“You do see that I don’t have any choice in this matter,” Larry said, hoping Roscoe understood.
“Do what you have to do,” Roscoe told him. “And I’ll do what I have to do.”
Larry hit the OFF button, slipped his phone into the inside pocket of his sports coat, and left the seclusion of Desmond Park. He had no idea whether Roscoe Wells had been involved in the Belle Rose massacre, and he didn’t want to know. That event had occurred years ago and had nothing to do with him. He’d been in college when it happened. But he’d worked long and hard to get where he was today and he was smart enough to know that in Mississippi, especially in Desmond County, you didn’t cross Senator Roscoe Wells. Larry had been elected Desmond County D.A. with Roscoe’s backing. Hell, he owed the man more than one favor. So, if Roscoe said, “Jump,” Larry knew he’d better ask, “How high?”
Sliding a finger under his tight collar, Larry loosened the knot in his tie. He didn’t know why Roscoe had been adamantly opposed to letting Theron Carter and the Royale woman take a look at those old records, but his gut instincts warned him that if Roscoe had taken an interest in the situation, there would be trouble ahead.
R. J.’s Jeep came bounding up the dirt road toward the back of the Belle Rose property line. Mallory had given him directions and told him to meet her at two-thirty and to bring his bathing suit. No one at home had questioned her taking Splendor out for a long ride. If Max knew she was meeting R. J., he’d be furious. But what Max didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt him. After all, what was the big deal? So R. J. wasn’t a local guy from one of the upstanding families in Desmond County; she didn’t care. She liked R. J. He’d been kind and understanding last night, when she’d desperately needed someone to care about her, to put her needs first. And it didn’t hurt that the guy was a real hottie. She’d spent an hour on the phone this morning telling her two best friends—Lindsey Castle and Ashley Wilson—all about R. J.
When he pulled his old green Jeep off the road near the dilapidated barbed-wire fencing, Mallory lifted her arm and waved. A crazy, unexpected fluttering turned her stomach inside out. She’d had several boyfriends in the past couple of years—her parents hadn’t allowed her to date until she was sixteen—but not one of them had ever made her feel the way R. J. did. There was something exciting and maybe even a little dangerous about him. And he was older than she. At least five or six years older and no telling how many years older in experience.
R. J. jumped out of the Jeep and waved at her. Tall, lanky and toned like an athlete, his knockout body looked great in cutoff jeans and a sleeveless white T-shirt. Add to that his thick blond hair pulled back into a short ponytail and you had most girls’ dream lover. He bounded over the section of fence that lay on the ground, then stopped and waited for her to come running to him. She was so glad to see him. With R. J., she could escape the morbid sadness inside the walls of Belle Rose. She could forget that her daddy was dead, buried only yesterday, and that her mother seemed unable to cope with his death. She’d heard her mother crying during the night. When she’d peeped in on her, Max had been sitting at her bedside. Sometimes she wished she could be more like Max, so strong and in control, so able to take care of himself and those he loved. But she wasn’t like Max.
She needed comfort, needing petting and reassurance that her life could go on without her daddy.
Oh, Daddy! Why did you have to leave me?
She shouldn’t be thinking about Daddy, not when it hurt so much. He wouldn’t have wanted her to be sad all the time. She could almost hear him now, “Don’t you cry, sugar. Whatever’s wrong, tell Daddy and I’ll fix it for you.”
Pushing the memories out of her mind as she blinked the tears from her eyes, Mallory grabbed R. J.’s hands and said, “Come on. The pond is close by. Did you bring your swim trunks?”
“Will I need them?”
Blushing profusely, Mallory giggled. “Don’t kid me like that.”
R. J. slipped his arm around her shoulders, all casual like. She loved the way it felt being so close to him. His touch wasn’t at all threatening. Some of the boys she’d dated had possessed more arms than an octopus. God, she hated having to fight off a boy who wouldn’t take no for an answer. R. J. wasn’t anything like any of the immature, suitable guys Max approved of. He was better—in every way.
He followed where she led, through the thick woods, so dense in spots that the towering treetops almost blocked out the sun.
