Just One More Chance: Baytown Boys Series

by Maryann Jordan

  Looking over to Mitch, Ginny said, “How’s Hannah doing?”

  “She’s pissed the gunman hasn’t been found. I was afraid the press would be all over a prisoner getting gunned down on the courthouse steps,” he admitted. “And it seems as though the big news stations couldn’t wait to report about it.”

  “Well, this guy was scared as fuck to be going to the same jail.”

  “Think Colt’ll get him to talk?” Sam asked, going for his second cup of coffee before plopping back down in his chair.

  Nodding, Mitch said, “Colt is former Army CID. He was an investigator—and a damn good one. I can see him making this guy crack.”

  Rubbing his hand over his face, Grant said, “There’s more to report from this morning.” The other officers’ eyes turned toward him and he told them about Jade’s student from the classroom lesson. Pulling out the piece of paper with the child’s information written down, he said, “I’m gonna start checking into this, Mitch, but I already recognize the address. It’s in the trailer park on the north side of town.”

  “Damn,” Burt cursed. “Those new owners have done a good job of cleaning that place up. Hate to think there’s a problem there.”

  Sam added, “I was on the force when you all were in high school. Those trailers used to be run down and nothing but drug infested shitholes.” He sighed deeply before recanting. “Well, not all of them. Some were just homes to good people who needed cheap housing, but a whole section of the park was a den of depravity.”

  Burt said, “The old owner died and a new owner bought the park. Cleaned out the old trailers and has worked to keep it fairly nice. I hate like hell to think that someone’s running drugs there as well.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out without endangering the child. Don’t want anyone to suspect that she’s told us anything.”

  “Right,” Mitch agreed, “but keep us in the loop.”

  The metal chairs scraped against the tile floor in unison as the group dispersed to their duties.

  *

  Grant slowed his SUV as he drove through the trailer park while school was still in session. Mowed lawns and flower beds surrounded quite a few of the closely packed trailers, including the one Junior and Bobby lived in. Passing a neat, white, double-wide trailer with dark blue shutters, he viewed bird feeders, a bird bath, and wind-chimes tinkling in the breeze. Smiling, he appreciated the care so many of the residents took in their homes. When he was a teen, he knew many of the trailers were unkempt as transient residents moved through. As he wound his way toward the back section, the older trailers stood, some with torn screen doors and garbage bags sitting just outside the front steps. Looks like the new park owners are only able to clean things up a bit at a time.

  Making his way back to the front section, he stopped outside the Hubbard’s home, observing the freshly painted shutters and flowers lining the front walk. His boots crunched on the gravel as he walked to the front door, surprised as it was flung open before he had a chance to knock. A thin woman appeared, her eyes narrowed on his face before her gaze slid down to the police logo on his shirt and then to the badge on his belt.

  “What do you want?” she asked, wrapping her stick-like arms around her waist, as though to ward off bad news.

  “Just checking the neighborhood, ma’am,” he replied.

  “Ain’t never heard of no cop just checking unless they got somethin’ they’re after. We rent this place, pay our bills, and ain’t had no trouble with the law.”

  Nodding, he glimpsed inside the trailer behind her, noting the cleanliness of the interior matching the neat exterior.

  “There’s been some talk about young people and possible drugs in the area, ma’am, so I’m just patrolling and making sure I get to know more of the citizens.”

  Her eyes narrowed again, sizing him up. “I live here with my daughter. Husband works railroad construction and he’s gone most of the week…comes home on weekends. My step-son lives here also.”

  “Does he go to school as well?”

  Grant watched as a flash of irritation flew through her eyes before they narrowed on him again. “Nope. He’s outta school.”

  “He work around here?” She rocked back slightly and he wondered if she was going to slam the door in his face. He kept his expression neutral, hoping she would keep talking.

  She lifted her bony hand, smoothing back her hair held in a tight ponytail. Licking her lips, she shifted her gaze down before mumbling, “I don’t know where he works. He’s an adult and don’t answer to me. He comes and goes. Helps out with rent and stuff, so I don’t ask him too much.”

