Coldhearted Read online

  “Tell him I’ll be down right away.”

  Tobias nodded, then turned and disappeared up the hall.

  Devon offered her his arm.

  She shook her head. “No, you should go down first and I’ll follow in a few minutes. The last thing we want is anyone speculating about the two of us.”

  Devon’s lips lifted in a sad smile. He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips for a light kiss. Then she stood and watched as he walked away. In private, she and Devon could comfort each other, could share their grief. But in public, they had to be discreet, in honor of Dan’s memory as much as to protect themselves from gossip and ridicule.

  Squaring her shoulders, taking a deep breath, and steeling her nerves, Jordan marched out of her bedroom suite and hurried down the hall. She paused when she reached the top of the right side of the double curving staircases. The string quartet at one side of the large foyer was all but drowned out by the hum of conversation filling the foyer and both front parlors. No doubt by now, dozens of people were already milling through the dining room to partake of the lavish buffet.

  When she descended the stairs, her sister-in-law, Claire, broke away from Ryan in the receiving line and came to meet her. Sweet, lovely Claire, with her bright hazel eyes and warm smile. Her sister-in-law was also her friend. She tried her best not to envy the other woman, who was madly in love with her husband, and also had a strong marriage and an adorable three-year-old son.

  Claire circled Jordan’s waist with her arm and gave her a quick hug. “Everyone’s been asking about you.”

  “I needed a little time to myself after the graveside service.”

  “I know, but poor Ryan is on the verge of collapsing. This whole ordeal has simply been too much for him.”

  Jordan wanted to tell Claire that it had been too much for all of them, not only Ryan, but instead she said, “Why don’t you take him back to the kitchen and see if you can get him to eat a bite. I’ll take over here.”

  “Thanks, Jordan. I knew I could count on you. You’ve been our strength. I don’t know what we’d have done with-out you.”

  “Go…go…” She shooed Claire away. “Take care of your husband. I’ll handle everything else just fine on my own.”

  You’ve been our strength.

  How many times had Jordan been told that she was always the strong, capable, take-charge person in good times and bad? Her earliest memories were those of being a caretaker. First, when she was only ten, to her sick and dying mother, then afterward to her grieving father. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when she hadn’t been taking care of others. Perhaps that was her lot in life, her mission, her burden, her duty, the one thing at which she excelled.

  After she replaced her brother-in-law in the receiving line, Jordan lost track of time. Eventually, her hand, which had been shaken countless times, became as numb as her emotions. The only way she could make it through this evening without losing her mind was to act and react by remote control. Shake hands. Accept sympathy. Don’t cringe when someone she barely knew hugged her. Agree that Dan had been a prince of a fellow and would be sorely missed. Move on to the next person and repeat the process.

  Rick hated Price Manor on sight. The antebellum mansion was a relic from the South’s notorious past, a plantation house that had been passed down through the generations. No doubt, the Price family could trace their ancestors back to Europe, probably to nobility, albeit some of their predecessors had possibly been born out of wedlock, fathered by kings, princes, dukes and earls. Rick could trace his ancestry back to his hard-drinking, ornery grandpa Carson, whose claim to fame had been that he could whip any man in a fair fight. His father’s family home had been a Mississippi shit-shack, with a roof that leaked when it rained and floorboards so wide apart you could see the chickens pecking for worms in the rich soil under the house.

  “Looks like something out of Gone with the Wind, doesn’t it?” Nicole said as they rolled up to the front veranda and stopped.

  “Yeah,” Rick replied as he got out, handed his keys to the parking attendant and made his way around to the passenger side just as Nicole closed the door. Since it had stopped raining, he’d left the umbrella in the car. “Do your cousin and her husband live here, too?”

  “No, they live in downtown Priceville, in an old Victorian house that belonged to Ryan and Dan’s maternal grandmother.”

  “Both sides of the family had money, huh?”

  “It seems so.” Nic cast him a sidelong glance as they reached the open front doors. “Keep your opinion of Jordan Price to yourself when we speak with Ryan and Claire later. Understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am. None of my business. Keep my mouth shut.”

  Although it wasn’t raining, moisture hung in the air, heavy and damp. Rick would have liked to remove his black jacket and rip off his tie, get a little more comfortable and cooler. He definitely wasn’t a suit and tie kind of guy. Give him a pair of wash-worn jeans and a cotton shirt instead of fancy duds any day of the week.

  Good God, the house was swarming with people, like maggots pouring out of a rotting corpse. The interior temperature had to be a good ten degrees warmer than the humid air outside. Body heat.

  Rick and Nicole took their place in the reception line, apparently close to the end since only two couples were ahead of them, one pair offering their condolences to the widow—and to Devon Markham. Two women flanked Jordan, the one on her right, a tall, thin woman with a sharp nose and keen brown eyes, separated her from Markham. The woman on the left was older, but far more attractive. A full-figured blonde who oozed sex appeal. Rick got the distinct impression that both women had stationed themselves there to guard Jordan. Who were they to the young widow? Mother? Aunt? A former nanny?

