Southern Romantic-Suspense Boxed Set (Southern Romantic-Suspense Novel Book 0)

by Carmen DeSousa

  His chest felt tight, and his stomach lurched at the same time a chill traveled down his spine. He followed the doctor into his office and sat down on the sofa. His head fell into his hands; he couldn’t handle this.

  Jordan looked up as Doctor John McMullen sat beside him, his face unreadable. Although he looked like he wanted to comfort him, Jordan knew Doctor McMullen wouldn’t offer him any artificial expectations.

  McMullen had always been honest, but unlike some physicians Jordan had met in his career, he’d also been sympathetic, especially when it came to the lives of first responders — or their relatives. Jordan had witnessed his compassion for years.

  Having been the bearer of dreadful news to countless spouses and parents after their tragic loss, Jordan had tried to emulate his demeanor. Now he was on the receiving end of McMullen’s sympathetic stare, and it wasn’t any more comforting.

  Preparing for the blow, Jordan clenched his hands into fists and pressed them against his face.

  “Caycee is in ICU now,” Dr. McMullen began. “The bullet entered the left side of her skull below her temple and exited through the frontal bone. She survived the operation...”

  Jordan dropped his hands to his side as his eyes connected with the doctor’s gaze. Thank God! Jaynee was alive. He let out the breath he’d been holding as he awaited the rest of the doctor’s summation.

  “But, Jordan,” his tone softened, “we can’t be certain she’ll make it. Even if she does, there’s no way to distinguish what damage the bullet inflicted until she awakes.”

  Jordan swallowed hard. “But she survived the surgery,” he repeated as if to hear it again.

  “Yes, she did. We have her in a drug-induced coma, and we won’t attempt to revive her until the cranial pressure decreases. She wouldn’t be able to tolerate the pain if we did.” The doctor patted Jordan’s arm. “You can see Caycee now, Jordan, and you need to talk to her. Studies indicate numerous coma patients respond to a loved one’s voice.”

  “Jaynee ...” Jordan said emphatically, drawing in a breath and shaking his head in disbelief. “Please call her Jaynee. She doesn’t like Caycee, so she goes by her middle name. Please inform the nurses.” The doctor nodded, and Jordan stood. “I’d like to see my wife now.”

  Doctor McMullen led him down the hall and stopped in front of one of the ICU rooms. Jordan felt the man’s cool hands on his forearm, but couldn’t see his face through his tears. With a final squeeze of consolation, the doctor turned and left him alone.

  Jordan stepped into the cold antiseptic-scented room. His legs felt as though they’d vanished from beneath him, and he’d collapse to the floor at any moment. He couldn’t move.

  Jaynee lay motionless on the hospital bed. Numerous wires leading from her body connected to several machines that created an ominous cacophony and an eerie yellowish glow in the small room. It looked like a scene from a soap opera.

  Under the fluorescent lights, her skin was pallid, except around her eyes, which had splotches of crimson and were swollen and puffy. And worse, where her long, beautiful curls should be was nothing but white gauze.

  He forced his legs to move to her bedside. His tears fell without restraint as he touched her cheek.

  Talk to her.

  He lowered his head to his wife’s ear, hoping she could hear through the bandages ... and while unconscious. “I love you, Jaynee. No matter what’s happened, I love you, and I know you love me too.”

  Jordan believed the words, wanted the words to be true. But he couldn’t help but wonder what was so awful that his wife would attempt to take her life.

  Unless ... was there something he didn’t know about her?

  Chapter One

  Five years ago …

  C.J. tapped her foot while a kid sitting in the front row attempted to sidetrack Professor Rawlings with his incessant questions about the life of Hemmingway.

  Everyone knew the professor would go off on a tangent and run out of time, then end up dismissing the class. The plan had backfired, though. It was time to leave, and here she still sat as the teacher droned on about his favorite author.

  She rarely minded. She enjoyed listening to the professor. But today was Wednesday, which meant she had an early shift at the steakhouse where she worked. She checked the time on her cell phone for the tenth time in five minutes. She couldn’t be late.

