The Southern Comfort Series Box Set

by Clark O'Neill, Lisa

  With dawning horror she watched him slide the hypodermic he’d used earlier until it was hidden in the sleeve of his shirt.

  Then he favored Sadie with a jaunty wink.

  “I… I’m not armed, officer,” he stammered while his hands went up as instructed. Then he schooled his features into a supplicant’s mask and allowed those hands to tremble. “Don’t shoot, okay? I’m fixin’ to turn around.”

  He shifted and Sadie got a glimpse of the cop, his youthful face both stern and excited. The brown eyes flickering wildly proved he hadn’t yet learned to keep his emotions from showing on his face. He was nervous, and a little scared, but beyond that was cocky enthusiasm. Like a kid who’d stepped up to the plate for the first time and knocked one out of the park.

  The cops in three counties were looking for this man, and he was the one who had him.

  If Sadie’s vocal cords had been willing to cooperate she would have screamed an angry warning. Because unless she missed her bet, Brady was going to eat this kid for lunch.

  Please call for backup, she silently implored when those inexperienced eyes flicked her way. Please God, if you haven’t done so already, get on your radio right now.

  “On the ground, face down” he ordered, his stance precision perfect even if the gun did shake in his hand. And he watched, eagle-eyed and itchy with the trigger while Brady blubbered and rushed to comply. One cowed sociopath.

  Sadie’s throat ached with the need to cry foul.

  While Brady was pretending to prostrate himself, the cop’s gaze worked its way back to Sadie. “You okay, ma’am?”

  He grew visibly alarmed when she didn’t answer.

  Sadie blinked, her own eyes straying toward Brady, and the young man tracked her stare. He apparently assumed she was so frightened that she’d frozen like a cornered animal.

  “Don’t you worry about him, ma’am, I’ve got him under control. Hands on your head!” he barked, in a demonstration of his authority. Then he began to pat Brady’s ankles down while carefully keeping his own gun trained.

  “Your, uh, boyfriend was worried,” the cop told Sadie, perhaps to help her calm. “Would have probably tried to come down himself if his dad hadn’t physically restrained him. Good thing he was jealous of your, uh, other friend or I might have missed Mr. Marshall here.”

  Pay attention, Sadie wanted to tell him. But his excitement was overriding his sense, Brady’s possum act lulling him into a false sense of security. Just like Brady wanted it to. And which a seasoned cop would have known better than to trust. But this kid was so new, he practically had a smell.

  And like blood, Brady had scented it.

  Sadie watched the cop work toward Brady’s head with growing trepidation.

  Please, she thought again. Please say you stopped to consider backup. Hospital security, at the least.

  But the vibratory hum of the security lights kicking on in the parking lot was the only sound that disturbed the chill night air. No radios, no other voices. No sirens growing louder in the distance.

  Brady tilted his head slightly and looked up from his position on the pavement. Sadie knew he was listening, too. She saw the corner of his mouth kick up moments before he struck.

  The gun went off, but it missed its mark as Brady deflected it by grabbing the cop’s arm. With the other hand he plunged the air-filled syringe into the vicinity of the young man’s neck.

  He went down like he’d been unplugged.

  No, Sadie thought, heart rending. Both for herself and for that poor baby-faced cop.

  Tears began to course again, much more freely than before, as she helplessly watched Brady struggle to heft the dead man from the ground.

  “This,” he told her, depositing the still-warm body in the truck beside her, “is why I found my brother so damn useful. He may have been dumb as a brick, but at least he was really strong.”

  With a huff he shoved the body toward her and everything decent in Sadie recoiled. She closed her eyes, desperate to move away, but her body was no longer under her command. The heat and the sweat of battle still clung to the flesh that had so recently housed a young man’s soul. It invaded her nostrils, smothered her, until her throat closed in on itself in panic.

  Brady reached over the cop’s body to readjust the angle of her head.

  “Can’t have you suffocating,” he said evenly. As if the murder he’d just committed had calmed him down. “And can’t have any dead bodies lying around to attract attention.”

