious to utilize their unheated hidey-holes unless they were seriously dedicated fisherman. He sized up the look of the woods. They could be south of the city, possibly in some of the heavily forested area between Charleston and Beaufort. Although really, they could be anywhere. And while he was damn anxious to make contact with other humans, he wanted to be very careful about who and how they approached.

  But neither did he want to spend days lost in the woods.

  Both of them needed food, and medical attention.

  “Let’s head toward the water. See if by some miracle we can find a boat. But if there isn’t one I want to hang back a ways, maybe try to follow the creek or whatever from the trees. If we have to hide for any reason it’s a good idea to have some cover, and the vegetation is pretty thick.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  They continued to make their way, less frantically than before, but still as fast as their injuries allowed them. Declan hated that he couldn’t just carry Sadie, but there was no question of that being a possibility. Right now he was having enough difficulty keeping himself upright.

  They approached the edge of the trees. The ground was spongy beneath its covering of pine needles, the familiar smell of pluff mud lending its fecund odor to the air. Despite abundant sunshine, the breeze chilled without the windbreak, and Sadie shivered, wrapping her arms around the bare flesh exposed by the rip in her shirt.

  Seeing the movement out of the corner of his eye, Declan cursed himself for his oversight. He had on a flannel over his T-shirt, and while Sadie’s suit boasted a snug-fitting jacket, that silky thing underneath – while undoubtedly attractive at one time – was shredded and had to be doing diddly squat in the manner of keeping her warm.

  “Here,” he managed the buttons one-handed, controlling a wince as he shrugged the muted green plaid from his shoulders. “Put this on.”

  Sadie took it, but eyed him in his T-shirt. “You said you were cold.”

  “That was when we were chained up like dogs in that cabin. We’re moving around now, so the T-shirt’s all I need.”

  “Must be nice to be a human furnace.” She slipped it over her jacket while Declan surveyed the lay of the land.

  “The creek we’re on is small,” he noted, checking out the stand of cypress and scrubby palmettos on the opposite bank. It looked impenetrable, uninhabited. “I don’t see much in the way of docks.” There’d probably been one nearby at some point, judging from the set-up at the cabin, but if there had been, it had long since succumbed to the ebb and flow of the tides.

  “It looks like it hooks up with a larger waterway over there.” Sadie nodded toward a point where moss-draped oaks crouched over the water, cord grass undulating against a sky that opened bright and cerulean.

  “We’ll head that way,” he agreed. “Tide looks like it’s headed out. If there are any docks, any more boaters lurking around, they’ll want to be putting in before it gets much lower. This water doesn’t look too deep. Course, there’s no telling what it’s like around that bend.”

  They trudged, Sadie catching her breath whenever a sharp stick or the odd oyster shell found her injured foot, but she didn’t utter one word of complaint.

  Up until she started to scream.

  Declan was pretty sure that his eardrums imploded from the force of the yell.

  He turned and threw himself toward her in one smooth motion, his first instinct to hit the ground, landing them both in a clump of tangled vines that did little to stop her from flailing.

  “Get it off, get it off, oh my God, get it off me!”

  “What?” Declan bellowed, trying to avoid the fists and knees that were attempting to unman him and check her over at the same time. “For God’s sake Sadie, will you just settle down? Tell me what’s the matter!”

  “Snake. Snake. Oh my God, it’s on my leg!”

  An errant fist caught him squarely in the solar plexus. For a little woman she packed a not insignificant punch.

  “Ouch!” he complained, but somehow managed to get her arms pinned before doing a little reconnaissance.

  “Where is it?” he wheezed, because all that wrestling around hurt, damn it. But for the life of him he couldn’t see any snakes near her. “Did it bite you?”

  The thought of that made him slightly frantic.

  “No, I don’t think so, but… what do you mean where is it? It’s right there!” She sat up, and pointed to a vine. “Oh.”

  The look he gave her was not precisely sympathetic.

  “Well, it was!” she argued, snagging the vine and whipping it from her leg. “It was orange and brown, and slithery. I know the difference between a snake and a vine.”

  For this, he’d probably bruised another rib. “Are you hurt?” he asked anyway, the very soul of solicitude.

  “I don’t think so, unless you want to count… Ahhhhhhhhh!”

