A Night of Southern Comfort (15 page)

Finally, he slid into the seat of his booth, opened the document in his hands, and spread it out on the table in front of him. The words swam before him….
reinstatement in the FBI
…
congratulations
…
report for duty
. They had no meaning at all.

He crumpled the paper in his hands. This was not the answer to his prayers. It was his death warrant. He’d killed any chance he’d had at a real life.

Chapter Thirteen

She was going to blow up the damn doorbell.

Michaela stumbled out of her bedroom. The person on her doorstep possessed the persistence of a Mary Kay lady who was one sale short of the pink convertible. She didn’t want company and she’d made that clear to Theresa when she’d called earlier. Her best friend had heard about the scene at the Southern Comfort and all Theresa wanted was to find Jackson Cantrell and string him up by his balls.

But in spite of everything, Michaela still had a fondness for that part of Jackson’s anatomy. Emasculating him wouldn’t make her feel better. She’d used all of her skills of persuasion to convince Theresa to leave it the hell alone. She’d been here before—granted, never with her heart quite so broken—but she’d survive.

Though she wasn’t real clear on how you survived when you couldn’t breathe without your entire chest aching.

Jackson had been a total surprise. She’d bought his story, never once thinking about his personal angle. His brand of hero impersonation had fooled her. Or maybe it had been the brain-melting sex.

Stupid. Stupid girl.

The bell rang again. She yanked the door open and glared at her unwanted guest.

Crystal stood on her stoop, looking like she was heading to a front row seat at Fashion Week. Michaela couldn’t be bothered to smooth out the wrinkles on her T-shirt and yoga pants, but she did swipe an unruly lock of hair out of her face.

“Crystal, this isn’t a good time.”

“You can’t sit here in this house by yourself.” She pushed her way in, her expensive perfume making Michaela’s nose twitch. “I came to keep you company until Theresa can get here with chocolate and a DVD. I think she’s bringing
Titanic,
although I can’t imagine anything so depressing being a good choice for a broken heart.”

Crystal tossed her bag on the dining table and walked into the kitchen like she owned the place. Which she did.

“Crystal, I’m not in the mood for company.”

“Where’s your tea?” Not waiting for an answer, Crystal rummaged through the cabinets until she found all the supplies necessary to brew a pot of chamomile tea. Once she’d set the task in motion, she leaned on the counter and fixed Michaela with a concerned look. “I know I’m pushy, but Theresa wanted someone here with you until she closes the office. I’m a poor substitute but…”

Years of training in the fine art of hospitality kicked into gear. Even if she didn’t want company, Crystal had come here to help her out. The least Michaela could do is stop acting like a brat. She settled on a barstool. “Thanks. It’s been a rough day.” She paused. The rumor mill in Elliott was a model of efficiency, but she wasn’t sure how much Crystal knew. “I guess you heard…”

“Oh honey, I was
there
.”

Michaela groaned and dropped her head onto the counter. She’d struck Jackson. Repeatedly. In public. And God only knew what she’d said in her fit of emotion—curses, pleas to prove her wrong, declarations of love. Her heart seized at the thought of how he’d betrayed her, but it didn’t stop that traitorous organ from beating only for him.

The sound of something sliding across the granite countertop preceded the comforting smell of hot tea that triggered a rumbling in her empty stomach. With all the heart-stomping going on today, she’d forgotten to eat lunch. Michaela lifted her head and took in the sight of the steaming cup and the plate of chocolate cookies laid out before her.

“Oh, Crystal.” She took a hearty gulp and the warmth spread through her belly. She bit into the chewy dessert. “Thank you. That’s what I needed after…well, after…”

“After Jack Cantrell made love to you and then broke your heart?” Crystal got right to the point.

Michaela took another drink to steady her nerves. Love. What a hateful bitch. “Yes, that’s about it.”

“Ah, so you
were
sleeping together.” Crystal twisted her mouth into a wry grin. “I owe Vergie ten bucks on that one. I didn’t think you were Jack’s type.”

“I think my father’s more his type.” She took another sip and licked her lips. Her mouth felt mushy around the edges.

“Governor Eastland?” Crystal watched her intently, a frown marring her Botox-corrected face. Her blurry face. Michaela blinked and focus returned. Damn, she was tired.

“Yessh.”

Her mouth was doing it again. The inability to form words kicked in her medical training and she automatically cataloged and discarded all possible causes. Just extreme fatigue caused by stress. Her sleep had been erratic with Jackson in her bed and the stalker watching her every move.

The stalker.

She’d totally forgotten Crystal’s crisis. A brother in jail who would likely be going back to prison wasn’t an easy burden.

“Crysstal. I’m s-s-s-sorry about your brother.”

With a lazy swipe of her bejeweled hand, Crystal dismissed the sympathy.

Michaela blinked. She was having trouble focusing but noticed the lack of concern on the face of her guest. Didn’t Crystal care about her brother? Maybe he’d been in trouble so often that she was over any type of angst at his arrest?

“Terrell was destined to go back to prison. He served his purpose. Don’t worry about him.” Crystal’s tone was blasé.

What? Michaela swayed on the barstool, catching herself against the cool granite before she keeled over. Something was wrong. She couldn’t keep her eyes open and the heaviness of her limbs overwhelmed her natural reaction of fight or flight. Her sluggish brain eased into the realization of what had happened. She’d been drugged.

No. No. No. Run.
Her feet slid out from under her as she let go of the countertop and plummeted toward the unforgiving maple floors. Arms caught her before she hit the ground and eased her down onto the chilly floor with tender care. She scrambled, willing her slushy muscles to propel her away from danger and toward safety. Toward Jackson.

