Over the Borderline

by Leanna Floyd

  That certainly seemed to be the case now that he was done with Summer once and for all. Brooke had never approved of her and was surprised that Jacob’s relationship with Summer had not burned out sooner. Brooke had never told Jacob how jealous she felt, something she had not even admitted to herself until after he broke up with the stripper.

  Brooke hated to be a snob, but Jacob deserved someone better, someone who could appreciate more than just the surface looks and charming BS. Someone who could see the real Jacob, his heart, and his incredible potential.

  Someone like her.

  Chapter 4

  “Why don’t you move to the West Coast?” Brooke said. A week had passed since their last conversation. They had texted a couple times, and she remained proud of Jacob’s resolve not to get sucked back into all the drama with Summer.

  “California?” Jacob asked. “You think I could ever leave Florida?”

  “No, silly,” Brooke said. “Move down to Tampa or at least St. Pete. The West Coast of Florida has some of the most beautiful beaches in the world. Calmer, warmer waters. Swaying queen palms framing one gorgeous sunset after another. Sands like sugar crystals. Better clubs and restaurants, ones that can compete with Miami but without the elitist attitude. The economy’s picked up and—”

  His laughter interrupted her. “How long you been working for the Greater Tampa Chamber of Commerce? You’re worse than an infomercial!”

  She echoed his laughter and said, “And you’d be closer to me. You could take a few classes at USF—I could tell you which ones to take—and finish your degree. You can find a job. You know, a fresh start.”

  It was tempting. Jacob thought it made sense. Other than Summer and the familiarity of the corner of his home state, there was nothing tying him there. Both parents were dead. His grandmother on his mom’s side lived near Pensacola, and he had a half-sister in Charleston, but he was close to neither. Brooke was the closest thing he had to family. If he left the Sadersville area, he could get away from all the reminders of Summer and the times they’d shared together; the idea of starting over appealed to him. He could reinvent himself, be someone else, someone better than he had been.

  “You still there?”

  “Yeah, I’m still here, Brooke. Just thinking of what it would be like if I moved down to your neck of the woods.”

  “Could be a good thing…”

  “You’re sure you wouldn’t get sick of me?” he said. “Me and all my problems?”

  “Sick of you?” she laughed. “How long have we known each other? If I were going to get sick of you, I would have done it a long time ago.”

  “Ouch! Well, thanks for that,” he shot back. “You really think I could find a job? You know, besides waiting tables or grinding beans at Starbucks?”

  “With your charisma and good looks, babe, you’ll get hired right away…” Brooke paused dramatically. “Disney is always looking for actors—you’d be perfect for Peter Pan or maybe Goofy.”

  “Not what I had in mind,” he said, laughing, then added, “For someone who says she wants me to move closer, you sure are sending mixed messages.”

  “I’m just teasing. If I didn’t want you to move down here, I wouldn’t have suggested it in the first place.”

  “True.”

  “Just think about it, okay?” she said. “Hey, I gotta run. People who really need me await.”

  “Tell all the crazies ‘hello’ for me,” he said.

  “Jacob! What have I told you about calling my clients—”

  “Just teasing you back, girl! You know I love you. Hey, I’ll let you go. Talk to you soon.”

  The move happened quickly. He talked to the only other friend he knew who lived in the Tampa area, his old buddy Roger, a geeky kid Jacob had befriended in high school who went on to Stanford and launched a successful tech start-up. As it turned out, Roger was raising capital for global expansion and would be traveling in Asia and Europe for several months. He offered to let Jacob stay in his beachside condo as long as Jacob wanted, rent-free.

  It seemed too good to be true, but Jacob took it as a sign the universe (He still preferred to leave God out of it.) wanted him to move to Tampa. He began a job-hunt and that didn’t fall into place quite as smoothly. Sure, there were plenty of seasonal jobs and entry-level positions, the kind of positions most of his peers used to put themselves through college or to sustain their beach bum lifestyles, but surely he could do better than an eight-buck-an-hour job selling t-shirts at the mall or pulling beers at a sports bar. He called a couple of temp agencies, but all they had were day-labor type jobs working construction. While he’d nail two-by-fours if he had to, Jacob knew the kind of job he wanted usually happened because of who you know. He called Roger back.

