Cold Hearted. Beverly Barton

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

      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.”

      “Thank you for saying that,” Jordan told her assistant. “From now on, the most important thing in my life is my child. He or she comes first. I will do whatever it takes to protect my baby and give him or her the best life possible, even without Dan here to help me.”

      “He will have Devon and his Uncle Ryan for male role models and all of us to love him. And he’ll grow up knowing what a fine man his father was.”

      After knocking on the partially closed door, Rick swung it open all the way. “Am I interrupting anything? If so, I can come back later.”

      The two women turned quickly to face him, both obviously surprised by his intrusion.

      “No, please, come in,” Jordan said. “Rene was just leaving.” She turned to her assistant. “I’d like to read over the press release before you contact the media.”

      “Certainly.” Rene offered Rick a forced smile as she walked past him and out of the room.

      “Would you care for coffee?” She indicated the carafe on her desk. “I’m afraid it’s decaf. Or if you prefer hot tea, I can—”

      “Coffee’s fine, but it can wait. I’m here, as promised, to report to you.”

      “Yes, of course. I suppose I wasn’t expecting anything this soon.”

      Rick looked her over, from head to toe. She didn’t look pregnant. No tummy bulge, not even a slight one. She was slender and pale. Too pale. Weren’t pregnant women supposed to glow?

      How could he confront a pregnant woman with his suspicions? He had already asked her if she’d killed her husband and she’d told him that