It was the kind of picture only her murderer could’ve taken.
Chapter Four
“Jane ain’t gonna date a murderer, so drop it.”
“Right, because women, as a rule, hate the whole bad boy thing.”
Byron gave his friend and mentor, Dixon Wolf, a dirty glare, then poured himself another glass of moonshine and downed it in one gulp. All the alcohol in the world wouldn’t drown out Dix, though.
After Jasper, Reb, and Ten left, he’d been looking forward to some peace and quiet until Jane arrived—no such luck. They’d overheard him invite her over and blabbed to Dix, who fancied himself a matchmaker.
Dix served as Negotiator for the Dixie Mafia, which meant he mitigated conflicts between members and reported directly to Tucker Cobb. The roles of Underboss and Negotiator had roughly the same amount of power.
“It ain’t your business.” Byron planned on having a fun fling with Jane, nothing more. When it came to women, he kept things light.
“Too bad. I’m makin’ it my business since you’re so bull-headed.” Dix sat down across from him. He was a tall man with thick, dark brown hair bracketed by streaks of silver. A dense layer of stubble coated his cheeks and chin, but it wasn’t quite a beard. “I’m gonna give you some advice, the way you did for me when I fucked up with Belle.”
Belle Nunn had been Dix’s mistress up until a few weeks ago. Now, they were a bonafide couple. When Dix had been pining for Belle after the fool had gone and broken up with her, Byron had straightened Dix’s ass out—for his own selfish reasons. A broken heart had brought out Dix’s inner bastard, and Byron was sick of dealing with his cranky ass.
Byron thought love was a hot mess, but it seemed to agree with Dix. He hadn’t seen the man so happy in years, not since before his former wife died of cancer.
“Don’t need your advice.”
“Of course, you do. I like Jane, but she ain’t good with people. Meanin’, you’re gonna have to coax her into a relationship.”
“Only thing I’m coaxin’ her into is my bed, so butt outta my sex life.” Byron slammed another shot.
Although he said the words, there was something special about Jane. He’d never worked this hard to get a woman’s interest.
“It could be more than sex. I’ve seen the way you watch her. Mark my words, you’re gonna marry that woman.”
Byron groaned. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talkin’ about.” What is it about people in love? Like they’d all joined a cult and were desperate for new followers.
“Tell me why you refuse to ask for more.”
Aw, hell. No sense in pussyfootin’ around. Dix wouldn’t stop until he’d dragged it out of him anyway.
“Why do ya think?” He raised a brow.
When Dix joined the outfit, Buckley was Underboss, so he’d seen the man in action. Byron considered Dix a friend and a mentor, which was saying something. He didn’t have many of those, especially these days, so he felt comfortable being upfront about the situation.
“You ain’t your daddy.”
“Tell me somethin’ I don’t know.” Byron had fought hard to become his own man—a kinder, gentler sort of monster, but he could never quite escape the bastard. “Love made him crazy.”
“Naw. Buckley was a heartless prick who saw your momma as a possession, not a person. You got better sense.”
Byron generally defended his father—after all, the man was blood. Nobody but family got to run his father’s memory down, but in this case, he couldn’t muster up any bluster. Dix hadn’t said anything Byron didn’t already believe.
“I suppose.”
“You’ve always been dangerous.”
Byron saluted Dix with his glass before he drank.
“But you don’t hurt women. You never could.”
Buckley would call it a weakness, sentimentality. If you wanna get ahead in this world, boy, you gotta be willin’ to break all the rules. And Byron had, with relish. He’d murdered and robbed and blackmailed his way to the top, but there were some lines he wasn’t comfortable crossing.
His father had used women and children as cannon fodder, as weapons against his enemies. Byron hadn’t stooped so low—yet. At this moment, he wouldn’t harm a hair on Jane’s head, but what if he slipped? Changed? Any day now, a confrontation with Tucker Cobb was coming. He’d been pushing for it for months. Byron wanted to take over the whole operation, become the man in charge. Taking Tucker out wouldn’t be easy. It might even turn him into a full-fledged monster, like dear old dad.
