Blood in the Water (Dixie Mafia Series Book 2) Page 16

  “Damn, but you’re a good-lookin’ woman.” Jessup eyed Jane like a piece of meat.

  Byron gritted his teeth, mindful of the guards standing on the other side of the door. If they were on his territory, he would’ve handled this situation very differently. Most likely, the weasel would be on the ground, and Byron’s foot would be planted on his neck.

  Jane’s lips thinned, but to her credit, she didn’t react in any other way.

  Jessup leaned back in the chair and lifted his chin, putting on a fuck you front.

  Byron didn’t buy the sudden burst of bravado, but he understood it. Men like Jessup were prey for bigger, badder motherfuckers in prison. Byron wished he hadn’t promised Jane to be on his best behavior.

  “Tell me about your case. I’ve been looking at your file, and I’ve found some anomalies.” She pulled out her tablet and flicked open an email from Georgia.

  “I already got me a passel of eggheads lookin’ at my situation. I don’t need another lawyer.”

  “And have you apprised them of all the facts?”

  “Enough.” Jessup shrugged as though he didn’t give a damn.

  “Can you quantify your answer, please?”

  “Told ’em all they need to know.”

  Byron could see the terror in his eyes anyway—and Byron couldn’t blame him one bit. Dying here, strapped down to a chair, while crowds of assholes cheered on your death from outside the prison walls would be a horrific way to die.

  “Maybe I’d be more helpful if you were my lawyer.” Jessup scratched his chin. “Least it’d give me somethin’ pretty to look at for a couple of hours. I could think about you later when I’m in my bunk.”

  Byron fisted his hands. He squinted at the guards once again through the plate glass window, and they had an eagle eye on his ass. The dickheads were probably looking for an excuse to give Byron a beat-down too.

  Jane spoke up first. “Your masturbatory fantasies are none of my business. I’m here to save your life, if you’ll let me.”

  “Sweetheart, dreamin’ about you would be a real lifesaver, believe me.”

  Byron pasted a big old country smile on so the guards wouldn’t think anything of it. “Talk to Jane that way again, and you won’t need a lethal injection.”

  The color drained from Jessup’s face.

  “Byron….”

  Ignoring her, Byron leaned over the table. “I got lots of friends in this place, real good friends who’d do anything I asked.” He still kept his features calm and relaxed, as though they were yammering on about something pleasant. “There ain’t no place you can run or hide from me, so spare me the tough guy routine. We both know you’re somebody’s bitch in here.”

  Jessup shut his eyes, and his chin trembled a bit.

  “Look, just cooperate. Jane wants to save your sorry ass for some reason.” Byron had a slightly kinder tone this time. “Be a gentleman, answer my lady’s questions respectfully, and don’t even think about lyin’.”

  “No disrespect intended, but I ain’t got nothin’ to say.” He held up his chained hands in a placating gesture.

  Jane withdrew a file from her satchel. “Fine, I’ll talk, and you can listen. Tell me if I get anything wrong.” She pulled out news clippings and police reports, along with bank statements. “In my professional opinion, your case is a disaster. You didn’t even have a public defender. After a sixteen-hour interrogation, you signed a confession.”

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “Holy fuck,” Byron blurted out. “You never confess to a damn thing. Leave it up to the lawmen to prove what you did.”

  “Byron’s right.” Jane’s lips twitched. “I advise all my clients to do exactly two things when they’re brought in for questioning—shut up and call me.”

  Jessup stared at the wall, shaking his head.

  “According to your arrest report, you were high when the officers brought you in, and they left you in lock-up for eight hours until you sobered up enough to be questioned. According to the tox screen, you tested positive for heroin.”

  “Yeah, so what? I was a junkie.”

  “Yet the physician who drew the blood sample noted you didn’t have any track marks. Your medical records don’t show any telltale signs of chronic drug use.”

  “All hardcore junkies got track marks.” Byron had dealt with users before. He toked a little every so often, but he left the hard stuff alone.

