Deception (Southern Comfort) (7 page)

Yeah, yeah, yeah.  Not helping the cause, Josh.  Beating back his libido, he waited for her to lock the door.

“How did you find me?”  Sam turned, pressed her back to the door, and looked at him with guarded eyes.  There were smudges of fatigue beneath those hazel beauties, and he felt something inside of him crack.

“I followed you,” he admitted, glancing around and wondering if she was going to offer him a seat.  The way she was hovering pensively near the door wasn’t the most encouraging of body language.

“From the hospital?”  He could see wheels turning in her head.  She’d been jumpy in the parking lot, almost killing herself when she tripped over that cat, so maybe she’d sensed he was there.

“Yeah.  I was parked a couple of rows away from you in the parking lot.”

The shoulder slump definitely showed relief.  “So you saw –”

“The thing with the cat.  Yeah.  But, you know, up until that point, you looked like you were ready to kick some mugger ass.  I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to mess with you.”

She laughed, which was good.  But then she regarded him with renewed suspicion.  “How did you know I would be at the hospital?”

“Well, aside from my superior detecting skills, I, uh, talked to Justin.”  Josh saw the shadow move across her face, and he ached in places he’d forgotten he had.  “He told me about your brother.  God, I’m so sorry, Sam.”

She moved away from the door finally, motioning toward the two chairs on either side of the small table.  Josh eyed the sofa, but at least sitting together was a step in the right direction, and all things considered it was probably best to avoid that hide-a-bed temptation.  Last thing Sam needed right now was a man looking to get in her pants.

He pulled out her chair for her, to which she blinked and offered a surprised “thanks,” and then he moved the whole three feet it took to drop himself into the second chair.  The seat creaked ominously, making him thankful that by genetics and lifestyle he kept himself lean. If he lived off super-sized fast food like some of the other guys in the CPD, he probably would have landed on the floor.

SAM
lifted weary eyes toward his.  “Yeah, it uh… really sucks.”  Which was the understatement of the year.  “The hardest part is the, you know, limbo I guess you could call it.  I feel like we’re both in a state of suspended animation.  Waiting.  And no matter what I do there’s no way to force an outcome.  Donnie’s going to get better, I know it, but until his brain is healed enough to regain control of his body, there’s just nothing to do but… wait.”  She rubbed palms which had suddenly grown sweaty across the top of her denim covered thighs.  Good Lord.  Sitting this close to him was… unnerving.

“I checked on the case status today.”  Josh looked across the table, all blue-eyed sympathy and ridiculously thick lashes.  When Mother Nature had been doling out the natural beauty she’d hit Josh with a heavy hand.  “There have been no new leads, apparently, in the past couple months.  It’s basically grown cold.  Do you have any idea, any at all, what might have happened?  Who could have had motive to shoot him?”

Sam studied him through narrowed eyes.  “I’ve been over this a million times with the police already.  I know nothing.  I was in Columbia, at school, when it happened, and hadn’t even been here to see Donnie in months.”  Which was her own little burden of guilt to bear.  And because she felt that guilt and also a lingering sense of shame for what had transpired last night, she lashed out a little more angrily than she should have.  “Is that why you’re here, Josh?  In some kind of official capacity?  Because the police think that Donnie was involved in something, and that I’ve just been holding out on them all these months?  So they send you here thinking that maybe I’ll spill my guts to an old friend?”

Josh leaned back in his chair, regarded her calmly, though hurt flitted briefly across his handsome face.  “I’m here, Samantha, because I care.  To be brutally honest, the department is overwhelmed right now with an influx of cases that rate a lot higher priority than your brother’s.  Except I know how frustrating it is to be shoved aside and forgotten, to feel like you don’t matter enough to warrant the basic courtesy of some answers.” 

And ouch.  Sam felt that cut to the bone.  Her leaving like she had was obviously still a sore spot. 

“I can’t help you with your brother’s medical condition,” he continued.  “From what Justin told me, nobody can.  But what I can do is try to help you get some answers.  Donnie didn’t put that bullet in his own leg, Sam.  Wouldn’t you like to know who did?”

