Cold Hearted (23 page)

On that cold November morning seven years ago, she had taken a rifle from the locked case in the basement of their home, dressed warmly in camouflage gear, and followed Boyd. After he had parked his truck and joined a group of friends, she had parked a good distance away, on a dirt lane, just outside the hunting area, and walked into the woods alone.

The memory of that morning came back to her as vividly as if it had happened yesterday, almost as if she were watching the scene unfold at this very moment.

He had made promises that he hadn’t kept. They had believed they could be happy with him, that he would give them a child of their own to love. But he had disappointed them time and time again. Boyd Brannon had not been the man they had thought he was. They had overlooked his faults for as long as they could.

His infidelity was the proverbial last straw. An unforgivable sin.

Making the decision to remove him from their life had not been an easy one. After all, they loved his children and Wesley and Kendra had already lost their mother. But in the long run, they, too, would be better off without him.

She adjusted the heavy rifle she carried as she crept softly through the woods. Considering that it was so cold she could see her breath in the frigid air, she was glad she had worn long johns as well as two pairs of socks and a hat that covered her hair. If by any chance someone caught a glimpse of her all bundled up, she doubted they would even realize she was a female.

As the morning wore on and not one hunter had made a kill, she began to worry that Boyd might become discouraged and go home early. But she couldn’t strike too soon. She had to wait until the time was right, the moment perfect.

Soon. Very soon.

She spied him, not more than a few yards away.

Her breathing quickened.

Steady. Stay calm. Mustn’t miss.

She had only one shot. One chance to do the job right.

It had to look like an accident, a tragic hunting accident. Those things happened all the time. No one to blame. Just a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Should it be a shot to the head or the heart? Which would seem more accidental? It probably didn’t matter.

She watched closely as he propped his rifle against a tree and unzipped his pants. What was he doing? Good grief, he was relieving himself.

She smiled.

Now was the moment.

Without another thought or a second of hesitation, she brought the rifle up into position, got him in her sights, aimed, and fired. As the bullet zoomed toward its target, she held her breath.

Waiting with eager anticipation.

Wham! The bullet entered Boyd’s forehead.

As he dropped to the ground, she felt that unequalled flush of exhilaration achieved only in a moment such as this. The moment of the kill.

After breakfast, Griff asked Nic and Sanders to join him in his study. She had wondered just how long it would take Griff to tell her and Sanders the details of his recent trip to England. Knowing her husband as she did, she had not pressed him about the matter. Griffin Powell made his own rules and had lived as he pleased for far too long for anyone to try to change him. Not even his wife. Oddly enough, Nic wouldn’t change anything about him, even if she could.

He had been home since Thursday and all he’d said about his visit with Yvette Meng was that when he’d left London, Yvette had been well and had sent her regards.

“She’ll be coming for a visit later this year,” Griff had added. “And possibly staying quite a long while.”

There had been a time, early on in their relationship, when Nic had been jealous of the beautiful Yvette, a rather mysterious and exotic woman from Griff’s past. But now, knowing the truth about Griff’s past and his unbreakable bond with his assistant Sanders and with Yvette, she understood the threesome’s devotion to one another. Nic also understood that there were things about her husband she might never know and was, as he had told her, better off not knowing.

Except at night, when they made love, Griff had all but ignored Nic since his return home. He had been on the phone in his home office for hours on end, day after day, totally absorbed in God only knew what. And even though she didn’t want to resent him for not including her in whatever was going on, she did. More than once in the past few days, she had come very close to demanding an explanation. Patience was a virtue she was trying to cultivate.

She and Sanders had spoken briefly about her concerns. “I suspect that he is dealing with something important,” Sanders had told her. “He will explain everything to us in his own good time.”

She hated the fact that Sanders understood Griff in a way she didn’t and probably never would. But confident of her place in Griff’s life and in his heart, she had learned to accept the importance of Sanders’ and Yvette’s relationships with her husband.

