“And by him, you mean Valentine?”
“Unless you got any other psycho killers obsessed with you?”
She supposed Byron Beauregard didn’t count.
Had Valentine been watching her this whole time—violating her privacy, her rights, and her trust?
All the warmth leeched from her body, and she wrapped her arms around herself. Valentine had been out on bail for months. Somehow, he’d broken into her home and set this camera up. He probably got a perverse thrill from having the power over her.
And he’d been in her apartment without her knowledge or consent—touching her things. People with Asperger’s had issues with people breaching their boundaries anyway, and this was a frightening violation. It made her want to grab everything and toss it into the washing machine, then sanitize the place with bleach, and move far, far away.
“If it’s okay with you, I’m gonna call Vick, so she can sweep your place.” He whipped out his cell phone. “We’ll find out if he’s got any other cameras on you. Lord only knows what he’s been watchin’ you do, or for how long this peep show’s been goin’ on.”
Jane didn’t think she could handle anything else right now. The room swayed, and she slumped on the edge of the bed before her knees gave out.
Vick must’ve answered because Byron was talking to someone on the phone, but Jane couldn’t follow the conversation. Her skin was still crawling, and she couldn’t focus.
“Ready for even more bad news?”
She startled at the sound of his voice. “No.” But she dipped her head in agreement anyway.
“If he’s watchin’ you, then he got a real good look at me today. This is only a guess, but if he thinks you’re steppin’ out on him, things are gonna get a whole lot uglier.”
And things were already very ugly.
Chapter Eight
Hours later, Jane came to a difficult conclusion.
In light of the camera found in her place and the scope of Valentine’s obsession with her, Jane had to let her father know about this situation, even if she skirted the truth—his safety was at stake.
Byron had spent the rest of the day with Dixie Mafia matters, while she’d done research on her laptop. Nothing she’d learned about Oscar Valentine set her mind at ease.
This is going to be a hard call. Jane dialed the number with chilled fingertips and waited for what felt like forever.
Jed answered on the third ring. “Well, as I live and breathe, my daughter’s actually callin’ me.”
“I’m sorry, Dad. I should call more often.” Jane sat on the bed in her guest room at Beauregard Manor. Being away from her office and apartment was disconcerting, but hearing Jed’s familiar voice cheered her up.
“I’m just glad you did, so I’ll save the fatherly guilt trip for another time. You sound down in the mouth. What’s goin’ on?”
She might as well get it over with. “There’s been a security threat against me, but it might, er, spill over to you. I wanted to warn you, just to be safe.”
“What kind of threat?”
“A serious one.”
“Who threatened you?” His voice was sharp. “Tell me and I’ll—”
“I appreciation the bluster.” Jane laughed softly. “You know I can’t tell.”
“Damnation.” She heard an unmistakable paper shuffling sound. When Jed was upset, he cleared off his desk. “Are you takin’ precautions?”
“Yes, I’m covered, but I’m worried about you.”
“I appreciate the concern, honey, but I got me a loaded .45 I keep under my pillow. I work in a federal courthouse behind metal detectors and law enforcement officers, so I’m fine. Who’s in charge of your protection detail? FBI?”
Telling Judge Hunter his only daughter was being guarded by a notorious mobster would start off a bad chain of events, so she side-stepped the question.
“I’ve got my very own bodyguard. And the gun’s a good starting point, but this situation calls for more firepower. I hope you don’t mind, but I called in Hank.”
Hank Blackstock, a marshal, was a friend of the family and protected her father a couple of years ago during a domestic terrorist case her father had adjudicated. He’d also handled a disgruntled defendant a few months ago, off the books. The marshal hadn’t asked many questions, and Jane had offered him a favor in return, in case he ever needed an attorney.
“Instead of a formal request?” The Marshal Service was in charge of protecting federal judges.
“Yes, this is another off the books sort of situation.”
“And now I’m even more worried. I don’t like this one bit.” Then he swore under his breath. “It’s Valentine, isn’t it?”
