Serendipity (Southern Comfort) (8 page)

He was a man who adored his family.

And he was a man who knew his family well.  It always amazed him that the five rambunctious boys he and Addison had produced had turned into five very fine – yet very different – men. 

But of all his sons, he shared the closest connection with Jordan. 

It wasn’t preference, or favoritism.  He loved each of his children as a father should.  It was simply a matter of like understanding like.

And despite the fact that Jordan smiled and laughed, traded insults with his brothers and Clay, and chatted amicably with his sisters-in-law over dinner, Tom could sense the shadow of trouble in his son’s eyes.  So while the others were involved with the tail end of an egg hunt in the backyard, Tom carved out a few moments alone by asking Jordan to help him bring out more beverages to stock the cooler. 

Normally he would have enjoyed wheedling out the problem with clever discourse and quiet cunning, but as time was an issue he decided to cut to the chase.

“You want to talk about it?” Tom stacked a couple of six packs of Blue Moon in his son’s arms.  He rooted around in the back of the fridge, found the juice boxes that his granddaughter liked best, and balanced a couple of them on top of Jordan’s load.

“Not particularly.”  Jordan watched as Tom continued his search of the refrigerator.  “If you’re looking for that container of plain, non-fat yogurt that you use to hide your Girl Scout cookies, Mom threw it out.”

Tom froze.  Then stared at his son with horror.  “She threw it out?”

“Mmm-hmm.  The date was expired.”

“So you knew what was in there, and that she was going to toss it, and you just… let her?”

Jordan looked at him with amusement.  “What was I supposed to say?  You can’t throw that expired dairy product away because Dad uses it to stow the sugar and saturated fat he’s not supposed to have?”

“You’re a clever boy.  You could have come up with something.”

“What’s it worth to you?”  Jordan’s grin was evil.

“Damn, son.” Tom closed the refrigerator door.  “I believe I’ve underestimated you.  You took the container out of the trash and hid it, didn’t you?”

“Leave me the autographed ball in your will and I just might tell you where the cookies are.”

“Are you anxious to kill me off?”

“No, you’re doing a fine job of that with doughnuts and cookies.”

“Hmm.  Funny that you’ve never bothered to lecture me before.  It’s also funny that you’ve neatly turned the tide of conversation away from your problems and toward my own. You think I wouldn’t notice?”

Jordan shifted the weight of the drinks into one hand so that he could pat Tom’s shoulder with the other.  “I just wanted to be sure all that bran and oatmeal Mom’s been feeding you hadn’t muddled your brain.”  He jerked his chin toward the pantry.  “I hid the Thin Mints in the bottom of the box of Wheaties.”

“The breakfast of champions.”

“Exactly.”  His son’s grin mirrored his own. “And now that we have that settled, let me answer your question.  The Fuller case is weighing on me like a ton of bricks,” he admitted as the smile disappeared.  “A woman I once cared about seems to be missing and may have tried to maim me.  And I have the worst case of sexual frustration that I’ve experienced since high school.  Other than that, I’m dandy.”

“Well.”  Tom stroked his chin as he considered his son’s troubles.  Jordan was, always had been, the family crusader.  And carried responsibility like a shield. “The only thing I can say about the first problem is that you’re a brilliant attorney.  But sometimes even brilliant attorneys can only practice the law to the best of their abilities, and leave the trickier issue of justice in the hands of
a higher power
.”

“I know.  I know.  It’s just… easier said than done.”

“Number two.” Tom shoved another six-pack of Coke at his son. “Never piss off a redhead.  But when, and if, you get proof she had something to do with that, you throw the damn book.  And as to the third…”  He put his arm around Jordan and steered him toward the door.  “If you can’t figure out a way to fix that, then you’re no son of mine.”

JORDAN considered how to do just that while he bounced his nephew on his knee and fought off the well-meaning intentions of the child’s mother. Jack’s wife was a romance novelist, and tended to take the whole matchmaking thing a step or ten too far. 