“Just a little farther,” she told him. “See, through there.” She pointed the direction.
Afternoon sunlight glistened on the surface of the water, creating small flashing circles dancing on the pond. A humid breeze rustled through the trees and bushes, only slightly easing the summer heat. A few yards from the pond, set up underneath an old willow tree, a quilt was spread out and on top of it rested a large wooden picnic basket. She had arrived early and prepared the perfect romantic scene.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Lunch,” she replied. She had sneaked around in the kitchen while Yvonne had been overseeing the daily cleaning crew upstairs. And she’d stashed the picnic basket in the mudroom, under a bottom counter near the back door.
“You think of everything, don’t you, honey? A picnic under the trees, a pond to swim in and—” he pulled her into his arms—” a beautiful girl to share the afternoon with. What more could a man want?”
Instinctively she lifted her arms and circled his neck. “I’m so glad you came today. I was afraid you might change your mind.”
“Now why would I do that?” He nuzzled her nose with his. “There’s no place on earth I’d rather be.”
Mallory’s heart did an erratic rat-a-tat-tat. “Want to swim first or eat first?”
He eased one hand between them and reached up to skim his fingers over her cheek. “I’m kind of eager to see you in your bathing suit.” When she sucked in her breath, he smiled. His fingers loosely cupped her jaw, while his thumb slid across her lips, stopping in the center when she sighed. “Let’s swim first and eat later.”
Mallory’s body responded to his touch in a way she didn’t quite understand. How could she be hot and cold at the same time? Using his thumb, R.J. pulled down her bottom lip. Without even realizing what she was doing, she licked his thumb. He grinned. She whimpered as a tingling sensation radiated from the apex between her legs and spread through her entire body.
“I…uh…I think we should swim now,” she said.
He eased her arms from around his neck and stepped back just enough to put a couple of inches between them. While she stood there staring at him, he tugged his T-shirt over his head and stripped out of his cutoffs. Mallory gaped at him. In nothing but a pair of black body-molding briefs, R. J. could hide nothing from her. He was very obviously aroused. And she had aroused him! That knowledge gave her a heady sense of power.
Stop staring at him, she told herself, and hurriedly removed her shorts and tank top. She’d specifically chosen her bright blue bikini, the one Mother had forbidden her to wear. She’d bought it during a shopping trip to Memphis with Lindsey. Max had told her to get rid of the thing, but she’d simply hidden it away in the bottom of her closet. Now she was glad she’d kept it She wanted to knock R. J. for a loop.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“Wow!”
R. J. surveyed her from head to toe, letting his gaze linger over her barely concealed breasts. She wasn’t big, but she filled out a B-cup. And her breasts were high, round, and perky. She knew she had a good body. She’d been told often enough—by her girlfriends and by lots of guys at school.
Pivoting slowly, she allowed him to take a good long look. “You like?” she asked.
“I like,” he replied.
Smiling, feeling more alive than she’d felt in ages—not since before Daddy went in the hospital weeks ago—Mallory turned, ran to the pond and jumped in. The cool water engulfed her, chilling her, tightening her nipples into protruding pebbles. She shudde
red as she stood up, waist deep in the pond.
“Come on in.” She motioned to R. J. “I’ll race you to the other side and back.”
He quickly joined her. “What do I get if I win?”
“What do you want?” she asked.
“I want you, Mallory.”
Chapter 12
Larry Newman breezed into his office, a politician’s smile on his long narrow face. Jolie noted that his looks were nondescript. Medium height and build. Medium-brown hair and faded brown eyes. He was a man who’d get lost in the crowd, easily forgotten. He held out his hand to Theron. The two exchanged a quick handshake, then Larry turned to Ike for the same cordial greeting before zeroing in on her.
“Ms. Royale, may I offer my sincerest condolences on the death of your father. His passing is a great loss for Sumarville, indeed for the state of Mississippi.”
“Thank you, Mr. Newman.”
