Coldhearted

by Beverly Barton

  “You’ll be easier to protect, here, inside the house,” he had explained. “Since we have no idea who the shooter was or what his or her motive was, you’ll need twenty-four/seven personal protection. I’m taking over as your bodyguard and the only time you’ll be alone is in the bathroom. Got that!”

  When he had landed the Powell Agency helicopter, he’d been anticipating seeing Jordan again. Although he’d done his level best to put her out of his mind the past nine days, she had never been far from his thoughts. The rifle shot had rung out only moments after he left the chopper, and in that defining moment, all that had mattered to him was Jordan.

  Once they arrived back at the house, he’d had a hell of a time keeping Jordan’s leeches off her. He supposed thinking of family and close friends as bloodsucking sycophants said something about his view of the world. A negative view. Even if they all truly loved Jordan and their concern for her well-being was genuine, why didn’t they realize that they were drawing the life out of her with their need for constant reassurance? Why couldn’t they see that their concerns were self-centered, that each of them was imagining what would happen to her without Jordan?

  Once they had convinced everyone that Jordan was unharmed and simply needed some breathing room, he took her to her study, which seemed to be where she felt the most comfortable. He closed the plantation shutters and ushered her away from the windows.

  “Sit down. I’ll get you a drink.”

  “No. I don’t want to sit down and I don’t want a drink.” She looked at him. “I had several drinks earlier. I want a clear head right now.”

  “You’re trembling.”

  “I know. I can’t help it. I guess realizing that someone actually tried to kill me shook me up just a little.”

  “Jordan…” When he reached out to her, she sidestepped him, avoiding his touch.

  “Don’t try to convince me that whoever shot Maleah wasn’t aiming at me.”

  “I won’t,” he said. “Whoever shot Maleah may have been aiming at you. But if they wanted to kill you, they weren’t much of a shooter. They not only missed you, but they didn’t fatally wound Maleah.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Yes, thank God. And thank Maleah’s quick action.”

  “She saved my life.”

  “Possibly.”

  “What do you mean possibly?”

  “Come on, honey, sit down before you fall down.” He reached for her and once again she avoided him. “You look like you might pass out any minute now.”

  “I’ll sit down like a good little girl, if you’ll tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “Agreed.”

  She chose one of the chairs instead of the sofa. Had she chosen the sofa to prevent him from sitting beside her? Why didn’t she want him to touch her? Was she angry with him or afraid she’d fall apart in his arms?

  “Talk,” she said.

  He pulled a ladder-back chair away from the wall, dragged it across the room and placed it in front of Jordan. She eyed him suspiciously as he sat.

  “We don’t have long to talk, just the two of us,” he told her. “Your brother-in-law and Sheriff Corbett are on their way here now. When they arrive, we’re going to discuss a couple of theories about what might be going on. Why someone outed Dan and Devon. Why someone shot at you today. Who really killed Dan and possibly killed the other men in your past.”

  She stared at him, her eyes round with surprise and interest. “Do you finally believe that I’m not a killer?”

  His instinct was to reach out for her hands in a reassuring manner, but considering how she’d been avoiding his touch, he kept his hands to himself.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” he said.

  “You don’t sound very certain.”

  “Chalk it up to my pessimistic, negative view of people in general,” he told her. “A psychiatrist would probably say that I have trust issues.”

  “Probably. And more than one therapist has told me that I have fear-of-abandonment issues.”

  “Wonder why?”

  Although her lips didn’t lift upward, her eyes smiled. “Life experiences have a way of molding us, don’t they? If we’re lucky, we start out as happy, carefree children with loving, protective parents. We’re little soft, sweet lumps of clay. And then somewhere along the way, we get our first hard knock and the process begins.”

  He searched her face, looking deep into her eyes. “You know that I want to hold you right now, don’t you?”

  She took a deep breath. “Oh, boy, is my life screwed up or what? I want you to hold me, but I’m afraid. Maybe it’s just a matter of knowing you might be the right guy, but this is definitely the wrong time.”

