“Damn you,” she repeated, the fire in her eyes only intensified as she drew nearer. “I thought I’d made it crystal clear to you that if I’m going to help you, you have to tell me everything that’s pertinent to this case.”
Billy stifled the impulse to grab her, touch her, drink the self-righteous fire that flamed from her. It bothered him how badly he wanted her. They had shared one experience, a single moment in time twisted by grief, but Billy had never been able to forget it or diminish it to the kind of unimportance other experiences had in his life.
“What are you yammering about?” he asked, summoning his own irritation to mask the intensity of his desire for her.
“Yammering?” Her eyes widened in outrage. “I’m yammering about saving your life. Don’t you realize that if you’re arrested for those murders it’s possible they could ask for, and get, the death penalty?” She took a step back from him and eyed him incredulously. “Do you have a death wish, or what? Why are you withholding important information from me? I’m trying to help you.”
“And what important information have you learned I’ve supposedly kept from you that has you so riled up?”
“Why didn’t you tell me about Parker?”
“Because he has nothing to do with any of this.” He strode around the other side of the pickup and opened the door. “You wanted to go to The Edge. Let’s go.” He stared at her, could see more questions forming in her eyes but wordlessly dared her to continue the conversation. Parker was the one piece of his heart he would never share with anyone.
Shelby hesitated another moment, then climbed into the pickup. “Parker is—”
Billy slammed the door, effectively cutting off whatever she had been about to say. He walked back around and climbed in behind the steering wheel. He started the engine with a roar and backed out of the parking space.
As he drove down the deserted Main Street, he could feel Shelby’s gaze on him. He could smell her. It was a soft, feminine scent that stirred his blood and evoked a renewed defensive irritation.
He’d grown up being told that the Longsfords and their social ilk were not for him. “They might invite you to dinner, they may even take you into their bed, but they’ll never welcome you into their heart.” Everyone in the swamp told him the same thing…everyone but Mama Royce. She just smiled and told him to follow his heart.
Before his marriage he’d dated plenty of them, knowing they thrived on the novelty and danger of sneaking out with a swamp beast. But that single night with Shelby had been something different…something frightening.
She’d told him she loved him. And he’d hated her for it, hated her for the momentary hope the words had instantly evoked. The words had come from the passion of the moment, not from the depths of her soul. What could an eighteen-year-old virgin know about love?
Her flight the next day had proved it. Having sex with him had driven her not only away from him, but out of Black Bayou. And he’d been left with an odd regret, and the feeling of something left unsettled between them.
Again his irritation reared its head. He gazed at her once more, noting the way the pale pink cotton shirt clung to the outline of her breasts, how the jeans she wore molded themselves to her slender curves. Her hair was bound at the nape of her neck and his fingers itched to release the dark tresses, allow it to spill over his palms. She was wearing those damnable glasses and, despite the fact that he thought she wore them to hide behind, they hid nothing. The stark frames only emphasized the blueness of her eyes, the sweet femininity of her full lips, the soft curve of her jawline. His body responded, tightening against the crotch of his jeans.
He smiled, able to imagine Mama Royce’s voice in his head. “You got your butt in a tight wedge and all you can think about is sex. Heaven help you, Billy Royce, ’cause the devil sure as hell got a hold on you.”
“I’m so glad you can still find something humorous in this situation,” Shelby said thinly, letting him know she’d seen the smile that had crossed his lips at thoughts of Mama Royce.
“Ah, darlin’, you don’t know the half of it,” he returned.
“And that’s exactly what has me so angry.” She turned on the seat to face him, her features illuminated by the glow of the dash lights. “Billy, I thought I’d made it clear to you that you have to tell me everything that might have a bearing on the murder.”
“Parker has no bearing on the murder.”
“He does if a custody battle was going to ensue. That’s a motive for Fayrene’s murder. A strong motive.”
