In Another Man’s Bed

by Francis Ray

  “ ’Bye, Dalton.” Iris went to the door and watched Dalton get in his Jeep and pull away.

  Justine caught herself staring after him as well. It was just as well that he was leaving. She was just needy and angry enough to do something foolish. Holding the pastries, she went to the break room to put them away, just as she was going to put Dalton out of her mind.

  Brianna knew her way around a police station. Unfortunately, she’d gained that knowledge in ways that still angered her. More women than she cared to remember had been physically abused by their no-good husbands. The abusers crossed financial, race, and religious lines. A few of the women had turned the tables and ended up in jail. However, this morning she was there to post bail for one of her father’s longtime friends, a client who had been arrested for disorderly conduct.

  Brianna stood on the sidewalk in front of the police station shortly before ten and glanced up at the tall, lanky man in the rumpled, out-of-date suit beside her. A purple tie dangled from the pocket of his coat. The garish colors hurt her eyes. He clenched his tan straw hat between his calloused hands.

  It was difficult to imagine him drunk, trying to strip while dancing on the bar at a local club. It seemed he’d pulled the same stunt for the past three years on the anniversary of the day his wife of fifteen years ran off with the part-time help he’d hired for his plumbing business. The man had helped all right, helped himself to his boss’s wife.

  Harold Hinson was free, and her job, until his trial, was done. More cases were waiting in a five-inch stack on her father’s old maple desk. She needed to review briefs, see clients, prepare for other court cases. Yet for some reason she was reluctant to leave the downcast man with his balding pate and slumped shoulders.

  He looked pitiful and lost. She was a fighter by nature and couldn’t imagine giving up or letting anyone get the best of her. It just wasn’t in her to let the other guy win. Especially someone of the opposite sex.

  Jackson wasn’t the first man to whom she’d given walking papers. She didn’t regret their breakup then or now. It wasn’t necessary to have a man in her life for her to be happy. But she was aware that many people didn’t feel the same way. They wanted, needed to be with someone.

  “Come on, I’ll buy you a coffee,” she told the man.

  He didn’t say anything, just kept his head bowed and followed her across the street to the almost deserted coffee shop. They’d blatantly jaywalked, a time-honored tradition in Charleston.

  Inside the coffee shop the air was cool, the atmosphere reminiscent of the early fifties. There were red-and-white checkered oilcloths on the tables and red imitation leather upholstery for the booths. A Wurlitzer jukebox squatted in the far corner. Except for two men in worn jeans and steeltoed boots hunched over their food at the counter, the place was empty. The breakfast rush was over and it was too early for the lunch crowd.

  Sensing that Mr. Hinson was probably feeling a bit embarrassed, she bypassed the tables in front and chose a booth in the back. It was one thing for your card-playing fishing buddy of over twenty years to know you’d made a fool out of yourself, quite another for his daughter to know.

  Brianna waited until the eager young waitress had taken their orders before saying, “Do you know that single men outnumber women? You, Mr. Hinson, are a hot and sought-after commodity.”

  Not by word or action did he respond. She wondered if he’d heard her. Leaning forward, she tried as unobtrusively as possible to see if he wore a hearing aid. There wasn’t one that she could see, nor had there been one with the personal effects he’d shoved carelessly into his pockets. But then, he could have lost it doing the hoochie coochie on the bar. “Mr. Hinson?”

  “Then why did Cheryl leave me for him?”

  Brianna folded her hands on the Formica table. Tricky question, but she was used to answering them. “Some women don’t know when they have a good thing.” Men either, for that matter, she thought. That slime Andrew was a perfect example.

  Slowly, his head came up. Lines radiated from the corners of his sad brown hound dog eyes. “I loved her.”

  Misery stared back at her. She realized why she was taking time with him. She’d seen the same desolation in Justine’s eyes when she’d rushed to Gaithersburg to be with her. It had been there last night as well.