It was Byron’s biggest fear. One day he’d look in the mirror and see his father’s face grinning back at him.
“Are you sure?”
“You’d never hurt Jane.”
You don’t know that because I don’t.
“You ain’t what I’d call….”
“Enough.” Byron gripped the glass hard. “Drop it if you know what’s good for ya.”
While he might give the rest of the world a piss and vinegar grin, Byron had wounds, deep ones, and Dix was poking at them with a sharp stick. They might be friends, but he wouldn’t hesitate to give Dix a big black eye.
“Fine.” Dix stood and folded his arms across his chest. “But trust me on this, shacklin’ yourself to the past won’t do a damn thing. It only drags your ass down.”
“I got nothin’ to offer her, Dix. I talk a good game, but underneath it all, I’m a no account hit man and always will be.”
“So am I, yet here I am with a good woman at my side. I ain’t sayin’ we deserve them, but there’s no harm in askin’.”
Belle was an innocent, a counselor. Byron didn’t know how Dix slept at night. If he were Dix, he’d worry who might harm Belle to get to him.
“You didn’t work your way up the ranks like I did. If you knew half the things I did....”
“Well, I know you’re changin’ the outfit.” His lips curled. “We ain’t legal, but we ain’t the bastards we used to be. You have a nice home, all the money she could ever spend. You should offer Jane your protection, build somethin’ together.”
Byron shook his head.
Dix held out his hand. “I bet you a thousand bucks you propose to her by the end of the year.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“Nah, I’m crazy like a fox. You takin’ the bet?”
Byron stared at the outstretched hand. “Why not? It’s easy money.” They shook on it, and Dix grinned as he waltzed out of the room whistling.
Why did Byron get the impression he’d made a losing bet?
He checked his watch again. Jane was late, which wasn’t like her.
What the hell’s keeping her?
***
“Tell me what you’re thinking, Jane.”
She couldn’t think at the moment, couldn’t really process what she’d just seen.
“Talk to me.”
She looked around the room. More photographs of dead blonde women—twisted trophies.
“I think you’re a serial killer.” Oh, God.
And she was all alone with him, in a lake house, miles away from anyone else. She backed away, keeping her eyes locked on him as she headed for the exit.
“I’d say it’s an accurate assessment.” Valentine didn’t appear alarmed or ruffled in any way by her harsh words. “A bit simplistic, though—there’s much more to me than killing.”
Jane wanted to run and hide—get as far away from him as possible, find a place where he’d never reach her. Yet her rational mind knew there was no such place. Valentine knew her name, where she worked. He’d even been over to her apartment once to drop off evidence.
She was trapped.
“Why show me all of this?” She licked her dry lips. Her heart thundered as though it wanted to break free of her ribcage.
Unless he intended to kill her too? Jane thought of the poor fish on his table, the way he’d sliced off its head.
She shuffled further away.
“Like I said,
I want you to know me, see all of me.” He took a step forward. “This is the darkest part of my character, Jane, but it isn’t all I am. You deserve my honesty.”
No, I deserve to not be trapped in a room with a butcher.
“So…you’re going to let me walk out of here?” Jane lurched toward safety.
“Absolutely. You’ll notice, I haven’t threatened anyone. In fact, I’ve promised not to. You have no reason to disclose my confession to the authorities.” He moved closer, and her back hit the door. “I know my secret’s safe, so I won’t harm you.”
All the pieces snapped together.
“I can’t tell anyone, or I’ll be disbarred.” Oh, God, he’d offered her a confession and evidence—and she couldn’t tell a soul.
Oscar Valentine wasn’t the first guilty client she’d defended, and Jane saw the shades of gray built into the law. There’s a difference between being legally guilty of a crime and actually guilty.