  Tim, the general manager, scheduled her for as many early shifts as possible, because she was one of the few employees who always showed up on time and was willing to close if he needed her to.

  Because of this, she also received the largest stations. The way she figured ... if she had to be there ... might as well make as much money as possible. As a college student, she was able to pay her bills working only three days a week. If she picked up extra shifts, the money was gravy and went toward her savings. And more importantly, the extra shifts didn’t affect her studying anymore because, in the last year, she’d stopped dating altogether.

  The lecture ended, and the teacher excused the class, calling out, “Don’t forget your novella is due next week. Make sure it’s not tedious. I loathe boring stories. And if it makes me laugh, you’ll receive extra points. Also, drinking and fishing are always excellent subjects.” He finished his montage as the students hurriedly exited the classroom.

  Yep, he loved Hemmingway and wanted to be just like him. Well, he’d have to make do with her paper. It was everything he’d said not to write. It was very sad; it was real life. It entailed drinking and fishing, but not what he was referring to, she was pretty sure.

  Since she had a few minutes to spare, C.J. stopped by the post office on the way to work. Her twenty-second birthday was a little over a week away, and although she and her mother weren’t close, her mother always sent her a hundred bucks for her birthday. And her best friend, Rainey, always sent a funny card. They’d been friends since third grade — until C.J. moved from South Florida, that is.

  They’d managed to visit each other a couple of times over the last four years, but mostly they just kept in touch by email. It hadn’t been the same, and she missed her friend terribly. She was the only person who knew what she’d been through in her life. But Rainey had been preoccupied with finishing college, and C.J. had been busy wasting her time. When she thought about the wasted years, she felt sick. Why had she been such a fool?

  Determined not to squander away any more of her youth, and resolute to change her life for the better, she’d started back to college last month.

  Parking alongside the building, she sprinted from the car, ran inside, grabbed a handful of envelopes, jumped back in her car, and was on her way to work in seconds.

  It was ridiculous she still used a post office box, but old habits were hard to break. After high school, she’d moved around a lot and had always used her grandmother’s address. It would be easy enough to use her home address now that she had her own place, but after some issues with her ex-boyfriend, she decided it was for the best.

  She chanced a sideways glance at the bills and letters on the passenger seat as she sped down the road. The extra-large pink envelope was certainly from her mother. As if sending her a card a couple of times a year would change the past.

  She looked down at the seat again, and another envelope stopped her heart. She recognized the handwriting. She’d made herself clear in her last letter that she didn’t want him to write or contact her again. They were over.

  Nervous, as though he could see her, she stuffed the letter in her work apron. It was going straight into the dumpster, where she wouldn’t even be tempted to read his response to her rejection.

  She didn’t understand her luck with dating. For that matter, she didn’t understand the trouble she’d had with all the men in her life. Clenching the steering wheel, she sucked in a breath to calm herself. She refused to let any man ever bring her down again. She was a ‘good’ person. She didn’t smoke or do drugs and rarely drank. Still, she’d suffered two horrific relationships in hig
h school, and then after moving to the Tampa Bay area four years earlier, had dated several delinquents before finding herself in a real predicament.

  What had she done to deserve the cards life had handed her? The more she thought about it, the madder she got. She didn’t perceive herself as wild looking. But every time she went out with what looked to be a decent guy — a guy who had a vehicle and an occupation anyway — they’d go out and end up at some party. The next thing she knew, her date would drop down and do a line of coke or light up a joint.

  God and C.J. had always been on friendly terms, but now even He was ticking her off. She prayed to Him nightly for a decent man. Maybe He was irritated because she hadn’t been to church in forever. It wasn’t anything personal with Him; she just couldn’t contend with the charlatans. And the last thing she wanted to do was be a hypocrite herself. So for the past year, since He hadn’t been answering her prayers, she decided the best path was to abstain from dating altogether.

  She drove swiftly into the restaurant parking lot in her Ford Focus, parked in the rear, and trotted into the restaurant.

