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

daughter, missing since July, Sam pushed a wayward lock of hair from her eyes and returned her attention to the box.  Feeling a bit like Pandora, she had the uncomfortable suspicion that opening it would lead to a whole host of problems she hadn’t foreseen.
    “Get a grip, Sam.  You’re turning into a head case.”  She pulled a knife from the utensil drawer, realizing that she’d also developed the disturbing tendency to talk to herself.  Probably because she spent so much time reading aloud to her brother and carrying on one-sided conversations that she’d grown entirely too used to hearing the sound of her own voice.
    Slicing through the clear tape which held the flaps of the box together, Sam peered inside as they popped open and another box was revealed.  This one was hot pink, featuring a black velvet ribbon tying the top and bottom pieces together, as well as the insignia of one of Charleston’s most exclusive boutiques embossed on the outside.  She’d definitely never ordered anything from Intimate Expressions. The packaging alone probably cost more than she earned in an entire shift at the bar.
    Curious despite her unease, Sam lifted the ends of the ribbon until the bow slipped loose from its knot.  Then she pulled off the top, only to discover layer upon layer of pink tissue paper.  An expensive fragrance, something like jasmine, wafted out as she separated the tissue.  Tucked beneath all the aromatic packing was the most beautiful negligee she’d ever seen.
    Leaning a hip against the counter, Sam studied the incredible garment.  Of shimmering cream silk and nearly transparent black lace, it looked like it must have cost a fortune.  She lifted it, noting the way the fine material shifted like water beneath her fingers, and it spilled out from its folds to fall from thin black straps toward the floor. 
    Huh. 
    She had no idea what to make of it, nor a clue as to who could have sent it. She hadn’t been involved with anyone back in Columbia, having no time to devote to anyone or anything but her studies and the jobs which helped fund them, and since she’d been here romance was probably the last thing on her mind.  Any number of men from the bar had made passes, but they weren’t exactly the type to patronize fancy boutiques.  John Deere and Harley Davidson were more their speed.  So this was… a mystery.
    And it kind of freaked her out.
    The knock on her door gave her her second heart attack of the night, and she clutched the mysterious gift to her chest.  Good God.  She was going to have gray hair when she woke up in the morning.  Seeing as how it was after one a.m. and she wasn’t exactly expecting company, Sam figured it was probably one of her upstairs neighbor’s customers come banging on the wrong door.  It had happened before, and given the nature of the man’s business, she had no doubt it would continue to be a problem.  Hopefully if she just yelled through the door, redirecting the person upstairs, they’d leave her in relative peace.  She inched over toward the door, pressed her ear against it for a second, and after detecting movement outside offered directions.
    “If you’re looking for weed or sex, try apartment 3B.”
    There was a pause, and Sam waited for the sound of feet hitting stairs.  A second later, someone cleared their throat.
    “Samantha?”
    Oh, shit.  Someone put her out of her misery.  Unless she was very much mistaken, she’d just solicited a cop on behalf of her neighbor.  Squeezing her eyes closed in the vague hope that she was wrong, she held her breath and sort of wished him away.
    “Sam?  I know you’re in there. It’s me, Josh.”
    Of course it was.  Because she hadn’t suffered enough already.  Apparently there was some sort of humiliation lottery, and she’d somehow drawn the winning number.
    “Sam, come on, honey.  May I please come in?”
    Well.  Why the hell not?  Sam reached for the dead bolt but then realized she was