  Taking a step backward, Grant smiled and nodded. “Well, it was nice to meet you. By the way, I’d like to invite your daughter to the ball field in town this Saturday.” He pulled a card out of his pocket and held it out toward her in his fingers.

  Her hand began to reach for the card, then hesitated, her brow crinkled as her eyes narrowed on him again. Finally, she plucked it out of his hand and looked it over carefully.

  “American Legion? I heard some others talking about their kids playing. My Karly don’t like ball too much.”

  “She wouldn’t have to play, but she could watch and make some new friends. I’m sure some of the kids in her class would be there as well.”

  Chewing the inside of her cheek, the woman sighed. “I’ve had some medical bills and there’s not much left over for her to do too much outside of school—”

  “There’s no charge for anything. It’s all funded by the American Legion.”

  Her eyes widened for a second before the corners of her tight mouth turned up slightly. “No…no cost?”

  “Nope, and we’ve got people who can pick her up if you’re working or something.”

  Her head jerked in a short nod as she stepped back inside her house. “All right,” she declared. “That’s neighborly of you.”

  With a wave, he called out, “Nice to meet you.” Walking back to his cruiser he stopped at several of the houses around, but only found one other elderly man at home. Heading back to the station, he detoured as he saw Gareth walking from his truck into his office.

  “Hello?” he called as he entered the reception area. Hearing Gareth yelling from the back, he stepped into the PI’s office. “Hey, man, how’s it going?”

  “Good, good,” Gareth replied. “I’m glad to see you. I was just going to head over to talk to Mitch, but I got another call to check out, so can I give the info to you?”

  “Sure,” Grant replied, sitting across from him. “What’s up?”

  “Got a lead on that lawyer Mitch was interested in—Stanley Martino.”

  Attention snared, Grant leaned forward, his forearms resting on the desk. “I’m all ears, man.”

  Nodding, Gareth pulled out a folder from the plastic file holder on his desk. “The attorney’s got some interesting bank account movements that I’ve been able to dig into. Doesn’t make him guilty of anything, but it’s interesting nonetheless. Seems that up until about three years ago, he was an ordinary attorney making ordinary money, nothing remarkable at all. He opened his own defense practice, not too big, and his bank deposits reflect that—nothing concerning there. Then, about two and a half years ago, he made a rather large deposit; only nine grand, but still a nice amount. Realistically? Okay, that could have come from selling a car, some stocks, hell, even some property. And, in this day and age, that amount wouldn’t even trigger the IRS’s interest or qualify for a Currency Transaction Report.”

  “But…” Grant prodded.

  “About six months after that, he made another nine grand deposit. And did so about every other month for the rest of the year. He even set up an investment account at his bank for the deposits. So, I went on to check out his clients over that time. Although he had been defending a variety of clients, from spousal abuse, to drunk driving, to grand theft, to embezzling, he suddenly started representing some arrested for drug distribution that caught my attention. It wasn’
t like he was defending some doctor accused of passing off prescription drugs, but a couple of real low-lifes.”

  Gareth shuffled a couple of papers in the file before continuing. “Okay, here they are—got a list of some of these clients. Since it’s public record that wasn’t too hard. Now, what struck me is that he’s getting so much money at once, seemingly from these guys caught on drug distribution—which, again, is not his typical clientele—but this clientele doesn’t appear to be able to afford anything better than a public defender…and yet, here they have the money to not only pay a private defense attorney, but somehow pay him well.”

  “What was he able to do for them?”

  “For a couple, he managed to get ’em off on technicalities. Several got reduced sentences.”

  “And the money?” Grant probed further.

