The Black Widow

Jordan slumped down into the nearest chair, bent over and covered her face with her hands, effectively muffling her moans. She wanted to cry, wished she could weep cleansing tears, allowing them to flow freely until she was spent. Crying would be such a relief. She curled up in the large, overstuffed chair, pulled the folded afghan from the arm, opened it, and wrapped it around herself.

Tomorrow morning she would face what lay ahead: the reading of Dan’s will, the private investigation into his death, Gary Werneth taking Dan’s place in the senate, holding together and providing for her hodgepodge of a family, bringing her child into the world without his or her father, accepting the fact that she was destined to live the rest of her life without love.

But tonight, she didn’t have to be strong and brave. She didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. She didn’t have to feel guilty or blame herself for what had happened.

All she had to do was survive one more night.

She tapped softly on the door. She was concerned about Jordan. Devon should have stayed with her. He had always been such a comfort to her, had been at her side through all her tragedies. But perhaps this time, Devon couldn’t give her what she needed because he, too, was grieving a personal loss. He had loved Dan, as they all had loved him. What would happen to them now that Dan was gone? Unless he had changed his will without informing anyone, Jordan stood to inherit a third of his vast fortune. If only she’d been able to tell him about the child she was carrying, he might have divided things up differently. Even now, it was possible that a clever lawyer could protest the will and claim a portion of Dan’s wealth for his son or daughter. But no matter what Jordan decided to do about the inheritance, there was no need to worry. Jordan would take care of her. She’d take care of all of them, just as she’d been doing for years.

“Jordan…Jordan, are you all right?” She tried the handle and found the door locked. Oh, my, that wasn’t a good sign. “Please, Jordan, let me in. We’ll talk. Please, Jordan…”

Silence.

“If you need anything…Oh, Jordan, I’m so very sorry about Dan.”

Why wouldn’t she answer? It wasn’t like Jordan to shut her out of her life this way.

“I love you, Jordan, so very much. You know I’d do anything for you. Anything.”

No reply. No response of any kind.

She pressed her forehead against the closed door and laid both hands, palms open, flat against the door frame on either side. “I’ll never leave you. I promise that you can depend on me as long as I live.”

Rick took the call from fellow Powell agent, Maleah Perdue, at nine-thirty that night.

“I’ll fax you everything we’ve got in the morning,” Maleah told him. “But I thought I’d fill you in on some information I found more than interesting.”

“Shoot,” Rick said.

“I’ve formed a theory based on the preliminary info we’ve gathered. Let’s see if you agree after I present the evidence.”

“Evidence? You sound like you’ve decided who our killer is.”

“We aren’t a hundred percent sure Senator Price was killed, are we?”

“Not a hundred percent,” Rick said.

“If he was murdered, at this point in the investigation, I’ll give you odds that the wife killed him.”

Rick’s gut tightened. “Based on what evidence?”

“You already know that Daniel Price was not Jordan Price’s first husband, don’t you?”

“Yeah. So what?”

“She was a widow when she married the senator, so now at the ripe old age of thirty-four, she’s been widowed twice,” Maleah told him. “Actually, she was almost widowed three times.”

“Explain.”

“When she was twenty-one, she was engaged to a man named Robby Joe Wright. Three weeks before their wedding, he died in a one-car accident. Then a few years later, when the lady was in her late twenties, she lost husband number one, Boyd Brannon, in a hunting accident, and now her second husband supposedly committed suicide. Odd, don’t you think, that three men who loved Jordan Price have died?”

“Are you saying you think she killed all three men?”

“Maybe. Possibly. I’m going to dig deeper and find out if she gained financially from Robby Joe Wright’s death or Boyd Brannon’s death. Want to bet me that she did? Let’s say fifty bucks?”

A sick feeling hit Rick in the pit of his stomach. “If I was sure the lady was innocent, I’d take you up on that bet.”

“But you’re not sure, are you? You’re wondering, just like I am, if maybe Jordan Price is a black widow.”

Chapter 6 (#ud7bab574-08dc-508e-a925-f4b92dd9053b)

Rick spent his first night at Price Manor alternating between a restless sleep riddled with odd dreams and episodes of wide-awake floor-walking. There was something about staying in this old mansion that didn’t set right with him. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but if he did, he would be on the lookout for the late senator. He’d sure like to ask Dan Price who had killed him.

A couple of times during the night, he could have sworn he’d heard footsteps in the hall outside his door. And then once, he woke up because he was dead certain he’d heard someone scream. But when he had checked the hall, it had been empty and silent. Apparently, he’d been suffering from some really weird nightmares.

It didn’t help that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what Maleah had told him about Jordan. The lady had lost two husbands and a fiancé in the span of twelve years, each man having met an untimely death. Okay, so it was possible that she was simply very unlucky in love. But what were the odds that a woman who hadn’t even celebrated her thirty-fifth birthday would have buried three men who had loved her?

While Rick shaved and showered, he listed all the reasons he should not jump to conclusions, reasons he should not assume Jordan was guilty of murdering her husband. Then he listed the logical reasons why she could have murdered three men. By the time he had dressed and was ready to go downstairs for breakfast, he had come to one conclusion—he should call Nic and ask her to replace him on this assignment. The bottom line was simple: he suspected his employer of murder. Before he phoned Nic, he needed to speak to Jordan. She would be expecting his first report this morning and the least he could do was confront her with the information and give her a chance to defend herself.

Once downstairs, Rick caught a glimpse of Tobias as he entered the dining room.

“Good morning, Mr. Carson.” Tobias nodded, then carried a silver coffee pot into the dining room and placed it on a silver tray atop the sideboard.

Rick paused in the open doorway. “Has Mrs. Price come down yet?”

“Yes, sir. Miss Jordan is in her study.”

“Thanks.”

Rick checked his wristwatch as he headed toward Jordan’s study at the back of the house. Seven-thirty. Apparently, she was an early riser, just as he was. Except for the servants, the downstairs appeared to be empty of other inhabitants. He wondered just how many people had actually spent the night here and how many had finally made their way home.

When he neared Jordan’s study, he heard voices coming from inside, but he couldn’t make out the conversation. The door stood ajar, more than halfway closed, so he paused and listened without making his presence known.

“You don’t have to do this today,” a female voice said.

Rick thought it sounded like Rene Burke, but he wasn’t a hundred percent sure.

“The sooner the better,” Jordan said. “The longer we wait, the more speculation there might be about who the father of this child is.”

Child? What child?

“You make a valid point,” Rene replied. “I’ll put together a press release, that is, assuming you don’t want to make the announcement yourself.”

“No, I think it would be in poor taste for me to speak publicly so soon after Dan’s death. But please express how happy I am about the baby and how much Dan and I wanted this child.”

The news hit Rick like an anvil dropped on his head. Jordan Price was pregnant!

“Oh, sweetie, if Dan had only known…,” Rene said. “At least this way, you’ll always have a part of Dan with you. We all will, all of us who loved Dan. And anyone who knows you would never question your child’s paternity.”