  “Hey, Roger, it’s me again,” he said, quickly adding, “Jacob Connor.”

  “Jacob! Do you know what time it is here in Bangkok?” he said with a chuckle. Jacob was still amazed at how the once awkward Roger became a millionaire hipster. “What’s up, buddy? You’re not changing your mind, are you? Honestly, you’re doing me a favor by staying—”

  “No, I’m still moving this weekend,” Jacob said. “But I’m having trouble finding a new job. I thought maybe your company had a branch in Tampa or…”

  “We used to,” Roger said, “but I moved it to Miami last year. But let me think for a moment who I know in Tampa.”

  True to his word, the next day Roger introduced him via text to Emily Travarian, who agreed to meet Jacob for drinks after he arrived in Tampa that weekend. She suggested a place called Goldie’s within walking distance of Roger’s condo, and Jacob easily spotted her on Saturday afternoon, having friended her on Facebook already. Emily was full-figured and had an earthy, natural beauty, with minimal makeup, long sun-streaked hair, and a radiant smile. She was not what he expected the head of HR in a prestigious law firm to look like—she seemed too chill for that—but that only made him like her more.

  From following her on Facebook and other social media, Jacob knew a lot about Emily and her place of employment but didn’t want to come across as a cyber-stalker. He let their conversation evolve naturally over locally microbrewed IPAs before directing his questions to Taylor, Dwights and Associates, the firm where she worked.

  “How long have you worked there?” he asked. A college football game on the flat screen above the bar held the attention of most everyone else in the bar, which definitely seemed to cater to young professionals.

  “About six years now, straight out of college,” Emily said. “It’s demanding, but I really love it, you know? Are you interested in a legal career?”

  “Yes, actually I am,” Jacob said as convincingly as possible. “I’ve got to finish my undergrad degree first, but then I plan to go to law school and see what happens. Working at a firm like Taylor Dwights would be great experience and help me see the various kinds of litigation firsthand.” He leaned in closer and let his ankle brush against hers beneath the table. She sipped her beer and smiled.

  “I’m not sure we’re hiring any entry level positions right now, but send me your resume to keep on file. Well, DeMato does want someone for…but she would never—no, I’ll let you know if anything becomes available.”

  “I really appreciate that, Emily,” he said, turning up his new-in-the-big-city boyish charm. “For the chance at a real job, I’d do most anything, you know? Is DeMato one of the partners at the firm?”

  “Yes,” Emily said, eyeing him warily. “Lisa DeMato. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of her. In her mid-fifties, she’s the dragon lady of criminal defense attorneys. Just wrapped up a case for a wealthy Miami…entrepreneur brought up on charges of drug smuggling and money laundering. You probably read about it.”

  Fortunately, he had. “The Rodriquez Trial? Wow, she’s the one who got him acquitted? Very impressive.”

  Emily nodded. “Somehow, she got hold of a recording in which the arresting federal agent acknowledged planting extra coke in order to ma
ke sure the drugs confiscated could not be considered a recreational quantity. Even though it was inadmissible in court, DeMato played it for the judge and asked that the case be dismissed, and it was. Nobody really likes her but everyone respects her.”

  “Incredible,” Jacob said. “I’d love to meet her. Are you sure she doesn’t need another clerk or assistant or para-something?” Once again, his most bewitching smile played on his lips.

  “But you have no real experience, right? I mean, DeMato does not suffer fools, so if you don’t know your stuff, she wouldn’t let you near one of her cases. And neither would I. I may look like a hippie chick, but I kick ass with my hires.”

  “I’m sure you do,” he said. “That’s why you want to hire me.”

  “I don’t know, Jacob,” she said before finishing the last of her beer.

  “I’m a quick study—really, I am. What if I had someone coach me on what I would need to say for my interview with DeMato? Someone who really knows their stuff… someone like you.”

