The Southern Comfort Series Box Set

by Clark O'Neill, Lisa

  “Nothing, really.” Anthony tapped the card against his wide palm.

  Kathleen knew evasion when she heard it. “Spill it, Corelli.”

  Frowning, he hesitated another few seconds. “I’ve got nothing concrete.”

  Kathleen realized that, unlike her, Anthony might not be comfortable trusting his instincts. He needed something solid, something tangible, before he’d pursue a lead. Mac was like that, which was why they worked so well together. It was an admirable trait – except in those instances when it was frustrating.

  “Why don’t you let me have a talk with him?”

  Anthony shook his head. “Think about it, Detective, and you’ll realize why that’s a bad idea.”

  The reasons were probably legion, but that didn’t stop her from wanting a chance. “You think he knows more than he’s saying?”

  “I don’t know. But –” Anthony paused, tapping the card again. “You know what I mean. When you’ve been doing this long enough, certain behaviors give people away. He said the right things, but he was almost too chatty. Every question I asked, he gave me extra information. Like he really wanted to be helpful. Which, hey, maybe he does. But he kept scratching behind his ear. Maybe he just has dandruff, but…”

  But in an interview context, those were both classic signs of lying.

  “It might be nothing,” Anthony warned. “Or at least nothing related to your brother’s disappearance. And regardless, we can’t hold him based solely on some questionable body language. You know that as well as I do.”

  Kathleen peered through the one-way glass. The guy just sat there, looking innocuous. Could be he had a bunch of unpaid parking tickets he didn’t want them to know about. Could be cops just made him nervous.

  Could be he was perfectly innocent.

  But nevertheless, she felt like holding him there until he told her what she wanted to hear. Which was another reason cops should never be emotionally invested in a case. Emotion led to bad judgment, and she wasn’t the sort of public servant who believed in throwing her weight around and abusing people’s rights. No matter what her instincts screamed.

  While her worry did battle with her reason, her phone vibrated against her hip. She was tempted to let it go to voice mail, but under the circumstances she couldn’t afford to. There were too many irons in the fire just now and if she ignored one it was likely to burn.

  “Murphy,” she said, after ascertaining from her readout that it was an unknown caller.

  Except that the voice on the other end of the line was one that she knew quite well.

  “Kath? It’s me.”

  It took her a second to process the fact that it was Sadie. Then she gestured frantically to Anthony, indicating the significance of the call. They hadn’t expected it to come so soon, nor had they expected it by way of anything other than Sadie’s cell phone.

  But regardless, if Kathleen steered the conversation in just the right direction, Sadie might be able to hint as to their situation. And so depressing the speaker button so that Anthony could listen in, Kathleen grasped the conversational wheel. “Sadie? How are you enjoying that camping trip? I hope it’s every bit as romantic as it sounds.”

  There was a laugh, a sob, some background noise that Kathleen didn’t understand, until Sadie finally pulled it together. “That’s a good one. I knew you would figure it out. But we’re okay. We’re okay, Kath. Declan shot the bastard and… God, we got out and we’re okay.”

  As if repeating it would ensure it was so, Sadie said it a few more times, while Kathleen’s brain separated the wheat from the chaff, the key points from the delirious ramblings.

  Sadie and Declan were alive. And somehow, they’d escaped. She shared a look of surprise with Anthony. Surprise and profound relief. “Where are you?”

  “We’re at Beaufort Memorial hospital. Declan’s pretty worse for wear and that stupid four-wheeler wasn’t exactly a smooth ride. They’re taking x-rays of his hand and his ribs right now. But… I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I know I’m making absolutely no sense, but… God. Okay. It was on my answering machine, Kath. The guy that used to live there was killed and he left this, this deathbed sort of message on the machine about some murder here in Beaufort. Nora Beth somebody. And I was listening to it and Doug came in… my security contractor, Kathleen. Declan shot Billy – the bastard’s dead – but you have to arrest his brother. He’s –”

  Kathleen lost the thread of the conversation as she and Anthony both whipped their heads toward the two-way mirror.