  “Jesus, woman.” Declan’s blasphemy went unnoted as Sadie scrambled out from under him and deeper into the underbrush. And it was then that he saw the snake. Sitting on a log about five feet away from them. Coiled in a patch of sunlight, its head raised sleepily at the disturbance.

  It was probably about eighteen inches long.

  “It’s a corn snake,” Declan said to the woman who was cowering amongst the saw palmettos. “A young one, given its size. They hibernate, mostly, in the winter. Probably just came out for a bit of sun. Lots of people keep them as pets.”

  “Are they crazy?” Sadie stared at it, bug-eyed.

  “No, but there’s a solid chance that you are. That thing’s not gonna hurt you, Sadie.”

  “Easy for you to say. After all, you’re practically brethren.”

  If his ribs didn’t hurt so badly he might have laughed. “I can’t believe you’re still such a baby.”

  “I can’t believe you’re still such a jerk.”

  Ribs or no, he had to chuckle. And was tempted to grab the snake and really scare her with it.

  “Don’t even think about it,” she snarled, reading him accurately once again. Then she mustered her dignity and hauled herself off her ass.

  “Showtime’s over,” she decreed, brushing some pine straw from her borrowed shirt. “Let’s keep this moving, shall we?”

  Then she bent down to help him up, and the bark of the tree she’d been in front of exploded.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “WHAT do you mean you can’t find anything wrong with him?”

  Rogan watched from the hospital bed as Kim squared off against the doctor, amused and slightly turned on because she was such a hell of a woman.

  All five feet of her, soft and round and pretty, going after an ER doc the size of a water buffalo with an ego to match. The man looked offended and irritated and – dammit – slightly turned on himself, so Rogan shifted uncomfortably beneath the sheets and tried to look like less of a wuss.

  Not all that easy to do in a hospital gown.

  His bare butt scratched against the uncomfortable sheet beneath him, making him feel exposed and irritable because of it.

  Was it really necessary to take off his clothes?

  How about leaving a guy a little dignity?

  Then his wandering mind was drawn back to the conversation, where the doc was pointing out the evidence on the x-ray. They’d scanned him, stress-tested him, drawn blood and poked and prodded, and none of them seemed to have a better explanation for the random bursts of pain he’d experienced than he did. Right now he was feeling remarkably good despite the irritation, and he tapped his fingers on the bed impatiently.

  No bruised or cracked ribs, despite the physical sensations that had suggested otherwise. His brain showed no signs of a tumor and his heart beat strong as a horse’s.

  “We won’t have the results of the blood w
ork back for a little while yet,” the doctor was saying, while he tried not to be obvious about looking down Kim’s shirt.

  She was in too big a hurry this morning to button it?

  Cleavage like that shouldn’t go unprotected.

  Maybe he’d buy her a nice supply of turtlenecks. Some extra-large sweatshirts, perhaps one of those Mexican-looking ponchos.

  Gaucho? he pondered. No, he was pretty sure that was the name for the cowboys themselves.

  Well, whatever those loose, flowing, blanket-like things were called, he’d order them up in bulk.

  “But as you can see,” Doctor Wandering Eyeball continued, talking to Kim as if Rogan wasn’t even in the room, “there’s no source of trauma in evidence. Other than his ankle, everything else appears to be quite normal. You might want to consider that it’s psychosomatic. Sometimes patients who’ve experienced a previous ongoing medical trauma have a tendency to develop hypochondria.”

  What? Whoa. “I’m not a hypochondriac, Doctor Steinmetz. I’m not making this up just because I like hanging around in hospitals.” Quite the opposite, in fact.

  The doctor seemed to recall that Rogan was there. “It’s nothing to be ashamed about,” he said with soothing condescension, and Rogan wanted to pop him. “I understand that you saw a psychologist after the accident that injured your ankle. You may want to consider talking to one of the mental health professionals on staff. Or if you’d be more comfortable, we could place a call to your therapist. Sometimes these things just take time.”

  Rogan’s normally easygoing temper frayed to the point of snapping. “I saw a therapist because I was with my five-year-old cousin when he was abducted by a homicidal pedophile, and that brought down a truckload of guilt. Not because I was traumatized by my injury. And I’ve got that all worked out now, thank you. The only reason I’m here is because my head hurt and I must have banged my ribs on something, and because the woman I love insisted I get checked out. She’s pretty persuasive when she’s naked.”

  The doctor looked startled, Kim looked shocked, and embarrassment flushed hot beneath his skin.