“I can’t discuss it.”
He paused for a long moment.
“Are you still there?”
“Yes, but I’m talkin’ as your father now, not the federal judge. Defend yourself.”
“I am.”
“No, I mean really defend yourself—to the death if necessary. You got the pistol I bought you for your eighteenth birthday?”
Jed was an avid hunter and Second Amendment enthusiast, and he’d bought her a gun for protection. Other than the preliminary shooting lessons he’d given her, she’d never used it, aside from keeping it oiled and cleaned. The weapon was still in its original box in one of her closets.
“Yes, but I haven’t practiced with it in years.”
“We can remedy the situation. The agent who’s protectin’ you can give you a refresher course. Make him take you to the gun range on 12th Street, so you can get comfortable with it again.”
“I’ll think about it.” Although, Jane had no intention of getting into a standoff with Valentine. She didn’t want any more bloodshed. Surely, she could solve this through the court system.
And then he sucked in a breath. “Jane, you could use the Castle Doctrine.”
Jed was referring to the recently passed Stand Your Ground Law which allows the use of deadly force to fend off an intruder.
“It isn’t going to come to such an extreme measure.” Even the thought of Valentine in her apartment again gave her chills.
“You don’t know what the future might hold.”
“My bodyguard will keep me safe.” Byron was deadly, and Valentine would be a fool to take him on.
“Valentine has already murdered a half-dozen young women. It ain’t a stretch to think he might kill your agent and then come after you. Take matters into your own hands and defend yourself.”
Jane gulped.
“And if the son of a bitch is standin’ out in the bushes? Shoot him anyway and drag his ass over the threshold, you hear me?”
“Dad, I can’t believe you said such a thing.” It shocked a smile out of her. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one in the family who had trouble staying within the constraints of the law.
“What? We both know he wouldn’t be over there to mow the lawn. Everyone knows he’s guilty.”
No, she hadn’t, which was the problem.
“Not in the legal sense.”
“Don’t go all defense attorney on me. Hell, if you killed the bastard, the FBI would throw you an old-fashioned ticker tape parade.”
“I doubt it.” They were much more likely to tie her to a stake and light her up instead.
“I don’t, but if you shoot him and they come after you, I’m your lawyer. Understand me? Ain’t ever been on a defense team, but I’m a damn good trial attorney. Together, we’d kick their asses.”
“Or you’ll be my co-defendant. We just hatched a murder plot.”
Jed snorted with laughter. “We’d get away with it too.”
“The jury wouldn’t know what hit them.” Jane relaxed a little. Talking with Jed usually put things into perspective.
“Listen, you got a lot on your mind right now, but I’d appreciate one of those newfangled text things from you every mornin’ just so I know you’re okay. My assistant taught me how to use it on my new phone.”
/> Only Jed would call a text message “newfangled.”
“Yes, I’ll text you, and you’ll answer me, so I know you’re safe too, right?”
“It’s a deal. And for the record, I hate bein’ left in the semi-dark over here.”
“There’s no way around it.”
Jed clucked his tongue. “There ought to be such a thing as father-daughter privilege. I’m worried about you, honey.”
“I am too, but I feel better knowing someone’s protecting you.”
“Do everythin’ the FBI says and stay safe, Jane.”
“I will.”
At least, she’d do her very best.
***
Later in the evening, Byron coaxed her into going to dinner with him at Poison Fruit. She didn’t seem as shaken as she had earlier, although Jane was quieter than usual.
As they drove to the winery and bistro, Byron slid a glance at her. She’d changed from her creased pantsuit into a fresh one. If she thought her lawyer look was off-putting, Jane was in for a shock. The straight-laced, buttoned-up, school marm style got him going anyway.
While she’d gone for understated executive, he’d gilded the lily. He wore a brand new charcoal gray Paul Smith he’d picked up in the UK, along with a black and gray checkerboard tie. He’d even polished his black leather Oxfords.