  With Justine, Brianna treaded lightly because Andrew’s coma had left her in limbo. In Mr. Hinson’s case, it was past time for a reality check. Her father had handled the divorce, and the ex-Mrs. Hinson was now living in the next county in a duplex with the hired help.

  “She didn’t appreciate you. You can keep wallowing in it, making yourself miserable, or put a steel spike in your spine and find a woman who will.”

  His head snapped up, his narrow shoulders went back. “Charles never said anything like that to me.”

  “Your coffee,” the waitress said. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “No, thank you.” Brianna shoved the sugar bowl and little container of cream across the table. “That’s because Daddy is more of a diplomat than I am. Besides, he hasn’t been on the dating scene to know that some lucky woman is just waiting for you.”

  She could see the idea slowly take root in his furrowed brow. She drove the nail home. “That will show your ex a thing or two.”

  “I haven’t heard from her since—since then.” His trembling hands closed around the white mug of steaming coffee. Brianna wondered if it was due to the hangover or to emotions. “I gave her everything. She never had to lift a finger. I hear she’s working at a bank to support them while he drifts from job to job.”

  Brianna didn’t point out that for some women boredom was the eighth deadliest sin. Or was it the lure of hot sex? The hired help had been fifteen years younger, thirty pounds lighter in weight, not to mention in the pockets. Apparently the ex-Mrs. hadn’t minded the exchange.

  Brianna emptied a package of the blue stuff in coffee that she had no intention of drinking. She’d also been in enough coffee shops around police stations to know the food was generally bad, the coffee worse. “What do you think she feels when she hears about your little escapades each year?”

  “Sorry that she hurt me?” Mr. Hinson asked hopefully.

  “Possibly, but what message would you rather send?” she asked thoughtfully, hoping he wouldn’t say that he wanted her to come home. If she hadn’t come back by now, it wasn’t likely that she would.

  “A man with steel in his backbone would want her to know he’s moved on,” he said just as slowly.

  Brianna sat back against the imitation leather seat. “You catch on fast.”

  “Not fast enough to keep my wife from running off.”

  Brianna refrained from pointing out that if she could be lured away, he didn’t need her. When she finally found that special man to marry, a woman could dance naked in his face and he’d choose to come home to his wife. “How fast are you going to catch on this time?”

  He poured a dollop of cream into the coffee, stirred. “My church has a singles bingo tournament every Thursday night, but I never thought about going. Didn’t want to go alone.” His head sank lower between his shoulders. “Everybody knows what happens. People would talk.”

  “So what?” Brianna leaned over the table and pinned him with the kind of look that made witnesses squirm and fellow lawyers on the opposite side uneasy. “You’re there to find a woman lucky and smart enough to know a good man when she sees one.”

  “Will you go with me, and help me find her?”

  Her shoulders snapped back. “What?”

  Down went his head again. “That’s all right. Why should a pretty young woman like you want to go out with a guy like me?”

  Brianna stared at the shiny bald spot, the unsteady hands around the mug. She’d always been a sucker for the underdog. She’d volunteered with legal aid since she’d graduated from law school. “Suppose I go with you, and a woman tries to hit on you. Is that the kind of woman you want?”

  “Suppose no
t.” He glanced away, then back at her. “But at least they’d know that I could get a date.”

  His ex had taken more than their life savings; she’d taken a sledgehammer to his self-respect and manhood. “I’ll meet you there. You had better be sober and cleaned up.”

  His head came up so fast that he should have injured himself. “You will?”

  She arched a brow. “Against my better judgment.”

  Jumping up from the booth, he pulled her to her feet. She lost the indulgent smile when he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her easily off the floor. “Thank you! Thank you!”

  “Harold. Mr. Hinson.” Brianna gasped for breath and pushed against his chest. “You’re squeezing me to death.”

  “That would be a pity.”

  Mr. Hinson stopped squeezing. Brianna stopped pushing. Both stared at Patrick, one long leg crossed over the other as he propped his arm over the back of Brianna’s booth.

  Brianna scrambled out of Mr. Hinson’s hold and straightened her black cropped jacket. “What are you doing here?”

