Текст книги "Cold Hearted"

Автор книги: Beverly Barton

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“Take your time. I can wait. I’m off work today.”

He closed the bathroom door. “Lt. McLain’s paid me an early morning visit.”

“Business or personal?”

“I’m not sure, but I can assure your that as far as I’m concerned it’s business.” Rick turned on the sink’s faucets to create background noise, then lowered his voice and asked, “Now what’s the news about Reynolds? Have you located him?”

“In a matter of speaking.”

“Meaning?”

“Jay Reynolds, former employee of the Peachtree Agency, the man who worked with and dated Jordan Price, is dead.”

A cold lump of dread formed in Rick’s chest. “When did he die?”

“Ten years ago.”

“After he left the Peachtree Agency and moved from Atlanta?”

“Nope. He was still in Atlanta and still employed by the Peachtree Agency when he died.”

Rene Burke had lied to him. She’d told him Jay Reynolds had left Atlanta. And there was no way she wouldn’t have known the guy had died. “How old was Reynolds?”

“Thirty. Want to know how he died?”

“Something tells me that it was an accident of some sort.”

“Not exactly. He was beaten to death in the parking deck of his apartment complex. The murder weapon was never found, but the ME felt certain it was either a baseball bat or something similar in size and shape. The report we received states that he was hit over the head repeatedly. After the person killed him, they robbed him. They took his wallet, his watch and two rings.”

“Did the police ever find his killer?”

“No. There were no witnesses. Nobody saw a thing.”

“In cases such as that, the killer is usually male, but not always.”

“You read my mind. We both know that if Reynolds was taken by surprise, a woman could have easily knocked him out first and then beaten him to death.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Rick said. “You’re thinking this is just one more nail in Jordan’s coffin. How many men does this make? Six, if you count her father. It was hard enough to believe that five was a horrible coincidence, but six. Damn, Nic, it can’t be a coincidence.”

“I agree and so does Griff. It would seem that the person who killed Dan Price and possibly his ex-wife may have systematically killed five times before, all of the victims men closely associated with Jordan.”

“But that doesn’t mean she’s the one who killed them.”

“Again, I agree. But if not Jordan, then it has to be someone close to her, someone who has known her for at least a dozen years or more.”

“That includes everyone in her close-knit little family, her stepmother, stepbrother and stepsister. Then there’s Devon Markham, Rene Burke and Darlene Wright.”

“We know for certain that Jay Reynolds was murdered and so was Jane Anne Price. We and the Dade County sheriff’s department believe Dan Price was murdered. What we need to know is, if there’s any proof Jordan’s father, her former boss or her fiancé were also murdered. And if we believe Jordan is innocent, then we should start looking for a motive or motives for the murders. It would certainly help if there had been autopsies performed on all those men.”

“We’d need a court order to have a body exhumed,” Rick said. “And for that we either need some kind of evidence to substantiate our suspicions or permission from the next of kin.”

“Powell’s will send someone to talk to Donald Farris’s widow,” Nic told him. “You’re there in Priceville, so I’ll leave it up to you to talk to Roselynne Harris and Darlene Wright.”

“And say what to them? Tell them we’ve discovered another of Jordan’s men was possibly murdered and we believe that Robby Joe and Wayne Harris were also victims? Believe me, if they think we’re implying that Jordan killed these men, they’ll circle the wagons around her.”

“I see your dilemma. If they think you’re accusing Jordan, they’ll defend her and refuse permission to exhume the bodies. But if you present it differently, say that someone in Jordan’s life has been murdering these men, then they may think they’re a suspect and refuse to cooperate.”

“Either way, we’re still working with the only information we have to date and that information is all but screaming serial killer, and certainly not your usual garden-variety serial killer at that.”

“We have another problem,” Nic said.

“And that would be?”

“We have new information that might relate to two active murder cases. Griff and I disagree whether we’re obligated to share this info with the Dade County sheriff’s department.”

“Let me guess. You believe we should notify Sheriff Corbett and Griff thinks we shouldn’t.”

“I don’t have to ask you which one of us you agree with, do I?”

“Jordan Price is our client and this information can only hurt her,” Rick said.

“What’s that old saying about the truth not hurting anyone unless it should?”

“Do you think she’s guilty, that she really is a black widow who has killed man after man?”

“The evidence points us in that direction, doesn’t it?” Nic said. “But the way I look at it, we have three possibilities: Jordan is indeed a black widow. Or someone close to her has been killing the men in Jordan’s life who have, in some way, harmed her. Or someone close to her hates her and by killing these men has been punishing Jordan, maybe even laying the groundwork for our black widow theory.”

