Deception (Southern Comfort) (14 page)

Shoving aside her embarrassment over how she’d met his friends, Sam focused in on the overlapping timetable.  “You know, I bet you were in the hospital the same time as Donnie.”

“You’re probably right.  I guess it’s really a small world, isn’t it?”

“Tiny,” she summed up.

Josh
leaned forward, setting his nearly drained mug on the table between them.  “Look, Sam, I want you to know that I don’t judge you for what you did.  I know it was an awkward way to bump into each other after all these years, but, I for one am glad it happened.” He cleared his throat. “And as for Clay and Rogan – not Declan, because he’s an ass and totally beneath your notice – but they aren’t the kind of guys who would ever hold something like that against you.  So, you know, there’s no need to be embarrassed.”

Curling her legs beneath her as she sank into the butter-soft leather, Sam wavered between honesty and indignation – like the opinions of those men mattered?  Except, if she were being honest, she’d admit that they sort of did.  She’d liked Rogan Murphy, thought he’d behaved like a gentleman, and the bachelor had kept his hands to himself.  More than she could say for a lot of other men she met.  And if they were friends of both Josh and Justin, they were probably pretty decent guys.

Pretty decent guys who’d seen her naked hiney.

“So this Clay,” she said instead, deciding to turn the topic.  The current one was entirely too uncomfortable.  “You said he was some kind of expert on stalkers?”  She’d had plenty of experience with men who got off on manipulating and controlling women, but still couldn’t believe this was actually happening.  Must be that hidden jerk-magnet firing up again.  Sort of like a compass unerringly points north, put her in a room with a hundred guys and the one creep will inevitably seek her out.

“He’s a behavioral specialist,” Josh concurred, accepting the topic change easily.  “A profiler for the FBI.  I’m going to talk to him later today, before he gets too caught up with the wedding, and see if he has any ideas.”

“You’re still convinced the two things are related?”

He spread his hands, palms wide.  “Can you think of any other scenario that makes sense?”

God help her, she really couldn’t.  “None of this makes sense, Josh.  Nothing’s made sense since I got word that Donnie’d been shot.”

AND
that was another thing Josh needed to look into.  This was one big complicated mess.  “About Donnie…” he knew how close Sam was to her brother, so he had to approach this topic delicately, “do you think, given the, uh, questionable activity going on at the Roadhouse, that he could have maybe owed somebody some money?  Gotten in over his head?”

Sam sighed
, looking distraught. “I asked myself that same question.  But honestly, I don’t think so.  Donnie’s one of the most responsible people I know.  I just can’t see him putting himself in a position where he could lose his shirt on a roll of the dice.  I know how it must look, given his… former residence, but there were extenuating circumstances.  He actually had a fairly decent job managing the bar, and a nice home until a short while ago.  And he’s respected by his employer.  By my employer,” she reminded him, clearly hoping he wasn’t going to stir up trouble.  “My employer, who is not stalking me.”

“Okay,” Josh took the hint, but figured that conclusion remained to be seen.  What was Dane Wilcox doing working in a bar?  Something about the guy must be off.  Then he glanced at his watch, saw that it was a quarter to eight, and leapt to his feet from the couch.  “Damn.  I have to go to work.”  He motioned for Sam to follow him to the nearby hall.  “Sorry about the abbreviated tour, but your bedroom’s right here,” he pushed open a door to reveal his small but well-equipped guest suite turned out with neutral tones and clean lines.  He frowned when his gaze landed in the corner.  “Shoot.  I forgot about the boxes.”  He pointed to a stack of cardboard.  “I’ll get them out of your way later.  I’ve only been in here about a month, and I haven’t quite gotten around to unpacking everything.”

OTHER
than that minor blemish, Sam noted the place was neat as a pin.

No big surprises there.

“The bathroom’s through the door on the right and you can also access it from the hall.  There are extra towels in the linen closet.”  He flicked on a light, giving her a quick glimpse of natural stone tiles and a very modern, glass block enclosed shower.  “Unfortunately,” he did a discreet pit sniff.  Grimaced, but Sam hadn’t smelled a thing. “I’ve got to take a quick shower.  I can’t go to work looking like this.”

