by Wendy Byrne
She couldn’t face this alone. Not again. Despite what they’d been through, she called Archie. “Beckett” His voice was barely audible, lost in the sound of loud music and laughter.
“Travis has been arrested.”
“What did the dumb fuck do now?”
Jillian bit back the whip of anger, pushed back the all-too-frequent-mantra of ‘he’s the only one who knows the truth about me’ and forced herself to focus, despite the shakes inhabiting her body. “He needs a good criminal lawyer. Who do you know who will meet us in LA now?” To utter the word murder along with their son’s name seemed more than she could do.
The finalization of the divorce eight months ago had only formalized the seventeen-year rift in their marriage. Despite his numerous affairs and emotional detachment, for a long time she’d somehow managed to kid herself into believing she needed to preserve the family. Reality had slapped her in the face the first time Travis got into trouble and Archie had summarily washed his hands of the situation.
She could accept Archie abusing her trust, but what he’d done to their son was unforgivable. She’d filed for divorce the next day. She regretted nothing about her decision except how long it had taken her to reach it.
“Who’s going to pay for that?” His irritated tone jerked her back to the present.
“That’s the only thing you can think about?”
“Yeah, because either way you’ll be hitting me up for more money.”
“Asshole.” Jillian pushed the end button as a torrent of emotion charged through her.
She didn’t need Archie to secure a lawyer. While most of their friends had abandoned her in the wake of the divorce, she still possessed a list of home numbers of movers and shakers. And she’d call every last one of them until she got the help she needed.
Chapter Two
Despite the ungodly hour, Reggie Saunders looked the part of a high profile lawyer and exuded confidence in his expensive suit and swagger. Jillian thanked her lucky stars he’d agreed to take on the case. While he was the last person on her list of potential high profile criminal lawyers, he’d been the one who’d taken her call Friday night—make that early Saturday morning.
Normally when she spotted his name splashed across the headlines, cynicism prevailed. He represented the Hollywood elite after they’d engaged in illicit activities, everything from cocaine possession to murder. She’d learned that those who have money usually get off scott-free, regardless of their guilt or innocence.
“Jillian.” Kissing her on the cheek, Reggie pulled her into a hug. As usual, he held on a little too long forcing her to repress a squirm. Eventually he ended the embrace, but held onto her hand.
“I’m so sorry I had to call you in the middle of the night.” She let her glance fall on their hands, hoping he’d take the hint.
But of course he didn’t. “I’m sure we can straighten this whole thing out.” When he finally released her hand, he snagged his arm about her waist, sucking her in a little too close for comfort. “I’m really sorry about you and Archie.”
Like the remainder of her so-called friends, he spoke the words without conviction or even the hint of emotion. It appeared everyone had known about their sham of a marriage long before she came to terms with it.
She shrugged and extracted herself from his grasp and the suffocating cologne he wore. “Right now, I’m more concerned with Travis.”
He patted her hand as if she were a recalcitrant child. “Totally understandable. Let me go talk to the powers that be and see what I can find out.”
***
Travis fought nerves as he surveyed the claustrophobic room they’d stuck him in. Smaller than his bedroom closet, it had a lone rickety table, a mirror and the uncomfortable straight-backed chair where he sat. With his hands still cuffed behind his back, his shoulders cramped from the strain.
He wondered where his mother was. If she were here with him he wouldn’t be so absorbed with thoughts of going to prison for the rest of his life.
How the hell had this happened? The night had started out good. He was at Coach Carter’s house with the team, enjoying a pre-season spaghetti dinner. His new friends were so different from his old ones. Nobody cared what kind of car he drove, or how much money his parents had. They all just talked about football, video games, what college they wanted to go to and how they wished they could play pro ball like Coach Carter had. Then Lexie had called and everything had gone to shit. His memory of what happened after that caved into oblivion.
His shrink had told him taking ecstasy could later cause memory problems and flashbacks, but Travis had thought that was a bunch of BS. It was his bad luck that not only was the shrink right, but the timing of the memory lapse sucked. How could he defend himself when he couldn’t remember jack shit?
With bad thoughts swimming through his head, he wanted his mom to walk through that door and reassure him. Somehow she had the ability to make him believe everything was going to be all right. He stared at the door, hopeful they’d let her in any second.
But as the minutes passed it seemed more and more unlikely. Maybe she’d given up on him as his father had. Not that he’d blame her. Murder was some heavy shit.
God, he was exhausted. Still, there wasn’t any way he could sleep even if the circumstances were ideal. And he had to pee like a racehorse. Damn, why hadn’t he thought of going to the john before they locked him in this room?
Him a suspect in a murder?
Why couldn’t he remember? What had happened to Lexie? Who was this guy he was supposed to have killed? And how long had he been in here?
Damn, this sucked.
His poor mom. Every time he remembered the expression of her face when those officers came out with the gun, he wanted to die. Jeremy had given him the gun a while ago. He’d shoved it in the back of an old trunk and covered it with sweatshirts and stuff and had forgotten about it.
