The Black Widow

Jordan and Rick Carson exchanged heated glances before she turned and headed for her small study at the rear of the house. She didn’t look over her shoulder to see if he was following, but she knew he was. Not only could she hear his heavy footsteps, but she could feel his presence as if it were a shadow hovering over her. Watching her. Examining her.

The man made her nervous.

She didn’t pause when she reached the open door that led into her private sanctuary. This room had once been part of a back porch that had spanned the length of the house, but sometime in the past 50 years, a section of the porch had been enclosed and divided into two rooms. A glass encased sunroom filled with antique white wicker lay on the right side and her study on the left. A wall of windows faced the back courtyard. The ceiling and two walls boasted old beaded board painted a pale peach and what had once been the exterior wall was white-washed brick. She had decorated the room herself and had chosen each item, each piece of furniture, with great care. This was the only room in the entire house that was hers alone. Even though she had not shared a bedroom with Dan, her room, like the others in this old mansion, held priceless antiques and had been professionally decorated.

Jordan paused in front of the beige-and-brown striped settee, then turned slowly to face her guest. Their gazes clashed. Jordan swallowed.

“Please, take a seat,” she told him as she eased down onto the settee.

“Yes, ma’am.” He took the rust-colored easy chair across from her. “Is there some kind of problem?”

“I hope not, but if there is, I think we need to resolve it as soon as possible. Agreed?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Ryan trusts you because you’re employed by Nicole and Griffin Powell and normally I trust Ryan’s judgment. But I need to be certain that I can trust you to keep any personal information you uncover during your investigation completely private and never reveal it to anyone other than Ryan and me.”

“I can assure you that, unless I uncover something that directly incriminates either you or Ryan in your husband’s death, all information will be kept in strictest confidence.”

Jordan’s heart stopped for a millisecond. Was this man saying what she thought he was? Was he implying that— No, surely he wouldn’t dare suggest that either she or Ryan might have been responsible for Dan’s death.

“Mr. Carson, are you actually suggesting that Ryan or I might have—”

“Look, let’s lay our cards on the table right now. I’m a straightforward kind of guy and since you’re paying for my services through the Powell Agency, you have a right to know that my only goal is to find out if your husband was murdered and if he was, who killed him. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand. That’s why Ryan and I hired you.”

When he leaned forward, Jordan instinctively withdrew, pressing back against the sofa, her body unconsciously trying to escape from the threat she sensed he posed.

“Then you won’t object if I ask you one simple question, will you?”

Her heart raced at breakneck speed.

“Ask your question,” she said.

He looked her square in the eye, his dark, penetrating stare pinning her to the spot. “Mrs. Price, did you kill your husband?”

Chapter 4 (#ud7bab574-08dc-508e-a925-f4b92dd9053b)

Rick could tell that his question had not surprised Jordan Price. She glowered at him with those cool blue-gray eyes, her expression an odd mixture of hurt and anger. But she stayed perfectly calm. Only the telltale clenching of her jaw and the hard glare revealed any emotion.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I did not kill my husband and that I cared deeply for him?”

“Cared deeply? Odd choice of words, Mrs. Price.”

“Honest choice of words,” she said. “I loved Dan, but not in some silly, youthfully passionate way. Our marriage worked for both of us. In our own fashion, we were quite content.”

“Another odd choice of words.”

“But once again an honest choice.”

“You’re not much for deep, passionate feelings, are you?”

She stared at him, a glimmer of something unsettling bubbling just below the surface, a hint of fury, a tinge of inner fire.

Don’t go there, Carson. Do not for one minute believe that she hasn’t used this feminine trick on other men. What she wants is for you to believe that you’re the one man on earth who could bring her dormant passion to life. Don’t be a fool. Don’t fall for her oh-so-smooth act.

He gave her a thorough once-over, not subtle in the way he appraised her physical assets. Yeah, so his manner was a bit on the crude side, not the least respectful. But in his book—the Rick Carson book of rules and regulations—a person had to earn his respect.

Jordan was willowy slender, but not skinny. Her hips rounded nicely and her breasts were large enough to fill a C-cup bra. He surmised her height and weight: five-four, a hundred and twenty pounds. Her creamy skin was like fine porcelain, unmarred by the sun or a tanning bed. She possessed an almost ethereal quality, like an angelic statue brought to life.

“You’re staring,” she told him, her voice slightly breathless.

Yes, he was. He was staring at a beautiful woman, but one he suspected was deadly. Was Jordan Price a black widow? Or was she what she appeared to be—sad, vulnerable, and in need of a strong shoulder to lean on?

Rick shook off the latter thought. He wasn’t here to give comfort. His job was to investigate a murder.

“Let’s say for the sake of argument that I believe you, that you didn’t kill your husband. Do you have any idea who did?”

She lifted her slender hand and smoothed back an errant strand of ash blonde hair. The thick mass was pulled loosely away from her face and secured with a silver clasp into a broad bun at the nape of her neck. Other than the ostentatious set of rings on her left ring finger, her jewelry was minimal, only a silver-and-gold watch and a pair of small, discreet diamond earrings.

Goddamn, why did she have to be so beautiful?

“I have no idea who killed Dan, if indeed he was murdered,” Jordan said. “He had political enemies, of course, but certainly none of them would have killed him.”

“What about personal enemies?” Rick tried his best not to skim his gaze over her body again, but his best wasn’t good enough. Sitting there in a pair of navy blue slacks and a white cotton sweater, she was hardly dressed for sex appeal, but he found her sexy as hell. When he returned his attention to her face, his gaze collided with hers.

“I don’t know of anyone who would want to kill Dan.”

He sensed that she might be withholding something. But why? Did she suspect Devon Markham and was protecting him because they were lovers?

“You do realize that if there was bad blood between your husband and another person, I’ll find out while I’m investigating. So, why don’t you save me some time and just tell me.”

She drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. He noted the rise and fall of her breasts. Damn it, he had to stop lusting after Jordan. First and foremost, it was hardly professional to have the hots for your employer. And second and probably even more important, it would be stupid to become emotionally involved with a woman he suspected of murder.

“Dan and his ex-wife, Jane Anne, were not the best of friends, but I don’t think she’s capable of murder.” Jordan paused for a moment and glanced toward the closed door to her study. “My stepbrother, J.C., and Dan have had a few arguments. J.C. is a gambler and last year, he got himself into deep debt. Dan helped him, but when he went to Dan again this year, Dan turned him down.”

Rick nodded. “And that’s it. His ex-wife and your stepbrother?”

“As far as I know. Dan was highly respected and people in general liked him. He was a man with a good heart.”

She clenched her teeth and swallowed. If she was faking emotion, she was doing a really good job. Unable to stop himself, Rick reached out and clasped her hand. Their gazes met and God help him, it was all he could do not to pull her into his arms to comfort her.

He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, then abruptly released her. “I’ll need office space of some type while I’m here.” That’s it, Carson, stick to Powell Agency business and steer clear of any monkey business. “Access to high-speed Internet, a fax machine, a copier and printer. Could that be arranged in whatever room you’ve—?”

“All of it is available in Dan’s study. He used that room as his home office. Feel free to arrange things any way you’d like. I’ll inform Tobias and Vadonna that the room will be yours to use while you’re here.”

“Are you sure you want me using your husband’s study? I mean, considering that’s where he died.”