“Yet another lie. Why am I not surprised?”
Jane ignored him. “Please get in the closet and watch your movie. Turn it up real loud. You’re going to have to be brave like Rapunzel. Remember when she was afraid Flynn was up to no good, and she smacked him with a frying pan?”
Brady nodded.
“You’re going to be brave for me, right? Like her?”
“Yes.” Tears trickled down her chubby cheeks.
“Good girl.” Jane kissed the top of her head, then scooped up the tablet and earbuds. After Brady stepped inside, Valentine pushed the coffee table against the door, blocking her in.
“Alone at last.” Then he gripped Jane around the waist and dragged her closer.
Her skin crawled in protest.
“Let’s take a look around and make sure your boyfriend isn’t here.” Valentine laid a cool blade against her neck, scraping the tender line of her throat. If he pressed any harder, he’d sever her carotid artery.
Jane wasn’t sure she’d live long enough to kill him.
Chapter Twenty
After Valentine marched Jane from room to room as he checked for Byron, he took her to the bathroom and ordered her to strip.
Everything felt strange—the flickering lights on the vanity popped, the water running in the tub sounded like ocean waves.
The room spun around her, and Jane locked her knees together to keep herself upright.
This is part of the plan. You’ve got him where you want him. You can do this. Remember what Byron said.
Byron said divorcing himself from his emotions allowed him to be a better hitman. He could make rational decisions, if he wasn’t panicking or feeling guilty about a situation.
The gun was only a foot away, tucked between two towels. Soon, this would all be over.
Rejecting the terror, Jane lifted her chin and defiantly stood taller.
“You’re very calm, considering.” He pulled a syringe from the top pocket of his jacket. “I normally have to use this.”
Her pulse jumped. “What is it?”
“Heroin—it makes sluts docile—putty in my hands, but since you’re being such a good girl, I’ll hold off.” He placed it on the edge of the sink. “For now. We’ll see how long your cool lasts.”
No matter what he did, she’d make sure to remain composed. If he used the drug on her, she’d lose everything.
“I’m going to tell you what’s in store for you, give you a preview. Would you like that?” Valentine threw the hood back from his face, so she could look into his eyes.
“Why not?”
“First, a bath.” He seized a tendril of hair, yanking on it. Jane didn’t react. “I wish we had time to dye your hair properly. Clearly, you were born with the wrong color. Not to worry—I brought a wig with me.”
Jane remained still as a statue.
Valentine lifted the knife with a menacing air. “Then it’s going to get a bit rough.”
She sucked in a breath. “Get it over with then.”
He sliced off the buttons on her shirt—one by one, they pinged on the floor. The blade was close to her bare flesh, the tip pressing in lightly, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to threaten.
Then he shoved the white shirt off her shoulders, and it fell to the ground. He stared into her eyes, searching for panic.
Jane gave him a smug smile. She’d learned it from watching Byron.
“I know what you’re thinking.”
“I doubt it.”
“Maybe you can change my mind? Tempt me with your body? I must confess, I’m curious. I want to see you, touch you.” He seized her by the waist, unsnapped the button of her trousers, and then peeled the zipper down, inch by inch. The sound was loud, obscene. They too slid off, leaving her in a bra and panties.
Again, he focused on her face, waiting for a reaction.
Jane betrayed nothing.
This time, he sliced the straps of her bra and then the sides of her panties—shredding her underwear.
Valentine cupped her right breast, squeezing it like a melon at the grocery store.
Disgust ripped through her, but she didn’t waver. Both hers and Brady’s life depended upon her self-control.
“You like it, don’t you, bitch? You want me to fuck you?”
“No!”
“Liar.” He pinched the nipple viciously, trying to startle a cry from her, but she bit the inside of her cheek. “You’ve been aching for it, since we first met. Sluts can’t help themselves.” With a butcher’s precision, he dragged the knife over her limbs, tracing the twisting path of her veins, as though considering cutting them open.
