In Another Man’s Bed

by Francis Ray

  “No, thanks.” It had been a mistake to come here. Justine started the motor. “I better get going.”

  “I’ll be by the hospital tomorrow before I go in to work.” Her mother stuck her hands into the pockets of her long robe instead of reaching out to comfort her only child. “If you need anything, call.”

  “I won’t need anything.” She thought she saw her mother flinch. She hadn’t meant the words to come out so harshly. “Good night, Mama. You better get back inside.”

  “Good night, Justine.” Helen walked back up the winding path to the front door and went inside. She didn’t look back.

  Justine pulled off. What was wrong with her that her mother couldn’t love her or her husband remain faithful to her? More questions to which she’d probably never find the answers. Sometimes she wasn’t sure if she really wanted to know.

  Brianna Ireland disconnected her BlackBerry and slipped it back into her clutch, then picked up her flute from the balustrade and sipped the vintage white wine. Jackson should know by now that she didn’t respond well to orders or pressure. He’d tried the latter after she broke off their relationship a few weeks ago. She’d remained firm. She wasn’t sure of her feelings for him, and since she was moving to Charleston for an indefinite period of time, calling it quits seemed the wise thing to do.

  Jackson, although brilliant, at times annoyed her with his high-handed manner, as he had just done. She did as she pleased. Always had and always would.

  She’d made that fact clear when the law firm she now worked for had sent a headhunter after her. She’d taken two months to make a decision and upped the initial offer by forty grand a year plus perks that added up to an additional thirty thousand before she accepted the corner office. One thing she knew and knew well was her worth as a lawyer. She was damn good at what she did.

  Checking the slim gold Cartier watch on her wrist, she decided to wait another minute or so. Jackson hated to wait. He could have the office staff under him scurrying to please him with merely a look. Her lips curved.

  Brianna’s five-foot-two mother could have given him lessons. Those piercing eyes of hers could nail you to the wall at twenty feet, but she was also the best mother in the world. She’d jerk a knot in your neck if you got out of line, but she’d stand toe-to-toe with the devil to protect those she loved. That’s why Brianna knew how scared she was when she didn’t take the nurse to task that day in the hospital room. Brianna had no difficulty taking the unprofessional woman down a peg or two.

  Deciding that her prolonged absence had hammered home the point to Jackson that their past personal relationship wouldn’t bend her to his will, she went back inside. The tri-level house, decorated in pewter and black, was perched on the rocky cliffs overlooking Lake Ray Hubbard, twenty minutes away from the Dallas city limits.

  Brianna placed her barely touched glass of wine on the tray of a passing waiter and joined the jovial group. The gathering of the twenty-seven firm lawyers at the lake home of their boss, Elton Tipton, was part going-away party for her and part celebration of the firm’s big win in a lawsuit in which she’d been lead counsel.

  As his due as senior partner of Tipton and Todd, one of the largest and most prestigious law firms in the country, Elton held court in front of the massive limestone fireplace on the second floor of the great room, which had a twenty-foot-high wooden-beamed vaulted ceiling. An immense chandelier of brushed nickel and cut glass bathed them in warm light.

  People standing around Elton laughed. Brianna surmised it was probably one of Elton’s lame lawyer jokes. At sixty-two, widowed, a multimillionaire, and shrewd beyond belief, he was self-assured enough to be able to poke fun at himself. Her lips tilted upward. It had been a good decision to leave her previous firm. Her reputation and stature had grown in the year she’d been with Tipton and Todd. She had the plaques from the Texas Bar Foundation and the stack of won cases to prove it.

  Recently she had been awarded the Lola Wright Foundation Award for exemplifying the highest standards of professional ethics. The year before she’d walked away with the Dan Rugely Price Memorial Award, given to the outstanding Texas lawyer. In November Law & Politics Magazine named her a Texas Super Lawyer. She’d worked hard in a job she loved to gain those recognitions. She was on a fast track to the top, or would have been if her father hadn’t suffered a heart attack two months ago. But he was one of the lucky ones.