“Maybe Griff should contact Derek Lawrence and ask him to look over the information and draw up a profile on the type of person who could have killed all six men.”

“And Jane Anne Price, too,” Nic reminded him.

“Her killer could be someone else,” Rick pointed out the obvious. “The former Mrs. Price was definitely killed in order to keep her quiet, but whether it was done to protect Jordan or to protect Dan Price or both, we don’t know.”

“Speak to Darlene Wright and Roselynne Harris. Griff and I will duke it out over whether or not to contact Sheriff Corbett.”

“Just remember one thing – you’re not an FBI agent now. You’re in the private detective business. That changes things. Your first allegiance is to your client.”

“Didn’t you forget all about that allegiance when you shared information with Lt. McLain?” Nic reminded him.

“Yeah, I did, and I’ve lived to regret that decision.” The mention of the deputy reminded Rick that the lady in question was waiting for him just beyond the closed door.

“I’ll keep an open mind and not make a hasty decision,” Nic said. “I promise.”

Rick laid his cell phone on the back of the commode and turned off the faucets. He whipped off the towel around his waist and grabbed his briefs from the vanity. His shirt and jeans hung on the door hook. He dressed hurriedly, grabbed his phone, stuck it in his pocket, and then walked into the bedroom.

Haley sat in one of two chairs facing the coal-converted fireplace. When he entered the room, she smiled.

“I’d begun to think you’d forgotten about me,” she told him.

He had almost forgotten about her. “Like I said, the call was business. If you had a problem waiting, maybe you should have considered phoning ahead of time instead of just dropping by.”

“The news must not have been good,” she said. “You seem to be in a bad mood.”

“Why are you here, Haley? If it’s in a professional capacity—”

“Only in a way. Actually, I came by to invite you to breakfast.”

He stared at her, trying to figure out what she was up to. Although he couldn’t be a hundred percent sure that Haley had been the one who leaked the info about Jordan to the press, his gut instinct warned him that he couldn’t trust the lady.

“Breakfast is provided here at the Inn,” he told her as he put on his socks and shoes. “It’s part of the B&B deal.”

“Then invite me to join you.”

“Why so friendly all of a sudden?”

“I want to bury the hatchet. I thought the best way to start was to share some information with you, just as you did with me, to prove that I trust you.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “Why would you do that? What’s in it for you?”

She grinned at him, her expression flirtatious. “We both want the same thing – to find out the truth. Who killed the senator and his ex-wife? The way I look at it, that puts us on the same side. We should be working together, not against each other.”

“Steve Corbett didn’t send you here, so who did?”

She laughed, but it was a nervous, I’m-hiding-some-thing laugh. “We’re not asking you to betray your client, but if we could share information, wouldn’t that help us both?”

“I’ll ask you again – who sent you?”

She huffed, obviously disappointed that her let’s-be-friends tactic didn’t work. “Cy Anderman thought I could talk sense to you.”

“Cyrus Anderman, the DA?”

She nodded. “Cy has contacted the FBI and asked them to look into the possibility that the murders of Senator Price and his ex-wife are the work of a serial killer who murdered Boyd Brannon, Donald Farris, Robby Joe Wright, and Wayne Harris.”

“Good,” Rick said. “Maybe if the FBI gets involved, they can prove that none of those men were murdered.”

“Do you really believe that?

“Whatever you thought you’d get from me, forget it. You’re wasting your time fluttering your eyelashes at me. It’s beneath you, Lt. McLain, to use your feminine charms to try to worm information out of me.”

“Is that what you think I’m trying to do?”

“Isn’t it?”

“Maybe.”

“What do you think I know that’s so important?”

“You tell me.”

“Any information that Powell’s collects for our client belongs to the client,” he said. “If we come across anything that we believe the police should know, Griffin and Nicole Powell decide how to handle it.”

“Okay. I tried. I failed.” Haley shrugged.

“Giving up so easily?”

She sauntered over to him, stopping when only inches separated their bodies. She looked up at him, then ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. “I thought you weren’t interested.”

He grunted. “I’m not. I was just curious to see how far you’d go.”

She glowered at him. “You son of a bitch.”

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

She shook her head as if stunned that he’d turn down her unspoken offer. Then she turned and walked away. When she reached the door, she paused and said, “Watch your back, Rick. If you aren’t careful, you could wind up as dead as all the other men who trusted Jordan Price.”

