by Stacy Green
“This is where she lives?” Nick forced himself to speak.
“Home sweet home.” Cage led the way through the sparse grass. Dingy white on top and ugly, disco-gold on the bottom, Jaymee’s trailer looked like it had been sitting in the lot since the seventies. Two cracked concrete steps led to the front door, and wilted petunias clung to life in their wooden box beneath the window.
“Let me do the talking,” Cage said. “She’s not going to be thrilled with a stranger showing up.”
“I’m not exactly a stranger.” Nick stood at the base of the steps while Cage knocked on the cracked door.
“Trust me. She’ll be pissed.”
The door swung open, and a throaty female voice cut through the sweltering air. “Hey. Thanks for coming out here tonight.” Small arms slipped around Cage’s shoulders. Her bare fingernails were clipped short, her hands devoid of any jewelry. Her skin looked dry.
The sound of her voice dredged a memory from Nick’s subconscious. Four years ago, in a darkened funeral home, Jaymee, dressed in black, standing before Lana’s white casket. She traced the pink silk lining, and then her hand came to rest on Lana’s stiff, clasped ones. “I’ll never forget what you did for me. And I promise I’ll keep going forward. For you, Lana Kay. For you.”
Jaymee had turned to face him. Nick remembered the depths of pain in her hazel eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. He hadn’t seen her again.
Now, standing on Jaymee’s cracked front steps, he forced down the sorrow as Cage removed the woman’s arms, squeezing her hands affectionately. “Listen, I’ve brought someone with me.”
Jaymee pulled her hands away and pushed Cage aside. She was petite–nearly a head shorter than Cage’s six-foot frame–but her stature seemed larger than life as she honed in on Nick. He had only a second to appreciate her features: heart-shaped face; a slim, delicate nose; and round, wide eyes that flashed with the ferocity of a tiger.
“Nick?” The anger in her gaze had faded into raw pain.
Nick stepped forward, extending his hand. “Hi. Wasn’t sure if you’d remember me.”
She shook his hand once with a tight, trembling grip. “I remember.” She turned back to Cage, her mouth pressed together so tightly the words were barely audible. “I don’t mean to be rude, but what’s he doing here? I told you not to bring anyone.”
“You told me not to bring Detective Charles. I didn’t.”
“Cute.” She glanced back at Nick. “No offense, but I remember you’re a reporter. I don’t need to be quoted in tomorrow’s paper.”
“None taken. And I’m not here for a story. At least not one I’m writing about.”
She chewed on her fingernail. Nick suddenly remembered Jaymee was in his wedding pictures. The bridesmaids’ dresses were some shade of purple. Lilac. That’s what Lana called it.
“Let me explain,” Cage said. “Nick’s here because we think Rebecca Newton’s murder may be connected to Lana’s.”
Jaymee stared at him. She blinked once, slowly, and then swallowed as though she were forcing too much food down her throat. “Come in.”
* * *
Nick Samuels. Jaymee couldn’t look at him for more than a few seconds without the pain eating her from the inside out. It had been the same way at the funeral. Jaymee hadn’t wanted her past to affect Lana’s family, and she’d made Lana promise to never tell Nick about Sarah.
Now he was here, looking as though he’d aged at least ten years since the funeral. Tall and rugged, he was less muscular than Jaymee remembered. Not gaunt, but lean–almost wiry. Shadows under his blue eyes. Gray in his ash-blond hair and deep worry lines in his brow. Broad shouldered and still better looking than most of the men around Roselea. God, she was an asshole, admiring the widower of her dead best friend.
She retreated across the small space, determined to keep a distance, but her hands refused to be still. She stuffed them into the pockets of her cutoff shorts, Nick’s scrutiny heating her skin the entire time.
Cage sat down on one of her worn chairs and stretched his long legs in front of him. Nick stood near the door, arms crossed. Jaymee raised an eyebrow.
“I’m here to observe.” He matched her glare with a challenge in his eyes. “Mostly.”
“Jay, what did you want to tell me?” Cage rapped his fingers on the old table.
She hopped onto the countertop. “What do you know about Rebecca’s murder?”
