Serendipity (Southern Comfort) (3 page)

“You’ve just uttered a blasphemy against the Southern Ladies’ Sacred Code of Conduct
.
I’m covering my ears.  “Uh-oh.” Her fingers flew to her lips instead.  “Looks like Mrs. Phillips and her poodles just pulled in.  The goon got out.  He’s leaning against his car.”

Shit.  Ava ducked out of sight.  “Quick, tell me what’s happening.” 

“Is the black or the white poodle Muffin?”

“Uh, the black one, I think.”

“Well, Muffin is currently trying to choke herself off her leash.  She looks like she wants to take a bite out of the goon’s leg.”

“Tell me he didn’t pull a knife.” 

“No,
but he looks pissed.”  Katie glared at Ava
.  “Now look what you’ve made me say.”

“Oh, hush it, Katie.  Update.”

“Mrs. Phillips is trying to control Muffin, and the white one – what’s its name?  Biscuit?   Well, the white one just had an accident all over the front of her dress.  That dog always has been nervous.  Oh, the goon looked directly at Mrs. Phillips.  That should be enough to scare that awful perm right out of her hair.”  Katie allowed a moment of contemplation.  “Maybe not such a bad thing.” 

She reached out a hand toward Ava.  “Get up.  She’s coming, and she looks upset.  You might want to go into the back.  My people skills are better than yours.”

“Don’t you mean your ass-kissing skills?”

“There’s that language again.  Run along now, before I’m forced to get out my soap.”

Ava couldn’t make it in time.  She’d only gotten as far as the counter when the spectacle at the front door stopped her.  Despite Mrs. Phillips’ considerable bulk, the woman could haul ass.  Slap a saddle on her and she could have taken the Derby.  The door flew open and she shot in, one poodle clutched to her breast, the other snapping and yanking against the tangle of hot pink leash around the woman’s feet. 

Eyes wide and white as a nervous mare’s flew up to meet Ava’s.  “Dr. Martinez, I’m sure you weren’t aware of it, but there’s an unsavory character lurking around in your parking lot.”

Unsavory was apparently Southern Lady lingo for scary-looking sonofabitch.

“Oh, bless your heart. Here, let me help you with that leash.” Katie rushed over to assist.

“Thank you, Katie.” Mrs. Phillips patted her hair back into
the style Ava thought of as a
drain clog. 

“As I was saying, there’s a criminal element loitering outside.  And to think, you pretty young ladies here alone.  The police need to chase that riff-raff off.  I’ll just dial 911 from my cellular.” 

She started to reach for her purse and Ava shouted “No!”

The poodle at her breast let out a yip when the woman’s hand leapt to her heart instead.  “Oh, Biscuit.  My poor baby.  Mommy didn’t mean to strike you.” 

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Phillips.  It’s just that –”

“That’s Dr. Martinez’s brother.”

“Oh, my dear.”  Mrs. Phillips looked out the window in dismay, and Ava what the hell’d at Katie.  She didn’t have a brother.  “I… well.  Brother, you say?”

“Yes.  He’s in the private security business.” 

Ava hip-checked her assistant on her way to take Mrs. Phillips’ arm.  “Well, that’s enough about me.  Let’s get Muffin and Biscuit vaccinated, shall we?”    

“Oh.  Yes, yes.  Of course.”  Mrs. Phillips patted her drain clog while Katie took charge of Muffin, blithely ignoring her employer’s glare. 

With one last look toward the parking lot, Ava followed them toward the back.  

JORDAN’S lungs burned, his stitches itched, and sweat rolled down his back.  His head beat like a drum with every slap of his feet on pavement.   

It was heaven.

Ever since his mother had blown back into town in an overprotective maternal maelstrom, he’d been confined to his parents’ sofa.  Never mind the fact that he was past thirty. As all five of Addison Wellington’s sons could attest, life went along easier once you learned to say
:
yes ma’am.  Not a one of them under six-foot tall, but their petite mother snapped her fingers and, to a man, they fell in line.

