The Southern Comfort Prequel Trilogy Box Set

by Lisa Clark O'Neill

  He paused. “And who would know better which page would have the right words to use than the author?”

  “You’re saying they think I left it there? I threatened myself? Why… no, don’t answer that,” she said on a sigh. “To throw them off. Create doubt. I didn’t even consider that.”

  “Think of me as your editor,” he told her. “Considering all the angles you overlooked.”

  “I’m not sure whether to find that patronizing or encouraging.”

  “No reason it can’t be both. That way you can feel better about taking your wrath out on me, even if only by visualizing beating me. I’m going to get your car back,” he told her. “But I’m going to be honest. It might take longer than you’d like. Bureaucracy moves with all the speed of a snail on Valium, especially when the cops have reason to want to hold on to your property. You’re going to need a mode of transportation, because you obviously can’t be walking around the city by yourself.”

  “I feel like there is a scold in there,” Caitlin said. “Or at least a reminder that you told me to be careful. But it was broad daylight, on my own street, people everywhere, and the restaurant was only two blocks away. Plus, I was pissed off. And if you try to tell me that you expected Ryan’s wife to try to run me over with his car, I will hit you. I’m not the too stupid to live blonde who goes down into the basement because she hears a noise, even though there’s an ax murderer on the loose.”

  “Have you ever noticed that those blondes are also usually busty? I mean sure, they have it coming, because who the hell is that dumb, but I always wonder why the Jasons of the world have to knock off all the women with great breasts. I’d refuse to defend the bastards on that basis alone.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “Are we seriously having a conversation about you refusing to defend fictional horror movie icons due to their lack of proper respect for big boobs?”

  He pursed his lips. “Pretty much.”

  Caitlin shook her head, and then sighed. “I know you’re doing all of this to distract me from the aftershocks of my near-death experience – or my most recent one, at any rate – and despite the fact that you’ve annoyed me greatly in the process, I do appreciate it.” She looked out the window. “And I haven’t even asked where we’re going.”

  “I figured you’d get around to that sooner or later. We’re going to my house.”

  “What?” She snapped her head back toward him. “Why?”

  “Because I have state of the art security, which means you’ll be safe while we wait for your brother’s plane to land. Considering you were almost mown down in your own backyard today, he might consider that I haven’t been earning my retainer.”

  “It’s not your job to protect me.”

  Jack took several moments to respond, and Caitlin got the impression that whereas before he’d been deliberately flippant, he was having a difficult time keeping it up. The way his hands gripped the steering wheel hinted at anger barely suppressed. “Perhaps not technically,” he finally said. “But ethically, I think it is. Your brother entrusted me with your wellbeing. And on a personal level,” he glanced her way “I’ll be damned if I let that bitch, or anyone else, get another crack at you.”

  Caitlin’s jaw once again unhinged. Okay. So he really was angry. On her behalf. But before she could come up with a suitable response, his phone rang. He glanced at it, and then brought it to his ear. “Jesse. Hey. Thanks for getting back to me.”

  Caitlin waited while he talked to this Jesse, whoever that might be. She tuned out his conversation, her head filling with images from the past few days, each one a puzzle piece that she needed to make fit, but her heart – silly thing that it was – kept coming back to that last statement.

  On a personal level…

  What exactly did he mean?

  “My brother,” Jack explained when he hung up. “I need to run a couple things by him. He’s FBI.”

  “Oh. Oh. I imagine that makes for some awkward family moments. Although I’m assuming you recuse yourself from defending anyone against whom he might have to testify.”

  “We’ve been pretty fortunate not to cross legal horns very often, although his wife did come to my office looking for a defense attorney when she was the target of one of his investigations.”

  Caitlin stared. “You’re kidding.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “That sounds like the plot for a novel.”

  “If you write it, be sure to make my character as dashing as I am in real life. Although that might be tough to capture in mere words.”

  “Oh, I’m sure I can think of a few.”

  When he shot her a grin, Caitlin found herself fighting the unexpected urge to reach out and take his hand. To hold it as he drove. To forge a physical connection reflective of the emotional one she was starting to feel.

  Why she should find security and comfort in that idea as opposed to the danger she should be experiencing, she wasn’t quite sure. Jack Wellington was hardly a comfortable man.

  Perhaps it was just the situation. A situation that she couldn’t forget, no matter how much she wanted to have it all just disappear.

  Confused, Caitlin once again turned her attention out the window. She hadn’t spent much time exploring, but she thought she recognized the expressway that led to the island areas on the outskirts of the city. Sure enough, marshland began to dominate the view, the blue of sky and water broken by undulating fields of chartreuse cord grass. Fat white clouds bobbed overhead like balloons on a string, while Spanish moss waved like flags at passing boats. It was so peaceful, so very nearly bucolic, that it didn’t seem to bear any relation to the bustle of even a sleepy city like Savannah, let alone to the chaos that was currently her life.

  Jack turned into a gated community, waving at the guard as he passed through the gates. He glanced at her as she turned to watch them close behind them. “First line of security.”

  “I always thought of gates like that as belonging to Hollywood celebrities. Or prisons.”