And then his hands were everywhere—sliding along the bared length of her stomach, slipping over her thighs, and nauseatingly, between her legs.
Jane stifled a repulsed groan. Her skin was crawling, and her head spun.
She had to put up with this just a bit longer. If he got lost in violating her, she could use the gun before he had the chance to slit her throat. Being raped was a horrifying prospect, but she’d walk away with her life—or what was left of it, anyway.
“Tell me you’re sorry. Admit your love for me, say you only want to be with me.” He pushed his fingers into her dry vagina, knocking a whimper from her throat.
And then a gun clicked.
“Get the fuck away from her.”
Two feet away stood Byron Beauregard, looking more like an avenging angel than a mobster. He pointed the gun at Valentine’s head.
With a snarl, Valentine lifted the blade, and Jane snatched up the syringe and plunged it into the side of his neck. The knife clattered to the ground, and Byron kicked it away from him.
“No, it’s not…supposed to be like this.” Valentine slammed a hand against the wound and fell to the floor as the first wave of euphoria hit him. Jane had never done the drug herself, but she was familiar with the effects from her work. “I kill you, not the other way arou….” His words were slurred, and his eyes were hooded.
“Did he rape you?” Byron kept the gun trained on Valentine.
“Not yet, though it was next on his agenda.” Jane pulled on her shirt and quickly buttoned it.
Later, she’d make sense of all this and how she felt about it. Now wasn’t the time to fall apart.
“What about Brady? Is she okay?”
“Yes, she’s in the closet, listening to a movie with the volume up high. He scared her to death, but didn’t touch her.”
“Good.”
Her brain was starting to work again. “Don’t think I’m not glad to see you, Byron, but why are you here?”
“I’m a liar darlin’, and I couldn’t let you do this. So I bided my time, waitin’ from a distance, until it was safe to approach.”
Jane supposed she should be angry he’d intervened, but he’d saved her from being further molested by Valentine.
“Step away from him, Jane. His day of reckonin’ has arrived.”
“Yes, it has, but I’m going to be the one to pass judgment.” She pulled her pistol from beneath the towels.
Jane glanced at Valentine, who was flailing on the ground. He wasn’t much of a threat at the moment. She cocked the gun.
“Jane, don’t do it—you don’t want to be like me. You deserve better. One more death on my tally won’t mean a damn thing, especially a fuckin’ serial killer, but it’ll change your world and not for the better.” He held out his hand. “Give it to me and I’ll administer a little down-home justice.”
Byron was offering her absolution, a chance to walk away with somewhat of a clear conscience. Byron would “stain” himself with yet another murder and Jane could pretend to be in the dark about it, but she couldn’t let him bear the burden alone.
Before Byron could talk her out of it, Jane shot Valentine in the chest—twice. The sound was so sharp, her eardrums ached. He coughed up blood and then flopped to the floor.
“Jane, no!”
She stood in stunned silence as Valentine bled o
ut. His blood slipped into the cracks and crevices between the tile, spreading out, staining everything.
Oh, my God. I really did it. She’d killed a man, committed premeditated murder—Murder One according to the penal code.
Muttering a curse, Byron turned and walked away.
She was stunned, but Jane couldn’t summon the will to be sorry for her crime. Valentine had gotten exactly what he deserved.
On quivering legs, she joined Byron in the living room. He stood with his arms folded over his chest, his head bowed.
“Byron, I think we should talk.”
“No time. You need to call the police, to keep up the ruse. Your neighbors might’ve called already.”
“Oh, yes, right.” Automatically, she scooped up the phone from the coffee table. Right now, none of this felt quite real. While Byron watched, she made the phone call. Jane was on autopilot as she relayed the facts to the 911 operator.
“I should be goin’. Bye, Jane.”
“Wait. Can I see you tomorrow?” She stepped closer, more than anything wanting a hug from him, but he kept his distance.