  Emily laughed and shook her head. “And what’s in it for me? Roger’s a pal, and I’m all for helping a friend of a friend, but I really don’t know you.”

  “Well, maybe we could change that,” he said and smiled his best mischievous smile.

  “I don’t know…” She traced the rim of her empty beer glass but kept her eyes on Jacob.

  “You’re blushing!” he said. “That’s about the sexiest thing I’ve seen in a long, long time! You do know you’re beautiful, don’t you? I love that you’re not some spray-tanned Barbie, like most of the women you see in Florida. You seem so… real.” He let his hand graze the top of hers.

  “I’m not sure most guys feel the way you do about my pale skin and extra curves,” she said.

  Jacob leaned in to kiss her.

  And it was that simple.

  Before Emily left the next morning, she prepped Jacob and told him exactly what DeMato would ask and how he should respond. Some of it sounded like a foreign language, but he knew he could do it. She also told him to go online and research Zach Barton’s impending trial, the big case DeMato had just agreed to take on. The 29-year-old son of a prominent plastic surgeon, Barton had been charged with first-degree murder in the shooting death of Abigail Winters and her unborn child.

  Winters had allegedly been Barton’s on-again, off-again girlfriend for several years, and the two were known to be regulars in the local club scene. As he read the online tabloid gossip about them, Jacob couldn’t help but think of the similarities to his relationship with Summer. After a bitter break up with Barton, Winters was found by her mother dead outside her home. The investigation lasted only three weeks before Zach Barton was charged, only to be released on bail for one mil, which his wealthy father, Dr. Alexander Barton, wasted no time posting. No surprise then that daddy had hired the most respected, high profile law firm in the state, Taylor, Dwights and Associates, to defend his son.

  The article quoted the firm’s press officer, Sarah Goldman, as saying, “Mr. Barton’s defense team will be led by our firm’s senior partner with an international reputation for defending and exonerating accused individuals, Elizabeth DeMato.” Jacob loved the way the spin-person had gone out of her way to avoid the word criminal when referring to her firm’s clients.

  “To a fresh start,” he said as he clinked glasses with Brooke the following Monday. The two of them sat outside at a little bar not far from the university, enjoying mojitos and tapas on a breezy, palm-covered patio overlooking the beach and nearby docks. He described how he happened to call Taylor Dwights that morning and how their HR person just happened to arrange an interview that afternoon with a senior partner who needed a research clerk for a big case ASAP.

  “So, you just called up this law firm and claimed to be a paralegal with expertise in criminal defense?” Brooke asked, sipping her icy drink. “We usually call that compulsive lying around the counseling office. Pathological behavior even.”

  “I’m shocked, Dr. Douger,” he said, “that you would think that I would deceive anyone.” She burst into a laugh and almost choked on a bite of queso. “And what is truth? The truth is just what we want to believe.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” she said, with a sputter in her voice. “About the truth part—the Dr. Douger part, I hope by this time next year.”

  “I told you—Roger introduced me to Emily, the firm’s HR person,” he leaned in closer. “And once I spoke with Emily, well… let’s just say, she and I hit it off.”

  “You snake!” Brooke said. “You are shameless. So, you seduced that poor young woman, conned her into meeting her boss, and managed to slither your way into a job!”

  “Exactly!” he said and flicked his tongue at her.

  “Ooh, gross,” she laughed. “And did the same trick work with the boss?”

  “No, my dear,” he said as if instructing a slow student in the art of solving a difficult problem. “With Ms. Lisa DeMato, the approach is entirely different—all business, facts and figures, statistics on murder trials in our beautiful Sunshine State, psychological factors in jury selection—all those things that are right up your alley.”

  “Very impressive,” Brooke said. “I told you that you’d land on your feet down here. So, when do you start?”

  “I go in tomorrow afternoon to fill out paperwork and start on Wednesday,” he said. “I’ve already been given homework—basically getting up to speed on the facts of the trial and digging up dirt on the victim.”