  And let out a violent, vicious curse when only an empty Coke bottle looked back.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  SADIE stroked the arm above the splint on Declan’s hand, feeling the firm pressure of lean muscle. Declan was so hard on the outside in so many ways, but inside he was a big marshmallow. A marshmallow with a high smartass content, but a marshmallow nonetheless.

  He’d obviously been afraid to expose himself for what he was – marshmallows were easily burned – but he’d taken the risk here lately and just shoved himself onto the proverbial roasting stick. The reunion and subsequent conversation she’d witnessed between him and his father hadn’t left a dry eye amongst the three of them. There were a lot of years of misunderstanding between father and son, but with Declan finally coming clean with his father over his supposed role in what happened to his mother, there was no more reason for a lack of communication. No excuse for either of them to hold back. And they hadn’t.

  There were pockets of emotion in Declan, the depth of which she’d only just begun to plumb.

  Patrick hugged Sadie to him afterward, making her go all mushy when he invoked blessings upon her for coming back home. She’d tried to deny credit, citing the unfortunate circumstances she and Declan had so recently experienced as an example of her juju maybe not being that good.

  But Patrick, of course, had simply gushed about how she’d always been like part of the family anyway. And that he couldn’t want a better woman for his son.

  Which okay, had sort of freaked her out. She’d just gotten used to the idea of loving him. No one had discussed anything about making it permanent.

  But when she’d checked Declan for signs of his own brain melt at what his father implied, he’d just smiled and pulled her over for a kiss. Of course, he’d been pretty heavily medicated by that point so there was a chance he had no clue what anybody was saying. Percocet wasn’t exactly known for its ability to induce fine reasoning.

  Still, it was something to think about.

  She looked down at him now, his dark hair tangled against the ugly green of the hospital bedding, his diabolical goatee in direct contrast with the peaceful set of his mouth. Sadie noted that despite a bumper crop of bruises that lent him the mug of a barroom brawler, when he was sleeping, he looked almost angelic.

  And the funny thing was that she knew that was total bullshit. He was rude, raunchy, cranky, sarcastic, opinionated, and about as politically correct as a mastodon – and she wouldn’t have him any other way. Because mixed in with all that other stuff was just enough genuine goodness to make him not only a rock solid human being, but a hell of a lot of fun.

  Who would have guessed she craved rough edges?

  Rick, with all his polish and smooth perfection had been too slippery for her to hold onto. Like an unblemished, shiny sheet of ice, she’d always felt she had to tread carefully to keep herself from tumbling headlong into disaster. But Dec – Dec had plenty of bumpy outcroppings. And she wasn’t afraid to throw salt down should she ever feel unsure of her footing.

  This – this ability to be herself, speak her mind, in a relationship – served to remind her of what a fool she’d been. To have doubted her own worth, thereby pretending to be something she wasn’t. Never again would she try to fit herself into somebody else’s mold.

  Declan stirred, murmuring in his sleep. And his good hand crept across the bed, unconsciously seeking out Sadie’s.

  She twined their fingers, heaved a sigh fu
ll of gratitude.

  They’d been so close to never having this opportunity.

  The Beaufort police had been in to speak with her about the message she’d heard on the answering machine, and according to Kathleen there was a full-on manhunt for Brady Marshall. That was Doug Johnson’s real name. Apparently the man had been in police custody, sort of, but at that point he’d been no more than a person of interest to be interviewed. So no one stopped him when he’d walked right out of the Mount Pleasant police station. He hadn’t been under arrest so the interview room wasn’t locked. And somehow, with the instinct of a sociopath for self-preservation, he must have gotten the feeling that they were starting to grow suspicious.

  So he’d waltzed out and promptly disappeared.

  Sadie had to admit she was feeling nervous about that. He’d threatened her at that cabin. Implied all sorts of nasty things that he wanted to do.

  Not to mention the fact that she and Declan had killed his brother.

