Coldhearted

by Beverly Barton

  “You’re right.” As much as she hated to agree with this snooty old bitch, she, too, didn’t want to see Jordan put through the wringer. “But all we can do is stand by and try to help her as much as we can. And pray that Dan wasn’t murdered.”

  “I’m sure he wasn’t. After all, who would want to kill a lovely man like Dan?”

  “He was a sweetie, wasn’t he?” Rene sighed. “Our poor Jordan. She has the damnedest luck with men.”

  Darlene gasped. “What a terrible thing to say!”

  “Oh, crap. You know I didn’t mean anything by what I said. I just meant if anybody’s had enough tragedy for two lifetimes, it’s our Jordan.”

  “If my Robby Joe had lived…” Her voice trailed off on a fragile, whispery moan.

  Damn, she didn’t want to hear about Robby Joe being the love of Jordan’s life. Not again. Not today. If Darlene had spouted off that tale of woe once, she’d done it a million times.

  “Look, if I see Jordan, I’ll tell her you’re looking for her.” Rene eased around Darlene and headed straight for the back stairs.

  “She’s not in her study,” Darlene called. “And she’s not in her room.”

  “Okay. Thanks for telling me.”

  Two places not to look for Jordan: her bedroom and her study.

  She’d search for her boss, and if she didn’t find her soon, she’d try calling Jordan on her cell phone. But she doubted that would do any good. Jordan’s phone was probably turned off to prevent taking unwanted calls.

  After scouring the downstairs, even the kitchen and bathrooms, Rene stepped out the back door, pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her pants pocket and lit the cigarette. She had all but given up smoking, but in dealing with Dan’s death, she had reverted to an old bad habit for solace. Drawing in deeply, she sighed with contentment as she paced back and forth on the porch.

  Suddenly she heard soft weeping. The sound came from behind the hedges that screened the small back porch from the patio surrounding the pool. She took another draw on the cigarette, stepped off the porch and walked out into the yard. As she turned the corner of the tall hedge-row, she felt a prickle of apprehension and sensed she was being watched. After looking right and left, she glanced up, her gaze scanning the second-story windows. A dark shadow stood at one of the windows.

  Rick Carson stared down, but not at her.

  She followed his line of vision and gasped. Holy shit!

  Rene made a beeline to where Devon stood on the patio, Jordan wrapped in his arms. When she approached, Jordan lifted her head from Devon’s chest.

  “Is something wrong?” Jordan asked.

  “You two are putting on quite a show for our resident detective,” Rene told them. “Don’t look now, but Rick Carson is watching you two from his bedroom window and God only knows what he’s thinking.”

  Chapter 5

  Rick was definitely a fish out of water with this bunch. To start with, he was underdressed for dinner. But how was he to know the other three men would be in suits and ties? He supposed it didn’t matter. After all, he wasn’t really a guest, just another employee and he wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d been asked to eat in the kitchen with Tobias and Vadonna. As he entered the dining room, he ran his hand over his face. He should have shaved again since his beard grew fast and despite having shaved this morning, he already sported a five o’clock shadow. As for his clothes: he wore jeans, a blue chambray shirt and a lightweight brown twill jacket. He had dropped the only suit he owed, the one he’d worn to the funeral yesterday, by the cleaners on his way out of town this morning.

  Passing his gaze over the room’s occupants, he immediately noticed that Jordan was missing. As he surveyed the large dining table set for ten, he got a whiff of an overly sweet but probably expensive perfume.

  “Well, honey, you stick out like a sore thumb, don’t you?” The woman’s voice whispered in his ear. When he turned to his left, he glanced down at the overblown bleached blonde who was grinning at him as if she knew all his secrets. “Of course, some of us prefer our meat raw.” Her laughter radiated from deep in her throat, a husky, lifetime smoker’s rumble.

  He cocked one brow and smiled at the woman who was a good 20 years his senior. “I believe we met briefly yesterday. I’m Rick Carson. I’m from the Powell Private Security and Investigation Agency.”

  She took his hand in hers and held it. Her smile accentuated the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. Laugh lines. He’d bet this woman had done a lot of laughing in her life.