Guilt crashing down on her like an anvil, Sam ran trembling fingers through her hair.  It still smelled of smoke from her shift at the bar, which made her uncomfortably aware that she needed a shower.  “I’m sorry,” she said finally.  “It was entirely out of line to come down on you like that.  It’s just that… when the police questioned me before, they made me feel like Donnie was some kind of criminal.  And he’s been in trouble a time or two, you know that, but it just seemed really unfair.  What’s to say that he wasn’t just the victim of a random gunshot?  Maybe he got in the middle of some kind of turf war.  That isn’t all that uncommon in this neighborhood, as I’m sure you know.  Or maybe he was car-jacked.  There’s still no sign of his truck, and if you ask me, that’s a pretty good indicator that something’s amiss.”

“If that’s true, Sam, then why did he run?  When he woke up, found himself in the hospital, why not just tell someone that he’d been caught in the crossfire, or that his vehicle had been stolen?  He bolted, Sam.  He was bare-assed, wearing nothing but a hospital gown, and he climbed down off that gurney and took off.  Blood tests showed he wasn’t drunk, he wasn’t high, and unless he’s gone insane since I last saw him, chances are he was scared.  My question is: what was he afraid of?”

That premonition of danger, of opening something that was going to come back to bite her in the ass, swamped Sam again, causing her to shudder.  Rubbing her hands down arms bare beneath her T-shirt, she looked at the man across from her, a man she had once instinctively trusted with her life, and wondered how much to tell him.  Not that she knew anything, really, but she’d been feeling the presence of… something for weeks.  Probably her overactive imagination, but when Josh put Donnie’s situation in those terms, she couldn’t help but wonder: had she inadvertently drawn the attention of whoever had shot her brother?  Was that possible?  And what could Donnie have been involved in that would cause him that kind of fear? 

“I don’t know,” she admitted to Josh.  “If Donnie was messed up in something, I honestly don’t know what it might have been.  Like I said, I hadn’t seen him a whole lot recently, and whenever I talked to him he sounded fine.”  But he hadn’t told her about moving.  In fact, there were probably a lot of things she didn’t know about her brother.  The thought made her stomach convulse.

JOSH
nodded his head, accepting that as the truth, and then scratched the back of his ear as he looked around.  Jeez.  The place really was a shithole.  And he just couldn’t stomach the thought of Samantha staying here night after night.  It was probably a miracle that she hadn’t been burgled. Or worse.  She’d directed him upstairs in response to his knock, which suggested it wasn’t the first time that had happened. And the next time the visitor might not be inclined to simply leave her alone.

His eyes drifted back to hers, and he found her watching him, expression pensive.  There was still an unaddressed issue hanging heavily between them, and he figured he might as well take it on.

“About last night –”

“Josh –”

“Samantha, don’t interrupt me.  I have something to say and you’re going to listen to me while I say it.”  The hard-ass, don’t-screw-with-me-I’m-a-cop tone shocked her speechless, which was good, and Josh figured he better go ahead and get this out before she realized he was a fraud.  Where she was concerned, he was no bigger and badder than a whipped dog.  “I’ve done some homework and figured out that you’re stripping to make extra money, because between paying for this place and trying to keep up with your brother’s hospital bills, your job at the Roadhouse isn’t cutting it as far as income.”  She sucked in a small breath, and he figured he had about another thirty seconds before she got good and pissed that he’d completely invaded her privacy.  “Yes, I followed you, and yes, I made some discreet inquiries – the little known benefits of being a cop.”  He wasted a couple seconds to offer a tight smile.

Samantha wasn’t impressed.

“Now before you kick my ass, listen to my proposition.  I have a new condo with an extra, empty bedroom.  You need a place to stay that’s safe.  And best of all, it’s free.”  He held up a hand when her mouth opened in protest.  “Your brother’s lease is just about up here, am I right?”  When she nodded reluctantly, he risked reaching out for her hand.  “Do you really want to renew it, Sam?  Wouldn’t that money be better spent helping your brother?”