“Just the basics right now. Looks like she was killed by someone she knew. Husband is suspect number one,” Cage said. “Holding up all right?”
“Don’t I always?”
“Strongest person I know. Where’s Mutt?”
“Running around. Probably chasing girls like a typical adolescent boy.”
Cage smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He was tired.
“Any suspects?” Jaymee asked.
“You know I can’t talk about that in detail.”
“That’s not fair. You’re telling me Lana’s murder might be related to Rebecca’s, yet you can’t tell me how? Bullshit.” Jaymee crossed her arms over her chest and gave Cage the stink-eye.
Cage grinned. Jaymee hated that little smirk; he never failed to break her defenses with it. “You first.”
“You piss me off most days.” Jaymee leaned forward. “Fine. I’ll share. Royce Newton’s a client of Crystal’s.”
“Figures.” Cage rolled his eyes toward Nick. “Jaymee’s neighbor. Known prostitute, although she does most of her work across the river, right?”
Jaymee nodded. “She saw Royce a few nights before the murder at–” Jaymee caught herself. She didn’t need to reveal all of Crystal’s business. “Their scheduled meeting place. Royce was stressed. Rebecca had busted him on something to do with money, something going on in Jackson.”
“Money,” Nick said. “Always a good motive.”
“Yeah, well, he said Rebecca could ruin him.”
“Why the hell haven’t you told Charles this?” Cage asked. “Or better yet, why didn’t Crystal?”
“She was afraid she’d get pinched. And I’m telling you because I trust you.” She crossed her legs and rested her head against the cabinets. “Your turn. How could Rebecca’s murder possibly be connected to Lana’s?”
Cage put his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his hand. “There’s the obvious, Jay.”
The resemblance. The first time Jaymee saw Rebecca walking across the street from the diner, she thought Lana had come home without telling her. She bolted out of Sallie’s and across the street only to accost a stranger. They’d joked about it until Lana’s murder.
“That’s coincidence.” Jaymee said over the ache in her throat. “Lots of people look alike. They’re in two separate cities, four years apart.” She looked at Nick without making eye contact. “I’m sorry, but I think you’re stretching it.”
“Show her the note,” Cage said.
Nick reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic baggie. Inside was a white piece of paper, folded so the black type showed.
Jaymee’s insides hollowed out as she read the words. Her fingers went numb. “When—when did you get this?”
“Yesterday.”
An unbearable pressure built inside Jaymee as Nick stared at her. She pressed her hand to her stomach. “After I found Rebecca?”
“Yes.”
“M.E. said she’d been killed the night before, guessing around eight p.m.,” Cage said.
“Wait.” Jaymee held up a shaking hand. “That makes no sense. Was this mailed?”
“Postmarked in Jackson.”
“That’s impossible,” Jaymee said. “Mail doesn’t move that fast. Sometimes it takes three days for something to get here from Jackson.”
“Maybe he mailed it before he killed Rebecca,” Cage said. “Her murder looks premeditated.”
“But Royce is the main suspect.” Jaymee struggled to understand. None of this made any sense. “He didn’t even know–” Even as she spoke, h
er mind squashed the thought and veered in another direction. Her already nervous stomach lurched, and her hand went to her mouth. Saying it would make everything real. She slid down from the counter, no longer feeling steady enough to perch on the cracked laminate.
“What?” Nick stepped across the small trailer and into her personal space. The scent of his aftershave hit her: woodsy, masculine, and tainted with bourbon. Spattered gray decorated his day-old scruff. He stared down at her with an intensity that made her knees buckle.
Jaymee couldn’t tear her gaze from Nick’s. “When I first started cleaning for the Newtons, they lived in Forrest Park, the subdivision on the east side of town. Evaline was still being restored. Royce wasn’t around much–he was still commuting to Jackson, tying up loose ends. Most of the time, he treated me as hired help. But one day, he was home and sort of hovering. Rebecca was outside, talking to a neighbor. Asked how we met. I told him I mistook her for a good friend. When he asked who, I told him it was Lana.”
“And?”
“He knew her. Mentioned he’d had a couple of her cases. Abused kids.”
