The Southern Comfort Series Box Set

by Clark O'Neill, Lisa

  “Shelley,” she said, shaking.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Shelley. And I know that this is probably inappropriate, but… could I buy you a drink?”

  Shelley laughed again, taken aback. “I don’t know…”

  “I totally understand. Random dude blocks you in, talks your arm off, then tries to ply you with alcohol. I wouldn’t trust me either.”

  She really shouldn’t. And she really did need to get home to talk to Natasha.

  “There’s a little place around the corner,” he pressed. “Heughan’s? It’s quiet. I’m sure you’ve had enough of crowds for one night. And we could walk there. They’ve got great coffee,” he added. “In case you prefer your beverages nonalcoholic.”

  His smile really was fantastic.

  Shelley blew out a breath. “One cup of coffee,” she agreed. “But you need to move your vehicle, because I’m not walking. I’ll meet you there.”

  That way if he turned out to be a creep, she’d have her transportation readily available.

  “Deal,” he agreed, grinning. “See you in a few.”

  She watched him hustle around to the driver’s side of his truck, appreciating the way he filled out his jeans.

  “This is crazy,” she muttered when he waved at her as he pulled out.

  But then, given the way her life had been going recently, she guessed that was par for the course.

  KATHLEEN pinched her fingers to the bridge of her nose.

  “There’s no evidence,” Mac was saying “no solid evidence, anyway, to indicate it was anything other than suicide. An accidental overdose – maybe. But given the message on the mirror, the lipstick stain found on her fingers. The fact that as a nurse she absolutely would have known the consequences of mixing Xanax and alcohol…” He tossed the case file on the desk. “She killed herself, Kathleen.”

  “Where’s the cork?” Kathleen said.

  Mac heaved a sigh, his massive lungs creating a small windstorm that rustled papers. “Hell, I don’t know. Maybe she put it down the garbage disposal.”

  Kathleen knew she was driving her partner crazy, but there were a few unanswered questions that kept her from closing Mandy’s case. One of those questions involved the fact that the cork from the wine bottle – the wine in which she’d apparently mixed a fatal dose of Xanax – hadn’t been found in the trash or anywhere else in the apartment. It was a minor detail, sure, but Kathleen had found that it was the minor details that were often of the greatest significance.

  “Why would she put it down the garbage disposal?”

  “Because she was out of her mind?”

  “Maybe. But look at the rest of that apartment. Everything – and I do mean everything – in its place.” The woman had apparently been borderline obsessive. “She mixes the drug into the wine, drinks one glass, then pours herself another so that she can carry it into the bath – along with her book – which she plans to read while she waits for the drug to take effect. She tidies up the kitchen, putting everything in its place. Except for the wine cork. Which she puts down the garbage disposal. Then she writes a very unflattering suicide note – in lipstick. On the otherwise pristine mirror. And slides into the tub to die.”

  This time it was Mac who pinched the bridge of his nose. “Maybe the drug had already begun to affect her, and she wasn’t thinking clearly.”

  Maybe. “We need to check that disposal for traces of cork.”

  Resigned, Mac nodded. “Fine.”

  When her phone beeped, Kathleen pulled up the text from Anthony. Her eyebrows drew together.

  “Something you need to deal with?”

  She nodded, then sent back an answering text. “At some point.” She looked up. “How about I call one of the crime scene techs, get them to go over to the apartment with me and take apart some pipes. It’ll give you a chance to catch up on your paperwork. And if the pipes come up with traces of cork in them, I’ll stop dragging my feet about closing this.”

  Mac eyed her with suspicion. “Why do I get the feeling you’re up to something?”

  “You’re just projecting.”

  He hmmphed, but waved a hand to indicate that she should be on her way.

  She called the tech as she walked down the sidewalk, set it up so that she’d meet him there in about an hour. That should give her more than enough time to talk to Anthony, see what he had to say. The air had lost most of its bite, no more than a puppy nipping at her heels rather than the Doberman with shards of ice for teeth. Barely February, but she could swear the breeze already carried the first tentative breath of spring.

