by Stacy Green
“Let’s you and me speak in private. Settle this peacefully.”
Jaymee stuck her hand in her pocket, fisted the knife she’d swiped from Sallie’s. “Absolutely.”
Every hair on the back of her neck stood at attention on the walk to the living room. Visions of Holden reaching forward and choking the life out of her sent adrenaline racing through her system. She clutched the knife in her pocket. He’d learn some humility tonight.
She stalked to the middle of the room and spun to face him. “So let’s talk.”
He sat down in Paul’s recliner, assuming the spot of proverbial power. Holden crossed his legs, hands around his knees. He still had the gall to look confused. “What are you doing, Jaymee?”
“What I should have done a long time ago.”
“You did the right thing back then. The child’s with a good family.”
“You’d know, wouldn’t you? How much did they pay you for her?”
Holden’s face might have been carved from stone, with black granite for the dead eyes and heavy clay for the lips.
“I’m sorry?”
“The parents you sold our baby to. How much? Did they even know what they were doing? Or did you and your attorney hide the profit in his fees?”
“You’re talking crazy.”
“Nope. Just the truth.”
Holden’s mask slipped, and his face turned dark and menacing. He uncrossed his legs, hands quaking in his lap. He’d been thrown completely off guard. She figured he was in Roselea to find out what she and Nick knew, but he likely never dreamed she’d stand up to him. The king wasn’t used to being challenged.
“I’m not worried.”
“So you’re admitting it.”
“Didn’t say that.”
“But I know something you don’t.” She caught herself. Mentioning Elaine Andrews’s name would be a huge mistake. Better to bluff with what she knew. “Lana had the proof. She was murdered. Rebecca knew. She was murdered. Now Crystal.”
Holden’s condescending laugh filled her with rage. She started to pull the knife from her pocket.
“That’s your proof? The deaths of three women?”
“Three women who all had information that could bring you and your accomplices down.”
“Accomplices?”
“Royce Newton. He’s the attorney who gets the clients to believe they’re paying legal fees instead of buying a baby. Debra R. Davies is the fake social worker you sic on naïve mothers. And my father. He’s the muscle, right?”
Holden’s stony silence was answer enough.
“Lana had physical proof. Her killer took it. But we know what it is. You couldn’t keep it hidden forever.”
“We?” Holden asked. “Who’s helping you on this magical quest?”
“Nick Samuels, Lana’s husband. It’s personal for him, too.”
Another laugh, his head thrown back. Jugular exposed.
Reach forward. Slice his throat. Run.
“That’s right. Your daddy told me you took a weekend trip to Jackson with the widower. I should have known. That man’s been after me for years. Some sort of imagined personal vendetta. Is he the one filling your head with these lies?”
“Lies? Where are Sarah’s adoption records?”
“Sealed.”
“Nonexistent. Where’s Debra Davies?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sure you do. You just know her real name. Davies is the alias she uses when she’s stealing babies. What’s your cut, by the way? I know you aren’t splitting it equally. You’re not that generous.”
He stood and moved toward her. Jaymee couldn’t yank the knife out of her pocket in time. Holden took her by the shoulders. His touch made her skin itch; his pitiful smile made her feel stupid. “Jaymee, listen to yourself. You’re not making any sense.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No.” He spoke in a low, soothing tone. “You’ve suffered a lot of loss lately. Then this Samuels comes to town and plays with your head, convincing you of some great conspiracy. Don’t you see? He’s preying on the guilt you carry and using it for his own vengeful agenda.”
“No.”
“I understand. She’s your firstborn. No matter how many other children you have, you’ll always miss her. And that’s okay. But know that she’s in a better place. Isn’t that what matters?”
She’d forgotten how persuasive he could be. The way his dark eyes seemed to glow when he spoke. His deep voice a gentle cadence of southern charm. Jaymee waffled, caught between the truth she knew in her heart and the lonely teenager she’d never quite left behind.