  Following another pat for her head, he hurriedly closed them in. Though they were at the very back end of the parking lot, that gunshot had to have attracted some of the attention he wanted to avoid, so the bastard was in an obvious rush. Hopefully someone had heard something.

  Hopefully.

  The vehicle’s engine turned over and from across the distance of two rows of seats Sadie could hear her abductor whistling. Happy as a homicidal clam.

  He’d shown no emotion whatsoever when discussing his dearly departed brother, nothing other than mild… enjoyment when he’d killed the cop. Bainbridge. Sadie committed the unusual name to memory as she strained her eyes to read the kid’s nametag. Officer Bainbridge. It seemed important that she know that.

  From behind Sadie, toward the middle of the truck, another muffled noise emerged over the disturbing whistling. And unless her ears were playing tricks on her, it sounded like a man’s low moan.

  “Uh-oh,” Brady chirped, downright chipper in the driver’s seat. “Sounds like somebody’s waking up.”

  Sadie’s heart squeezed painfully. Not again, she thought frantically, a hundred different nightmare scenarios flashing before her. Surely the bastard hadn’t found a way to kidnap Declan right out of his hospital room.

  But the reality was somehow worse.

  “Since your other lover-boy was inconveniently indisposed, I thought you’d like another playmate to keep you company. This one has better taste in clothes.” The comment was off-hand. The cruelty premeditated. “You think I’d look good in those fancy loafers?”

  When Sadie managed a small cry, Brady’s whistling turned to laughter, and the sheer wickedness chilled her blood.

  “Didn’t think so,” he said, and the whistling resumed, and all Sadie could think was Rick.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  “DAD, I really don’t want to hurt you, but I swear I’m going to if you don’t get out of my way.”

  Patrick Murphy looked his youngest child in the eye and very calmly told him “I don’t think so.”

  “Dad…”

  “Now Declan, I know you’re upset, but it’s not your place to interfere.”

  “I’m going to marry her,” he said, all wild-eyed challenge. Saying it out loud made his tongue feel like it had been dragged through sawdust. “That makes wherever she is my place.”

  Patrick’s grin practically split his freckled face in half. “I know that, son. Hell, your mother and I practically started planning the wedding when you were still kids.”

  At the mention of his mother Declan looked for some sign of pain, of reproach, but saw only fond remembrance from his father. And was humbled, once again.

  Patrick gave his arm a squeeze. “Only surprising thing is how long you two took to get with the program. Of course, given the fact that you’ve had most of the country between you for the better part of the past fifteen years, I guess I can cut you a little slack. But despite all the understandable possessiveness you’re feeling just now, you need to back off and let Sadie handle this on her own. She’s not going to appreciate your acting like an idiot.” He steered Declan back toward the bed.

  “She’s used to me acting like an idiot,” he countered, and tried to execute some evasive maneuvers. His old man was built like a tank, but he was quick on his feet. Declan got exactly nowhere for all his efforts. Stupid drugs. Stupid ribs.

  He found his butt planted on the scratchy sheets.

  “In case you’ve forgotten, there’s a bigger picture her
e besides her shaking off that asshole. Marshall’s out there, Dad. And I’m telling you, he’s not going to forget Sadie.”

  “I know, Declan.” His tone grew sober. “And that’s why I asked that young policeman to go look out for her. Besides that, every cop around is on his trail, and he’d have to be pretty damn stupid to try anything here. He’s probably halfway to Mexico by now.”

  Declan snorted his disbelief. “That young policemen is probably videotaping Sadie and Tweed Boy as we speak, planning to put it up later on YouTube.” But he felt the uneasiness settle over him again. “She’s been gone for forty-five minutes, Dad. How long does it take to tell the jerk to get lost?”

  “What jerk?” a new voice piped in, and Dec peered around his father’s bulk to see Rogan’s girlfriend walking in. Followed closely by Rogan. His brother looked pale, and worried, and something else that Dec wasn’t sure he could identify. He remembered how it had felt for him when their situations were reversed. When Rogan had been the one in the hospital bed.

