Blood in the Water (Dixie Mafia Series Book 2)

by Cynthia Rayne

  “Come on, let’s go to the Love Nest.” Byron held the door for Jane, who rolled her eyes.

  With any luck, he’d get them adjoining rooms and make his move tonight.

  ***

  With a name like the Love Nest, Byron had expected something tawdry.

  He’d passed through town before, but he hadn’t taken the ten cent tour. The hotel was in a historical building, probably built in the late 1800s. Not as nice as Beauregard Manor, but not shabby either. It certainly didn’t look like a no-tell motel where lovers could have a quickie on the lunch hour.

  “Hello, young lovers. Welcome to the Love Nest.” A young woman standing behind the front desk called out the greeting as they entered, but the smile froze on her face and was replaced by a reserved expression.

  Evidently, his reputation had yet again proceeded him.

  “We need two rooms.” Jane walked right up to the desk. With a frown, she pushed aside a gardenia topiary shaped like a heart so she could place her briefcase on the desk.

  “Do you have a reservation?” The woman crossed her arms over her chest. The look she gave Jane was even frostier than the one she’d given him.

  “You must be Juliet.” Byron headed over to the desk.

  She sure didn’t live up to her namesake. The girl was a slip of a thing—maybe 5’1” with long hair which came down to her ass. It was twisted into a colorful assortment of braids. He didn’t even know they made dayglow orange hair dye. He figured she was in her twenties. Her black shirt read Bitchin’, and she wore a tartan skirt and knee socks.

  Hmm. Somebody’s rebelling.

  He recognized the signs easily. His own brothers and sister had gone through similar phases.

  “We don’t have a reservation, which is why I asked for two rooms, instead of giving you our names,” Jane said this with a smile. Not realizing it was rude.

  “On Dearest Day?” Juliet lips thinned, making her lip piercing wobble. “We book months in advance.”

  “So that’s a no?” Byron smiled.

  Juliet glared. “We got one room, but not for you.”

  “Only one?” From the look on Jane’s face, Juliet might’ve just announced the Supreme Court had disbanded.

  “Look, if this is about Romeo, he ain’t here.”

  “It’s water under the old bridge, darlin’.”

  “For you maybe. The last time you were in town, you broke Romeo’s jaw.” She pointed an accusatory finger.

  “Couldn’t be helped.” The asshole had it coming, as he recalled. If Byron hadn’t been in a generous mood, he might’ve shot the bastard in the leg instead. At least a jaw mended, and he wouldn’t have a limp.

  “Look, I’ve seen Scorch and we’re copacetic, so how about you lose the attitude and give us a room?”

  “Fine, but I’d be gone before he gets back if I were you.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement. How much?”

  “It’s two-fifty a night.”

  “For this place?”

  Byron shot a cursory glance around the room to take in all the kitsch. The brick fireplace was decked out with pink and red Xs and Os on the mantelpiece. Not to mention the wall of pink Post-its affixed behind her, arranged into a heart. Even the adjoining eatery, visible through the arched entryway was a horror—hurricane lights filled with conversation hearts, red plates, and doilies everywhere.

  “If you don’t like it, sleep in the street for all I care. I live upstairs, and I got a roof over my head tonight, with or without your business.”

  So much for customer service.

  Byron wouldn’t put up with disrespect from another man, but he found feisty women amusing. Maybe because his mother had always been so beat-down. She’d had the fight smacked out of her on a nightly basis.

  He deliberately shook off the dark thoughts.

  “Out of curiosity, do you rent blankets for sidewalk camp-outs, darlin’?”

  Her lips curled into a hint of a smile. “It’s the bridal suite, which is why it’s so pricey.”

  A romantic room for two? Sounded like the perfect venue for a seduction.

  “Why didn’t you say so?” He slipped her his black Amex.

  “I’ll pay half.” Jane pulled out her wallet.

  “Keep your money. I got this.” Byron could afford it. “Just out of curiosity, why’s the bridal suite open on Dearest Day?”