“I got a business meetin’ tomorrow mornin’.”
She bit her lip. “What’s going on?”
“I’m glad you’re both safe, but we’ve concluded our…time together. I know you’ve been re-thinkin’ your law practice, so I’ll be findin’ another lawyer. You can move on with your life, mobster-free.”
“What if I don’t want to be?” The prospect of not having Byron around was unacceptable. “We need to discuss this.”
“Nothin’ to talk about, darlin’. I said this would be a short affair, and it was.”
“Tell me why, at least.”
Something about his half-hearted smile broke her heart. “Because you’re a lady and I’m no gentleman. Rhett and Scarlett don’t end up together. Remember?”
And then he walked out the door, leaving Jane standing there alone.
The only sound was sirens howling in the distance.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Good morning, Brady.”
Jane leaned down to kiss Brady on the cheek.
It’d been three weeks since she’d killed Oscar Valentine. Jane had made the right decision and she didn’t regret it.
“Morning, Aunt Jane,” she mumbled around a mouthful of Cheerios.
She was a shadow of her formal self—somber, and subdued. Brady had been having nightmares, waking up crying for her mother, and Jane hadn’t been able to do anything to soothe her. She’d made Brady an appointment with a trauma therapist. Hopefully, the counselor could help her work through this ordeal.
After the funeral, Jane had tried to make Brady’s life as normal as possible, but it would be a process. Her world had shattered in the space of one terrible night.
Mansfield lay curled at the girl’s feet. Since Brady had moved in, the cat had become her constant companion—sleeping on the end of her bed, following her from room to room. Maybe the feline sensed Brady’s grief and was trying to comfort her.
Jane was adjusting to the role of caregiver, which was a strange but satisfying new role. She’d also quit her job at the firm. She was beginning a new chapter in her life. Jane intended to live her life with passion.
There was a knock at the door.
Jane’s breath caught.
Is it Byron?
Now that things had settled down, it was time to talk some sense into him—if he’d let her. Maybe he’d come over here to reconcile.
Another knock.
“Be there in a second!” she called. “Brady, why don’t you take your cereal into the living room and watch some TV, okay?”
This time the knocking was more impatient.
“Okay.” Brady walked into the living room with her bowl.
Mansfield trotted off after her, meowing.
Jane squinted through the peephole.
Not Byron. A stab of disappointment shot through her.
Enough is enough. If he was too stubborn to seek her out, she’d go after him. At the very least, he owed her a more coherent explanation. She wasn’t emotionally savvy enough to guess.
But she had a more pressing issue at the moment. She didn’t recognize the man standing at her door.
“Jane Hunter? I’m Special Agent Jim Hawthorne.” He held up his badge so she could see it. “May I come in?”
A knot formed in her stomach. She hoped he was here about one of her former clients.
“Sure, provided you have a warrant or a prior appointment.”
“I don’t have either.”
“Than you can be on your way.”
Jane had been on the receiving end of high-handed tactics from the FBI before, as they pressed for privileged information from her.
“This isn’t a formal meetin’. I brought over some coffee. I’m hopin’ we can have a casual chat. The local PD kicked your case to us since Oscar Valentine was a person of interest in one of our other investigations. I believe you’re familiar with it.”
Well, she’d expected the case to go federal—no surprise there. Although, there was no such thing as a “casual chat” with the FBI, but she wanted to know what they were up to.
“Fine, you can come in. You’ve got fifteen minutes, so I’d talk fast if I were you.”
“Thank you kindly, ma’am.”
After she had unlatched the door, the agent walked in with two tall Starbucks coffee cups in a carrier. She added cream and sugar to hers. Agent Hawthorne took his black.
While she doctored her coffee, he perused the kitchen and even glanced through the doorway into the living room in a law enforcement scanning for contraband kind of way.
“How’s she doing?” Agent Hawthorne nodded to Brady.