  A loud rap on the door interrupted any further personal admissions.

  “Yeah?” Rick called.

  “It’s Ryan Price. And I have Steve Corbett with me.”

  Rick got up, walked to the door, and undid the lock. He shook hands with Ryan, who then hurried to Jordan. Rick and the sheriff nodded cordially.

  “Before we get started, I need your word that this discussion won’t go beyond these four walls and the four of us,” Rick said.

  “I’ve given Ryan my word that everything short of a confession to a crime will be strictly off the record,” Steve said.

  Ryan pulled Jordan to her feet and hugged her. Rick felt a tinge of what he figured was jealousy. She would let her brother-in-law give her a comforting hug, but she wouldn’t let him touch her. Yeah, sure, he understood her reasoning, but the primitive male in him didn’t give a damn.

  Jordan pulled away from Ryan. “I really am all right.”

  “Claire sends her love. She said to tell you if you need her, need anything…”

  “Please, thank her for me, will you,” Jordan said.

  “Why don’t we all sit down,” Rick suggested and waited until the others were seated before he explained why he’d initiated this gathering.

  “I’m going to toss out some theories. One is possibly the right one, but we won’t know which. I need everyone to listen without getting on the defensive. Just hear me out. And if we’re going to find Dan Price’s killer, you need to keep an open mind.”

  “What sort of theories are you talking about?” Ryan asked.

  “Theories about why someone might have wanted to kill your brother and several other men in Jordan’s past.”

  “Then you believe all those deaths are linked to Dan’s?” Steve asked.

  “All of them, maybe. Some of them, definitely.”

  “Let’s hear your theories,” Steve said.

  “Okay, the first and presently most popular theory is that Jordan is a black widow who murdered both of her husbands and her fiancé for profit. Also, it’s likely she killed her father, her former boss and a co-worker. Her father for profit, her former boss so she could get his job, and a co-worker because he sexually harassed her. DA Ander-man and your deputy, Lt. McLain, prefer this theory and either one or both of them is behind the leaks to the press, first Jordan’s past and then about Dan Price and Devon Markham’s relationship.”

  “Do you have any proof that Haley was involved?” Steve asked.

  “No proof,” Rick admitted. “Remember, I’m theorizing.”

  “Since we know that Jordan is not a killer, then I assume your other theories point to someone else as the murderer.” Ryan, who sat on the sofa beside Jordan, reached out and took her hand in his.

  “Someone close to Jordan, someone who has been in her life for a long time, possibly since her teens, has killed all of these men or perhaps only some of them.” Rick paused, allowing them time to absorb the suggestion before he continued. “This person has killed for one of two reasons, either because they hate Jordan and wanted to punish her or they love her and see the murders as a way of protecting Jordan, of somehow doing what’s best for her.”

  “I can’t believe that anyone close to me is capable of such a thing,” Jordan said.

  He looked directly at her. �
��Yeah, I know, but if you’re not the killer—and I think we’re all in agreement that you’re not—then the only alternative is that it’s someone near and dear to you.”

  Jordan shook her head. “No, no…”

  Ryan squeezed her hand. “Let’s hear him out. I know it’s not easy.”

  “Since recently someone has been threatening Jordan and tried to kill her today, let’s hear the they’ve-killed-over-and-over-again-to-punish-Jordan-because-they-hate-her theory,” Steve said.

  “Sure.” Rick stood, giving himself the freedom to move around the room. “Who would hate Jordan enough to want to hurt her? Remember, whoever it is would have pre tended love and devotion all these years.”

  “Devon Markham,” Steve said the name under his breath.

  “No!” Jordan instantly jumped to Devon’s defense.

  “We’re going to accuse everyone close to you,” Rick reminded her, “at least in theory. Don’t waste our time defending each of them.”

  She glared at Rick, frustration and even a tinge of anger in her eyes. Okay, so let her get pissed off at him. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was finding out the truth and if she wound up hating him in the end, so be it. At least, he’d have done his job.

