Obsession (Southern Comfort) (12 page)

She stopped when she saw him, feeling like she’d run up against a brick wall. 
A brick wall mortared with testosterone. Muscles bunched and rippled beneath a tight gray T-shirt as he hammered a new board onto the back steps.  If there was a female around who couldn’t appreciate the sight, Kathleen figured she was either a lesbian or blind.  Or dead.

“Where’s that mistletoe when you need it?”

She hadn’t intended to say that.  But what the hell.  If he laughed it off, she’d play right along and they’d be back on familiar footing.  No harm, no foul.  But if he grabbed her and pressed her up against all those lovely muscles – a flashback to the Christmas party caused her stomach to flutter…well.

They’d just see what happened, wouldn’t they.

Then he turned around, and the lovely little flutter lost its wings.  “Gee,” she said after a few beats.  “This is awkward.”

The younger man – clearly not Justin, though the resemblance was strong enough to throw her – gave her a slow once-over, his gaze lingering on
the not inconsiderable expanse of her exposed legs.  “Not from where I’m standing.”

Then his eyes snapped back to hers, and he offered a playful grin.  “I don’t have any mistletoe handy, but there’s some Span
ish moss over there on that oak.  Will that do?”

“Ha.”
Tamping down her discomfiture – she’d just had inadvertent lustful thoughts about Justin’s little brother, for God’s sake – Kathleen strode forward and stuck out her hand.

“I’m Kathleen Murphy.  A friend of Justin’s.  You must be James.”

“Good call.”  His palm was warm and calloused as it met hers.  “Murphy…” His voice trailed off.  “Your family owns the pub?”

“My father and brothers, yes.”

“Nice place.”

“Thanks.
”

He angled his head.  “So you’re the cop.”

“I am.” Kathleen wondered what Justin had said about her, but because wondering made her feel like a total chick, she pulled out a smile and returned to the subject at hand. “Sorry about the mistaken identity. And while you’re awfully cute, I’m afraid I’ll have to pass on your generous offer of Spanish moss substitution.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.  I take it you’re looking for my brother.”

“Provided he hasn’t been peering out the window, watching this all unfold.  In which case I may never be able to look at him again.”

James chuckled, a dimple appearing in his left cheek. 
For some reason, that little visible difference between him and his brother was a relief.  “You’re in luck.  Or not, depending on which way you look at it.  He went out a little bit ago to pick up some more wood for the porch.  He shouldn’t be gone too long, though, if you’d like to wait.”

“Oh.” Kathleen’s brow’s knit
.  “I saw his pickup in the drive.”

“Yeah, he took my SUV.”
  James’ smile slipped, and he turned his attention to the hammer in his hand, giving it a little toss. “Can I offer you something to drink, or – ”

“What’s wrong with his truck?”

“What do you mean?”

This wasn’t the Wellington whose body language she’d intended to read, but Kathleen
couldn’t help but note the hammer-fidgeting thing.  “I mean that it makes more sense for him to have taken his truck if he went to pick up wood.”

“Oh.” Another toss of the hammer.  “My car was parked behind his.”

Which sounded perfectly reasonable, at least to someone who didn’t understand nonverbal cues.  Or for that matter, the relationship Justin had with his truck.  Something was… off.  “It wasn’t broken into again, was it?”

James’ face registered surprise.  “You know about that?”

“He told me about it when I gave him a ride to Murphy’s the other day.”  She crossed her arms over her chest.  “Didn’t he have the locks changed?”

“Yes.”

“Is the truck running okay?”

“Last I heard.”
 

“Then why didn’t he drive his
pickup
truck to ‘pick up’ lumber?”

James’ lips quivered.  “
Are you sure you don’t want to read me my rights before you interrogate me?”

“Sorry.” Kathleen dropped her arms to her sides, but h
e held up a conciliatory hand. 

