Serendipity (Southern Comfort) (39 page)

“My mother,” she repeated, and eased ever so slightly closer to the bed.  “We know my uncle had her killed.  Jordan saw the grave.  Were you there?  Did you do it?”

He blinked, and brought his knife hand up to scratch his head.  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.  I wouldn’t know your uncle if he bit me on the ass, and unless your mother was about one when she had you, I can’t imagine we’ve been acquainted.  I generally don’t do old ladies.  That first bitch wasn’t past thirty, and hell, the little blonde with the laptop was only nineteen.”

She felt the mattress against her thighs.  And slipped another button free.  “I didn’t realize Carlos had so many women giving him trouble. What, he’s knocking off the daughters and girlfriends of men who cross him now?”

He stared at her for a full five seconds.  “I don’t know who Carlos is, and I’m sick of hearing you talk.  Take the shirt off.  Now.”

When he aimed the gun at her head, Ava dropped the shirt.  But couldn’t stop herself from asking.  “Did...” God, this was hard.  “Did Ricardo give you the order, then?”

“Bitch, if you don’t stop tossing all these crazy names at me, I’m going to have to cut out your tongue anyway, and screw the repercussions.  Your bra.  I want to get a look at your tits.”

Cut out her…

It dawned on her that the situation just might be even more dire than she’d suspected.  “You’re.”  No.  Please, no.  “You’re him.  The one who murdered those women.”  Jordan hadn’t believed the man who’d killed himself in jail was guilty.  She remembered that now. 

The man smiled again, and she finally saw it in his eyes.  Not the coldness of a contract killer.  But the sadistic pleasure of a sociopath.

“Very good.  You go to the head of the class.  Bra,” he said again, but Ava’s hands had frozen.  When she’d thought him to be her uncle’s man, at least it was the kind of danger she understood.

But this… she whimpered before she could stop it.

He chuckled, and taking the tip of his knife, flicked her bra apart himself.

A noise sounded on the front stairs, and her eyes met his over the torn fabric.  “Well damn.  Looks like lover boy is home early.”

JORDAN did his best to ease through the door from the garage without so much as a squeak of hinges.

And without letting panic propel him into a situation that could get both himself and Ava killed.

Ava.  His mind swerved a little on her name, threatening to propel him after all, but he’d heard her voice just moments ago, knew she was still alive, and was determined to keep her that way. 

So he’d crept through the same window Bender had come through – he’d cut the glass, the bastard.  Jordan’s mind threatened to swerve again – hating the seconds it took him to toss the brick on the stairs, but wanting to distract Bender.

If Bender thought Jordan was returning, he – please, God – would focus his attention on that, and not on Ava.

He didn’t want to give him time to focus on Ava.  He’d seen what Bender’s focus could do.

He crept through the kitchen, feet bare, eyes seeking, and noted the spilled contents of Ava’s purse on the table.  Her phone, her twenty-two were both missing.  So Bender was almost certainly armed.

Had he used the twenty-two to disarm Ava?  Or did the bastard use his knife?

  Dropping into a crouch, Jordan duck-walked toward the bedroom, using the living room furniture as cover. 

Come on, you little prick, Jordan thought as he edged closer to the door.  Come out where I can see you.  But the bedroom remained silent.

Sweet God, he considered as his throat worked, as every muscle in his body tensed.  Had he miscalculated, horribly?  Had he simply pushed Bender into doing the unthinkable?

But then he heard it, that low murmur that made fear crescendo even as his heart sang.  “I won’t let you hurt him.”

And the answering snort.  “Like you have a choice.”

When she let out a muffled scream, trying to warn him “Jordan, don’t –” he burst into the room, coming in low, as a shot splintered the doorframe.  Ava and Bender grappled for the gun.  Keeping his movements short and tight, Jordan managed to grab the gun and pull until Bender stumbled toward him.  With a twist of the wrist the gun fell to the ground, spinning out of sight.

But Bender was quick.  He had Ava pulled tight against him, knife to her throat.  “Don’t think I won’t do it.”  His voice was shaky, but his eyes were calm.

