Blood in the Water (Dixie Mafia Series Book 2)

by Cynthia Rayne

  Georgia was only twenty-seven years old. She had her whole life ahead of her—but it was gone, snuffed out in an instant. She’d never see her thirtieth birthday—never become a full-fledged lawyer.

  Never see Brady grow up.

  Oh, God. Brady.

  “Brady!”

  She’d been too stunned by the sight of her best friend’s body to wrap her head around the full implications of this crime. The blood roared in her ears. And for a hazy second, Jane thought she might be losing her mind.

  “Oh, fuck.” Byron pulled his weapon once more. “I didn’t think…shit.”

  Why isn’t she crying? Where is she? What if Valentine…?

  “Brady, honey, where are you?” Jane raced further down the hall.

  “Let me go in first.” Byron pulled out his gun.

  “Forget it.” Grasping the doorknob, she started to turn it, but Byron grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back.

  “You don’t know what might be in there.”

  Like Brady’s body?

  “Get out of my way.”

  “No, you might see something you can’t un-see. Trust me, you don’t wanna remember her like that.”

  “What about you?”

  His features smoothed into an inscrutable mask. Jane wondered how long it’d taken him to build those kind of defenses, and she envied his composure. She felt like a raw, gaping wound.

  “I can handle whatever’s in there.”

  Jane nodded sharply, and he threw open the door. Shivering, Jane waited outside until he checked all four corners and the closet before he motioned her inside.

  On unsteady legs, she walked inside.

  Instead of Brady, there was a pink teddy bear laying on her bed, one ear was stained with blood. A hand-scrawled note hung around its neck suspended by a string, like a noose.

  Jane flipped it over to read it. You and me. Brady makes three. I’ll see you at your place tonight, Jane. Alone. If you call the FBI, she dies. If you bring your mobster boyfriend, she dies. In case you missed it, it’s your life for hers—I’ll be in touch.

  She crumpled to her knees. “Oh, God, he has her.”

  “I’ve had fuckin’ enough of this bastard.” Byron paced, clearly having a meltdown of his own.

  “Get in line.”

  “What kind of sick, twisted son of a bitch snatches a child?”

  “No clue.” She couldn’t begin to fathom what went on in the dark recesses of Oscar Valentine’s twisted head.

  Jane felt jumpy, jittery from the adrenaline pumping through her veins. The monster had Brady. He’d murdered her mother and then kidnapped her—if he hadn’t killed Brady already.

  The crime scene photos played on an infinite loop in her head. What if he was hurting her? Torturing her? Molesting her? She was a sweet, innocent little girl.

  Jane couldn’t bear it. She tugged at the necklace around her throat, but it didn’t soothe her. One of those rages was bubbling up. Her plan had failed miserably. Georgia and Brady had paid in blood for her failure.

  She wanted to hit something. No, she wanted to beat the hell out of someone—Valentine—with a baseball bat. She envisioned stringing him up and pummeling him to death like a piñata at a party. It’s what he deserved—a violent, brutal death, the kind he put his victims through.

  She slammed her fists against the carpet, but it didn’t quell the pain and rage inside.

  “Okay, we gotta think about this.” He stopped moving. “Jane, I know you’re hurtin’, but you gotta pull it together.” His voice was low and urgent, bringing her back to reality. “If we’re gonna save her, we need to be cool and calm.”

  She forced the images from her mind—lingering on them would drive her insane.

  “We have to call the FBI.” This was far beyond her capabilities.

  “Fuck that—you read the note. We gotta handle this in-house, Jane. Brady’s valuable to him.”

  “What do you mean?” She couldn’t think straight. Her head was buzzing, she felt like throwing up.

  “You want her safe and sound, so she’s valuable to him. She’s the bait for the trap.”

  “How do you know all of this?”

  Byron tapped his forehead. “I have insight into the criminal mind, and I know a trap when I see one. He ain’t gonna hurt her.”

  For now. Byron hadn’t said it, but Jane knew it was true.