“I have one of those.  A cop, I mean. In the family.  I guess you know my older brother works for the FBI.  Anyway
, I’m basically used to the second degree.  And the suspicion.”

“Well, you
were
fidgeting.  With the hammer,” she clarified when he stared at her.

He stroked a hand over his chin.  “Is fidgeting like blinking?  With regards to giving away the fact that you’re being evasive, I mean.  Cause I spent a
lot
of time not blinking in the vicinity of my parents when I was a teen.”

Kathleen smirk
ed.  The youngest Wellington was nothing if not charming.  But she wasn’t going to let him fully turn the subject.  “Look James, I’m not trying to pry – ”

“Sure you are.”

“Okay,” she admitted with a nod.  “That’s fair.  I’m prying, which, being a cop and all, I tend to do.  But I also get the feeling there’s something out of the ordinary going on with your brother.  And while normally I would just annoy him until he told me what was wrong, the fact is…”

Kathleen trailed off, not knowing exactly how to phrase her dilemma.  How did one explain to the brother of the man who’d been a
rock solid mainstay of friendship in her life for the past several years that everything had changed with a single kiss?  Or maybe it had changed.  Maybe not.  She couldn’t be sure until she talked to Justin.  Who seemed to be simultaneously avoiding her and missing her.  Which made absolutely
no
sense, come to think of it, given that the man was supposed to be a bulwark of logic.

“Would this have anything to do with mistletoe?”

Kathleen’s head snapped back up.  James was eying her with calculation.  “Why do you ask?”

He held up one long finger.  “I believe the interrogation ball is still in my court.
  Now again: mistletoe?”

She sighed
“Maybe.”

“Mickey Mouse
?”

“What?”

“Think of it as word association.  If I say mistletoe and Mickey Mouse, you say…”

“Are you high?”

His grin flashed, but he studied her closely for another second.  “No blinking.  No fidgeting.  You’re either a really good liar, or you didn’t send that ornament.”

“What ornament?”

“I had to check.” James sat the hammer down on the cream colored railing.  “Justin’s not quite as observant – or as neutral – as he could be in certain areas.”

“James.” Kathleen held onto her patience.  “Could you please, in plain English, tell me what the hell you’re talking about?”

“Justin will kill me,” he muttered.

“Well, I might kill you if you don’t.  And I’m the one who’s armed.”

He smiled at that.  “You take no shit, do you?”

“None at all.”

“Good.” And his expression grew serious.  “Because there’s some pretty hinky shit going on.”

JUSTIN
rubbed the back of his neck as he walked toward the coffee shop.  He hadn’t had any caffeine since the few sips he’d taken that morning, wary of drinking anything which had come from his machine.  Not that he believed Mandy would poison him.  Of course, he hadn’t believed she would break into his truck or into his house, either, for that matter.  Not that you could really call it breaking in when the person used a key.

Hell
.

He still didn’t know whether she’d simply been helping herself to his spare keys – she knew where he kept them – or whether she’d had keys made for herself without his knowledge.  Not that it really mattered all that much how she’d come by them.  The problem was that she’d used them.

And what the hell was she trying to prove with that stunt this morning?  That she knew how he liked his coffee? That she was a domestic goddess? That she was whacked?

Well, mission accomplished on that
last one.

Realizing he’d forgotten to lock James’ SUV – which his brother had insisted he drive for a while, in case Crazy Mandy got any more bright ideas
– Justin turned around to aim the remote, engaging the alarm. 

And backed into someone.

“I’m sorry.” He grabbed the arm of the woman he’d barreled into to keep her from falling over, though despite his efforts something small and cylindrical flew from her hand.  “I wasn’t watching where I was going.  Are you…oh, hey.  Anne, isn’t it?”

The woman looked at him blankly for a moment, but then recognition dawned in her large
dark eyes.  “Oh.  Dr. Wellington.  I’m sorry; I didn’t recognize you outside the hospital setting.”

“I’m just the oaf mowing you down in the doorway to the coffee shop.”