  After she punched her timecard, she set out to do her prep work. She had ice tea duty today, so all she had to do was make a few back-ups of sweet tea, and then set up for the rest of the night. Then she’d just have to roll silverware until her first customer arrived. Usually one of her regular retirees would show up for the early-bird dinner and save her from the monotonous task.

  Amy, the hostess, meandered through the service doors minutes after the restaurant opened. “You have a table, C.J.”

  C.J. glanced up and saw a wide grin lift Amy’s round cheeks. Amy didn’t usually inform the wait staff when they had a customer. Management expected servers to pay attention.

  Happy to have a customer, she grabbed her apron to leave but noticed Amy still standing there with that silly grin ... now accompanied by lifted eyebrows.

  “What?” She looked herself over to make sure she wasn’t wearing flip-flops or something abnormal. “Did I forget something?”

  “Nope. Just wanted to let you know you have a guest. A one-top in booth six,” Amy replied in a droll manner.

  Oh great, she must have ticked her off. Amy knew servers hated single diners. Typically she sat them in the lounge area. Single diners were a waste of table space, as she only made half a normal tip. She needed money, and single diners wouldn’t bring in enough to pay her bills.

  She glowered at Amy, whose smile hadn’t diminished.

  “What?” she asked, raising her hands in frustration. The night wasn’t starting well. “Why are you smiling?”

  “Just want to see your reaction.” Amy smirked, then turned to walk away, but paused at the doorway. “I’ll be nearby if you need any help,” she called over her shoulder, finally leaving the kitchen with C.J. staring after her.

  “Why would I need help?” C.J. muttered, rolling her eyes at Amy’s retreating backside.

  Content that she didn’t have to continue rolling silverware, though, she ventured off to greet her guest. She dug in her apron for a pen, trying not to think about the crumpled letter that she’d forgotten to toss in the dumpster. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone?

  Distracted, she didn’t bother to look at her patron as she rattled off her standard greeting. “Hi, my name is C.J. I’ll be your server this evening. Can I start you off with something to drink?” Finally finding her pen, she raised her eyes from her ticket book as she awaited an answer.

  At that precise moment, the man sitting in her booth looked up from his menu, acknowledging her presence.

  Wow! Now she understood Amy’s grin and offer to assist. The man at her table was a real looker. Not in a generic Hollywood way. He was a genuine all-American, but striking male. The man’s face, chiseled and sculpted to perfection, stared back: square chin, high cheekbones, and angular nose, all framed by a neatly trimmed beard trailing up his jaw that only added to his rugged look. His hair was a deep brown, almost black, and cropped short, military-style. His build resembled an officer of some sort. His shoulders were broad and held back in perfect posture, and based on their width, she now understood the need for a larger booth.

  His eyes were the best, though. He had a lightly tanned complexion with dark brows, and beneath thick eyelashes were a set of arresting steel-blue eyes. They were beautiful. The shock of electricity that shot through her, though, was incapacitating. She couldn’t think; ‘wow’ wasn’t quite enough to describe what she felt. Her feet felt as though they were rooted to the wood floor below her, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d just gawked at a complete stranger.

  A flash of blond hair caught her eye, pulling her out of her daze. Amy was peering around the corner, her grin still wide, apparently pleased with her reaction. Then she winked and turned away, leaving C.J. to her own devices.

  The man’s eyes held contact with hers for a few seconds before speaking, as though he were dumbstruck too. “Yes, ma’am, do you have sweet tea?” His strong southern accent sent another shock through her.

  “Call me C.J., please. I’m too young to be a ma’am. And yes, we do. I made it myself,” she answered too quickly, not contemplating her words. Why had she felt the need to offer that tidbit? As if it mattered who brewed the tea.

  A slow smile lifted his cheeks. “Sounds good, C.J. I’ll take that then.” His cute southern drawl made her initials sound like two words the way he drew them out, and the heartbreaking smile sent a shiver down her spine. Fine tan lines feathered from the corners of his eyes, similar to her father. Her dad had been the only man who’d ever made her laugh. A pang of longing hit her hard.

