The Black Widow

Now, with her eyes wide open, she could still envision the exact moment she realized Dan was dead. Before she noticed the bullet hole in his right temple, a single wound just above his cheekbone, she saw the dark red blood that discolored the gold silk cushion under his head and the gun that he clutched in his hand.

“Jordan?”

Ryan’s soft, smooth voice snapped her out of her thoughts and brought her back to the present moment.

He laid his hand on her shoulder. She heaved a deep sigh.

“I don’t know which I hate more,” Ryan said. “The thought that Dan would actually kill himself or that someone murdered him.”

Jordan shrugged off Ryan’s hand and walked away. Pausing as she reached out to open the door, she glanced over her shoulder. “If Dan was murdered, I want his murderer found and punished. But I do not want Dan’s good name sullied. I’ll hold you personally responsible for making sure of that.”

“God, Jordan, do you think I want anyone to find out the truth about Dan or about his relationship with you?”

“Then see to it that what was our personal business remains just that.” She narrowed her gaze, issuing her brother-in-law a gentle warning. “And from now on, no more secret meetings with the Powell Agency. I’m to be included in any discussions with Mr. Carson. Is that understood?”

She didn’t give Ryan a chance to reply. She’d made her point. Her brother-in-law’s motives had been admirable— he had wanted to spare her more anguish, especially today. But he had underestimated her as so many people did. Even after knowing her for several years, he saw only the façade that she presented to the world. Few people knew the real Jordan Harris Brannon Price. Sometimes, she wasn’t sure she knew herself. She had buried her true self beneath so many protective layers in order to survive that very little, if any, of the sweet, innocent, somewhat naïve girl she’d once been still remained.

Nothing in her life had turned out the way she had hoped it would. None of her youthful dreams had come true. The girl who had been engaged to Robby Joe Wright, who had longed to be a grade school teacher and the mother of at least three children, was only a vague, melancholy memory.

Twice before, fate had given her two choices: let tragedy defeat her or make her stronger. She had that same choice now. And if she knew nothing else about herself, she knew one thing—Jordan Price was a survivor.

Rick kicked back in Nicole’s Cadillac Escalade and relaxed as they flew along Interstate 75, halfway between Priceville and Chattanooga. The lady drove like a bat out of hell, slowing down only when absolutely necessary. Right now she was speeding along at 85 and the limit was 70.

“If you don’t want to head this case, I can assign someone else.” Nic cast a sidelong glance his way.

“What makes you think I don’t want the case?”

Nic chuckled softly. “Oh, maybe your obvious animosity toward Jordan Price for one thing. You can’t go into an assignment with an open mind if you’ve already found the client guilty.”

“You think I believe Mrs. Price killed her husband?”

“Do you?”

“Do I think the lady is capable of murder? I’m not sure. Maybe. She’s one cool customer.”

“Just because she wasn’t hysterical with grief today doesn’t mean she didn’t love Dan.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t,” Rick agreed. “But look at the facts. He was twenty years older, rich and powerful, and his death may not have been suicide. What’s the first rule of thumb in a case such as this?”

“Suspect the wife.”

“Right. And add to that scenario a young lover and you’ve got a recipe for murder.”

“You’re assuming that Jordan and Devon Markham are lovers,” Nic said. “I think you’re wrong about that.”

“Why do you think I’m wrong?”

“Woman’s instinct.”

Rick laughed. “Care to elaborate?”

“Yes, I think they love each other, but they’re not in love. They don’t look at each other or touch each other the way a couple in love does.”

“You can tell if a couple is in love from watching the way they look at each other?”

“I told you that my theory is not based on scientific facts, just good old-fashioned woman’s intuition.”

“Okay, say I buy your theory. That doesn’t rule out Jordan Price as a suspect.”

“Jordan is not a suspect. She’s our client,” Nic reminded him. “She hired us, remember?”

“Ryan Price hired us. She jumped on the bandwagon when she realized that we were going to do an investigation. After all, if she had put up a protest, it would have made her look guilty.”

“I think maybe I should put Holt Keinan or Maleah Perdue on this case.”

“Don’t.”

Nic gave him another sidelong glance, her gaze questioning him. “Give me one good reason why I should hand this case over to you, all things considered?”

“Because I want to be proven wrong,” he admitted. “I don’t want Jordan Price to be guilty.”

“Hmm…You surprise me. I never suspected—”

“That I find the lady intriguing? That I’m as susceptible as the next guy to a beautiful, vulnerable woman?”

“Okay, the case is yours,” Nic told him. “But if I get one complaint from either Jordan or Ryan, I’ll jerk your ass off the case and put another agent in charge. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am. I understand.”

By seven that evening, the house had cleared, the string quartet had left and the caterers had cleaned up and gone. Only family and close friends remained, only those to whom Dan Price had been far more than a colleague, an acquaintance, another good old boy, or just their senator. The numbness that had encompassed Jordan for the past few weeks, from the moment she discovered Dan’s body until this evening, began to fade. She wished that she could remain in the semi-frozen emotional state, acting and reacting with control and logic. But sooner or later, she would have to confront the truth and deal with her personal grief.

“Do you want us to stay here tonight?” Claire asked. “I can call my mother and ask her to either keep Michael until tomorrow or bring him here.”

Jordan tried to smile at her sister-in-law, but the effort failed. “No, please, you and Ryan should go home. You’re less than five miles away, if I were to need you. Besides”— she glanced over her shoulder into the parlor—“I have more than enough company.”

“How is Devon holding up?” Claire whispered.

“In public, he’s holding it together. In private…he’ll make it through this somehow. I’ll take care of him.”

“You always have, haven’t you?”

Jordan nodded. “Making plans for the baby will help us both. I just wish I’d had the chance to tell Dan…”

“You’re thinking that if he’d known about the baby, he wouldn’t have…that he might still be alive.”

Jordan’s gaze connected directly with her sister-in-law’s. “Claire, do you believe that Dan was murdered?”

Claire sighed heavily. “I don’t know. Ryan is convinced that Dan didn’t kill himself. It definitely wasn’t an accident, so that leaves only murder.”