But Jordan had pulled a fast one today.  He’d cited some paperwork that needed attending as his excuse for escaping the house.  If he neglected to mention the run he intended to indulge in afterward – well, he figured what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

Though his own body was starting to protest. 

But hell, he was used to running five miles at least three days a week, so the confinement was making him crazy.  And running helped clear his mind.  Now, more than ever, Jordan needed to think clearly. 

Longtime family friend Clay Copeland was flying in today to help Jordan prepare the prosecution for the Fuller trial.  A member of the FBI’s Investigative Support Unit, Clay was an expert on serial killers, and his offender profiles and expert testimony had helped put a number of them behind bars. Given the circumstantial nature of their evidence – not to mention the fact that Jordan had been second choice for heading up this trial, even before his little medical mishap – the Chatham County DA’s office wasn’t taking any chances.  

Jordan could have been mildly offended, but truth was, he wanted Clay’s input.  He’d be the first to admit he’d been distracted the past week, but he still couldn’t see how he could argue, beyond a reasonable doubt, that Fuller was their man.  In fact – and this was the point that was really sticking in his craw – he was even starting to have some doubts.

And if he couldn’t make the case for it, there was little chance a jury would believe it either.

Not what Jordan’s boss wanted to hear.  No city wanted a serial killer on their hands, but for one that courted tourist dollars the way others pimped major league athletics, a knife-happy lunatic running amok wasn’t exactly good for business.  

Pulling his ball cap lower, Jordan ran past a hedge of azaleas splashed with pink and white flowers.  He was all for wrapping up the case, he mused as a few spent blooms fell beneath his feet.  As long as he made damn sure he was sending the right man to prison. 

Confederate jasmine sweetened the air, fresh and lovely as a pretty woman still warm from the bath.  He loved spring, its riot of color and scent.  The way nature just seemed to burst like a happy balloon, spreading bright confetti everywhere. Riding on the headiness of the exercise, the fresh air, Jordan crossed a small wooden footbridge before realizing he wasn’t alone.

And angling his head, caught the flash of blond on his right.

He’d been worried the dog wouldn’t be here.

Jordan first spotted the stray a few weeks back, following him from a distance, scuttling under the nearest bush whenever Jordan stopped, or stuck out a hand.  It made him sick to think about what kind of abuse must have turned the dog skittish. You could tell from his big, goofy retriever face that he was meant for a family. For chasing balls in the backyard and sneaking scraps under the dinner table.  The kind of dog he’d grown up with as a kid. 

So Jordan courted the animal, patient, until he’d licked Jordan’s outstretched hand.  He’d almost gotten close enough to slip the leash he carried from his pocket.

That was the Friday before his abduction.  He hadn’t been by in nearly a week, and Jordan had worried about Animal Control.

But here the animal was. Faithful as a shadow. 

The throb in his head began to churn in his stomach, and Jordan figured he’d better pack it in before his breakfast decided to pay a call.  Collapsing onto a park bench, he dropped his head between his knees.

Warm fur brushed his leg. 

Jordan opened an eye.  The dog’s tongue lulled to the side, and Jordan had a chance to think the animal’s teeth looked pretty good. Though Christ, his breath could fell a rhino from twenty paces.  Carefully extending his hand, he stroked it down the blond head, and was rewarded by the happy thump of a matted tail.

Dappled sunlight warmed their backs, shifting like liquid gold across the fur ruffled by Jordan’s fingers. He nearly swore when his cell phone rang, frightening the dog away.

And did curse when he checked the readout.  “Hey, Mom.”  If he cleared his throat, he’d sound guilty.  “I was just finishing up.  I’ll be on my way home in a minute.”

“Well, take your time, sweetheart.  No need to rush.  Though it’s such a fine day, I hate to think of you stuck behind a desk.  You could do with some fresh air.”

“Yes, ma’am.  I’ll be sure to, uh, sit in the garden after lunch.”

“Speaking of, how does a nice barbeque sound?”

“Like a little slice of heaven.”

“Some slaw, potato salad, sweet cornbread?”

“My mouth is already watering.”