  But the cop posted outside Dec’s door gave her a certain sense of security. Although hearing about what he and Billy – or Wilson Marshall, to be more accurate – had done would likely give her nightmares for a solid year. Killing her former renter, the locksmith, possibly some day care worker, not to mention what they’d done to the poor old lady here in Beaufort – and all over some stupid piece of jewelry.

  Granted, that piece of jewelry was worth somewhere in the vicinity of three million dollars and had tremendous historical significance for the area. It had been recently discovered buried beneath the old woman’s family mansion after lying hidden since the Union occupation of Beaufort during the War of Northern Aggression.

  But still, it was a hunk of gold, diamonds and rubies. Metal and minerals.

  Hardly worth four, maybe five human lives.

  Although Billy – Wilson’s worth was questionable.

  The thought that the necklace might be squirreled away somewhere in Sadie’s house gave her a case of the willies. If word of that sort of thing got out before the police had a chance to find it, every Tom, Dick and creep around would be breaking in on a regular basis. She’d have to get a guard dog and put up a fence. Hire some live-in security.

  Move in with her next door neighbor.

  Because her brain wasn’t quite ready to go down that road, she pulled a little U-ee and took a mental detour around the room. Standard, utilitarian hospital décor, although the scruffy palmetto tree outside Dec’s window put a somewhat festive spin on things. Now if she only had a margarita and flip-flops instead of bottled water and fuzzy slippers.

  Sadie looked down at the footwear in question.

  Two pink bunny heads stared back.

  Not exactly the hottest look, even for hospital fashion, but Patrick – bless his heart – had done the best he could with the gift shop’s inventory. After Sadie’s own wounds had been doctored and she’d treated herself to a hot shower, she’d realized that other than a hospital gown she had nothing clean to wear.

  Cue Patrick to the rescue. The slippers, scrub bottoms, and too-tight T-shirt that proclaimed I’m The Big Sister in rhinestones made her look like a demented pre-teen Disney channel escapee. But at least it was an improvement over the deranged blood-covered horror movie extra she’d resembled when she and Dec had driven up to that bait shop on the four-wheeler. The poor old guy manning the place had probably lost a couple years off his life.

  But that was neither here nor there. Just some mental ramblings to keep herself from totally freaking out. Because if she were to be totally honest – and since the entire conversation she was carrying on was taking place in her head, she saw no reason not to be – there was a whole lot of Freaked Out waiting to happen. It was amazing she hadn’t entirely lost it prior to now. Breaking off her engagement and uprooting her entire life had been bad enough, but factor in the plot to a B-grade mystery/suspense movie and realizing that her childhood nemesis was in reality – probably – the love of her life, and… good God.

  She was in love with Declan Murphy.

  Sadie sat up in her chair as the full reality of that washed over her. Then surveyed the man in question, all battered and disheveled and – yes, gorgeous – and felt the little ping in her chest and cha-cha in her blood that let her know she wasn’t imagining it. They were probably serving snow cones in Hell right now, because this was one of those things that just Did Not Happen. But it had. As had the whole kidnapping/psycho-criminals-after-them/hiding-in-the-forest nightmare. If she’d had any idea her life was going to… implode like this she might have taken a little more time on the trip from Denver. Like say, a couple of years.

  Declan’s fingers tightened fractionally against her own.

  As Sadie looked down, she thought of him going after that key with the table leg even though his hand was broken. Thought of him pulling her into that log, protecting her with his own body. Of him hurting, clearly in pain, but still as quick as ever with a comeback. Or curling her toes with those smiles that were pure sex. Then informing her she smelled like deer crap.

  She thought of him telling her he loved her.

  And of how it had felt to realize that she hadn’t even tried to earn it.

  Because the love that had grown between them wasn’t the type of thing that had to be earned.

  And nope, on second thought, she wouldn’t have traded a minute. They’d been through hell, and it had both sucked and been utterly terrifying, but he was absolutely accurate – a few broken bones were far better than a broken heart.

  And somehow, somehow they seemed to be helping to heal each other’s.

  With a satisfied sigh Sadie settled back in her seat, exhaustion falling over her like a blanket. And felt far, far less freaked out as she finally succumbed to her body’s desperate need for sleep.

