A Night of Southern Comfort Read online

  “I’ve done nothing to break our agreement.”

  “Acting like a common whore in public is in direct violation of our terms.” His eyes narrowed with anger and she fought the instinct to take a step back. “You said you would do nothing to jeopardize my plans.”

  “And I haven’t. I’ve kept my end of the barg—” Michaela stalled when she realized what was going on. You’re so stupid. Disgust rolled through her gut at being played so easily, at believing that he’d actually keep his end of the deal.

  “I can’t believe this bullshit,” she fumed.

  “Michaela, watch your language.”

  She grabbed her purse and stalked over to where her father leaned against the table. When she raised her hand to poke his chest, it was steady.

  “Governor, you must think I’m stupid.” She stood taller and peered down at him, tamping down the disappointment over what she didn’t see in him. At what age did you stop hoping your father would love you? “We had a deal. I lie low and you leave me alone. I don’t know what you paid for those pictures but it won’t work. The jerk who took them is probably on your payroll. I can’t believe you wasted everyone’s time. I’m going home.”

  She turned on her heel and headed toward the door. “I did not arrange for those filthy pictures.” Her father’s voiced roared right behind her. “Come back here!”

  His grip on her arm was like a vise and she gasped at the pain that shot through her. She struggled to break free, but he was strong when angry.

  “Let her go.”

  Michaela and her father both jumped at the deep, threatening voice booming behind them. Over her shoulder unfurled a scene straight out of a movie of the week, Jackson looming over the governor, his features cold, unforgiving, and lethal.

  “Governor, Dr. Roarke would like to leave.” Jackson’s voice was low and steady and promised he would back up his unspoken threat. “I suggest you let her go.”

  When her father loosened his grip, Michaela scrabbled for the doorknob and ran into the hallway on wobbly knees. Grasping the wall for balance, she leaned over, struggling to catch her breath before she hyperventilated. Not here. Not here.

  She was worse than a fool. She still expected Governor Jefferson Eastland to act like her father.

  “Dr. Roarke, are you okay?”

  Jackson’s voice was as warm and gentle as the caresses he pressed up and down her back. She turned and he enveloped her in his arms. Unashamed, Michaela buried her face in his shoulder and hung onto his reassuring bulk, loving how his hand burrowed into her hair and cradled her head in his warm palm.

  “Michaela.” Jackson’s voice was heavy with unspoken questions.

  She wasn’t answering them now. Not ever.

  “No.” She stepped back from the temporary security he offered. “No, Jackson. There’s no threat. No one is following me. My fath—” she swallowed hard and wiped her damp cheeks with the back of her hand. “The governor set me up. He has to control everything around him and he’s mad that I actually followed through with my plan to have my own life. This is his attempt to bully me into doing what he wants. If I let him, I’ll never be free of him.”

  “What if you’re wrong?” Jackson traced her cheekbone with his finger before moving down to cup her face with his hand.

  Michaela leaned into his touch, allowing herself this indulgence. His caress brought back memories of their night together, the night she’d thought about often in the last month and longed to repeat. But for his own good, she had to stay away from him.

  Her father wouldn’t let her live her own life—it was a compulsion that had made her mother miserable and forced her brother to move across an ocean. The governor didn’t care about what she wanted or needed, and that included a lover of her own choice. Every man in her life either sold their soul to gain what the governor offered or suffered the devastating consequences of refusing him. She wouldn’t let it happen to Jackson. The last five minutes had proven that he was just crazy or noble enough to take on her father and ignore the cost to himself.

  “Jackson.” She looked at him, touched by the concern and determination in his face. Yes, he’d play the hero for her. But, it had to end now. Michaela stepped out of his embrace and backed away toward the front door. “Forget about me. Don’t call, don’t come see me, and do not let him know you’re the man in those photos.”

  He tried to follow, his expression confused but stubborn. She held her hand up to halt his progress. Michaela looked at his handsome face and once again regretted who she was.

