Blood in the Water (Dixie Mafia Series Book 2)

by Cynthia Rayne

  This morning, the news report said another woman was missing. Laura Rogers hadn’t opened her flower shop on time and her employee contacted authorities. The police reported signs of a struggle in her apartment. The FBI suspected all the women had been murdered in their homes.

  More than likely, Laura would end up in one of those white dresses.

  “Still mopin’ about the trial?”

  Georgia Taylor, Jane’s assistant, stood in the office doorway. Georgia was a bit over five feet tall with curly strawberry blonde hair and warm hazel eyes. Her six-year-old, Brady, stood beside her. Moments earlier, the sitter had dropped the girl off on her way to an evening class.

  “Of course not.” Jane slipped the photo back into the case file. “I’m relieved Mr. Valentine wasn’t charged with a capital crime.”

  Although Jane had been looking forward to winning the trial. Every lawyer dreamed of a capital case—the chance to match wits with opposing council, the publicity, and the opportunity to show off. Nothing made Jane happier than strutting her stuff in front of a jury.

  “Hello, Brady, I’ve missed you.” Jane held out her arms, and Brady ran into them.

  “Missed you too, Aunt Jane.” Brady was a miniature of her mother with blonde ringlets and big blue eyes.

  Jane felt the tension melt away.

  While Jane was leery of other adults, she loved children—they were forthright and uncomplicated.

  Jane had babysat several times and found the experience therapeutic for the most part. Brady was fun and playful, and spending time with her eased Jane’s cares.

  “She adores you.” Georgia smiled at the two of them.

  “The feeling’s mutual.” Jane kissed Brady’s forehead. “If your mom says it's okay, how about a Disney movie marathon this weekend?”

  Brady clapped her hands in delight. “Yes! Mommy, can I?” She turned to Georgia.

  “Fine with me. I’ve got some homework to catch up on.”

  Brady threw her arms around Jane again.

  “Why don’t you color at my desk, Brady, while Aunt Jane and I take care of some business?”

  “Okay.” Brady smooched Jane’s cheek then skipped out of the room, evidently pleased with her weekend plans.

  As soon as the door closed behind her, Georgia placed a hand on her hip.

  “I don’t believe you—about the case, I mean. We both know you’re salty because you wanted to go all Law & Order on the FBI for the shoddy way they handled it.”

  The feds had made a mess of Valentine’s case, and their evidence was entirely circumstantial.

  “Maybe.” Georgia had been in the courtroom with her hundreds of times and knew Jane well. “They wasted resources on Mr. Valentine and the murderer’s still at large.”

  “The FBI botched it, but they got their man. You still think he’s innocent, don’t you?”

  Jane bit the inside of her cheek. “Yes, but it’s a moot point now. The grand jury declined to indict, and he’s signing the last of the paperwork tonight.”

  “Speakin’ of criminals.” Georgia snapped her fingers. “You got another message from him.” She handed Jane a note.

  Byron Beauregard wanted her to pick up some paperwork this evening. Apparently, he couldn’t wait for it to be mailed or couriered over to her office.

  He was always inventing reasons to see her and refused to work with another lawyer at her firm. Jane found the mobster’s blatant romantic overtures irksome. The last time Beauregard had invited her over on a professional pretext, she’d found herself at a ball—as his date.

  Unfortunately, the partners were intent on keeping such a wealthy client happy, so they’d assigned Jane to his account, despite her protests. At least she’d gotten credit for bringing him to the firm, even if she wanted nothing to do with the man.

  According to Georgia, Beauregard “wanted to jump her bones.” Jane avoided sex and romantic entanglements these days.

  “You gonna see him tonight?” Georgia fluttered her eyelashes and pursed her mouth into a pucker.

  “Yes, to collect the paperwork.” Even thinking about being alone with the mobster gave her a headache.

  “Sounds very promisin’—a late night meeting.” She licked her lips. “I think it’s high time you started datin’ again.”