Larry glanced around the room, viewed the empty coffee mugs, and smiled as he positioned himself behind his desk. “Please, everyone have a seat and we’ll get right to business. I apologize for having kept y’all waiting, but I had to handle a minor town problem.” He looked directly at Jolie. “Ms. Royale, I understand that y’all want permission to take a look at the Belle Rose massacre files, is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s correct.” Catching a glimpse of Theron’s tense expression, she realized he had taken affront at Larry Newman’s dismissal of him in favor of directing the conversation to her. “Mr. Carter and I want access to all the files pertaining to the murders of my mother, my aunt, and Lemar Fuqua.”
“Lemar Fuqua committed suicide, after murdering your mother and your aunt,” Larry said. “I can’t believe that you actually want to put yourself through the ordeal of reading all the details, looking at the snapshots taken at the scene, reliving such a tragic event in your life. Surely you haven’t bought into Carter’s supposition that someone other than his uncle committed that horrible atrocity.”
“Let us take a look at everything, all the files on the case, and I’m betting that we’ll come up with something that was overlooked,” Theron said. “Deliberately overlooked.”
D.A. Newman leaned forward, spread his arms wide and placed his hands, palms down, on his desk. “Are you accusing the Desmond County Sheriff’s Department and Mississippi’s Criminal Investigation Bureau of withholding vital evidence in the case?”
Larry’s expression contained just the right amount of outrage, but Jolie sensed his reaction was nothing more than a performance. However, Theron’s tense jaw and narrowed gaze was not an act.
“I’m not accusing anyone of anything,” Theron said. “Not yet.”
“I’d think you would want to cooperate with us,” Jolie told Larry Newman. “After all, if a miscarriage of justice occurred, if Lemar Fuqua was innocent, then as the current district attorney, it would be your job to reopen the case and to find and convict the real murderer. If what we suspect is true, and you cooperate with us, think of all the positive publicity you’d get out of it.”
Larry’s cheeks flushed. He cleared his throat. “I hate to see you waste your time. But if y’all are damned and determined, then by all means, take a look at the files.” He glanced at the sheriff. “Denton give Ms. Royale and Carter access to all files pertaining to the Belle Rose massacre.”
“Yes, sir,” Ike replied, his lips lifting in a restrained smile. “I’d be glad to.”
“First thing tomorrow morning, y’all may—” Larry said.
“Today.” Theron glared at the D.A.
Larry nervously cleared his throat again. “Why the hurry? Those files have been collecting dust for twenty years. They aren’t going to sprout legs and run off before tomorrow.”
“You never know what might happen by tomorrow,” Theron replied. “Besides, the sooner we start going over the records, the sooner we can get the case reopened.”
“Hm—mm. Well, by all means, go ahead and start today.” Larry looked downright uncomfortable.
“Thanks, we will,” Theron said.
When Jolie followed Theron and Ike to the door, Larry Newman came out from behind his desk and called to them. “I’d consider it a courtesy if—and that’s a big if—you find anything noteworthy, you’ll contact me before getting in touch with Bill Sanders. No need to bother the attorney general unless there actually is enough evidence to reopen the case.”
Jolie absolutely loved Theron’s reaction. He flashed the D.A. his wide dazzling smile. “Sure thing, Larry. I wouldn’t think of doing anything else, considering how helpful you’ve been.”
Jolie barely controlled the laughter bubbling up inside her until they reached the sidewalk. “Did you see the look on his face?”
“He’s scared shitless that we’ll dig up something,” Theron said. “If he’s so damned sure Uncle Lemar was a murderer, why would he be worried? He knows something about the case.”
“How could he know anything?” Ike asked. “He wasn’t involved in the case. Twenty years ago, he’d have been a college kid.”
“He wasn’t involved. Not originally. Not until I contacted Bill Sanders. Getting a phone call from the attorney general put the fear of God into Newman. He realized that he had no choice but to give us permission to look over the old files. And our esteemed D.A. knows that somebody doesn’t want us looking at those files.”
Jolie curved her hand over Theron’s forearm. “Are you saying that you think someone is pulling Larry Newman’s strings, someone who doesn’t want the case reopened?”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” Theron told her.