  “She’s going to grow up without a parent, like us, and it’s all my fault. Only she didn’t even have a father to begin with. Brady’s all alone in this world.”

  “No, she ain’t alone. She’s got you, and for right now, Brady has me.” He ran a hand down his face. “We’ve tried to do this on the straight and narrow, darlin’, but it didn’t work. It’s time to do it my way.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Well, I ain’t talkin’ about puttin’ him in no cell where’s he’s got three squares and a pot to piss in.” Byron rubbed the back of his neck. “I understand if you can’t or won’t be part of this. I’ll take care of it on my own, and your conscience can be clear.”

  Here’s where she should argue, be a champion for the law—an officer of the court. But Jane didn’t have it in her anymore.

  They were out of time and legal options.

  Maybe he didn’t deserve the protections the law provided anyway. There were some crimes a person couldn’t atone for. He had murdered bright young women with their whole lives ahead of them. They never got the chance to achieve their dreams. They’d never fall in love or become mothers. He’d robbed them of their whole lives.

  Valentine had stolen things from Jane as well—her faith in the system and in herself. He’d violently murdered her best friend and may have taken Brady’s life as well.

  “Jane?”

  She glanced up into those heavenly blue eyes and knew what she had to do.

  “I’ll help you.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Hell no. I ain’t pullin’ you down into the muck with me.”

  “I’m already there.” Jane had compromised her ethics, her morals, and she might very well become a murderer tonight. “This is all my fault—if I’d listened to Georgia, paid attention to her concerns. Or even if I’d listened to you at first, we wouldn’t be here right now.” She swallowed down the rest of her guilt. There’d be time for self-flagellation later. “The point is, I’m not taking the easy way out. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a coward.”

  “I never said you were, but you’re a lady and I’m far from a gentleman. This is the sort of thing I do. You don’t want to get mixed up in this.”

  “I’ve made up my mind. You won’t talk me out of it.”

  Byron cursed. “Damnation, you’re bull-headed.”

  “I know, so there’s no point in arguing. You won’t talk me out of this—it’s done.” Making the decision to commit murder should be more difficult, but somehow it wasn’t. Jane didn’t know what to make of that.

  Byron’s breathing was harsh, like he’d run a great distance. The tendons stood out in his neck as he struggled to find words, but all he could do was nod.

  “We need a plan.” Jane pushed her glasses back up her nose and ran a hand through her hair. Decision made, she turned her attention to the details. Slipping into the role of rational professional woman helped her cope with the enormity of the situation.

  Byron leaned against the wall. “If Valentine mysteriously goes missin’, the FBI are gonna be suspicious and sniff around. They could turn both of our lives into a living hell.”

  “Yet, you offered to take care of it earlier.”

  They locked eyes. There was so much he wasn’t saying. Jane sensed it anyway. Maybe because she felt the same way.

  He broke the stare-off, and then the moment was gone.

  They needed to sort out what was going on between the two of them after this was over—assuming they both made it out alive.

  “Just so you know, you’re worth the risk.” He smirked. “And
I’m pretty damn good at my job—there’s a chance they’d never find that fuckin’ body.”

  “No body…no crime.”

  “Exactly. We could arrange an ‘accident.’ I know a fella or two that can tamper with his car, or—”

  The earlier conversation she’d had with her father snapped into her head.

  “No, I say we shoot him.”

  Byron stood there staring at her, as if she’d grown an extra head.

  Jane was a little dumbfounded herself. However, it was the only viable option.

  “Last time I checked, murder was still against the law.”

  “Yes, but self-defense isn’t—I can use the Castle Doctrine. I can kill him, and the state won’t bat an eye.”

  “Fine by me. I got no problem puttin’ him in the ground.” His grip tightened on the gun as though already anticipating shooting Valentine in the head.