  “I’m sorry.” Jordan jerked her hand from Ryan’s, threaded her fingers together, and nervously rubbed first one thumb and then the other against her palms. “I’ll do my best to play along.”

  “Let’s say that Devon, for some unknown reason, hates Jordan. He’s known every man in her life who has died and he has been a part of Jordan’s life since second grade,” Rick said.

  “But Devon has no reason to hate me. We’ve been best friends since we were children.” Apparently Jordan found it impossible to remain objective.

  “I agree,” Rick said. “Devon doesn’t hate Jordan. He would never do anything to hurt her.”

  “Thank you.” Jordan smiled.

  “But we have several other suspects. Roselynne might actually be a wicked stepmother and despises Jordan. Tammy, who we know is mentally unbalanced, might secretly hate Jordan and be jealous of how much Roselynne loves Jordan. J.C. could have killed not because he hates Jordan, but because any profit she made off those deaths was money he could beg, borrow or steal from her. Then there’s Rene Burke, who has known Jordan since college. Maybe she never forgave Jordan for taking Robby Joe Wright away from her. Maybe she’s been punishing Jordan again and again. And last but not least, there’s Darlene. What if for some reason she blames Jordan for Robby Joe’s death?”

  “She doesn’t blame me,” Jordan cried. “Darlene loves me. She’s been a…like a mother to me all these—”

  “Once again, I agree,” Rick said. “In the hate-Jordan theory, I’d ruled out Devon and Darlene first thing.”

  “What about your other theory?” Ryan asked.

  “It’s the theory I prefer,” Rick told them. “It’s the one that makes sense. It not only explains why he or she killed some of the men in Jordan’s life, it explains why they’ve been threatening Jordan.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Ryan said.

  “Let’s say someone close to Jordan is fanatically obsessed with her. Is this person in love with Jordan and doesn’t want to share her with anyone else? Or does this person believe it is his or her duty to eliminate any man he or she sees as a threat of any kind to Jordan?

  “Tammy seems to adore Jordan. She looks up to her, almost worships her. Roselynne is grateful to Jordan and repeatedly tells anyone who will listen that she thinks of herself as Jordan’s mother. J.C.? Could he secretly be in love with Jordan? And what about Rene? She could be bisexual and in love with Jordan. It’s a stretch, I admit, but it’s possible. Or Rene could simply love Jordan as a dear friend. And Darlene sees Jordan as her one link to her dead son. She’s transferred much of her motherly affection from Robby Joe to Jordan. Then last but not least, there’s Devon, who possibly loves Jordan more than any of the others.”

  “You actually think one of these people killed Dan and possibly Jordan’s first husband and fiancé?” Ryan asked, doubt in his voice. “How would this theory tie in with the threats to Jordan and the attempted murder today?”

  Steve snapped his fingers. “Damn, I get it. He or she is threatening Jordan to take suspicion off her. They know Jordan is innocent, but short of confessing, making Jordan look as if she’s a victim is the only way to help her. Right?”

  “Right,” Rick said. “If this theory is the correct one.”

  “But someone tried to shoot me today. No one who loves me would—”

  “We assumed they were shooting at you. What if Maleah was the intended victim all along, but the shooter wanted it to appear to be a mistake? They didn’t shoot to kill, unless they’re a terrible shot.” Rick wasn’t sure Jordan would be able to accept the fact that she had not been the target. To give her something hopeful to hang on to, he added, “The shooter couldn’t have been Devon since he’s out of town.”

  “If this theory is true, then apparently anyone acting as my bodyguard could be in danger, as well as anyone this person sees as a threat to me.” Jordan’s gaze met Rick’s and he immediately knew what she was thinking.

  “If his theory is right,” Steve said. “And I’ll be damned if it doesn’t make sense. Someone killed Dan, believing it was what was best for you.”

  “Where do we go from here?” Ryan asked. “What do we do next?”