  “Often there’s a whole lot more similarity between the two than people would like to admit.”

  “So we should feel sorry for the rich and famous?”

  “Not at all. But privilege and notoriety have their downsides. People tend to want a piece of you, for a variety of reasons.”

  Caitlin considered that. So the gates weren’t just to keep out the little people, then. “I have to admit I’m surprised. You seem the type to be more worried about impressions than security.”

  “Meaning I’m a pretentious asshole?” The sides of his mouth lifted in a genuinely amused smile. “Lots of people would agree.” But his smile faded as he returned his eyes to the road. “I make a living defending the actions of people that others see as indefensible – and occasionally they are. But they’re still entitled to due process, just like everyone else. I’ve made some enemies,” he admitted “on both sides of the law. And I’d be lying if I said that a few of the enemies I’ve made aren’t the type of people I wouldn’t want to tangle with outside of a courtroom. I did that once, and once, quite frankly, was enough.”

  “I’m sorry,” Caitlin said, sensing that there was something serious, very serious, underlying that statement. “I didn’t mean to touch a nerve.”

  “How could you have touched a nerve, when all those scales are in the way? Here we go.”

  She wanted to ask him what had happened, but they were turning into a drive that wound through live oak trees and short spiky bushes – she thought they were called saw palmettoes – until opening up to a manicured lawn and a rambling, single story white house built along industrial looking lines. A bank of windows on the front of the house mirrored a bank on the back, and Caitlin realized that you could see straight through to the water. A dock stretched out behind the house, at the end of which sat an immaculate white sailboat.

  “Wow.”

  “Home sweet home,” Jack said as he hit the remote to open one of the three darkly stained wooden
garage doors.

  But there was nothing sweet about it. It was both intimidating and inviting, warm and cold all at once. Rather like Jack himself.

  “This way.”

  He led her past a huge motorcycle – she wasn’t surprised by its presence in the least, as he was clearly a man who liked his toys – toward a door that led to a glass enclosed walkway connecting the garage to the house. Jack punched in a code on the security panel, and they emerged into a mudroom, which was a complete misnomer since the area was spotlessly white. From there they passed into a kitchen that was equally sterile. Beautiful, but sterile. Except, of course, for the view.

  Jack pulled out an industrial looking barstool. “Sit.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “We can go another round about ankle boots, or you can stop being hardheaded.”

  Caitlin started to argue that that was definitely a kettle and pot scenario, but realized he was right. She was being contrary. She climbed onto the stool, but because she was still irritated, glanced significantly at the white countertops.

  “Do you perform surgical procedures for pay or strictly as a hobby?”

  One corner of his mouth slid up. “You sound like my mother. She’s constantly trying to get me to brighten things up around here.” He tilted his head as he studied her. “Although maybe she has a point.”

  The doorbell rang and Jack excused himself, leaving Caitlin once more to stare after him, mouth agape. Had he meant… her?

  She glanced down at her dress. Although smudged with filth from the pavement, it was certainly colorful. But something told her that wasn’t what Jack had meant. Or not exactly.

  Her heart did that flutter thing again. She was fairly certain her attorney was flirting with her. Although flirting seemed like too innocuous a word for someone like Jack.

  Caitlin wished she could say that she didn’t know how she felt about that, because the very last thing she needed under the circumstances was an unexpected and inopportune attraction.

  But that was the thing about attraction, wasn’t it? It didn’t much care whether it was convenient or not.

  Footsteps sounded in the hall, and Caitlin turned her head toward the kitchen doorway. But the man who appeared there wasn’t Jack. Their heights and hair color were similar, as was their bone structure. But this guy was rumpled where Jack was pressed, appeared rough to Jack’s polish. And rather than the cool grey of a stormy sky, the eyes behind his glasses were as blue as the sky outside the windows.

  Those eyes keenly assessed her.

  “Um, hi,” Caitlin said, feeling very conspicuous. And not just because her frilly pink dress was filthy and her face was scraped. “I’m Caitlin.”

  The guy leaned against the doorframe, shifting the bag he was carrying – it appeared to be takeout – to the opposite arm. “I’m Jesse.”

  Caitlin nodded, putting things together. “Jack’s brother.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I can see the resemblance.”

  When he didn’t respond, Caitlin changed position on the stool, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. “Where is Jack?”

  “He left.”

  “He what?”

  “Left. He had an appointment he couldn’t reschedule.”

  “I see.” When he continued to stare, Caitlin nervously smoothed her skirt over her knees before clasping her hands together in her lap. “Jack tells me you’re an FBI agent?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’m sure that’s an interesting job.”

  “It has its moments.”

  Caitlin waited a beat to see if he would expand upon that, but he only continued to lean against the doorway. She opened her mouth to throw out another conversational gambit, but instead shook her head.

  “Look, I’ve had a really, really bad few days here. And while I’m sure you’re a lovely person, I don’t have my pliers with me, so I’m afraid I can’t pull teeth.” She made an expansive motion with her hands. “Despite the fact that we have this lovely clinical setting in which to do so.”

  He stared at her another moment, and although his expression remained neutral, those eyes flickered with amusement. “It begins to make sense.”

