by Wendy Byrne
Accused
Wendy Byrne
Copyright © 2015 by Wendy Byrne
All rights reserved. This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, locations, events and incidents (in either a contemporary and/or historical setting) are products of the author’s imagination and are being used in an imaginative manner as a part of this work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, settings, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition
Edited by: Sidney Rickman
Cover design by: A.M. Wells
Acknowledgements
Thanks as always to my family for their support and patience. Living with a writer isn't easy!
Thanks to my critique partners for a first read of the beginning of this book and encouraging me to finish. To my partner-in-crime and writer extraordinaire--Dyanne Davis--it wouldn't be a good start to the day without our early morning email chats. To Barb Deane and Lauren Ford--two women with incredible writing talent--I hope to see your names in print soon.
To the fabulous Sidney Rickman for her editing talents in whipping this manuscript into shape. And to the gifted A.M. Wells for her fabulous work on the cover design, formatting and much needed website expertise, thank you for all your help.
And finally thanks and hope to all the incredible foster kids that passed through my life when I worked in the child welfare field. You were the inspiration for this book as you showed perseverance and hope despite the obstacles. And to the wonderful foster parents who offer safety, patience and encouragement to those children along the way.
Other Titles by This Author:
The Millionaire’s Deception
Hard to Stop
Hard to Trust
Hard to Kill
The Christmas Curse
Mama Said
Fractured
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright page
Acknowledgements
Other Titles by This Author
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Epilogue
About the Author
Chapter One
The old floorboards creaked and groaned under Jillian’s tentative steps. Pacing lent itself to distraction. Leg up, leg down, creak, leg up, leg down, creak. Turn, take a sip of cold coffee. Repeat.
The problem was that when she stopped calculating each step, it became second nature, thus freeing her mind to remember why her heart fluttered, her stomach clenched.
Glancing at the clock for the hundredth time, doubt surfaced. Glowing numbers mocked her as if to say, “You shouldn’t have trusted him.” Two in the morning. Where in the hell was he?
Jillian’s smoldering anger exploded into fear as she waited for her sixteen-year-old son Travis to come home. She tamped down worst case scenario thoughts as she dialed his cell phone once again.
Directly into voicemail.
Damn it!
She must have called thirty times since his eleven-thirty curfew had come and gone. If he’d been in an accident, she would have heard something by now. Then again, the roads leading to their home on the mountain were isolated, especially late at night. He could have run off the road and be lying unconscious in a ditch.
Being a single parent with all sorts of tragic scenarios bouncing around her head was hell. But she couldn’t say that married to Archie had made things easier. He was rarely home, and when he was, he usually detached himself from any parental responsibility. If he were around, no doubt he’d be in bed, sound asleep—no help whatsoever.
Jillian peeked out the window, hoping to glimpse headlights coming up the mountainous road. Her gut clenched and unclenched with each passing moment.
Two-fifteen.
After everything they’d gone through, he wouldn’t do this to her. Something had to be disastrously wrong. Travis was a good kid.
She ran fingers through too long, in-desperate-need-of-color-hair and considered contacting the police. Hand poised over the phone, she contemplated the repercussions….
Would they take her seriously, given his recent history? He’d run away before. They’d theorize he was back at it again. But her mother’s instinct told her this time was different.
Since moving from Orange County, the old Travis had slowly returned. They’d sit together on the deck in back and talk for hours about everything from music to books to TV. At first she’d attributed the positive change to his weekly court-mandated therapy appointments. But then she’d come to feel it was more than that. Maybe not having Archie around had allowed them both to relax and enjoy life once again.
Damn it! She’d let her guard down.
Why hadn’t she asked for the phone number of one of his new friends, or the number of his coach? A former pro, the football coach was meeting with the team for a pre-season dinner. What was the man’s name? She should be able to remember. After all, Travis had talked about him incessantly since football camp started. But her thoughts were too scattered, Her worry too great. She could barely remember her own name.
Now with Travis MIA, déjà vu reared its ugly head.
Wrapping a sweater around her shoulders, she grabbed her binoculars and went onto the back deck. Despite her fear of heights, standing on the high deck overlooking the canyon below, normally soothed her in a way she couldn’t quantify. She sucked in the clean, fresh air and tried to will herself calm as she as she lifted the binoculars and focused on the winding mountain road.
Tonight the sky was filled with stars as bright as she’d ever seen them. If Travis were beside here, he would be pointing out the constellations with all the enthusiasm any sixteen-year-old boy who loved astronomy could.