  Thankfully, he’d survived with very little damage to his heart. He’d recovered while Andrew lingered and made Justine’s life hell. If there was any justice, that would be his final destination.

  “Brianna, Elton asked you a question.”

  Hearing the annoyed tone of Jackson’s voice, Brianna snapped her head around. Tall, imposing, and handsome in a dark gray pin-striped Brooks Brothers suit, he was easily the best-looking man there and possibly the smartest. Unfortunately, he knew that as well as anyone.

  “I’m sorry. I was thinking about my father.” Brianna didn’t see her answer as lying. She had been thinking about her father. Lawyers learned early to shade and embellish, within reason, of course, and only when necessary. This was definitely one of the latter. Andrew was too well known for her to give even a hint of the ass she thought he was.

  “Understandable,” Elton said magnanimously. “I hate to see you leave the firm, but I understand.”

  “I’m trying to talk her into staying,” Jackson said, his smile as polished as the hardwood floor beneath their feet.

  Brianna didn’t even try to keep her displeasure from showing. The man she’d known for a year and had had a brief affair with should understand and support her. Instead he kept selfishly trying to talk her into remaining to continue their affair and their climb to junior partners in the law firm.

  At the moment her father’s health wouldn’t allow him to return to the thirty-five-year private practice he’d cultivated in Charleston. The only way she, her mother, and the doctor could get him to stay at home and therefore cut down on the stress was for Brianna to take over his practice. Her father didn’t trust anyone else to handle his clients, some of whom had been with him since he began his practice. Luckily, she was certified to practice in South Carolina as well as in Texas.

  “My father needs me, and that’s that,” she finally told him, her voice more clipped than she had intended.

  People around them shifted uneasily. The amusement in Jackson’s brown eyes turned to censure.

  “Whenever you return, you have a position with Tipton and Todd,” Elton slipped in smoothly. His expertise as a negotiation lawyer came in handy with a staff of over sixty. “I was delighted I was able to woo you away from Thompson and Thompson to join us. Your expertise has proven invaluable. You and Jackson are a dynamic duo.”

  Jackson curved his long arm around Brianna, forgiving her. “She’s smart and has nerves of steel in the courtroom. I couldn’t have asked for a better associate to work the Gipson case last month.”

  Brianna relaxed. She didn’t want them to part as enemies. “You aren’t so bad yourself.”

  Everyone laughed, and the earlier tension was gone. “Wish I could say the same about Mitch Drummond. We had to do most of the research ourselves on the Gipson case,” Jackson commented.

  “It wasn’t that bad,” Brianna said. “He’s young.”

  “That’s no excuse for incomplete or sloppy work,” Jackson said. “We put the case together with very little help from him.”

  “Hmmm. Everyone has to carry their weight. I’ll look into it Monday.” Elton said, a frown puckering his smooth brow. Elton remained trim and fit. The smattering of gray in his black hair made him look even more distinguished. “Now, let’s go onto the patio and eat.” He extended his arm to Brianna and Jackson. “The special guests should go first.”

  Brianna looped her arm through Elton’s and forced a smile. She disliked Jackson’s irksome trait of tattling. She couldn’t say anything now, but later she’d have a thing or two to say to him.

 
Two hours later she had her chance when she entered her high-rise apartment in downtown Dallas. She had barely closed the door before Jackson pulled her into his arms, his lips seeking hers, his hands sliding up her sides. Before his mouth and hands reached her lips or the soft swell of her breasts, she pushed out of his arms.

  Typical Jackson—he hadn’t believed that they weren’t getting back together when he’d insisted on taking her to the party. She’d shipped her car to Charleston earlier that week.

  “Be reasonable, Brianna. You can’t throw what we had away,” he said, twin lines running across his forehead.

  Brianna tossed her clutch on one of the several closed packing boxes in her living room. Except for her four-poster, all of her furniture had already been shipped. The movers were coming back in the morning for the bed. She loved her pillow top mattress and had no intention of sleeping on a rental. “Why did you have to take a swipe at Mitch?”