Chapter 19

“It was a relief when I drove up to the gates to see only a handful of reporters,” Ryan said as he entered the foyer at Price Manor. “I believe all the hullabaloo is finally dying down.”

“We can only hope,” Jordan said.

Ryan leaned over and kissed her cheek. “How are you holding up?”

She laced her arm through his. “By sheer will power alone.”

“If not for this damn investigation, I’d suggest you and Devon take off to the house in Key West for a few weeks. Some sun and sand and complete privacy would do you both a world of good.”

“I’m afraid running away from our problems isn’t an option.”

He searched her face, his gaze sympathetic and caring. Ryan was a fine man, so like Dan in many ways. Claire was a very lucky woman.

“Has Rick Carson arrived yet?” Ryan asked.

“Yes, he arrived about five minutes ago. Tobias told me that he showed Rick into my study and took him some coffee. I was dealing with an unpleasant family matter that held me up.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“No, not really. It’s nothing serious. Just one in a long line of squabbles between Darlene and Roselynne.”

“I thought those two had called a truce for the duration,” Ryan said. “What on earth are they at each other about now?”

When Jordan tugged on his arm, he fell into step alongside her as she led him out of the foyer.

“Would you believe they’re quarreling over a man?”

Ryan chuckled. “You’re joking.”

“No. It seems that Darlene saw Wallace slipping out Roselynne’s back door this morning and she is livid.”

“Why should Darlene care? It’s not as if it’s news to anyone that Roselynne’s morals are questionable.”

“I’m afraid Darlene may have a little crush on Wallace. I have noticed that whenever he has come to Price Manor during the past year or so that she’s managed to be here, also, and always wearing a new outfit and her hair and makeup perfect.”

“Of all the things for you to have to deal with now – a romantic triangle involving your two mothers.”

“Actually, in an odd way, having something that trivial to focus on is a relief. It takes my mind off other things. Serious things.”

Ryan didn’t reply, he simply gazed at her with understanding in his eyes.

When they reached the open door to her study, Jordan released Ryan’s arm and entered first. Standing to the right of the fireplace, Rick held a cup and saucer in his hand. He took a sip of coffee, then eyed Jordan over the rim of his cup.

“Good morning.” Rick glanced from Jordan to Ryan.

“You sounded dead serious when you phoned and asked me to meet you here,” Ryan said. “You mentioned that something has happened that will directly affect Powell’s investigation into Dan’s death.”

Rick placed the cup and saucer on the mantel. “Cyrus Anderman has contacted the FBI and asked them to come on board with the investigation into the senator’s death.”

“Why would the FBI be interested in Dan’s death?” Jordan asked. “Even if Dan was murdered, it’s hardly a case that falls under federal jurisdiction.”

“Serial killers fall under federal jurisdiction,” Rick said.

Jordan’s blood went cold. “Serial killers?”

“This is ridiculous,” Ryan said. “I’ll call Steve and see—”

“There’s not much Steve can do,” Rick told them. “The DA’s calling the shots.” He looked at Jordan. “Anderman’s bought into all the news hype about your being a black widow.”

She couldn’t tell from Rick’s expression what he was thinking. She wanted to cry out to him, “I’m innocent. I swear to you, I have never killed anyone.” But she simply stared at him, her heart aching for him to believe her.

“So, what can we do?” Ryan asked. “Have you notified Camden Hendrix about this latest development?”

“I called him before I did you,” Rick said. “He’s not overly concerned at this point because asking the Bureau to come in on an investigation and their actually doing it are two different things.”

“You must believe that the FBI will take over,” Jordan said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be so worried.” She held up a restraining hand. “And please, don’t try to tell me… us… that you aren’t worried.”

“I’ve spoken not only to Cam, but to Nicole and Griffin Powell. We’re all in agreement that what is needed now are some preemptive measures.”

“Such as?” Ryan asked.

“Before we get into that, there’s something else.” Rick seemed reluctant, as if he dreaded burdening them with this new information.

“For pity’s sake, just say it.” Jordan braced herself, knowing that whatever happened, she had to remain strong. “It couldn’t be any worse than the FBI stepping in to investigate Dan’s death and—”

“Why didn’t you tell us about Jay Reynolds?” Rick asked.

Jordan’s heart stopped for a millisecond. “Jay Reynolds? Why would anything I had to say about Jay be of interest to you or anyone else?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Jordan, maybe because you worked with this man and even dated him several times and he, too, wound up dead, just like so many other men in your life.”

Jordan felt as if he’d backhanded her.