  He grinned. She had to be the most gorgeous no-nonsense woman he’d ever had the pleasure of meeting. He couldn’t believe his luck when he saw her crossing the street. After she’d ditched him last night, he had despaired of seeing her any time soon. He had actually been considering staking out the complex. “Visiting friends at the police station,” he finally answered.

  Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “The police station is across the street.”

  “It is, isn’t it.”

  Her beautiful eyes went lethal. She’d like to get him by the short hairs. His grin broadened. He couldn’t resist, she was such a pleasure to tease, but he could think of other things that they could do to pleasure each other.

  As if she could read his mind, her lips pursed. “This is a private conversation.”

  “And here I thought I was rescuing you.”

  “That will be the day,” she scoffed. “Now leave.”

  Patrick smiled. “I told you why I’m here. What about you?”

  “None—”

  “Helping me,” the man with her said. “She’s my lawyer.”

  Patrick never took his gaze from the fuming Brianna. “You date your clients, Brianna?”

  “That’s also none—”

  “She’s helping me put steel in my spine.” The man, who appeared to be in his middle to late fifties, stood straighter. “You wouldn’t have trouble finding a date, but it’s different for me.”

  “Brianna turned me down flat,” Patrick admitted ruefully. “Twice.”

  “Don’t even think of going for a third,” she warned.

  The older man’s gaze flickered between the two. “That’s not like her. She’s always ready to help people. Her father talks nonstop about how sweet she is and how proud he and his wife are of her. She came back to Charleston to take over his law practice after his heart attack. That’s why she came instead of him.”

  “Mr. Hinson, that’s enough.” Brianna caught her client’s arm.

  “I met her father when he was helping her move in.” Patrick already understood why she couldn’t allow her father to carry the heavy luggage. She was a good daughter. “Nice man.”

  “The best. His office is on First Street.”

  “Mr. Hinson, I said, that’s enough. We should be going.” Brianna tugged on his arm again, but the man didn’t move.

  “If you stay in the same place, you must know each other,” Mr. Hinson commented.

  “Not as well as we’re going to.” Ignoring Brianna’s annoyed gasp, Patrick held out his hand. “Patrick Dunlap.”

  “Harold Hinson.”

  “Pleased to meet you. Maybe you’ll share your secret.” Patrick glanced at Brianna. “I can’t get her to go out with me.”

  Mr. Hinson pulled out a business card from his pocket and handed it to Patrick. “I can’t help you with that but, if you ever need a lawyer, Brianna and her father are the best in the city.”

  “Thank you.” Patrick slipped the card into his shirt pocket. Brianna looked as if she wanted to tackle him and wrestle it from his hand.

  “This has gone on long enough.” She sat down in the booth to retrieve her attache case, then stood, once again taking her client’s arm. “We’re leaving.”

  “You want your bill now?” the waitress asked.

  Brianna flushed. Placing the attache case on the table, she opened her purse. “I’m sorry.”

  “She meant me.” Patrick handed the waitress a ten. “I asked her to add your tab to mine.”

  “Thank you,” Mr. Hinson said, then briefly tucked his head. “I’m tapped out after last night.”

  “No problem.” Patrick looked at Brianna. “She wouldn’t go out for drinks with me the other night, but I can at least pay for her coffee.”

  “You should come to bingo at the Greater Emmanuel on Thursday. Maybe you can get a date there.”

  “There’s only one woman I want to date. See you around.”

  “Not if I see you first,” Brianna told him.

  Patrick acted as if he hadn’t heard Brianna. She might have escaped him last night, but he had another chance now, and a plan. Whistling, he strolled from the coffee shop.

  Ten

  Dalton wrestled with himself all the way to Buckhead. He hadn’t wanted to leave Justine, but he was too aware that his feelings for her deepened each time they were together.

  Activating the garage door, he pulled into the three-car bay beside the ’67 Corvette. The vintage car was one of the toys he’d recklessly bought. He’d kept it because of the resale value.

