After Dark

by Beverly Barton

  “Seems Lane’s done gone and got herself a high-priced lawyer.”

  “Who’s that?” Jackie loosened the towel she had draped around her and let it fall to her waist.

  He wouldn’t hurt Jackie’s feelings for nothing in this world, so there was no way he could tell her that the sight of her fried egg tits didn’t do a damn thing for him. “Quinn Cortez, that’s who.”

  “Quinn Cortez? He’s sure going to cost her a pretty penny. That guy’s fee must be at least a million for a murder case.”

  “Well, Lane’s rich, ain’t she? And if she runs out of cash, Johnny Mack shouldn’t have no trouble picking up the tab. That reporter says our Noble’s Crossing’s bad boy done made himself a fortune out in Texas.”

  “Good for Johnny Mack. Good for all of us nobodies from this side of the Chickasaw River if we can find a way to get rich.” She licked a circle around Glenn’s ear. “Let me tell you a little secret. I’ve got a way of making us a small fortune.” Jackie lifted her hips enough to whip the towel off and toss it onto the floor. “How’d you like for us to honeymoon in Vegas with two million bucks?”

  Glenn unzipped his pants, grasped Jackie’s hand and slid it inside his briefs. “What are you talking about? How do you think you can get your hands on two million dollars?”

  She circled his penis and began a slow, practiced motion that soon elicited a groan from Glenn. “That’s for me to know and you to find out. I just happened upon some information that certain people are going to want kept quiet, and I know for a fact those people are going to be willing to pay me to keep my mouth shut.”

  “You’re talking about blackmail, Jackie Jo.”

  “I sure am, sweetie. Blackmail that’s going to make me rich.”

  “Why can’t you get Mama out of jail tonight?” Will glared at his father. “I thought you were going to help her.”

  Johnny Mack felt as helpless as Will did. The thought of Lane spending even one night in jail enraged him. Damn, was there no justice in this world? A woman like Lane didn’t belong behind bars. Hell, even if she had actually murdered Kent—and he now believed she hadn’t—she shouldn’t be treated like a criminal. Fingerprinted. Photographed. Interrogated. Instead, she should be given a medal for ridding this world of vermin like Kent Graham.

  “I’m willing to do anything to help your mother.”

  “It doesn’t look like it from where I stand,” Will accused.

  “Then, you’re wrong,” Quinn Cortez said. “Your father hired me to defend Lane and—”

  “He’s not my father! He hasn’t earned the right to be a part of my life or Mama’s life.”

  Will’s cheeks flamed. Moisture shimmered in his eyes. Johnny Mack sensed that the boy was close to tears and was trying valiantly not to cry in front of Quinn and him. Johnny Mack hadn’t ever thought of himself as paternal, but every instinct within him wanted to grab Will, hold him tight and find a way to make him believe that everything was going to be all right.

  “Your problems with Johnny Mack are none of my concern. That’s something the two of you will have to work out,” Quinn said. “But the two points I wanted to make in order to explain that your…that Johnny Mack is helping Lane are these: Number one, he’s paying my fee, and believe me, I don’t come cheap. And number two, I’m the best at what I do, and if anyone can gain your mother an acquittal, I can, and Johnny Mack knows it.”

  “Just because you’ve got an ego the size of Texas doesn’t mean you can keep Mama from being convicted.” Holding his tightly balled fists close to his hips, Will glowered at Quinn as if daring him to disagree.

  Quinn’s lips twitched in a hint of a smile as he glanced at Johnny Mack. “This kid’s yours alright. Not only does he look just like you, but he’s got your kick-ass attitude, too.”

  Avoiding glancing directly at his son, Johnny Mack nodded, agreeing with Quinn’s statement. Without commenting, Will stormed out of the room, into the foyer and up the stairs. Quinn shrugged.

  Lillie Mae brought in a silver coffeepot and two china cups. Surveying the room, she asked, “Where’s Will?”

  “He went upstairs,” Johnny Mack said.

  “Did you two get into another argument?” She placed the tray on the desk in the den.