“Hold on. Don’t hurt yourself.” Crystal eased her onto her back. Her perfectly made-up face showed equal parts pity and derision. “I like you, so we’re gonna do this the easy way. I was willing to play nice until you went after Jack.” Her expression changed to a mask of resentment—just like a kid who finally understood that life wasn’t fair. “I had a chance with him until you strolled into that bar in Richmond. I knew yoy were trouble when I took those pictures.”

Michaela groaned, straining with effort to get away from the woman who’d obviously lost her ever-lovin’ mind. The drug was doing its job, though. It was a matter of moments before it pulled her under and away from any hope of getting help.

“Jackson.”

Hot breath teased her cheek as Crystal’s voice reverberated in her ear. “Calling for him? You
must
love him after what he did to you.”

A cool hand reached up and smoothed back the hair sticking to her clammy skin and gently patted her cheek. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of him when you’re gone.”

…

“No! I sure as hell don’t want to wait.” Jack slammed down the phone and the sound echoed off the walls of the small, drab conference room lent to them by Sherriff Burke for the investigation. He bolted out of his seat, propelling the chair backward until it hit the wall with a metallic
thunk
.

“If you break something, Jack, I’ll kick your ass.”

Jack glared at Lucky, who sat hunched over a stack of reports on the opposite side of the room. He’d barely spoken to Jack since he’d returned from escorting Kayla out of the Comfort. Apparently, Lucky had assumed the job of chief protector and his first assignment was to make sure Jack knew what an asshole he really was.

Mission accomplished.

“Don’t start with me,” Jack marched across the room.

Lucky stood, his body edging up against Jack until they were nose to nose. His bulk shifted Jack back a couple of inches. The obvious challenge shot his temperature through the roof. Good. He’d wanted to hit something for hours now and Lucky was clearly signing up for the job.

“Back off Jack. I don’t want to have to hurt you.” Lucky shoved against his chest for emphasis.

Bingo.

Jack swung, but Lucky was ready for him and swerved just before contact. They grappled for a moment. Lucky tried, but couldn’t stop Jack from landing a couple of blows to his torso. Lucky stumbled, but recovered enough to punch Jack in the stomach before slamming Jack into the wall and placing his forearm against his throat.

Jack stilled at the look into his friend’s face. No anger. No violence. Disappointment.

“What the hell is your problem? You want to fuck up another thing today?” Lucky pressed a finger into his chest. “I told you this would happen.”

“Get off me!” Jack shoved hard and Lucky backed up, hands ready for another swing if necessary. His own were balled into fists with the tension coursing through his body. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Bullshit. You had a choice and you made it.”

“And you wouldn’t have done the same thing?”

“No. I don’t want to spend my life crawling back into that cesspool you call a job.” Lucky swiped a hand through his close-cropped hair in one long frustrated motion. “But if you do, then take that letter and go so far undercover you’ll never see yourself again. Don’t waste my time being pissy about losing Michaela.”

Just a week ago Jack had known what he wanted, but now it wasn’t so clear. Being undercover meant he didn’t have to think too much about his life and where it was going. Or not going. He didn’t exist—he was whatever identity they gave him and the end of his assignment was as far ahead as he planned. But now…now he wondered what living his own life might feel like. And when he had added Kayla to that picture, it all became a little clearer.

After today, that was out of the question.

Lucky cut through his thoughts. “You need to make it right with her.”

“I don’t know how.”

“You’re a smart guy. Figure it out.”

The door opened and they both turned. Sheriff Burke stuck his head into the room. “Jack, Governor Eastland is waiting up front to see you.”

Shit. He didn’t need this right now. “What does he want?”

The sheriff shrugged. “We aren’t exactly on speaking terms. He wants to talk to you.”

“Fucking great.” Jack grabbed his leather jacket off his chair and slid into it. He looked at Lucky. “We good?”

“Yeah. I can’t desert you now. You’re gonna need all the friends you can get.”

“Asshole.”

“Yep. But, I put up with your crap.” Lucky joined him as they walked out of the conference room. Lucky turned left toward the holding cells. “I’m going to visit Terrell. I’ll see if he’s lonely enough to talk to us.”

“I’ll be there soon. This shouldn’t take long.”

Jack headed down the short hallway that led to the station waiting area. Turning the corner, he spied the governor standing in the middle of the room, ignoring the stares of the people seated around the perimeter. His fawning minion—Mitchell?—stood close, practically fluttering with his need to please. Idiot. He had no idea that he was dancing with the devil.

The governor nodded at his entrance. Jack strode past him and muttered, “Let’s take this outside.”

After a brief hesitation, the governor and his weasel followed him through the front doors and to a pathway sheltered under crape myrtles to the left of the entrance. It wasn’t completely hidden, but it would help him avoid airing his dirty laundry in front of the town for the second time today. This wasn’t going to go well.

The governor broke the silence. “I wanted to ensure you received your reinstatement letter.” He paused, a smile lifting one side of his mouth. “My daughter didn’t seem to take the news too well.”

Bastard. What kind of sicko got off on causing his own daughter pain? Even though Terrell sat behind bars a few feet away, Jack kept the governor at the top of the list for masterminds behind the whole incident.

“Yeah, well, neither did I.”

“I don’t see why not. You got what you wanted”—his smile turned feral—“except my daughter.” He looked down as he adjusted his French cuffs like some villain straight out of a James Bond movie. “You’ve read her file, I’m sure. You couldn’t have thought she’d stick with you?”

Jack tightened his jaw and heard the grinding of his teeth. He would not give this asshole the satisfaction of learning anything more about the two of them. He’d known all about the affair and Jack was furious at himself for missing the tail. He’d been so wrapped up in Kayla he couldn’t see straight. Hell, even Terrell had practically fallen into his lap.