  The frown cleared, he smiled the smile that made women sigh, and slid his arms around her waist. “You’re leaving in the morning. Surely we can find something better to talk about.”

  She pushed against his chest until he released her. “Jackson, I don’t like it when you do that.”

  Anger stole across his handsome face. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. Mitch was less than worthless, and you know it.”

  “No, I don’t. This is his first year as a paralegal. He’s still learning, just like we had to learn.” She folded her arms. “With your comment, he might not have a chance. Elton doesn’t carry dead weight.”

  “Rightly so. Whatever happens to the kid is no skin off my nose.” He went to the kitchen and poured himself a scotch, then tossed it back. “I don’t understand you sometimes. We were on the fast track to be junior partners. Then you toss it and me away to run home like some baby. You’re throwing our future away.”

  “Whoa.” Brianna held up her hand. “My father means more to me than any partnership.”

  The crystal tumbler hit the counter. Eyes narrowed, chin jutted, Jackson stalked back into the room. “What about our plans? Let someone else run your father’s practice.”

  “He wants me, and that’s what he’s going to get. I won’t build a future at the expense of my father or anyone else, as you seem to want to do.”

  His well-groomed head snapped back; his expression hardened. “What are you talking about?”

  “Tonight isn’t the first time you’ve tried to make yourself look good at the expense of someone else. It’s not an endearing quality,” she said flatly. “Before Mitch, it was Sally—you just happened to mention to Elton that she had the allocations for a will incorrect.”

  “She was going to let Clayton sign the will without specifically leaving his wife the majority of his estate as he’d wanted.”

  He was always ready with an excuse. Nothing was ever Jackson’s fault. “She asked you to check it over. She was unfamiliar with all the antiquated laws in Texas that have been on the books too long.”

  Jackson was unforgiving. “Then she should have stayed in California,” he snapped. “I’m not going to baby-sit anyone.”

  Brianna was seeing a side of Jackson she didn’t like. “Whatever it takes to get ahead. Right?”

  He smiled and reached for her. “Right.”

  She let the lower half of her body sink heavily against his. Her fingertips grazed the curve of his mouth, which was descending toward hers. “And if it meant throwing me to the wolves, you’d do it, wouldn’t you?”

  A full second passed before Jackson’s body tensed against hers. “No, of course not. Don’t be silly.”

  Brianna had cross-examined too many witnesses not to be able to tell when one was caught off guard and lying. Straightening, she stepped out of his loose hold. “Good night and good-bye, Jackson.”

  “Brianna, you’re overreacting and jumping to conclusions.”

  “If I were overreacting, I’d be on the phone calling Elton’s private line.”

  Something leaped into Jackson’s dark eyes that she had never seen before. Fear. “Don’t be crazy.”

  “Call me that again and you’ll regret it.” She stalked to the door and opened it. “If I hear Mitch lost his job, I’m calling Elton.”

  “I don’t have control over what he does,” Jackson told her.

  “Your problem, and if you aren’t through this door in five seconds I’ll make the call anyway.” Scowling at her, he made it in three. Angrier than she could ever remember, Brianna slammed the door. She prided herself on being a keen judge of human nature. It irritated her that she hadn’t seen through Jackson’s polished veneer to the selfish, underhanded person that he was.

  She didn’t accept excuses from others and she wouldn’t accept them for herself. She’d gone into the affair shortly after her father’s heart attack. Jackson had been there to lend a broad shoulder and unending reassurance. He and Elton had even flown down on the company’s jet on two occasions to visit while her father was in the hospital, and offer their support.

  It really peeved her that she had been so gullible and needy and slept with him. Damn. If Andrew needed company when he reached his final destination, she knew just the person.

  Three

  Shortly after midnight, Dalton Ramsey sat behind his desk in his spacious home office in Buckhead, outside of Atlanta, and stared at the blinking cursor on the nineteen-inch flat computer screen. A third of the way down the page “Chapter Twenty-six” was written in bold black letters, and regrettably nothing else. He’d stared at the annoying cursor for the past five days, hoping for some spurt of inspiration, some nugget of an idea, but nothing had come.