  “Nothing serious.” Johnny Mack walked over, poured coffee into the two cups and picked up one. “Will’s upset about Lane’s arrest. He wants somebody to blame for the fact she’s in jail, and I just happen to be a convenient target.”

  Lillie Mae picked up the second cup and carried it over to Quinn. “Are you going to be able to get Lane out of jail in the morning?”

  “As soon as the judge sets bail, she’ll be free to go. But it seems the judge couldn’t be reached tonight, so we have no choice but to wait.”

  “Judge Harper is an old friend of Edith’s.” Lillie Mae spat out the other woman’s name.

  “So are Judge Gillis and Judge Welch.” Johnny Mack knew how things worked in this county. It would take a miracle for Lane to get a fair trial, but there was no way to prove that Edith Ware was calling in favors and using whatever means were at her disposal to make sure Lane didn’t get an even break.

  “I’ve had to deal with situations like this before,” Quinn told them. “With no more evidence than Wes Stevens has against Lane, I can make a jury see that she isn’t guilty beyond a reasonable doubt.”

  “I won’t let that girl go to prison.” Lillie Mae shot a quick glance in Johnny Mack’s direction. “Before I see that happen, I’ll confess to murdering Kent myself.”

  “Did you kill him, Mrs. Hickman?” Quinn asked.

  “What?” Lillie Mae swirled around, her eyes wide, her hands trembling as she faced Quinn.

  “You had almost as much reason to hate Kent as Lane did.” Quinn lifted the cup to his lips and sipped the rich, black coffee. “Will’s your grandson. You would have done anything to protect him, just as Lane would have. Am I right?”

  “You’re right. I would have done anything…and I still would.” Lillie Mae stuck out her chin and looked Quinn square in the eye. “If it’ll help Miss Lane’s case, you put me on the stand and show that jury that it could just as easily have been me who took that baseball bat and beat the living daylights out of Kent.”

  Johnny Mack placed his hand on Lillie Mae’s shoulder. “I know Lane would appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you didn’t kill Kent and—”

  “How do you know I didn’t?” With that said, Lillie Mae turned and walked out of the den.

  “What do you make of that?” Quinn asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Do you think the old woman could have done it?”

  “At this point, I’m not sure of anything much,” Johnny Mack admitted. “Except that upstairs”—he inclined his head toward the ceiling—“I have a son who hates me. And across town in the city jail, I have a woman who’s depending on me.”

  Buddy peeled off his sweat-stained shirt and tossed it on the floor, then unsnapped his pants. Damn, it was a hot night. Humid and sultry. Good sign that it would rain by morning. Rain was exactly what they needed to lower the temperature and ease the humidity.

  What he personally needed was a cold beer and then a good night’s sleep. Today had been one hell of a day. He had been preparing himself for over a week now, steeling his nerves for the moment he would have to read Lane her rights and take her into custody. For a couple of minutes there this afternoon at the Nobles’ house, he had thought Johnny Mack was going to jump him. If looks could kill, he would be a dead man now. The thought that someone he had once tried to kill was now rich and powerful sure had a way of putting the fear of God into him. And arresting Lane only added to his crimes against Johnny Mack.

  But a man did what a man had to do. Arresting Lane was part of his job. Sure, he could have sent someone else to actually do the deed, but he thought he owed Lane that much—to arrest her himself.

  Scratching his hairy chest, Buddy sauntered out of the bedroom, d
own the hall and into the kitchen. Since light from the living room partially illuminated the kitchen, he didn’t bother turning on the overhead fluorescent fixture. He opened the refrigerator, grabbed a bottle of Budweiser and popped the lid. After taking a long, refreshing swig, he searched the cabinets for a can of something he could empty onto a plate and stick in the microwave. He lifted a can of spaghetti and meatballs from the cupboard, then rummaged through a bottom drawer for a can opener.

  He liked Lane. He always had. Even when they’d been kids. What wasn’t there to like? Lane was a good person who had married a very bad person and ruined her life. He felt sorry for her, but what could he do? He couldn’t go against Miss Edith. He couldn’t jeopardize all that he had built in this community. If Edith Ware wanted Lane tried for Kent’s murder, then that’s the way it would be.