“Caitlin, I know you have my best interests at heart, but I have no interest in being set up with any more of your friends.”

The baby gurgled and spit up, and Caitlin wiped a cloth across her son’s mouth before turning deceptively innocent eyes on Jordan.  The angelic look was a crock.  She was an out of control cupid, and there was a bulls-eye on his ass. 

“It’s not a set up, Jordan.  Simply an introduction.  Katie’s a wonderful young woman, very lovely, and I thought that you might enjoy her company.”

“Uh-huh.  And while I’m enjoying her company, would I be expected to provide a meal, a movie or sexual favors?”

“Honestly, Jordan.  I was only going to suggest that you meet her for a couple of drinks.”

His nephew made a fumbling attempt to wrap his pudgy fingers around Jordan’s nose. “Don’t listen to her, Caleb.  Today it’s drinks, tomorrow you’re trading your Oshkosh B’Gosh for a rented tux.”  The baby laughed, drool running from a crooked grin.  God, the poor little sucker looked exactly like his father.

Caitlin’s pretty mouth twisted into a pout.

“Is this guy giving you trouble, sugar?”  Clay strolled over, liquored up and mellow, and swung a companionable arm over Caitlin’s shoulder.   

“I simply wanted to introduce my favorite brother-in-law to a woman I know,” she told Clay, “and he’s accusing me of all manner of vile things.”

Jordan rolled his eyes.  They were all her favorite brother-in-law, depending on whose love life she’d decided to meddle in. “Let me tell you about the last time she talked me into one of these introductions.”  He stood and handed the baby off to Caitlin so that he could shift his attention to Clay.

“About four months ago, I made the mistake of letting Caitlin set me up with one of her friends.  Now don’t look at me like that, Caitlin
– it was a mistake, and you know it
.  Anyway,” he turned back at Clay.  “This girl was a cute little redhead from Caitlin’s book club.  We met for dinner, had a nice time, took in a movie about a week later.  Things were going along fine, and after a fairly interesting make-out session on her couch I began to entertain possibilities.
A
pparently
, she
began to entertain some possibilities of her own.  So she decided to pay me a visit one day, wearing a raincoat and nothing else.”

Caitlin bit her lip, but Clay looked at him like he’d sprouted another head.  “Let me get this straight.”  He tilted his beer toward Jordan.  “Your sister-in-law hooks you up with an attractive female who acts out one of every man’s fantasies, and you’re… complaining?”

“I was in the middle of a trial when she decided to act
it
out. Literally.  She sh
owed up in the courtroom
.”

“Look, you made him choke.”  Caitlin pounded Clay on the back.

“Yeah, give me another three or four decades and I’m sure I’ll find the whole thing funny, too.”

“I’m sorry, Jordan.  And I know it was all my fault.”  Merriment danced in Caitlin’s eyes when she turned to Clay to explain.  “You see, there’s a scene very similar to what Jordan just described in one of my novels.  I’m afraid Miranda read it and, well, got some ideas.”  Laughter bubbled out before she could stop it.  “But I swear, Jordan. Katie’s not the raincoat type.”

An ant crawled up the back of Jordan’s leg, and he reached down to swat it.  “Did you meet her through your book club?”

“Well, yes.”

“Does she read romance novels?”

“Of course.”

“I’ve heard enough.”  He threw his arms to his sides, an umpire declaring the runner out.  “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Just because she enjoys a good love story and has auburn hair doesn’t make her a stalker.”

“Well, you just clinched it.  I can’t have drinks with her because I’m through with redheads.”  Thoughts of Leslie Fitzsimmons – yet another redhead – brought an uncomfortable little twist in his gut.  “Case closed.” 

Grace
,
Jesse’s two-year-old
,
toddled over, and Jordan picked her up and tossed her into the air amid peals of laughter.  Her pink dress was covered in juice, there was something dark and sticky in her tumble of blonde curls, and her chin bore the melted remains of a chocolate Easter bunny.  When Jordan set her down Finn charged after her to lick her face. 

