Passion In The First Degree
Page 1
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Excerpt
Dear Reader
Title Page
Cast of Characters
Prologue
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
Copyright
“I’m your lawyer—we can’t have secrets between us.”
“No secrets?” Billy touched a length of her hair that had fallen over her shoulder, his fingers precariously close to the swell of her breast.
“Then I guess I should tell you right now I intend to have you again, except this time in a bed, not on a plank wood floor.”
Shelby’s head swam with a sudden vision of him in bed, his bronzed body erotically bared against pristine sheets. Making love with Billy the boy had been a remarkable experience, but she knew making love with Billy the man would be devastating.
She stepped back from him, leveling on him a look of cool control. “Too bad for you we don’t always get what we want in this life.”
He smiled. “Too bad for you, I always do.”
Dear Reader,
The verdict is in: legal thrillers are a hit! And in response to this popular demand, we give you another of Harlequin Intrigue’s ongoing “Legal Thrillers.” Stories of secret scandals and crimes of passion. Of legal eagles who battle the system… and undeniable desire.
We’re delighted to welcome Carla Cassidy to Harlequin Intrigue. Though Passion in the First Degree is her first Intrigue, Carla needs no introduction to readers of romance. She is a multi-published, awardwinning author with a keen eve for mystery and a warm heart for passionate relationships. We know you’ll love her debut Intrigue.
Look for the “Legal Thriller” flash for the best in suspense!
Regards,
Debra Matteucci
Senior Editor & Editorial Coordinator
Harlequin Books
300 East 42nd Street
New York, NY 10017
Passion in the First Degree
Carla Cassidy
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Shelby Longsford—She was drawn back to her hometown to defend a man she’d once loved against murder charges.
Billy Royce—Darkly handsome, sinfully magnetic…a murderer?
Angelique Boujoulais—She will stop at nothing to gain Billy’s love.
Jonathan LaJune—Consumed by grief and looking for revenge.
Gator Revenau—He’d do anything for Billy.
Big John Longsford—A big man with big political aspirations.
Michael Longsford—A man of the cloth…a mission of mercy?
Olivia Longsford—Desperately seeking her father’s love to the exclusion of all others.
Celia Longsford—A shadow of her husband, clinging to the family reputation and prestige.
Prologue
Shelby Longsford ran frantically through the swamp, the humid, junglelike air clinging to her like a second skin. Nightmare images whirled in her mind. It couldn’t be true. She had to tell somebody what she had seen.
She ducked beneath the Spanish moss that hung like shrouds from the cypress trees, her breath coming fast and furiously. Since she’d lived all of her eighteen years near the swamp, her feet instinctively knew exactly where to step, when to jump to avoid the alligator-infested waters of the bayou.
She focused only on one thing…the tiny flicker of light in the distance.
Her mother had dismissed her, unwilling to listen. “Go away,” she had bellowed when Shelby had run to her, confused, frightened by what she’d seen deep in the swamp. “I don’t want to hear anything.” The biting odor of gin wafted from her mother’s breath. “And don’t go running down to that old woman. She’s dead, died this evening.”
Shelby fought her way through the thicket, a new fear riding her back as she ran. It couldn’t be true. Mama Royce couldn’t be dead. Her heart was too big, too strong to just give up and quit beating.
Tears blurred her vision as she raced ahead. She needed Mama Royce, needed to tell her about the horrible things she’d seen, things she didn’t understand. Shelby’s mother’s drunken rage combined with the haunted images that twisted and unfurled in her mind. The memory of what she’d seen only minutes before brought bitter bile to the back of her throat. She needed to tell. She needed to tell Mama Royce. She’d know what to do.
The moon overhead was full, shimmering its image on the water. Insects buzzed and animals scurried through the thick underbrush. There was never silence in the swamp.
Shelby’s footsteps clattered on the wooden bridge that led to the tiny shanty on the water’s edge. She threw open the door, gasping as she saw that the rocking chair where Mama Royce had sat for as long as Shelby could remember was empty.
“No.” The word slipped out of her mouth as if the mere force of the denial could change what she knew in her heart was true.
“She’s gone, Shelby.”
She whirled around to see Billy Royce standing in the doorway that led to one of the two bedrooms. His face, always harsh with lean angles and planes, was now stark with grief. At the moment he looked far older than his twentyone years.
“No,” she repeated, tears spilling from her eyes as her heart constricted in pain. Mama couldn’t be gone. Shelby needed her. She needed to tell her something…something important. She rubbed her forehead, confused, disoriented as too many emotions deluged her, dizzied her.
Billy moved into the room, seeming to fill the small space with his overwhelming presence. “They already took her away. Go home, Shelby. There’s nothing you can do here. Go back to your ivory tower.”
She didn’t listen to him. Instead, anguish usurped her terror. Confused, still frightened, she did something she normally wouldn’t do. She moved into his arms, needing his warmth, his strength.
And in his grief he did something he normally wouldn’t do. He accepted her.