  “Can’t find the source. There was no bank transfer of funds. No check. It appears they were cash deposits. Even though they were somewhat regular, they were less than $10,000 each, so they didn’t trigger a Currency Transaction Report. Then, about a year ago, they stopped. With some real digging on my part,” he cleared his throat and, with a self-deprecating grin, said, “looks like he may have set up an account in the Caymans and has been depositing even greater amounts there—thus avoiding the CTR and any suspicious looking activity on his part.”

  Grant leaned back, mulling over the possibilities. “So, he starts representing some drug dealers that could not possibly cover his expenses but somehow manage to and then some, opens an off-shore bank account to keep this on the down low… he’s got to be at the beck and call of someone able to afford all this.”

  “Yep, that’s about the crux of the matter,” Gareth agreed. “Anyway, I was about to take this over to Mitch and just got a call for another client, so if you don’t mind, I’ll give the report to you and let you share it.”

  “No problem,” Grant acknowledged, his hand reaching across the table toward the file Gareth was sliding forward.

  Gareth blinked as he shook his head, saying, “I didn’t even ask why you came in.”

  “Well, it’s not like you didn’t have anything to go over with me,” Grant chuckled, “but yeah, I wanted to ask if you’ve ever done any surveillance in the trailer park on the north side of town.”

  “Some,” Gareth nodded, his brow crinkled in interest.

  “Got a tip that there might be some drug activity going on—either with some teens or even older. I’m checking out a lead on Jermaine Hubbard.”

  “Don’t know that name and don’t have any specifics, but I’ll keep my ear to the ground for you.”

  Standing, the two men shook hands before Grant picked up the folder from the desk. With ‘goodbyes’ and ‘good lucks’ between them, he drove back to the station to update Mitch on the findings.

  *

  “Where are you?”

  Stanley cringed at the harsh voice on the other end of the phone. Sucking in a quick breath, he responded, “I’m in my office, where I’m trying to get some work done.” He looked out of his condo’s front window, almost afraid of someone lying in wait for him in the street. Not seeing anyone, he turned back to the open suitcase on the bed and continued to fill it with clothes—everything he could possibly need for an extended vacation in the Caribbean.

  “Your work is to be working for me,” came the sharp retort.

  “You are not my only client, Juan,” he said, hoping his voice carried more authority than fear, although the fear was choking. “And it was one thing to defend the occasional person on your…payroll, but now it’s getting to be too frequent. I’m sure I’ve got people that are checking on me. I’m a legitimate defense attorney, for Christ’s sake!”

  “You are on my payroll, you royal prick,” Juan bit back. “I pay you well to be available to me.”

  Knowing it was a risk to keep antagonizing Juan, he sighed heavily as he replied, “What is it? What now?”

  “Another piece of shit runner got caught. Talk to him, but let him know he’ll get the same treatment if he’s not careful.”

  Plopping down on the side of the bed, his shoulders slumped. “If I go back to the same hick town, to the same hick jail, talking to the same hick cops…you don’t think the Feds will be all over that?”

  “Just do it. Make it work. And I promise this’ll be the last time we have this problem in that hick town.”

  The silence hung between them for an uncomfortable moment until he finally agreed, squeezing his phone in his hand after disconnecting. Rubbing his hand over his face, he dialed his secretary.

  “Margery? I’m almost ready to leave. You’ve got the keys; I’ll need you here tomorrow morning. I’ve left detailed instructions for both you and the movers. The furniture goes to my sister in New Jersey and my books and the rest of my clothes are to be packed up and shipped to the address I provided. If anyone asks, tell them I’m on an extended family emergency. The Simons Law Firm is a well-established firm in town and they are taking you and any of my outstanding clients, so you’ll be well cared for.”

  After saying goodbye, he closed the suitcase and called for a taxi to come to the back entrance of the condo building. Rolling his three suitcases out, with his laptop case slung over his shoulder, he stood at the door looking back one last time. With an angry grimace, he closed and locked it behind him.

  Chapter 19

  Jillian heard the soft whimpering first, before feeling Grant’s body tense. Rolling over, she carefully placed her arm around his waist, hoping her touch would calm whatever he was fighting in his dream.

