A Night of Southern Comfort

by Covington, Robin

  “You aren’t?” If he could play it cool, so could she.

  “No. You always gravitate toward the ones with lots of brawn and little else.” His lip curled in distaste. “My only consolation is that when you marry one of them and spend your life having his brats, your mother’s money will keep you out of a trailer park. As long as he doesn’t drink it away.”

  He was like a broken record—so arrogant and condescending it made her teeth grind together. But he was on her turf and she damn well didn’t have to listen to it.

  “You need to leave. If you have something to give to Jackson, you can do it yourself.”

  The governor actually smiled, if that’s what she could call his baring of teeth. The hair on the back of her neck bristled. His face was smug, his tone icy, and she braced herself for impact.

  “I’d think you’d want to give him his reinstatement papers for the FBI. Since you two are so close.”

  Michaela took a step back. She didn’t want to hear this. “Why would you have his papers?”

  “Because that’s what I promised him when he took the job.”

  “What job?” Strangled tension made her voice quaver.

  “The job of watching over you, of course.” His tone was light and easy.

  Once again she was reminded of how much she’d missed by not having a normal father.

  “He also caught your stalker before he caused any embarrassment for me. Detective Cantrell did much better than I gave him credit for, actually.”

  Michaela swayed as the blood drained from her face, leaving her chilled and stiff.

  She understood the words. She’d heard them before, not the exact same verbiage but the theme was identical. No one wants you except for what they can get from your father. How many times was she going to relive this mistake before she either gave up or finally got it right?

  She’d believed Jackson. Pain, sharp and clear, flashed across her temples. She’d been a fool—again.

  Gritting her teeth, she snatched the letter and rushed out of the office. The roar of blood in her ears caused her to stumble. Fueled by panic, fear, and anger, she marched past the front desk and her waiting room full of patients, ignoring the concerned questions of Vergie and Theresa.

  She needed to hear the truth from Jackson. The governor was a liar. Until she heard it from him, she wouldn’t believe it.

  She couldn’t be wrong about Jackson.

  …

  “Even a blind squirrel gets a nut some of the time,” Lucky said.

  Sliding into the booth at the Southern Comfort, Jack chuckled as he scanned the sidewalk outside the big picture window for Kayla. From his vantage point he had a clear line of sight to the front of her office.

  He’d missed her.

  Missed her when he had awakened in that empty bed with her scent on the sheets, on his skin, and in his blood. Missed her while he and Lucky had examined all of the physical evidence confiscated from Terrell’s car and apartment—photographs, daily logs of her activities, papers, and other items from her garbage. Seeing how close Terrell had gotten to her made Jack itch to have her with him so he knew she was safe.

  In his gut, he still didn’t believe that Terrell pulled this off on his own.

  “Lucky, I hear you but Terrell is dumber than dirt and I just can’t picture him thinking up something as elaborate as blackmail. He’s a car thief, small-time B&E. Hell, he was even a lousy drug dealer because he smoked all of his inventory.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Lucky drummed his hands on the table in an anxious tattoo. “But the judge looked at all the evidence and it all pointed to him. Open and shut.”

  Terrell’s arraignment had gone off without a hitch. He was looking to spend a long time in jail for the parole violations alone. Judge Meacham was a patient man but he’d seen Terrell drift in and out of his courtroom so often he’d refused the public defender’s request for bail. And still, all Terrell had done was ask for Crystal.

  In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Terrell’s entire focus had rested on getting his sister to come see him at the jail. So far, Crystal had been a no-show. With each passing hour, Terrell became more and more agitated. Hopefully, when he reached his breaking point he’d finally tell them about the other folks involved in this crime.

  Jack checked his watch and glanced out the window. Kayla was late. He’d give her a few minutes, then go to her office—just in case.

  “She’ll be here.” Slouching in the booth, Lucky didn’t even bother to hide his smirk.

  “I know.”

  “So, did you work out your little dilemma?”