  Buddy just hoped that Quinn Cortez was as good as his reputation. That being the case, then Lane would go free, and most of Noble’s Crossing would still think she was guilty. After that, he could issue a statement that the police department would continue the investigation, searching for other suspects, but eventually he would see to it that Kent’s murder became another unsolved crime.

  Just as Buddy found the can opener and removed it from the drawer, he heard a series of soft, rapid knocks at his back door. Who the hell? It was nearly eleven-thirty.

  He went to the door, looked through the glass panes and saw the shadowy figure of a woman. What the hell was she doing here? He unlocked and then opened the door. Edith Ware rushed inside and slammed the door behind her.

  “You said that I knew where you lived when I was interested in finishing what we started.” She slithered her bejeweled fingers from his collarbone to his belly button. “Well, I’ve had a very good day today, and I want to celebrate.” Her hand sneaked beneath his boxer shorts and dove straight to his penis. “I’m ready to finish what we started.”

  When her small, warm hand circled him, Buddy grew hard as a rock in five seconds flat. He hated Miss Edith. Hated her for being partly responsible for Mary Martha’s pitiful condition. Hated her for having protected a lying, miserable son of a bitch like Kent. Hated her for trying to crucify a good woman like Lane.

  And he hated her for making him want her.

  He felt like a damn fool. Miss Edith was old enough to be his mama. But there was nothing motherly about Edith Ware. Even at sixty, she wasn’t anything more than a rich bitch in heat.

  Buddy grabbed Edith by the hair of her head, dragged her over to the kitchen table and lifted her up and on top of the vinyl table cloth. He forced her legs apart, hiked up her white linen skirt and wasn’t surprised to find that she wore neither stockings nor panties. Still gripping her head with one hand, he slipped his hand between her legs. When his fingers covered her mound, he encountered smooth flesh. She shaved her pubic hair.

  “Bitch!” He freed his sex from his briefs, then took a good look at the woman spread out before him. In the shadowy dimness of the kitchen, it would be easy enough to pretend that she was Mary Martha.

  She shuddered as if just the contemplation of what he was about to do excited her. When he rammed himself to the hilt within her, she grabbed his buttocks and issued a demand.

  “Fuck me good and hard!”

  Chapter 15

  A horde of reporters awaited them when they emerged from the county courthouse where Judge Harper had apprised Lane of the formal charges against her—felony murder. Bail was set at a hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and the trial was slated to begin on October 2. This was a high-profile case, with both the victim and the defendant well-known in the community. Quinn had made it clear to Wes Stevens that there would be no plea bargaining because his client was innocent. And Quinn had assured Lane that in a case such as hers, involving circumstantial evidence, the burden of proof would most definitely be on the state.

  “And they can’t prove, beyond a reasonable doubt, that you murdered your ex-husband,” he had told her.

  The morning rain had left the streets and sidewalks wet, with iridescent puddles of water and oil glistening on the concrete. Gray clouds obscured the afternoon sun, casting a gloominess over the town that matched Johnny Mack’s deadly mood. He understood exactly why Lillie Mae was considering confessing to Kent’s murder. Hell, if he’d been in town when it happened, he would confess himself, to spare Lane the misery she was enduring.

  Although she was beautiful in her simple tan slacks and white cotton shirt, she wore no makeup, which brought attention to the dark circles under her eyes. She looked so tired. So fragile. So in need of a strong shoulder to lean on. And he was determined that no matter how much she protested, he was going to be that strong shoulder.

  Quinn warded off the press, answering some questions with a smile and others with a growl, while Johnny Mack protected Lane. Holding her around the waist, he lifted his other hand in a warning signal to Back Off and blasted the crowd with his killer stare. As if understanding they were in danger of being annihilated, the reporters allowed Johnny Mack to lead Lane through their clamoring crowd and out to his waiting Lincoln Continental, which he had rented earlier today. No need to hide his wealth at this point, since everyone in town knew he was worth millions.

