Cold Hearted. Beverly Barton
“You’re a worthless shit.”
He grinned, rubbed his semi-erect penis against her and grabbed her butt. “Yeah, but I’m your worthless shit, aren’t I?”
Rene pulled away from him. “I’m not fool enough to think you’re exclusively mine. Not when I know you’ll fuck just about anything with a pussy.”
J.C. laughed. “Honey, you know you’re my favorite pussy.”
Ignoring him as he turned and headed for the bathroom, Rene inspected herself in the mirror. She needed lipstick. Otherwise, she’d do.
She hadn’t seen Jordan since breakfast this morning and it was past time she checked in with her boss. It had taken her a while to adjust to working for Jordan instead of with her. They had met when they’d been in college, both working two jobs to pay their tuition. A few years after graduation, Jordan had called her out of the blue and offered her a position at the Atlanta PR firm where Jordan had just received a promotion. They had remained friends ever since and when Jordan married Senator Daniel Price and needed a personal assistant, she’d offered her the job. She had snapped it up posthaste.
Halfway along the upstairs hall and lost in her thoughts, Rene almost ran over Darlene Wright, who stepped aside just in time to prevent being hit head-on.
“Good afternoon.” Rene spoke to the old biddy simply out of courtesy.
Turning up her sharp, birdlike nose, Darlene gave Rene a condescending glance. “Have you seen Jordan?”
“Not since breakfast. Why?”
“I know she was expecting Mr. Carson, the Powell agent, and I wanted to make sure she’s all right and that his arrival didn’t upset her.”
“Why should his being here upset her? After all, she hired him, didn’t she?”
Darlene snorted. “I suspect that Ryan gave her little choice. If he had simply accepted the medical examiner’s findings, it would be unnecessary for Jordan to suffer more than she already has.”
“You’re right.” As much as she hated to agree with this snooty old bitch, she, too, didn’t want to see Jordan put through the wringer. “But all we can do is stand by and try to help her as much as we can. And pray that Dan wasn’t murdered.”
“I’m sure he wasn’t. After all, who would want to kill a lovely man like Dan?”
“He was a sweetie, wasn’t he?” Rene sighed. “Our poor Jordan. She has the damnedest luck with men.”
Darlene gasped. “What a terrible thing to say!”
“Oh, crap. You know I didn’t mean anything by what I said. I just meant if anybody’s had enough tragedy for two lifetimes, it’s our Jordan.”
“If my Robby Joe had lived…” Her voice trailed off on a fragile, whispery moan.
Damn, she didn’t want to hear about Robby Joe being the love of Jordan’s life. Not again. Not today. If Darlene had spouted off that tale of woe once, she’d done it a million times.
“Look, if I see Jordan, I’ll tell her you’re looking for her.” Rene eased around Darlene and headed straight for the back stairs.
“She’s not in her study,” Darlene called. “And she’s not in her room.”
“Okay. Thanks for telling me.”
Two places not to look for Jordan: her bedroom and her study.
She’d search for her boss, and if she didn’t find her soon, she’d try calling Jordan on her cell phone. But she doubted that would do any good. Jordan’s phone was probably turned off to prevent taking unwanted calls.
After scouring the downstairs, even the kitchen and bathrooms, Rene stepped out the back door, pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her pants pocket and lit the cigarette. She had all but given up smoking, but in dealing with Dan’s death, she had reverted to an old bad habit for solace. Drawing in deeply, she sighed with contentment as she paced back and forth on the porch.
Suddenly she heard soft weeping. The sound came from behind the hedges that screened the small back porch from the patio surrounding the pool. She took another draw on the cigarette, stepped off the porch and walked out into the yard. As she turned the corner of the tall hedgerow, she felt a prickle of apprehension and sensed she was being watched. After looking right and left, she glanced up, her gaze scanning the second-story windows. A dark shadow stood at one of the windows.
Rick Carson stared down, but not at her.
She followed his line of vision and gasped. Holy shit!
Rene made a beeline to where Devon stood on the patio, Jordan wrapped in his arms. When she approached, Jordan lifted her head from Devon’s chest.
“Is something wrong?” Jordan asked.
“You two are putting on quite a show for our resident detective,” Rene told them. “Don’t look now, but Rick Carson is watching you two from his bedroom window and God only knows what he’s thinking.”
Chapter 5
Rick was definitely a fish out of water with this bunch. To start with, he was underdressed for dinner. But how was he to know the other three men would be in suits and ties? He supposed it didn’t matter. After all, he wasn’t really a guest, just another employee and he wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d been asked to eat in the kitchen with Tobias and Vadonna. As he entered the dining room, he ran his hand over his face. He should have shaved again since his beard grew fast and despite having shaved this morning, he already sported a five o’clock shadow. As for his clothes: he wore jeans, a blue chambray shirt and a lightweight brown twill jacket. He had dropped the only suit he owed, the one he’d worn to the funeral yesterday, by the cleaners on his way out of town this morning.
Passing his gaze over the room’s occupants, he immediately noticed that Jordan was missing. As he surveyed the large dining table set for ten, he got a whiff of an overly sweet but probably expensive perfume.
“Well, honey, you stick out like a sore thumb, don’t you?” The woman’s voice whispered in his ear. When he turned to his left, he glanced down at the overblown bleached blonde who was grinning at him as if she knew all his secrets. “Of course, some of us prefer our meat raw.” Her laughter radiated from deep in her throat, a husky, lifetime smoker’s rumble.
He cocked one brow and smiled at the woman who was a good 20 years his senior. “I believe we met briefly yesterday. I’m Rick Carson. I’m from the Powell Private Security and Investigation Agency.”
She took his hand in hers and held it. Her smile accentuated the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. Laugh lines. He’d bet this woman had done a lot of laughing in her life.
“I’m Roselynne Harris. Jordan’s mama.” When he looked at her questioningly, she amended her statement. “Well, stepmama, actually. I married her daddy when Jordan was twelve. But I love that gal as if she were my own, love her just like I do Tammy and J.C.”
“Tammy and J.C.?”
“My other kids. Jordan’s Daddy adopted my boy and girl. He was a good man. Jordan takes after him.” She pointed first to the petite brown-eyed, brown-haired woman standing in the corner alone. Sad-faced and plain, Tammy apparently sensed her mother’s scrutiny and turned to stare wide-eyed at Roselynne. “I named her after Tammy Wynette. You know she was the queen of country music. ‘Stand by Your Man’ was one of her big hits.” Roselynne’s gaze traveled around the room, lighting on the lanky, blond guy who was talking to the two teenagers. From their strong physical resemblance—dark hair and eyes, tall and slender—the teens could easily pass for twins.
“That’s my boy there.” Roselynne pointed at the blond. “That’s my J.C., my pride and joy. Named him after Mr. Country Music himself, Johnny Cash. I was on my way to a career as a country