  Jack shifted in the seat, sneaking another look at the window. Spying Kayla making her way across the street, he answered, hoping his sudden breathlessness didn’t show. “I took your advice. We’ll see how it works out.”

  He stood to meet Kayla at the door. He wouldn’t admit it to Lucky, but the idea of having a future with Kayla gave him peace and a sense of belonging that was simultaneously unfamiliar and like coming home. “Thanks, man.”

  “Remember to invite me to the wedding.” Lucky stood alongside him and clapped him on the back with a large hand, laughing at his own joke.

  Kayla burst through the door, her expression anxious. Muscles tightening at the sight of her discomfort, Jack stepped toward her, only to stop when she finally focused on his face.

  In a blink of an eye, her face went blank. Cold.

  That wasn’t the look of a woman who was happy to see him. And it damn well wasn’t the expression of a woman in love.

  “Kayla—”

  “Jackson, I need you to tell me the truth.” She swallowed hard, as if the words were painful to get out of her throat. “Have you been working for my father?”

  He froze. That was the one thing he hadn’t expected her to ask. It should have been the first. He’d gotten so wrapped up in thinking about a future, he’d forgotten the one thing that made it impossible.

  “Shit,” Lucky said.

  Kayla winced, and the slight change in her expression told him she’d deduced the truth from that one word. Her lips trembled with her effort to maintain the facade of control, her voice tight and loud in the sudden hush of the diner. “Tell me, Jackson. I need to hear it from you.”

  “Kayla—” He inched forward, stopping when she mirrored his movement backward. Her rigid body language told him to step closer at his own peril. “I can explain.”

  “Oh.”

  Jackson flinched. The raw pain in her voice punched him in the gut like a fist. He fought down the bile rising in his throat.

  “I don’t need your explanation.” She fumbled, reaching inside her white jacket with trembling hands, and pulled out a slightly battered piece of paper. She crushed it against his chest. He rocked back until the edge of the booth pressed against his back.

  “The governor told me all about your deal.”

  “Kayla, baby. I’m sorry.” He lifted his hands to grasp hers.

  “You son of a bitch!” She choked out a sob and her hand connected with his cheek.

  Jack had been hit by people much larger than Kayla, but he felt the sting of that slap down to his marrow. He deserved it. He deserved the pain and so much more. He’d take it all if it made her feel better. So he stood there, and let her pummel his chest as she railed against what he’d done to her. To them.

  The formerly bustling diner had gone silent, folks stunned by the display. Kayla’s litany of curses ricocheted off the sunny yellow walls and linoleum floors until everyone heard the truth. He was a liar. He was a bastard. She hated him.

  Finally, Lucky surged forward and clasped her shoulders as he pulled her off. She stilled at his touch, her bowed face shielded by the curtain of silky hair freed from her chignon. The combination of Lucky’s calming words in her ear and her deep, shuddering breaths seemed to steady her. After several long, silent minutes, she lifted her head. Dull gray eyes peered up from her pale but stoic face.

  He offered the most ina
dequate apology. “Kayla. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “Then why?”

  “I—” He swallowed hard. No brilliant explanations came to mind. He was no better than the guys he’d read about in her file. Except he’d truly wanted to keep her safe. That had to mean something. “I’m not like the other guys… I wanted to protect you.”

  A brittle laugh spilled out of her mouth as she shrugged off Lucky’s hands. With a hand that betrayed only a slight tremor, she smoothed her hair, her dress—each gesture erasing the dishevelment and the emotion from her appearance. Little by little, the Ice Queen took over.

  “You’re right, Jackson. You’re nothing like the other guys.” The last piece of her mask fell into place. “They never made me fall in love with them.”

  Shamed, Jack stood riveted to his spot, unable to move.

  She made her way to the door of the diner. Lucky followed at her side as the crowd returned to their tables, hushed voices undoubtedly discussing how to spread the word up and down Main Street. By nightfall, the whole town would know he’d used her poorly.

  And for once, the gossip about him would be true.