“I know what’s best for you,” Holden said. “For your daughter. It’s time to let her go, Jaymee. She’s happy. Don’t you want to be happy?”
“Yes.”
“Then walk away now. Forget about this before you ruin us all.”
The spell snapped. Jaymee slammed her fists into his chest and shoved him away. “That’s all you care about–your precious reputation. You’re a fraud, and I’m going to prove it. I’ll get an attorney, find my child, and get a paternity test. Then all of your secrets will come tumbling down around your pompous ass. Can’t kill everyone, Holden.”
“I haven’t killed anyone.”
“Maybe, maybe not. But you’re calling the shots.”
“You’ll never prove a damned thing.” Real Holden had come back out to play.
“Oh, but I will. I don’t care how long it takes.”
“You think any attorney is going to take on the likes of you? No money, no evidence but your crazy theories and whining pity? Against me? A man of the church? A television personality? Get real, child.”
“Pride goeth before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall.”
“Quoting the Bible may make you feel powerful, but you’re still the same scared, naïve little girl you always were. You’re trying to jump into the pool with sharks, Jaymee. Don’t be fooled. We bite.”
“I’m counting on it.”
“And here I thought I could talk some sense into you.”
“I thought I could cut you.” Jaymee pulled out the knife and twisted it in her hands. The blade caught the lamplight, shining in the dim room. “Still could try, I suppose. But then I’d go to jail, and I wouldn’t get to enjoy your fall from grace.”
“You’re digging your own pit, Jaymee.”
“This is just the beginning.” The knife was nothing more than a distraction. She wasn’t stupid enough to use it. She jammed it back into the pocket of her apron.
“You’re too late.” A tremor of panic broke through Holden’s arrogant tone. “I know something you don’t.”
“Not for long.”
“The child is lost to you.”
“I’ll find her.”
“I saw her father just the other day. Fine man.”
“What?”
“It’s been a while since we’d spoken, but I wanted to check in,” Holden said. “Girl looks like you did as a baby, you know. Curls and all. They’re leaving the country. This weekend, actually. Her father accepted a position overseas. Came up quite unexpectedly.”
Blinding, searing, paralyzing desperation. Jaymee searched his eyes for signs of deception, but his smile was so sinister, so prideful, she knew he was telling the truth.
“You did this.”
“I may have put in a good word. Owner of his company is a parishioner.”
“You won’t get away with it.”
“I already have.”
She slapped him. His head recoiled with the force. Satisfying red marks spread over his cheek.
“Jaymee.” Darren stood in the doorway, mouth gaping open. “How could you?”
Holden winked at her before turning to face her brother. “It’s all right, son. She’s out of sorts. I don’t mind being her fall guy.”
“The things she said about you–”
“Settled. A cry for attention.”
Darren looked at her with pity-filled
eyes. “I’m sorry, Jaymee. I didn’t know things were that bad for you. Why didn’t you ask me for help?”
“Why would I?” She choked out around the building sob. “You clearly don’t want to believe the truth.”
“I want to help you. So does Holden.”
“He’s the devil, Darren. Maybe one day you’ll finally see it.”
She stumbled around the room, banging her thigh against the sofa table. Panic building, tears rising.
“Jaymee, let me help.” Holden mocked her now, delighting in her brother’s audience.
“Please,” Darren said. “I’m here for you, too.”
She wrenched open the door and gathered the last of her self-control. She looked over her shoulder at the two men. At that moment, she hated them both.
“You’re a damned fool, Darren.” Her voice wavered and nearly broke. Jaymee let the door slam behind her. The dark night was a blur as she hurried down the sidewalk and turned in the direction of Annabelle’s.
###
Nick rubbed his eyes until they stung. The notes he’d spent the last hour scrawling blurred. He was certain Wilcher was behind the murders, but the reverend hadn’t been around to commit the crimes, and his supporting cast had no intention of giving him up. He doubted Gereau would be able to get the truth out of Newton if the man had actually killed his own wife. The attorney was definitely involved, but that didn’t make him a murderer.