Seeing the conflicting emotions on her face, Josh figured he’d pushed her enough for one night.  He’d planted the seed, now he’d give it time to germinate.  The lease was up in three days; he knew, because he’d tracked down the slumlord who owned the place and inquired.  Three days should give her plenty of time to let logic overcome pride and whatever other reservations she might have. Until then, he could request a patrol car be sent around each night.

Either that or he’d practice his stake-out techniques and pull a couple all-nighters in his car.

“Just think about it, Sam.”  He pressed her fingers, and then made a break while he still could, showing himself out the door and reminding her to lock it after him.

SAM
watched him disappear down the hall, unsure whether to laugh or cry over what had just happened.

Josh Harding had just asked her to move in with him.

For all the wrong reasons.

CHAPTER SIX

JOSH
ordered his coffee strong and black when he hit Starbucks the next morning, deciding that he didn’t need any fancy creamers or sugar to dilute the flow of caffeine into his bloodstream.  In fact, he was wondering if there was a way to just hook up an IV, maybe run a line from the coffee shop to the station house.  He’d probably just have to settle for the bitter sludge in the break room that passed as a caffeinated beverage, a travesty of the coffee bean if he’d ever seen one.  But either way, he needed a serious injection of some kind of stimulant if he was going to function effectively today.  Ever since he’d come face to face with Sam at Clay’s bachelor party, he’d slept little, and not well.

And he’d spent the better part of last night with one eye on her apartment and one eye on his side view mirror, just him and his Glock hanging out in the car in the middle of Charleston’s version of the ghetto.  Most folks had trouble believing that this beautiful and peaceful southern city had a seamier side, but like every other place where large numbers of people cohabited in close proximity, the scum always floated to the surface and spoiled the pond.  He’d seen any number of minor crimes being committed last night, and had enough information to keep both vice and narcotics busy for days, but at least no one had bothered Sam.  The next three days were going to kill him.  And if she got stubborn about moving or tried to make like smoke again, he wasn’t quite sure what he would do.

Kidnap her, maybe.

Hijack her from that seedy joint where she worked, take her home and throw her down on his bed, then make love to her until she admitted that yes, staying with him was a great idea, and yes, she was wrong for running away from what they had started all those years ago. And yes, now that he mentioned it
, he was the best thing that ever happened to her and she actually did want him for much more than a friend. And sure, getting married and popping out a couple kids, who would obviously need a golden retriever and white-picket-fence was absolutely on the agenda. 

Shaking his head, Josh pushed through the front doors of the station house and called himself every kind of fool.  Samantha clearly didn’t have those same goals in mind, and what she needed now, anyway, was a friend. 

So he’d offer himself up on a platter.

“Sap,” he muttered under his breath as the noise from the busy police station filled his ears.  No matter the hour there was always something going on, even in a city as laidback and purely southern as Charleston.  Evil knew no distinction between the Mason and Dixon sides of the line, and sheer greed and stupidity flourished everywhere.  No place was truly paradise.  

Winding through a maze of desks that were partitioned into supposedly soundproof cubicles, Josh nodded to a few detectives who were busily taking phone calls or typing out reports, heading unerringly toward his space at the back of the bullpen.  Since most of his work – which included the two dimensional reconstruction of crime scenes, composites of wanted criminals based on the descriptions of witnesses or victims, and both two and three dimensional facial reconstruction of decomposed and unidentified victims of violent crimes – meshed with that of the homicide department, he’d been given a cubicle near that particular group of detectives.  Offering a cheerful “good morning” to Mac Washington, a big bear of a black man with a stern countenance, resounding bass voice, and a toy poodle named Frou-frou, Josh deposited the stack of sketch pads he’d been carrying onto the corner of his desk before booting up his computer.  His particular machine – a laptop, so that he could utilize it in the field when the occasion called for it– was both newer and more powerful than those on the desks of his counterparts, as it contained a lot of extra programs including AutoCAD and Corel Draw, tools he used for various image enhancements, that his fellow flatfoots just didn’t need.