The Southern Comfort Series Box Set

by Clark O'Neill, Lisa

  “You’ve got the security company coming today to install your alarm. I’d planned to be here anyway.”

  “James.” Justin closed the door to the fuel tank. “This may not be the best time for you to be staying here.”

  “Bullshit,” James said with feeling.

  Justin sighed. “Look, it should be obvious by now that Mandy is crazy. Seriously mentally unbalanced. This? This is just petty. But the coffee, the shredded shower curtain, the fucking cameras.” He took a deep breath, held onto his temper with both hands. “Those are pretty good indications that the woman is utterly unstable. And she has a vendetta. I don’t want you caught in the crosshairs.”

  “Are you finished?” James said, crossing his arms. “Because you know that you’re wasting your breath.”

  “James –”

  “Screw. That.”

  Recognizing the absolute implacability in his brother’s expression – it was a distinct Wellington trait – Justin reluctantly backed down. For now.

  “Just… be careful, okay.”

  “I think that you’re the one who needs to be vigilant. I also think you should be armed.”

  “Hell,” Justin muttered. He had nothing against a person’s right to defend themselves by whatever means necessary, and most of his family owned guns. But having seen firsthand the damage wrought to the human body by a bullet, he’d always been reluctant to carry one himself. “I don’t want to shoot her, James.”

  He just wanted her to leave him the hell alone.

  James grunted, indicating that he disagreed. But he didn’t push the matter. “I’ll let you know how it goes with the security people.”

  “Okay.” Justin traded keys with his brother. “And thanks.”

  He’d managed to get that grip on his temper by the time he arrived at work. Mandy, it seemed, had a couple of days off, sparing him from bumping into her and being tempted to ram a camera down her throat, but he doubted that he’d be lucky enough to avoid her for long. And he wasn’t sure how to handle her. The cops – after having removed the cameras from his house – had of course urged him to let them deal with it. They’d also suggested he get a restraining order if it made him feel safer.

  The fact that they thought he’d feel safer having a piece of paper to protect him from a five-foot-five inch woman was what had caused him to punch the door.

  There had to be a way to get her to back off without landing himself in jail.

  He could always go to the hospital’s administrator, he guessed. File a complaint for sexual harassment. But that struck him as every bit as… namby-pamby as hiding behind the skirts of the police.

  He’d barely started his rounds when he heard himself being paged.

  “Doctor Wellington!” He turned, waited for the nurse who was trotting after him to catch up. “Hi, I know you’re busy, but I have a patient who’s been asking for you repeatedly. She’s getting pretty belligerent. Before I threatened to call security, I thought I’d better see if you can get her to calm down.”

  “What patient?” Justin asked.

  “Natasha Griffin. Do you know her?”

  “Yeah.” Justin sighed. “I do.”

  “NATASHA.” Justin stepped into the room, where the young woman was arguing with the nurse who was attempting to reinsert an IV.

  “I don’t want it,” she was saying, her lips tight. “I told you, I’m checking myself out.”

  “You can’t,” the nurse replied tersely.

  “Natasha,” Justin repeated, because it was apparent she hadn’t heard him. “Stop. Now.”

  Gaze whipping his direction, he saw the surprise in her hollowed-out eyes. Followed by relief. And on its heels rode accusation.

  “Did you know that they’re holding me for psychiatric observation?”

  “Yes.” He nodded to the nurse, who glared her disapproval at Natasha. But she let go of the IV.

  “Maybe you’ll have better luck,” she muttered as she breezed by him, partially closing the door.

  Justin frowned. “You want to tell me why you’re behaving like a five-year-old?”

  “Hey.” Angry color entered her cheeks. “I’m behaving like any rational, sane individual would when a bunch of overzealous hospital employees try to hold her against her will.”

  “They’re holding you because they think it’s in your own best interests,” he said.

  “Well, they’re wrong.”

  Justin walked to the end of the bed, flicked a glance at the young woman as he studied her chart.