Once congregated comfortably in the study, Griff glanced from Nic to Sanders and back to Nic. “I’m sorry that I’ve been reticent about discussing my recent trip to visit Yvette, but first I had to work through everything in my own mind and set the wheels in motion for a joint project with Yvette.”

Sanders remained silent. Nic decided to follow his lead.

“I didn’t mean to shut you out.” His gaze locked with Nic’s. She saw the sincerity of his words reflected in his eyes and also a plea for her understanding. “I was a confirmed bachelor way too long. Be patient with me and in time, I’ll do better about sharing things with you.”

She smiled. “It will take time for both of us to get used to being married and coming to terms with what that means for each of us.”

He returned her smile, then looked at Sanders. “Yvette is going to be sending a young woman to stay with us for a while. She will arrive next week.”

“Someone special to Yvette?” Sanders asked.

“Yes, someone she has been working with,” Griff replied. “I met her while I was in London. She’s an American who has been living in Europe for a number of years.”

“May I ask why Yvette is sending her to us if she’s under-going psychiatric treatment with Yvette?” Nic asked.

“What I’m going to tell you goes no further, except you may tell Barbara Jean,” Griff said. “For some time now, people who have similar special gifts to those Yvette has have been going to her. At present, she is working with five. Four women and one young man.”

“People who claim to be psychic?” Nic asked.

Griff’s lips lifted in a tentative, indulgent smile. “You’re still my little skeptic, aren’t you?”

“I have an open mind, but—”

“I need you to be on board with our plans,” Griff said. “Yvette wants to move here to the U.S., to Griffin’s Rest. She wants to send Meredith here immediately and put her in charge of the construction of a house and a sort of small office complex.”

Nic wasn’t sure how she felt about Yvette moving to Griffin’s Rest and bringing along a group of strange people. But if doing this was important to Griff…

Apparently sensing her reluctance, Griff added, “The building site I’ve chosen is not near our house and we won’t be a part of what Yvette and her—” he paused “—her students will be doing. She simply needs a safe haven to work with these young people and help them.” He looked directly at Nic. “Yvette was concerned about your reaction. She told me that she would come here only with your permission.”

Oh, great. Put me in the position of looking like a jealous, heartless shrew if I say no.

Don’t do this to yourself, Nic. You like Yvette. You respect her. You have no reason to be jealous of her. She is Griff’s friend and she has made it clear that she wants to be your friend, too.

“If you want Yvette here at Griffin’s Rest and are okay with her building a home and a school or an office or whatever she wants to call it for people with all kinds of psychic gifts, I have no objections.”

“Thanks, Nic.”

She took in a deep breath and released it.

No one had ever said being married to Griffin Powell was going to be easy, especially for her.

Nic stood. “If that’s it, I have work to do.”

“We’ll talk more later,” Griff said.

“Sure.” She made it out the door, down the hall and into the sunroom before she screamed with frustration. “Damn, damn, damn!”

“Are you all right?” a voice asked.

Nic gasped and jumped simultaneously.

“I’m sorry,” Barbara Jean said. “I thought you knew I was in here.”

Taking a steadying breath, Nic faced one of Powell’s many employees. But Barbara Jean was special. Not only did she live here at Griffin’s Rest and kept their home office running smoothly, but she was “the” lady in Sanders’ life.

“I didn’t pay any attention,” Nic said. “I just needed a place where I could let off a little steam without sounding an alarm through the whole house.”

Barbara Jean, who had been crippled in a car accident years ago, maneuvered her wheelchair up to Nic. “Want to talk?”

“Yvette Meng is going to build a house here at Griffin’s Rest and move here, probably permanently.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Well, I don’t. I don’t understand why she has to move here and I don’t understand why the idea of it upsets me so.”

Barbara Jean reached out and grasped Nic’s hand. “Will it make you feel any better if I tell you that I’m jealous of her, too?”

Nic and Barbara Jean exchanged knowing glances, then they burst into laughter.

Barbara Jean squeezed Nic’s hand. “She shares a past with them, our men. And there’s nothing we can do to change that. But their love for her is no threat to either of us. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Nic tapped her head. “In here, I know.” She laid her hand over her heart. “It’s in here that I’m having a problem.”