Then again, what were the chances it would match the murder weapon? He didn’t think it even worked. He’d kept it only because he didn’t know how to get rid of it safely. And Jeremy had given it to him.
Yeah, right, Jeremy, his alleged best friend. Some friend he’d turned out to be.
When the door banged open, Travis jumped. Geez, he’d nearly wet his pants.
In walked Reggie Saunders, along with two other men. The three of them stared at him as if he were some kind of science experiment until Reggie finally spoke.
“Take off those handcuffs. It’s not like he’s going to run.” Reggie spoke with an annoying combination of swagger and intimidation.
Most times Travis had nothing but contempt for the man. Besides the fact the guy ogled his mother way too much, he was a braggart. Always name dropping and trying to impress everyone with his famous friends, he was the kind of guy who didn’t know when to shut up.
But Travis also knew the guy was a hell of a lawyer, which could definitely be a good thing for him. Damn, he felt like the worst kind of loser.
“I’d like to talk to my client in private, please.” Reggie had his hand on Travis’ shoulder and squeezed.
The men left the room, closing the door behind them. Reggie yanked Travis to a standing position. “What the hell did you do now?”
“I...I...” Travis didn’t know how to respond, especially since he had yet to pee and he was still scared as shit.
“Never mind. Don’t answer that question. I’m not a priest. I can’t absolve you of your sins. And I sure as hell don’t need to hear a confession from you, even if I’m bound by attorney/client privilege.”
“Confession?” His voice went up an octave. Why the hell couldn’t he remember what happened? Maybe if he talked to Lexie she’d fill him in.
Reggie grabbed him by the front of his t-shirt. “Listen to me you piece-of-shit punk, they have more evidence against you than OJ Simpson. We need to pray they don’t charge you as an adult.”
His stomach lurched like that time in football when he got the wind knocked
out of him. For a few seconds he thought he might puke. “I don’t even know who they think I killed.”
“Don’t play dumb with me,” Reggie grabbed Travis’ jaw and held tight. “It’s your girlfriend’s stepfather.”
Damn, that hurt. Travis shook his head to loosen Reggie’s grasp. “I don’t have—”
“I said DO NOT play dumb with me. You were arrested with the slut in March. Lexie Roberts. Her stepfather is the one you murdered: Max Gill.”
Travis couldn’t think. His mind was way too cluttered with crap and fog. “W…W...Where’s Lexie?”
“As of right now, she’s MIA. The way I figure it, either you killed her too, or she’s your accomplice and is out of the country by now.”
“But I...” Surely if he had killed somebody, he would remember. What was happening to him? And where in the hell was Lexie?
***
“You want to what?” Jillian had to fight to keep herself from throwing up. She glanced at Travis who looked even more frightened than he had before.
“If he’s charged, a plea deal might be our only option.” Reggie folded his arms across his chest. “His car was seen outside the residence about the time of the murder. His cell phone records show the daughter made a call to him about an hour before. And he had blood on his shirt that is a preliminary match to the victim’s type.”
“Travis has a small cut on his finger. They could be the same blood type.” She shook her head so vehemently she got dizzy. This could not be happening. “Travis is friends with the man’s stepdaughter. Of course they talked on the phone.”
“You mean the one who’s missing?” The sarcastic edge to his voice was unmistakable. “Listen, I know it’s not what you want to hear, but it doesn’t look good.”
She fought for control. The urge to slap Reggie was nearly overpowering. “You don’t even know if the gun matches.” Nearly choking on the words, she had to swallow hard.
“Right. Right. I’m only saying if he’s charged.” He hesitated for a second or two and glanced at his paperwork. “We need to consider the possibility.”
“Wait a minute. Weren’t you the guy who got off that Hollywood producer who—” she did air quotes to illustrate her point, “murdered his business/ slash/ domestic partner?”
“Yes, but that was an accident.”
”Bullshit.” She drew in a breath and struggled to capture one last measure of control. “Listen Reggie, I appreciate the fact that you came here in the middle of the night, but I need somebody who’s going to believe in Travis’ innocence. Maybe I should find somebody else.”
He laid a hand on her forearm. A creepy crawly sensation wormed along her skin and the hairs on her arm stood at attention.
“I don’t mean to push you into anything. I’m talking worst case scenario here.”
“Well, we’re not there yet. In fact, as far as I’m concerned, we’re a long way from there. My son is innocent and regardless of what you think, we are going to fight this thing tooth and nail with or without you.” She paused as emotion percolated within her. “If you’re on board with that, fine. If not, I’ll find somebody else.”
***
Damn. His mother was kick ass. She hadn’t wasted one minute in raking that asshole Reggie over the coals. It made him feel good to know she had his back. But what would happen when she learned about what had happened before they moved. Would she ever forgive him?
Chapter Three
Nerves combined with sleep deprivation threatened to destroy Jillian’s last bit of control as she pulled into the parking garage attached to the court building. It had been a long, lonely weekend without Travis. She’d barely slept, only closing her eyes for a couple of hours. She’d busied herself poring over the law books she’d inherited from her father.
