by Stacy Green
“Hey.” She pulled a brush out and raked it through her tangled hair. “How’d you sleep?”
“Fine. You?”
An impish smile spread over her face. “Great. Better than I have in a long time.”
“I didn’t expect to hear you say that.”
“Me either.”
He sat down in the desk chair, afraid to get too close. Memories of last night and what they were capable of together clouded his mind. “You’re okay, then?”
“I think so.” She twisted her hair into a loose knot and then fiddled with the frayed strap on her bag. “You think we’re bad people for,” she glanced around the tousled bed, “all this?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“Me either.”
He ran his feet over the hardwood floor. It was smooth and cool–the opposite of what he felt inside. He’d been with women since Lana died. Several, actually. All meaningless, frantic acts of satisfaction. But Jaymee was different, and they both knew it. That understanding passed silently between them more than once last night.
“You’re right,” Jaymee said. “I still have three days. And we need a money trail, right? If we could somehow hack into his accounts and prove there’s money coming in from somewhere it shouldn’t be–”
“It’s not that simple.” Nick sucked in his cheeks to keep from smiling. “Hacking into bank accounts is nearly impossible, unless you’re a pro. And even if we did, it’s not exactly something we could take to the police.”
Jaymee blushed. “Of course. This isn’t television.”
“Profits from his show go straight to Hannah’s House for charity,” Nick said. “That’s public information and something I checked out months ago when I was working on a story. His salary from the church is modest. Yet he lives in one of the wealthiest areas in Jackson. How?”
“He doesn’t come from money,” Jaymee said. “That’s part of his spiel. Neither does his wife.”
“You knew her?”
“Barely. She’s a bit of a recluse. Phobic, I think. Never wanted to come out of the house and always looked like she wanted to bolt at church.”
“Website for his show says she handles the books and public information.”
“From home, I’m sure.” Jaymee chewed on her fingernail. “So why hasn’t anyone else looked at his financials? Even if you didn’t know about his extracurriculars, wouldn’t seeing his fat bank account send up red flags?”
“It did. I tried to investigate, more than once. But some of his biggest allies and advertisers for the show are also major revenue for the paper. Editor shut me down every time.”
Nick glanced out the window. “Shit. Get dressed.”
“What?”
“Cage just pulled up.”
21
Jaymee felt like a busted teenager on prom night. She shrugged into her jean shorts, knowing full well dressing didn’t matter. She still had on her work clothes from yesterday. Cage would never forgive her.
“You going to talk to him?”
She took one look at Nick and knew she couldn’t lie to Cage. Whatever happened between her and Nick, it was time to cut Cage free.
Loud pounding on the door made her jump. Jaymee pulled up the bed covers, sat back down, and nodded to Nick. Soon as he opened the door, Cage strode past him. He might have expected to find her there, but he still stopped short at the sight of her sitting in the middle of Nick’s room, obviously having spent the night. His jaw went slack, and his eyes took on the look of a beaten puppy.
“You are here.”
“I am.”
“All night.”
“Yes.”
Cage flinched from the emotional hit. He stepped toward the bed and then wrinkled his nose, cheeks dotted pink with disgust. The small room probably smelled like sex. She locked eyes with Cage, pleading with him to understand.
He shook his head. “Darren called this morning. Told me what happened. When Mom said you never made it there, I knew you’d come here. She’s upset, by the way.”
“Tell her I’m sorry. I should have called.”
“You should have gone home.”
“You mean to your parents’,” Nick corrected.
Cage bared his teeth. “Whatever.”
“Darren didn’t tell you everything.”
“He said you busted into your parents’ house ranting about Holden being Sarah’s father. He’s worried you’ve gone off the deep end with everything that’s happened.”
Disappointment punched Jaymee in the ribs. “He really doesn’t believe me.”
“Why would he? You’re coming out of left field with this. What are you thinking?”