  “I bet by the time they spoke with you, you were jonesing for another hit and you would’ve said anything to get out of there. Right?”

  “I reckon.” Jessup tapped one of his feet on the concrete floor. Somehow, he looked even twitchier than before.

  “There’s something else strange. Your home life was also uneventful. You had a wife and a child, lived in a suburban neighborhood. There were no signs of abuse or neglect. And you had a good-paying job as a landscaper. According to the police interviews with your employer, you only used one sick day in three years, and you were never late to work.”

  “So what? Maybe I needed the money to support my habit?”

  “Addicts’ lives crumble around them. Yet yours didn’t.”

  Jessup didn’t say a word.

  Damn, Jane was good. It’d be worth the agony of being in a courtroom to watch her in action. He’d love to see her work a jury.

  “There’s one more thing. Before this incident, you’d never been charged with a crime. Not so much as a parking ticket or a fine for speeding.”

  “Maybe I just snapped.” He cocked his head to the side.

  “No, because people don’t just become Jack the Ripper one day. There’s no explosion. It’s a slow build which happens over the years. Betsy Spellman’s killer got a thrill out of it. I saw the crime scene photos—overkill doesn’t even cover this crime. She was sliced open, tortured, raped. The man who killed her enjoyed every single second of her terror.”

  Jessup winced.

  “You confessed to a murder you didn’t commit, Mr. Jessup.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Because I’ve looked at all the evidence, and I’m not stupid—unlike the police who closed this case. It’s so full of holes it’s moth-eaten. And there’s something else.” Jane scooted closer. “I know about the money.”

  “Got no idea what you’re yammerin’ about. I killed the girl.”

  Byron could spot a bald-faced lie from twenty paces, and this fool was lying his head off.

  “Three months after you were sent to prison, your wife received a wire transfer for $500,000.” Jessup didn’t contradict her, so she kept going. “The transfer originated in the Cayman Islands, and it’s completely untraceable.”

  As soon as they left the prison, Byron would have Vick take a run at the bank, just in case.

  Jessup coughed but didn’t reply.

  “This crime occurred on the Valentine Estate, and I have an alternate theory of the crime.”

  “I’m tellin’ you, I did it.” Jessup slammed his chained hands down on the steel table, startling them both. The guards tensed but didn’t bust in the room when the prisoner settled back in his chair.

  Byron nudged Jane with his foot, afraid she’d reveal too much, but she raised a silencing finger.

  “No, you didn’t. According to the reports, the victim was dating Oliver Valentine, the eldest Valentine boy. My guess is,” she said, turning to Byron with a brow raised, “one of the Valentine sons killed the girl—either Oliver or Oscar.”

  “Yeah, well, Oscar is a strange son of a bitch.” Jessup didn’t meet their eyes. “Never liked the way that freak acted around his girlfriend.”

  Jane sat up straighter. “Anything else you want to tell me about Oscar Valentine?”

  A muscle worked in his jaw. “No, ma’am.”

  “You were a landscaper—someone with access to the house who moved around almost unnoticed—and a very convenient scapegoat. Want to know what I think happened?”

  “No.”

  Jane ignore
d him. “I think the Valentines paid you to take the fall for one of their sons. Didn’t they, Mr. Jessup?”

  “I done told you, I murdered the girl.”

  Jane sighed, it was clear her patience was dwindling.

  “I found the insurance records. You were drowning in debt at the time due to medical bills. Your daughter, Stephanie Jessup, was diagnosed with leukemia the year prior. Your wife had taken on a second job, and you were working seven days a week to make ends meet. Only they didn’t.”

  “Our insurance paid for some of it, but there’s a lot of out-of-pocket expenses it didn’t cover.”

  “And you were both desperate to save your daughter.”

  Jessup kept his mouth shut.

  “The Valentines took advantage of your need. I think they made you an offer you couldn’t pass up. Probably some untraceable cash up front because your outstanding medical bills were paid in full within a month of your confession. There’s no way you could’ve settled the debts so fast—you simply didn’t have the resources. And I bet they handled the rest of your daughter’s treatment, too.” Jane pulled out a death certificate. “Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to save her life.”

