“See? You’re a gentleman. As well as a man of ethics. Which is why I trust you will take not only my client’s cooperation but also her victim status into consideration.”
“Is there some reason you’re buttering me up?”
“I’m only looking out for the best interests of Ms. Montgomery.”
“By treating me like a fresh dinner roll.”
Ainsley smiled. “It must be very, very difficult for you.”
“Being mistaken for a carbohydrate?”
“Being attracted to a woman who is a principal figure in an investigation.”
He stopped so suddenly that she bumped into him. “You know,” he said slowly. “I’m getting pretty damn tired of people suggesting that I have so little control over my dick that it interferes with me doing my damn job.”
Ainsley pursed her lips. “I didn’t say anything about your dick. And, speaking from personal experience only, I don’t recall you having any control issues with that particular appendage.”
“I’m not going to talk to you about my dick. I’m not going to talk to you about Jillian. And I’m for damn sure not going to talk to you about an ongoing investigation.”
“Jesse, wait. Will you just wait, damn you?” she said as she grabbed his arm to bring him around. She studied his face, her dark eyes growing serious. “This is more than just a simple attraction, isn’t it? No, don’t answer. I know you can’t.” She blew out a breath that sent one long strand of dark hair flying upward.
And then she squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry. I chased after you mostly because I wanted to give you a hard time, because I could tell that you were pissed off at the situation. And that was at least in part, I surmised, from the tension I sensed between the two of you. But don’t worry,” she told him. “I doubt it would have been obvious to anyone else who was observing. The tension, I mean. Your anger was pretty damn visible. It’s only that I know you so well, particularly when it comes to gaging when you’re sexually attracted to someone. But I didn’t realize… wow,” she said. “You’ve really fallen for her, haven’t you?”
“I have to get to work.”
“Right.” She dropped his arm. Smiled again, like the shark he knew her to be. And then her expression softened. “I hope you will take this in the spirit it’s intended when I say good luck.”
Jesse sighed. Ainsley might be a shark, but every food chain needed its apex predators – and this time he couldn’t fault her choice of client.
“At least she’s in good hands.”
“Why, Jesse Wellington. I do believe that was a compliment. Maybe I should buy a lottery ticket, since it seems to be my lucky day.”
“Bite me.”
“Been there, done that, but under the circumstances, wearing the T-shirt seems a bit tacky.” She smiled again. “I’ll talk to you later, Jesse.” And then she turned and walked away.
Jesse watched after her a moment before walking the short distance to his Jeep. Jesus. Talk about being the eye at the center of a storm. His brother was the ADA. His ex-girlfriend was the defense counsel. And his…
What? he considered as he pulled into traffic, heading toward East Henry. What exactly was Jillian to him? Nothing, really. An acquaintance. An acquaintance with whom he’d shared some conversation. And an earth-shattering kiss.
And that was bullshit. He’d been more honest with her yesterday morning than he was being with himself right now. She might not technically be anything to him, but he was flat out lying if he didn’t admit that she had the potential to mean… a lot. A whole hell of a lot.
Everything.
His hands tightened on the wheel while he waited at a red light, and the reality of that set in. He must have sensed it the first time he laid eyes on her. That damn click. And then he’d been stupid enough to spend more time with her than was wise, given the situation. Stupid enough to put his hands on her. To taste her.
And now he knew that one taste was never going to be enough.
If he couldn’t find any evidence that she’d been drugged, she faced some serious charges. Charges that could possibly see her doing a little time. The thought of it made him sick. Seeing her in that orange jumpsuit – looking pale and exhausted and frightened – was an image that unfortunately would remain burned into his brain.
The purely analytical part of that brain wondered why he was so convinced she hadn’t taken any drug voluntarily. Was he, in fact, allowing his dick – or his emotions – to cloud his judgment?
Maybe, he admitted. Maybe a little. Which meant that he was going to have to keep his distance from her until this case was resolved, one way or the other.
But setting his personal feelings aside and looking at it logically, it didn’t make sense for Jillian to have done what she was accused of doing. Especially with no prior history of use. No evidence of drugs or paraphernalia in her possession. Goode had tried to make an issue of the envelope of cash found in her purse, but Jesse confirmed it with the mother of the bride that she’d given it to Jillian as a tip. He’d hated doing it, as there were potential professional ramifications involved in questioning her clients, but it was better than allowing the cash to be used against her as more evidence that she was involved with illegal narcotics. That she carried around envelopes of cash with which to make her buys.
When he reached East Henry he parked around behind Jillian’s townhouse, knocked on the back door, where Brian let him in.
The other man looked haggard.
“How is she?”
“Well, she looks better than you,” Jesse answered as he walked past him, into the kitchen. The spotless, almost militantly organized space he recalled from before was a total mess. “Holy shit.”
Brian’s lips thinned. “I sent Katie over to Davis’s house so she could get some sleep before trying to put this place back together. I’ve been working on the other rooms, but she doesn’t want me to touch the kitchen or Jillian’s studio.”
Jesse glanced up sharply. “They trashed her studio, too?”
“Nothing’s broken that I can see, but Jillian is going to have to look it over. It was tossed pretty good.”