Jillian shuddered and gave a worried sigh. Surely any moment now he’d walk through that door. He had to. He was the only thing she had left. The only thing she truly cherished. Why hadn’t she told him that more often?
She blinked and rubbed her overly-tired eyes. Was she hallucinating? A sprinkling of headlights meandered through the road below. Hope fluttered like a butterfly inside her chest as she spotted a couple of cars weaving their way through the night. With an erratic pulse, she followed the headlights as they continued to ascend.
Theirs was the last house this far up the mountain. If a car made it to the turn, surely it had to be Tra
vis. She worried her lip, hoping against hope. After the vehicle made the last and final turn, she dropped her binoculars, ran through the house and threw open the front door.
First she’d hug him until he forced her away with foolish teenage pride. And then she’d ground him—perhaps for the remainder of his life.
He pulled into the driveway and got out of the beat-up Chevy Tahoe she’d purchased for his sixteenth birthday in July. Number one: take away his car.
Even though he towered over her five-foot-eight-inch frame by several inches, Jillian managed to sweep him into a hug. She held on, relishing the solidness of his frame, even enjoying the remnants of the bad cologne he’d taken to using liberally.
“What the hell—” Blue and red lights swirled behind him, casting spooky shadows among the trees before they stopped, disappearing into the night.
Something scary skittered down her spine as she glanced from Travis to the cop who’d emerged from his car and was walking up her steep driveway. At a loss for words, she could only stare as the man approached, his right hand resting on the butt of his revolver. Seconds later, another cop car pulled in, blocking any potential escape route. The cops stopped by Travis’ Tahoe and shined their flashlights on the license plate.
Cold fear clenched her gut, making her whole body tremble. Based on the look on their faces, something bad had happened. Oh God, had Travis done something stupid? Like maybe scrape the hell out of his father’s prized Lexus with a nail or even set fire to it? He’d threatened to do it once or twice in the past. But she’d thought Travis, with the help of his therapist, had let go of some of that anger.
“You’re going to have to open the vehicle, son,” the first cop said, shifting his gaze from her to Travis.
When Travis turned, she laid a restraining hand on his arm. Even though she’d never studied law, her father had been a judge and had given her many a cautionary tale about police overstepping their bounds. While it had been many years ago, some things she’d never forgotten.
“What is this about, officer?”
“There’s been a murder in Brentwood. Your son’s vehicle matches the description of the car we’re looking for. We’d like to search the vehicle.” He placed his hands on his hips and rocked back on his heels, staring at Travis. “Is that blood on your shirt, son?” He pointed to the bottom of Travis’ t-shirt to a reddish-brown stain.
Dread seeped into Travis’ gaze as he yanked up the edge of his shirt. “I...I...I spilled some pop in the car.” Neither his voice nor the tremor of his fingers brought Jillian any feeling of relief.
Not for the first time tonight, Jillian felt as if she’d stepped into some kind of alternate universe, one she wouldn’t escape anytime soon.
“Based on what I see, I can make one phone call and get a court order to do a search for a gun. No problem.”
“This is insane. My son didn’t murder anyone. He couldn’t possibly have a gun. I don’t own one and he’s not old enough to buy one.” Her knees went weak. It took every ounce of willpower to remain standing. Something was very, very wrong.
The cop gave her one of those ‘that’s what parents always say’ looks and snatched the keys from Travis. The other cop came around to join him and they rifled through the vehicle, tossing out a soccer ball, a pair of football cleats, some DVDs, books and an old skateboard.
Jillian struggled to breathe. She couldn’t imagine Travis doing something violent, but she also couldn’t have imagined him getting involved with drugs and he had.
One worry at a time.
“We’d like to look through the house.”
“What for? You pulled in right behind him. It isn’t like he had time to hide a gun.”
“But he might have dropped it off earlier and then returned to the scene of the crime.”
“Are you crazy? We don’t own a gun. I don’t believe in them. And I told you Travis isn’t old enough to buy one.” She tempered the vehemence of her words as she recognized he could have purchased one illegally if he’d wanted to. By the time they’d left Los Angeles, he’d been hanging out with gangbangers and wannabes. Anything was possible.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
She glanced at Travis. Immediately, her fear escalated. He looked guilty, confused, scared. While the motherly instinct to quiz him curled around her, caution took over. Based on the look on his face, he shouldn’t say a thing.
To ensure he didn’t, she held onto his hand and squeezed. Although it might be foolish in the long run, she authorized the officers to look through the house. At least she’d have a few moments alone with her son.
As soon as they marched through the open door, she drew him into a hug once again. “Travis, you need to tell me what happened.”
He shook his head. “Mom, I’m not sure. I can’t remember. But I…think…I might have done it.”