Their blood was on her hands too. In the eyes of the law, Valentine was an innocent man, and she’d inadvertently helped him get away with his crimes.
“Correct. These indiscretions are in the past, and they’ll stay there.”
Indiscretions?
He made the murders sound like flings. Valentine had killed at least six women in cold blood, and Jane bet there were more bodies, which hadn’t been found yet.
“I’m not being charged with anything—thanks to you. I’m going to use this opportunity to get my life together.”
Fury overcame her fear for a moment. These women wouldn’t get another opportunity to live again. He’d snuffed out their lives for the pure pleasure of killing. She’d never met anyone so evil, and given the nature of her clientele, that was saying something.
“Jane…?”
“What do you want me to say?”
Her life depended on her poor people skills. While he’d promised he wouldn’t kill her, Valentine could easily change his mind if he thought she’d turn him in to the authorities.
“I want to know what you think.”
“I’m overwhelmed.” It wasn’t a lie but not quite the truth—she was also revolted and scared out of her mind.
He considered her words and then nodded.
Jane sagged in relief; she felt dizzy and light-headed. She had the oddest urge to laugh. In relief? Nervously?
“As I suspected. You need some time to adjust. Like I said, with you at my side, I won’t give in to the darker aspects of my nature. I’ll rise above them, become a better man.”
Jane knew better. Valentine would always have the urge to kill. All of the research indicated he’d murder women again—unless someone put him in a cage.
“I enjoyed our evening together. May I kiss you goodnight before you go?” Valentine planted a hand on either side of her head, pinning her against the door frame.
Nowhere to run.
“I….” Her mind blanked, and she couldn’t focus. She was too scared to move, let alone speak.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” After placing a fingertip on the bridge of her glasses, he pushed them back up her nose.
Jane gasped.
And then he cupped her cheek, his thumb smoothed over her lips, stroking her.
Valentine had killed with those hands—sliced women open, bled them. Held them down and drowned them. He pushed a hand into her hair. His palm felt hot—like his touch burned her. “I still think you’d look better as a blonde.”
And then he leaned down, capturing her mouth with his own.
At the last moment, she crossed her arms over her chest as he pressed his mouth against hers. Jane went utterly still, motionless, like a statue. The kiss went on forever—there was no moisture—his mouth was dry, skin ghosting over hers.
Jane resisted the urge to gag.
The contact was overwhelming. She rarely let people into her physical space, and after his revelation, this invasion was too much to process.
Panic threatened to close her airway. People with Asperger’s often equated overstimulation with pain, and right now it felt like her mouth was burning. Black spots danced before her eyes, and Jane worried she’d pass out.
And then he stepped back, and a smooth smile spread over his face, like nothing had happened.
“I have to go.” She clutched the doorknob with chilled fingertips. Jane cracked the door open. So close to freedom. “It’s late and I have another meeting.”
With another murderer. Won’t that be fun? I’m losing it.
She backed out of the room, and he stood still, surrounded by pictures of the women he’d killed. Her legs felt heavy, like her shoes were made of concrete. Each step took so much effort.
“I’m going to call you in a day or two. We’ll set up a dinner this week.”
“Sure, okay.”
Jane vowed to never be alone with him again, but she’d agree to anything as long as he let her leave in one piece.
As she turned to escape, he called her name.
“Yes?” She twisted around slowly.
“Don’t even think about betraying me.”
Jane gulped. “I can’t.”
“I know.” His expression was sphinxlike. “Goodnight, my Jane.”
Chapter Five
I can’t handle this.
Jane couldn’t focus—everything seemed hazy and unreal. She didn’t remember walking up the stairs or starting her car, yet somehow, she’d driven away. Jane hadn’t become cognizant of her surroundings until she was back on the highway—about thirty minutes away from Valentine, according to the GPS.
