Deception (Southern Comfort) by Lisa Clark O'Neill Page A

rain. 
    “Hell, she’s packed in there like a sardine,” Kathleen murmured.  “She definitely had a little help getting down there.”
    Josh spotlighted the fractures with his pen.  “And chances are she wasn’t alive when it happened.  It will be the ME’s call, of course, but if I were to guess I’d have to say our girl succumbed to blunt force trauma.  Looks to me like somebody beat the hell out of her.”
    Kathleen made a noise of disgust, just as Mac loomed large behind them.
    “Farris is here,” he grunted, indicating the woman from the medical examiner’s office.
    “Good.” Josh clicked off his light as he stood.  His thigh ached and he cursed the weather.  “Let’s get this girl out of here.”
     
    SAM sighed, rubbing the small of her back with a weary hand as she waited for Luke, the bartender, to fill her order.  From the other end of the bar he gave her a give me a minute motion with his chin, obviously caught up in talking football with one of the regulars.  Sam saw some bills change hands as the guy accepted his beer from Luke, and she knew he wasn’t paying for his beverage.  The Roadhouse probably did a much bigger business under the table and in the back room than it ever showed on its tax returns.  She wondered again how much Donnie had been involved, and whether or not it had anything to do with his bullet wound.  From what she’d seen things were pretty small-time, no more than a few mostly-friendly bets among some regulars.  But whenever money was involved, particularly gambling money, tempers had a way of getting out of control. 
    She’d debated with herself since she’d realized what was going on, if she should say something to the police.  But she had no idea if it related to Donnie’s case, and either way the bar would be shut down in a heartbeat if it looked like they were fronting illegal gambling, however harmless. And then where would she and Donnie be?  What would happen to his insurance policy if the group that owned The Roadhouse suddenly stopped paying his premiums? She could get another job, sure, but even with all the recent changes in healthcare policy there would likely be no way to get coverage for her brother after the fact.
    So she kept her mouth shut, and her eyes open.
    Just when she thought that she might have to go behind the bar and fill the order herself, the door to the back hall opened and a familiar figure walked through.  Spotting her, Dane Wilcox strolled over, a million dollar smile stretching his tanned face, windblown and handsome in his casually rumpled polo.  He’d no doubt been out on Daddy’s yacht. 
    “Samantha,” he moved in close and brushed a thumb down her cheek.  “You look troubled, sweetheart.  Anything I can do to help?”
    Sam fought the urge to recoil.  Dane wasn’t a bad guy, just spoiled and completely full of himself.  But when you were born with the whole drawer of silver in your mouth she guessed it was hard not to think you were special.  Dane’s father and a group of partners owned The Roadhouse, along with half the city, or so it seemed, and for some reason Dane liked to hang out at this dump and pretend he was a real working businessman.  It was a joke, because he came and went as he pleased, but in the grand scheme of things he was more of a minor nuisance than actual problem.
    “Maybe you could remind Luke to do his job,” she said, only half joking.  She had a table of hard drinking construction workers who weren’t going to be happy if they didn’t get their beer.  She glanced behind her and sure enough the man with the thick beard and creepy snake tattoo glared like he wanted to eat her instead of the beer nuts.  Apparently their work had been called off for the rest of the afternoon and they were determined to spend the unexpected time off getting plastered.  Lucky her.
    Dane followed the direction of her gaze and frowned.  “Somebody giving you trouble?”  His voice was suddenly