“I know you will.”  Jordan kept his eyes on Bender’s, because looking at Ava would be a distraction he couldn’t afford. 

Her arms and stomach were bare, her bra torn. 

If he thought about that, he’d go crazy.

So he focused in on Bender.  He had a good five inches, probably thirty pounds on the younger man, but he knew better than to underestimate an opponent because of his size.  Not to mention he wasn’t sure where the twenty-two might be.  He had to assume Bender had Ava’s gun. And more importantly, he had Ava. 

And nothing left to lose. 

“What did you do?”  Bender angled his head.  “Throw a rock on the stairs so I’d think you were coming in the front?”

“Brick,” Jordan said, moving a little closer.  He needed Bender to focus on him.

“Ah.”  The kid nodded.  “You take one more step, my knife might slip.  What tipped you off?” he continued.

“Found your van.”  Jordan shifted.  Put his weight on the balls of his feet.  “Storm knocked a tree limb down, so I left my car on the street and cut through the alley.  And I wondered, why would Bender be parked here?  Then I remembered something Sonya Kuosman’s fiancé said about their broken window, and how Mackenzie’s Wright’s car was vandalized.  Basic deduction.”

“Wow.”  Bender eased toward the corner, tightening his grip on Ava.  “How’s that for my bad luck?  Or your good luck, depending on your viewpoint.” 

“Serendipity,” Jordan agreed.  The kid was going for the gun on the floor.  Maybe he hadn’t kept the twenty-two on him.  “I seem to be having a streak.”

“Well, I hate to break your run, but you do realize I can’t let you and your girlfriend live.”

“If you hurt her, I’ll kill you.”

Jordan could see that his matter-of-fact tone struck home.  “I’m sure you could try.”  But the kid looked less sure of himself.  Until he angled his head again.  “You know what’s missing here?  Sirens.  Surely you called the police.”

“Thinking your uncle will save you?”  Jordan moved forward as Bender moved back.  “Or,” he thought of what he’d learned about the killer from Clay’s profile “maybe you want him here, so he can realize what a fool you’ve made of him.  It would have been so much easier for you to pop me on the street.  Or when I was running in the park.  Anywhere, really. But you had to draw me out, prove how clever you were, didn’t you?  Had to set it up like a little game.  Well guess what, Robert.  Ava there?”  He risked a glance.  Was relieved to see what he needed to in her eyes.  “She’s a material witness for the FBI, so turns out I called the feds.  And more than that, she’s not the kind of woman who’s just going to lie down when someone grabs her.  Elbow.”

When he called it out, Ava pulled Bender’s arm down, swung her hip out, and rammed her elbow into his knee.  Surprised by the attack, Bender lost his grip on the knife and she turned inward, kneeing him in the head.

Swelling with pride, Jordan used his body like a battering ram and plowed Bender into the nightstand.

Something shattered. Ava screamed and Jordan rolled so that she could scramble away from the tangle of limbs.  The kid brought his knee up, catching Jordan in the groin.  But he blinked through the pain and smashed his fist into Bender’s face. 

“You little son of a bitch.” He heard more than felt the crunch of bone on bone.  “I’m going to kill you with my bare hands.”

“Don’t call me that.  Don’t call me that.”  Enraged, his mouth bleeding, Bender stretched his arm out to reach for the knife. 

“Think again.”  Ava kicked it away with her foot, and pointed Jordan’s Glock at Bender’s head.

When Jordan rammed his fist into Bender again, and again – because let’s face it, it felt damn good – his arm was grabbed from behind, his brother’s voice sounding in his ear.  “Stop.  Jordan, stop.  I know it’s tempting, but you can’t kill him.  The nice officers behind me might object.  And, um, Ava?”

Jordan looked up, met Ava’s eyes before she shifted them toward Jesse.  “I’m Agent Wellington.  Jesse.  Nice to meet you.  And I’d really like it if you’d hand me your weapon.  Butt first.  That’s the way. And I believe this shirt belongs to you.”

Her hand started shaking after Jesse took the gun.  And her eyes were wide when she looked at Jordan.  “Elbow.”  She lifted it up.