  Once inside the vehicle, Johnny Mack leaned over and fastened Lane’s safety belt. Without conscious thought, he brushed the loose strands of blond hair off her cheek and tucked them behind her ear. Any excuse to touch her. If he did what he really wanted to do, he would lift her onto his lap and wrap his arms around her. Then he would take an M-16 and blow the reporters to smithereens. Outside the safety of his car, news-hungry vultures from local, state and national television and newspapers surrounded them. Even reporters and photographers from the local Herald. Miss Edith’s doing. He would bet his life on it. As co-owner of the town’s newspaper, she had probably cracked the whip, issuing orders to cover the news, regardless of the fact Lane’s arrest was that news.

  Johnny Mack watched Lane as she gazed at the marauders shouting questions at her, while the force of their combined bodies actually swayed the big car. Damn fools!

  “Please, get me out of here.” Lane’s voice held a hint of hysteria. Her large blue eyes pleaded.

  Johnny Mack inserted the key, started the motor and shifted into Reverse. When he revved the engine, the reporters backed away a couple of feet. Before they had a chance to regroup and swarm forward again, he pressed down on the accelerator and whipped the car out of the parking lot adjacent to the courthouse. Within minutes they were flying up Riverton Street, heading away from downtown.

  “Did Will go to school today?” Lane asked.

  Johnny Mack remained focused on the road, but he caught a glimpse of Lane in his peripheral vision. He could almost feel the tension in her body as she sat there, ramrod straight, a doomed expression on her face.

  “He didn’t want to go, but Lillie Mae convinced him that it was what you’d want him to do.”

  “Bless Lillie Mae. She seems to know exactly how to handle Will.”

  “She uses guilt to make him toe the line,” Johnny Mack said. “All she has to do is mention to him that she knows he doesn’t want to disappoint you. I can see how important it is to him to please you. That boy loves you, Lane. He’d do just about anything for you.”

  “Yes, he probably would. Just as I’d do anything for him.”

  “Is there any chance that Will might have killed Kent…killed him for you?”

  Lane gasped. Johnny Mack stole a quick glance at her. What little color she’d had in her cheeks disappeared.

  “I don’t ever want to hear you say such a thing again.” Lane reached over, laid her hand on Johnny Mack’s arm and manacled his biceps. “If there’s ever the slightest suggestion that Will might have killed Kent, I’ll confess and put an end to it immediately.”

  Johnny Mack slowed the car’s speed from forty-five to thirty and began looking for a place where he could pull off the road. If he remembered these streets correctly
, he wasn’t far from the turnoff to the town’s Spring Park.

  “What are you doing?” Lane asked. “I thought you were taking me home.”

  “I am,” he said. “But I think we need to take a short detour for a few minutes and discuss Will. In private. There’s something you haven’t told me about my son, isn’t there?”

  Johnny Mack slowed to fifteen miles an hour as he circled the nearly empty park. A couple of joggers and three elderly walkers made use of the dirt track, while geese and ducks swam in the pond and waddled about near the road. After easing the Lincoln into one of the gravel drives, he killed the motor and turned to Lane.

  “Did Will kill Kent?”

  When Lane avoided making eye contact, he knew for certain that this was a subject she did not want to discuss. Her continued silence seemed like an admission of the boy’s guilt. Had Will bludgeoned Kent to death with his baseball bat? Was Lane protecting her son, at the cost of her own freedom?

  “Answer me, Lane.” Twisting sideways in his seat, he reached over and grabbed her chin, forcing her face up, but still she refused to look at him. “Dammit, woman, your silence is more damning than words.”

  Her hot gaze flashed a warning that he’d have to be a fool not to recognize. A sign of maternal protection. “Drop it. Now. Will didn’t kill Kent. He was with Lillie Mae when it happened. She wasn’t feeling well and—”

  “That’s what y’all told the police, but is that the way it really happened?”

  Lane undid her seat belt, unlocked the car door and shoved it open. Johnny Mack reached out to restrain her, touching her hip, but she slipped through his fingers and ran from the car. Dammit! What was wrong with her? Why was she running from him? Him of all people. Didn’t she realize that she could tell him the truth, share the deepest, darkest secrets, and he would keep her trust? She would always be safe with him.