  “The Knopf weddin’ got called off.” Juliet tapped on the keyboard and then swiped his card. He noted she wore thick black leather cuffs on either wrist, which was an odd sort of wristband. “The bride was screwin’ her would-be father-in-law.”

  “Scandalous.” Jane shook her head. “I don’t blame the groom for not going through with it.”

  “Funny, you talkin’ about what’s shameful.” Juliet sniffed.

  Jane looked at him askance, and he shrugged. He had no idea what the girl’s beef was with Jane.

  “Do we know each other?” Jane asked.

  “No, and we don’t need to get better acquainted.” Juliet tossed the card back, and he tucked it away. Then she handed him the key.

  He made a mental note to check the bill later in case she tacked on extraneous charges for the hell of it.

  “I’ll have the porter get your bags.” She disappeared for a moment and then a young man in a prospect vest hustled to Byron’s car. Byron unlocked the SUV from the window with his key fob and kept an eye on the biker, just in case the MC decided to give him any “welcome gifts.” Never paid to trust anyone too much.

  As the kid lugged their bags down the hall, Jane followed—slow as molasses on a frosty morning. Be nice if she didn’t act like spending the night in the same room with him was like a trip to the electric chair.

  And what a room it was.

  The four-poster king-sized bed was swathed in gauzy white curtains. A large wicker basket rested at the foot of the bed, and it’d been painted with the words LOVE YOU in red, in case anyone missed the point of the room. There were candles everywhere—in the fireplace, beside the bed, around the rim of the large porcelain tub.

  Byron whistled. “Hot damn, this is the bridal suite. Does it do anythin’ for you?” He glanced at Jane.

  “No.” She scowled. “And you can sleep on the floor.”

  “Nope. We’re sharin’ the bed, it’s plenty big enough for the two of us. And before you ask, I’m takin’ the side nearest the door. Anythin’ comes through it has to go through me first.”

  Jane grimaced.

  “I’ll keep my hands to myself.” He raised his arms and did his level best to appear innocent. No mean feat. “If you want me to, I mean.”

  “I want you to.”

  “Come on, now, Legal Eagle. You promised you’d give me a shot, so you’ve gotta be at least open to the possibility.”

  “Fine.” Jane sagged against the wall.

  “Don’t look so put out.”

  “What’s that smell?” Her nose wrinkled.

  The room was littered with rose petals, which gave the room a sweet, perfumey scent. She gathered them up and tossed them in the brass trash can.

  Byron chuckled.

  “What? I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t want to slip on one of these when they wilt.”

  “Very practical.”

  “And why is the bed by the bath?”

  The tub was situated near the bed. Byron had a vision of taking a bath with Jane, followed by some adventurous sex in the water. He hardened instantly, his body longing to take this relationship further.

  “Guess.”

  Her eyes widened as it occurred to her.

  She flushed. “We should go see the coroner.”

  “I’ve got a better idea.” He crooked a finger. “I want you to kiss me.” She needed to get used to his touch.

  “Kiss you?”

  “You have heard the term before, right? I’ve been wantin’ your mouth for months, and it’s finally time.” Why did everything have to be so difficult? “And I want anoth
er hug. Come here, let me hold you some more, loosen you up a bit.”

  Byron had a feeling Jane was her own worst enemy when it came to relaxing. She was the sort who planned things ten years in advance. He’d bet money she’d never stopped to smell even one rose.

  True, he also had plans and machinations going on behind the scenes, but he made it a point to not only seize the day but enjoy the hell out of it. Probably because every sunrise could be his last. Might as well have a damn good time in the process.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Look, darlin’, I know your very first inclination is to say no, but you gotta get over it, or you won’t ever have any fun.”

  He hated the way Jane instinctively backed away like he was going to pounce on her any moment. Byron wanted to, but it’d get him nowhere with her. Seducing Jane would be a slow and steady operation, and he’d have to use every trick of his trade to get it done.

  “This is part of givin’ me a shot. I want a kiss.”

  “But….”

  “No buts, no excuses, no hedgin’. Do it and see what happens. This is included in the package. I’m a hell of a kisser, but you won’t know it ’til you try me out.”

