“Justin?”
He looked up and met his brother’s gaze. James looked far more serious than he’d ever seen him. “You might not want to drink any more of that.” He nodded toward the mug. “And Bro? Change the house locks, too. Because I think you have a problem.”
CHAPTER TEN
KATHLEEN reduced her speed as she drove over the Isle of Palms connector. The tide was out, the last rays of daylight rippling like gold dust in the water. At this time of the year the marsh was more mud flat than undulating sea of chartreuse cord grass. But with a lone great white egret standing atop the bones of a long-abandoned boat, the elder statesman of the lowland, it still made a picture. Sometimes, even when you were used to the beauty that surrounded you, it could still catch you off guard and grab you by the throat.
I miss you.
Justin’s text ran through her mind like a ticker tape, as it had since she’d received it that morning. Three simple words, seemingly straightforward. Basically harmless.
So why did she feel like she’d inadvertently opened a ticking time bomb instead of a text message? That she had two wires to choose from: one of which would defuse the situation, while the other would cause it to blow up in her face.
And even more troubling, why did she have a niggling suspicion that she wanted it to blow up?
She hadn’t known how to respond. Blow it off with a smartass rejoinder? Suggest they meet for lunch later this week or a drink after work? Either of those two options were what she would have done BC.
Before Christmas. Or more specifically, before that kiss.
Of course, Justin had never said anything like I miss you prior to this. Probably because they saw each other regularly, but even when they hadn’t seen each other for a while, one or the other of them would simply drop the other a quick message or call and ask when they were free. They’d never gone so long without chatting. And there’d been none of these… undertones, fraught with confusing emotional wires and explosive potential.
Because she hadn’t known how to respond, Kathleen let almost the entire day go by without answering. Not unheard of, given both of their careers. There were often days that it took hours for either of them to check their personal messages. And Kathleen had been in court today, offering testimony in a trial. Justin wouldn’t necessarily think that she was ignoring him.
But Kathleen knew she’d been ignoring him. Or not ignoring, rather, but putting him off. And she didn’t like the feeling.
So, perhaps typical of her personality, she’d decided to deal with the situation face to face.
Not that she knew what she was going to say, because she honestly had no idea. But one thing she’d learned as a detective was that body language spoke volumes. If she really wanted to get a bead on what the hell Justin had intended to signify with that text, she needed to see him in person.
Gripping the steering wheel tighter, she turned down his palmetto and oak-shaded street. Her pulse kicked up a notch when she spotted the bright red bulk of Justin’s pickup. “Like a flag before a bull,” she muttered, pulling in behind it. Although why she was making a comparison between herself and an irate animal preparing to charge was something she’d have to think about later.
Kathleen headed toward the wide expanse of front porch before the sound of hammering drew her attention. She paused, determined it was coming from around back.
Cursing the form-fitting skirt and high heels she’d worn for her court appearance, she followed the crushed oyster shell path around the corner of the small frame house – which Justin had recently painted a classic taupe with creamy trim, adding sage green, paneled shutters – wondering what he was working on this time.
She stopped when she saw him, feeling like she’d run up against a brick wall. A brick wall mortared with testosterone. Muscles bunched and rippled beneath a tight gray T-shirt as he hammered a new board onto the back steps. If there was a female around who couldn’t appreciate the sight, Kathleen figured she was either a lesbian or blind. Or dead.
“Where’s that mistletoe when you need it?”
She hadn’t intended to say that. But what the hell. If he laughed it off, she’d play right along and they’d be back on familiar footing. No harm, no foul. But if he grabbed her and pressed her up against all those lovely muscles – a flashback to the Christmas party caused her stomach to flutter…well.
They’d just see what happened, wouldn’t they.
Then he turned around, and the lovely little flutter lost its wings. “Gee,” she said after a few beats. “This is awkward.”