  “I’ll give you a couple of minutes and be right back with your tea.” Her voice cracked, and she turned away from him to retreat to the safety of the kitchen.

  Entering the kitchen, she whooshed out the breath she’d been holding. What the heck was happening? Why was her stomach doing loop-de-loops? Why did this guy have to stride in here, all-masculine looking, and start her heart pounding? It felt as if she’d been shocked with one of those ‘heart-thingies’, and her heart was beating for the first time in years. She gripped the letter in her apron she hadn’t discarded yet. It was a significant reminder not to let a man’s cute smile influence her.

  Get a hold of yourself, she thought. He’s just a guy. So he was good looking. What difference did that make? The men she dated were always attractive. Maybe that was the problem.

  Pulling in a deep relaxing breath through her nose, she held it a couple of seconds and then blew it out in a slow exhale. “There,” she said aloud. “That’s better.”

  She busied herself with getting his drink. What was she worried about anyway? He looked like a nice guy, not at all her variety of man. It wasn’t as if he’d even be interested. Guys like him were never attracted to her. She only managed to be a magnet for trouble, men who looked good on the outside, but were horrible inside.

  Disorientated, Jordan wilted into his booth. He’d just gaped at the waitress when she’d requested his drink order.

  He didn’t understand what had happened, but he’d felt the electricity ignite. He’d read about it, seen it in movies, and heard his grandmother’s accounts, but he’d never experienced it. The strike had been instantaneous. What had Nanna called it? The thunderbolt, or was it lightning bolt? He may not remember the name, but it had happened. The second his eyes had connected with C.J.’s he felt the charge. It was as if his entire being had been struck, and everything he wanted or ever desired was wrapped up in this moment, in this girl.

  He should leave. This couldn’t be happening. Not here. She was pretty, but it wasn’t that. There was something about her. He felt drawn to her. He knew he wouldn’t be able to leave even if he wanted to escape this emotion. It was too powerful.

  C.J. placed his beverage on the coaster and smiled. “Are you ready to order?”

  “Um ... yes, ma’am, I’ll take the sirloin, medium-well, please.” Shoot, he reprimanded him
self. She’d requested he call her C.J., but he couldn’t help it. That was how a respectful southerner spoke; his father would have had his head if he’d addressed a woman any other way.

  “Sir, could I recommend either ordering your steak medium or switching to the strip steak? Or, we could butterfly it. Our steaks are thick, and sirloin can be tough if overcooked.”

  He smiled up at her, unable to contain the pleasure that rushed through his body at this simple gesture. As though she wanted to take care of him. Of course, she probably offered this to all her customers. “Butterflying it will be fine, thank you.” He tipped his head in a respectful manner.

  She wrote down his order, then sauntered away. His heart pounded faster than normal, and a warm feeling rushed his veins. He had to make her his.

  Never having asked a waitress out before, he wondered how he would go about it. Men probably hit on her all the time. She was pretty, a natural beauty, even without makeup. Her dark hair was up in a ponytail, but a few strands had escaped. He felt the urge to tuck them behind her ear just to touch her hair.

  But her eyes were her most incredible feature. They were a deep hazel, like cat’s eyes, standing out in contrast to her olive skin. Her body was also perfect, not like all the bony, thin girls he’d seen around here. She was petite, but shapely, about five-three he guessed. He liked that too. She was perfect for his six-foot frame.

  Where was his imagination going already? Perfect for what ... dancing? He chastised himself but knew he couldn’t let her escape without at least attempting to see if there was anything under her cover, as his mother had always put it. Was she just a simple-minded waitress? She didn’t sound unintelligent. No matter the looks, he could never deal with ignorance. He needed someone with whom he could relate.

  Again, his thoughts were uncontainable. He’d only just met this girl and was already sizing up whether she was worthy. She’d probably think he was an ignorant hick anyway. Women loved his southern accent but were always surprised when there was more behind his drawl than just a country boy.