“Holden’s in town to prove a point, Cage.” Jaymee didn’t care how loud she yelled. “He shows up here after Nick and I go to Jackson–why? Because he wants us to know we’re not going to stop him. That he’s not afraid. He’s still in control, and I’m just the stupid little girl he manipulated.”
“So you go over there and bushwhack him?”
“I wanted him to know he wasn’t getting away with it. He already knew we were on to him.”
“What the hell good did it do?”
Her throat rolled into a ball. She stood up and went to the window. Evaline peeked through the trees standing guard on top of the bluffs. Had Royce Newton helped Sarah’s adoptive father get the job overseas, too? An attorney like him probably had more connections than Holden.
“Wilcher told her Sarah’s adoptive parents are leaving the country in three days,” Nick said. “We’ve got no proof he’s the father, no evidence of an illegal adoption except sealed records. No judge is going to issue a paternity test based on theory, especially when the accused is Holden Wilcher.”
“What about Hannah’s House?” Cage asked. “Or the church? Or his show?”
“Show and the church are clean. Those records are actively reported to the IRS. Hannah’s House is a possibility. Would be pretty stupid, but I can see what I can do.”
“Detective Charles is calling your dad in this morning to question him about Crystal,” Cage said.
Jaymee scowled at the bitter hate rising in her throat. “I’m sure Wilcher will be there as well.”
“At this point, there’s only one thing left for you to do,” Nick said.
“What?” Jaymee wiped her watery eyes and turned to face him. He and Cage stood only feet apart, poised like lions ready to battle for a mate.
“Newton and Ballard aren’t going to rat Wilcher out unless they’re saving their own skins. Detective Charles needs all the information.”
Fear knotted her stomach and embarrassment heated her skin. But it was time to spill her secrets. “Cage, call Detective Charles. Tell him it’s urgent that I speak to him before he questions my father.”
* * *
“You’re sure of this?” Charles’s overpowering red gum peeked out of the corner of his mouth.
“Of who my daughter’s father is?” Jaymee said. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about the idea Holden Wilcher is involved in a baby selling scheme with Royce Newton, your father, and a social worker named Debra. R. Davies. And that he sold your daughter–his own child–to hide his paternity.”
Jaymee, Cage, and Nick sat in Detective Charles’s cramped office. Her hair stuck to her clammy forehead, and her feet wouldn’t stop tapping the floor. Cage sat on her right, leaning as far away from her as possible. He hadn’t spoken to her–even looked at her–since leaving Annabelle’s.
“I’ve already told you the facts,” Jaymee said.
“You’ve told me how people broke the law to look for unsealed adoption records, yes.” Charles glared at Nick. “You got into the state’s records, Samuels. I could bust you for that. Not to mention that evidence won’t hold up in court.” He stretched the last word into three syllables for emphasis and then spit his gum into the trash.
“That’s why you need to get real proof,” Nick said. “Pr
obable cause to search.”
Charles rolled his eyes and huffed. “Tell me how I’m going to do that.”
“There’s another woman.” Jaymee explained about Elaine Andrews. “Lana had proof, and Elaine knows what it is.”
“But she ain’t talking.”
“You don’t believe me.” Jaymee moved to leave, but Nick clasped her arm, pinning her to her seat.
Detective Charles rubbed his second chin. “It’s not a matter of believing you. It’s whether or not you’ve given me enough reason to open an investigation. And by the way, this all happened in Jackson. Bit out of my jurisdiction.”
“Two of the three murders happened here,” Cage said. “Don’t tell me you can’t see the connection, Detective.”
“Between Rebecca Newton and Crystal Harns? Yeah, I do. Ballard. Newton. I just can’t decide who’s got more motive. That’s why I’m talking to them both today. And what about L.J. Clark, Newton’s old partner?” Charles said. “Surely you’ve spoken to him.”
“Friday,” Nick said. “In Jackson.”
“Funny how it took a neighbor corroborating my story about the cat for you to listen to me,” Jaymee said.
