Blood in the Water (Dixie Mafia Series Book 2)

by Cynthia Rayne

  Right now, she kept on thinking about Valentine and his threat to discipline her.

  In his sick, twisted fantasies had those women been “bad” and he was compelled to correct their behavior?

  A knock on the door made her yelp. When she opened it, she found Byron standing there with a frosty gallon-sized Mason jar in his grip.

  He smiled. “May I enter? I come bearin’ gifts.”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “Darlin’, I can’t stand to see you so down. What do you say we drink those cares away tonight?”

  “I don’t see the point, our problems will be here tomorrow.”

  “The point is, tonight you’ll be happy.”

  It didn’t make any sense to her. Then again, emotions were baffling creatures. She’d never understand them.

  “And what about Valentine?” Jane envisioned him climbing through the bedroom window with a knife in his back pocket.

  “As I told you last night, I got one hell of a security team, not to mention a high-tech system. And if all that wasn’t enough, Ten is stayin’ down the hall. I invited him over before we left Poison Fruit. If the bastard is stupid enough to pick a fight with Ten, he deserves what he gets.”

  “He’s dangerous then?” Byron nodded. “Good.”

  “I’ve seen Ten peel the skin off an ol’ boy with a razor blade.”

  “Why did you tell me that?” Jane put her head in her hands. She needed to have a serious talk with all of her clients when it came to confessions. If she ever got back to her normal legal practice, she’d institute a Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy.

  “Sorry, force of habit. The point is, we’re safe for tonight. Might as well unwind a bit since we’re in this for the long haul. I still think you should let me take care of him.”

  “I can’t.” Although the idea had become more and more tempting.

  “Figured you might say that.” He held up the jar. “Come on, let’s wet our whistles.”

  As a rule, she didn’t like to lose control.

  “And I brought somethin’ else to take your mind off it.” From the inner pocket of his jacket, he pulled out a Gone with the Wind DVD.

  As a little girl living in the South, she’d seen it countless times. The book and the film were nearly a century old and detailed the collapse of the Confederacy during and following the Civil War as seen through the eyes of the protagonist, Scarlett O’Hara. It had some flaws, namely sexism and racism, but the work reflected the prevailing attitudes of the time, like Huck Finn.

  While those outlooks on life were difficult to understand, Gone with the Wind taught her about the historical and cultural perspective. It’d brought the history alive for her, made her care about the situation.

  As her father was fond of saying, “if one doesn’t want to repeat history, one should learn from it.” She and Jed had long talks after viewing the film, discussing the Civil War and Reconstruction afterward as well as the socio-cultural ramifications. Jed never passed up the opportunity to play law professor, and he’d discussed the legal issues stemming from it, namely the unconstitutional Jim Crow laws.

  While Jane had appreciated the history lesson, she’d still had a crush on Rhett Butler as a teen. She’d even read the book, eagerly hanging on every single word about him.

  Yet, she didn’t think Byron Beauregard would be a fan.

  “You like Gone with the Wind?”

  “It’s one of my favorites, darlin’. If you haven’t noticed, the manor looks a bit like Tara.”

  “I have.” She refused to elaborate on how charming she found it.

  “Come on then. What do you say we take our minds off this mess with some alcohol and a guilty pleasure?”

  A guilty pleasure—it summed up Byron nicely, although he’d meant the film.

  Jane loathed losing control, but she’d been in a free-fall the past couple of days anyway. Maybe the alcohol and the movie would take the edge off.

  “Okay, why not?”

  At least it wouldn’t make things any worse.

  He poured them each a shot into two small Mason jars he pulled from his pocket and then handed her one. She sniffed the drink—it smelled caustic, like rubbing alcohol.

  “Let’s have a toast.” Byron lifted his glass, and she reluctantly raised hers.

  “What are we drinking to?”

  “Here's to the roses and lilies in bloom.” His lips curved. “You in my arms and I in your room. A door that is locked, a key which is lost. A bird, and a bottle, and a bed badly tossed. And a night that is fifty years long.”