  Finally, he slid into the seat of his booth, opened the document in his hands, and spread it out on the table in front of him. The words swam before him….reinstatement in the FBI…congratulations…report for duty. They had no meaning at all.

  He crumpled the paper in his hands. This was not the answer to his prayers. It was his death warrant. He’d killed any chance he’d had at a real life.

  Chapter Thirteen

  She was going to blow up the damn doorbell.

  Michaela stumbled out of her bedroom. The person on her doorstep possessed the persistence of a Mary Kay lady who was one sale short of the pink convertible. She didn’t want company and she’d made that clear to Theresa when she’d called earlier. Her best friend had heard about the scene at the Southern Comfort and all Theresa wanted was to find Jackson Cantrell and string him up by his balls.

  But in spite of everything, Michaela still had a fondness for that part of Jackson’s anatomy. Emasculating him wouldn’t make her feel better. She’d used all of her skills of persuasion to convince Theresa to leave it the hell alone. She’d been here before—granted, never with her heart quite so broken—but she’d survive.

  Though she wasn’t real clear on how you survived when you couldn’t breathe without your entire chest aching.

  Jackson had been a total surprise. She’d bought his story, never once thinking about his personal angle. His brand of hero impersonation had fooled her. Or maybe it had been the brain-melting sex.

  Stupid. Stupid girl.

  The bell rang again. She yanked the door open and glared at her unwanted guest.

  Crystal stood on her stoop, looking like she was heading to a front row seat at Fashion Week. Michaela couldn’t be bothered to smooth out the wrinkles on her T-shirt and yoga pants, but she did swipe an unruly lock of hair out of her face.

  “Crystal, this isn’t a good time.”

  “You can’t sit here in this house by yourself.” She pushed her way in, her expensive perfume making Michaela’s nose twitch. “I came to keep you company until Theresa can get here with chocolate and a DVD. I think she’s bringing Titanic, although I can’t imagine anything so depressing being a good choice for a broken heart.”

  Crystal tossed her bag on the dining table and walked into the kitchen like she owned the place. Which she did.

  “Crystal, I’m not in the mood for company.”

  “Where’s your tea?” Not waiting for an answer, Crystal rummaged through the cabinets until she found all the supplies necessary to brew a pot of chamomile tea. Once she’d set the task in motion, she leaned on the counter and fixed Michaela with a concerned look. “I know I’m pushy, but Theresa wanted someone here with you until she closes the office. I’m a poor substitute but…”

  Years of training in the fine art of hospitality kicked into gear. Even if she didn’t want company, Crystal had come here to help her out. The least Michaela could do is stop acting like a brat. She settled on a barstool. “Thanks. It’s been a rough day.” She paused. The rumor mill in Elliott was a model of efficiency, but she wasn’t sure how much Crystal knew. “I guess you heard…”

  “Oh honey, I was there.”

  Michaela groaned and dropped her head onto the counter. She’d struck Jackson. Repeatedly. In public. And God only knew what she’d said in her fit of emotion—curses, pleas to prove her wrong, declarations of love. Her heart seized at the thought of how he’d betrayed her, but it didn’t stop that traitorous organ from beating only for him.

  The sound of something sliding across the granite countertop preceded the comforting smell of hot tea that triggered a rumbling in her empty stomach. With all the heart-stomping going on today, she’d forgotten to eat lunch. Michaela lifted her head and took in the sight of the steaming cup and the plate of chocolate cookies laid out before her.

  “Oh, Crystal.” She took a hearty gulp and the warmth spread through her belly. She bit into the chewy dessert. “Thank you. That’s what I needed after…well, after…”

  “After Jack Cantrell made love to you and then broke your heart?” Crystal got right to the point.

  Michaela took another drink to steady her nerves. Love. What a hateful bitch. “Yes, that’s about it.”

  “Ah, so you were sleeping together.” Crystal twisted her mouth into a wry grin. “I owe Vergie ten bucks on that one. I didn’t think you were Jack’s type.”