Byron had always been a clotheshorse, and he appreciated a well-fitted suit. All of the men in the outfit wore suits because he liked to project an old-school image. If Byron had to pick a time period to live in, he’d choose the thirties—men wore suits and women got dolled up to go out.
Not that Jane appreciated or even acknowledged his efforts.
And Byron was looking forward to being alone with her—no bikers, no Dixie Mafia business, and no distractions. Well, except for tracking down evidence on murders.
The winery was at the end of town, on five acres which hugged the creek. As they pulled into the drive, they passed hundreds of fruit trees—apples, peaches, and pears—as well as strawberry, blueberry, raspberry, and blackberry patches. Ten owned the vineyard and restaurant, and it made him a pretty penny, even outside of the underground money laundering operation.
As Byron pulled the SUV into the parking lot, he noticed Vick leaning against the wall of the restaurant, wreathed in shadows. He recognized her familiar features, even in the dim light. An older man stood in front of her, someone Byron didn’t recognize, and they appeared to be having an argument. The man wrapped a hand around her elbow and tugged her toward the parking lot.
Byron put the Escalade in park and removed the keys. He swung them around on his index finger as he studied the pair. Something was definitely up. Vick broke away from him and pressed herself tightly against the wall.
“Head in and get a table, Jane. I gotta handle something.”
“Sure.” Jane appeared to be distracted as she gazed into the gloom surrounding the building. “Is that Vick?”
“Yeah, it is.” And a dickhead who can’t keep his hands to himself.
“Who’s the man?”
“Never seen him before. I’m gonna go over and say howdy, be sociable.” And let the bastard know Vick was under his protection.
“Is everything okay?”
“It’s about to be.”
“You aren’t going to…do anything, are you?”
At the moment, he couldn’t make any promises. If something needed doing, Byron wouldn’t hesitate. Nobody got to intimidate his crew but him.
“Ain’t plannin’ on it.” It was mostly true. “I’ll catch up with you in a second.”
Byron ambled over to Vick as Jane walked inside. He waited until the door closed behind Jane to make his final approach. When he got closer, he overheard their conversation. Neither one of them saw him coming, they were so intent.
“You’re comin’ home with me.”
The tall man wore a Brooks Brothers suit. Byron figured he was probably in his late fifties judging by the silver hair, although he had the lithe frame of a much younger man. He had Vick backed against the wall, his body pinioning hers.
“No, I’m not.” Her voice was calm, but firm. “I’ve got other plans for tonight. If you want to see me, you’ve got to make an appointment.”
“I did, but you blew me off.”
“I didn’t mean to—there was a mix-up with my schedule. But you can’t show up whenever you like and demand to see me.”
“Looks like I can.” The man grasped Vick by the arm again.
“Let me go!” Vick slapped at his hand.
Time to make my presence known.
“You heard the lady, let her go. Now.” Byron came to a halt a couple feet from them. He unbuttoned his jacket for easy access to the Glock, if need be.
“This ain’t none of your business.” Brooks Brothers had a flinty expression.
“You’re wrong. Ain’t that so, Vick?”
She nodded vigorously. Her eyes were large and rounded as she tugged her hand free once more. She’d been hired for her tech skills. As far as he knew, she hadn’t had self-defense training, and Byron doubted she’d ever held a gun, let alone fired one.
“Vick?” The man turned to her. “What’s he talkin’ about, Veronica? Who’s this man—your boyfriend? Your lover?”
Her mouth fell open, and Vick laced a shaking hand through her hair. She was jumpier than spit dancing on a hot skillet.
Lover? And why didn’t he know her real name? Funny, Byron never would’ve figured Vick for someone with secrets. She had this air of innocence for someone in their line of work. Guess he shouldn’t be too surprised—a real goody two-shoes would’ve passed on this job.
So Byron stepped in again.
“I’m her boss. Now get on outta here, while you can still move on your own.” Byron flashed the gun to make himself crystal clear. Having a shootout in public was a bit high profile, and he hoped the dumbass had sense enough to back off before this got out of hand.
“Like I said, I have plans tonight,” she said stiffly. “If you want to see me, we’ll reschedule.”