Shelby began to cry in earnest, her pain so intense she thought she’d go mad. She raised her face to look at him, needing to share the despair, the terror that ripped through her. The moonlight shining into the undergrowth…two figures moving…She shoved the memories away. She couldn’t think about them now. Mama Royce couldn’t help her, couldn’t tell her what to do. A nightmare, that’s all it had been.
She clung tighter to Billy, needing to lose herself in him. He was alone now…as was she. In his face she saw her pain magnified tenfold and with a moan of empathy she reached up around his neck and pulled his head down so her lips could gently touch his.
She didn’t expect his hunger. The intensity of his response stole the breath from her. With a groan of her name he crushed her against him. She welcomed the strange new sensations that transcended her grief, further banished any lingering fear.
His mouth plundered hers, as if seeking the secrets to her soul. She returned the kiss, tasting the salt of tears but unsure whether they were his or her own.
Together they sank down to the plank floor, the kerosene lantern on the table illuminating the torment in Billy’s dark eyes.
“Yes,” she whispered as his fingers hesitated on the buttons of her blouse. She wanted to lose herself in his passion, his intensity. He was so big and strong. She could hide in him forever.
Their clothes were disposed of, leaving them naked and gleaming in the muted light. His touch was heat and fire, and Shelby fell into the flames, grief displaced by the stronger emotion of passion, fear exiled to the darker recesses of her soul.
There was pain—brief and sharp—followed by a pleasure so intense it once again brought tears to her eyes.
When it was over they lay side by side, the only sound the lapping of the water at the side of the shanty. “Billy,” Shelby whispered his name as he stood and grabbed his jeans and pulled them on. “Billy. I never…I didn’t…” She frowned, the whisper of something dark and forbidding niggling in her head. Whatever it was, it frightened her. She shoved it away and focused instead on Billy and what they had shared.
He turned and looked at her, his face expressionless. “That…was a mistake.” He picked up her clothes and threw them at her.
She stood and dressed, her gaze not wavering from Billy. Where only moments before he had been heat and fire, he was now stone and ice. She approached him hesitantly, still overwhelmed by the intimacy they’d just shared.
“Billy…I love you.” The words had been trapped inside her for a lifetime but as they fell from her lips, she knew they were true. She had loved Billy Royce for as long as she could remember. Surely he felt the same for her, especially after what they had just done, what they had just shared.
“Billy?” She approached him and placed a hand on his arm.
He shrugged off her touch, his face twisted with an anger she didn’t understand. “Go home, Shelby. Forget what just happened. It was a terrible mistake.”
“No…no, it wasn’t a mistake.”
He grabbed her by the shoulders, his eyes blazing into hers. “Don’t be a little fool, Shelby. Go back home to your fancy mansion, back to your society boyfriends. You have no place here.”
Shelby tore out of his grasp, a sob catching in her throat. It was too much. It was all too much. “Billy…please.” She rubbed her forehead, confused. There was something…something she had to tell…Why had her mother been angry with her? She no longer remembered. “Billy?”
“Get out of here, Shelby. I don’t want you here. I don’t need you.” His words, coupled with the coldness of his eyes, fired a rage inside her.
She stumbled out of the cabin and across the bridge. She paused at the edge of the dank water, shaking with a myriad of emotions too difficult to distinguish. “Someday you’ll come begging to me, Billy Royce,” she yelled. “Someday you’ll be sorry. You’ll need me. You’ll need me, Billy Royce,” she screamed.
“Yeah, right,” he returned just as passionately. “I’ll need you when hell freezes over.”
Chapter One
“Shelby, there’s a call for you on line one.”
Shelby Longsford frowned, closed the manila folder of material she’d been reading and punched the button on the intercom. “Who is it, Marge?”
“It’s long distance, a Billy Royce.” There was a hesitation, then Marge continued, “He said to tell you that hell has frozen over.”
Shelby’s breath caught in her throat as a loud roar resounded in her ears, the roar of the past reaching out to clutch at her. She pulled off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose, fighting against the dark memories that assailed her.
She considered not taking the call. What could he want? She should just tell Marge to hang up on him. She knew he wouldn’t call again. Billy Royce didn’t give himself or others a second chance.
What could he possibly want? After so many years what could he want from her? Finally it was the nagging curiosity that prompted her to punch the button on the phone and pick up the receiver.
“Shelby Longsford.” Her voice held just the right touch of cool professionalism.
“Shelby, I’m in trouble.”
His voice, as deep and dark as the swamps that had spawned him, caused an unexpected heat to uncoil in her stomach. Memories swept through her, heated memories of a single night in a flame-lit cabin. She straightened in her chair, angered by his power over her despite the lifetime that had passed since she’d last seen him. “What’s the problem, Billy?” she asked briskly.
“I believe I’m about to be charged in a double homicide.”
She sucked in her breath and rocked back in her chair. She reached for her glasses, as if putting them on would aid her in assimilating his shocking statement. “Where are you?”