Nick stepped backward so quickly she might have shoved him. Jaymee seized her chance and sat down across from Cage. He stared at her, the same unspoken pain passing between them, as raw as the day four years ago he’d knocked on her trailer with the news. He’d cried in her arms, begged her to let him stay the night. It was the one time he’d slept in her bed, but not the first time she’d turned down his pleas for intimacy. She’d held him while he slept instead. She could never return his love, not in the way he so desperately wanted.
Jaymee finally spoke. “Why would Royce have killed Lana?”
“I don’t know,” Cage said. “But do you remember if he was in Jackson when she was murdered?”
The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. “He was there. I worked for Rebecca then. Day Lana was found, Rebecca had lunch at Sallie’s. I’d just heard the news and was a mess. Rebecca stayed until my shift ended and then took me to the Fosters’. I remember Rebecca telling me that Royce was in Jackson. She’d called to tell him because he’d known Lana.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“But what about the note?” Jaymee said. “Why send something like that? It’s the only reason you’ve tied the two together.”
“He’s taunting me.” Nick’s deep baritone resonated with anger. “He’s gotten away with murder for four years. Why would he worry about being caught now?”
“Because he just committed another one,” Jaymee said.
“Yeah, but all this time has given him confidence,” Cage said. “He’s honed his skill, maybe even killed others. Probably thinks he’s off police radar.”
“Which isn’t Royce Newton.” Nick sagged into the booth next to Jaymee, the excitement draining from his rugged face. The bench was barely big enough for two. His tanned forearm brushed hers. Her heart sped up at the contact.
“That’s true,” Cage agreed.
“Wait, catch me up,” Jaymee said. “Isn’t Royce the suspect?”
“Whoever killed Lana is smart. Calculating,” Nick said. “If Royce Newton got away with murder four years ago, he sure as hell isn’t going to be stupid now. Killing his wife would be incredibly dumb and put him smack ass in the hot seat.”
“And sending the letter makes it worse,” Cage said.
“But he told Crystal that Rebecca knew about the money,” Jaymee insisted. “Royce was panicked. Could barely perform.” Her cheeks flamed.
“So maybe he did kill her. But something doesn’t add up.” Cage leaned against the wall and sighed.
“Maybe Royce is just a pawn,” Nick said. “Annabelle told me there were rumors Rebecca was having an affair. Gives him more motive, especially if Rebecca signed a prenup. Adultery trumps that. Maybe the killer knew, saw the time to strike.”
“Why?” Jaymee asked. “The only thing Lana and Rebecca have in common are looks.”
“There’s more.” Nick ran his tongue along his bottom lip. “We just don’t know what it is yet.”
“Speaking of more, you said you had two things to tell me,” Cage said. “What’s the other?”
Jaymee studied her fingernails. “Oh, good old Daddy Dearest stopped by work today.”
Cage’s upper lip curled. “You tell him to go to hell?”
Nick shifted beside her. Out of the corner of her eye, Jaymee could see his brows furrowed. No doubt he’d be quizzing Cage later. He’d know soon enough most of her family hated her.
“In so many words,” she said. “But I also remembered he had a run-in with Rebecca about a week ago. She told me they argued at a city council meeting over zoning, and afterwards he followed her to her car. Ran his mouth about smiting his enemies.”
“Your father?” Nick asked. “I take it he’s a bad guy?”
“He’s a religious zealot who likes to hit women and control everything,” Cage spat. “God knows he’d have motive for both murders.”
Jaymee sucked in a hard breath and kicked Cage under the table. Nick leaned forward, his large hands spread out. He no longer wore a wedding ring.
“Your dad would have motive?”
Cage grunted and looked across the room. Jaymee wanted to shove her fist in his mouth.
“Lana and I were always close,” she said. “You probably don’t remember, but the winter before you two got married, I stayed in Jackson for a while.”
“I do remember. Lana never told me much about it, though.”
“Family problems.” Jaymee worked to keep her voice smooth. “Namely, my father. He hates me and by extension, anyone who tries to help me. He and Lana had argued over me before. Paul–my father–threatened her, too.”