  The commotion in the hallway woke her up.

  Wondering groggily if Patrick had returned from the cafeteria, where he’d gone to grab a bite and check in by phone with his other children – Rogan was on his way back from Atlanta with Kim and Kathleen had already come and gone, her priority now finding Brady Marshall – Sadie blinked and rubbed her eyes in an attempt to clear the cobwebs. She was so tired all of a sudden. Maybe she should reconsider the cot she’d been offered earlier, after refusing her own room. Either that or she’d just throw caution to the wind and climb up in the bed with Declan.

  But something about the tenor of the deep voices outside the door had sleep falling away in a hurry. Her heart climbed dangerously, clogging her throat. One of those voices was authoritative, and southern.

  The second voice was even more authoritative, and not.

  And oh-so-very familiar.

  She’d heard it asking her to marry him just a little less than a year ago.

  Sadie’s old reality collided with her new one in the puke-green corridor of Beaufort Memorial Hospital.

  What was Rick doing here? Then she recalled the tenor of his email. The missed calls that her cell phone had logged. Clearly he was more determined to patch things up than she ever would have imagined.

  Dread and resolve tangled in her gut, and for a moment Sadie almost chickened out. Let the cop handle him. But then she glanced at Declan. Obviously, she needed to wipe the old slate clean once and for all before even attempting to write a new one. So she swiped the sleep-induced drool from her chin, disentangled her fingers from the still unconscious Declan’s, and ordered her bunny slippers to hop across the floor. Well, she ordered her feet, and they actually sort of minced, given their bandaged state, as opposed to hopping, and…

  Okay. These mental joy rides had to stop.

  Mustering some much needed moxie – that damn gumption Doug/Brady kept touting – Sadie ran a hand through her disordered hair before extending that hand toward the door. When she calmly pulled it open, it was to an irritated cop and an irate Rick. Both of them froze, looking at her with surprise, which on Rick’s part quickly morphed to concern.

  “What have they done to you?” He
reached out a hand to touch her cheek. She’d forgotten about getting hit in the face, and brought her own fingers up toward the bruise. “My God,” he continued, studying her from head to foot, “look what happens when you leave me.” Then he gathered her gently in arms clad by Burberry, pressed her possessively against his chest. His aftershave was subtle, tasteful, familiar.

  And suddenly so cloying she found herself choking.

  Rick looked alarmed and the cop looked confused and pissed off.

  Sadie withdrew as far as his arms would allow and turned her head toward the young patrolman. “It’s okay,” she told him. “He’s a… friend.”

  With that she felt Rick stiffen all around her, a wooden sculpture of outraged male. But in deference to her injured state and to the current precariousness of his place in her affections, he kept his tone exceedingly gentle.

  “I apologize,” he offered in atonement to the cop. “But when a man’s fiancée has been abducted and abused it’s a little difficult to keep your head.”

  “Sure,” the cop drawled, sounding like he wasn’t convinced of anything.

  Sadie’s eyes widened, but she let the fiancée comment slide, because she wasn’t about to go into it with an audience.

  Rick apparently felt the same way because he stepped back, though he didn’t release her. “You look like you’re dead on your feet,” he told her. “Why not let me escort you back to your room? And honestly, I’m not sure what these nurses are thinking, letting you wander about in your current state.”

  He eyed the T-shirt and the bunny slippers. But to his credit, kept his thoughts to himself.

  Sadie sighed, because she was exhausted. And because this promised to further wear her out.

  “I don’t have a room,” she informed him. “Officially, I’ve been released.”

  He looked at her bruises, her bandages and grew so incensed that she had to stop him before he exploded. “It’s cuts and bruises,” she told him. “And they look a lot worse than they feel. Pain meds are the eighth wonder.”

  He opened his mouth but she shook her head, glanced awkwardly at the attentive cop. Who wasn’t even pretending a lack of fascination. He’d been outside the door through the earlier visit from Patrick and no doubt wondered what sort of game she was playing.