  “I’m Roselynne Harris. Jordan’s mama.” When he looked at her questioningly, she amended her statement. “Well, stepmama, actually. I married her daddy when Jordan was twelve. But I love that gal as if she were my own, love her just like I do Tammy and J.C.”

  “Tammy and J.C.?”

  “My other kids. Jordan’s Daddy adopted my boy and girl. He was a good man. Jordan takes after him.” She pointed first to the petite brown-eyed, brown-haired woman standing in the corner alone. Sad-faced and plain, Tammy apparently sensed her mother’s scrutiny and turned to stare wide-eyed at Roselynne. “I named her after Tammy Wynette. You know she was the queen of country music. ‘Stand by Your Man’ was one of her big hits.” Roselynne’s gaze traveled around the room, lighting on the lanky, blond guy who was talking to the two teenagers. From their strong physical resemblance—dark hair and eyes, tall and slender—the teens could easily pass for twins.

  “That’s my boy there.” Roselynne pointed at the blond. “That’s my J.C., my pride and joy. Named him after Mr. Country Music himself, Johnny Cash. I was on my way to a career as a country singer when I met my first husband.” She lowered her voice back to a whisper. “Got myself knocked up and married the good-looking, worthless bum.”

  “It happens,” Rick said. “Who are the twins talking with your son?”

  “Oh, them? That’s Kendra and Wes Brannon. But they’re not twins, just brother and sister. She’s eighteen and he’s twenty. They’re Jordan’s stepchildren.”

  “Hmm…They were here Easter weekend when Senator Price died, weren’t they?”

  “Uh, yeah, I guess they were. That was that weekend. We were all in and out. The kids were in from college. He goes to Auburn and she’s over at the University of Georgia, where Jordan went.”

  “You said that y’all were in and out during that weekend. Do you know if everyone here tonight was in and out of the house when Dan Price died?”

  Roselynne paused before she spoke, something Rick figured she didn’t do all that often. He had her pegged for the type who seldom wasted time thinking about what she said. “Devon is—was Dan’s assistant. He lived wherever Dan and Jordan lived. And Rene—” she pointed to the attractive brunette deep in conversation with Devon Markham “—is Jordan’s assistant and lives here, too, when they’re in Georgia. I believe she has her own place in D.C.”

  “What about you and your children, where do y’all live?”

  “Playing investigator?”

  “Not playing, Mrs. Harris. Just doing my job.”

  She grinned. “Call me Roselynne. Everybody does.”

  Yeah, he’d bet everybody did. Every man she’d ever met. “Okay, Roselynne, so where do you—?”

  “J.C. travels quite a bit, but when he’s in town, he stays with me part of the time. Tammy’s got some health issues, needs some looking after, if you know what I mean.” Roselynne tapped her right temple. “My girl’s high strung and nervous.”

  Was that Roselynne’s motherly way of saying her daughter was mentally unbalanced?

  “Jordan’s kids are away at college, but home to them is wherever Jordan is. They adore her, just like we all do.”

  “I hear the lady is practically a saint.”

  “As far as I’m concerned she is.” Roselynne’s eyes misted. “To know Jordan is to love her. Take my word on that. You won’t find a single solitary soul who’ll say one word against her.”

  “I find that hard to believe. E
ven saints have enemies.”

  “Not our Jordan,” Roselynne said emphatically.

  “What are you telling this man about Jordan?” The woman who had just walked up in front of them glared at Roselynne, contempt in her gaze.

  “Mrs. Harris was just telling me what a saint Jordan is,” Rick said.

  The woman turned her sharp stare at him, her eyes small and dark. She looked down her thin, hawkish nose at Rick, dismissing him as an inferior being.

  “I’m Rick Carson, the Powell agent that Mrs. Price and her brother-in-law hired to investigate Senator Price’s death.” Rick offered her his hand.

  She glowered at his hand for a good half minute, as if considering the possibility that he was somehow contaminated. Finally she grasped his hand in a firm, confident shake.