Charles looked down. “Sorry, Jaymee. I shouldn’t have blamed you for going after your father. He’s a bastard, and we all know it.”
“If he’s a killer, he’s not doing it out of pride. That’s not enough to justify it,” she said. “He’s doing it to protect Holden and the social status he gets from being close to him.”
“You may be right. But you don’t have the evidence to back it up.” Charles glared in the direction of the interrogation room. “Not yet, anyway. If Paul Ballard knows anything about it, I’ll get it out of him.”
“That’s all we’re asking,” Cage said. “Keep an open mind.”
“You all find me something more concrete, like this evidence Lana supposedly had, or get Elaine Andrews to talk, and I’ll do whatever I can to nail Wilcher and his boys to the wall.”
He stood up and hiked his trousers over his stomach. “You told your Jackson police any of this?”
“I spoke to Sergeant Kees earlier,” Nick said. “She’s still working on the note. Also trying to track down Debra R. Davies.”
“You’re dad’s going to be here any minute,” Charles said. “You all want to go out the back way?”
Jaymee stood. “No. I want that bastard to have to face me.”
“Good girl,” Charles said. “And for what it’s worth, I do believe you, Jaymee.”
“Thank you.” She followed Nick and Cage out of the room, down the hall, and into the vast lobby.
Jaymee felt the evil before she saw his face. Gooseflesh burst out on her arms and lead settled into her veins. Nick’s hand pressed hard against her back.
“Well, well.” Her father’s steely, condescending voice echoed through the station’s entry. Standing next to him, dressed casually in jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, was Holden Wilcher. He started at the sight of Jaymee, but his fancy sunglasses hid most of his reaction.
“Nick Samuels, I believe.” Paul continued to run his mouth. “And Cage Foster. Both of ya’ll with my good-for-nothing daughter.” He let loose a callous laugh. “I always knew Cage drooled over her like she was a dog in heat, but you, Samuels? From Lana to this? You slumming now?”
Nick and Cage both shot forward. Jaymee grabbed their arms and was dragged into the fray.
Holden stepped in front of Paul. “Now boys. Let’s not fight. Paul’s just blowing off.”
“About his own daughter,” Nick snapped. Standing toe to toe with Holden, he had a good inch and twenty pounds of muscle over the older man. Jaymee prayed he didn’t attack. Nick ending up in jail wouldn’t help bring Holden down.
Holden stepped back and relaxed his pose, playing the part of genteel southern man as always. “Well, thanks to you, Samuels, her pretty little head is filled with terrible ideas.”
“You’re blaming me?”
“I know you’ve had some sort of vendetta against me for years. First looking into the church’s money and then the show’s financials. You’re so sure I’m up to no good.”
“Because you are. My wife knew it. I should have listened to her.”
“Grief.” Holden clucked sympathetically. “It can make a person cling to many false notions. I’d be glad to counsel you if you need it.”
“You and my daughter deserve each other,” Paul said. “Both of you spouting such venomous lies about a good man of the cloth.”
“So you don’t care he committed statutory rape?” Jaymee’s words rendered the busy station absolutely still. Heads that had been down pretending to work raised up.
Holden gritted a smile. “We aren’t going to get into this nonsense again, are we?”
“Girl,” Paul pointed a shaking finger at her. “I told you last night, you’d better shut that mouth.”
“Enough.” Detective Charles came around the corner and pulled Nick and Cage back. “Ballard. Brought some different moral support today? Where’s Penn Gereau?”
“In some sort of pity session with Royce Newton.”
“Paul, let’s be calm.” Holden’s chest puffed into his preacher pose. “I’ve come to support my closest friend, Detective Charles.” His voice carried so that every set of ears caught his words. “He’s frustrated with the accusations made of him by his estranged daughter.”
“She’s not the only one making ‘em,” Charles said. “Rebecca told a neighbor about the argument with Paul Ballard. Then she and a neighbor found their stray cat strung up.”