  There were tears in Jessup’s eyes, and he didn’t bother to blink them away.

  Byron had twisted arms and blackmailed people into doing all sorts of nasty things. It was a matter of finding the right pressure point and pushing it until he got what he wanted. But using a sick kid to save your homicidal son? That was too cold for Byron.

  Jane folded her hands. “A devoted family man snapping wouldn’t sound right to the cops, though. So the Valentines shot you full of drugs and helped you construct a believable story?”

  Jessup sat silently, eyes straight ahead.

  “According to the confession, you had an affair with an underage girl because things were a mess at home and you needed to blow off some steam. When Betsy threatened to go to your wife, you killed her. It tied everything up for the police in a neat and tidy package. Users don’t get much respect from law enforcement.”

  “Leave me alone.”

  “Not until I’m finished. I left the largest irregularity for last. Despite everything, your wife is still married to you. If what you’re saying is true, your marriage survived drug abuse, a child with a terminal illness, as well as the statutory rape, mutilation, and murder of a minor. That seems highly unlikely.”

  “My parents’ marriage didn’t even survive an infidelity.” Of course, Buckley had taken matters into his own hands.

  “Like I said, I want to be left alone. I appreciate you comin’ all the way down here, ma’am, but there’s nothin’ you can do for me.”

  “I can save your life.” Jane placed her hand on Jessup’s. “I’ll even do the work pro bono so there won’t be any fees. And if you don’t want me as your lawyer, let me turn over this information to the Innocence Project. I’m brilliant at putting together an aggressive defense and they could learn a thing or two from me. All you have to do is say ‘yes.'”

  “I appreciate the effort, Ms. Hunter. I’m an old junkie, and I ain’t never gettin’ out of here alive.” Jessup stood and shouted, “Guard, we’re done in here.”

  Then he turned back to Jane. “If I made a deal, which I ain’t sayin’ I did…what’s done is done.” The guards came in and checked his shackles, making sure they were secure. “We all gotta make sacrifices, don’t we?”

  “I’d say you already have, Mr. Jessup. Your daughter’s dead, and you didn’t get to spend those years with her. At least, let me give you what’s left of your life back.”

  Jane’s eyes were red-rimmed, and her lower lip trembled. Byron knew she was thinking of her mother, dying alone in prison. This case was getting way too personal—for both of them.

  Jessup didn’t even acknowledge her offer, and the screws led him away.

  Leaving them right back at square one.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “You and me are gonna have a good time tonight.”

  “No offense, but I don’t feel like it.”

  Byron drove them back to the hotel, and she found his optimism bothersome, as per usual. They’d left the prison an hour ago, and Jane was in a funk. The case against Valentine was unraveling. The serial killer wanted to “punish” her. And oh, yes, there was the small matter of his unrequited crush.

  Could it get any worse?

  “Too bad. We’re gonna shut this drama down for a few hours and enjoy ourselves. Everythin’ will look better in the mornin’.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “It will, I promise.”

  “How on earth can I put this on the backburner?” Getting out of this terrible situation was the only thing on her mind.

  He slid the SUV into the passing lane. “You gotta try. After we relax, we’ll take another run at it. It’s always worked for me in the past.”

  “It has?” Jane was doubtful, but maybe he had a point. She was used to pushing until she achieved a goal and didn’t believe in timeouts or breaks.

  “If it hadn’t, I would’ve flipped my lid a long time ago. I’m used to livin’ smack dab in the middle of a maelstrom. Now, when we get back to the hotel, you’re gonna go for a walk while I get us set up.”

  “Set up for what?”

  “A surprise.”

  Didn’t he know by now Jane hated surprises? Evidently not.

  “How about a hint?”

  “Like I said, it’s a surprise.”

  And something about his smile was suspicious.