“Then we’ll just have to work on—”

Nic’s cell phone rang, interrupting Barbara Jean mid-sentence.

Nic pulled the phone from her blouse pocket. “Excuse me.”

“Sure. Go ahead and take the call. We can talk later if you want to.”

“I’ll probably need to.” Nic flipped open the phone, noted the caller ID and said, “Hi, Rick, what’s up?”

“I want to run something past you,” he said.

“Shoot.” Nic opened the French doors leading to the patio and walked outside.

“I need some information that’s going to be tricky to get hold of.”

“Info about the Daniel Price case, I assume?”

“Yeah. Actually, it’s personal information about Jordan.”

“What kind of personal information? I thought we had dug up just about all her old skeletons.”

“I need to find out if Jordan has ever been under psychiatric care or if she’s ever had a nervous breakdown or suffered any type of mental problem.”

“Hmm… Interesting. Why do you think she might have—?”

“I don’t know. Let’s just say that I’m playing a hunch. Since I started working this case, I haven’t been able to get a handle on Jordan. It finally hit me that she’s like two different women.”

“You’re not saying you think Jordan Price has multiple personalities, are you?”

“No, no,” Rick said. “None of that bullshit. But how normal is it for a woman to not shed a tear when she has a miscarriage and then to carry on as if she’s perfectly all right?”

“I don’t know, but maybe it’s just Jordan’s way of dealing with such a devastating loss.”

“To my knowledge, she hasn’t cried once since she buried Dan Price. The strange thing is that half the time she acts like a normal, caring person, but the other part of the time, it’s as if she’s little more than a robot.”

“Getting access to a person’s medical records is difficult,” Nic said. “And illegal without their permission.”

“So, you’re saying—”

“I’m saying that I won’t authorize doing anything illegal, but Griff might.”

“Before we go that route — into the illegal zone — do you think Claire might know anything about Jordan’s mental history?”

“Ah, so that’s why you called me and not Griffin.” Nic laughed. “Sure, I’ll call Claire and see what she knows. Give me a couple of hours and I’ll get back to you.”

“Nic?”

“Yes?”

“Before you hang up, I thought you should know that I’m going to move out of Price Manor and into The Priceville Inn where the other Powell agents are staying.”

“Any special reason you’re moving out?”

“Let’s just say that I was getting a little too personally involved with the case.”

“With Jordan Price?” Nic asked.

“Something like that.”

“Want me to pull you off this assignment?”

“No, I need to see this thing through to the end.”

“Okay. I’ll call Claire and get back to you.”

“Thanks, Nic.”

Jordan was spending the morning resting, mostly to pacify Darlene and Roselynne, who had been hovering over her as if she were a helpless invalid ever since she came home from the hospital. Darlene had brought her breakfast upstairs on a tray and sat with her until she’d eaten a little of everything on her plate.

“You have to rebuild your strength, dear,” Darlene had told her.

Now, half an hour after Jordan had persuaded Darlene to leave her alone, Roselynne and Tammy breezed in. Tammy carried a bouquet of spring flowers, no doubt picked from the gardens here at Price Manor. While Tammy put the flowers in a vase, Roselynne plumped Jordan’s pillows and straightened the covers.

“You’re looking much better today. You have more color in your cheeks.” Roselynne kissed Jordan on the forehead and patted her shoulder. “It’ll take time, but you’ll get over this.” She lowered her voice so that only Jordan could hear. “None of you children ever knew this, but I had a miscarriage only a few months after your daddy and I got married. It broke our hearts.”

Jordan hadn’t known, had never even suspected that her stepmother had been pregnant. Was that the reason her father had married Roselynne, because she’d been carrying his child? If so, that certainly explained a lot of things.

After placing the bouquet on the nightstand to Jordan’s right, Tammy sat down on the side of the bed. “Mama says you’re going to be just fine and one day you’ll get married again and have us another baby.”