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Authors: T. Lynn Ocean

Tags: #Mystery: Cozy - Security Specialist - North Carolina

T. Lynn Ocean - Jersey Barnes 01 - Southern Fatality

BOOK: T. Lynn Ocean - Jersey Barnes 01 - Southern Fatality
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T. Lynn Ocean - Jersey Barnes 01 - Southern Fatality
Jersey Barnes [1]
T. Lynn Ocean
Minotaur (2007)
Tags:
Mystery: Cozy - Security Specialist - North Carolina
Mystery: Cozy - Security Specialist - North Carolinattt
Immerse yourself in the magical port city atmosphere of Wilmington, North Carolina, and visit The Block—a historic building situated on the Cape Fear River that serves as a grill and pub downstairs and cozy living quarters upstairs. But don't get too comfortable, because when the sexy and hard-hitting security specialist Jersey Barnes stumbles into a scheme that will steal millions of dollars from American taxpayers, you'll want to go along for the ride!
Who has kidnapped the son of Samuel Chesterfield, celebrity owner of a nationally known brokerage firm chain? Who plans to steal a fortune from innocent, hard-working citizens? And why do people around Samuel Chesterfield keep dropping dead?

More raves for
SOUTHERN FATALITY

“High satisfactory escapist entertainment!”                                                    —
Star-News

“Ocean puts the D in dangerous.”       —John Hart,
New York Times
                            bestselling author of
The King of Lies
and
Down River

“Fast-paced narrative and cleverly written dialogue grab you from the first page and keep your attention to the end.”


Fresh Fiction

“Reads like a string of firecrackers—one bang after another. The action is nonstop and the tone is smart and sassy.”

—Carolyn Haines, author of
Penumbra
and
Fever Moon

Praise for T. Lynn Ocean’s
SWEET HOME CAROLINA

“Thoroughly yummy!”                                                                          —
Orlando Sentinel

“Another must for vacation reading.”


Sandlapper
, the magazine of South Carolina

“This story is engaging and well worth staying with to the end.”


Roanoke Times

MORE…

“Full of humor and heart with a dash of romance and even drama thrown in.”  —Jackie K. Cooper, Georgia Public Broadcasting

“Perfectly captures the eccentricities and warmheartedness of small town life. Readers will cheer for these likeable characters as they rally to save their town.”      —
Booklist

“Charming.”                            —        
The Post and Courier
(Charleston, SC)

“Delightful characters that will make you swear you know them.”


The Item
(Sumter, SC)

“Ocean’s latest is delightful and entertaining, revealing Jaxie as a special breed of Southern womanhood. She’s a tough yet tender character whose city-girl smarts are the perfect antithesis to the folksy humor of the colorful Rumton residents.”


Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Hits the bull’s-eye for an amusing read.”


Star-News
(Wilmington, NC)

“Homespun heroes.”                                                                           —
Publishers Weekly

“Fun-loving characters.”                                                      —
The State
(Columbia, SC)

“Has all the elements of a perfect summer beach read.”


The Sun News
(Myrtle Beach, SC)

“City girl meets small town…Sassy, sexy, sunny, and sure to please.”

—Carolyn Hart, national bestselling author
            of the Death on Demand series

“Hilarious and highly entertaining book not to be missed.”

—Cassandra King, bestselling
         author of
The Same Sweet Girls

“A clever, entertaining story…a delight to read.”


New York Times
bestselling author
         Mary Jane Clark

“Mixes memorable characters, great humor, small town Southern culture, history, and mystery for a delightful romp of a read.”

—Emyl Jenkins, author
of Stealing with Style

“Who wouldn’t love a book where not just the characters are eccentric, but the occasional goat isn’t ‘right in the head’? What a fun and entertaining read, right down to the betting that goes on in a courtroom.”          —Susan Reinhardt, author of
                                                               
Not Tonight, Honey: Wait ’Til I’m a Size 6

“Fast-paced fun that includes romance, scandal, mystery, and even a sexy pirate, this is a delectable read.”       —Celia Rivenbark,
                               author of
We’re Just Like You, Only Prettier

“T. Lynn’s poem ‘Simple Things,’ just after the cover page, is well worth the price of the book.”       —
Brunswick Alive!
(Shallotte, NC)

ALSO BY T. LYNN OCEAN

Fool Me Once
Sweet Home Carolina

SOUTHERN FATILITY
T. LYNN OCEAN

St. Martin’s Paperbacks

NOTE:
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

SOUTHERN FATALITY

Copyright © 2007 by T. Lynn Ocean.
Excerpt from
Southern Poison
copyright © 2008 by T. Lynn Ocean.

All rights reserved. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175
Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2007019021

ISBN: 0-312-37368-6
EAN: 978-0-312-37368-9

Printed in the United States of America

St. Martin’s Press hardcover edition / September 2007
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / August 2008

St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175
Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To all the folks who happily answered hypothetical questions, including Steve Lawson, professional SUTS, and Tamie Nixon, a commercial boat captain who served in the Marine Corps.

To manuscript readers Dave Barnes, Nancy Lawson, and Ted Theocles for their time and honest input.

To my author friend Delano Cummings, who gave me the inspiration for a Lumbee character.