“See here, Carson, I object to your speaking to Jordan in such a manner.” Ryan stepped between Jordan and Rick.

“No, it’s all right.” Jordan gently pushed her brother-in-law aside and walked right up to Rick. “Jay Reynolds was mugged in the parking deck of his apartment building. How on earth could his death have any connection to me whatsoever?”

“It wouldn’t, if five other men in your life hadn’t also died. Bam, bam, bam—” Rick snapped his fingers “—one right after the other. Reynolds makes six. Nobody, including the FBI, is going to believe that all those deaths were mere coincidence.”

“Oh, my God!” Feeling suddenly lightheaded, Jordan swayed ever so slightly.

Rick and Ryan both reached for her, but Rick moved faster and slipped his arm around her waist. He helped her to the nearest chair.

“Do you need some water?” he asked. “Or a stiff drink?”

She shook her head. “No, thanks.”

“Should we call Dr. Carroll?” Ryan asked. “Or perhaps your obstetrician? What’s his name – Lamar? You’re not fully recovered from the miscarriage.”

“No, really, I’m okay. It’s just that I believe Rick is right. It couldn’t be just a coincidence that six men who were a part of my life died, one after the other, over the past dozen or so years.” She closed her eyes and prayed for strength. “It’s possible that two or three deaths could be a coincidence, but not six. Unless we can prove that each death was either from natural causes or truly was an accident, then we have to assume that some, if not all, of them were murdered.”

“And if the same person killed some or all of them,” Rick said, “then the FBI has a serial killer case.”

“I know that I didn’t kill Dan or Boyd or Robby Joe or anyone else,” Jordan said. “So if they were all murdered and I didn’t do it, who did?”

J.C. eased his red Thunderbird off the two-lane county road and onto the gravel path that dead-ended halfway into the woods. The brick chimney and cinder block foundation was all that remained of the old house that had burned down years ago. He got out of the car, leaned against the closed door, and retrieved a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. Just as he flipped open his lighter and lit his cigarette, he heard the gravel crunching as another car pulled up behind his. He took a long drag on the cigarette as he waited for her. He didn’t have to turn around to see who it was. He knew. She had called him half an hour ago and asked him to meet her. Actually she hadn’t asked, she’d ordered.

“Morning, sugar.” The smoke from the cigarette he held in his hand curled upward into the bright morning sunlight. He glanced at her and grinned. She was a damn fine looking woman and an even better piece of ass. His only complaint was that she liked being the aggressor, liked to be in charge when they fucked.

When she approached, he reached out, grabbed her around the waist and hauled her up against him. But when he lowered his mouth to hers, she shoved him away.

“Business first,” she told him. “Pleasure afterward.”

“Sure. Whatever you say.” He brought the cigarette to his lips and took another deep draw.

“Would you like to make a quarter of a million?” she asked as easily as a waitress would ask if he wanted fries with his burger.

“Who do I have to kill?”

She laughed. “You don’t have to kill anyone, just tell me the secret about Jordan’s marriage that you claim to know. You can get big money if what you know is really scandalous, and I mean the more scandalous the better.”

“I thought I’d already butchered Jordan’s reputation when I did what you wanted me to and made a phone call to that reporter on the Daily Gazette and filled him in on all the dirt the Powell Agency dug up on her.”

“You already knew everything Rick Carson told me,” Haley McLain said. “You’re her stepbrother. You could have shared that info with me right after the senator’s murder and I could have gotten the ball rolling before the GBI declared his death a suicide and before Ryan Price hired Powell’s to do a private investigation.”

“Until you came to me, I’d never put two and two together,” J.C. admitted. “I still find it difficult to believe that Jordan might have killed six people.”

“Make that seven. Or are you forgetting about Jay Reynolds?”

“Who is Jay Reynolds?”

“You really don’t know?”

“I don’t have a clue.”

“I’ve been doing some digging of my own and discovered that a guy she used to work with at the Peachtree Agency was mugged and beaten to death about ten years ago. It just so happens that he and Jordan had dated a few times.”

“And you think she killed him?”

“I don’t know,” Haley said. “I really don’t care. As long as we can convince the FBI that there’s a possibility she killed him and six others, that’s all that matters.”

“The FBI is getting involved?”

“Not yet, but after you contact The Chatterbox and tell them all the sordid details of Jordan’s life, including the secret about her relationship with the senator—”

“Hold on just a damn minute. You actually want me to out Dan and Devon’s relationship? You want me to—”

“Dan and Devon?” Haley’s eyes sparkled as realization dawned. “Are you saying what I think you are?”