  “Our first priority is to protect Jordan.” Rick forced himself to look away from her and glanced first at Ryan and then Steve. “And next, we need to find out who among our suspects knows how to use a rifle. If I’m right about this, then the person we’re looking for has some serious mental problems. They’re capable not only of murder, but of rationalizing their reasons for killing. They believe whatever they do is always done in Jordan’s best interest. In each instance, they did what they believed had to be done for Jordan’s sake.”

  “And if you’re wrong?” Steve asked.

  “Let’s work under the assumption I’m right, at least for the time being. The Powell Agency has a former FBI profiler on the payroll. Nic and Griff have asked him to consider my theories and give us a profile of the killer to fit each scenario.”

  “Okay, let’s say I go along with your theory, at least unofficially, how do you suggest we go about proving it?” Steve rose to his feet. “This person has gotten away with murder more than once without leaving any evidence to link him or her to the crimes.”

  “We set a trap,” Rick told them.

  “What sort of a trap?” Steve asked.

  “I haven’t had time to figure that one out yet,” Rick admitted. “But I’m working on it.”

  Someone pounded loudly on the closed door. “Jordan, it’s Rene. Devon called me when he couldn’t reach you on your cell phone. He’s desperate to talk to you again. I’m concerned about him. He wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, but he didn’t sound like himself.”

  “Thanks, I’ll call him right now.”

  “Okay. If you need me, I’ll be in Dan’s study,” Rene said.

  Jordan felt in her pockets, then a puzzled look crossed her face. “I don’t have my phone. I must have lost it outside in the field somewhere.”

  The house phone in Jordan’s office had been unplugged to prevent her being bothered with its incessant ringing. When she got up, heading for her desk, Rick darted in front of her.

  “I’ll reconnect the line,” he told her.

  “Thank you.”

  He opened the middle drawer of the desk and retrieved the plastic line. After plugging it into the back of the phone on Jordan’s desk, he dropped down on his haunches and inserted the other end into the wall-jack.

  She picked up the receiver and hurriedly punched in the telephone number. Rick watched her, hating that worried look on her face. Ryan and Steve waited, neither of them saying a word.

  “Devon, it’s Jordan, sweetheart. What’s wrong?”

  She listened, n
odding her head, a frown creasing her brow. “Listen to me. When we hang up, call the police, and then unplug the phones through the whole house. After that, answer your cell only if you recognize the caller.” She paused, listening to Devon. “I want you to go into the den and turn on the CD player or the TV, anything to block out the sound of the doorbell ringing and the shouts coming from outside. I’ll catch the next plane out of either Chattanooga or Atlanta and be there as soon as possible.” She sighed. “I love you, too. Just hang in there and don’t do anything stupid.”

  She replaced the receiver and turned to Rick. “I have to go to Bethesda right away. Devon’s holed up in our townhouse there and he’s being bombarded with phone calls and the press is outside ringing the doorbell and beating on the door and there’s a group of protestors of some kind throwing things at the windows.”

  “I’ll send a Powell agent,” Rick told her. “There’s no need for you to expose yourself to—”

  “You don’t understand. Devon needs me. He’s there all alone.”

  “He’s a big boy, honey. He can handle things without you this time. I’ll send two agents, if that will make you feel any better. And as soon as things die down just a little, they’ll bring him back here to Priceville.”

  “No, you won’t send Powell agents. I’m going to Bethesda and this is not up for discussion. So, either you go with me or choose another agent to go with me.”

  He saw the determined look in her eyes and realized he couldn’t win this argument. Short of tying her down and gagging her, she was going to D.C.

  “I’ll take you,” he said. “We’ll need to make arrangements for me to land the Powell helicopter and then have ground transport ready to take us to your townhouse in Bethesda. Give me ten minutes to get everything set up.”

  “Thank you.”

  That look of gratitude in her eyes said it all. She could count on him. He wouldn’t let her down. Neither of them had to say a word. Whatever she needed from him, it was hers.

  Chapter 26