You mean perfect?

He looked at her and smiled.  Oh God, had she said that out loud?  “A perfect mess,” he suggested, pointing to the dirt smudging his shirt and forearms.  Indicating that yes, she’d lost control of her mouth.  And they were thirty minutes into cohabitation.  She’d probably break down and confess everything within a week. 

“Before I forget…” Josh trotted off toward the kitchen and she could only follow.  Like the little enamored puppy she was.  He rummaged around in a drawer near the dishwasher, producing a key and a white business card.  He wrote something on the back.  “Key to the front door,” he passed it to her, “and it works the security door in the lobby, which is locked after eleven each night.  My card has my number at work, and I wrote my cell number on the back.”  He handed it to her, then glanced toward the door.  “I usually only engage the alarm at night, but, uh, it might not be a bad idea for you to use it while you’re here alone.”

Sam blinked as he pulled out a post-it note.  Did he really think someone would bother her here? 

“Once you’ve memorized the number, rip up the paper and throw it away,” he instructed.  “I’ve had cases where people inadvertently allowed the wrong person to see their security code, and ended up burgled or worse.  Until we get to the bottom of what’s going on, I want to take every precaution.”

Okay, now he was making her nervous. 

“Sam?”  Josh obviously noticed.  “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

Her insides went soft as taffy, then twisted into an uncomfortable knot.  “I’m fine,” she lied, mustering a smile for him.

Josh looked doubtful, then took another peek at his watch.  “Damn.”  He hurried out from behind the counter.  “I don’t know what time I’ll be home tonight, but call me if you need anything.  There’s… well, there’s something in the fridge, I’m sure, so help yourself to whatever.  I’ll pick up some groceries on the way home.  And Sam –” His face grew pensive.  “If you feel threatened, for any reason, at any point today, don’t hesitate to dial 911 and tell them what’s happening.  They’ll be able to get to you more quickly than I will.”

Sam nodded, worried eyes latching onto his. 

“Be careful.”  His hand rose to brush across her cheek.  Then he moved off toward the stairs and as Sam watched him go she thought it ironic that the one man, besides her brother, who’d do anything to keep her safe, was ironically the only one who’d ever broken her heart.   

CHAPTER TEN

JOSH
caught up with Clay over lunch at Murphy’s, where they tucked themselves into a booth near the bar.  The windows in the front of the old building were open to allow the passage of the mercurial fall breeze, the salty scent of which mingled with the more powerful aromas of Irish whiskey and frying fish.  Josh noted that his friend looked a lot less green than the last time he’d seen him, and was reminded by the glow of anticipatory happiness that Clay was getting married in four days. 

“So have you booked you
r one-way ticket to Tibet yet?”

“
I hope I’d pick someplace a little warmer if I had cold feet. And anyway, you think Tate wouldn’t be able to track me there?”

“You’re an FBI agent,” Josh reminded him.  “I thought you’d been trained in evasive maneuvers.”

Shaking his blond head, Clay sent Josh a pitying look.  “If you think there are any maneuvers capable of shaking off a scorned woman, it’s no wonder you’re not getting laid.  You clearly have no understanding of the finer points of the female sex.”

Josh figured it was probably a grievous error in judgment, but he took a nip at the bait.  “And you know so much about my sex life because…?”

“Because you and I have been sucked into the web of the World’s Nosiest Family.  Between the bartenders, the detective, the pharmacist and the innkeeper, is it any wonder that anything you do is no longer secret?  They’ve got practically every avenue of the information highway covered.  How’d that Ben-Gay work for you last week?  Your arm feeling better?”

Josh snorted, then closed his eyes in defeat.  He’d stopped by Maureen Murphy’s pharmacy last Tuesday because he’d been pushing his shoulder too hard.  “Well, at least I’m not marrying one of them.”

“Yeah, I sort of beat you to that punch.”  He emphasized his point with a cocky grin.  “But you know, working with Kathleen every day is almost as big a commitment.  That sort of partnership is kind of like a marriage.”