  As the other couples moved on, Nicole stepped up in line and, one by one, offered the foursome in the reception line her sympathy. Jordan reached out and took Nicole’s hand.

  “I appreciate your driving in from Knoxville,” Jordan said. “I’m sure your being here is a great comfort to Claire.”

  Rick said nothing, simply stuck to Nicole like glue and nodded his head to each of the older ladies. He had intended to pass by as unobtrusively as possible, but suddenly Jordan asked Nicole, “Is this your husband?”

  Nic shook her head. “No, Griff is in England. This is Rick Carson, a Powell agent. He offered to drive down with me so I wouldn’t have to make the trip alone.”

  Smooth, Nic. A little white lie to prevent an awkward moment.

  He looked right at Jordan then. Big mistake. She gazed up at him with blue-gray eyes a shade lighter than the dark gray silk suit she wore, and Rick felt as if he’d been hit in the head with a sledgehammer. The lady took his breath away. Slender, fragile bones, porcelain skin, classically beautiful features. She looked as if she was on the verge of collapse and everything masculine in him wanted to reach out and offer her the support of his strong arms.

  Her mouth curved upward in an almost smile. “That was very kind of you, Mr. Carson.”

  How the hell did he respond to that? “Yes, ma’am. I’m very sorry about your husband.”

  “Thank you.” The soft, sweet sound of her voice wrapped around him like satin cords, pulling him in, threatening to bind him to her.

  Not until Nic grabbed his arm and gave it a yank did he realize he was still staring at Jordan, that he hadn’t moved an inch and was holding up the line of mourners still waiting to express their sympathy.

  Once Nic had ushered him out of the foyer and into the parlor on the left, she said, “I need to find Claire and Ryan and see why he wants to hire Powell’s. After that, we can head for home.”

  “We could split up and go in different directions to look for them,” Rick suggested. “Then meet back here in five minutes.”

  “Okay. Good idea. You start your search in here and I’ll go into the other parlor,” Nic told him, then just as she turned around, she stopped and said, “Wait up. I see Claire. She’s motioning to me
.”

  Rick fell in step beside Nic as she headed toward the foyer again. He caught sight of Nic’s cousin, Claire, a leggy brunette almost as tall as Nic.

  “Come on,” Nic said.

  When they approached Claire, she met them at the pocket doors open to the foyer. “Ryan is in Dan’s study. He’s waiting for us.”

  Rick followed the two women down the wide hall and into a dark-paneled room with three floor-to-ceiling windows on the back wall, and two walls covered with built-in bookshelves. Ryan Price stood, with his back to the door, in front of a fireplace topped with an ornately carved mantel. When he heard the door open, he turned slowly.

  He moved forward and extended his hand, first to Nicole and then to Rick. “Thank you for coming to the funeral.”

  “Dan was a good man,” Nic said. “I’m so sorry about what happened.”

  Ryan grimaced. “I don’t know how to say this any other way, so here goes—I don’t believe Dan killed himself.”

  “I see.” Nic glanced at Claire as if silently asking her if she agreed with her husband. “What makes you think he didn’t kill himself? It’s my understanding, from what Claire told me, that the local authorities and the Georgia Bureau of Investigation have ruled Dan’s death a suicide.”

  As she rushed to her husband’s side, Claire said, “Officially, Dan’s death was ruled a suicide. But we were told that it’s difficult, if not sometimes impossible, to prove a suicide wasn’t murder. Especially when the person supposedly shot himself in the head.”

  Ryan’s gaze settled on the sofa in front of the fireplace. “He was lying there when Jordan found him. The only fingerprints on the gun were Dan’s. And there was gunshot residue on his hand from where he had supposedly fired the weapon.”

  “Then why—?” Nic asked, but Ryan cut her off.

  “I knew Dan. Knew the kind of man he was. Under no circumstances would he have killed himself.” Ryan slipped his arm around Claire’s waist, obviously needing her com-fort and support. “I want to hire the Powell Agency to do a thorough investigation and find a way to prove that my brother didn’t commit suicide.”

  Nic glanced at Claire again.

  Claire cleared her throat, then said, “I told Nic that we discovered, after Dan’s death, that he was in the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s.”

  Ryan heaved a deep sigh. “That information is not to go beyond this room.” He glared at Rick. Rick nodded. “Dan might have considered suicide, but I’m telling you that he wouldn’t have—” Ryan’s voice cracked. Swallowing hard, he turned his head sideways, averting his teary gaze.

  “You realize the alternative to suicide is murder,” Nic said.

  “Yes,” Claire answered for both of them.