  “That just says I’m crazy.” She crossed her arms, her expression mulish. “That I’m suffering paranoid delusions or something.”

  “Why don’t you tell me about it.”

  She was quiet for several moments, and Justin thought she wasn’t going to answer. But then she looked at him, vulnerability in her eyes. “I think somebody tried to kill me.”

  “And why would you think that?”

  “Because I didn’t take any drugs. I didn’t,” she said, when she interpreted his look as skeptical. Which he was. But he’d thought he had a better poker face than that.

  “There was oxycodone in your system,” he told her, because that was an incontrovertible fact. “Enough to depress your breathing. Enough to stop your heart.”

  “Exactly,” she told him, apparently believing that proved her point. “Look, I know how this must appear, but the fact is I didn’t even finish my prescription. Not only did the drugs make me fuzzy-headed – which I hate – but I also knew how bad it was for Shelley, having them around. She’s solid, you know? I mean she is firmly on the wagon and she’s clinging there like a barnacle. But still, why wave that kind of temptation in her face. I threw the rest of my pills out in the trash.”

  Curious, and intrigued by the conviction in her tone, Justin pulled up a chair. She might be blowing smoke, but he wasn’t sure she was lying. At least, he thought that maybe she believed what she said. Hence the psychiatric observation, he guessed.

  “So how do you think the drugs got into your system?”

  “Aliens.”

  When he just looked at her, his face a mask, her mouth stretched in a grin. “You did a much better job that time. Your expression is totally unreadable. And I’m kidding.”

  “Not funny.”

  “You’re not looking at it from my angle.” But she sighed, and her fingers worried the edge of the bed sheet. “I don’t know. Maybe something… in my food? Or water? We have one of those filter pitchers you keep in the fridge. But it happened after that detective, Rutledge, questioned me about the shooting. They kind of overlooked me at first, thinking I couldn’t possibly have seen anything, what with lying on the floor in a pool of my own blood and all, I guess, and the fact is I didn’t think I had seen anything. Just the window exploding, you know? But I did see the guy. You know, the guy that was in Jugs? The one who was selling the drugs. And I’ve seen him before. A few times. He was… killed, but the thing is, I remember a couple of the guys he was with, when I saw him before. I could probably identify them.”

  Justin leaned back. He knew, because Kathleen told him, that the kid he’d talked to in Jugs was found murdered. Justin couldn’t say he was surprised.

  “Look, I know how this sounds,” Natasha added. “Like I’m paranoid, right? Or simply trying to avoid some kind of charges. But you can check my medical records. Or hell, my employment history. Most of the places I’ve worked have had the whole drug check thing as a condition of employment. Even Jugs. That was one of the reasons Shelley worked there – it helped her stay clean because she knew they did periodic tests.”

  He couldn’t say that he found Natasha’s story completely implausible. Then he remembered his conversation with Anne, the one in which she’d claimed to have found Natasha’s pills in Shelley’s room.

  Maybe Shelley had pulled them out of the trash? Then how had they – or drugs like them, anyway – ended up in Natasha’s system?

  Something weird appeared to be goin
g on, but Justin didn’t have enough information to make a determination.

  “Why were you trying to check yourself out of the hospital against medical advice?”

  “I was afraid they were going to try to have me committed or something. Or that, you know. The people who tried to kill me would find me here and try again.”

  Justin considered. “I don’t think you’re in danger of being committed. I also think that you’re probably safer here than you would be at home. If you really think that someone is trying to kill you, that is.”

  Personally, Justin thought that the gang she’d run afoul of, if they wanted her dead, wouldn’t choose such a subtle approach. They’d probably just slit her throat and be done with it.

  “I was thinking about getting out of town.”

  “You know that South Carolina doesn’t have Good Samaritan laws when it comes to immunity from prosecution for overdoses, right? The police aren’t going to be crazy about you leaving town, especially if they’re trying to build a case that you obtained the oxycodone illegally.”