“That’s nonsense.” Billy frowned as he thought of the woman he’d married. At the time he’d thought he loved her, believed they were two of a kind, understood each other and could make a good life together.
He’d wanted children, a family, and Fayrene had made so many promises, mouthed so many lies. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Fayrene threatened to seek custody, and that’s why I hired Gator to follow her. Why would I pay him to do that if I was going to kill her and solve the issue myself?” He frowned. “Besides, Fayrene didn’t want Parker. Even when we were together she had a nanny she used all the time.” Again he thanked goodness for Angelique’s friendship. Angelique had spent more time with Parker than Fayrene ever had. “Fayrene just used him to try to get at me.”
“And people will say she did get to you, to the point that you lost all control and killed her.”
“I’ve only lost complete control once in my whole life.” He looked at her pointedly. “And that wasn’t with Fayrene.”
She flushed and looked away. Damn him, he was trying to unsettle her. She’d noticed that whenever the conversation cut too close, he turned it into sexual innuendos intended to unsettle her and change the topic. He seemed hellbent on self-destruction, alienating the one person who was trying to help him. She should get out of the whole mess, let him take his chances with a public defender. But even as she thought this, she knew she wouldn’t follow through. She was determined to help Billy in spite of himself.
She wasn’t doing it because of any lingering affection for him. Those adolescent emotions were gone, buried beneath too many years and the memory of his hateful words on that night. No, she wasn’t sticking by Billy for any reason other than her intense love and gratefulness to the grandmother who had raised him and made a special place in her life for a lonely little girl.
Staring out the window, she watched as they left town, turning onto an overgrown, pothole-riddled dirt road she’d never been on before. A plethora of greenery encroached on the road, and the air was cooler, the night darker.
“Are you sure you’re going the right way?” she asked, seeing nothing but darkness and overgrowth around them. There was no sign of civilization, no twinkling lights or noise to indicate the presence of a bar in the vicinity.
He grinned. “What’s the matter? Afraid I’m taking you out to the swamp to have my wicked way with you?” He laughed, a flat, mirthless sound. “Don’t worry, Shelby. I already told you, the next time I have you it’s going to be in the comfort of a soft bed.”
“And what makes you so sure there’s going to be a next time?” she asked, trying to ignore the rapid beat of her heart, the sudden dryness of her mouth.
“Because sooner or later you’re going to want me.” His utter certainty raked through Shelby like rain on a tin roof, discordant and maddening. He looked at her again, his eyes shining their wickedness. “Sooner or later you’re going to want to find out if that one night we had was really as explosive as you remember.”
“You’re one arrogant piece of work,” she retorted with a shake of her head.
He laughed again, this time a genuine sound of amusement. “I’m only arrogant about those things I have a right to be. Sooner or later you’ll want me to show you.”
“You’re disgusting, and you can show me when hell freezes over.” It felt wonderful, flinging his words back in his face, and she smiled smugly.
His laughter filled the cab of the t
ruck and made a tingle of warmth creep up her spine. Drat the man anyway, drat him for his sinful attractiveness and wicked laughter. And damn him for being so sure she would eventually succumb to the desire to physically be with him again.
She sat up straighter in the seat as they broke into a clearing and The Edge came into view. It was a large metal shedlike building with a neon sign on top that flashed the name in spastic fashion. The parking lot, little more than a cleared-off dirt area, was packed with pickup trucks, souped-up cars and motorcycles.
Billy parked and they got out. Raucous music poured from the open door, and Shelby found her heart echoing the drumming throb in anticipation. Perhaps in the bar she would find the key piece of evidence that would absolve Billy of any guilt in Fayrene’s and Tyler’s deaths.
She started toward the door, but gasped as Billy grabbed her arm and pulled her close against his side. “We’re going to set some ground rules here,” he said, not releasing his hold on her despite her attempt to wrestle her arm free.
“What kind of rules?” she asked as she stopped struggling and stood still, offended by his high-handed manner.