But if Ballard had done the killing, Newton was willing to keep his mouth shut. Was the attorney so controlled by Wilcher’s scheme and his own greed he would stand aside for his wife to die?
Someone banged on his door. The knock was sharp and fast, the opposite of Annabelle’s gentle rap.
“Are you going to let me in?”
Jaymee. His breath quickened, and he stood on shaky legs. “I’m coming.”
It was just past ten p.m. What was she doing here? Had she come alone in the dark, with a killer circling her? Worry propelled him across the floor to yank open the door, but before he could say a word, Jaymee stomped past.
“Annabelle’s still up. I nagged at her until she let me in.”
She was still in her work uniform. She kicked off her shoes, untied her apron, and tossed it onto the desk where it landed with a thunk. A medium-sized butcher knife clattered to the wooden floor. She kicked it aside.
“What the hell?”
Jaymee swayed, and then dropped down on the edge of the bed. “Holden’s in town visiting my parents. I paid him a visit.”
Nick scanned the knife. It looked clean, but she could have wiped it off.
“I didn’t stab him.” Her voice sounded hollow. “I wanted to.”
His stomach relaxed. He sat down next to her. “What happened?”
“I told him.” She stuck her chin out. “Told them, actually. Paul, my mother, and Darren.”
“About Sarah?”
“They didn’t believe me.” She pressed her lips together until they turned white.
“I’m sorry.”
“Holden wanted to talk. I told him we knew what he was doing.” Her chin dropped to her chest, and she buried her face in her trembling hands.
“Why the hell’d you do that? You’ve given him the upper hand.”
“He already had it.” She heaved a hard, shuddering sigh and then curled into a ball and stared straight ahead, rocking back and forth.
He ran his fingers against her tense back, her pain dominating his emotions. “What happened?”
“Sarah’s gone.”
“You mean…” His stomach rolled. He couldn’t finish the thought.
“She’s alive. But she’s lost.”
“You’re not making sense.”
“Holden helped her adoptive father get a job overseas. They’re moving this weekend.” She let out a low keening sound. “I’ll never find her now.”
“It’s Tuesday night.” Nick sat up and pulled her close. “ We’ve got three days.”
“And what are we going to accomplish in three days?” She pressed her face into his neck.
Her hot breath against his neck set his body humming. He tried to think clearly, to say something to make her feel better, but the heat of her body and the feel of lips so near his skin threatened to overrule rational thought.
Jaymee’s hand drifted across his chest to clutch at his arm. “Holden’s covered his tracks too well. He’s got people doing his dirty work.”
“We focus on Royce and Paul. They’ll break.”
“It’s over.” Another harsh sob tore through her.
“You can’t give up,” Nick said. “Not now, when we’re so close.”
“How are we close? So my father banged Crystal.” Anger and raw pain rang in her shrill voice. “Argued with Rebecca and Lana. Big deal. Besides lack of adoption records, we have zero proof of Sarah’s adoption being fake. It’s over, Nick. Holden wins, and I’ve got to stop pretending I ever had a chance of beating him.”
Nick took her by the shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “You’re upset right now and not thinking clearly. Tomorrow we’ll make a plan and start over. I’m not letting you give up on Sarah.”
“You don’t have to do this. We can still solve Lana’s murder without trying to find Sarah. We just need to prove Holden sold her.”
“I know I don’t have to.” He cupped her face in his hand. She leaned into his embrace, need brimming in her eyes. Her fingers walked across his arms, to his shoulders, then to his face. She traced his features, her touch feather soft and boiling hot.
Heady need built in his toes and threaded itself through his entire body. He took her in his arms, heart banging in his ears and blood rushing to his groin. Her head fell back to expose the delicate skin of her neck. He moved cautiously, breathing in the sweet vanilla scent of her flesh. Pressing his lips against hers gently at first, and then more firmly.