The younger man – clearly not Justin, though the resemblance was strong enough to throw her – gave her a slow once-over, his gaze lingering on the not inconsiderable expanse of her exposed legs. “Not from where I’m standing.”
Then his eyes snapped back to hers, and he offered a playful grin. “I don’t have any mistletoe handy, but there’s some Spanish moss over there on that oak. Will that do?”
“Ha.” Tamping down her discomfiture – she’d just had inadvertent lustful thoughts about Justin’s little brother, for God’s sake – Kathleen strode forward and stuck out her hand.
“I’m Kathleen Murphy. A friend of Justin’s. You must be James.”
“Good call.” His palm was warm and calloused as it met hers. “Murphy…” His voice trailed off. “Your family owns the pub?”
“My father and brothers, yes.”
“Nice place.”
“Thanks.”
He angled his head. “So you’re the cop.”
“I am.” Kathleen wondered what Justin had said about her, but because wondering made her feel like a total chick, she pulled out a smile and returned to the subject at hand. “Sorry about the mistaken identity. And while you’re awfully cute, I’m afraid I’ll have to pass on your generous offer of Spanish moss substitution.”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying. I take it you’re looking for my brother.”
“Provided he hasn’t been peering out the window, watching this all unfold. In which case I may never be able to look at him again.”
James chuckled, a dimple appearing in his left cheek. For some reason, that little visible difference between him and his brother was a relief. “You’re in luck. Or not, depending on which way you look at it. He went out a little bit ago to pick up some more wood for the porch. He shouldn’t be gone too long, though, if you’d like to wait.”
“Oh.” Kathleen’s brow’s knit. “I saw his pickup in the drive.”
“Yeah, he took my SUV.” James’ smile slipped, and he turned his attention to the hammer in his hand, giving it a little toss. “Can I offer you something to drink, or – ”
“What’s wrong with his truck?”
“What do you mean?”
This wasn’t the Wellington whose body language she’d intended to read, but Kathleen couldn’t help but note the hammer-fidgeting thing. “I mean that it makes more sense for him to have taken his truck if he went to pick up wood.”
“Oh.” Another toss of the hammer. “My car was parked behind his.”
Which sounded perfectly reasonable, at least to someone who didn’t understand nonverbal cues. Or for that matter, the relationship Justin had with his truck. Something was… off. “It wasn’t broken into again, was it?”
James’ face registered surprise. “You know about that?”
“He told me about it when I gave him a ride to Murphy’s the other day.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Didn’t he have the locks changed?”
“Yes.”
“Is the truck running okay?”
“Last I heard.”
“Then why didn’t he drive his pickup truck to ‘pick up’ lumber?”
James’ lips quivered. “Are you sure you don’t want to read me my rights before you interrogate me?”
“Sorry.” Kathleen dropped her arms to her sides, but he held up a conciliatory hand.
“I have one of those. A cop, I mean. In the family. I guess
you know my older brother works for the FBI. Anyway, I’m basically used to the second degree. And the suspicion.”
“Well, you were fidgeting. With the hammer,” she clarified when he stared at her.
He stroked a hand over his chin. “Is fidgeting like blinking? With regards to giving away the fact that you’re being evasive, I mean. Cause I spent a lot of time not blinking in the vicinity of my parents when I was a teen.”
Kathleen smirked. The youngest Wellington was nothing if not charming. But she wasn’t going to let him fully turn the subject. “Look James, I’m not trying to pry – ”
“Sure you are.”
“Okay,” she admitted with a nod. “That’s fair. I’m prying, which, being a cop and all, I tend to do. But I also get the feeling there’s something out of the ordinary going on with your brother. And while normally I would just annoy him until he told me what was wrong, the fact is…”
Kathleen trailed off, not knowing exactly how to phrase her dilemma. How did one explain to the brother of the man who’d been a rock solid mainstay of friendship in her life for the past several years that everything had changed with a single kiss? Or maybe it had changed. Maybe not. She couldn’t be sure until she talked to Justin. Who seemed to be simultaneously avoiding her and missing her. Which made absolutely no sense, come to think of it, given that the man was supposed to be a bulwark of logic.