“Harding’s going to marry Kathleen?” Rogan asked, coming up
to the table with two steaming plates of food.  “I’ll tell Declan he can come out of the kitchen, then.  He went into hiding when Josh came swaggering in the door.  Guess he thought you’d come back for round two.  But you probably won’t hit him again since he’s gonna be family.”

“Aren’t you just a laugh a minute,” Josh said dryly as Rogan slid the mounded plates of Shepherd’s pie down the table.  His ankle obviously paining him, Rogan dropped in the booth beside him, but both Josh and Clay knew better than to comment. 

“Speaking of Kathleen,” Rogan grabbed an extra fork and speared a bite from Josh’s plate. “She said you’ve moved some little honey into your place.  Overheard you telling her where she could pick up her parking pass.”

Josh just looked at him as Rogan continued to nosh his food.  From across the table, he could hear Clay choking back laughter.  “Is there anything you people don’t know yet?”  He grabbed his plate, and pulled it closer.

Rogan chewed, considering the question.  “Boxers or briefs.  Me, I think a man with your sense of style would go for silk undies, but there’s been some speculation that you might prefer tightie-whities.  Something about them making your ass look better in those tailored pants.”

“You’re a sick son of a bitch, you know that?”

Rogan laughed, then slapped Josh on his good shoulder.  “All the better to mess with you.”  He reached over Josh’s arm and stole one more bite before sliding off the wooden bench.  “Well, some of us have to work.  I’ll come back and check on you in a few to see if you need anything.”

They watched him limp off and Josh turned to murmur to Clay.  “He’s really struggling with this, isn’t he?”

Clay frowned, his happy glow temporarily dimming.  “He’s carrying some misplaced guilt,” he concluded.  “It’s sort of like a post-traumatic stress disorder.  Max was kidnapped while Rogan was on watch, and he still hasn’t forgiven himself.  Strange as it may sound, I think there’s a psychological aspect to why his ankle won’t heal right.  It’s almost like he… wants to keep the injury as some kind of reminder.  The opposite of a badge of honor.  The rest of us have healed, for the most part, tried to put the worst of it behind us – Max still has nightmares; hell I have nightmares, and I know Tate does, too – but for Rogan, this is his personal ball and chain.  Until he accepts that he was in no way responsible, he’s not going to be able to focus on healing.  And until he heals, he’s not going to be able to move forward.  Which is a damn shame where Kim’s concerned.” 

Kim, Clay’s good friend from the Bureau.  Josh had met her several times, and she seemed like a great woman.  And she must have the patience of a saint to still be interested in Rogan after the past several months.

But then, he was hardly one to talk.  Sam had pushed him away almost ten years ago and he was still a total sucker for her.  And speaking of Sam…

“Aside from your charming company, there’s a reason I asked you to lunch,” Josh informed Clay. “Of a professional nature.”

“Okay,” Clay shoveled in some food.  “Shoot.”

Josh flipped open the bag which normally held his laptop, filled instead with a large packet of crime scene photos.  The packet was thick, as he’d ended up retrieving his camera from the back of his car and taking most of them himself, making certain everything was documented. 

He pulled the photographs out of the manila folder and slid them discreetly across the table. Josh already had his ideas about what had happened, but knowing that his friend would ask the questions he needed to know and preferred not to be sidetracked by extraneous opinions, he said nothing until the other man had flipped through each of the photos.  Along with the photographs was a report detailing the stolen television set and items of personal value lost in the destruction.

“Whoever did this is very frustrated; very angry with the woman who lives here.”  Clay glanced up at Josh, his brown eyes sober, then shuffled the photos until he found the one he wanted.  It was one showing the shredded remains of Samantha’s underwear.  “Was any of the underwear missing?”

“I don’t know,” Josh answered honestly.  “Things were such a mess that… the victim wasn’t able to readily answer that question.  The TV was gone, but other than that, nothing else was exactly obvious.”

“He probably took a pair,” Clay said, “and the TV was just a ruse.  What he really wanted was the woman, and he was frustrated that he couldn’t have her.  He took out that frustration on her most intimate possessions.”  He pulled out another photo, studied it.  Glanced at part of the report.  “He urinated on her makeup and hygiene products?”