“Nothing like you wanted,” Vick babbled like an old woman.
As always, Jason’s temples pounded while he endured Vick’s lame excuses. The imbeciles had attacked Leigh’s mother. Jason didn’t give a flying fuck about her. She wasn’t the target. Vick’s friend was to beat the shit out of Leigh again. “You’re saying the whole thing turned into a clusterfuck.”
“Well, maybe you should’ve checked out that park before you sent us out there. The bitch was never alone. The boyfriend was in her ass pocket all day. I changed the plans before somebody got curious about two men hanging around the swings. She got the message.”
He closed his eyes as anger morphed to rage. He imagined cutting the idiot’s throat.
“You still there?” Vick asked in a meeker, more subservient tone.
“I’m listening. Go on.” Jason swallowed and kept his voice level, because Vick had to believe all was forgiven.
“The mother spent the night in the hospital. My guy told the old woman the beating was a special delivery for her daughter. Your girl got the message.”
Jason smiled at that. “What else have you learned?”
“That every morning the boyfriend stops at a corner newspaper stand after he picks up his coffee.”
“So?” Jason scrubbed a hand over his face. He didn’t give a shit about reading habits.
“I’m gettin’ there. I asked the old man at the news stand. Cost me a C-note to learn the Fed’s name is J.T. Noble.”
“Good. Stay close. I’ll swing by tonight. I want to hear more about the park.”
“Okay.” Vick cleared his throat.
“And, Vick, I want your boy-toy taken care of. Today.”
“No problem. I was about done with him anyway.”
Jason leaned back and listened. A surge of adrenaline rushed through his body faster than a hit of cocaine. Killing Vick wouldn’t be a major setback. Jason made plenty of contacts while inside. Disgusting men who’d do anything for a buck. Men who’d be more respectful. Perhaps he needed to increase the number of his private employees. After all, they were affordable. And expendable.
The Carrington wealth far surpassed what Jason could spend in a lifetime. For a company whose worth ranked in the top four hundred in Forbes Magazine, dear-old-dad was extremely lax in controls and careless where he placed his trust. The money Jason filtered to an off shore bank in his name was his little secret.
What he needed was control of the family finances. After he’d completed his fun and games with Leigh and her brat kid, he’d turn his attention to Dad. The time was close for the old bastard to step aside. If he refused? Well, accidents happened.
****
Monday, May 10, 9:30 a.m.
J.T. turned toward the sound of Leigh’s footsteps. He’d recognize them blindfolded. Her purposeful strides and sensible low heels made their own distinctive sound. Damn, he liked the way she moved. The gentle sway of her hips, her narrow waist and curvy hips, reminded him of when those long legs had clamped around him while he’d carried her to bed.
Forcing his attention back to his computer didn’t stop him from wondering if he’d blown his chances with her. Exposing her to his family hadn’t been easy, but she had deserved to hear the truth. A relationship with him would be a temporary situation. Nothing more.
“Good morning. Did I miss anything important at the meeting?” She slid into her chair, her face unreadable.
“Not much,” he answered. “Olivia made notes. They’re on your desk.”
Leigh waved a silent thank you. “Thanks for sitting with me at the hospital. And the texts you sent.” One hand went straight to her head, patting an imagined stray hair back in place, but her eyes were the biggest tell—tired with a hint of hurt.
“I didn’t figure they’d appreciate me calling.” He’d stayed because he wanted to. Or maybe he’d stayed because it kept him from facing his own mother. “How’s your mom?”
“The doctor insisted she stay in the hospital overnight. She went home Sunday with a shaved circle and couple of staples on the back of her head. I’ll tell her you asked. How about your mom? Did she have a rough weekend?”
Her tone was formal, like when she’d first been assigned to work with him. Maybe he should’ve gone to the hospital Sunday, but by the time he left his grandmother’s, he wasn’t fit company. He used the space to weigh the options and possible consequences of a long term relationship with Leigh. Would the whole thing blow away when she went back to her division?