“Would this have anything to do with mistletoe?”
Kathleen’s head snapped back up. James was eying her with calculation. “Why do you ask?”
He held up one long finger. “I believe the interrogation ball is still in my court. Now again: mistletoe?”
She sighed “Maybe.”
“Mickey Mouse?”
“What?”
“Think of it as word association. If I say mistletoe and Mickey Mouse, you say…”
“Are you high?”
His grin flashed, but he studied her closely for another second. “No blinking. No fidgeting. You’re either a really good liar, or you didn’t send that ornament.”
“What ornament?”
“I had to check.” James sat the hammer down on the cream colored railing. “Justin’s not quite as observant – or as neutral – as he could be in certain areas.”
“James.” Kathleen held onto her patience. “Could you please, in plain English, tell me what the hell you’re talking about?”
“Justin will kill me,” he muttered.
“Well, I might kill you if you don’t. And I’m the one who’s armed.”
He smiled at that. “You take no shit, do you?”
“None at all.”
“Good.” And his expression grew serious. “Because there’s some pretty hinky shit going on.”
JUSTIN rubbed the back of his neck as he walked toward the coffee shop. He hadn’t had any caffeine since the few sips he’d taken that morning, wary of drinking anything which had come from his machine. Not that he believed Mandy would poison him. Of course, he hadn’t believed she would break into his truck or into his house, either, for that matter. Not that you could really call it breaking in when the person used a key.
Hell.
He still didn’t know whether she’d simply been helping herself to his spare keys – she knew where he kept them – or whether she’d had keys made for herself without his knowledge. Not that it really mattered all that much how she’d come by them. The problem was that she’d used them.
And what the hell was she trying to prove with that stunt this morning? That she knew how he liked his coffee? That she was a domestic goddess? That she was whacked?
Well, mission accomplished on that last one.
Realizing he’d forgotten to lock James’ SUV – which his brother had insisted he drive for a while, in case Crazy Mandy got any more bright ideas – Justin turned around to aim the remote, engaging the alarm.
And backed into someone.
“I’m sorry.” He grabbed the arm of the woman he’d barreled into to keep her from falling over, though despite his efforts something small and cylindrical flew from her hand. “I wasn’t watching where I was going. Are you…oh, hey. Anne, isn’t it?”
The woman looked at him blankly for a moment, but then recognition dawned in her large dark eyes. “Oh. Dr. Wellington. I’m sorry; I didn’t recognize you outside the hospital setting.”
“I’m just the oaf mowing you down in the doorway to the coffee shop.”
“Hardly an oaf.” She smiled politely. “It was as much my fault as yours. I was reading a label when I should have been paying attention.”
Reminded of the object she’d dropped, Justin looked down and spotted a plastic bottle, which had rolled a few feet away. “Here you go.” He stooped down, retrieved it. And though he hadn’t intended to invade her privacy, noted the name of the herb printed on the label. His brows drew together in a frown.
“Kava?”
“Yes.” Anne pushed aside a strand of hair which had blown into her eyes before reaching for the bottle. The glance she shot him was guilty. “I know there are some potential side effects, but – ”
“Liver failure,” Justin agreed. “Hepatitis. Among others.”
Her expression became one of distress. “Those cases are rare, though, aren’t they? And usually due to extended use. I did read up before I bought it.”
“Anne.” He placed a gentle hand on her elbow and steered her away from the door. “Is everything okay? I know we discussed how stressful post-traumatic situations can be. And while kava does appear to have some success with relieving stress-related insomnia, I don’t know that I’d recommend it. If you’re having trouble sleeping – ”
“Oh, it’s not for me.” She offered a smile, but it wobbled a little. “It’s Natasha. She has… nightmares. Which is understandable, I know. But I’m worried. She’s not sleeping well, she’s not eating right, she’s…” Her breath hitched, once, then twice, and Justin sensed a mini-meltdown coming on.
“Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” he offered as a distraction. “Or tea? We can talk.”
Anne squeezed her eyes shut, sending one lone tear sliding down her pale cheek. “That would be great,” she admitted with a smile of gratitude.
“After you.” Justin pulled open the door, and ushered her through.
“SO,” Justin said after he and Natasha’s sister were seated at a small table in the corner of the shop. “Natasha’s recovery is not going well, I take it.”
Anne blew delicately across the foam of her cappuccino. “I wouldn’t say that, entirely. Physically, I think that she is recovering admirably. Writing is still a problem, as she still has significant weakness in her hand, but she’s slowly regaining the range of motion, I believe you call it, in her shoulder. When she chooses to do her therapy, that is.”
He heard the frustration in her voice, and beneath that, the concern. “Will it make you feel better if I tell you that lack of motivation and even rebellion are not uncommon reactions? She’s having to relearn basic functions due to no fault of her own. A lot of patients find it alternately depressing and infuriating.”
“I understand that.” Anne took a sip of her coffee. “I do. And if that were the only problem, I wouldn’t be so concerned. But…” she ran one manicured finger along the handle of her mug.
“But?” Justin prompted.
She sighed, and met his gaze. “As I said, she hasn’t been sleeping well, and she does little more than pick at her food. She’s lost more weight, when she’s supposed to be gaining it back. I’ve tried to reach her, tried to be there for her – cooking meals, keeping her apartment clean. Buying her little treats. Anything I can do to get her spirits up. If it wasn’t for her roommate…”
She trailed off again, and this time there was antipathy mixed with the frustration.
“You feel that her roommate is impeding her recovery?”
Anne glanced around at the surrounding patron-filled tables, then leaned in, apparently loathe to be overheard. “Sh
elley – you remember Shelley?”
Justin nodded.
“She, well, to be honest, she doesn’t much like me. And I’m afraid the feeling is mutual. It wouldn’t normally be a problem, except that Shelley has this… temper. She – and I don’t mean to sound like I’m gossiping, but I believe it’s relevant – she was an addict. Oxycodone, amphetamines. God knows what else. She’s clean now, but it seems that her anger issues were exacerbated by going straight, if that’s possible. And she’s wildly possessive. Of Natasha, I mean. I often feel like I’m involved in some sort of territorial battle. And the other night she… ” Anne swallowed noisily, clearly on the verge of tears again.
Justin reached out to pat her hand, as he sometimes did when he sensed that one of his patient’s loved ones needed the contact, the comfort. Like a drowning woman, Anne turned her trembling hand around and grasped his.
He glanced down, figured it wasn’t inappropriate even if it was a little awkward. Counseling wasn’t exactly his forte, and weepy women generally made him feel rather like an animal in a trap. But hell, he’d issued the invitation. Even if he had expected to discuss the potential side effects of certain medications rather than female… territorial disputes, he realized he was stuck.
He cleared his throat. “What happened the other night?”
“I noticed that a bottle of Natasha’s pills were missing. The prescription pain meds. And I… I admit that I crossed the line, but given Shelley’s history, I went into her room to look for them. Needless to say, she went a little berserk when she discovered me.”
“Berserk how?”
“She… God, I feel so foolish. She grabbed me by the hair. Threatened to hurt me if I didn’t butt out. It was… frightening. She was frightening.” Glancing down, Anne seemed to realize that she was still clutching Justin’s hand. Flushing, she pulled it away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to unload on you. You just caught me at a bad time, I guess. So, about the kava… is there a safer alternative which you’d recommend? Something natural, preferably. I don’t want to bring any more prescription meds into Natasha’s environment than I have to. I’m concerned that they’re too much of a temptation for Shelley.”
The Southern Comfort Series Box Set Page 130