  “I’m Darlene Wright. Jordan’s—” she hesitated, as if uncertain of their relationship “—Jordan’s friend. Jordan’s mother, Helene, and I were sorority sisters and friends. I think of Jordan as my daughter and she thinks of me as her mother.” Darlene cast Roselynne a sidelong glance, her expression daring the other woman to contradict her.

  “So it seems that Mrs. Price is a fortunate woman— she has two mothers.”

  Before either woman could respond, the room fell into an instant hush and all eyes turned to the doorway. Jordan entered the dining room quietly. But her presence captured everyone’s attention, their reaction to her entrance as reverent as if she were the Queen of England, or maybe an angel come down from heaven.

  How did one small, fragile woman command such devotion?

  Had he pegged her all wrong? Was she the cold-hearted bitch who hadn’t shed a tear at her husband’s funeral? Was she the beautiful, vulnerable widow he instinctively wanted to comfort? Was she the adulterous wife who was having an affair with her husband’s assistant? Was she the much adored daughter to two women? Was Jordan Price really a candidate for sainthood or was she a heartless murderer?

  Rick watched as, one by one, Jordan’s admirers swarmed around her. Although they showed concern for her, and it was obvious that they all cared about her and she them, Rick got an odd vibe. It was almost as if they fed off her, draining her of her strength and energy, absorbing her light into their darkness.

  Hell, where had that weird thought come from? Absorbing her light into their darkness. Getting a little deep there, Carson. Next thing you know, you’ll need some hip boots to wade through the crap.

  Jordan parted her sea of devotees and came to him, pausing when she was within arm’s reach. “Good evening, Mr. Carson…Rick.”

  “Jordan.” He nodded.

  “I hope your accommodations are satisfactory. If not—”

  “The room is fine. Thanks.”

  “I apologize for keeping y’all waiting,” she said. “I was on the phone with the governor. He wanted me to know that he’s appointing Gary Werneth to complete Dan’s term. He—” Her voice trembled. She closed her eyes and bowed her head.

  Everyone in the room seemed to move forward, as if ready to envelop Jordan with comfort or catch her if she fell. But it was Kendra Brannon who actually wrapped her arms around her stepmother and hugged her.

  Jordan returned the hug, then pulled free and announced, “Please be seated, everyone. I’ll let Vadonna know we’re ready for dinner to be served.”

  During the hour and a half it took to complete the four-course meal, Jordan made a great effort to put everyone at ease. Rick had been placed between Rene Burke, Jordan’s assistant, and Darlene Wright. Both women treated him with cordial respect, but neither was actually friendly. Across from him, Tammy Harris spoke only when spoken to, and eyed Rick shyly when she thought he wasn’t looking. Jordan included Rick in the conversation whenever possible, as did her stepmother, Roselynne, but for the most part, everyone ignored him. They probably thought of him as the proverbial white elephant in the room. No one was openly rude to him, but he sensed a mixture of antagonism and curiosity from Jordan’s family and friends.

  After dinner, as everyone rose to their feet and milled around the room, Jordan made her way to him, pulled him aside, and asked, “Would you join Devon and me in my study?”

  “Sure.”

  She motioned to Markham who stood halfway across the room, watching and waiting. She snaps her fingers and he comes running, Rick thought. How many poor bastards had been at her beck and call the way her husband’s handsome young assistant was?

  Both Rick and Markham fell into step behind Jordan as she led them away from the others, down the hall and into her private sanctum. After closing the door behind her, she reached out and took Markham’s hand in hers. Rick looked from their clasped hands to their faces. Whatever this was about, they were presenting a united front.

  “I want to clear something up right now,” Jordan said. “There is no need for you to try to find out what my relationship with Devon is. Don’t waste your time when it’s better spent trying to find out if Dan was murdered and if so, who killed him.”

  “Are you ordering me not to—”

  “Jordan and I are not lovers,” Markham said.

  Yeah, tell me another one and maybe I’ll believe it. “If you say so.”

  “Devon and I have known each other since we were children,” Jordan said. “He’s been my best friend for as long as I can remember, in grade school and in high school. But we are not lovers. We’ve never been lovers.”

  “Okay. You’re not lovers, just good friends. I got it.”