“When we get inside, you stick close to me. You don’t speak to anyone without checking it out with me first.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped irritably. “I can’t operate like that.”
He grasped her arm once again. “Then you don’t operate at all.” The amusement that had lightened his eyes moments before was gone, replaced by a dangerous gleam that taunted her to contest him. “You’re in my world now, Shelby, and you have to play by my rules.”
“Are you trying to frighten me?” she asked softly.
“This isn’t a game, Shelby. You’re out of your league here and I’m talking about survival.”
She searched his face, unsure whether he was playing macho mind games with her or was honestly warning her for her own good. At that moment a man came flying through the open doorway of the bar, landing in a heap on the ground near where they stood.
He stood, brushing the seat of his filthy pants with one hand and flipping the middle finger of his other hand toward a tall figure silhouetted in the doorway. “You’d better watch your back. I’ll get you when you least expect it.” The brawler jumped on the back of a gleaming, chromed motorcycle and roared off into the night.
Shelby looked back at Billy. “Okay, you win,” she conceded. “We’ll play by your rules.”
It was his turn to smile smugly. “I thought you’d see things my way.” As they walked toward the door he kept his hand firmly beneath her elbow, leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind that she was with him.
When they stepped into the bar, Shelby reluctantly admitted to herself that he was right. She was out of her world here, and she was grateful for Billy’s strong presence beside her.
Nowhere Shelby had ever been in her life prepared her for the interior of The Edge. Smoke hung in a noxious layer, deepening the gloom that even the neon-lit beer signs couldn’t pierce. The din was earsplitting, a combination of violent curses, rowdy shouts and breaking bottles. The smell inside was nauseating—the scent of sweaty bodies and cheap booze underscored by the more unpleasant odors of urine and vomit.
Looking at the patrons, Shelby could have sworn she recognized half a dozen from FBI posters in the post office. Everyone looked as if their face could easily adorn a Most Wanted list from any law enforcement agency in the world.
Billy was obviously no stranger. As they walked toward the bar at the far end of the huge room, he was greeted by men and women, their easy familiarity letting Shelby know Billy was a frequent visitor to The Edge.
“What do you want to drink?” Billy asked as they reached the bar. Shelby slid onto a stool and he stood just behind her, one hand resting casually yet possessively on her shoulder.
“A club soda.”
“Two specials, Pete,” Billy yelled to the bartender, who grinned and flashed a thumbs-up sign.
Shelby raised an eyebrow. “Club soda is the specialty?”
“Shelby, if you drink a club soda in this place, somebody will think you’re an undercover cop. If you want to rub shoulders with the bad boys, you’re going to have to drink like the bad boys.”
At that moment the bartender plopped two glasses down before them, a grin on his face as his gaze lingered on Shelby. “Two of those and he’ll snort like a stallion all night long,” he exclaimed. “I guaran-damn-tee it.” He slapped the wooden surface of the bar, then walked away, cackling like a half-possessed demon.
Shelby felt the blush that began at her neck, warming her face to the tips of her ears. She heard Billy’s husky chuckle and resisted the impulse to elbow him in the ribs.
“Who, exactly, did you want to talk to in here?” he asked.
“Gator told me Fayrene was friends with a waitress here, Winnie Mae Ralston. Do you know her?”
Billy nodded, his gaze darting around the crowded room. “There she is.” He gestured to an older woman who was serving drinks to a group of men surrounding one of the three pool tables. “You sit right here and I’ll go get her. Don’t move from this chair,” he warned, then left her to weave his way through the crowd.
Shelby picked up her drink and took a tentative sip, gasping as the alcohol content exploded in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t discern what kind of alcohol the drink contained, only knew it was exceptionally strong.
“Hey, sweetcakes,” a voice purred right next to her ear.