  “It can’t be you. Valentine’s coming to my house tonight, and I’m the one who’ll have to stand her ground. Besides, you’ve been interviewed by law enforcement more times than I can count. Since you’ve got ties to the Dixie Mafia, once you admit to a shooting, the full force of the FBI would be after you. It has to be me.”

  “I get your logic, darlin’, but I still don’t want it to be you.”

  “Too bad.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Assuming Brady’s still alive, she can tell the police what she witnessed—which will lead them to this crime scene. With the other suspected murders, and my own eye-witness account—this will be an open and shut case.”

  He shook his head. “There has to be another way. I don’t want to make you into a killer, like me.”

  “You aren’t. In case you missed it, this is my plan, so get on board.” Jane wasn’t backing down, so he’d better get used to the idea.

  “Let’s compromise.” Byron’s slick smile was all charm. “We’ll both lie in wait for this asshat, and I’ll shoot him, then you can claim responsibility. I’ll haul ass before you call the cops.” He spread his hands. “Whatcha think?”

  “And risk Brady’s life? No.” Nothing was more important than saving her.

  “I ain’t lettin’ you face this piece of shit by yourself.”

  “Yes, you are, there’s no other way.” Jane didn’t want to be alone with Valentine either. “When you think about it, this is my karma. I made this mess, so I should be the one who cleans it up.”

  “And what if he kills you?” Byron pulled her into his arms and placed his hands on either side of her face.

  “He won’t.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “You’re right, but I’m being optimistic. Please, I need you to believe in me. I have to handle this on my own.”

  Byron opened his mouth, snapped it shut, and then squared his shoulders. “Do you think you can handle it?”

  “Yes. Besides, it's poetic justice in a way—Valentine’s been killing women, so it’s only fair one of us ends this.” Jane was psyching herself up for the coming ordeal. “Promise me you’ll go along with it—no mobster tricks.”

  “For the record, I think this is a fuckin’ insane idea.”

  Jane let out a hysterical giggle. “Tell me about it.”

  “Okay then. I’ll let you face the dickhead by yourself, but I’m only doin’ it because you asked me to.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “Let’s talk business then, darlin’. Do you need a gun?”

  “No, my father bought me one a few years back, so it won’t arouse suspicion.” Jane was already preparing for the FBI interview. Her father could authenticate the weapon. The FBI wouldn’t dare dispute a federal judge.

  “Fuck, this is really happenin’.”

  “Looks like. We’ll go to my place, and you can walk me through a strategy. I also need you to give me a refresher course on the gun—it’s been a while since I used it.”

  “If the bastard gets you, I’ll hunt his ass down and make him pay in blood.”

  The ferocious promise made her feel better.

  ***

  Hours later, a rush of wind outside stirred tree branches, scraping them against the window.

  Jane jumped.

  She stood in the living room, arms wrapped around herself to keep her body in its own skin. Adrenaline thrummed through her arms and legs causing them to quiver with unspent energy. Waiting for a serial killer to come kill her was an agonizing experience.

  At least she knew Valentine was coming. His victims had no warning.

  The apartment was still—it was nearly midnight and the hours had crawled by. She’d received another email from Valentine, indicating when he’d come to her house to make the exchange. He’d reiterated his threats about killing Brady if she involved the feds or Byron.

  Her pistol was tucked away in the bathroom, waiting for the right moment. And she knew Valentine would take her in there, so he could drown her and slice her veins open.

  Don’t think about it, focus on the plan.

  She replayed the afternoon in her mind. After Vick had swept the place for video cameras again, they’d gone to work. Byron had walked her through several scenarios, and gave her a quick rundown on several tactics she could take with Valentine. She chose the one which felt the most natural. Then they’d moved on to munitions.

  Byron was a good instructor, and she’d been able to hit the bullseye on the target after a couple of hours’ practice. Of course, that was nothing like hitting a real, flesh and blood, human being.

  He told her the self-preservation instinct would take over, and she’d be able to take the shot when the time came.

  Jane prayed he was right.

  A scrape of metal, a key turning in the lock.

  Valentine.

