Teresa Southwick - An Heiress on His Doorstep

“No, thanks.”

She would have something stronger after the sheriff got there. Then it would be time to celebrate giving J.P. back a little of his own medicine. She just didn’t want to do it in front of this woman who seemed a decent sort. If she didn’t already know what a conniver her son was, Jordan didn’t want to rub her nose in it. Although she did wonder why he was so eager to call the sheriff. Could be he thought he was in the clear. That there was nothing to tie him to the scheme.

Except her father.

Anger knotted inside her. Somehow she had to teach Harman Bishop to mind his own business. Show him he couldn’t make up for twenty-four years of indifference with six months of meddling.

J.P. walked back into the room and his mother said, “What did the sheriff say? When can we expect him?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“What?” Jordan asked, surprised.

He looked at her. “It’s a small town. The sheriff’s department reflects that. On Friday night its resources are stretched to the limit. And this isn’t an emergency.”

“Since when is a kidnapping not an emergency? I agree with—” Audrey hesitated, obviously not knowing what to call Jordan “—our guest, that we don’t want the kidnapper’s trail to get cold.”

“I’m not so sure there’s any trail to cool off,” he said.

Jordan thought there was the hint of derision and a shade of cynicism in his voice. Or maybe it was just guilt.

“No one can come out until morning?” she asked.

“That’s what he said.” He slid his hands into the pockets of his khakis. The long sleeves of his yellow shirt were rolled to just below the elbows. It was a good look.

“That’s unacceptable,” his mother commented. “When I see Sheriff Michaels, I intend to give him a piece of my mind.”

“I actually talked to Rick. He’s out on a call, but he said since the victim is physically all right, we should sit tight and someone will be out tomorrow to take a statement.” He looked at Jordan. “Or I could drive her into town and leave her at the station.”

Jordan stood. “Then that’s probably the best thing to do.”

“Absolutely not,” Audrey said.

“But, Mom, the department has resources—”

Audrey shook her head. “Not the kind she needs. That institutional, bureaucratic little office won’t give her the feeling of safety and security necessary for her memory to return.”

“You’re very kind, Mrs. Patterson,” Jordan said. “I’ve burdened you enough already.” But she hadn’t burdened him nearly enough, she thought, meeting J.P.’s narrowed gaze.

“Nonsense, dear. Frankly, I was wondering how I was going to keep myself entertained. My condo is being painted, and J.P. insisted I stay with him while the work is being done.”

How about that? The man was nice to his mother. But even serial killers had redeeming qualities, and she wanted her pound of flesh for what Harman Bishop and J. P. Patterson had put her through.

“Mom, if she wants to go, I’ll be happy to take her into town.”

“Really, J.P., you rescued this young woman only to dispose of her at the sheriff’s office? She called you her hero. That doesn’t seem especially heroic to me.” She looked at Jordan. “My dear, you can’t remember who you are or where you live. Rick Michaels is an exceptional sheriff in the finest tradition of Texas lawmen. But, as with most men, he has the sensitivity of a gnat. You’re concerned about putting us out and that’s very sweet. But this place is big enough to put up several professional sports teams. I think we can handle you for one night. Maybe by morning you’ll have your memory back.”

Jordan glanced at J.P. who looked as if he would rather eat glass than have her stay. He was good. What an act. Academy Award material. And it made her furious. She’d been put out and put upon with this farce. Surely there was some law against staging a kidnapping. He’d portrayed the rescuer, but he was part of this conspiracy. She’d wanted to make a statement; she’d hoped to embarrass him in front of the sheriff. She’d been frightened to death and held captive by a wimpy little twit who caved at the first sign of trouble. And J. P. Patterson had gone along with the manipulation. What kind of man would do a thing like that?

She wanted to beat him at his own game; she wanted it bad. Sticking around until tomorrow would give her an opportunity.

“Thank you, Mrs. Patterson. I’d be happy and very relieved to accept your generosity.”

J.P. studied the slender wrist with the handcuff attached. Audrey had suggested he figure out a way to remove it while she found some clean clothes for their guest.

The stranger looked around the room. “Nice kitchen. Lots of counter space with that island in the center. The granite countertops are really beautiful. The different shades of brown and beige are a nice complement to the floor tile.”

“I’m glad you approve.”

“And this,” she said, studying the oak table and eight chairs set in the bay area. “This looks like an antique. Did it come with the house?”

“It’s old. It belonged to my great-great-grandmother.”

“It’s in wonderful shape,” she said, rubbing her hand over the wood surface. The cuff scraped against the edge and she quickly grabbed it. “Sorry. I’ll be glad to get rid of this.”

He picked up the bolt cutters he’d found in the tool-shed. “Okay, give me your hand.”

“I’m going to pray you didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” Big, beautiful brown eyes stared at the large tool in his hand. “You’re not going to cut off my hand with that, are you?”

His gaze lowered to the button on her silk blouse that held the material together over her firm breasts. “I’m going to cut off the cuff, unless you’ve got a key tucked away somewhere.”

The idea of fishing for it sent a shaft of heat straight to his groin. He didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her, but, unfortunately, that didn’t shut down his appreciation of her attributes.

“Regrettably, when the kidnapper pealed rubber on the highway as he drove off, he didn’t toss me the key.”

“A simple no would suffice.”

“We’d all like things we can’t have. For instance,” she said, “I’d like whoever’s behind this kidnapping in these cuffs.”

“Me, too.” He met her gaze and waited for her to blink. She didn’t.

“He probably didn’t pull it off by himself,” she said, with what seemed like studied casualness.

“I came to the same conclusion.”

“Really? How about that? We agree on something.”

He was just sliding the bolt cutters beneath the circle of metal on her delicate wrist when he looked up and saw her smile. He was struck by the fact that she was quite remarkably beautiful. As those shock waves hit him, his hand slipped.

She snatched hers back. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing with those things? One of us could get hurt.”

“This isn’t rocket science,” he snapped, annoyed with himself for the lapse.

“Neither is kidnapping. What do you suppose the penalty is for abducting someone against their will?”

“Penalty?”

“Yeah, as in it’s against the law. And when a person breaks the law, there’s a cost for it. Like jail time,” she added.

“I suppose so.”

“And what about accomplices? Coconspirators?”

What the hell was she doing? Was it like hiding in plain sight? Throw him off her trail by discussing the transgression? “What about them?”

“Do you think the punishment for a crime is as stiff for the brawn as it is for the brains behind it?” she asked sweetly.

“I have no idea. What do you think?”