That part wasn’t a lie. Jaymee found out months after she returned to Roselea that after manipulating his daughter into coming home, Paul had threatened to tell Lana’s parents about Jaymee’s pregnancy and make sure they knew of Lana’s involvement.
“You think he’s capable of killing?”
“He’s capable of anything.”
“Jay, I’ll have to tell Charles all this,” Cage said. “Nick and I are going to see him in the morning, lay out our theory. I’ll get him to leave you alone.”
“Thanks.” Despite the blazing trailer, Jaymee wrapped her arms around herself. She couldn’t stop shivering. “Let me know if you find out anything else about Rebecca’s murder.”
“I will. Forensics processed the scene, found the usual stuff. Keepsakes, jewelry. Couple of names they’re going to check out. No one I recognize.”
“What names?” Nick asked. “I’ll see if I can tie them to Lana.”
“First one looks like it might be a password. Second is a name, Debra R. Davies.”
For the second time in just a few days, Jaymee’s entire world shifted and flipped upside down. Debra R. Davies. She hadn’t heard anyone speak the name for years–not since before Lana’s murder. Lana had spent months searching for a record of the woman, a paper trail, a previous case, anything. Her attempts were futile. The woman Jaymee had known as Debra R. Davies simply did not exist. And yet she was the social worker who’d so carefully guided Jaymee through Sarah’s adoption.
Butterflies began to war in her stomach. Rebecca hadn’t known about Sarah. Not everything. Only that Jaymee needed a family attorney and a private investigator. Had she guessed? How could she have possibly found out about Debra Davies?
“Something wrong?” Nick stood too close. Jaymee swallowed and tried to find her voice.
Yes. Something was terribly wrong. Lana and Rebecca both knew of Debra Davies. Lana knew Royce Newton; Rebecca was married to the man. And both women knew something about Jaymee’s bitter past. Raw instinct washed over her from head to toe. Somehow, this was about Sarah. That’s why the note had been sent to Nick.
Jaymee’s knees turned to rubber. She might have fallen down on the spot if not for Nick’s steadying hand. She couldn’t look at him now. He’d see the lie in her eyes. The s
hame.
“Jay?” Cage’s voice. Soft, suspicious. He’d never heard the name, still didn’t know all the details.
“Debra R. Davies is a social worker.” Jaymee’s mouth numbed. Her lips moved slowly, as if they were coated with glue. “At least, that’s what she told me. Lana never found her, though. She wasn’t in the system.”
“What?” The old booth squeaked as Cage stood. His heavy boots clunked across the trailer’s old tile. “Do you mean the social worker that helped–”
“Yes.”
“What are you talking about?” Nick looked between the two of them. “Why was Lana looking for this Davies woman?”
Jaymee’s fingertips dug into her temples. She didn’t want Nick to hear about her past and judge her like everyone else. And speaking the words out loud would make her fears real. She couldn’t face the thought.
Warm skin, dry and calloused, touched hers as Nick rested his hand on her arm. Hot shivers raced through Jaymee’s veins and sent her trembling nerves into overdrive. She clenched her hands to keep them from shaking.
“Jaymee, please. I have to know.”
“Tell him.” Cage stopped pacing. “If this social worker is involved…it’s time Nick knew.”
Jaymee pursed her lips, willing the tears away. She squared her shoulders, took a long, raw breath, and faced Nick.
“Lana was looking for Debra Davies because she believed my daughter’s adoption was part of a black-market adoption ring.”
8
Nick stared. Dozens of scenarios had raced through his head as Jaymee spoke, but the truth rendered him dumbstruck. She met his gaze, mouth set in a grim line, chin jutting out with the effort to keep from crying. Her eyes betrayed her real emotions. Their brown depths shined with buried pain.
“How?” One word was all he could muster.
“When I was seventeen, I got pregnant. Paul was furious. He wasn’t about to let me shame him. He shipped me off to an unwed mother’s home in Jackson, told everyone in town I’d been sent to disciplinary school. Only Reverend Gereau knew the truth, and he said getting me out of Roselea before I started to show was best because Paul would be embarrassed. Said that would make him treat me even worse.” Jaymee’s mouth twisted. “As if the reverend ever cared about how Paul treated me.”