  “I assure you this isn’t a social call. I’m trying to maintain appropriate professional boundaries between myself and Mr. Beauregard.” Despite his best efforts to the contrary. “Here’s a question for you—according to the American Bar Association, a lawyer isn’t allowed to have a sexual relationship with a client unless…?”

  They often had bar exam pop quizzes.

  Georgia sighed. “Unless they had a consensual sexual relationship before their client-attorney one, but a lot of people disregard the guideline.”

  “I’m not one of them.”

  “Yet, you’re havin’ dinner with Oscar Valentine tonight.”

  The partners had emphasized “the personal touch” at Jane’s last performance review. Apparently, successful law firms were built on relationships, so she’d promised to be more open and genial with clients, though she didn’t see the point. Clients hired Jane for her prowess in the courtroom, not her social graces.

  “I’m having a business meeting over dinner with Valentine. And whatever Beauregard has in mind, it isn’t work-related. At least Valentine respects appropriate boundaries.”

  Georgia snorted. “I’ll be glad when you put this case to bed. If Valentine needs legal help, and I’m bettin’ he will, he can work with another lawyer. Maybe the goon in the corner office with the huge, veiny neck.”

  “Mr. Andrews likes to work out.” Her lips twitched.

  “Yeah, with the help of anabolic steroids. Maybe we’ll get lucky, and he’ll ‘Hulk out’ on Valentine.”

  “Don’t start.”

  They’d had this argument several times. After meeting him the first time, Georgia had urged her to be careful around Valentine.

  “I can’t help it. The guy gives me the willies.” As if to emphasize her point, she rubbed her arms, like she’d taken a chill. “I hate the way he looks at me, like I’m a juicy steak on a plate. And don’t get me started on the way he stares at you....”

  “Which way?”

  “Like he’s Tarzan, and you’re…well, you.”

  Jane rolled her eyes. It wasn’t the first King of the Jungle joke she’d heard.

  “Aren’t you worried about me socializing with Beauregard too?”

  “No, because he ain’t a serial killer, and you should do a lot more than socialize with him.”

  Byron Beauregard was rumored to be an Underboss in the northern Texas branch of the Dixie Mafia. As a defense attorney, Jane often did business with people who may have committed a crime, but Beauregard was blatant about his disregard for the law, even though he’d never been held accountable. Sooner or later the mobster’s luck would run out, and the feds would make a RICO case against the Dixie Mafia. She’d seen it happen countless times. The Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act had tripped up many a Mafioso since it was first implemented.

  “Killers come in all shapes and sizes. And if you find him so handsome, why don’t you go out with him?”

  “’Cuz he doesn’t even know I’m alive. He’s too busy makin’ eyes at you. If he ever noticed me, I’d be all over him like a duck on a June bug.”

  Jane deliberately turned her attention to a file on the desk.

  “Don’t ignore me. I’ve seen the way he gets you all flustered. All I’m sayin’ is, if you’re gonna compromise your ethics, he’s the one I’d go for.”

  “I’ll never compromise my integrity.” She liked to handle things by the book. Jane handed the note back to her. “Call him back and tell him I’ll stop by later. Make certain he knows I’m billing him for mileage, as well as the time spent meeting with him.”

  “Fine.” Georgia rolled her eyes.

  “Thank you.” Jane glanced at the clock. It
was nearly five. “I should be heading out. I’ve got a long night ahead of me. ” If Jane had her choice, she’d spend the evening with Brady, eating macaroni and cheese and watching cartoons.

  “I still don’t like this.” Georgia shook her head. “Make him come to the office and sign the papers tomorrow morning—in the daylight, with witnesses. Where are you meetin’ him?”

  “At his lake house.”

  “Let me get this straight. You’re meetin’ a serial killer in an isolated cabin in the woods? Over my dead body…or actually yours.”

  “No, it’s a lake house—so, it’ll be a cabin on the water’s edge.” Georgia was more melodramatic than usual.

  “I appreciate your dry wit, but it doesn’t sound any less murdery.”

  Jane expelled a breath.