  Grant woke suddenly, his breathing harsh as his body jerked against something. Unable to sit up, it took a few panicked seconds to realize his arms were pinned by Jillian’s soft, warm body.

  “Honey, it’s all right.” Her quiet voice instantly soothed his racing heart as her hand gently lay on his chest. She watched as he swallowed deeply several times, her fingers lightly tracing his muscles and shoulders.

  With one hand still underneath her body, he threw his free hand across his eyes, unwilling to let her see his terror. Jesus, how did my nightmares change? And why?

  “Will you tell me what it was about?” she asked, her fingers now playing with the smattering of soft chest hair. “Please…it might make you feel better.”

  Dropping his arm from his face as he twisted toward her, he stared silently before pulling her forward and placing his lips on her forehead.

  She waited, knowing he needed time to process the dream and how much he would tell her. “Was it your regular nightmare?”

  He shook his head, afraid to tell her what terrors had crept into his dreams, but one look at her determined-to-help face and he knew he needed to talk about it. Even his counselor had agreed that talking about the nightmares would help him process them, therefore giving them less control.

  “It started the same as always…the truck rolling up, dust billowing out from behind,” his voice was raspy as he sucked in another breath. “The explosion…the ground shaking…everyone ducking as metal flew out in all directions.” Letting out his breath, he closed his eyes, willing the scene to disappear. Speaking again, he added, “The slow-motion walking over to Julie…it seemed to take forever and then seeing her as I always have…”

  “Okay,” Jillian said, her voice barely above a whisper, glad he was sharing and not shutting her out. She waited a moment, then touched his sweaty face gently as a prompt to continue.

  “But this time, when I got there…it was different.”

  “Different?”

  Grant nodded, his body a mixture of taut with dismay and yet craving the feel of her light touch. “She wasn’t wearing her fatigues. She was wearing something bright.”

  Jillian’s eyes widened, her own heart picking up speed as she anticipated where his dream was taking them.

  “When I rolled her over, it wasn’t Julie.” He clutched her jaw, his rough thumb rubbing over her cheek, reminding himself the woman in his arms was alive and w
ell.

  “It was…me?”

  His nod was the only answer and for a second, Grant feared she would leap from the bed in horror, insisting he leave. “I—”

  “Oh, baby,” she crooned, her lips finding his, kissing him lightly before pulling back to grasp his face. “I’m here, I’m fine. It was just a bad dream. I’m not going anywhere and nothing’s going to happen to me!” She pulled his body in tight, scooting up in the bed so that his head pillowed against her chest, rocking him.

  He allowed her this measure of comfort…hell, he reveled in it. After years of waking up alone with his night terrors, he pulled her closer, hearing her heart beating steady against his cheek. His fears of vulnerability dissolved as the reality of her touch ignited him. Desperation to bury himself deep inside her overrode all other thoughts.

  Leaning back, he cupped the back of her head, bringing her forward until their lips met—a slow, easy kiss until his heartbeat increased again, but not in fear. Drowning in her taste, the texture of her lips, the scent of her hair, he slid his hands down to the hem of her nightshirt, his fingers itching to touch her bare skin.

  Jillian instinctively knew what he craved, knowing nothing makes someone feel more alive than connecting intimately. She leaned up, separating just enough to pull her shirt over her head, tossing it to the floor. The cool night air swept over her breasts, her nipples puckering with chill and desire.

  He gazed at her beauty for a moment, undone by the trust she placed in his hands. He kissed her breasts before latching his lips over one taut bud, sucking and nipping as she writhed underneath his ministrations. He played her body as expertly as a musician with their instrument, bringing her pleasure with the right touch, right stroke.

  The fluttering deep inside her core spread outward as jolts of sensations flew from her breasts to her sex. The moisture pooling between her legs beckoned his fingers. Their movements became frantic, hands feeling, legs tangling as she rolled over, landing on top of him.