She turned to look at the man leering at her, his eyes glazed with the effects of too many drinks and not enough brain. He was clad in leather, with a filthy bandanna twisted around his head to hold back stringy blond hair. A hoop earring dangled from one pierced ear, the shine competing with the gleam of a gold front tooth.
“How about you slide over here and sit on my lap and we’ll talk about the first thing that comes up.” He laughed uproariously, his fetid breath hitting Shelby full in the face.
“I’m waiting for somebody,” Shelby replied curtly, looking back to where Billy had reached the waitress.
“Aren’t we all? Why don’t you dance with me?” He placed a hand on her arm and Shelby noticed the dirt crusting his fingernails.
She jerked away from his touch. “I told you I’m waiting for somebody,” she said coolly.
“Ah, be nice,” he protested, the glaze in his eyes hardening as his gaze brazenly lingered on her breasts. “Don’t be so uptight.” There was an ugly sneer in his words. “Maybe I should teach you some manners.”
“How’s it going, Louis.” Billy’s voice caused a shudder of relief to sweep through Shelby. “You bothering my woman?”
“Your woman?” Louis frowned drunkenly and tugged on the gold hoop at his ear.
Billy grabbed the back of Shelby’s hair and tilted her head back. Before she could protest, his lips covered hers, possessing them in a kiss that spread fire through her veins as effectively as the sip of her drink had done only moments before. She was vaguely aware of Louis’s hoots and other catcalls as the kiss lingered, his tongue slipping into her mouth to ignite more flames. When he removed his lips from hers, she gasped for air, eyeing him resentfully.
“Billy, you know I wouldn’t have messed with her if I’d known she was with you.” Louis backed away from them, his hands held out in front of him to indicate no problem, no foul.
Billy watched the man until he’d moved to the other end of the bar. “That was completely unnecessary,” Shelby hissed angrily.
His eyes glittered with entertainment. “Perhaps,” he agreed indolently. “Winnie is going to take a break in about ten minutes and will come over and talk to you.”
Shelby nodded, still reeling from the kiss and angry that he appeared so unmoved by it. However, one thing was certain—she was grateful she wasn’t here alone, that Billy was with her. He’d been right. She was definitely out of her world. She belonged in a courtroom, not in some sleazy bar chasing down leads for charges that hadn’t even been offi
cially pressed.
For the first time Shelby realized how impulsive it had been for her to drop everything and come back here to help Billy. It had been more than just the promise of a big case. She’d been pulled back by the provocative thought that Billy needed her. It had been a power trip, and after his initial phone call to her she’d felt a sense of poetic justice that now somehow shamed her.
She cast Billy a surreptitious glance. As always, even standing still he radiated a vital energy that seemed to pulse in the air around him. Although his stance suggested lazy relaxation, on closer assessment she recognized the coiled muscles, the darting gaze as those of a man prepared for anything.
His strength and masculinity both comforted and unsettled her. She liked having him standing so protectively close to her, yet hated that she could feel the furnace of his body heat, smell the evocative scents of his spicy cologne and maleness.
He was the only man she’d known in her life who struck her on such a gut physical level. What made her more angry than anything was that he’d been right when he’d said that eventually she would be curious about making love with him again. There was a small part of her that wanted to experience making love with Billy, this time as a grown woman.
She took another swallow of the drink, welcoming the warmth that exploded in the pit of her stomach and overwhelmed the heat of thoughts of Billy.
His fingers softly touched the nape of her neck, just to the side of where her hair was clasped with a barrette. “You doing all right?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she snapped, swatting his hand away.
He grinned lazily. “While we wait for Winnie Mae, you want to dance?”
Shelby looked out to the dance floor, where several couples gyrated in X-rated fashion to the beat of the jukebox. She instantly imagined Billy holding her, his hips pressed insinuatingly against hers. “Not with you,” she replied.
He laughed, a low, wicked sound that coiled more heat through Shelby. She took another deep swallow of her drink, repressing a shudder as the alcohol swirled down her throat.
Passion In The First Degree Page 7