  It had been like… a fear of losing half of his own damn soul. Like something necessary to his being had been threatened.

  Their eyes met, and understanding flashed between them.

  Understanding that they hadn’t shared in years.

  Declan’s throat worked as he struggled to voice an answer to Kim’s question.

  “Sadie’s ex made an appearance,” his dad stepped in and explained for him. Then he made his way purposely across the room and took Rogan into his arms. There was a lot of back-patting and murmured whispers. His dad’s eyes squeezed in obvious relief.

  Something had obviously happened. But they’d kept Dec out of the loop.

  Resentment ignited a nasty spark inside his already aching chest.

  But one look at Kim’s face, and the tiny flame was smothered. Her expression clearly stated that she knew the direction his thoughts had taken. And that he didn’t understand anything at all. Probably true, given he’d spent the better part of his adult life pushing his family away. So if there were things he was left out of, he guessed he was mostly at fault.

  There were a lot of bridges to repair, as far as his family went, and most of the manual labor by rights fell to him. He was the one who’d burned them in the first place.

  And they were all here for him now, loving him more than he deserved, so he’d just have to get over himself and stop pouting.

  Except for when it came to Sadie. He was pouting about Tweed Boy a lot.

  Uptight, self-important bastard.

  He should have broken his nose, and then they’d see who looked more masculine in a gown.

  And just because he trusted Sadie didn’t mean he had to trust that jerk one bit.

  He was deep in his own jealousy when a muffled noise reached him through the window. “What was that?” he asked, heart skipping a beat at the sharp report.

  Looking puzzled, Patrick stepped toward the glass. “Probably a car backfiring.” He peered out into the rapidly darkening night. But there was a palmetto tree in front of the window. Beyond its fan-shaped fronds, the view was totally obscured.

  Declan’s gaze shot immediately to Kim. Whose hand rested on top of her holstered weapon.

  And in her eyes he saw the flash of recognition that had sent his own instincts into overdrive.

  He’d heard a gun being fired far too recently to ever mistake the sound.

  “Sadie.” Panic overtaking him, he left the bed so fast that he landed on the floor.

  Rogan rushed forward to help him to his feet.

  “Where?” Kim said, her face now all business, and Dec explained she’d gone outside with Rick.

  “The cop went after her,” he added, terror making his bare legs tremble, and he cursed her ex-fiancé all to hell. If he hadn’t come sniffing around she’d be safe right here with him.

  “Notify security, and I’ll go check.”

  “You want me to go with you?” Rogan asked.

  “I’ll ask one of the guards to provide backup. You stay with your brother.”

  “Be safe,” Rogan said as she turned to leave.

  His dad was already on the room’s phone. Punching the button that linked him directly with security.

  “I have to get down there,” he insisted sotto voce to his brother.

  Rogan braced his hand beneath the elbow on Dec’s good arm as he helped him find his balance. “Kim’s trained for this sort of thing. Let her check it out.”

  “If she wasn’t trained, and you’d just had to sit by with your thumb up your ass while some madman fondled and terrorized her, would you be content to let someone else check it out?”

  Rogan’s face lost a little more color. “No. But you don’t know that that noise implied Sadie’s in any kind of danger. Could have been a car backfiring, like Dad said.”

  “Could have been the village sending off a signal flare because they’ve become aware they’re missing their idiot.”

  Identical blue eyes flashed in irritation.

  Declan made a concerted effort to calm. “Look, even if she isn’t… imperiled, she’s been with her ex-fiancé for almost an hour. The man was wearing a sport coat and loafers, Rogan. You’ve got to help me out.”

  ROGAN’S lips twitched at the mental image. “You want me to get you a wheelchair?”

  “Do I look like I need another handicap? The loafers probably cost more than I paid for my car.”

  Rogan glanced across the room, where their father was busy talking to someone from security. “Lean on me,” he said quietly, feeling like he had when they were kids and they’d snuck out of the house. More often than not to bring down some mischief on the woman for whom his brother was obsessively worrying. “We’ve got maybe a thirty second window before he realizes what’s going on.”