And despite everything, Jordan laughed.

“LET me take that,” Jordan cajoled, and grabbed the empty casserole dish in his wife’s hands.  “There are enough able bodied people here to help clear the table.  You should be sitting down.”

Ava frowned, and tugged on the dish. “I may look like a beached whale,” she said testily.  “But I’m perfectly capable of standing on my own two feet.”

Jordan grinned.  Was she ever.  He’d never met a person so adept at taking whatever curves life pitched, and batting them back like a champ. 

“I know that, honey.”  He shifted, cagily snagging the dish – a remnant from the New Year’s dinner they’d just enjoyed with the rest of the growing Wellington family – and dropped his free hand to her rounded belly.  “But there are two little people inside you almost ready to come out.  No one’s going to confuse you with Shamu if you let the rest of us clean up.”

“You’re lucky I can’t see my feet, or I’d plant one on your ass.”

“I’m lucky, period.”  He dropped a kiss on her lips.

“Nice save,” she said against his mouth.

“I thought so.”  When she wound her arms around his neck, he slid deeper into the kiss than he’d intended.

“Get a room,” Jordan’s younger brother Justin suggested as he walked by with an armload of plates.

Still wrapped up in his wife, Jordan’s free hand connected to his brother’s biceps.

“Ouch!”  Justin nearly bobbled the plates.  “Hey, I’m back on call in a few hours.  Don’t mess with the arm that wields the scalpel.”

Jordan smiled into Ava’s eyes as his brother walked away.  “Go sit down,” he coaxed again, and she reluctantly acquiesced. 

As he watched her waddle – walk, he corrected, somewhat desperately.  She’d scalp him if she knew he’d even thought the other word – toward his parent’s family room, he contemplated his incredible good fortune.

Last month they’d watched her father deliver testimony that had resulted in Carlos Martinez being sentenced to several life sentences.  His empire had crumpled around him like a house of cards, brought down at the hands of the brother he’d betrayed.  Ava’s father’s testimony had earned him a plea bargain that would considerably shorten his time in prison, giving him hope that with good behavior he’d be paroled in time to get to know his grandchildren.

Lorena Martinez’s body had been positively identified, and buried with due respect and ceremony in the cemetery near the church where she’d been abducted.  Ava had handled the entire thing with remarkable composure, clutching her mother’s rosary in one hand, the other tucked into Jordan’s.  She’d been surrounded by her friends and his family – her family now – for the kind of support that still brought a tear to his wife’s eye when she thought no one was looking.

Robert Bender sat in jail awaiting trial.

Jordan tried to feel sympathetic instead of vindicated whenever he came across Jeff Simpson – after all, the Internal Affairs investigation had shown that the man had neither tampered with evidence nor had any inkling what his nephew was up to – but really, he was only human, and Simpson had behaved like an ass.  

“Are you going to stand there all night, son, or are you going to take that dish into the kitchen?”

Jordan snapped out of his reverie with a start, then smiled at his father, patiently waiting for Jordan to quit blocking the doorway.  “Sorry.  Just taking a moment to appreciate the scenery.”

Tom followed his son’s gaze toward the family room, where Ava sat near the fireplace, hands draped protectively over her abdomen.  The fifty degree weather hardly warranted the crackling fire in the hearth, but she looked so beatific sitting there, smiling at little Grace, that Jordan felt warm all over.  He’d build her a dozen fires if she wanted them.   

“Are you ready?” 

Jordan understood that his father was talking about his impending fatherhood, as opposed to making his way to the kitchen.  He took a deep – and admittedly shaky – breath.  “As I’ll ever be.”  He cast a questioning gaze toward his dad.  “Were you scared when Mom was this close to her due date with Jack?”

“Shitless,” Tom said succinctly.

Jordan laughed.  It was exactly what he needed to hear. 

His gaze drifted back toward Ava.  While neither of them had expected their first joking discussion about fertility to have… well, already taken root, so to speak, they’d been ecstatic after the shock had finally worn off.  They both wanted a family, the kind two people nurtured until it grew and blossomed, ripe with love.