  If his writing ever went stale, he could always sell the thing. The thought brought him back to his looming problem.

  If he didn’t finish Sudden Prey within the week he might be closer to that day than he wanted. Getting out of the Jeep, he grabbed his laptop case and went inside. He halted abruptly when he didn’t hear the warning sound of the alarm, then shook his head.

  He hadn’t set the thing. He’d stayed up all night, then piled things into the car, and left shortly after seven in the morning. He honestly couldn’t say if his absentmindedness was due to the stalled book or the woman he couldn’t seem to get out of his mind.

  Continuing to his office, he placed the case on his perpetually cluttered desk, then went back outside for his overnight case and garment bag. Returning, he dumped both on his king-size bed, then went to the kitchen for a drink. He wanted a beer, but chose a Pepsi instead. He’d spent enough time drinking to forget.

  Taking a long swallow, he stared out the window. He’d call his sisters later to let them know he was home. They’d want to know if he’d made a decision about the house—he hadn’t—but they would let him have his space to finish the book.

  Perhaps by letting Brock Jernigan in Sudden Prey face his demons of the past and the woman he wanted and couldn’t have, Dalton could confront his own demons and finally put them to rest. Until he did, he wasn’t any good to Justine. No matter how his mind ran from the idea, she was important to him and, if it was humanly possible, he intended to learn what had taken the smile from her eyes and somehow, someway help put it back.

  Tossing the empty can in the trash, Dalton went to his office and unzipped the laptop case and removed the portable flash drive. Soon he was staring at Chapter Twenty-six and the blinking cursor.

  At the hotel in Charleston he hadn’t even bothered to take the laptop out of the case. What would have been the use? His mind wasn’t on the book.

  Now with his hands poised over the keys, he realized that he faced the same dilemma as Brock. Dalton also realized something else. He’d transferred his own tumultuous feelings to the lead protagonist. A definite no-no.

  Brock had never thought of Janice’s husband dying and giving him an unexpected chance with his widow. He’d come back to his hometown at the request of the sheriff, an old high school buddy, to help solve the sadistic killings. His return had brought him face-to-face with the woman he’d
left, a woman he could never have. But more than anything he wanted to see her happy. Her happiness, even if that meant he would never be a part of her life, was paramount.

  Losing a spouse you loved would shatter the strongest person. Dalton had long since fallen out of love with his ex-wife, Gloria, but her deception and betrayal had almost crushed him.

  The high, piercing scream came out of nowhere, agony mixed with rage. Janice flew at Brock. Her bare hands hooked like claws. “You killed him! You killed him!”

  Brock wrapped his arms around her, trying to keep her from hurting herself as she kicked and fought to be free, not caring if she were hurt, only that she hurt him. “Janice, I didn’t kill him”

  “Liar!” she screamed. “You wanted me, and you killed him to get me.”

  Everything in him went still. There was nothing he could say in his defense. He could only hold her as her struggles grew weaker and weaker.

  “Charles is dead, and I might as well be” she moaned.

  Brock flinched, the words inflicting more anguish than he could have imagined. “I know, and that’s why I couldn’t have killed him. I’d never put you through this”

  She was crying so hard he wasn’t sure if she heard him or not. He only knew that he wouldn’t rest until the person responsible was caught. The killer wouldn’t destroy any more lives,

  Dalton’s blunt-tipped fingers raced across the computer keys. He knew where the story was heading, knew what Brock wanted more than anything. Justice and retribution, for the victims, their family and friends, and for himself.

  “He is the most insufferable, pushy man I have ever met, and that’s saying a lot.”

  Justine stood back as Brianna, carrying two large sacks, stalked inside her house a little after seven that night. “Anyone in particular?”

  “Patrick Dunlap,” she answered over her shoulder, never stopping on her way to the kitchen.

  Closing the door, Justine followed. By the time she reached the kitchen, Brianna had the plates on the table and was removing the flatware from the drawer. Brianna on a roll was something to see. It was always best to stay out of her way. “Tea, lemonade, or cola?”