  How…salacious. “Did you write that?”

  “Nope, an old-time-y journalist named Herb Caen did.” Byron clinked his glass against hers and then tossed back the shot.

  She didn’t follow suit.

  “I’m not sleeping with you tonight.”

  “Never say n-”

  “Never.”

  “Damnation, but you’re quarrelsome. Fine, we won’t be sleepin’ together tonight, now drink up.”

  The moonshine burned a hot, wet path down her throat. Coughing, she set the glass down.

  “It’s nasty.”

  “Only because you ain’t used to it. The first one smarts a bit, but it’ll come easier. The night is young, and we got a whole bottle to split between us.” Byron promptly filled her glass again and started the movie.

  Two and a half hours later, midway through the five-hour film, Jane felt like she was floating, sprawling on a fluffy cloud, untethered by her problems. Technically, she was lying on a bed, but it felt lighter, almost feathery, tonight. She couldn’t remember lying down, but Byron was right beside her. Jane knew she should be upset, but she was too comfortable to move.

  Mansfield lay on the edge of the bed, curled up in a ball, purring as though he was perfectly at home here.

  Furry turncoat.

  Byron must have a high tolerance level because he was relaxed but not loopy. And she had to admit, she was enjoying his company. He kept her glass full, and he was fifty percent less annoying than usual.

  The moonshine must be magic.

  Or maybe her barriers were down—she felt exposed, defenseless, but somehow it didn’t bother her so much.

  “Ashley Wilkes is boring.” Jane followed up this assertion with a hiccup.

  “Damn straight.”

  There was something carnal in his hooded eyes, the way his lips kept parting. Everything about tonight was scandalous. She never imagined her life would lead here— flirting and drinking with a mobster, plotting a crime.

  Suddenly, she came to a stark sort of realization. Byron was a lot like Rhett Butler; to put it in Gone with the Wind terms, he was a scalawag.

  Jane hiccupped. “Why do you really like the movie? It isn’t Tara.”

  “Scarlett’s my kind of woman—beautiful, feisty, resourceful, and she holds her own with Rhett.” He licked his lips. “She hated him in the beginnin’ too.”

  Something about the way he was looking at her unnerved Jane.

  “They don’t end up together.”

  “Yeah, but it don’t mean they didn’t have fun while it lasted. Like the one scene when they first meet at Twelve Oaks. I know he ain’t a gentleman, but I disagree with the other bit—she’s most definitely a lady and so are you.” Byron was referring to Scarlett and Rhett’s first heated exchange when she insulted him by saying he wasn’t a gentleman, to which Rhett replied she wasn’t a lady—which he considered a compliment.

  “And do you think you’re a gentleman?”

  He just smirked in reply. “Let’s get to know each other. Why’d you become an attorney?” Byron curled on his side and propped his head in one hand.

  “I was adopted by a pair of lawyers, so it’s the family business.” She’d never seriously considered another profession.

  “Jedidiah Hunter was only a prosecutor back then, huh?”

  “Yes.” When she was in high school, he’d become a federal judge. “You had Vick and Dix investigate m
e.”

  From what she could tell, those two operated the money laundering and loan-sharking arm of Byron’s business, although Vick mostly did research while Dix did the heavy lifting. To do the job effectively, they had to dig up dirt on a client, in case he or she failed to pay the money back on time.

  “What can I say? I’m real curious about you. Come on then, out with it.”

  “Both Jed and his wife at the time, Gail, were prosecutors.” Jane couldn’t seem to keep her mouth shut tonight. “Though they got divorced when I was elemenatary school, and she moved to Boston. I can’t blame her, I was a handful.” It had hurt at the time, but she’d gotten over it.

  “You think she left because of you?” Jane couldn’t quite pin down the expression on his face, somewhere between astonishment and sympathy.

  Jed had denied it, but in the back of her mind, she’d always suspected Gail hadn’t bargained for a daughter with Asperger’s.