  “And if you’re concocting any other scenarios where Jordan and I killed Dan, then erase those from your mind,” Markham told him. “We both loved Dan. Neither of us would have ever done anything to hurt him.”

  “Who do you think would have had a reason to hurt him?” Rick asked. “Mrs. Price claims that she can’t think of anyone who might have had a motive to kill Dan. She doesn’t think that the senator’s disgruntled ex-wife or her money-grubbing stepbrother is capable of murder. What do you think, Mr. Markham?”

  Devon Markham’s movie idol handsome face flushed, but other than that he kept his feelings completely under control. “I agree with Jordan. The divorce was difficult for Jane Anne, but eventually she and Dan moved beyond what had happened in the past. I can’t say they were friends, but they certainly weren’t enemies. As for J.C.—he’s a charming good old boy, but—” Markham glanced toward Jordan and shrugged “—but despite the fact he is part of Jordan’s family, the man isn’t worth shooting. It would be a waste of good lead.”

  “Well, thanks for the information,” Rick said. “Nobody wanted Dan Price dead, but the man’s dead nevertheless. Possibly, somebody went to a great deal of trouble to make his death look like a suicide.” Rick swung his right index finger back and forth, pointing at Jordan and Markham. “And you two are really good friends, but not lovers, so I shouldn’t waste time suspecting that either of you or the two of you together might have killed the senator for reasons unknown. Have I got all that right?”

  “See here, Mr. Carson.” Markham released Jordan’s hand and confronted Rick face-to-face. “There’s no excuse for such insulting behavior. Jordan has endured more than enough these past few weeks without having to deal with attitude from you.”

  Rick looked directly at her. Big mistake. She had that woeful look of a sad, vulnerable creature greatly in need of solace. And God help him, he wanted to give the widow a lot more than solace.

  She laid her hand on Markham’s arm. “It’s all right, Devon. Really. I believe Mr. Carson…Rick…was simply playing devil’s advocate. He didn’t mean to be insulting.” She gave Markham’s arm a tender, loving squeeze. “Would you mind leaving us alone? Rick and I have a few other matters to discuss.”

  Markham looked at her questioningly, evidently hesitant to leave her alone with Rick. “If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Markham glowered at Rick, issuing him a silent but definite warning before he reluctantly walked out of the room.

  The moment th
ey were alone, Jordan closed her eyes and sighed.

  Very effective. Sweet and helpless. And here I am, a big, strong shoulder to lean on. God, how stupid did she think he was?

  “From here on out, take all the pot shots at me you want,” Jordan said. “But Devon is off limits. I can take whatever is dished out, by you, by anyone, by life in general. But Devon can’t. Dan’s death has hit him hard. I know someone like you can’t possibly understand another man being emotionally fragile, but that’s exactly what Devon is right now. If you hurt him, I’ll—”

  “What do you mean, someone like me?”

  “A tough guy. All macho rough and proud of it.”

  “It seems I’m not the only one who’s made a gut reaction judgment call. Yesterday, I pegged you for a cold-hearted bitch and today you’ve decided that I’m a Neanderthal, all brawn with no brains or feelings.” When he moved toward her, she took one step back, then halted and stood her ground as he approached. When only a hairsbreadth separated them, he looked down at her and asked, “If you’re wrong about me, maybe I’m wrong about you.”

  “Am I wrong about you, Mr. Carson?”

  “Partially. Am I wrong about you, Mrs. Price?”

  “I’ll leave that for you to decide when we become better acquainted.”

  It was all he could do to keep his hands off her. The only problem was, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss her or shake the living daylights out of her.

  After Rick left her study, Jordan locked the door and turned out all the lights, except the one on her desk. She walked to the windows and looked out into the darkness. A powerful, almost unbearable ache welled up inside her and for the first time since Dan’s death, she allowed the pain freedom. She stopped trying to control it, temporarily succumbing to her grief. Standing alone in the shadows, unable to cry, she trembled as the sadness engulfed her. She grieved for Dan, for a future that would never be, and for a past that she could not change.

  She closed her eyes and moaned quietly. She wanted to scream, to rant, to curse the heavens. If it were within her power to go back a few short weeks and change things, would she? For her child’s sake?