  Jane folded her arms across her chest. “Can’t we do this after dinner tonight? It’s how dates are supposed to go—dinner followed by a kiss.”

  “We’ve already had dinner together. Stop stallin’.”

  “Fine, but I’m kissing you, not the other way around.”

  Jane licked her lips and took a step forward. She studied his mouth, her countenance fierce, like an Olympic diver about to take the plunge—so serious. If he weren't so intent on pushing her a bit, it would’ve been a hoot.

  She curled her fingers into the lapels of his jacket and pulled his mouth down. Byron obligingly bent over. He kept his movements measured so as not to spook her. He got the sense she was ready to bolt out of the room at any second.

  And then she mashed her mouth against his. It was artless and bewildering. She stood in the circle of his arms, stiff like an unyielding pine board.

  When she was about to run away, he grasped her tight. He slipped an arm around her slim waist. Byron knew she liked a firm touch, so he reeled her in tight. He groaned as her breasts settled against his chest.

  Jane relaxed, so he held her even more snugly, then tried another kiss. She moaned against his mouth, melting against him like warm chocolate. An answering warmth pooled in his belly. Byron devoured her mouth then, tasting her, getting to know her.

  Good Lord, she’s sweet.

  He could kiss her for hours. Foreplay was something he relished—the tease, the push and pull. Jane didn’t know it, but they’d been flirting for months. Squabbling was their foreplay, and every interaction fired his blood.

  When she was limp in his embrace, he pulled back to study her—eyes at half mast, kiss-bruised mouth, short of breath. Oh, yes, she wanted him too, even if she was too damn stubborn to admit it.

  “That was….”

  “Yes?”

  “Extraordinary.” And then she beamed, pretty as a peach.

  “Thought so myself. Now then, you done fightin’ me? As I just demonstrated, we got chemistry. You gonna let go and see what happens?”

  Jane nibbled her lower lip and frowned.

  He could see the struggle going on behind the scenes, knew her brilliant mind was working out all the angles.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” Byron couldn’t contain his grin as he offered his arm. “Come on, partner. Let’s take a trip to the crypt.”

  Chapter Eleven

  I can feel the bacteria swarming on me.

  Over the years, Jane had logged a lot of time in the county morgue as she went over the evidence for her various cases. Given her OCD issues, corpses made her uneasy. Even being in this room made her want to run back to the hotel room and scrub the germs off herself.

  The morgue wasn’t much to look at—pretty standard issue. It was located in the basement of the municipal building—green tile floor, cracked around the edges, a couple of industrial-sized stainless steel sinks. The walls and ceiling were made of white plaster. There was a drain in the center of the room, and the floor dipped, presumably so it could be hosed down. She didn’t like to dwell on what matter of innards and fluids had been swept away down there.

  Two steel autopsy tables were situated near a long table, full of surgical instruments on trays. Fluorescent lights soaked the room in a sickly yellow hue. A body lay on the table nearest the door, covered by a starched white sheet.

  Byron seemed unaffected by the smell of death, hosed down by industrial-strength bleach, or the presence of a sheeted body in the room. She imagined the mobster was no stranger to corpses, though the ones he saw were probably…fresher.

  “You’re gonna let me do most of the talkin’.” Byron checked his reflection on a steel gurney as though making sure he was still handsome.

  All this lying was awkward anyway. “Fine, I’ll go along with it.”

  Minutes later, a diminutive older woman walked into the room, who looked like she was nearing a hundred. She wore blue scrubs and a matching cap. Her gray hair was gathered up in a bun at the base of her neck, and her keen brown eyes were big and bright. Deep wrinkles lined either side of her mouth and wore a path between her gray tufted eyebrows.

  She walked up to Byron, placed the tortoiseshell glasses on the end of her snub nose from the silver chain around her neck, and inspected him like another body on her table.

  “Who the hell are ya and whatcha doin’ here, pretty boy?”

  Her bedside manner suited her vocation.

  “I’m Byron Beauregard, ma’am, and this here’s Jane. You must be Doc Wilkins?”