  “For one of us, at any rate.”

  That earned a chuckle, and Jack’s brother pulled away from the doorway. “Let’s start over. I’m Jesse.” He offered his free hand for her to shake, and then joined her at the counter, where he plopped down the bag. “Jack said you missed lunch.”

  “I… yes, I guess I did.”

  “I happened to be at the deli when I talked to him, so I picked some things up. You like sandwiches?” He started pulling things out. “I got turkey, corned beef and veggie. Wasn’t sure what you’d like.”

  Confused, Caitlin stared at the wrapped items, as well as the tubs of pasta salad and bagged chips that joined them on the counter.

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  He shrugged, glancing toward the selection with a significant nod, and feeling like she’d once more fallen into some sort of alternate reality, Caitlin pulled the pasta salad toward her. “I’m not sure how much I can eat right now,” she said when he raised his eyebrows.

  “Well, that’s a start.” He walked toward the massive stainless steel refrigerator and pulled out a couple of bottled waters before taking a seat on the neighboring barstool.

  He handed her one, selected the corned beef sandwich for himself.

  “Is that yellow paint in your hair?”

  “Probably.” He scrubbed a hand through the unruly waves. “I was finishing up the nursery earlier today. My wife is expecting our firstborn any time now.”

  “Oh.” So what was he doing here? “Congratulations. Boy or girl?”

  “Don’t know. We like to live dangerously.”

  “I think I’ve had about all the danger I can handle.”

  “Looks that way.” Jesse cast a significant glance at her dirty dress, her scraped cheek. “So.” He unwrapped his sandwich. “How about you and I have ourselves a little talk?”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “YOU’RE telling me that Henry Cox isn’t our victim’s real name?”

  Jeremy shook his head in response to Phil’s question. “Henry Cox is currently in a long term care facility in Atlanta. He was in a car accident several years ago that left him paralyzed from the neck down and unable to communicate except with eye blinks. His twin brother Harold – Hal – was driving while under the influence of a chemical cocktail that included heroin and vodka. Walked away with barely a scratch.”

  Phil ran a hand over his face. “Why do I have the feeling you’re going to tell me that Hal’s not in prison, where he belongs.”

  “Because he’s currently lying on a slab at the morgue, with penetrating kidney trauma from Caitlin Cavanaugh’s kitchen knife.”

  “Wait, we have the autopsy results?”

  “Not the full report. The ME was just getting started. But when he came up with the print discrepancy – Hal’s prints are slightly different than his brother’s – he contacted me right away.”

  “How did we not catch this when we matched up the prints collected at the scene?”

  “As I said, identical twins have slightly different prints, although in this case they were close enough not to raise any red flags. The prints on the wineglass matched the prints on the victim, and the victim carried a driver’s license identifying him as Henry. There was no reason to look further until now.”

  “So Cox was carrying his brother’s driver’s license?”

  “Well, his was revoked when he nearly killed said brother.”

  “What a guy.”

  “Don’t worry, it gets better. The Cox family has deep pockets and a high-powered attorney, which is how they were able to avoid a lengthy jail sentence for little Hal, despite the fact that he was a repeat offender. He had knocks for DUI, public intoxication, assault. Bar fights, mostly, although there was one incident of domestic violence. He roughed up a girlfrien
d, but the charges were dropped when she refused to testify against him. Claimed she fell down some stairs.”

  “Shit.”

  “No kidding. He only did two years for the DUI. When he got out, he spent a year in rehab and then the family banished him to live with an elderly uncle here in Savannah. On the surface, he’s kept his nose clean since he’s been here. The uncle is probably at the morgue, identifying the body as we speak.”

  “Does the uncle have a car?”

  “Two. One of which went missing with Hal the other night. The uncle didn’t think much of it, since Hal frequently disappears for days at a time, and it was a holiday after all.”

  “Did the uncle think much about the fact that it’s illegal for Hal to drive?”

  “Seems Hal lied to him about having his license reinstated.”

  Phil muttered another, more vicious curse, and then studied a water stain on the ceiling tile. “How much you want to bet the tox screen shows his supposed clean nose is bullshit?”

  “I don’t make sucker’s bets.”

  “A history of drug use,” Phil said “and violence. Not to mention stealing his paralyzed brother’s identity – an identity which we erroneously and foolishly mentioned to Caitlin Cavanaugh, and worse, Jack Wellington – before we were absolutely certain. Unless we can place her in Atlanta at the time of her ex’s murder, making a connection between that and this one, she’s going to smell like a rose by comparison. Wellington is going to have a field day.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Jeremy said “until I dug a little further.”

  Phil slowly lowered his head to look at this partner. “What?”

  “You know how Ms. Cavanaugh swore she didn’t recognize Cox?” Jeremy’s eyes glinted as he leaned forward. “Well based on what I found out, she either has a faulty memory or she’s lying.”

  JACK couldn’t say there was much of a family resemblance between Caitlin and her brother. Maybe something around the eyes. But Lance Cavanaugh was stocky where Caitlin was lean, a bit darker where she was almost ethereally blonde.

  They seemed to share the same temper, though.