  Dalton blew out a pent-up breath of frustration, palmed his bearded face, then continued to run his hands over his thick, black hair, which brushed the collar of his open cotton shirt. In less than two weeks his agent, his editor, and his publishing house expected Sudden Prey, the eighth book of his Edgar Gunn series, to be finished and on their desks.

  Sudden Prey was a lead title for January, six short months away. The hardcover was already listed in the publisher’s catalog. The sales force was already vigorously selling the book. Orders were up by eighteen percent and expected to go higher. Marketing, publicity, and tour dates were being finalized. There was no wiggle room.

  Dalton had four chapters, roughly eighty pages or so, to go before Brock Jernigan, the lead character, tracked down the serial killer terrorizing Willington, the fictional small Texas town where he was helping an old football buddy, the local sheriff. Dalton, an ex-cop with the Detroit Police Department for thirteen years with four of those as a detective, knew the solid police work and occasional blind luck needed to apprehend a criminal.

  Usually by this time, Dalton’s long fingers would be flying across the keyboard, trying to keep pace with his characters in a breakneck race to what he always hoped for and always feared it wouldn’t be, a nail-biting, satisfying conclusion.

  Not this time, and he knew the reason.

  Getting up from his cluttered desk in his office lined with birch shelves overflowing with research books and the books he’d purchased for pleasure, but never seemed to have the time to read, Dalton made his way to the ultramodern kitchen in the four-thousand-square-foot home he’d recently purchased and poured his umpteenth cup of decaf coffee.

  After a couple of sips of the strong black brew, the restlessness intensified. Taking the mug with him, he walked beneath the vaulted ceiling of the great room to the lighted terrace.

  Stretched out before him was a rectangular pool with a waterfall, lush flowers, and manicured shrubs. The Mediterranean blue waters reflected the full moon. Crickets chirped. The July night was a pleasant seventy-three degrees and peaceful. Peace, for far too many years, had been something he had longed for, but never hoped to find. But by some miracle he had . . . until now.

  Just as he turned to go back to his office, the doorbell chimed. He didn’t need two guesses to know who was at the door. Placing the
coffee on the black granite counter, he went to the front door and opened it. On the curved stone steps were his two older sisters in their uniform smocks. Slim and trim, their shoulder-length braids sprinkled with premature gray, they were attractive, take-charge women. Both were registered nurses and worked the three-to-eleven shift at Mercy General in Atlanta.

  “Go home.”

  Essie, the oldest, studied him closely, clearly seeing the tiredness in his face. She’d had lots of practice. “Story still giving you trouble?”

  “You’ll get it. You always do,” Martha, the middle child and perpetual optimistic, added.

  He hadn’t expected anything less from either of them. There wasn’t a thing in the world they didn’t think he could do. From his earliest memories they had been there to protect, to guide, to praise. Was it any wonder that when his life had crashed he’d come to them?

  “You gonna keep us standing here all night?” Martha asked.

  Dalton stepped aside. He might be thirty-five to their forty-five and forty-three respectively, but to them he would always be their little brother to boss and take care of. “Why don’t you go home and worry Sam and Bill?” he asked, referring to the husbands who worshipped the ground their wives walked on, men who would bend over backwards to please them.

  “Because we’d rather worry our little brother.” Martha affectionately patted him on the cheek. He caught her arm as she passed. “I’m already packed.”

  “Then it won’t hurt for me to check.” With that, she was gone.

  He looked around for Essie and didn’t see her. She was either in the kitchen or his office. He found her pouring coffee down the kitchen sink. “I just made that.”

  “I can tell. Thick as motor oil and probably tastes as bad.” Turning on the faucet, she washed the carafe, then prepared more coffee. “If you have to drink the stuff, at least learn how to make it.”

  Dalton stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I’m used to the taste.”