  “Stay away from me, Jackson. I’m not worth the trouble.”

  …

  Jack stalked back into the governor’s office, torn between ditching this three-ring circus and his desire to get to the truth. Seeing Gwyneth—no, Michaela—was a shock. He’d thought about her often and then chastised himself for his foolishness. He’d known from the beginning that she was out of his league, and the assumption was now confirmed. She was political royalty in this area of the country and he was the son of a small town sheriff.

  That didn’t seem to matter to his body. One look at her and he’d remembered every detail of their night together and prayed no one noticed the sudden tightness in his jeans.

  Shaking off that thought, he turned to the problem at hand. Michaela was certain her father was behind the photographs, but what if she was wrong? The governor was capable of setting his daughter up—he definitely wasn’t on the short list for father of the year—but to what end?

  He headed toward Director Burris and the governor, but his progress was blocked by Detective David Landon—Lucky, his partner and cousin—pressing a hand to his chest.

  “Where are you going?”

  Annoyed, he tried to dart around Lucky. “I want answers.”

  “Yes. No. To get to the other side.”

  “You’re a jackass.”

  “It’s one of my many charms.” Lucky’s tone was cocky but his expression showed worry. “How’s Dr. Roarke?”

  “How the hell do you think she is?” Jack turned and gripped the back of a chair instead of punching the wall. “She’s angry, embarrassed, and afraid.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  “Yeah, but she’s more afraid of her father than a possible stalker. That’s so twisted.” He hung his head while he struggled to gather his thoughts. Governor Eastland was a bastard and suspect number one on his list.

  Lucky placed a hand on his shoulder, his voice low. “So, about the pictures…”

  “What about them? Typical sicko-type stuff.”

  Raised voices caused them to turn. Director Burris and the governor stood rigid with fury and frustration. The third man, Mitchell, licked his lips in delight over the whole scene and Jack mentally moved him to the number two slot on his list of “pervs most likely.”

  “We need to find the guy in the photos.” Lucky’s voice drew his attention once again. “He might be the one behind the pictures, you know.”

  Jack stared at Lucky. He had some explaining to do. “I’m the guy.”

  Jack almost laughed at the rare sight of Lucky Landon speechless. He shifted uncomfortably—should he tell Burris?

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” Lucky asked.

  “She told me not to.”

  “When?”

  “Earlier. When they brought out the pictures.” He saw Lucky’s confused expression and tried to put into words what had passed between them. “She told me…it was written all over her face… Shit, it’s hard to explain.” He rubbed his jaw as the uncomfortable silence stretched out.

  Lucky barely concealed his amusement. “Okay. So, now we’re reading her thoughts? What’s going on with this woman?”

  When you figure it out, let me know.

  “Cantrell. Landon. Get over here!”

  The barking voice of his former boss compelled Jack to cross the room. Burris’s face was red, arms crossed over his chest—whatever he had to say to them, he didn’t like it.

&
nbsp; “Cantrell. Governor Eastland still wants you to take the protection detail on Dr. Roarke.” He cleared his throat and rocked back on his heels. “I want you to know that refusing this assignment will not affect the possibility of you getting your job back at the Bureau.”

  His old boss was a terrible liar.

  “Enough of this bullshit!” Eastland slammed his fist down on the table.

  Jack stifled a perverse urge to laugh in his face. Maybe Eastland was suited for Congress; he was a pro at showboating.

  “Cantrell, this has taken too much of my time so I’m going to get to the point. You were booted out of the FBI and I don’t care.”

  His amusement died in his throat as he heard the sound of his career once again going down the toilet.

  “I wasn’t boo—” Jack said.

  “You botched the mission and got your partner killed. They let you resign but it was only to save them the paperwork for firing your ass.”

  Anger loosened Jack’s tongue. “You have no idea what happened.”

  “And I don’t give a damn. Burris tells me you’re the best and that’s who I want. I don’t care how you get the job done. I want you to find the asshole and I want him stopped before he damages my campaign.”