  Two hours later, after a leisurely stroll through downtown True Love and a heart-shaped cookie from the local bakery, Jane felt marginally better—until she got back to the hotel room.

  Jane opened the door to find a seduction scene.

  The scent of jasmine and lavender lingered in the air. Byron had once again lit all the candles in the room. Damn those things. A fire blazed in the hearth, and he’d covered the wooden floor in a collection of quilts and pillows.

  In the center of the blankets, he’d created a picnic—bubbling fondue pots and trays of delicious items to dip. A stainless steel ice bucket had an open bottle of champagne chilling inside.

  And the man himself lounged in the massive bathtub, which was where the scent of jasmine and lavender came from. Even more candles surrounded it.

  Jane’s mouth went dry.

  Byron was bare-chested, and his hair was wet. His arms were spread wide on the porcelain rim as he leaned back against the edge. Steam curled from the surface of the water, giving him a hazy, dream-like appearance.

  Well, he’d been right about taking her mind off the problem. At the moment, he was having trouble thinking at all.

  “Come on in, darlin’, the water’s fine.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “See? That’s where you’re goin’ wrong. Good and bad are nothin’ but abstracts.”

  The water looked so inviting—hot and steamy. Or maybe it was just the man himself she was drawn to.

  Jane licked her parched lips.

  “All you’re sayin’ ‘yes’ to is a bath.”

  She recognized a persuasion when she heard one. Using baby steps with a jury to cajole them into agreeing was an old attorney tactic.

  “Would it help if I said nothin’ will be inserted without your permission?” His leer was downright naughty.

  And now she was going red in the face. She could feel her cheeks burning.

  “Fine, I’ll get in the tub—for a soak and nothing more.”

  He grinned in triumph.

  “Turn around.” She motioned with a finger.

  “No can do, darlin’. If I can’t touch, you can at least let me look. After all, fair’s fair. You’ve seen me in all my glory.”

  “I didn’t ask to see you naked.”

  “Don’t change the fact that you have.”

  If it were possible, he was even more argumentative than she was. It was maddening, yet thrilling—this dance they did. It
was like finding the perfect chess competitor or the best tennis partner. Somehow, they had a flawless rhythm all their own, a back and forth Jane was growing addicted to.

  “Well?”

  Once again, Jane reminded herself she wasn’t a prude. She’d been naked in front of men before, and the human body was nothing to be ashamed of.

  Jane methodically unfastened the buttons on her suit jacket.

  Byron swam to the other side of the tub, presumably so he could get a better view. Unruffled, Jane slipped the jacket off and then worked on her blouse.

  Until his hungry gaze made the hair stand up on her arms.

  “Go slower.”

  Jane should tell him to go to hell, but the words never came. Instead, her movements become unhurried, more sensual. This was less about audacity and more of a strip tease.

  Jane parted the edges of her blouse to reveal a lacy white bra beneath it.

  Byron groaned.

  She slid the shirt off and hung it on the back of a nearby chair, next to her jacket. Then she worked the buttons on her trousers to reveal the matching white panties. While Jane wasn’t a lingerie aficionado, she had a compulsion to match her clothing. Dressing in mismatched items drove her crazy.

  While he watched every single movement, Jane disengaged the hooks and eyes on her bra and slipped it off her shoulders.

  He rimmed his mouth with his tongue. In answer, her nipples puckered as though preparing to be sucked. They felt heavier, as though they’d somehow swelled for him.

  Heat suffused her belly and then dipped down between her thighs. She slid the chaste white panties down and then walked over to the tub.

  Byron watched her every step of the way.

  Jane slipped into the water and sat on the opposite side.

  “You’re awfully far away.” His voice was a gruff rumble, and her knees clamped together in response.

  His presence was overwhelming, even a foot away. Like he’d somehow filled all the space in the room, sucked out all the air. And the water was hot, saturating her body with a languid sort of warmth. The scent of the water enfolded her, made her unwind a bit. As silly as it sounded, it was like she’d been caught in a carnal sort of haze, a spell Byron had cast.