Serendipity (Southern Comfort) (37 page)

“Okay.”  The kid blew out a breath.  “I can do that.”

“Good.  I’ll meet you in ten.”

Jordan hit end call, and turned to Ava.  “How about taking a little ride with me?  I have an informant who wants to deliver some potentially explosive information.  Seems to be that kind of night.”

Ava still felt a little woozy.  The idea of going farther than twenty feet from her bathroom didn’t hold much appeal.  “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to stay here.”

“Sure.” Jordan nodded once.  “You’re ill, the power is out and – oh yeah – you’ve just lowered
the boom on your
homicidal uncle.  Why don’t I just run out and leave you here by yourself?”

“Jordan, you just told your brother all of fifteen minutes ago.  My uncle can’t possibly know what’s happening yet.”

“Ava, this is the same man who had you followed for weeks.  Who kidnapped – murdered – your mother.  Who tried to do the same to a federal prosecutor because he was confident he wouldn’t be caught.  He knows you and I have a relationship.  You think he’s above bugging this place to see what you’re up to?”

The chill of that ran down her spine.  But she knew Carlos better than Jordan did.  “It’s not his style.  He prefers intimidation to something as mundane as spying. Jordan,” she said, when she saw the doubt. “You have to trust me.  I’ve had nearly three decades of dealing with my uncle, and he’s confident that little visit he paid me will have me falling in line.  He can’t know – yet – that you would have seen my mother’s rosary at the gravesite. Or that you hired an investigator – which I’m still going to skin you for, when the time is right – and put everything together.  So I’ll be fine for the next few minutes.  Just go do what you need to do and I’ll take that time to pack some things.  When you’re finished, I’ll be ready to go wherever it is you need to put me.” 

She grasped his hand when she saw his hesitation.  “I’m not stupid, Jordan.  I know how serious this is.  Once the shit hits tomorrow, I’m going to be a poster child for circumspection and cooperation.”

“Can you at least go sit with Lou Ellen until I get back?”

“Um.”  Ava pressed a hand to her temple and tried to think.  Lou Ellen’s car hadn’t been in the drive when she’d pulled up.  “It’s her mahjong night.  She must have left after she gave you the key.  And believe me, she’ll be gone ‘til the wee hours.”

“Okay.”  He stabbed a hand through his already disordered hair.  “How do you feel about firearms?” 

Full disclosure, Ava thought.  “I have a twenty-two in my purse.  Unregistered.  My father gave it to me.”

He didn’t even blink.  “You know how to shoot?”

“I wouldn’t carry it if I didn’t.”

“Good.  A twenty-two can deliver a fatal wound, but unless the other guy is pretty damn close you’re probably just going to piss him off.  Use it as a backup,” he suggested, and pulled a sleek nine millimeter from a holster on his hip.  “The Glock’s light, so you should be able to handle it.  Are you familiar with its safety?”

“Show me.”

He did.  “Aim for center mass.  Biggest target, biggest chance of you dropping them and allowing yourself time to get away.  But you don’t answer the door, Ava.  You don’t get near it, I don’t care who knocks.  If someone manages to get in, you shoot first, ask questions later.”

“Ironic advice, coming from a prosecutor.”

“Good advice, coming from the man who loves you.”  He yanked her close for a brief, possessive kiss.   “I’m going to head out.”  He stood, slipped on the shoes he’d left by the front door, not bothering with the laces.  “Lock up behind me and get your stuff together.  I’ll be back in about twenty minutes, thirty tops, and then we’re out of here.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“I’m counting on it.”  With one last glance over his shoulder, he walked out into the storm-darkened night.

JORDAN hustled down the steps, swearing when he remembered that he’d parked his car a couple streets over.  He quickly bent down to tie his laces, and then took off at a full-out sprint, water splashing him as he ran.  By his estimation, he only had about five minutes to get to the Enmark.  Robert Bender was jittery as a June bug, and Jordan didn’t want to risk having the kid go haring off with his evidence because Jordan was a few minutes late.