“If that’s true, then we can narrow it down to only a few people,” Ike said. “Not many men have the power to dictate terms to the D.A.”
“A couple of names come to mind immediately.” Theron glanced from Ike to Jolie. “Roscoe Wells…and Max Devereaux.”
An odd sensation quavered in Jolie’s stomach. Not Max. Her immediate reaction surprised her. Why had her gut instinct instantly defended a man she so thoroughly despised?
R. J. relaxed, flat on his back, on the blanket spread out beneath the huge willow tree. He and Mallory had frolicked in the pond like a couple of kids, then feasted on cold fried chicken, tangy lemonade, and fried peach pies. Good food, laughter, and a beautiful girl. A guy could do a lot worse. Of course that didn’t mean he was willing to settle for the kisses and mild petting Mallory allowed. He wanted to screw her so bad he was nearly eaten alive with the need to toss her on her back, spread her legs, and ram into her. But every time he thought he had her maneuvered into the right frame of mind, she’d start talking about her daddy. Damn her daddy!
Mallory lifted her head off R. J.’s outstretched left arm and looked at him. “What are you thinking?”
Hell, why did all females ask the same question? Why were they so determined to know what a man was thinking? If she had any idea what he was really thinking, she’d be shocked. And hurt and disappointed.
“Just thinking about how glad I am to be with you.”
Smiling as if she’d just won the lottery, Mallory leaned down and kissed him on the mouth. A sweet fleeting kiss that left him wanting more. He tangled his fingers through her hair, cupped his hand over the back of her head, and held her in place for a ravaging response. His other hand slid down her back and into her bikini bottoms. He caressed her buttocks, the feel of her smooth flesh arousing him unbearably. Then suddenly she pulled back, ending the pleasure that had only just begun. She sat up, wrapped her arms around her waist in a comforting gesture, and gazed at the sky.
When he rubbed his hand up and down her arm, she shivered. “I’m sorry, baby. Did I frighten you just then?”
“No, you didn’t frighten me. I knew you wouldn’t hurt me.” She continued staring at the sky, deliberately avoiding direct eye contact with him. “I didn’t want to lead you on, to let you think I was willing to…to go all the way. I like you too much to tease you and then say no.”
For
some damn reason, Mallory had given him the role of good guy and trying to wear that false mantle cramped his style. He’d never been a good guy. He’d been a bad boy all his life and most women seemed intrigued by that fact. But here was little Miss Innocence thinking he was some sort of damn hero. She trusted him. I knew you wouldn’t hurt me. How could she be so damn naive? No, he wouldn’t hurt her physically; he wasn’t into beating up on women. But he could hurt her emotionally, and unless they stopped seeing each other, he probably would.
Hey, man, it’s your own fault that she thinks you’re such a nice guy, he told himself. Hadn’t he played it cool last night down by the river? Hadn’t he been understanding and sympathetic, thinking it would win points for him that he could collect later? And today, for the past couple of hours, he had flirted with her outrageously and even gotten to first base, sexually speaking, but he hadn’t pushed her further than she seemed willing to go. So, why the hell hadn’t he pushed her? If she’d been any other girl, he’d already be on top of her, pumping into her like crazy. But not Mallory.
All right, Sutton, don’t go thinking she’s different from any other girl, from any of the women you’ve known. She’s just classier than your usual honey. And far more innocent and trusting.
“You aren’t angry with me, are you?” she asked.
R. J. lifted himself up and scooted over beside her. He didn’t touch her, didn’t look at her. Instead, he looked up, the way she was still doing.
“I couldn’t ever be angry with you,” he told her.
She looked at him then, just as he knew she would. God, she was so predictable. And she had no idea that he was playing her like a fiddle. She wasn’t quite willing to spread her legs for him, not yet. But it was only a matter of time. Ordinarily he wouldn’t wait around. He’d just move on to a more willing woman. He wasn’t by nature a patient man.
Mallory reached over and laid her small open palm over his hand. “I’m so very glad you’re here.”
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