“I’m leavin’, for now.” The man backed off, hands in the air, and then turned to Vick. “You won’t like what happens if you keep dodgin’ me.”
Sounded like a stalker to Byron. His hand rested on the Glock. Maybe this was a two bullets to the back of the head sort of problem.
Vick glanced at Byron.
He raised a brow.
“I mean it. You’d better go, Simon.” Vick slipped her arm through Byron’s and stood closer to him, which was odd. She must be in dire straits. Vick tolerated him, but that’s as far as it went.
“Expect a call tonight, Veronica, and you’d best answer it on the first ring.” Simon hopped into his silver sports car and took off, gravel flying.
This didn’t seem to be the sort of problem which went away on its own. Byron had a funny feeling someone would be putting Simon in the ground someday soon—most likely Jasper, since he was sweet on her.
When Simon the Stalker was gone, Byron turned to Vick. “What the fuck is goin’ on?”
“It’s private.” She turned apple red.
“Not anymore. The incident happened on Dixie Mafia property, and I had to break it up before he kidnapped your ass. Lord only knows what kind of perverted misdeeds he had in mind. Who is he? And why the hell is he callin’ you Veronica?”
“He’s a friend, and it's fine. I’ve got it handled.” She shifted from one foot to the other, and he could read the anxiety in her jerky movements.
In reply, he fixed her with a dirty look. Good Lord, he hated when unconvincing liars told him stories. If you’re gonna make up shit, at least be good at it.
“Alright, it ain’t fine, but it’s a long story. And I promise it won’t happen again—I’ll handle it.” Vick stood straighter. “By the way, Jasper and I grabbed the cameras from Jane’s place this afternoon. I’ll start reviewin’ the footage tomorrow mornin’.”
“Good, let me know what you find. Gotta ha
nd it to you.”
“What?”
“Your attempt at a distraction—almost got me sidetracked. But back to the matter at hand, do you need help?” Byron placed a fingertip beneath her chin and raised her gaze to meet his own.
She pulled away. “No, I can take care of it. Will you…can you keep this to yourself, please?” Vick clasped her hands together and raised them to her lips. “I don’t want Jasper, er, I mean…everyone to know.”
Another poorly constructed lie.
Vick cared more about Jasper’s opinion of her than anyone else’s. It was what she was really worried about. He should make her tell him everything, but Vick was a big girl, and she hadn’t confided in him, so he’d leave her be.
“For the moment, but if he gets demanding with you again, you’ll tell me.” It was an order, not a suggestion.
“Understood.”
“Then have a good night.” Matter settled, Byron marched to the door. “And Vick?” he called over his shoulder.
“Yeah?”
“Ask Jasper for a lesson or two in self-defense.” Byron would’ve offered himself as a trainer, but she was more likely to accept help from her little boyfriend. “You should practice with a weapon. It don’t gotta be a gun, but you need somethin’—a knife, a Taser, some pepper spray, or a night stick. Pick your poison and don’t leave home without it.”
“You really think he’d hurt me?” Vick shivered.
He didn’t even have to ponder it. “Yeah.”
“I’ll talk with Jasper tomorrow.”
Nodding, Byron left Vick in the parking lot, alone with her own thoughts. He made a mental note to tell Ten about Simon from the parking lot. Maybe he could ID him from the security camera footage, although Byron would make up something about a disgruntled loan recipient—and he’d make it believable. If Simon showed his sorry ass here again, he was in for a nasty surprise.
Byron had never much cared for Poison Fruit.
An old rustic barn had been converted into the bistro portion of the operation. It still had the high rafters and wood, but it’d been modernized inside. In the center of the dining room, a brick well-like structure surrounded a large apple tree. The branches stretched up to the stained glass windows above, which portrayed Eve and the apple, along with a slithering serpent. Twinkling Christmas lights lining the walls and tea lights on the tables, gave the room a warm glow.
Blood in the Water (Dixie Mafia Series Book 2) Page 9