Cold Hearted. Beverly Barton
rushed to Jordan, cupped her elbow and said, “Come sit down. Please. Would you like a drink? Ryan can fix you something or I can ring for Tobias—”
“No, I’m all right.” Jordan jerked away from her sister-in-law’s gentle hold and marched across the room, stopping directly in front of the rough-looking Powell agent. Although he wore a suit and tie, he exuded a raw, rugged masculinity that hinted that beneath the neat façade beat the heart of a primitive male.
“We don’t have to do this now, Mrs. Price,” Mr. Carson said.
“We had a full house that weekend because of the Easter holiday. The live-in servants were here. Tobias and Vadonna. My stepchildren, Kendra and Wes Brannon, were both home from college. Dan’s personal assistant, Devon Markham was here, as was my assistant, Rene Burke.”
Rick Carson’s gaze met hers head-on. Neither of them blinked.
“Who has a key to the house and knows the code for the security system?” he asked.
“Really, Mr. Carson, now is hardly the time to—” Claire injected.
“No, no, it’s perfectly all right,” Jordan said. “If Ryan hires the Powell Agency and Mr. Carson heads the investigation, I’m sure he’ll ask far more personal questions than that. We might as well get used to being interrogated.”
“Oh, please, let’s not do this now.” Claire slid her arm through her husband’s and reached for his hand.
“Claire’s right,” Ryan said. “This can wait. Jordan’s near collapse.” He looked pleadingly at Jordan. “I’m sorry. I didn’t handle this very well.”
“No, let’s do this now.” Jordan returned her gaze to Rick Carson. “If there is any possibility that Dan was murdered, I want to know. Consider yourself hired, Mr. Carson.”
Rick glanced from Jordan to Ryan, then looked directly at Nicole.
“Am I to consider this a firm offer?” Nic asked. “If so, then is Powell’s working for you, Ryan, or for Jordan?”
“For both of us,” Jordan replied. “Unless Ryan has any objections.”
“Of course not,” Ryan said. “If you’d like for me to handle the details—”
“And Mr. Carson will be in charge of the investigation, right?” Jordan asked.
“Yes,” Nic replied. “Unless you’d prefer another agent, Rick will head the investigation and will have all of Powell’s resources at his disposal. If, once he begins the investigation, he feels that more agents are needed, he will make the request to you and Ryan for your approval before contacting headquarters. And since y’all are family—” she glanced pointedly at Claire—“Powell’s will offer a discounted rate for our services.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Jordan’s jaw tightened. “Spare no expense. You agree, don’t you, Ryan?”
“Yes, of course,” he replied.
“I’ll fax y’all the contract first thing in the morning and Rick will return and begin the investigation tomorrow,” Nicole explained, then walked over and offered her hand to Jordan, who accepted it immediately. “We’ll find out what happened to Dan. I promise. If he was murdered…” She squeezed Jordan’s hand, then released it and nodded to Rick. “We should get going.”
“I’ll see y’all out,” Claire said, then followed her cousin and Rick Carson as they left the study.
When she and Ryan were alone, Jordan stared at the new sofa which had replaced the one where only weeks ago she had discovered her husband’s lifeless body on Good Friday. On first awakening that morning, she had gone to his room, hoping to share the good news of her pregnancy with him while everyone else was still asleep. But when she saw that his bed had not been slept in, she suspected he had fallen asleep in his study the night before, as he occasionally did. Upon entering the study, she had called his name, but he hadn’t answered.
Now, with her eyes wide open, she could still envision the exact moment she realized Dan was dead. Before she noticed the bullet hole in his right temple, a single wound just above his cheekbone, she saw the dark red blood that discolored the gold silk cushion under his head and the gun that he clutched in his hand.
“Jordan?”
Ryan’s soft, smooth voice snapped her out of her thoughts and brought her back to the present moment.
He laid his hand on her shoulder. She heaved a deep sigh.
“I don’t know which I hate more,” Ryan said. “The thought that Dan would actually kill himself or that someone murdered him.”
Jordan shrugged off Ryan’s hand and walked away. Pausing as she reached out to open the door, she glanced over her shoulder. “If Dan was murdered, I want his murderer found and punished. But I do not want Dan’s good name sullied. I’ll hold you personally responsible for making sure of that.”
“God, Jordan, do you think I want anyone to find out the truth about Dan or about his relationship with you?”
“Then see to it that what was our personal business remains just that.” She narrowed her gaze, issuing her brother-in-law a gentle warning. “And from now on, no more secret meetings with the Powell Agency. I’m to be included in any discussions with Mr. Carson. Is that understood?”
She didn’t give Ryan a chance to reply. She’d made her point. Her brother-in-law’s motives had been admirable—he had wanted to spare her more anguish, especially today. But he had underestimated her as so many people did. Even after knowing her for several years, he saw only the façade that she presented to the world. Few people knew the real Jordan Harris Brannon Price. Sometimes, she wasn’t sure she knew herself. She had buried her true self beneath so many protective layers in order to survive that very little, if any, of the sweet, innocent, somewhat naïve girl she’d once been still remained.
Nothing in her life had turned out the way she had hoped it would. None of her youthful dreams had come true. The girl who had been engaged to Robby Joe Wright, who had longed to be a grade school teacher and the mother of at least three children, was only a vague, melancholy memory.
Twice before, fate had given her two choices: let tragedy defeat her or make her stronger. She had that same choice now. And if she knew nothing else about herself, she knew one thing—Jordan Price was a survivor.
Rick kicked back in Nicole’s Cadillac Escalade and relaxed as they flew along Interstate 75, halfway between Priceville and Chattanooga. The lady drove like a bat out of hell, slowing down only when absolutely necessary. Right now she was speeding along at 85 and the limit was 70.
“If you don’t want to head this case, I can assign someone else.” Nic cast a sidelong glance his way.
“What makes you think I don’t want the case?”
Nic chuckled softly. “Oh, maybe your obvious animosity toward Jordan Price for one thing. You can’t go into an assignment with an open mind if you’ve already found the client guilty.”
“You think I believe Mrs. Price killed her husband?”
“Do you?”
“Do I think the lady is capable of murder? I’m not sure. Maybe. She’s one cool customer.”
“Just because she wasn’t hysterical with grief today doesn’t mean she didn’t love Dan.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t,” Rick agreed. “But look at the facts. He was twenty years older, rich and powerful, and his death may not have been suicide. What’s the first rule of thumb in a case such as this?”
“Suspect the wife.”
“Right. And add to that scenario a young lover and you’ve got a recipe for murder.”
“You’re assuming that Jordan