  So it wasn’t surprising to find Anthony in his shirtsleeves, waiting for her in a booth.

  He half waved when he saw her, and then went back to perusing the menu.

  “Heughan’s, huh?” She looked around at the rough-hewn beams and exposed brick of the interior. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in here.”

  “They have good coffee,” Anthony said. “Do you want anything?” He waved the menu in front of her.

  “No thanks. I can’t stay too long.”

  “Well, I hope you don’t mind if I order. I’m starving.”

  From the dark circles under his eyes, Kathleen guessed that he had been up half the night, and despite the fact that it was well after lunchtime, this was probably breakfast.

  “Go right ahead.”

  After the waitress took his order, he looked at Kathleen. “Since you don’t have a lot of time, I’ll dispense with the chitchat. I managed to talk LaShelle Kinson – Shelley – into meeting me here last night for a coffee. She claims that the damage to her car occurred in the parking lot of Murphy’s. She came out from work one night and discovered it.”

  “Convenient,” Kathleen said, not at all surprised that he’d convinced the Kinson woman to meet him. The man could charm the birds from the trees if he set his mind to it. “Of course, I wouldn’t expect her to admit that she’d damaged her car when – in a fit of rage – she ran someone off the road.”

  “Nor would I,” he agreed, then leaned back and thanked the efficient waitress as she sat a cup of black coffee before him. After she’d gone, he took a sip. “Which is why I spent a couple of hours last night subtly pumping her for more information.”

  “Anthony.” Kathleen sighed. “I hope you’re keeping track of those hours, because I fully expect to pay you for this.”

  He waved that away, then leaned closer. “We’ll discuss that later. Of more interest is the fact that the woman claims to have never before set foot on the Isle of Palms.”

  “Again, easy to claim.”

  “I know. But there’s less reason to lie about something like that than to lie about how she acquired the damage to her car. And she didn’t know me from Adam, so it’s not like she suspected me of nefarious information-gathering purposes. I made a huge deal out of it, asked her how she could live in Charleston and not venture out that way, but apparently she’s not a real fan of the water. Some kind of phobia from when she was a kid and got stung by a jellyfish. She goes out of her way to avoid it. And granted, there are some bars and restaurants out that way, but you know the main attraction there is the beach. I teased her pretty hard, but she legitimately appeared to be phobic. Said she’d even talked to her counselor about it.”

  “Wait. She admitted she has a drug problem?”

  “Had. Again, according to her. But sort of like the AA program, she doesn’t try to hide the fact that she suffered from an addiction. And it seems a real badge of honor with her that she’d kicked it.”

  Kathleen studied his face. “You liked her.”

  “Well, yeah.” He frowned. “You don’t actually think I’d let that color my professional opinion though, do you?”

  Kathleen shook her head. “Of course not. It’s just… you liked her. Justin likes her. Samantha Harding likes her. Hell, even Declan likes her, and you know what a cranky bastard he is. A lot of people liked Ted Bundy, too, but most of those people didn’t have the profess
ional instincts that you have.”

  One corner of his mouth kicked up. “So what you’re saying is that you trust my judgment.”

  “About something like this? You bet.” She glanced out the window. “So, do you think it wasn’t her car that hit mine?”

  “Not necessarily,” Anthony said. “In fact, I lean toward that scenario. I just don’t know that she was operating it when it happened.”

  “So… what. Someone stole her car – unbeknownst to her – while she was working? Drove out to the Isle of Palms, followed me off the island, ran me off the road, and then put it back?”

  “More like borrowed.”

  “Why? Who?”

  “That’s the question. Probably someone who had access to her keys, though, because she has an alarm and there was no evidence of tampering with the lock. As to why… I’m working on that.”

  “Anthony – ”

  The waitress showed up with his food just then, interrupting them, and Kathleen looked at the time with a sigh. She had to go meet the tech at Mandy’s apartment.