Jesse shook his head in disgust. “This wasn’t necessary.”
“No, it wasn’t. This was some assholes with attitude taking advantage of the opportunity to exact a little revenge on the woman who’d done one of their own wrong. Or two of their own, if you believe Jillian had anything to do with Gannon. Which some of them do. And I wasn’t around to discourage them from going well beyond the parameters of looking for drugs into malicious destruction, so they had some fun. Luckily they didn’t break anything – at least not that I’ve noticed so far. The door was open, so they didn’t have to bust it down. And since they didn’t have a warrant covering the electronics, they left the computers alone. I was afraid they would have taken them. I guess they knew that if they went too far, they’d have not only me to deal with but a lawsuit on their hands.”
Jesse ran his hand through his hair. “So much for professionalism.”
“There are some excellent cops in the SCMPD, but unfortunately Jillian has gotten on the wrong side of a number of those who aren’t so excellent. I’m relieved to hear that she’s okay. I was worried as hell about her.”
So was Jesse. He still was. “She looks a little worse for wear, but if she’d been seriously mistreated, Ainsley would have been raising hell.”
“Ainsley?” Brian raised his brows. “As in your ex?”
“Jillian retained her. She consulted with her the other day, and Katie called her early this morning.”
Brian huffed out a laugh. “Well, that had to have been interesting. I’m sorry I missed it. So what is it we’re looking for?”
“In the absence of evidence to the contrary – which we won’t have until we get back the results of the RIA tests – I’m operating as if Jillian did in fact have some sort of hallucinogen in her system. The descriptions from the paramedics, the cops on the scene and the doctor who checked
her over were all consistent with someone who was either tripping or experiencing a psychotic episode of some sort. I called the manager of the venue for the wedding and checked with the local emergency rooms, and no one else reported any similar symptoms, which rules out the bad mushrooms Jillian floated as a possibility.”
“Bad mushrooms?’
“The appetizer she ate. She suggested perhaps they were of the magic variety.”
“That’s one way to make a wedding more interesting. But since that wasn’t the case, I guess you have an idea for how else she could have ingested a psychedelic without knowing.”
“She said a waiter offered her a glass of champagne, and she consumed half of it before leaving. That much checked out with the urinalysis. She apparently also ate a wrapped mint, offered to her by a male guest. I sent Bristol over to the Gingerbread House with Detective Goode to get a name for the waiter and see if there’s a chance the glass was still sitting where she’d left it and hadn’t been run through the dishwasher yet. I’m not holding my breath, though.”
“Goode? What happened to Axelrod?”
“Let’s just say that his lieutenant thought it might be a good idea for him to take some time off to pull himself together. So I’ve got Goode and Portman for now. Speaking of which,” Jesse said when the front doorbell rang “that’s probably Portman right now. Mateyo suggested that we mix up the teams to help promote better inter-agency relations. Yeah,” Jesse said when he read Brian’s expression of disgust. “That was pretty much my reaction as well.”
“I guess we can’t just pretend she’s a Jehovah’s Witness and wait for her to give up and leave.”
“Better not.”
With a sigh, Brian headed toward the front door, with Jesse at his heels. It wasn’t that Brian – or Jesse – had anything against the detective personally. It was just that they had… divided loyalties, you could say, when it came to this case. Although Jesse was trying his hardest to keep his loyalty to his oath and to the truth uppermost in his mind.
Brian opened the door, greeted Detective Portman. She stepped into the foyer, and then raised her brows when she saw the state of the parlor.
“Your pals had some fun looking for drugs here last night.”
With tremendous dignity, Portman straightened her spine. “Just because we work for the same police department doesn’t make them my pals, Agent Parker. And it certainly doesn’t mean I approve of them trashing your sister’s house in the process.”
Brian rolled his shoulders. “Sorry. I guess I’m just a little frustrated.”
“I don’t blame you. I heard about Ms. Montgomery’s previous… altercations with certain members of the force. I can’t speak for the actions of others, but I am sorry that there still seem to be some who are more interested in petty revenge than in the fact that the woman in question was the victim of a heinous act perpetrated by those who should have had more honor.”
He stared at her, and then nodded. “I appreciate that.”
“Do you know what happened to Jillian’s purse,” Jesse asked, deciding that it was time to change the subject. “She said she slung it over a barstool last night.”
“Ah, I don’t recall seeing it. But then Katie may have moved it somewhere else after the cops searched it. Maybe Jillian’s room.”
“Lead the way.”
They followed Brian up the stairs, and Jesse gave the wallpaper a glance. “Even without the aid of a hallucinogen, this stuff is pretty loud.”
“My grandmother,” Brian said, shaking his head “had questionable taste. I was glad they left me the beach place, which they didn’t put a lot of money into decorating, meaning it escaped most of her whims. I never could have lived with this shit,” he nodded at the walls “but Katie’s more tolerant.”
There were three bedrooms on the second floor, a generous master suite complete with fireplace and sitting room, and two other bedrooms that shared a bath. Katie used the smallest bedroom for her office, leaving Jillian the larger bedroom at the back.