“Yeah, I’m saying Dan was gay and Devon was his boyfriend. Does that surprise you?”

“A little,” she admitted. “But I suspected there was something odd about Jordan’s marriage and I’d heard rumors about Devon. Now, it all makes sense.” Chuckling wickedly, she danced her fingertips up J.C.’s chest. “You could use two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand dollars, couldn’t you? That’s what this story is worth. Probably more.”

“You’re a heartless bitch, you know that, don’t you?”

She slipped the cigarette from between his fingers, tossed it onto the gravel, and then wrapped her arms around his neck. “The Chatterbox isn’t going to dish out big money just to learn that there’s another corpse in Jordan’s past. You’re going to have to go all the way and make the news as dirty and juicy as possible.”

“Why do you hate Jordan so much?” He looked deep into her eyes, trying to figure out what made her tick.

“I don’t hate Mrs. Price. She doesn’t matter to me one way or another.” Haley brushed her lips against his. “She’s merely a means to an end for me and for Cy. If we can nail Jordan Price for her husband’s murder, it’ll be a feather in my cap and in Cy’s. I want Steve Corbett’s job and Cyrus has political aspirations that could take him to the governor’s mansion.”

“If Jordan is convicted of Dan’s murder, she won’t inherit, will she?”

Haley pulled away from him, her mouth downcast in a frown. “No, she won’t. But that shouldn’t matter to you. It’s not like you’ll ever see a dime of that money. She and the senator washed their hands of you, didn’t they? This way, you come out ahead, with at least a quarter million in the bank.”

“Yeah, you’re right about me, but what about my mother and sister? Jordan takes real good care of them.”

“If you invest your money the right way, you won’t need anybody to support your family. You can do it.” Haley ran her fingertips over his belt buckle. “And who knows, there could be a book deal in your future, even a made-for-TV movie. Think of all the money you’ll make.” She tapped her fingers up and down the fly of his pants.

J.C. grabbed her hand, spread it over his erection, and pressed it down hard against his crotch. He grinned. “You’ve almost persuaded me.”

She undid his belt and unzipped his pants, then reached inside his shorts and freed his sex. Their gazes clashed. She knew what he wanted, what he expected in a non-monetary down payment.

Haley pulled him over into the grass, leading him there by his dick; then she dropped to her knees, took him into her mouth and gave him one of the best damn blow jobs he’d ever had.

Rick walked Ryan to his Mercedes and saw him off with reassurances that Powell’s would continue do all they could to find out the truth. He intended to leave Price Manor himself as soon as he talked to Maleah. He wanted an unbiased opinion about Jordan’s state of mind. This case was simply a job to Maleah. She wasn’t emotionally invested in the outcome.

And you shouldn’t be either.

But he was and there wasn’t much he could do about that fact except maintain a barrier between Jordan and himself.

Jordan looked pale and drawn, almost haggard. He wondered if she’d been sleeping poorly and eating very little. Giving her more bad news this morning certainly hadn’t helped any.

When he started up the steps to the veranda, the front door opened and Jordan walked out, her gaze searching the drive.

Was she looking for him?

“Rick, you aren’t leaving yet, are you?”

He met her halfway in the middle of the veranda. They each stopped suddenly.

“Is there something you need?” he asked.

“I – yes, I was hoping you’d stay for a while.”

“I need to speak to Maleah, then I should—”

“Don’t go. Not yet.”

“I realize you’re probably upset and wondering what’s going to happen next, but I promise you that Powell’s will protect you and do everything possible to find out the truth, not only about the senator’s death, but the others, too, if their deaths affect you or the Price family.”

She reached out and touched him, her fingers gripping his arm tentatively, as if she were uncertain how he would react. “Do you think I’ll be arrested for Dan’s murder?”

“No, not unless they come up with more evidence than they have now. All the suppositions in the world aren’t evidence. Even the most logical theory isn’t evidence.”

“But what about circumstantial evidence? You know people have been convicted—”

He clutched her shoulders. She gasped.

“Trust us to do our jobs. Trust me.”

He shouldn’t have put his hands on her. The temptation to comfort her overruled his common sense. Damning himself for a fool, he pulled her into his arms. As she rested against him, her head touching his chin, she released a quavering sigh and wrapped her arms around his waist.

He pressed his jaw against her temple as he held her. Protectively. Possessively.

“I feel as if I’ve finally lost everything,” she whispered. “Even my sanity. Nothing makes sense anymore. I thought I had reached a point where nothing and no one could ever hurt me, but…” She burrowed her face deeper into his chest and clung to him as if he were her only lifeline.