  “I think my father’s more his type.” She took another sip and licked her lips. Her mouth felt mushy around the edges.

  “Governor Eastland?” Crystal watched her intently, a frown marring her Botox-corrected face. Her blurry face. Michaela blinked and focus returned. Damn, she was tired.

  “Yessh.”

  Her mouth was doing it again. The inability to form words kicked in her medical training and she automatically cataloged and discarded all possible causes. Just extreme fatigue caused by stress. Her sleep had been erratic with Jackson in her bed and the stalker watching her every move.

  The stalker.

  She’d totally forgotten Crystal’s crisis. A brother in jail who would likely be going back to prison wasn’t an easy burden.

  “Crysstal. I’m s-s-s-sorry about your brother.”

  With a lazy swipe of her bejeweled hand, Crystal dismissed the sympathy.

  Michaela blinked. She was having trouble focusing but noticed the lack of concern on the face of her guest. Didn’t Crystal care about her brother? Maybe he’d been in trouble so often that she was over any type of angst at his arrest?

  “Terrell was destined to go back to prison. He served his purpose. Don’t worry about him.” Crystal’s tone was blasé.

  What? Michaela swayed on the barstool, catching herself against the cool granite before she keeled over. Something was wrong. She couldn’t keep her eyes open and the heaviness of her limbs overwhelmed her natural reaction of fight or flight. Her sluggish brain eased into the realization of what had happened. She’d been drugged.

  No. No. No. Run. Her feet slid out from under her as she let go of the countertop and plummeted toward the unforgiving maple floors. Arms caught her before she hit the ground and eased her down onto the chilly floor with tender care. She scrambled, willing her slushy muscles to propel her away from danger and toward safety. Toward Jackson.

  “Hold on. Don’t hurt yourself.” Crystal eased her onto her back. Her perfectly made-up face showed equal parts pity and derision. “I like you, so we’re gonna do this the easy way. I was willing to play nice until you went after Jack.” Her expression changed to a mask of resentment—just like a kid who finally understood that life wasn’t fair. “I had a chance with him until you strolled into that bar in Richmond. I knew yoy were trouble when I took those pictures.”

  Michaela groaned, straining with effort to get away from the woman who’d obviously lost her ever-lovin’ mind. The drug w
as doing its job, though. It was a matter of moments before it pulled her under and away from any hope of getting help.

  “Jackson.”

  Hot breath teased her cheek as Crystal’s voice reverberated in her ear. “Calling for him? You must love him after what he did to you.”

  A cool hand reached up and smoothed back the hair sticking to her clammy skin and gently patted her cheek. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of him when you’re gone.”

  …

  “No! I sure as hell don’t want to wait.” Jack slammed down the phone and the sound echoed off the walls of the small, drab conference room lent to them by Sherriff Burke for the investigation. He bolted out of his seat, propelling the chair backward until it hit the wall with a metallic thunk.

  “If you break something, Jack, I’ll kick your ass.”

  Jack glared at Lucky, who sat hunched over a stack of reports on the opposite side of the room. He’d barely spoken to Jack since he’d returned from escorting Kayla out of the Comfort. Apparently, Lucky had assumed the job of chief protector and his first assignment was to make sure Jack knew what an asshole he really was.

  Mission accomplished.

  “Don’t start with me,” Jack marched across the room.

  Lucky stood, his body edging up against Jack until they were nose to nose. His bulk shifted Jack back a couple of inches. The obvious challenge shot his temperature through the roof. Good. He’d wanted to hit something for hours now and Lucky was clearly signing up for the job.

  “Back off Jack. I don’t want to have to hurt you.” Lucky shoved against his chest for emphasis.

  Bingo.

  Jack swung, but Lucky was ready for him and swerved just before contact. They grappled for a moment. Lucky tried, but couldn’t stop Jack from landing a couple of blows to his torso. Lucky stumbled, but recovered enough to punch Jack in the stomach before slamming Jack into the wall and placing his forearm against his throat.