The Black Widow. BEVERLY BARTON

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      The moment they were alone, Jordan closed her eyes and sighed.

       Very effective. Sweet and helpless. And here I am, a big, strong shoulder to lean on. God, how stupid did she think he was?

      “From here on out, take all the pot shots at me you want,” Jordan said. “But Devon is off limits. I can take whatever is dished out, by you, by anyone, by life in general. But Devon can’t. Dan’s death has hit him hard. I know someone like you can’t possibly understand another man being emotionally fragile, but that’s exactly what Devon is right now. If you hurt him, I’ll—”

      “What do you mean, someone like me?”

      “A tough guy. All macho rough and proud of it.”

      “It seems I’m not the only one who’s made a gut reaction judgment call. Yesterday, I pegged you for a cold-hearted bitch and today you’ve decided that I’m a Neanderthal, all brawn with no brains or feelings.” When he moved toward her, she took one step back, then halted and stood her ground as he approached. When only a hairsbreadth separated them, he looked down at her and asked, “If you’re wrong about me, maybe I’m wrong about you.”

      “Am I wrong about you, Mr. Carson?”

      “Partially. Am I wrong about you, Mrs. Price?”

      “I’ll leave that for you to decide when we become better acquainted.”

      It was all he could do to keep his hands off her. The only problem was, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss her or shake the living daylights out of her.

      After Rick left her study, Jordan locked the door and turned out all the lights, except the one on her desk. She walked to the windows and looked out into the darkness. A powerful, almost unbearable ache welled up inside her and for the first time since Dan’s death, she allowed the pain freedom. She stopped trying to control it, temporarily succumbing to her grief. Standing alone in the shadows, unable to cry, she trembled as the sadness engulfed her. She grieved for Dan, for a future that would never be, and for a past that she could not change.

      She closed her eyes and moaned quietly. She wanted to scream, to rant, to curse the heavens. If it were within her power to go back a few short weeks and change things, would she? For her child’s sake?

      How many more good years might Dan have had? One? Five? They would never know. His untimely death had saved all of them and at the same time had cheated them. Even if Devon could not see both sides of the issue, she could. If that made her the cold-hearted bitch that Rick Carson had accused her of being, then she accepted the condemnation. Life was never all black or all white; instead it was shades of gray. People were never all good or all bad, but myriad combinations.

      Had life and circumstances taken away all that was pure and good and loving inside her? Had she truly become cold hearted, so much so that she could admit, if only to herself, that perhaps Dan’s death would free her from the lie her life had become?

       Forgive me, Dan. Please forgive me.

       We both deserved so much more than what we had to settle for, a marriage without passion, living two separate lives, one in public and the other in private.

      Jordan slumped down into the nearest chair, bent over and covered her face with her hands, effectively muffling her moans. She wanted to cry, wished she could weep cleansing tears, allowing them to flow freely until she was spent. Crying would be such a relief. She curled up in the large, overstuffed chair, pulled the folded afghan from the arm, opened it, and wrapped it around herself.

      Tomorrow morning she would face what lay ahead: the reading of Dan’s will, the private investigation into his death, Gary Werneth taking Dan’s place in the senate, holding together and providing for her hodgepodge of a family, bringing her child into the world without his or her father, accepting the fact that she was destined to live the rest of her life without love.

      But tonight, she didn’t have to be strong and brave. She didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. She didn’t have to feel guilty or blame herself for what had happened.

      All she had to do was survive one more night.

      She tapped softly on the door. She was concerned about Jordan. Devon should have stayed with her. He had always been such a comfort to her, had been at her side through all her tragedies. But perhaps this time, Devon couldn’t give her what she needed because he, too, was grieving a personal loss. He had loved Dan, as they all had loved him. What would happen to them now that Dan was gone? Unless he had changed his will without informing anyone, Jordan stood to inherit a third of his vast fortune. If only she’d been able to tell him about the child she was carrying, he might have divided things up differently. Even now, it was possible that a clever lawyer could protest the will and claim a portion of Dan’s wealth for his son or daughter. But no matter what Jordan decided to do about the inheritance, there was no need to worry. Jordan would take care of her. She’d take care of all of them, just as she’d been doing for years.

      “Jordan…Jordan, are you all right?” She tried the handle and found the door locked. Oh, my, that wasn’t a good sign. “Please, Jordan, let me in. We’ll talk. Please, Jordan…”

      Silence.

      “If you need anything…Oh, Jordan, I’m so very sorry about Dan.”

      Why wouldn’t she answer? It wasn’t like Jordan to shut her out of her life this way.

      “I love you, Jordan, so very much. You know I’d do anything for you. Anything.”

      No reply. No response of any kind.

      She pressed her forehead against the closed door and laid both hands, palms open, flat against the door frame on either 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.”

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