  “Watch the hand,” Dec said as they left, moving as fast as his rubbery legs would take him. “These sadists don’t believe in leaving a man any dignity.”

  Rogan glanced over his shoulder and noted he’d accidently pulled the gown off Dec’s bare ass, remembering his own sentiments earlier had been eerily similar.

  He and Dec were far more alike than he’d thought.

  Than he’d been willing to think, anyway.

  And as he felt his brother’s weight against him, recalled all they’d unknowingly shared that day – all they’d shared in days long past – he turned his head just enough to meet Declan’s gaze. And the thought that flashed through his head was: it’s nice to have you back.

  “SHIT. What was that?”

  Kathleen shifted and glanced at Detective Corelli as he turned his unmarked car into Beaufort Memorial’s lot. His brows drew low over eyes gone sharp, telling her he’d already arrived at the same conclusion as she. “Somebody discharged a weapon.”

  They both glanced at the dash, waiting to hear if there’d be some kind of clue from the Beaufort PD dispatch as to what was going on, but the scanner remained silent. Nor had either of their pagers gone off. Whatever was happening, the local police didn’t seem to be involved, and she got a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  Sliding her weapon from the holster on her hip, Kathleen’s eyes scanned the confines of the parking lot. Anthony angled the car toward the direction from which the shot had come. She was just about to tell him to step on it when an enormous black SUV came barreling around the corner.

  “Look out!” she yelled, but it was too late to stop what was bound to be a head-on collision. Anthony jerked the wheel and every muscle in her body tensed in automatic preparation, just as the deafening crunch of metal-on-metal filled the air. Tires squealed. Headlights shattered. Several thousand pounds of steel folded in like an automotive accordion. Kathleen’s body flew forward before being immediately snapped back as the vehicle’s safety mechanisms kicked in. The airbag emerged in a rocket-powered cloud, slamming into her face with explosive force. Dust clogged her nostrils. Cartilage crunched.

  The gun was wrenched from her hand, disappearing into the da
rk well of the vehicle’s floorboards. Her seatbelt locked, jerking her back with enough power to render deep bruises across her torso.

  And all of it happened in the blink of an eye.

  Okay, she thought while the dust began to settle and her ears rang with the vibrations of the crash. You’re okay. Just shaken. She was just starting to regain her equilibrium when the safety glass on the windshield shattered.

  “Hell.” A gunshot. Luckily the windshield held. She batted the deflating airbag out of her way, sliding as far down in the seat as possible.

  “Corelli, you okay?”

  A low groan from the driver’s side was her only answer. Anthony had managed to turn the vehicle just enough so that his side took the brunt of the impact. Kathleen glanced over quickly, noted the blood streaming down the side of his face, and weighed the risks associated with moving him versus the risks associated with not.

  Hostile fire trumped possible neck injuries any damn day.

  Fumbling to release his seatbelt, Kathleen pulled him sideways. She drew his weapon from its holster, her own having landed God knew where. Priority one was the ability to defend themselves from any more bullets that might be headed their way. She waited a beat – two, three – and then used her free hand to lift the radio. They’d been coordinating their investigation with Beaufort PD, so knew they’d grasp the situation’s implications right away.

  “This is Detective Murphy with CPD and I’ve got shots fired at Beaufort Memorial Hospital. There’s an officer down and I need some backup on the scene immediately.”

  “Roger that,” came the disembodied voice. “We’ve already got units en route in response to multiple 911s. What’s your status, Detective?”

  “I’m trapped inside my vehicle with Detective Corelli, who’s suffered an apparent head trauma and is unresponsive. We were involved in a collision with a dark SUV as we entered the hospital parking lot. I believe the second shot originated from the other vehicle.”

  Kathleen heard the distant whine of sirens, the shouts of multiple voices as bystanders were drawn outside the hospital by the sound of the shots, and of the crash. She cursed the stupid airbag for obstructing her view even though it had served its intended function admirably. Her nose was swelling – it felt like she’d collided with a brick wall – but it was better than having been knocked unconscious. If both she and Corelli were down for the count they’d be no better than sitting ducks.