He could always track him down, Jordan mused, and cut between two houses, leapt a soggy flowerbed.  Hurdled a fallen trash can like he was lettering in track.  Though if Bender balked, Jordan had nothing more than hearsay at this point.  He couldn’t prove the kid had even called, let alone disclosed incriminating information about his uncle.  Wasn’t that the point of the disposable cell?

No, Jordan needed whatever it was Bender claimed to have taken from Simpson’s office.

Mentally congratulating himself for not letting his cardiovascular fitness slide, Jordan made it to his car in damn good time.  He pulled a downed palmetto frond from his windshield, slid into the driver’s seat and cranked the engine.  The street was still dark, and he wondered how long it would be before the power company fixed the line.  Though he could see lights winking through leaves that dripped with crystal raindrops.  Abercorn Street appeared to be up and running.

There would be lights, people at the Enmark.  Hopefully that would work in his favor, and not scare his little rabbit of an informant away.

Water sprayed as his tires fought for traction on the flooded streets.

There were two cars under the overhang for the gas pumps, Jordan noted when he turned in.  And one parked in the darkened lot off to the side.  Jordan saw the shadow of a man in the driver’s seat.  Bender, he thought, relief smoothing the bump of nerves as he pulled around.

But the man who turned to scowl when he caught Jordan looking was black, probably forty.  Obviously not the twenty-something blond he’d seen with Simpson. 

“Should have asked him what kind of car he’d be driving,” Jordan muttered as he looked away, checked out the two vehicles at the pumps.  A young woman.  A guy with purple hair and multiple piercings.

Hell, maybe Bender had walked.  Ridden a bike. Maybe he was inside.  When he saw someone moving around the aisles, Jordan climbed out of the car, decided to check it out.  If it wasn’t Bender, Jordan would call the number logged in his cell.  If Robert had decided to play games, Jordan would have to introduce the kid to hardball.

He nodded to the clerk, headed toward the back of the store where a blond man was stooped over, peering at the selection of wine coolers in the refrigerated case.  Right hair color, right build. 

“Excuse me.”  Jordan figured it was prudent to approach with caution.  But when the guy turned around with a slightly annoyed “Yeah?” Jordan noted the vintage Lennon glasses, the well-trimmed beard.   “Sorry.”  He held up his palms. “Thought you were somebody else.”

“Why? You looking for a date, handsome?”

“Uh…no.  Thanks.” 

“Too bad.”

And using the other man’s chuckle as an exit score, Jordan checked out the other aisles. 

“You have a public restroom?” he finally asked the clerk after he’d determined Bender wasn’t in the store.  The man merely stared at him, so Jordan snagged a bag of chips from the display rack near the register, tossed them on the counter and asked again.
“In the back,” the man said as he rung up Jordan’s purchase.  “No cottaging.”

It took Jordan a moment, but then he realized the man was referring to the practice of anonymous sex in public places.  Apparently the clerk had seen him talking to the man by the cooler and had gotten some bright ideas.  “I’ll try to control myself,” he said dryly.

“Believe me.  You’d be surprised.” 

Jordan wondered if that particular misdemeanor was something with which the clerk had had previous problems.  And reminded him, as he threw down a couple of bills and grabbed the chips, why he avoided public restrooms. 

But when he checked out the restroom – two stalls, both thankfully empty – he still couldn’t find Bender.

Pushing through the back door, Jordan scanned the lot one more time.  Water dripped from the overhang and slid down the collar of his shirt.

“Screw this,” he said under his breath.

He was just about to pull out his cell phone when a white van pulled up.  That’s right, Jordan remembered.  Bender drove some kind of company van.  Glass Doctor, he thought, playing back his conversation with Chip Coleman.  But the van in front of him had no logo that Jordan could see.  And when a nearly three hundred pound man got out, Jordan stabbed his hand into his pocket.