“Here, in Black Bayou.”
“What do you want from me?” She pinched the bridge of her nose once again.
“I need a defense lawyer. I understand you’re one of the best in the state.”
She tapped the end of a pencil on the top of her desk, unmoved by his obvious line of flattery. He’d always been good with slinging blarney. “There are others considerably more experienced. Why me?”
There was a long pause. “You know me, Shelby. I may be many things, but I’m not a cold-blooded murderer.”
Yes, Billy Royce was many things. He was a coldhearted bastard, a man raised in wildness, nurtured by hate. He was a thief of hearts, defiance instead of blood pulsing in his veins. He walked the dark side, but he wasn’t a murderer.
She shook her head, reminding herself that she hadn’t seen him, had heard nothing about him for almost twelve years. Then, he’d been nothing but an angry, rebellious boy. Now he was a man. What kind of a man had he become? Could he have committed murder?
“Shelby?”
She stopped tapping the pencil and allowed it to roll off the desk and onto the floor. “Yes, I’m here.” There were a million and one reasons that she shouldn’t get involved. And yet at the moment none of them seemed as compelling as the fact that it was time to go back home. All she’d been waiting for was a good reason. “I’ll be there first thing tomorrow morning.”
“You’ll defend me?”
“I can’t make any promises. We’ll talk tomorrow.” She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “Is Martha’s Café still on Main Street?”
“It’s still there.”
“I’ll meet you there tomorrow at eleven.” Shelby wasted no time murmuring a goodbye and hanging up.
What have I done? She stared at the phone in horror. She hadn’t asked him any questions. She didn’t even know who he was suspected of killing. She’d shut off her lawyer mode the moment she’d heard his familiar voice.
Home. Back to Black Bayou. Standing, she left her desk and walked over to the large picture window that encompassed an entire wall of her office. Below her the streets of Shreveport bustled with summer tourists.
Black Bayou was no longer her home. She’d turned her back on the town and her family’s life-style twelve years before. She’d made a life for herself here, was happy with the slow but steady growth of her law practice. She’d left home at eighteen, a lonely, confused teenager. Now at thirty she was a totally different person.
Maybe it was time to go back, make some peace with her memories, mend some fences with her family. And see what kind of a man Billy Royce had become.
The intercom crackled, then erupted once again. She moved back to her desk and sat down. “Shelby, Juanita Gonzales is on line one.”
“Thank you, Marge.” She immediately picked up the receiver. “Mrs. Gonzales, how are you doing?”
She settled into the chair and gave the woman her full attention. Nearly a year before, Juanita’s fifteen-year-old son, Carlos, had been picked up at two o’clock in the morning in a car he’d hot-wired. He also had in his possession a stolen stereo and a bad attitude.
The prosecutor had wanted to throw the boy away, put him in a juvenile facility then transfer him into an adult prison for as long as possible. Carlos had a list of priors that deemed him an incorrigible.
However, Shelby knew the true culprits in Carlos’s case were poverty, an absentee father and a hopelessness that in a fifteen-year-o
ld was both frightening and appalling.
Shelby had argued vehemently, finally getting the prosecutor to agree to two years in a juvenile detention camp in North Carolina. In doing so, she had gained a staunch supporter and friend in Juanita.
“How’s Carlos doing?” Shelby asked. “Is he still writing you regularly?”
“Sí, once a week. I got a letter from him yesterday. He wanted me to call you to tell you he’s decided he’s going to be a lawyer like you.”
Shelby’s heart lifted and she smiled into the receiver. She was glad she had taken the time to write Carlos, encourage him in the idea that education was the way out for him. “You tell him if he keeps his grades up, when the time comes I’ll see that he gets into a good law school.”
“Gracias.” Emotion thickened the simple reply. She cleared her throat. “You got my last check?”
“Yes, Juanita. Two more and the debt is paid in full.” Shelby had intended to work for Carlos pro bono, but she hadn’t counted on Juanita’s fierce pride and scorn of charity. The two women had agreed on a fee and Juanita had been sending Shelby a check every week for the past forty weeks.
“This is a debt no money can ever repay,” Juanita returned, her accent thickening as emotion returned. “You saved my Carlos’s life, his soul. I am in your debt for all of eternity.”
Shelby smiled. She, better than anyone, knew how short eternity could be. After all, she’d once thought she’d love Billy Royce through eternity.
SHELBY AWOKE SUDDENLY, gasping for breath and fighting away the images from her nightmare. Blackness surrounding her…moonlight shining on the murky waters of the bayou. Panic clogged her throat as she ran blindly.
She sat up, aware of the icy perspiration clinging to her skin. Drawing in a deep, shuddery breath, she flung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. She shivered as the air met the nightmare-induced sweat. Wrapping her arms around herself, she turned on the bedroom light, instantly feeling better. Like a child who believes evil can live only in the darkness and shadows, she focused on the familiarity of her bedroom in the bright overhead light.