  “Did you give the lab report to the Mount Pleasant police?” she asked.

  He hesitated.

  “Anthony – ”

  “I know.” He held up a hand, using the other to dredge a French fry through ketchup. “I just wanted to wait a day or two in case I need to talk to her again. Because once they question her about the damage to her bumper, she’s going to get awfully suspicious of our conversation last night. Which completely obliterates my chances of further discussion.”

  Kathleen shook her head. However, she guessed she’d set this ball rolling by hiring Anthony to check out the paint in the first place, rather than simply calling the MPPD. She’d had a reason that seemed good at the time, but then the road to hell, and all that.

  “I have to go. Call me if you think of anything else. And keep track of your hours, damn it.”

  He waved again, and took a bite of his sandwich.

  Kathleen slid out of the booth. She started to head out, then glanced back over her shoulder. “Anthony? Thanks.”

  He swallowed. “That’s what friends are for.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  SURPRISED by the sound of the doorbell, Justin sat down the book he’d been reading and levered himself off of the sofa. Feeling a little foolish, he glanced out the window first, taken aback by what he saw. After hesitating a moment, he turned off the alarm and pulled open the door.

  Natasha Griffin stood on his porch, crying.

  Caution and instinct warred inside him. “Natasha. What’s wrong?”

  “Hi,” she said, her brown eyes huge and watery. “I’m sorry to impose. I just…”

  When she trailed off, hiccupping back a sob, instinct won out. But not to the point that he threw caution to the wind. “Here,” he said gesturing her to one of the chairs on his front porch. Keeping her outside seemed prudent. “Have a seat. Can I get you a drink?”

  “No, no.” She sat down, wiping her face with the sleeve of her sweater. “I’m fine.”

  Clearly, she wasn’t. Pale and a little gaunt, with dark circles under her eyes that indicated she’d been having difficulty sleeping.

  He sat down in the chair beside her. “How did you know where I live?”

  That pulled a little laugh from her. “If you’ve got someone’s phone number, it’s as easy as a few Google clicks to get their address. Surely you know that.”

  He guessed he did, though since he didn’t spend much time stalking people on the internet, it still sort of took him by surprise.

  His mouth tightened as caution regained the upper hand. “My number’s unlisted.”

  “You gave it to my sister, remember? On your card?”

  So he had. Though he was currently regretting that decision. “Natasha,” he began slowly “I know you’ve been having a rough time –”

  She huffed a laugh. “You could say that.” Then she turned her large brown eyes on him. “Did you look at my medical record?”

  He nodded. “I did. You’ve been through a lot.”

  She pulled her knees up, tucked them beneath her chin. “I thought it was all behind me. I mean, for over two years, my life was just one big medical problem. After the crash…” she paused, closed her eyes. “After the crash it just seemed like my whole world broke into a million little pieces. I spent two weeks in intensive care, drugged into oblivion, and when I finally woke up, my parents were dead, my sister – my only living relative – was dealing with her own grief, and there were all these strangers taking care of me. I was nine.”

  “You must have been terrified.”

  “Oh boy,” she said with hearty agreement. “Was I. But there was this one doctor,” she added. “He was… well, he was just great. I thought he was pretty old at the time, but looking back now, he couldn’t have been more than forty. Maybe even a little younger. He was handsome and funny and kind. He brought me a bear,” she said, her voice a little dreamy. “A big stuffed bear to keep with me so that if I woke up in the middle of the night, I wouldn’t be alone. I cried buckets into that poor thing’s fur.”

  “Sounds like he had a good bedside manner,” Justin said, caution rearing its head again.

  “Oh yeah. And given how sick I was for a while after that, we got to be pretty good buddies. He was like… I can’t say he was like a father, because my own father still loomed large in my heart, and there was no replacing him. But this doctor, he was like a favorite uncle, I guess. He made me feel safe, even when they didn’t know what was wrong with me. He’d put his hands on my shoulders and look me in the eye and say: we’re gonna figure this thing out yet, Natty-Bee. That was just a silly little nickname he called me. I don’t even remember how it started.” She turned her head, looked at Justin. “I loved him.”