  “He’s a killer. Why can’t you see it? Bein’ convicted of a crime and committin’ one are two different things, Jane. It just means he’s smart enough to scrub his DNA from the crime scenes. Somethin’ about him ain’t right.”

  “Well, after he signs the papers, Valentine won’t be our problem anymore.”

  “Hallelujah. At least meet him in a public place.”

  “I promised him I’d stop by his home, and I’m going to keep my word.” She cleared her throat. “We’re going to have a signature party, eat dinner, and celebrate the win. It’ll be perfunctory and professional.”

  “To hell with bein’ sociable.”

  “You think he invited me over to murder me?” Jane stood and packed up her briefcase. It was going to be a long evening. With the lengthy drive to Beauregard’s place, she wouldn’t be getting home until the wee hours of the morning.

  “I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s more slippery than a pocketful of puddin’.”

  “Don’t be absurd.”

  “Jane—”

  “I’m going, so drop it.”

  Georgia’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “Fine, will you at least call me afterward?”

  “It won’t be necessary.”

  “Yes, it is, and keep your phone on you at all times while you’re there.”

  Jane paused. Even she could read the concern on Georgia’s face. One little phone call wasn’t too much of an inconvenience to alleviate Georgia’s fears.

  “Okay, I’ll call you,” she said gently.

  “Thank you.”

  Jane opened the closet and scrutinized her appearance in the mirror on the back of the door. She looked every inch the no-nonsense lawyer in her charcoal pinstriped suit, which looked sharp on her full, hourglass figure. Jane had creamy white skin and poker-straight, short black hair, which fell to her chin. A pair of black-framed glasses straddled her snub nose.

  “Have you made an appointment with the professional consultant yet?”

  “Not yet. I keep meanin’ to, but my time’s limited.”

  In addition to being a single mother and working full-time as Jane’s paralegal, Georgia was finishing her law degree at the University of North Texas. Jane would miss her terribly when she graduated.

  “Do it soon. You’ll be taking the bar exam in a couple months, and interviews are right around the corner. You want to be as polished as possible before you start meeting employers.”

  After her own law school graduation, Jane had worked with the consultant to polish her people skills, dial down her Southern accent for juries, and for assistance choosing a wardrobe which conveyed competence and expertise.

  “I’ll do it tomorrow mornin’. I promise.”

  “Good.” Jane turned to her. “I think you’ll make an excellent attorney—with some much-needed discipline.”

  “You honestly think so?”

  “I know so. I base my judgments on facts, not feelings.” Jane had been diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome as a child. Some would say she had blunted emotions, but she preferred to think of herself as reserved and intellectual. “You have a bright future ahead of you.”

  “Thank you, Jane.” Georgia beamed. “So, any other plans for the night? Besides meetin’ bachelors 1 and 2?”

  “Judge Hunter asked me to stop by when I got done with work.” Jane straightened her jacket.

  “You could call him Dad.”

  “He’s a federal judge, and it wouldn’t be appropriate.” Jedidiah Hunter was a justice on the Fifth Court of Appeals in Dallas.

  “Every now and then, you should do somethin’ inappropriate—like Byron Beauregard. At least think about it while you’re over there tonight.”

  “And on that note….” Jane stalked out the door.

  ***

  “Want some water?”

  Twenty minutes later, Jane was seated in Jedidiah Hunter’s chambers at the federal courthouse. As a child, his office had fascinated her, and it still did.

  It was luxurious by any standard—red damask curtains on the windows, a Persian rug, and even a private bathroom. Near the wall stood a statue of Cicero, a famous Roman lawyer and orator. The inscription on the pedestal read, abundans cautela non nocet—abundant caution does no harm.

  The mahogany bookshelves held weighty tomes on the law. Jane had read far above her grade level, and she used to pore over them, drinking in the knowledge while she waited for her father to get done with court.

  “Jane?”

  Jed had poured chilled water into a tumbler, but she could discern the oily outline of his fingertips on the surface of the glass. Disgusting. She had OCD tendencies and they’d always served her well at work—her files were meticulous.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Suit yourself, honey.”