“According to her, she’s dying.” He waved off any impending questions. “She’s not. It’s part of the drying-out process.”
J.T. tapped the file on his desk containing the stats on the recent homicides. Forcing himself to concentrate on the case, he plotted out their next move. He was getting tired of running in place where the sniper was concerned.
“Hunting for Preston’s old contacts is getting us nowhere. Let’s concentrate on how he obtains current information. Who knew about the widows’ recent abuse? Those wives talked to somebody.”
“Let’s find out.” Leigh pushed away from her desk and stood, sliding her purse strap over her shoulder.
He followed her to the elevator. As soon as the doors slid closed, his resolve to keep his hands off her began to slip. The need to touch her, to hold her in his arms went to war with his common sense. By the time they arrived at the car, he caved. The door handle was in her grasp when he reached around her, covering her hand with his. She turned. Tired blue eyes looked up at him.
Fuck.
Do it.
He crushed her lips under his, feeding like a starved man. He swallowed her gasp, taking the opportunity to plunge his tongue inside her velvety, hot mouth. When she moaned and grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling his lips tighter to hers, he was lost.
Her tongue stroked across his, pushing right and wrong to the far recesses of his mind. He cupped her breast, relished the hard nipple against his palm, pulling her body closer. The grip of her Glock pressing against his thigh shocked him back to reality. With a deep sigh, he stepped away, and then opened her car door.
That she’d kissed him back put a smile on his face as Leigh sat, straightened her blouse, and then buckled her seat belt. The walk around the car took an eternity. He slid behind the wheel. Waited for her to tell him off.
“That’s better.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“Come again?” J.T.’s head whipped around to find her gaze locked on his.
“You heard me. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
She was right. He’d heard. His brain refused to process her statement. “Better for me. How is it better for you?” He started the engine.
“I thought maybe I’d pissed you off.” She reached across, resting her hand on his shoulder.
“Not at you, Hotshot.” He breathed out a sigh, cursing his own weakness. His guilt worsened when she massaged the rigid tendon in his neck with her thumb. “Not you.”
“Talk to me. It’s hard to communicate via text messages, and we left a lot unsaid in the park.”
“I’m a selfish, thoughtless son of a bitch who’s no good for you. Remember?”
“Nobody makes decisions for me. Remember?”
“Yeah, I do.” He liked that she stood up to him. The urge to drag her into his arms surged through his system. “And I’m also selfish enough to not walk away from you.”
“Great. We can debate your selfishness later. Where are we headed?”
Later was good.
He struggled to keep a smile from breaking out. “Pull up directions to Juanita Ortega’s house for me.”
He ran his tongue across his lips hoping for any remnant of her taste. He shrugged away a hard wrench to his heart. She deserved Christmas carols, family vacations at Disney World, Sunday mornings in bed, and hell, maybe a sister for Ethan. These things, he couldn’t give her.
His cell vibrated. A quick glance showed an email from David Campbell with an attachment. J.T. wanted to be alone when he read the file on Leigh’s ex-boyfriend. She hadn’t asked for his help, and no doubt she’d be pissed when she learned he’d intervened. He’d deal with her wrath after the fact. She’d convinced him who was behind the attacks, the break-in, and the phone calls. Carrington’s background and current activities were about to be ripped apart.
He drove through town to the upscale suburb and parked in front of a manicured lawn typical of the Atlanta well heeled. Huge magnolia trees shaded flowering shrubs lining the front of the two-story colonial-style home. Nothing on the outside indicated the widow of a wife-beating attorney lived there. J.T. had no sympathy for the dead man. They got out of the car, and Leigh joined him on the sidewalk.
“Think we should’ve called first?” Leigh tucked her jacket behind her badge, making sure her ID was in plain sight.
“Why give the widow a chance to think about her answers?” J.T. rang the doorbell, stepped back, and waited with Leigh.
The housekeeper escorted them into the living room, where they were joined by Juanita Ortega. A pretty woman around forty with dark hair and eyes, her makeup didn’t hide the evidence of abuse. The split lip would leave a permanent scar.