“You don’t seriously believe that, do you?” Condescension dripped from Wilcher’s words.
“You a lawyer, Reverend?”
“No, just a concerned friend.” His cold eyes found Jaymee’s. “Before you go believing her tales, understand she’s unstable. She showed up at the Ballard home last night and pulled a knife on me.”
Jaymee swayed.
The knife.
Her father smirked while Holden looked on with well-honed pity.
“That true?” Charles asked.
Somehow, Jaymee found her voice. She’d come too far to wither to the ground. “Yes. I brought a weapon. For my own protection. After all, Paul’s being investigated for murder. And Reverend Wilcher refuses to acknowledge he fathered my child seven years ago. Who knows how far he’s willing to go to protect his manufactured reputation?”
Gasps from the peanut galley. No one bothered to feign work. Jaymee thought idly that her life would make a great story for a trashy daytime talk show.
Holden recovered quickly. “See? Unstable. I did everything I could for this girl and her brother, and this is the thanks she gives? Jaymee was like a daughter to me.”
“Until I grew up.”
“Jaymee, you stay away from Reverend Wilcher and your family,” Detective Charles said. “Let me handle things.”
She stalked out of the station, tossing one last glare at Holden and her father. Holden believed he was invincible. And maybe he was. He was smart and calculating. He’d probably covered his tracks well enough to stroll away unscathed when his pyramid fell, letting someone else take the blame.
“Rat bastard.” Nick’s hand caressed the back of her neck, strong and soothing. “You all right?”
She nodded.
He stepped in front of her and grasped her shoulders. “It’s okay if you’re not. You don’t always have to be strong.”
“I’m not strong at all.”
“You are.” He licked his lips, his gaze flickering to her mouth. Hands against his chest, she pressed up on her tiptoes.
“Jaymee.”
Cage’s hard voice came from somewhere behind her. She sank back down to her heels.
“We need to talk. Privately.”
Nick released her, leaving her skin cold and wanting. “You should talk to him.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Got a text from Gereau a few minutes ago,” Nick said.
“He’s heading to Evaline for a counseling session with Royce. I think I’ll drop in and surprise the mourning widower.”
“Be careful.”
“You, too. You work the same shift today?”
“Like clockwork. Comes with seniority.”
“I’ll stop by when I can.”
She waited to face Cage until Nick pulled away. Expecting anger, she faltered when she saw the raw pain in his eyes. “Cage.”
“Morning’s not too miserably hot. I’ll walk you to work.” He strode beside her, long legs covering twice the ground she could.
“Slow down. I thought you wanted to talk.”
They turned the corner into the shade of canopied shops. “Looks like it doesn’t matter what I say. You already made your choice.”
“Choice? That implies there was a second option.”
He stopped. A passerby muttered in irritation and scurried around them.
“You could’ve said no.”
“What makes you think he did the asking?”
The color drained from Cage’s face. He jerked, bending at the waist as though she’d dropped the hammer.
“What about Lana? What about…” He straightened, breathing hard. “What about me?”
“Cage, we’ve talked about this. Many times.”
“You always said you weren’t ready for a serious relationship. That you didn’t want to have to let someone into your life and drop your guard.”
“Who says I have now?”
“It’s pretty obvious, Jay.” His voice broke.
She reached for his arm. He pulled away. “I’m sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen.”
“I hope not. Do you think my sister–”
“Lana’s gone. Not resting in peace yet, but she’s not here. I’d like to think she’d want Nick to be happy. That she’d want me to be happy.”
“With each other?”
“Stop. Stop hiding behind her as an excuse. This is about me not being with you.”
“All these years, Jaymee.”
“We’ve been friends. Nothing more.” She started walking again. Thankfully, he followed. “But I’ve been unfair to you. I’ve known how you feel. I should have let you go, quit leaning on you so hard. I was selfish, and I’m sorry.”