  She eyed him warily as a half-smile formed on her lips. “Don’t you find that… I don’t know… morally repulsive?”

  “Not at all,” he said. “The truth is out there.”

  “Wait a minute,” Brooke said, tracing the wet ring her glass had made on the patio table. “I thought you said truth is what we want to believe.”

  “Truth is whatever works!”

  I really can’t remember much of what happened afterward. I would like to say I was immediately overcome with guilt and remorse for what had happened, but I can’t. How could I regret doing something that made me feel more alive than I’ve ever felt?

  Carrying her from the car, I struggled not to topple in the sand dunes nearby. So that’s where I left her. The wind had kicked up off the water, and I knew a blanket of sand would cover her by morning. The seashell was a last-minute addition, a thank-you gift for the thrill she gave me as my second kill.

  Earlier that afternoon, I had been walking along another beach a few miles away, one where my sister and I used to play as children. The drab grey skies and sulfurous smell of rotting seaweed there matched my mood, but as I began to think about happier times, I noticed a smattering of shells near the shoreline. The tide was going out, and so I crouched down and began picking up the ones still intact.

  Mostly just cockle and scallop shells, tan and faded black and butterscotch brown, but there was one little perfect spiral from a pear whelk, worn smooth as an ivory button. It was only about two inches long, and rubbing it between my fingers relaxed me, so when I stood and started back for the parking lot, I dropped the thin little twirl in my pocket.

  They say most killers like to take a souvenir from their victims, but my only desire was to leave her with something, a small token of my appreciation. I thought of the shell and impulsively placed it in her hand and closed her cool fingers around its smooth surface, knowing it was a sensation she would never feel. I was starting to get a chill and wishing for another drink; I left her there with my little shell.

  I never dreamed that I would need more shells.

  But I did.

  Lots of them.

  Chapter 5

  “Brooke? Is everything okay? You seem a bit distracted today.”

  Brooke returned her focus to the older man sitting across from her, Dr. Paul Gregory, her academic advisor and professional mentor. They met every Tuesday morning in his office so she could update him on her latest research findings and the progress made on her dissertation.
A tall, lean, tanned man with silver hair and matching goatee, Dr. Gregory was one of the preeminent criminal psychologists in the country. He had consulted for virtually every notorious murder trial of the past three decades—including those involving serial killers Ted Bundy, Jeffrey Dahmer, BTK killer Dennis Rader, and Aileen Wuornos, the Florida prostitute convicted of killing at least six men and made famous by Charlize Theron’s Oscar-winning turn in the film Monster. Dr. Gregory was respected by law enforcement, legal professionals, and judges alike, not an easy accomplishment.

  “Oh, sorry, Dr. G,” Brooke said. “Just tired—you know how it is. I’m fine.”

  “Hmm,” he said. “You sure about that? You work too much, Brooke—and you’re the only graduate student to whom I would ever say that. Didn’t you tell me your friend Jacob had just moved here? I hope you’ve been able to spend some time with him.”

  Brooke smiled. “Yes, he arrived last week. I’ve already seen him a couple times. It’s fun to have him around again—he’s a good friend.”

  “Yes, sometimes childhood friends know us best,” said Dr. Gregory. “Sure he’s just a friend? Might he be someone you would like to…?”

  Brooke blushed and shook her head. “Absolutely not—he really is just a friend. We went through a lot together growing up in Sadersville. Besides, he’s not my type.”

  Dr. Gregory laughed, and she joined him, saying, “And before you ask what my type is, I’m still figuring that out.”

  “I’m just teasing—none of my business,” he said and closed his notebook. “I think you know that in addition to being the most talented graduate student I’ve had the privilege to work with, I also think you are an extraordinary young lady. Margaret and I think of you like our daughter.”

  Brooke soaked in the warmth of his compliments. “I’m so grateful to you both. I would never have made it this far without your help—and without the kindness of you and Mrs. G. Oh, my goodness—it’s after five! I’m late for my practicum with the first-year students.”