She moaned, her hands moving from his face to his hair. Wrapped around his, her body was all heat. He moved his mouth over her jaw, down her neck, and then back to the corner of her mouth. Soft, sweet, kisses.
It was she who took control, pulling, pushing, pawing. Her kisses were fierce and needy and wanting. She guided him down to the bed crawling on top of him. His hands slid down the curve of her waist, around her butt, and over her thighs. She sat up, pulling her shirt off and tossing it across the room.
A simple cotton bra with a little silk bow in the middle nearly made Nick come undone. He touched her with calloused hands, and she ground her hips against him, head thrown back, mouth open, eyes closed.
Jaymee shifted, bringing her head back up to meet his gaze. The fire in them propelled him onward as lust took over. He sat up and kissed her hard. She responded with gratitude, moaning in pleasure when he flipped her onto her back.
Clothes came off. Nails scraped across his chest followed by tender lips. Hot and wet against his fingers, she writhed beneath him, his hand covering her cries. A condom first, and then, bliss. Fast and slow and fast again. She matched him movement for movement. He kept his lips against hers, breath to breath. She whispered his name. He groaned hers.
He collapsed on top of her and tried to catch his breath. Her arms fell to the mattress, but her legs remained tight around his waist. His head still spun, but guilt was the farthest thing from his mind. Eventually, her fingers wove through his hair, pushing the damp strands off his face.
Nick didn’t want to move, but he needed to see her face. He raised himself up.
Jaymee gave him a lazy grin. “No more talking tonight.”
###
Spooned together, they slept late. The sun blasting through the half-closed blinds warmed Nick’s face and forced his eyes open. He woke to milky skin and a soft body. And guilt.
He rolled over, trying not to wake Jaymee. Grabbing his pants and shirt off the floor, he made for the bathroom. Splashed water on his face and tried to think. His mind drew a dull blank.
In the bedroom, sheets rustled, followed by a low moan. N
ick looked at himself in the mirror, surprised at what he saw. Brightness in his eyes. Life. Maybe even peace.
Jaymee was sitting up when he returned. She’d put her top and panties back on and was digging through her bag. He braced himself for the cold shoulder of guilt.
“Hey.” She pulled a brush out and raked it through her tangled hair. “How’d you sleep?”
“Fine. You?”
An impish smile spread over her face. “Great. Better than I have in a long time.”
“I didn’t expect to hear you say that.”
“Me either.”
He sat down in the desk chair, afraid to get too close. Memories of last night and what they were capable of together clouded his mind. “You’re okay, then?”
“I think so.” She twisted her hair into a loose knot and then fiddled with the frayed strap on her bag. “You think we’re bad people for,” she glanced around the tousled bed, “all this?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“Me either.”
He ran his feet over the hardwood floor. It was smooth and cool–the opposite of what he felt inside. He’d been with women since Lana died. Several, actually. All meaningless, frantic acts of satisfaction. But Jaymee was different, and they both knew it. That understanding passed silently between them more than once last night.
“You’re right,” Jaymee said. “I still have three days. And we need a money trail, right? If we could somehow hack into his accounts and prove there’s money coming in from somewhere it shouldn’t be–”
“It’s not that simple.” Nick sucked in his cheeks to keep from smiling. “Hacking into bank accounts is nearly impossible, unless you’re a pro. And even if we did, it’s not exactly something we could take to the police.”
Jaymee blushed. “Of course. This isn’t television.”
“Profits from his show go straight to Hannah’s House for charity,” Nick said. “That’s public information and something I checked out months ago when I was working on a story. His salary from the church is modest. Yet he lives in one of the wealthiest areas in Jackson. How?”
“He doesn’t come from money,” Jaymee said. “That’s part of his spiel. Neither does his wife.”
“You knew her?”
“Barely. She’s a bit of a recluse. Phobic, I think. Never wanted to come out of the house and always looked like she wanted to bolt at church.”