Suddenly, it occurred to her–Valentine might’ve followed her vehicle. Jane glanced around wildly, but saw no one—hers was the only car on the lonely stretch of highway. Had his victims felt just like this—scared, alone?
Her vision tunneled. Jane hit the brake and screeched off the road. After stumbling out of the car, she grasped her knees and vomited.
She heaved until her sides were sore and nothing but bitter bile flooded her mouth. Shaking, Jane stood on quivering legs and tried to make sense of what just happened.
Valentine had laid a trap for her, and she’d tumbled right into it.
She was teetering on the verge of a breakdown. Sometimes people with Asperger’s fly into a rage when they feel threatened. Social interaction was grueling, even if it was normal, run-of-the-mill small talk.
Today had been a nuclear event.
As a child, Jane had thrown herself on the ground and had what her father called a “hissy fit.” The rage had been overpowering before she had any coping mechanisms like the necklace or thought-stopping. Whenever her ire crept up, Jane arranged her surroundings or stroked the necklace as she waited the meltdown out.
Now, she was an adult with one enormous, overwhelming problem. So she had to look at this situation with detachment, intellectual curiosity.
And then she cleared her mind, sought out the calm, rational being at her core, the woman who knew how to handle difficult situations.
Jane mentally ran through her options.
She could drive to the FBI field office in Dallas and tell them everything she knew. After all, they had a hand in this debacle.
More than anything, Jane wanted to call her father, confess every sordid detail, and then follow his sage advice. Jed had been practicing the law a very long time, and he’d know exactly what to do.
But she couldn’t do either of those things.
Valentine had backed her into a legal corner. She couldn’t go to the authorities and tell them what he’d confessed. If she breathed a word of this to anyone outside the case, she’d tank her own career. Even if she were willing to be disbarred, no court in the country would admit privileged information. She’d be throwing her law degree on the pyre for nothing.
Jane leaned against the car and grabbed a bottle of water from her bag, then swished out her mouth before popping a mint into it. Her stomach gurgled in response but eventually settled down.
What should
I do? No, what can I do?
No solutions immediately came to mind.
Back to square one.
A storm was brewing. The wind kicked up, and she could smell the fresh scent of rain on the air. Thunder rolled overhead, and it sounded ominous, like a warning.
Jane’s phone rang, startling a scream out of her. She checked the caller ID—Georgia.
Biting the inside of her cheek, she hit the green button. “Hello?”
“Jane, are you okay? You didn’t call, and I was worried.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Jane hoped her tone was even. “The meeting went longer than expected and I still have to drive to out to Beauregard’s place, but everything’s fine.”
“You sound funny. Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Yes, I’m a bit…tired. I’ll see you at work tomorrow, and we’ll talk about it, okay?”
As Jane’s paralegal, Georgia was privy to privileged information so she could confide in her best friend. But Jane saw no reason to dump this on Georgia before she’d made sense of it herself.
There was a long pause.
“Okay, but you’re gonna give me more details then, right? I got the feelin’ I’m missin’ somethin’ huge.”
You’ve no idea. “We’ll have a good long talk about it.”
“I’m glad you’re safe and sound.”
If there’s one thing Jane didn’t feel, it was safe.
“Me too. I’ve got to go. Talk to you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight.”
Jane stood there for a long time after she’d hung up with Georgia. For once in her life, she didn’t have a plan. This situation was beyond anything she’d ever dealt with.
And at the moment, the only suitable course of action was to continue on with her evening and hope an idea came to her, which meant traveling to Beauregard Manor and pretending things were fine for the moment.
Time to pull it together.
Heaving a sigh, she got back in the car, punched Byron Beauregard’s address into the GPS, and took off for his place.
An hour later, she pulled into his driveway. A thunderstorm was in full swing, illuminating the sky with crackles of lightning, booming thunder in the distance. Jane tried not to see it as a bad sign.
Blood in the Water (Dixie Mafia Series Book 2) Page 4