  “I’m pretty sure. I’ve never liked authority figures.”

  “Me neither, darlin’.” He toasted her with his glass.

  “Or stupid rules, so I questioned everything.”

  “Ah, so you’re an outlaw too.” He nodded with approval. “And your birth mother was one of your father’s defendants…?”

  “No, he didn’t adjudicate her case. My mother’s prosecutor was John Talbot, a real ass who always goes after the stiffest penalties, even when it doesn’t fit the crime. My mother, Joanne, was charged as an accessory to murder. I was only eighteen months when my adoptive parents took me in.”

  Since Jed and Gail had been registered foster parents and pulled a few strings, the state had placed Jane with them two days after her mother’s death, and they’d gone on to adopt her.

  “So you don’t remember her.”

  “No, and Joanne was only eighteen when she got into trouble with the law. She’d fallen in with a bad crowd and agreed to act as a lookout while her boyfriend and his friend robbed a liquor store.”

  She still didn’t understand how Joanne could be so reckless. The entire trajectory of both their lives changed that night.

  “Unfortunately, the owner had a shotgun behind the counter, and he fired off a shot, killing the best friend. Her boyfriend killed the owner, ratcheting up the charges to felony murder.”

  Byron nodded. “And since your mother was involved in the heist, the death was on her too.”

  It didn’t seem fair. Joanne hadn’t planned the attack and hadn’t shot anyone, but she was guilty in the eyes of the law.

  “Her boyfriend agreed to cooperate with Talbot on another case, a higher profile robbery he’d been involved in, and copped a plea deal, leaving Joanne responsible for two murders.”

  “Only an asshole sells out his woman to save himself.”

  “That’s one way to put it. Poor Joanne didn’t stand a chance with the eyewitness testimony and the evidence. They were apprehended right after the heist, running a red light—with the cash in the truck and blood on the boyfriend’s clothes. Contrary to what Hollywood portrays, most criminals aren’t masterminds. The vast majority slip up some way, especially since DNA analysis came onto the scene.”

  “When did she give you up for adoption?”

  She raised a brow.

  “Dix had trouble gettin’ all the records.”

  “My father did his best to protect my privacy.” She sighed. “Joanne died having me in jail.”

  Jane didn’t have an emotional connection to her mother, but there was a hole in her life just the same. Jed had told her the entire story, and she appreciated the way he’d given her the unvarnished truth.

  “What about your birth father? Was he Joanne’s boyfriend?”

  “Yes, Daniel Graham. He didn’t make it out of prison alive either. Before he could testify on the other robbery case, he was taken out by a member of his old crew.”

  He hissed a breath between his teeth. “Damn, I’m sorry, but it happens a lot in there. My father knew a bent screw who’d take bribes and turn a blind eye when a prisoner wanted to exact a little vengeance on another. Buckley was stabbed by another prisoner too. They took him to the infirmary, and he died before the EMTs got in the door.”

  Both of their fathers had died in prison, and they’d also grown up without a mother. While Jane had known the facts, she hadn’t thought of it as something they had in common.

  “The prison system’s flawed. For example, their health care is a joke.”

  “So I’ve heard. Buckley had a toothache for a month before he could get in to see the dentist. Don’t get me wrong, the man was a bastard, but a backlog to see a dentist is fucked up.”

  “Don’t even get me started. Prisons are schizophrenic.” Jane downed another shot. “Are we trying to reform prisoners or punish them? We need to pick a purpose and stick to it. And if they’ve served their time, why do we continue punishing them when they get out? Haven’t they paid their debt to society?”

  Even thinking about it made her angry.

  “Amen.”

  “I mean, we make it hard for them to settle back into everyday life. They have to disclose their criminal past when finding employment.” Jane balled up a fist. Over the years, she’d given more than one politician an earful. “And, newsflash, when you make it hard to find legitimate jobs, people turn to crime. I’m not saying they shouldn’t background-check someone involved in sensitive jobs like working at a bank, but you shouldn’t have to reveal a felony to work in fast food.”