  Her lips thinned. “That detective, Rutledge, said I’d have immunity if I turned over my pusher. He thinks that the reason I claim to be able to identify those guys is because I’m the one who’s been buying from them. But like I said, I don’t do drugs. Other than after getting shot, I’ve never even taken much in the way of prescriptions. At least, not for a long time. I don’t like the way drugs make me feel. I want to be able to think clearly.”

  “You took a lot of prescriptions when you were younger?”

  She frowned. “Noticed that, did you?” But then she sighed. “After the car crash that… killed my parents, I was in pretty bad shape for a while. Lots of hospitals, lots of doctors. It’s one of the reasons I’m not too keen on being in here again. And then, after that, I just seemed to be sick all the time, you know? Always coming down with something or other, like my immunity got wiped out along with my parents. I finally bounced back after a couple years, and I’ve avoided doctors and pills ever since. No offense.”

  “None taken.” Justin studied her face, and once again saw only conviction in her eyes. He wasn’t entirely sure he bought her story, but he didn’t think she was completely snowing him either. There was something there.

  “I’ll tell you what,” he finally said. “I have a friend who’s a cop. Not counter-narcotics,” he quickly added. “But homicide. If you promise to stay here, and stop giving the nurses a bad time, I’ll talk to her. She can make the call if there’s enough to warrant an investigation.”

  “Is this the cop that was with you in Jugs? The pretty redhead?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Natasha chewed her lip. “She cut my shirt. And she helped you plug up the bullet wound in my chest. I remember her. She’s okay.”

  That she was. More than. “So we have a deal?”

  “Deal,” Natasha said after a moment. When he stuck out his hand, she clasped his, and he took the opportunity to reinsert the IV needle in the port.

  “I hate that thing,” she muttered.

  “Just think of it as hydration without the effort.”

  “Still sucks,” was her opinion.

  Justin stood, looked her over. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “You know where to find me.” And with that, the young woman settled back against the pillows, and closed her eyes.

  JUSTIN buttoned his coat as he walked along the sidewalk. Temperatures had dropped steadily throughout the day, heavy gray clouds crowding the sky until they seemed precariously close to bursting. There were rumors of snow, but he’d believe it when he saw it.

  Of course, he didn’t really feel the cold considering the fiery anger coursing through his blood.

  While he’d been dithering about filing a harassment complaint against Mandy, she’d gone and turned the tables. Nearly an hour after leaving the administrator’s office, Justin still couldn’t believe that she had accused him of harassing her. He’d had to inform the administrator about the police reports. The trespassing. The damn cameras, for God’s sake.

  It had been mortifying.

  He’d even told them to look up the surveillance footage from the elevator if they wanted to see evidence of her physically striking him.

  And didn’t that just make him feel like a pussy?

  Then Justin, Justin had been advised to keep clear of her until they were able to get this thing sorted out. As if he wanted to be anywhere near her?

  Hell, given how badly most hospital bureaucracies feared lawsuits, he guessed he was lucky he hadn’t lost his privileges altogether.

  Breathing deep, so that the crisp air filled his lungs and cooled his temper, Justin glanced at the window of the coffee shop he was approaching for his regular afternoon fix.

  Anne, Natasha’s sister, sat at a table by the window. It looked like she’d been crying.

  None of his business.

  Really none of his business. In fact, he should probably just find another coffee shop. The last thing he felt like dealing with was another emotional female. But the fix-it gene that was an impregnable part of his DNA reared its life-complicating little head, and his conscience prodded him. Hell, given the conversation he’d had that morning with the woman’s sister, he’d feel like a jerk if he just walked away.

  Resigned, Justin pulled open the door of the shop, and waited in line to place his regular order, which the barista had already started considering he drank the same thing every day.

  Coffee in hand, Justin hesitated, then walked over toward the table by the window. Anne started when he said “Hi.”

  “I’m sorry,” he added. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

  “Oh, no.” Surreptitiously, she dabbed at her eyes, trying to pretend she hadn’t been crying, and Justin figured he was sunk. “I was just… lost in thought. Please,” she indicted the empty chair at her small table. “Have a seat.”

