Free Bodyguard/Husband by Mallory Kane Page A

him? That’s just an expression. You’re in the south, Jack. People take family and friends seriously. And they talk like that. Surely even you know that was no threat.”

    Jack didn’t crack a smile. “Has he ever asked you out? Made overtures to you?”
    “T-Bone? He’s married with two kids.”
    “That doesn’t answer my question.”
    Holly sighed in exasperation. “No, dear, he’s never asked me out. He’s older than me. He’d graduated by the time I started high school.”
    “So had I.”
    She stared at him. Suddenly, Jack O’Hara moved a little bit closer to her universe. He wasn’t just an FBI agent. He had a life, a past. He was thirty-two or thirty-three years old—four years older than her.
    But there all resemblance between him and anyone she’d ever known ended. He was defined by his job, focused, serious, yet detached. He asked questions and filed away the answers like a computer.
    “You cannot possibly think T-Bone is a suspect because he blushed. He’s always gotten embarrassed easily.”
    Jack looked at her steadily.
    “Oh God.” She collapsed back in her chair. “You’re going to do this to everyone I know. This is going to tear the town apart.”
    Jack shifted in his chair. “Holly, I know it’s hard second-guessing everyone around you—”
    “It’s easy for you to say you know, but you don’t. When this is all over, you’ll just dust off your hands and go home. I have to stay here and live with all these people you’re accusing.”
    “When this is all over, everyone will understand. They’ll support you because you’re one of them.”
    “You really don’t get it, do you.” She lifted her hair off her hot neck. “If what you say is true, then the killer is one of them, too. And no matter how itturns out, my life will never be the same. The last thing I want is people finding out about this. Offering casseroles and sympathy, walking around on eggshells as if they think I’m going to fall apart—or worse, let them down. Like it would be a big catastrophe if I was too distraught to organize the Wellness Picnic this year.” She stopped, ashamed of her bitter outburst.
    “Maybe it’s how they let you know how important you are to them.”
    His words were awkward, but somehow more comforting than all the fussing and food her neighbors considered appropriate for sympathy.
    Was she too hard on her friends and neighbors? On herself? Was she the only one who demanded the perfection and supreme organization she’d surrounded herself with?
    “So, how did your husband die exactly?”
    “Back to the business at hand,” she muttered.
    He looked up, but she shook her head. “Never mind.” How had Brad died? Carelessly. Too young. “He slipped in the locker room shower.”
    “He was alone.”
    She nodded. “He’d been refinishing the gym floor.”
    “The autopsy indicated a broken neck and a massive contusion on the back of his head.”
    A twinge of pain began behind her right eye. She rubbed her temple, recognizing the signs of a migraine headache. “I know what the autopsy indicated,” she said tiredly.
    “But there was no investigation?”
    She glared at him. “You know there was no investigation.”
    “Are you aware that the Medical Examiner noted that the appearance of the contusion possibly indicateda second blow? Or that there were questionable bruises on his neck?”
    Holly’s face drained of color. “Questionable bruises?”
    Jack nodded. “Apparently your husband’s family doctor said Brad was a hands-on football coach and could have gotten the bruises during practice.”
    Holly looked down at her hands. Jack was turning her world inside out, speaking his devastating words in his calm, reasonable voice. “Nobody told me.”
    Jack looked at her steadily. “Your uncle Virgil asked that you not be upset unnecessarily.”
    “So there’s no question Brad was murdered?”
    “Our medical experts are studying the autopsy report.” Jack pulled the second