  The intrusive bastard had a key to her house—of course, he did—he’d invaded every area of her life. The door screaked open, and there he stood in the meager moonlight, dressed in jeans and a black hoodie. It was pulled low over his face like a shroud. He looked like the Grim Reaper, death himself come to claim her.

  “Hello, Jane.”

  “Oscar.” Her tone was short and clipped. “Why don’t you come inside?” One step over the threshold and she could legally blow him away.

  The thought almost made her giddy.

  “All in good time.” A smile bowed his lips. “Is the mobster here?” He peered over her shoulder.

  “I kept my word, it’s just you and me.”

  “You’ll forgive me, if I don’t trust you.”

  Standing next to him was Brady, her small hand enveloped in his. She was in pigtails and a white organza dress. Jane remembered it from last Easter. They’d gone on a community egg hunt together and had a picnic afterward. The memory felt foreign, a relic of a long time ago.

  The bastard must’ve dressed her since she would’ve been wearing pajamas last night.

  Tears filled Brady’s eyes, causing them to well. “A-aunt Jane.” She stepped closer, and Valentine squeezed her hand so hard, Brady gasped in pain. “Stop. You’re hurting me.” Brady tugged at his arm, trying to twist free.

  “Let her go!” Jane’s fists clenched.

  “Why would I let go of such a good bargaining chip?” He swept the girl up in his arms and kissed her cheek, eyes on Jane all the while, taunting her.

  Jane wished she’d tucked the gun into the back pocket of her trousers. She imagined the cold steel in her hands, how good it’d feel to watch the bullets pierce him—to make him afraid the way he’d terrorized those women. For once, she wanted to wield power over him—to finish this, but she couldn’t.

  Not yet.

  If she tried something now with Brady in the mix, they’d all die here today. Jane had to lull him into a false sense of security. Let him think he’d won.

  Valentine stepped over the threshold, then closed and locked the door behind himself. He set Brady on her feet once more.

  The scene was set. One of them wouldn’t be making it out of this apartment alive.

&nb
sp; “It’s okay, honey. I’m here.” Jane knelt, so she was eye-level with Brady. She did her very best to appear reassuring.

  “He hurt my mommy.” The words came out in a pained whisper.

  Her heart twisted. “I know. I’m so sorry. Did he hurt you? Touch you?”

  She shook her head.

  “I don’t molest children.”

  “You don’t deserve the benefit of the doubt.” Jane didn’t bother looking up when she spoke to him.

  “Stop fussing over her and pay attention to me.”

  Jane stayed right where she was, but she lifted her head to glare at him.

  If looks alone could kill.

  “I’m sorry, did I question your honor? You’re only a killer, then? How noble.” Her temper got the better of her.

  Brady would never again be the same carefree little girl. He might not have molested her, but he’d still stolen her innocence all the same.

  “Yes, and you’re going to find out firsthand tonight.”

  She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing her fear. As a sadist, he thrived on it, drank it in.

  “I have your word you won’t harm her? It’s my life for hers, right?”

  “Aunt Jane, please—”

  “Shh, Brady, it’s okay.”

  “Like I said, I don’t hurt children. She hasn’t grown into a faithless whore—yet, so Brady hasn’t earned any punishment.”

  Jane winced. “I don’t want her to hear any more of this.” On the coffee table, she’d laid out her tablet and a pair of earbuds—along with her cell phone, as a show of good faith. “Brady can stay in the spare bedroom and watch Tangled.”

  “No, the closet. I searched it yesterday before you got home.” He nodded to the coat closet by the door.

  Jane didn’t want to shut Brady in the tiny, cramped space, but she had to get the girl away from him. She’d gone through more than enough trauma in the past few hours.

  “Fine.” Jane took Brady by the shoulders. “I want you to watch Tangled while I talk to him, okay?”

  “No, please, I don’t want to leave you.”

  “I know. Tell you what, you can start the movie without me and we’ll finish it together.”

  After some hesitation, Brady nodded.