  “Do you have any reason to believe that someone murdered your brother?” Rick asked.

  A loud, startled gasp came from the doorway. All heads turned. Jordan Price had opened the door and stood there, eyes wide with shock, her mouth parted and her pale cheeks suddenly flushed.

  “Oh, my God, no, no! You can’t honestly believe that someone murdered Dan.”

  Chapter 2

  “Oh, Jordan, I’m so sorry.” Claire pulled away from Ryan and took a tentative step toward her sister-in-law. “We wanted to spare you—”

  “Exactly what’s going on here?” Jordan asked as her gaze quickly flashed around the room, scanning the four people in her husband’s study.

  Claire, all wide-eyed guilt but genuine concern, halted a few feet from Jordan as if uncertain of what to do or say.

  “I wanted to wait until later to speak to you about this,” Ryan said. “You have enough to deal with as it is.”

  With thick auburn hair, the tall, slender Ryan was a younger version of Dan. Only Dan’s eyes had been a brilliant topaz and Ryan’s were a honeyed brown.

  Nicole Baxter Powell remained silent, her compassionate gaze focusing steadily on Jordan. Although Jordan had met the former FBI agent only a few times, she liked Claire’s cousin and had no reason to distrust her.

  The man at Nicole’s side was a stranger, someone she’d never seen before today. His eyes, so dark they appeared almost black, bored into her, his stare intense and hostile. Hostile? Was her imagination working overtime? This man had no reason to be antagonistic toward her. They didn’t even know each other.

  Jordan looked directly at Ryan. “Answer the man’s question. Do you have any reason to believe that someone murdered Dan, that his death wasn’t a suicide?”

  Ryan frowned, emotional pain etched on his features as he faced Jordan. “I don’t believe Dan killed himself. It went against his very nature to take the coward’s way out. He was one of the strongest, bravest men I’ve ever known.”

  “Dan was also loving and protective,” Jordan said. “If he believed that by taking his own life, he might spare us the agony of watching him die by slow degrees, then he might have—”

  “No!” Ryan bellowed the one word as he clenched his hands into stiff fists and closed his eyes for a split second.

  Startled by her brother-in-law’s vehement response, she tensed, every muscle in her body suddenly taut. “There’s more to this than just your belief that Dan wouldn’t commit suicide, isn’t there?”

  “Tell her. She’ll find out sooner or later.” Claire looked from her husband to Jordan and then back to Ryan as if she couldn’t decide who needed her comfort more.

  “Tell me what?” Jordan asked.

  “I spoke to Steve privately the day the autopsy report came in,” Ryan said. “You know that Steve and I go way back, that we’ve been—”

  “Yes, I know that you and Sheriff Corbett are good friends, so please stop stalling and just come right out and tell me whatever it is.”

  “Steve agrees with me that, despite the coroner ruling Dan’s death a suicide and the fact he has no solid proof to the contrary, it’s possible that Dan didn’t kill himself. Steve says that details about a gunshot wound can rule out suicide, but they can’t prove it conclusively, that sometimes it’s a judgment call.”

  Jordan felt cold, as if the temperature in the room had dropped a good 20 degrees in a matter of seconds. A chill rippled over her body causing her to quiver.

  “You realize what you’re saying, don’t you? If Dan didn’t…if he wasn’t responsible, then that means someone else…” No, she refused to believe that anyone would kill Dan. “But that’s not possible. I found Dan lying over there—” she indicated the sofa with a glance “—with the gun still in his hand. The doors were locked and there was no evidence that anyone had broken into the house.”

  “Who else was in the house other than you and the senator?” Mr. Carson asked.

  Surprised by his question and by the fact that he had injected himself into what was a family matter, Jordan snapped her head around and glared at him.

  “Rick!” Nicole Powell frowned at her companion.

  “No, it’s quite all right,” Ryan said. “I want Mr. Carson to ask questions. If I hire Powell’s to do an independent investigation into Dan’s death, then—”

  “If you do what?” Jordan felt as if she might faint. Had she heard Ryan correctly? Did he intend to hire an outside agency to dig deeper into the events surrounding Dan’s death? What was he thinking? Didn’t he realize that if the investigators unearthed too many facts about Dan’s life, they might discover a truth that Dan had kept hidden for years, one that could destroy his reputation?

  “I know why you’re concerned,” Ryan told her. “That’s why I want to hire Powell’s, a firm with a solid reputation for honesty and integrity. Any information they uncover will be kept in strictest confidence.” He looked at Nicole. “Isn’t that right, Nic?”

  “Yes, of course,” she replied.

  “Do you need a glass of water, Mrs. Price?” Rick Carson asked. “Or maybe something a little stronger. You look as if you’re going to pass out.”

  I don’t like you, Mr. Carson. I don’t like the way you look at me, as if you think you kno
w something about me that no one else knows.

  Claire 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.”