“Oh, come on Jordan.  It’s just drinks.”

“Yeah, come on Jordan.”

Jordan looked at Clay with irritation.  “If you’re so game, Clay, why don’t you go?”

“That’s a great idea!” Caitlin lit up so brightly that Jordan and Clay both blinked.  “You guys can double up.  I’m sure Katie has a friend she could bring along.  That way there’s no pressure.”

“Okay.” Clay was clearly much more wasted than Jordan thought.  

“Clay, you’re here to help me with a case, not play matchmaker.  If I want a date, I can get my own.”

“You weren’t having too much luck at the park today.”

Jordan sent him a fulminating look.  “A temporary setback, and none of your damn business.”

“Now, Jordan.”  Clay sat his empty bottle on the step and rested both hands on Jordan’s shoulders.  “That thing about all work and no play isn’t just a cliché.  Trust me when I tell you that sometimes it helps to step away from the situation so that you can gain a little perspective.  We can start as early as you like tomorrow, and by, oh… let’s say seven o’clock we should be ready for a break.  A couple of drinks, some conversation.  Clears the mind, son.”

Jordan scrubbed his hand across his face.  “I can’t believe this.  What happened to male solidarity?”

“One word: raincoat.”   The traitor winked at Caitlin.  “You think your friend would be interested in getting together tomorrow?”

“Wild horses wouldn’t keep her away.” 

“Well then.  It sounds like we have ourselves an introduction.”

THE bright light of Easter Sunday had softened toward dusk by the time Ava pulled into her drive.  Dinner was going to be late, but Lou Ellen wasn’t one to mind the clock.  Besides, Ava’d had too much damn fun to allow guilt to ruin it.

She’d driven halfway to Florida and back, passing every police station she could find along the way. Then she’d stumbled on a roadside festival, disappearing into the crowd.

The cotton candy had been nearly as tasty as the goon’s frustration.

Though she had to give this one credit.  He’d stuck like a bloodthirsty tick on a plump hound.  And by the deep red flush that had crept up his neck whenever she waved at him, she didn’t think he was too happy with his assignment. 

Good.  That made two of them.

Running her fingers through her tangled hair, Ava smiled at herself in the rearview mirror.  Nothing like making one of her uncle’s trained dogs jump through hoops to brighten the day. 

Her smile turned to a grimace as she stepped from the car and noticed the state of her dress.  The wrinkles would come out when she had it dry cleaned, but she wasn’t so sure about the grease stain from the carrousel.  If she ruined one more garment due to dealing with her uncle’s shenanigans she was going to be seriously pissed. 

Gravel crunched behind her, and she turned.

The switchblade flashed, and Ava felt the bite of it under her chin.

“Hola
.”  The word was no less menacing for its pleasant tone, the goon’s face no less threatening because it smiled handsomely.  His skin was dark and clear, and a leather band restrained hair that was thick, black, and long.  But his eyes told the real story.  They were flat, desolately cold. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”  Ava wasn’t afraid, not yet.  But she was cautious, and that kept her from flicking the knife away with an angry hand.

“I might ask you the same thing.  You take foolish chances, querida, when you play your little games with me.  You tried my patience today.”  He moved closer, until her back was against her car.  Her thighs pressed intimately against his.  He wasn’t that much taller than she, but his presence was disproportionately huge.  His breath floated warm and almost sweet against her skin.

Despite herself, Ava shuddered.  This man was unlike the others in her uncle’s employ – smooth, well spoken. 

And somehow, that made him worse. 

“You don’t scare me.” 

“No?”  The blade pressed, just short of penetration.  “Then you’re a fool.  I could kill you with a flick of my wrist.” 

“You wouldn’t dare.” Ava was determined to hold her ground despite the curl of unease in her belly.  “My father…” if either of them moved, just the slightest bit, it would be her blood that spilled. “My father would skin you like an animal.” 

“Your father is in jail.”