“We have a few follow-up questions,” Leigh said.
Mrs. Ortega waited while the housekeeper placed a tray with coffee on the table and left the room. “I saw on the television that the FBI was involved.”
Leigh leaned forward. “Yes, ma’am. We asked for their assistance. Their knowledge in catching serial killers will help us catch the man who shot your husband. Agent Noble and I are revisiting a few points.”
“Who knew your husband abused you? In particular, did you tell anyone about the last occurrence?” Always best to get to the point, J.T. pulled no punches.
Instantly, tears pooled. She shredded the tissue in her hand, drew a hitched breath. He gave her a second to compose herself.
“Mrs. Ortega?”
She sighed. “Very few people knew how he acted when he was drunk. He reserved those moments for me. The kids and my housekeeper witnessed some of the beatings.” She paused and blinked rapidly. “The people at Fairmont Hospital have pictures and documented details. One of the doctors encouraged me to press charges. I couldn’t.” A frown flitted across her face. “At least, I think he was a doctor.”
“Do you remember his name?” Leigh’s voice had a certain sympathetic tone.
Mrs. Ortega stared at her hands before she answered. “No. I don’t.”
“That’s okay. Who else? Friends? Relatives? Neighbors?” J.T. prodded.
“I’m sure the people next door heard. The only person I ever talked to is my sister in Birmingham. You don’t want to talk to her, do you?”
“We might. I’d appreciate you writing down her name and phone number.” He handed over his pad and pen and waited for the information. J.T. glanced at Leigh and accepted the slight shake of her head to mean she had nothing to ask. “We’ll get out of your hair.”
The widow escorted them back to the front door, waiting on the steps until J.T. drove away. “Anything in particular you want for lunch?”
“I’m open to anything that doesn’t include sauerkraut or anchovies.”
J.T. silently debated restaurants. “I know just the place.”
****
Monday, May 10, noon
Leigh read off a text message while J.T. drove. “Other than the abuse, Olivia and Romeo didn’t find a link to connect the widows.”
“There is one. And that’s what sent the sniper calling. We have to find it.” J.T. stopped at a local restaurant with a metal chicken sitting on top.
After carrying their lunch to a corner booth, Leigh considered his earlier comments. He’d kissed her and then reminded her that he wasn’t good for her. Why did he pull her to him and then push her away? Shame because of his mother? His gruff persona, perpetual frown, and short sentences didn’t fool her anymore. She’d bet he intentionally stopped all relationships just short of intimacy. Not the sexual intimacy they’d shared, the kind that would open him up to falling in love. The wall he’d built around his heart was thick and high. Maybe even impenetrable. Her brain warned not to get her hopes up but her heart refused to give up on him.
“The sniper hasn’t struck since last Wednesday. We may not have long before he kills again,” he said.
His voice drew her attention back to the here and now. No use denying she’d drifted.
“Sorry. Maybe we should check in at Fairmont. Ask if any abuse cases came in over the weekend.”
“Works for me. You finished?”
He reached for her trash, and his hand brushed hers. A jolt of heat rushed up her arm. His gaze met hers, sending a second spark. He’d felt something too. She pushed her hormone surge away while he tossed their empty sacks, opened the door, and waited for her to exit.
Leigh studied the map and addresses after she’d settled into the car. The dead police officer’s home was between the café and hospital. “Let’s swing by the widow Slocum’s in Smyrna on the way back and finish the day at the hospital.”
“How’s Nana dealing with your mother?” Leigh had broached this subject before, and he’d shut down. Something compelled her to get inside his injured heart.
J.T. kicked the car’s speed up a notch when he hit the freeway and headed toward Atlanta. “She’s been through this many times. Nothing pleases her more than holding her daughter’s hair off her face while she pukes up her guts.”
He glanced at her, and the cold detachment in his eyes startled her. Leigh’s arms ached to hold him. She refused to believe his indifference was real. “Give me a break. I know you care. It’s not necessary to be pissed all the time.”