“Hardly an oaf.” She smiled politely. “It was as much my fault as yours.  I was reading a label when I should have been paying attention.”

Re
minded of the object she’d dropped, Justin looked down and spotted a plastic bottle, which had rolled a few feet away.  “Here you go.”  He stooped down, retrieved it.  And though he hadn’t intended to invade her privacy, noted the name of the herb printed on the label.  His brows drew together in a frown.

“Kava?”

“Yes.” Anne pushed aside a strand of hair which had blown into her eyes before reaching for the bottle.  The glance she shot him was guilty. “I know there are some potential side effects, but – ”

“Liver failure,” Justin agreed.  “Hepatitis.  Among others.”

Her expression became one of distress.  “Those cases are rare, though, aren’t they?  And usually due to extended use.  I did read up before I bought it.”

“Anne.”  He placed a gentle hand on her elbow and steered her away from the
door.  “Is everything okay?  I know we discussed how stressful post-traumatic situations can be.  And while kava does appear to have some success with relieving stress-related insomnia, I don’t know that I’d recommend it.  If you’re having trouble sleeping – ”

“Oh, it’s not
for me.”  She offered a smile, but it wobbled a little.  “It’s Natasha.  She has… nightmares.  Which is understandable, I know.  But I’m worried.  She’s not sleeping well, she’s not eating right, she’s…” Her breath hitched, once, then twice, and Justin sensed a mini-meltdown coming on. 

“Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” he offered
as a distraction.  “Or tea?  We can talk.”

Anne squeezed her eyes shut, sending one lone tear sliding down her pale cheek.  “That would be great,” she admitted with a smile of gratitude.

“After you.”  Justin pulled open the door, and ushered her through.

“SO,”
Justin said after he and Natasha’s sister were seated at a small table in the corner of the shop.  “Natasha’s recovery is not going well, I take it.”

Anne blew
delicately across the foam of her cappuccino.  “I wouldn’t say that, entirely.  Physically, I think that she is recovering admirably.  Writing is still a problem, as she still has significant weakness in her hand, but she’s slowly regaining the range of motion, I believe you call it, in her shoulder.  When she chooses to do her therapy, that is.”

He heard the frustration in her voice, and beneath that, the concern. 
“Will it make you feel better if I tell you that lack of motivation and even rebellion are not uncommon reactions? She’s having to relearn basic functions due to no fault of her own.  A lot of patients find it alternately depressing and infuriating.”

“I understand that.”  Anne took a sip of her coffee.  “I do.  And if that were the only problem, I wouldn’t be so concerned.  But…” she ran one manicured finger along the handle of her mug.

“But?” Justin prompted.

She sighed, and met h
is gaze.  “As I said, she hasn’t been sleeping well, and she does little more than pick at her food.  She’s lost more weight, when she’s supposed to be gaining it back.  I’ve tried to reach her, tried to be there for her – cooking meals, keeping her apartment clean.  Buying her little treats.  Anything I can do to get her spirits up.  If it wasn’t for her roommate…”

She trailed off again, and this time there was antipathy mixed with the frustration.

“You feel that her roommate is impeding her recovery?”

Anne glanced around at the surrounding
patron-filled tables, then leaned in, apparently loathe to be overheard.  “Shelley – you remember Shelley?”

Justin nodded.

“She, well, to be honest, she doesn’t much like me.  And I’m afraid the feeling is mutual.  It wouldn’t normally be a problem, except that Shelley has this… temper.  She – and I don’t mean to sound like I’m gossiping, but I believe it’s relevant – she was an addict.  Oxycodone, amphetamines.  God knows what else.  She’s clean now, but it seems that her anger issues were exacerbated by going straight, if that’s possible.  And she’s wildly possessive.  Of Natasha, I mean.  I often feel like I’m involved in some sort of territorial battle. And the other night she… ” Anne swallowed noisily, clearly on the verge of tears again.