Was she crying? Had her strong dam of reserve finally broken? God, he hoped so.

But when she lifted her head and looked up at him, her eyes were dry, her expression somber. He sensed her pain, felt it acutely, and would have taken it from her if he could have.

Cry, damn it, cry.

As he held Jordan, he caught a glimpse of movement behind her and looked across the veranda to the front door. Rene Burke stood in the open doorway watching them. When her gaze connected with his, she held up a package and waved it in the air.

Rick slid his hands up the outer edges of Jordan’s arms until he reached her shoulders. “I think Rene needs to speak to us,” he said softly.

Jordan lifted her head and pulled out of his arms, then turned to face her assistant. “Yes, what is it?”

“I’ve been looking through the morning mail and discovered a package—” she held out the small yellow padded envelope “—addressed to you. The label is printed in pencil.”

Rick reached down and grabbed Jordan’s hand. She threaded her fingers through his and gripped tightly.

“Where’s Maleah?” Rick asked Rene.

“She’s waiting for us inside,” Rene replied.

Jordan looked up at Rick. “You’ll stay, won’t you? At least until after I open the package.”

His nonverbal reply of squeezing her hand seemed to be all the reassurance she needed. She released his hand and followed Rene into the house. Just as he started to enter the foyer, his sixth sense warned him that he was being watched. He looked right and left, behind him and then up. A shadow of movement caught his eye. Someone standing in an upstairs window had moved away quickly.

Whoever had been there was gone now.

A weird vibe crept up his spine.

He went into the house and quickly caught up with Jordan and Rene. Not once on the walk from the foyer to her study at the back of the house did Jordan glance over her shoulder to see if he was still there.

Was she that sure of him?

Maleah met them as they entered the study. She eyed Rick inquisitively, but she didn’t say anything.

“Do you want me to open it?” Rene asked.

“No, I’ll do it,” Jordan replied.

Rick held out his hand. “Give it to me and you two step back. I doubt there’s a bomb inside or anything deadly, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

After his comment, Rene couldn’t hand him the package fast enough. Rick took it and examined it thoroughly. With all eyes on him, he ripped open the envelope, upended it, and then shook it. Sheets of white paper held together with a large paperclip slid from the padded container and dropped onto the desk.

Rick picked up the small bundle and looked at the top sheet. It was a copy of Jane Anne Price’s obituary.

After removing the paperclip, he shuffled through the other pages.

“What is it?” Jordan came toward him.

“Copies of obituaries,” he told her.

“Whose?” Rene asked.

Rick went through them, one by one. “Jane Anne Price.” He laid the sheet on the desk. “Daniel Price, Boyd Brannon, Donald Farris, Jay Reynolds, Robby Joe Wright, and Wayne Harris.” He held one final sheet in his hand.

“Who else?” Jordan asked.

He handed the sheet of paper to her. She read it slowly, carefully, then reread it aloud.

“Jordan Helene Price, thirty-four, of Priceville, Georgia is dead. Funeral arrangements will be announced by Benefield Funeral Home. Mrs. Price was a native of Valdosta, Georgia, the only child of Wayne and Helene Harris. She was preceded in death by her parents, her fiancé, Robby Joe Wright, her first husband, Boyd Brannon, and her second husband, Daniel Price.”

Rick snatched the paper out of her hand. “That’s enough.”

Jordan stared at him, a detached look in her eyes.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “Jordan. Jordan!”

She continued staring at him, not moving, not speaking.

“Damn it, Jordan, snap out of it.” He shook her again.

“Am I dead?” she asked half a second before she fainted.

Chapter 20

After parking her car a block from his apartment, she removed the wooden baseball bat from the trunk, slipped it beneath her all-weather coat and held it close to her body. She had followed him from the Peachtree Agency, keeping a discreet distance behind him the entire way. Once she realized that he was going home, she had relaxed, knowing that tonight would be the night. If she could catch him alone in the parking garage, she would put her plan into action.

The autumn air was crisp, the half moon semi-bright, the stars twinkling dimly in the black sky. As she hurried along the sidewalk, rushing to reach the entrance to the basement parking garage, her heartbeat raced as excitement rushed through her body.

She had worn rubber-heeled athletic shoes that she had purchased at the Dollar Store, just as she had bought the cheap all-weather coat and the bat at Wal-Mart. None could be easily traced, certainly not back to her. She would burn everything she wore tonight, including her underwear, and also, the weapon.