While juveniles aren’t allowed out on bail, her research indicated Travis could be released to her custody. She had no real experience, only memories of her father’s discussions of court cases. She’d found his analyses fascinating and for a long time considered studying law. Right now she was wishing she’d had.
Wishing things were different brought her no comfort. Like it or not, she had to deal with the situation and as far as family or friends were concerned, she was alone.
Since her phone call early Saturday morning, Archie hadn’t made contact so she didn’t expect to see him this morning. She wasn’t sure if his lack of communication was because he thought she was being a ‘drama queen’ as he liked to say, or he really didn’t give a shit about Travis. Either way, Archie would do what he always did best: duck any semblance of family responsibility.
She wanted to give in to the emotion that crawled inside her skin but knew now was not the time or place. She needed to stay focused if she had any hope of getting through this hellacious experience.
Instead, as she entered the courthouse, she drew in a calming breath, smoothed down the length of her black pencil-slim skirt, checked that her white silk blouse was tucked in and pushed the button for the elevator. Having neither the energy nor the will to do anything much with her hair, she’d pulled it into a ponytail and then applied some mascara and a light coating of pale pink lipstick.
When the doors pinged open, absolute terror didn’t even begin to encompass the jumble of feelings inside her. Nearly numb with worry, she passed several people on her way to Courtroom 512, but paid little attention to who they were or what they were doing or saying. Trying to keep focused, she pushed everything out of her mind except the impending hearing. From what she’d read and heard from Reggie, this was about setting a trial date and having Travis enter a plea. Reggie had agreed to enter a plea of not guilty for Travis and ask that he be released to her custody. After that, she could decide whether they wanted to pursue other representation.
Oh God, how was she going to get through this alone? Both her parents were dead. She had no aunts, uncles, siblings or cousins to come to support her. All the friends she’d had in the past were not the type she could expect to be there for her. In fact, if they appeared it would likely be for gossip. She’d had enough gossiping behind her back to last a lifetime.
She sucked in a deep breath and prepared for what might be the worst day of her life.
***
Travis wanted to go home so bad he could nearly taste it rolling around his mouth like a craving for Taco Bell. The food at juvie sucked. He wanted pizza, fries, big juicy hamburgers and tacos with extra hot sauce. His stomach growled.
More than that, and despite the fact it made him feel like a kid, he missed his mom. He missed the way she smiled at him. He missed the way she listened to him even when she was angry. And he missed his room and his comfortable bed. The squeaky springs and thin mattress at juvie made even his young bones ache.
After seeing the way the others had attacked that Sean kid when he spouted off Saturday in lockup, he’d quickly learned to keep his mouth shut. It had taken forever for the guards to respond. By that time the kid had a broken nose, a cut lip and a whole lot of bruises.
Now he sat in silence with others in their orange jumpsuits, waiting in the hallway behind the courtroom. As his leg bounced up and down, the shackles rattled in response, an eerie reminder of where he was.
“Travis Beckett.”
When the bailiff called his name, nerves tightened in his stomach until he felt like he might puke. Fighting against ghosts of the past and memories of mistakes he’d made, Travis stood and shuffled through the back door of the courtroom.
He spotted his mom first. Some of the fear dissipated when she smiled and gave him a corny thumbs up sign. Reggie looked at him like he was gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe.
Asshole.
Dr. Stern was sitting at the table too. Travis hadn’t expected that.
But then he spotted Coach sitting in the back of the courtroom and felt a hundred times better. Suddenly, he somehow believed this would all work out.
***
It took every ounce of willpower Jillian posses
sed to not fidget. Or scream. Or cry when she caught sight of her son in the orange jumpsuit. Or perhaps some combination of all three. Instead, she twisted her fingers in her lap and waited.
“All rise. Court is now in session, Judge Anderson presiding.” When the bailiff spoke the words, she held her breath and trepidation lit up every nerve in her body.
The judge took a seat then riffled through the file on his massive desk. When he looked up, he gave Jillian a cautious smile. “I assume you are Travis’ mother?”
“Yes.” Her voice shook as she tried to steady her nerves.
“The court recognizes Dr. Stern at the defendant’s table.” He nodded to Travis’ psychiatrist before continuing.
“And you are Travis’—” The judge stopped and pointed toward the back of the courtroom. “Wait, you’re Sam Carter, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
Jillian turned to observe the man who spoke. Mid to late thirties with short dark hair, he seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place him. She hoped to God he wasn’t a reporter. That was the last thing she needed. It was bad enough Archie hadn’t taken the time to show. . . .
“I loved watching you play at USC. I remember the Rose Bowl game and the catch you made to win with only two seconds left on the clock.” The judge smiled and shook his head. “You were a remarkable wide receiver.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
“But I’m afraid juvenile hearings are closed to the public. Are you Travis’ father?”
“No, sir. I’m his high school football coach. I promised Travis I’d be here today. Both the State and Mr. Saunders said it was okay for me to sit in.”
Coach Carter. Now she remembered. Travis had talked about him non-stop since the first day of football practice.