  He pulled out the chair, trying to fold his long legs so that they didn’t stick out and block the aisle.

  “Are you okay?” he asked quietly, figuring it was best to simply cut through the bullshit.

  Anne huffed out a laugh. “I feel like every time I’ve seen you I’ve been crying or on the verge of crying or thinking about crying. I promise I’m not normally such a mess.”

  “It’s understandable,” he assured her. “I have a younger brother toward whom I’ve always felt protective, and that’s despite the fact that there are five of us, and both my parents are still alive and very involved in all of our lives. I know it’s just the two of you, and you’ve been through a lot with your sister.”

  Her dark eyes lit with question. “I sense that you’ve been talking with Natasha about her childhood.”

  “She told me she had a lot of health problems. That had to be stressful for you.”

  She stirred the remains of her coffee. “I was nineteen. Living it up at college. Then all of a sudden I was a parent to a chronically sick child.” She smiled a little. “Somehow, the stress of final exams or wondering which frat boy I should invite to my sorority’s secret crush party just didn’t compare.”

  “I bet.”

  Her expression turned pensive. “Did Natasha talk to you? About… this idea she has. That someone tried to k-kill her?”

  “She did.”

  “Do you think she’s crazy? Or covering up an addiction? Or could there be some validity to her theory? And I’m going to be honest, I don’t know which of those thoughts frightens me more.”

  “I’m not her physician, and I’m not a psychiatrist. But off the record?” Justin carefully parsed his words. “I think the situation… bears looking into. I told your sister that I would speak with a detective I know regarding her allegations.”

  Anne was silent for several moments, staring into her coffee. “I’m scared,” she finally whispered.

  “Of?”

  She lifted her eyes to his, and in them were fresh tears. “That I won’t be able to protect her. She’s
not a little girl anymore, and I…” her bottom lip trembled, and she bit it. “I’m afraid that she’s gotten involved with something, and is in over her head. Shelley…”

  When she trailed off again, Justin hesitated, then patted her on the shoulder.

  She turned into him, all but burrowed in his neck.

  After a few awkward moments in which he wasn’t sure what to do, she finally pulled herself together.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

  “No.” He took a fresh napkin from the table and handed it to her so she could dab her eyes. “Don’t apologize. I can only imagine how difficult this is for you. You’re worried about Shelley,” he prodded, because this seemed to be a recurring theme.

  “She’s… I hate to seem like I’m talking out of sorts, but, well, I’m afraid she’s dangerous. Unstable. If she’s using again, and she’s involved with this gang, maybe Natasha’s allegations aren’t as crazy as they seem.”

  Justin frowned. “I’ll mention that to the detective.”

  “You’re a lifesaver,” Anne said, and this time the smile reached her very pretty brown eyes. “Literally and figuratively.”

  Two women walked by the table, bumping into Justin’s chair, saving him from having to come up with a response to the praise. His coffee spilled on his pants, and he turned an exasperated look on the women.

  When he saw the scrubs, and realized that the nurses were two of Mandy’s friends, he scowled. One of them raised a brow, while the other surreptitiously flipped him the bird.

  “Problem?” Anne asked.

  “Just… workplace dynamics,” Justin said. “Never date a coworker,” he advised. “It can never end well.”

  Anne smiled. “Well, since I work for myself, that shouldn’t be a problem.” She pressed some extra napkins into his hand. “That was just petty.”

  “You have no idea,” he muttered.

  “You’ve been such a good listener while I blubbered about my problems. I’d be happy to return the favor.”

  Talking about Mandy was the last thing he wanted to do. “Actually, I have to get back to work.”

  “Oh.” She quickly masked her disappointment, and Justin made a mental note to keep any future conversations as professional as possible. Anne seemed to be a nice woman, and he didn’t want her getting the wrong idea. “Well, thanks for the ear. And the shoulder.”