“Okay, you little bastard.”  He pulled up his last incoming call, hit send.  And listened to it ring and ring as he circled the outside of the building.  His shoes sloshed, his shirt stuck to his back, and his mood went from bad to worse. When the guy with the Lennon glasses eased his Prius out of a parking space, sent Jordan an amused wave, Jordan ended the call with a stab of his thumb.

Maybe Bender had been legitimately hung up, maybe he’d chickened out, maybe he was simply yanking Jordan’s chain.  But whatever the kid’s excuse, Jordan wasn’t going to waste any more time waiting for him.

Not when he needed to get back to Ava. 

Ava.

Sweet God, when she’d told him her version of the night he’d been abducted it had been enough to make his hair stand on end.  If he hadn’t thought her a hell of a woman beforehand, his admiration had taken a serious leap.  She’d risked her life for a perfect stranger, when it would have been so much easier for her to walk away from him that night.

Easier, he mused, but not even a consideration for Ava.  She didn’t – couldn’t – walk away from what she thought was right, any more than Jordan could have done.  She’d grown up with the odds stacked against her, but had managed to beat the house.  Whether she realized it or not, Ava was a more upstanding person than probably half the people he knew.

Needing to hear her voice, to let her know that he was on his way back, Jordan dialed her number as he slid wetly into his car. 

And listened to it ring.

“Stupid,” he admonished himself as he pulled back into the sluggish traffic, turned his wipers on to clear the spray from a passing truck.  Her home phone was cordless.  It wouldn’t work during a power outage.

When the light ahead turned red, he brought up his contact list, found the number for her cell.

And listened to it ring. 

Cursing in frustration when he got her voicemail, he didn’t bother to leave a message but simply tried the call again.  “Come on, Ava.  Pick up the phone,” he muttered when the light turned green, and a chill danced gleefully across his skin.  He cranked the heat, snarled at traffic, and felt his heart give a painful bump.

Why the hell wasn’t she answering?

When the bump became a skip, Jordan cut behind another truck, shot down an alley.  And pushed harder on the accelerator as he listened to her recorded voice.

AVA folded another pair of jeans, tucked them into her suitcase with hands that weren’t quite steady.  One-eyed Jack glared at her from the windowsill, clearly realizing something was up. 

She hoped she’d be able to keep him with her, wherever she was going.  A safe house of some kind, she guessed.  Complete with armed babysitters of the federal persuasion.  What was she supposed to do all day?  Watch TV?  Paint her nails?  Play gin with whoever happened to be on guard duty?

Hell, she was going to go insane.

She sat Jordan’s gun aside, zipped up the bottom of her suitcase and grabbed the organza bag she used to pack her lingerie.

She’d have to call Katie, she thought as she grabbed underwear, bras.  Have her send out some kind of a mass email to her clients.  Refer them to another vet temporarily – or maybe not so temporarily, depending on how things turned out.  Family emergency, she guessed she could say, and snorted at the idea.  Her family sure qualified, she thought viciously, stuffing red lace on top of white cotton.  Incarcerated father, murderous uncle.  And her mother…

Ava squeezed a camisole in her fist, and closed her eyes.

It was devastating, she realized, to have that little bit of hope snuffed out.  She’d known, of course she’d known, that her beautiful mother had met a violent end.  People always said that not knowing was the hardest part, and one day she might be able to agree that those people were right.  But right now, with the knowledge fresh, and the image she couldn’t help but conjure of that mass grave stuck in her head, Ava could only think that to have that hope ripped away was the cruelest pain of all.

At least, she thought as she wiped a tear from her cheek and moved into the bathroom to start gathering toiletries, her father would finally know his brother for the monster he was.  That it had come at such a price for both of them was more than she was willing to pay, but since that choice had been taken out of her hands by her uncle’s hatred, his greed, she could only try to find the positive, and cling to it. 

If things went well, she would be rid of the shadow he cast over her life once and for all.

If not, Ava realized that she, too, could end up paying with her life.

That obviously wasn’t what she wanted, she thought as she picked up mascara, concealer.  Would her babysitters expect her to wear lipstick when they played gin?