  “I can tell that you did.” Because he thought he might have some idea where this was going, Justin hoped to divert it. “Natasha. I’m very sorry for your troubles. You’re a nice girl, and given the fact that I helped you during an extreme crisis, it’s not uncommon to expect that I can… continue to help you. Especially given your previous history. Your need to feel safe, given what you’ve experienced recently, is perfectly normal, but…”

  He tried to figure out the best way to phrase what it was he needed to say. “I’m not him. I can’t be your point of refuge. There’s a difference in the ethical standards between a doctor and a nine-year-old patient, and one who’s twenty-two. Why don’t you let me recommend a good counselor?”

  Natasha laughed, the sound caught between chagrin and mirth. “I’m not asking you to be my favorite uncle. Or my Big Daddy, for that matter.”

  “I didn’t think –”

  “Of course you did, and looking back on how I handled this, I can understand why. You’re a good-looking guy, a great doctor, and I’m sure you have more than your fair share of patients who think they’re in love with you.”

  “Ah…” Because he was starting to feel chagrinned himself, Justin cleared his throat. “Why are you here, Natasha? Not that I’m not willing to help you however I can – on a professional level. But,” he spread his hands. “I’m not even your doctor. And I know you’re having some trouble with the police, but aside from recommending a good lawyer, I don’t know what else I can do.”

  “Yeah, I know you talked to that cop – Detective Murphy, I mean. Detective Rutledge still doesn’t believe me, but… I appreciate you making the effort, even if nothing came from it.”

  Justin frowned. “Do you still feel that you’re in danger?”

  “From the gang?” Natasha shook her head. “I don’t know. Probably. Everything is just so damn confusing right now. But anyway.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve gotten way off track. I didn’t tell you about all of this because I expect you to protect me.” She fiddled with a loose thread in her sweater. “It’s more that I’m hoping to return the favor. That I can do something to protect you.”

  Justin leaned forward in his chair. “What do you m
ean?”

  “I…” Natasha squeezed her eyes shut, and when she looked at him again they were full of a mix of determination and pain. “I found something,” she said. “Something really troubling. I… I think you might be in danger.”

  “What kind of danger?” he said slowly, even as the little hairs on his neck moved like dominoes in reverse, standing straight up.

  “It might be easier if I show you,” she told him. “I have it in my car.”

  When she stood up, the shot rang out.

  Her face registered shock even as Justin dove, taking her to the ground. Rolling her beneath him, he dragged them both behind the porch column, which was the only shelter to be had. Heart pounding, he glanced over his shoulder, scanned the trees, the darkness beside the garage, for some sign of the shooter.

  When Natasha made a gurgling sound, he leaned up slightly so that he could assess the damage.

  Fuck. The unspoken thought was vicious. She was hit. Again. And the placement of the bullet did not look good.

  “Natasha,” he said, his voice low but demanding. “Look at me. Open your eyes. That’s right,” he said when her lids started to flutter. “You stay with me. I’m going to have to drag you again,” he warned her, hoping that whoever’d fired that shot wasn’t hanging around, waiting for them to move back into the open. But he had to get her inside, immediately.

  Just then the door opened, filled by the shape of his brother.

  “What the hell was that?”

  “Get back!” Justin barked, and when James looked down, saw him covering the bleeding woman with his body, he dropped to his stomach, belly-crawled onto the porch.

  “Damn it, James!”

  “I’ve got her legs,” he said, ignoring Justin’s ire completely. “We’ll go on the count of three. One, two…”

  On three, Justin grabbed Natasha under her shoulders, and crab-walked toward the open door, keeping his profile as low as possible.

  As soon as they were across the threshold, he kicked the door shut with his foot.

  “Shit,” James said, looking at the pool of blood that was already spreading out beneath Natasha, running in rivulets along the grooves in the wood floor.