  Jed sat down behind his massive desk. He had short silver hair, dark brown eyes, and gold square-framed glasses. As soon as he’d walked into his chambers, he’d removed his black judge’s robe, leaving him in a blue three-piece suit.

  “You wanted to see me?”

  “Heard about an openin’ at Devonshire Law School, and I thought you might be interested. I know the chancellor, and I could put in a good word for you.”

  I don’t have time for this today.

  Jed had been trying to push her into areas surrounding the law ever since she’d told him she intended to go to law school—legal research and scholarship, even legal journalism. Although, to his credit, he’d helped her as a law student, securing a clerking position for her and using his connections after Jane graduated to help her get a position as an assistant district attorney.

  “I’m happy with my current employment, thank you very much.”

  He pursed his lips, and she knew he was gathering his thoughts. Jed seldom spoke off the cuff, one of the things she really appreciated about him.

  “You have an exceptional mind, and they’re wastin’ your talent.”

  “You’ve made your feelings on this subject clear.” Jed wasn’t exactly thrilled she’d become a defense attorney. And he insisted on telling her about every job opening he came across.

  “You’re chasin’ status when you should be pursuing your passions. I think you’d make a damn fine instructor.”

  “Is this why you wanted to meet? We could’ve done this over email.”

  “We both know you would’ve deleted it.”

  Jane smiled. “Perhaps.”

  “Should I send along your résumé then? Just to keep your options open.”

  “Nice try, but no thank you. I’m not interested.”

  “Can’t blame a father for trying. Your talents would be better suited to somethin’ meaningful.”

  While he wasn’t her biological father, they both had the same Hunter pride. And she’d learned to stand on her own by watching him. Jane had deliberately gone against him, taking the opposition route for personal reasons.

  “I am. Defense attorneys are a vital part of the legal process.”

  “But does your work excite you?” Jed leaned forward, sizing her up with what she’d dubbed his judge stare—the one which made defendants nervous. “Are you rarin’ to go when you wake up in the mornin’?”

/>   Jane liked the perks of her job, but she didn’t rhapsodize about it. She had a nice car, a good apartment, and a spacious office. At first, Jane assumed she’d be helping clients who’d found themselves in a jam, people like her birth mother. The reality of helping the firm’s wealthy clientele wriggle out of legal trouble was a letdown.

  “Not exactly.”

  “So why do you want to be a partner?”

  Jane frowned. “I don’t understand the question.”

  This reminded her of their Sunday night supper tradition. Jed would pick a controversial topic—abortion, capital punishment, state-sanctioned suicide, medical marijuana, or whatever other juicy topic dominated the headlines. They’d each pick a side and argue it over pie. Jed had helped hone her rhetoric skills.

  “Exactly my point. I think you’re goin’ through the motions.”

  “Perhaps you’re equating tedium with having a well-ordered life.” Everything was running smoothly, like a machine—no ups, no downs.

  “I’m worried about you.” Jed squeezed her hand.

  “I know.” Jane knew he only had her best interests at heart.

  “You’re startin’ to get capital cases. I don’t want my only daughter working with murderers.”

  Of course, he’d heard about Valentine—it’d been splashed all over the newspapers.

  “The Valentine case didn’t go to trial because I used my exceptional mind to stop it from going forward. Ergo, I’m very good at my job.”

  Jed steepled his hands. “What does your intuition tell you about the man?”

  “I don’t consult my feelings. Instead, I looked at the facts. There wasn’t a shred of DNA evidence. The law is about making a reasonable case—statutes and precedents.”

  People endowed the law with all sorts of superstitions. Some lawyers even had lucky socks or briefcases. Not Jane.

  “Some of it, but you’ve also gotta go with your gut and read both your client and a jury.”

  Grasping the nuances of social interaction had never been her strong suit, and Jane accepted people at face value. Sarcasm, double entendres, and the intricacies of body language were largely lost on her.