The earth suddenly opened up and swallowed her whole.
***
Travis hated to see that look on his mother’s face. Unlike his asshole dad, she’d done nothing but support him.
Why couldn’t he remember? Sure, this had happened when he’d taken ecstasy a few times, but he’d been clean since his arrest last March.
“What do you mean, you might have done it?” She squeezed his biceps. “You couldn’t have.” She drew her fingers through her hair the way she always did when she was upset. “You wouldn’t hurt anybody.”
“I pushed Dad.” It was a stupid thing to do, but at the time, his dad had kept calling him a loser, until he couldn’t take it anymore.
“He’s an idiot. Besides, pushing isn’t murder.” She tsked as her eyes went wide. “Are you taking drugs again?”
“Oh God, no.” He needed her to believe him even though he wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t. “I swear Mom. I’m only taking the prescription the shrink gave me.”
Tears dotted her lashes. “Then you have nothing to hide.” She sucked in a breath. “Who were you with and what did you do tonight?”
“I was at the football thing at Coach’s house, like I told you. Then Lexie called. She was really upset,” he held up his hands. “I know you don’t like her, but she’s my friend. I wanted to be there for her.”
Tears pooled in her eyes. “It’s not that I don’t like her. She’s...well...she’s had a difficult life. My God, the poor girl is on her fifth stepdad.”
Travis struggled to keep his focus. For once in his life, he wanted to get things right. “I know, Mom. But she needed somebody to talk to.”
“Couldn’t you have—” She shook her head. “Never mind. What happened?”
He shrugged. “We met and talked for a while,” he gulped. “Then she wanted to go to this party.”
“Oh no, Travis.” Again she shook her head. “Are you sure you didn’t take any drugs?”
“I swear, Mom. I went there...” he squeezed his eyes closed, “but I didn’t do anything.”
“Were there drugs there?”
He couldn’t look at her, afraid of the disappointment he’d see in her eyes. Instead he focused on the cracks in the driveway. “Yes, but that’s not my scene anymore.”
She grabbed him by the arms and shook him. “Then you shouldn’t have been there. You’re in violation of your probation.”
“I know, I know. I didn’t stay long.” At least he didn’t think so. He had a huge gap in memory from the time he hit that party until he was in his car driving home with that damn cop car trailing behind him from the moment he hit the off ramp.
“But it’s nearly three. Where have you been?”
Fear riddled down his spine, not because of the circumstances, but because he needed her to believe him. “I swear to you, Mom, I don’t know.” His voice hiccupped as the rise of emotion caused tears to threaten. When had he become such a wuss? “The next thing I remember is driving home.”
She grasped his chin and forced him to look her in the eye. “Either you took drugs or somebody slipped you some.” Her fingers trembled as they cupped his chin.
“There’s no other explanation,” she sucked in a breath. “Think. Did you have anything to drink at the party?”
Hell, no. He’d worked too hard to turn his life around. “Just water. Lexie gave me a bottle of water.”
“Where is it?” She stalked to the car and flung open the door, searching both the back and front for the bottle. Nothing. “Somebody might have put something in it.”
“Lexie wouldn’t—” he stopped as the cops came back out the door. Travis felt a hint of relief stream through him until he spotted the plastic bag with what looked like a gun inside.
He was in some deep shit.
***
Jillian’s heart nearly seized when she spotted what the officers carried. Where the hell had that come from?
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to take you in, son.”
“Wait.” She held out her hand as she forced her mind out of mother mode into legal mode. “I’d like to call an attorney. And you are not allowed to question him outside of my presence. He’s a minor.” She sucked in a breath. “Besides, you don’t even know if that’s the murder weapon.”
This whole conversation sounded insane, like some kind of crazy, fucked-up movie script her husband might direct. But there’d be no yelling ‘cut’ at the end of this and doing another take.
“We’ll have to run ballistics. It’s the same caliber as the murder weapon.” The first cop grasped Travis’ wrists and pulled his hands behind his back, clinking him into handcuffs.
Jillian could have sworn her heart ripped in half. Never in a million years could she have imagined a day when she’d see her baby in handcuffs.
She gave Travis an awkward hug because of the handcuffs and fought back the tears waiting to explode. Breaking down and losing focus wouldn’t help either of them.
“I’ll follow in my car.” She ran into the house and grabbed her purse. Seconds later, she was in her car and following the two cop cars back into the city.
She never would have believed she could live through another nightmare like the one six months ago. But this was worse. This was murder. Her fingers trembled and she felt as if she were in the throes of an asthma attack.