  “I am. What’s it to ya?”

  He held out his hand to shake hers. After hesitating a second, she shook it, and there must’ve been something disgusting on the doctor’s latex-gloved hand because he grimaced and glanced down at his palm.

  Doc held her hand out to Jane and she shook her head.

  “Don’t make me ask what you want again.”

  “We’re here about the Betsy Spellman case—happened about a decade ago. Remember it?”

  “’Course I do.” She snorted. “Hard to forget. We don’t get many murders in this town, especially such a grisly one. Why do you want to know?” Doc walked to the gurney and grabbed a scalpel from a nearby tray.

  Jane averted her eyes. “I’m doing some research.”

  “Whatever floats your boat.” She shrugged. “It’s a matter of public record anyhow.”

  “What happened?” Jane asked.

  “It was a busy time—Fourth of July weekend, and we had a crap-ton of tourists. Who gets married on a holiday weekend? That’s just rude. Not to mention, three idiots blowed themselves up with fireworks. I’ve never seen such a—”

  “About the murder, ma’am…?” Byron interrupted.

  “Right. The body was found lying on the rocks at the north end of the lake. She’d been stabbed multiple times. Her throat had been slashed, the blood drained out of her body.”

  “Any other particulars?”

  “Oh, yeah, the perp took the time to dress her in a white bathing suit cover-up.”

  It sounded an awful lot like Valentine’s modus operandi, only a quicker, dirtier version. She exchanged a look with Byron. Clearly, he thought the same thing.

  “Any DNA evidence?”

  “Ain’t got the fundin’ for forensics in a county this small, but there was evidence she’d had sexual intercourse—tissue trauma. Couldn’t say whether or not she’d been forced, and the semen was probably washed away by the lake water.” Doc made an incision into the corpse’s belly.

  Jane swayed on her feet and shut her eyes. So much for an easy case. She’d been hoping they’d find some DNA evidence from a cold case and she could tip off the FBI without any fuss.

  “Besides, we already caught the killer.”

  Jane hadn’
t expected that, but then again she hadn’t specified unsolved murders, when she spoke to Skeeter.

  “Who’s in jail for the crime?” Because Jane doubted he’d killed Betsy.

  “It was the Valentines’ handyman, Benjamin Jessup. He’s on death row as we speak. Justice system moves too slow if you ask me. Jessup’s a piece of trash who should’ve been executed sooner. At least it’s all comin’ to an end—his execution date’s set for the end of this month.”

  Byron sighed as though he could read her thoughts. A trip to the federal prison was in the works.

  Now it wasn’t only justice for Valentine’s victims as well as her safety and career on the line.

  An innocent man’s life also hung in the balance.

  ***

  “I got some good news and bad.”

  After they’d finished speaking with the coroner, Jane and Byron went back to the hotel. She sat on the ridiculously white gauzy bed with her laptop open, in the middle of a Skype session with Vick.

  Jane braced herself. “Tell me the bad part first.”

  “First off, Oscar Valentine is a real son of a biscuit. The perv had cameras in every room, and all of them were active from what I can tell.” She wrinkled her nose. “And seriously, who watches people usin’ the potty? Yuck.”

  “I expect he was more interested in bath time.” Byron sat next to her on the bed.

  In all likelihood, he’d been watching her undress for months. Jane closed her eyes and tried to suppress a renewed wave of revulsion.

  “And I hate tellin’ you this, ’cuz you’re normal and you do great work for the outfit, but this wasn’t a live feed.” Vick squinted at the computer screen. “Valentine probably has the digital files.”

  The enormity of the violation sunk in. Those kinds of files could live on the internet forever. She clutched the necklace, running her thumb over the smooth metal.

  “Probably? You don’t know?” Byron leaned closer so his face was clearer in the camera frame.

  “Nope, he bounces the video feeds to a Drop Box kind of deal, only I can’t figure out where yet. He uses a ton of proxy servers, and the IP is pingin’ all over the place.” Vick shook her head. “It’s gonna take me a while to track it down.”