“As well as can be expected. What can I do for you?” Jane sat at the breakfast bar, unwilling to invite him further into her home.
“Like I said, I’m here to talk. Most folks call me Thorne. May I call you Jane?” He pulled up a stool beside her.
“No, I prefer formality in these types of situations.”
“I see the rumors are true.”
“Which rumors?”
“You are a hard ass.” He lifted his cup in salute.
She deliberately glanced at the clock on the wall.
“Why were you in True Love?”
“You came here to learn about my travel habits?”
“Are you going to answer every question with a question?”
“Maybe.”
“Fine, let me get right to it. What’s the nature of your relationship with Byron Beauregard? My sources say he’s sweet on you.”
“Which sources?”
“There you go again. See, I have this theory of how it all went down. Byron Beauregard helped you kill Oscar Valentine.”
He was trying to intimidate her.
“I think you’re bluffing. If you had enough to arrest me, we’d already be at your office, and I’d be in handcuffs. You don’t even have enough probable cause to haul me in for questioning, or you wouldn’t have shown up at my door with coffee.”
“I can’t prove it, but I can feel it in my gut.”
“Interesting, but my version of events is supported by the forensic evidence. My prints are on the gun and the bullets.”
“Because you planted them?”
“No, because I loaded it and shot him myself when he showed up at my door, threatening my niece’s life and my own.”
“And have you ever fired a gun before?”
“My father gave me lessons a long time ago, and whenever I became aware of Mr. Valentine’s untoward feelings for me, I asked Mr. Beauregard if he would show me how to use the weapon, in case I needed protection.” It rolled off the tip of her tongue easily.
“What a lucky shot you made.”
“Not really. I shot him at close range. If you look at the autopsy report, you’ll find a big gaping hole in his chest.”
“You told the police Valentine was obsessed with you.”
She nodded. “He confessed to having feelings for me. Why are you really here, agent?”
“And we’re back to Byron Beauregard.” He smiled. “Actually, any member of the Dixie Mafia will do, but I’d love to bring in a big fish.”
“You must be with the brand new organized crime task force.” She’d heard rumors the feds had opened up a new branch in the state.
“Yes, we set up shop in Abilene. And you can assist me in making my case, if you agree to be my confidential informant. In exchange for your cooperation, I’ll keep you from being charged with murder.”
Jane was reeling, but she kept her cool.
“Mr. Beauregard is my client, and all of our conversations are privileged.”
“Not if you two colluded together to kill someone else.”
“This was a simple case of self-defense. When the police searched Valentine’s cabin, they found proof—pictures of the women he slaughtered.”
It was ironic. She’d wanted to turn those over to the authorities in the first place. At least his victims’ families had gotten closure.
“Yeah, I ain’t cryin’ over his death. The bastard deserved to go down, but this ain’t the Wild West no more. Criminals should be brought to justice through legal means.”
“I agree. Valentine should’ve had his day in court. Unfortunately, it didn’t happen that way.”
“Because you murdered him.”
She’d learned early on in her legal career to never look weak or unprepared in front of the opposition—always be ready with a rebuttal.
Jane sneered with courtroom cockiness. “As a professional, I’d say this doesn’t look good.”
“For you? I agree.”
“No, for you. Look at the optics. I’m a lawyer with no criminal record. Valentine is a rapist, kidnapper, and serial killer. The FBI bungled his case and ended up looking like fools in front of the national media. Since I was lead counsel, an astute lawyer would argue the FBI is harassing me because of the public humiliation I inflicted on the agency.”
He was speechless.
“One more thing, my father is a federal judge, and my legal counsel.” Jane grabbed a business card from her briefcase and tossed it at him. “If you’d like to speak with me again, contact Jedidiah Hunter and show up here with a warrant.” Jane stood and placed her hands on her hips. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to finish my breakfast in peace. You can see yourself out.”
Blood in the Water (Dixie Mafia Series Book 2) Page 22