Jesse had been in dozens of homes over the course of his career, either investigating or making arrests, but he’d never had the itch between his shoulder blades that he experienced now.
He felt… weird. Guilty. Sort of like a peeping tom.
Which was ridiculous, because not only was he doing his job, he was doing this at least partly in order to help Jillian. If his theory was correct, and she had been drugged, finding evidence of it would go a long way toward getting her out from under suspicion. A suspicion that on the basis of the evidence at hand seemed warranted. But sometimes even when puzzle pieces appeared to fit together, the picture they formed just wasn’t quite right.
And the picture of Jillian as a drug abuser involved – at least peripherally – with a Russian organized crime ring wasn’t one that struck him as true.
And he assured himself that that was logic speaking, and not any part of his anatomy.
Jesse stopped at the door to the room, glanced around. It was… tasteful, he guessed would be the best way to describe it. Neutral walls which showed off some of her photographs, simply and beautifully framed. Soft bedding with splashes of color in the pillows.
All of which were currently thrown on the floor, along with most of the contents of her drawers and closet.
The sight of a lacy bra artfully arranged on top of the otherwise barren dresser made his jaw clench. He would bet money that someone put it there intentionally, so that Jillian would be well aware that some of the cops she’d long feared and avoided had had their hands on her most intimate articles of clothing. So that she’d feel violated once again.
Portman made a noise behind him, and Jesse turned to see that she’d noticed it, too.
“Again, it wasn’t my doing, but I feel the need to apologize on behalf of the department. I can promise you, most of us wouldn’t do this sort of thing.”
“There are a few people who’ve been waiting for the opportunity to take Jillian down a peg or two,” Brian said, his face suffused with color. Then he glanced at Portman. “Gannon was one of them.”
She frowned. “You think that the fact that he hung himself – or was hung – using her Christmas lights has something to do with what happened with Mike McGrath?”
“I don’t know,” Brian said. “But that, the dead squirrel in the basket – somebody sure does want Jillian to pay for something. Or they want her under suspicion.”
She murmured something noncommittal, and Jesse unclenched his jaw. “Ms. Montgomery said she carried a small black handbag last night, with a silver chain strap. Let’s see if we can find that in this mess, hopefully with the mint wrapper intact.”
“You really think she was drugged by someone at the reception?” Portman said. “That she was set up?”
“I don’t know. But I do know that something about this whole thing stinks.”
They each took a different area of the room, started picking clothes and bedding and books and whatnot off the floor, laying it on the bed or draping it on the big stuffed chair in the corner. Jesse took the bra off the dresser, refusing to think of it on Jillian’s body. He wasn’t going to contribute to any further violation of her privacy. Not wanting her to realize that the cops had pawed through her undergarments with the intention of upsetting her, he placed any item of lingerie he came across in one of the dresser drawers.
He lifted a T-shirt, found a box which held loose photos, a number of which were scattered on the floor.
There was a picture of Katie in her chef’s get-up standing outside her restaurant on what must have been opening day. Another of Katie, Brian, Jillian and a couple people he didn’t recognize forming a human pyramid on the beach. One of an older woman, her head covered in a scarf, smiling proudly beside Jillian in her high school cap and gown.
“Her aunt,” Brian said from over Jesse’s shoulder. “That was her first bout with cancer. She lost the second one a few years ago.”
“Rough,” Jesse said.
“Yeah, she was the only real family Jillian had, other than a couple of cousins who she doesn’t see much of.”
Jesse glanced at the photos again. It looked to him like Katie and Brian had become her family.
“Ah, that’s her mom and dad,” Brian continued, gesturing to a photo of a couple holding a small girl between them, which from the cloud of reddish-gold hair could only be Jillian. Under it was another photo of an incredibly lovely woman in a… whatever you called those fancy dance costumes. A tutu, he thought. She held her leg at an impossible angle behind her while standing on the toes of the opposite foot. White feathers decorated the red-gold hair she wore pulled into a tight bun.
“Her mother, I presume.”
“Yeah. I guess she told you she was a professional ballet dancer back in Russia.”
She had, and Jesse knew it from reading her file anyway. Jesse studied the young woman – probably no more than twenty – who bore a striking resemblance to her daughter. There was another photo, an infant wrapped up in a blanket, and Jesse wondered if it was Jillian. He flipped it over, saw that the writing on the back was in Russian. But someone had translated it underneath.
Alexei. My heart. Underneath was a date. Jesse frowned, and then did some mental math. This photo was taken about six years before Jillian was born.
“Found it,” Detective Portman called out from the opposite side of the room.
Jesse turned to see her lifting it in the air. He sat the box of photographs back down.
“You have some gloves on you?”
“I do.” Brian pulled some out of his pocket, passed them over.
Jesse pulled on the gloves, took the purse from Detective Portman.
“You said you’re looking for a candy wrapper?” Brian said.
“Mint,” Jesse clarified. “Jillian said she ate one right before she left, maybe stuck the wrapper in her purse. They were in a dish and one of the wedding guests came looking for them, offered her one and then dumped the rest of them in his pocket. Said he didn’t want his wife to know he’d been drinking.”
“Plausible.”
The Southern Comfort Prequel Trilogy Box Set Page 19