“Good.  I called in an order at McCready’s.  Since you’re
already
there at the park, swing next door and pick it up.”

“MRS. Wellington, you make a mean chocolate chip cookie.” Clay Copeland grabbed a cookie the size of a saucer fresh off the cooling rack.  He broke off a piece, popped it into his mouth, chewing happily while she patted his cheek.

“I’m glad you like them, Clay.”

Leaning an elbow on the counter, Clay flashed the grin that had been known to charm lesser women right out of their shirts.  “Run away with me to Antigua.  We’ll drink rum in the moonlight and you can ply me with your decadent confections.”

“Clay, stop flirting with my mother and haul your butt over here,” Jordan said from his seat at the kitchen table. 

“And bring that plate of cookies,” Jesse added. 

Neither of them seemed overly concerned about the fact that he’d just attempted to seduce their mother.  But then, they’d heard it all before.  Ever since Clay had gone through Quantico with Jesse – and gotten a taste of Addison Wellington’s cooking – he’d been making similar propositions. 

So far, Clay thought ruefully, she’d managed to resist.

Blue eyes twinkling, Addison handed Clay the plate.  “One of these days, you handsome devil, I’m going to take you up on that offer.” 

Clay rubbed a hand over his heart.  “Don’t tease me that way, Mrs. W.  You build up my hopes then dash them cruelly, time and again.  It’s a wonder I keep coming back.”

“You come back for the food.”

“Beautiful, talented and wise.”  With a wink he headed toward the enormous pine table that dominated the sunny kitchen. Flipped a ladder-back chair and straddled it.  And pilfered two more cookies before relinquishing the plate.

“Greedy bastard.” Jesse tugged the cookies closer and snagged a couple for himself before reluctantly passing them to his brother.

“Ah, no thanks,” Jordan said absently.  He pulled a legal pad and pen out of his briefcase.

Jesse tipped down his glasses to peer at him with suspicion.  “Mom let you eat the dough before Clay and I got here, didn’t she?”  

Jordan’s grin was fast, and wicked.  “She likes me better than you.” 

“I heard that, Jordan,” Addison called from the sink. 

“Because you have ears like a bat.”

“And eyes in the back of my head.  Don’t any of you ever forget it.”  Folding the dish towel she’d been using into a neat rectangle that mystified Clay, she hung it on a clever little silver hook before heading toward the French doors.  “Now.  I have some rose bushes that need pruning.  I’ll be in the garden, so if you want something, get it yourselves.”    

“Hell of a woman,” Clay sighed, watching her tug a huge straw hat over blonde hair just a shade darker than his own. 

“Dad seems to think so.”  Jesse rose, slapped Jordan’s shoulder and tucked three more cookies into a napkin.  “I guess I’ll head out, too.  I have my own
work to do
.”

“Thanks for fetching me from the airport.”

“Not a problem.”  Clay’s shoulder got its own slap.  “I’ll see you at my place later tonight.  Dinner’s set for seven.  Jillian will hogtie you if you’re late.”

“Woman has him whipped,” Jordan muttered when Jesse’d cleared the room, and Clay took a moment to study him.  He’d lost a little weight.  And dark circles hollowed
eyes the same bright shade
as his mother’s.  “You look like shit.”

“Always good to see you, too.”

“I get paid to notice stress when I see it, son.  And I’d wager it’s more than just that whuppin’ you took.  I’ve taken a look at the files you sent me.  That sleep you’re losing is over this case.” 

Jordan tossed the pen he’d been fiddling with onto his yellow notepad.  “Three women.  Different ages.  Different occupations.  Different appearances, social statuses, religions. Three women, Clay,
raped, violated,
their tongues cut out,
and
left to drown in their own blood.”

“It’s frustrating, sickening, for you more than some.  You’re a care-taker by nature.  It’s why you’re one of the few men – few straight men – I know who has houseplants.  Why you teach that self-defense class down at the Y.  Three women.  But the man charged with their deaths is behind bars.  You worried your skill in the courtroom isn’t enough to keep him there?”