  “Do you even care about your daughter?” Jack stared down the older man and was shocked by what he saw: nothing. Not a spark of fatherly concern or affection. He suppressed the urge to grab Governor Eastland by the lapels of his custom-made suit and shake him until he vomited on his designer shoes. This was seriously fucked up. He’d stared down cold-blooded killers who’d possessed more humanity than the man who stood before him.

  “No. I won’t do the job.” Jack’s voice was firm.

  “I’m not asking you.” Eastland rose, walked over and stood as close as possible without giving Jack an excuse to clock him. “If you don’t do this, you’ll never get back to the FBI. In fact, you’ll be lucky to keep the job you have.” His lip hitched up in a perverse smile. “I hope you like working security at Walmart.”

  “You’ve gone too far, Governor,” Burris said.

  “No. It would be too far if I couldn’t back it up.” Eastland adjusted his cufflinks. “If you succeed, I’ll make sure you get your job back.”

  Damn. This jerk was dangling everything he wanted right under his nose. It had been a year since he’d left the Bureau under the threat of termination—a long year of working shitty, low-dollar, undercover vice cases with the Roanoke PD. Jack had tried everything to get his old job back, and here it was offered up like a prize. He had no doubt that Eastland might screw him over no matter the outcome, but he’d ruin him if he refused.

  “Dr. Roarke doesn’t want the protection.”

  The governor chuckled. “My daughter doesn’t know what she wants. I shouldn’t have agreed to this little experiment of hers. The first thing she did was pick up some loser in a bar and allowed some other loser to take photographs of her acting like a whore. I fully expect to get a request for money to buy those pictures to keep them out of the tabloids. It’s only a matter of time.”

  “She’s a grown woman. She’s not going to let me follow her around and butt into her life,” Jack protested.

  “That’s why you can’t tell her. Go undercover, watch her from a distance, seduce her. I don’t give a shit how you do it, I just want it done.”

  “Seduce her? She isn’t a hooker.” Jack choked the words out past the fury boiling in his gut.

  “Like I said, you just get it done. By some good fortune, she’s moved to your hometown to open her practice. Your turning up in her life won’t look so suspicious.” He turned on his greasy politician’s smile. “Are we in agreement?”

  Rock? Hard place? Meet Jack.

  He ran through his options. Michaela needed someone to figure out who this pervert was and he was the best person to do that job. He could keep her safe better than anyone. It wasn’t bragging. The Marines and the Bureau had honed his skills to a fine point. Until his fuckup, he was the guy they sent when they wanted someone found, dead, or safe.

  And Michaela wasn’t just anyone. She wasn’t one of the faceless people he’d helped over the years in the name of Uncle Sam. This was the woman with the courage to go after what she wanted. She’d sucked him into her orbit and had remained rooted in his mind ever since. She just wanted a life of her own. Now that he understood why, he couldn’t refuse to help her.

  On the other hand, he railed at the thought of working for this man. He’d get a whole load of fleas from lying down with this dog.

  But his motives weren’t pure. He wanted what the governor offered and he’d be a fool to waste the chance. It might be the only one he got. Yep, being so close to his goal was as strong a factor as his worry for Michaela. The truth of the matter was that if he took the job, he could keep her safe and get his own life back on track. Everybody wins.

  “I’ll take the job,” he answered. “But I do it my way.”

  “Fine. Just take care of it,” Eastland said, then vanished into his office.

  Furious at how he got played, Jack scooped up the folder with the evidence and stalked out of the house. He needed a shower. A long, hot, antibacterial shower.

  It’s just another job. Research, surveillance, connecting with the mind of the local perv, and a shiny brass ring at the end.

  Lucky walked alongside him and kept his mouth shut for the short journey from the house to his truck, but the sound of the engine turning over loosened his tongue.

  “We’ll get the job done and you’ll get back to DC. Easy in. Easy out.”