  Byron whistled. “Damn, I love it when you get all riled up, Legal Eagle.”

  Should I be flattered? Angry? I don’t know. Pet names and endearments were foreign territory. After pondering it a moment, Jane decided she loved the nickname. Legal eagle meant a very astute lawyer, which she was, thank you very much.

  “They broke society’s rules, so I expect it makes most folks cranky. They don’t give a damn about prisoner’s rights.”

  “I care. If my mother had been taken to a real hospital, she might still be alive. As a human being and a citizen, she has rights, even if they were having ‘budget cuts’ at the time.”

  Jane used to fantasize about meeting her birth mother, because she’d always been a mystery. If Joanne had survived, Jane would’ve taken her case on after she finished law school.

  “Is she the reason you became a defense attorney? I always wondered because your daddy’s a federal judge.”

  “Yes, though I have nothing against my father.”

  “He was good to you, then?”

  “Absolutely.” Jed adopting her had been a saving grace. She hated to think what her life might’ve been like without him.

  “Must be nice.” The words held no inflection and his face was a smooth, blank canvas, but she could somehow sense the pain beneath it. Before this situation, she’d written him off as a flashy, playboy mobster. Perhaps she’d been wrong about Byron.

  “You had a bad childhood, didn’t you?”

  “Put it this way, the day Buckley died, I felt like dancin’.” Byron smirked. “I might’ve even done a two-step when I heard the news.”

  “You really hated him.”

  “Yeah.” He didn’t elaborate. “You like bein’ a lawyer?”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “Damn, you noticed.”

  “Of course, I noticed. I earn my living making people answer questions they’d rather not respond to.”

  “Too bad, I ain’t ’fessin’ up. Now, answer me. Do you like it?”

  Jane blew out a breath. “I love the law, but this situation, and something my dad said to me, has got me rethinking it, wondering if I’m practicing law in the right area.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He asked me if the job made me happy. And I realized I don’t know what all this hard work is for. More money? A more prestigious office?” It all seemed empty. “I’d originally thought I’d be helping more people like my mother, but I started working for the firm and took on a wealthier c
lientele.” She still did pro bono work, but not as often as she’d like. “Jed said I needed to find my passion. He doesn’t think I’m living up to my potential.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think he’s probably right.”

  “You help people.”

  “For a price. I love protecting people from the state. The government is powerful. The state can do anything to a citizen—kill them, take their property, deny their rights. The way I see it, I’m a knight, a champion for the people. I stand up for John Q. Public.” Jane hiccupped. She was very, very drunk. “The prosecutor in a case might represent ‘the people,' but it’s a bunch of hooey. They defend the state. I advocate for the people—well, a person, anyway. The way I see it, I stand up against tyranny.”

  He studied her a minute. “Sounds like you want a higher purpose.”

  “And what about you? What do you want?”

  “The usual—ill-gotten gains, notoriety.” His smile was smug, but she wasn’t buying it. She wondered if he was uncomfortable talking about himself.

  “You’re from a famous family, and you’ve got a massive fortune you wouldn’t be able to spend in this lifetime. Yet you’re still murdering people. Don’t you want…more?”

  Byron watched her with glittering eyes. “Once you’re in the outfit, you’re in for life. Ain’t got a choice in the matter anymore.”

  “And would you choose differently, if you could?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “It’s all I’ve ever known. You’ve heard the old song, right? Can’t always get what you want. Or maybe it should be, you can’t get what you don’t deserve.”

  “What are you driving at?”

  “Never mind.”

  “I know what you want.”

  “Do you?” He waggled his brows.

  “Not that. You want power.”

  His seductive façade dropped.

  That’s how Jane knew she’d gotten it right. “You want Tucker’s position.”

  Byron had been slowly moving up the ranks, and the natural progression would be to take his position, become the head of the organization.

  “More like freedom. I don’t want to answer to anyone. I want to live on my own terms, by my own rules.” He cleared his throat. “And we’re done talkin’ about it. “