To all the people lucky enough to call Wilmington home and who make the vibrant port city what it is today—a wonderful setting for
Southern Fatality.

To Katie, a terrific editor, and all the savvy people at SMP and Holtzbrinck.

To all the fiction-loving folks who read
Sweet Home Carolina
and sent e-mails to say they were eagerly awaiting my next novel (your feedback is my fuel).

And to all the fabulous booksellers who make the publishing world go ’round by putting books in the hands of readers.

Many thanks!

ONE

The custom-made brace
strapped to my left leg made it difficult to navigate the mountain of steps that stretched up to the South Carolina state supreme courthouse, and as I neared the main doors, it occurred to me that I could have taken the zigzagging wheelchair ramp. I was not thinking like a handicapped person. Breathing deeply, I reminded myself to get into character.

Well concealed inside the brace, two pieces of a .410 derringer snugly taped to opposite sides of my knee were only slightly irritating. The barrel easily separated from the action and I’d timed myself reassembling it, in the dark. Three seconds. Five, if I also loaded the buckshot shotgun shells.

Hurried people glided around me as I paused at the top of the courthouse steps to admire the historic building. It was magnificent, really, from the engraved granite beneath my feet to the
stately columns at my sides. I resituated my crutches and adjusted the shoulder strap of my leather attaché, deciding that the weather was perfect. It was a beautiful day to shoot somebody.

Smiling, I found the handicap-friendly door that opened automatically with the push of a lever and entered the huge, airconditioned lobby. Directly in front of me, a wall was laden with framed portraits: a male-saturated time line of those chosen to judge the rest of us and decide our fates. To my left stood a well-groomed security guard wearing an expensive dark suit, his look screaming retired Secret Service. To my right were three state-employed security screeners. Two of them processed the flow of visitors through metal detectors while the third monitored an X-ray machine. A bored cop leaned against the wall, watching the activity around him, perhaps wondering what his wife would be cooking for dinner.

Struggling to stay upright while using the awkward crutches, I concentrated on walking toward the group. Plant the rubber tips of the supports, swing the bulky brace. Plant, swing. By the time I reached the screeners, I had a steady rhythm going and swayed when I stopped to hold up the press pass I’d made earlier that morning. I’d hung it around my neck and just for good measure, attached a few pins to the lanyard: a blue rotary club, a pink breast cancer awareness, and a yellow smiley face. The ID declared that I wrote for
Business Track
magazine.

“Good afternoon,” I said to a screener with a deep breath that made my size D implants arch out. “I’ve got a deadline to meet, but unfortunately, I’ve also got stainless steel pins in my leg. I’m pretty sure they’ll set off the metal detector.”

He gave me the once-over and grinned. “Heck of a getup you’ve got there.”

Smiling through a grimace, I noted that the other screener was paying zero attention to us. The private security guard, on the
other hand, was covertly following our conversation. With a slight grunt, I shifted my weight on the crutches. “You got that right. Tore my knee up pretty good water-skiing. From now on, I think I’ll stay
inside
the boat.” I shook my head, as if remembering the incident. “Should I go around the tunnel?”

“I’ll have to use the handheld wand on you. Move over here, please, Miss …” He leaned in much closer than necessary to read the name on my press pass. “Miss Lawson. And put your bag on the table for X ray.”

When I removed the strap of my attaché, the tip of a crutch caught on the edge of the table leg. I rocked back and forth for a split second, trying to catch my balance, and fell hard onto the floor with a yelp. The attaché dropped from my grip and landed safely beyond the entrance to the tunnel.

Several men jumped to my assistance.

“Are you okay?” It was the Secret Service—looking guy. “Can you get up?”

I stayed on the ground, clutching the leg brace and biting my lower lip. “I think so. That was really stupid. I’ve got to learn how to use these damn crutches.”

He offered an arm, allowing me to hoist myself up at my own pace. With some effort, I managed to get back on my feet. Seeing that everything was under control, the crowd around me dispersed and the security screener handed over my crutches. Feeling foolish, I apologized.

“No problem,” he said, laughing in response to the awkward moment. He was just glad that I hadn’t hurt myself worse, he told me. He ran the handheld metal detector around my waist, beneath my arms, and up and down the outside of the leg that wasn’t encumbered by a brace. The private guy held the sign-in clipboard while I scribbled a signature, after which he retrieved my attaché and returned to his post near the front doors.

After thanking everyone and apologizing a second time, I hobbled around the metal detector and made my way into the handicapped stall of the first restroom I came to.

I quickly stripped down. The brace came off. A small tool kit was transferred from the hollow handle of a crutch to my handbag. The derringer was assembled and placed into an ankle holster beneath tan slacks. The white athletic shoes were exchanged for black leather flats. The bright red blouse came off to reveal a solid black silk T-shirt and a lightweight cropped white blazer. The bobby pins came out of my reddish brunette hair, allowing it to fall loosely around my shoulders. I removed the brown contacts to reveal my God-given hazel-green irises, and flushed the lenses down the toilet, using my foot to depress the handle. Last, I wiped away my fingerprints, including those on the stall’s doorknob, the crutches, and the brace.

BOOK: T. Lynn Ocean - Jersey Barnes 01 - Southern Fatality
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