  “Yeah. It’s just a job.” Jack backed out and drove down the driveway, breathing a little easier once he passed through the gates. He drove in silence, the monotony of the miles engaging the investigative part of his brain. “I want complete workups on Dr. Roarke, the governor, and everyone on both of their staffs. This guy is probably someone they know.”

  “I’ll start as soon as we get back.” Lucky shifted in his seat, his fingers tapping on his leg. “So, she’s Dr. Roarke now?”

  “She’s the target. It’s a job.” Jack had to put distance between himself and Michaela. Things got messy and dangerous if you got too close to the people involved. He knew that firsthand.

  “So, you’re not going to resume ‘playing doctor’ with the hot doc?” Lucky asked.

  “That was one night. Nothing more.” He glanced over. Lucky fidgeted, a frown on his face. Jack exited onto the highway to head back to Elliott. “And you know my rule. I don’t sleep with a target.”

  Chapter Three

  “Dr. Mike, Crystal is here to drop off your keys.”

  The voice of her office manager lured Michaela to the front desk of her new office. The old Victorian mansion on the quaint Main Street of Elliott, Virginia, was perfect for the pediatric practice of a small-town doctor. The front parlor, sitting room, and dining room were now one big, open space where the late afternoon light spilled through large windows onto a roomful of waiting patients.

  This was too good to lose.

  She’d dreamed about this for years, this freedom. The anonymity was the best part. As long as no one found out, she wasn’t her father’s daughter in Elliott. Here, she was just Michaela—Dr. Mike. And someday? Someday, she might have some of the other things she’d only dreamed about, like a husband and a family. If she got to stay and make it happen.

  One month. That’s all it had taken for the governor to make her plan an exit strategy.

  Refusing to give in to her pity party, Michaela patted the shoulder of Vergie, her receptionist and office manager, and handed over the file with her notes for the transcriptionist. While she’d gutted the building and tossed out most of Dr. Scearce’s equipment, she’d kept Vergie. The sixty-something woman might perm her hair to within an inch of its life but she knew how to run the business end of a practice. She also knew everyone in town, including the woman standing at the front counter right now.

  Crystal Robertson, rea
l estate agent, businesswoman, and Michaela’s current landlord, was perfectly made up from the top of her bottle-blond head down to her expensive, designer shoes. Smiling, she dangled a set of keys from red-tipped fingernails. She looked like a barracuda in Manolo Blahniks but she’d turned out to be a good friend to Michaela. Crystal knew who her father was—the world of the rich in Virginia was a small one—but she’d made it clear that she’d never tell anyone. The old Michaela was suspicious of the unearned loyalty but the new one had given her the benefit of the doubt. So far, she hadn’t been proven wrong.

  “Michaela, I brought the extra set of keys by for you.” Crystal’s glossed lips spread out into a wide grin. “I gave a set to Terrell as well since he’ll be your handyman. Thanks again for giving my brother the work. I promise he’ll do a good job.”

  “I’m sure he will.” Michaela took the keys and slipped them into the pocket of her white coat. “Thanks again for referring me to Teague Elliott. We wrapped up the legal paperwork this morning.” She gestured around the sunny room. “This is all mine.”

  “You and the mortgage company.”

  Theresa, Michaela’s old college roommate and physician’s assistant, plopped a file onto the front desk, grabbed a piece of candy out of a jar, and leaned her hip against the edge of the counter.

  “Yep. After you slave away for fifteen years, this will all be yours.” Theresa grinned as she looked at Vergie. “Did you ask her about her hot date?”

  “Nope.” The older woman drawled out her answer without looking up from her work. “I figure I’ll leave the personal questions up to you.”

  Crystal jumped in. “Hot date? Yes, please.”

  “It’s not a date,” Michaela protested.

  “So you’re not going to dinner with Teague?” Theresa asked.

  “I am, but—”

  “Well, I’m sure he thinks it’s a date,” Crystal stated with conviction.

  Vergie chimed in. “If a beautiful girl is out with Teague Elliott then she oughta know he’s trying to get in her pants.”