Perilous Curves Collection (BBW Romance) (6 page)

Keeping my eyes locked on Claire, I ordered Dante back into the car a second time. "Do it now or find someone else to work the case."

Claire’s gaze narrowed at that. Her mouth got hard. A brittle, predatory smile surfaced. "I heard about you already today."

She looked to her son for confirmation. He nodded. The young man gripped his mother's shoulders as if he trying to hold her back. She didn’t seem to notice, just kept staring at me.

"Honey, if you thought they were going to write you up in the papers again for this, you’re damn right!"

Hearing my car door open, I relaxed a little. Dante may not have gotten into the car -- and I sure as hell wasn’t going to risk another hit by Claire just to take a look -- but he’d at least retreated a short distance to let me handle this. It was more than I had expected.

Glancing from mother and son on the lawn up to the front door, I saw a young black woman. Vivian. The girl was every bit as beautiful as Alex had described her. Riding circuit with my father on summers like this, I had seen pictures of black Madonnas -- serene, exotic beauties. That was Vivian, even with her face swollen and wet from crying.

My gaze returned to Claire. No signs of crying. The woman hadn’t cracked yet, hadn’t allowed her grief the wet luxury of tears.

Ray’s son looked back at the porch. "I hope that’s Daddy you’re crying for."

His voice was strong, harsh and angry.

"I’m sorry, Mrs. Epps." I searched through my memory for the son’s name. "Lee, I’m sorry. It was a mistake -- my mistake -- to intrude."

Realizing I had started to shake, I drew a deep breath in. "I can see the unimaginable grief…"

It was true. Claire's body was set so hard, I was certain she would break any second. I had thought I understood grief and loss -- back in the car or twenty years ago when Dante had left me or the dozens of times in one court room or another as parents of both the victims and the defendants wept. But I had never seen it so eloquently expressed as it was in the face of this woman who refused to yield to her own pain.

If she broke, if Claire Epps broke right now, it would be on my head. I knew better than to bring the defendant or anyone associated with him near the victim’s family. Craig could have come by tomorrow and they probably would have thought him a plainclothes cop. They would have answered his every question. But I had been pissed at Dante and hurt.

And so I had fucked up.

I almost said it, thought better about saying anything at all and turned back to my car. I motioned Dante the rest of the way into the vehicle.

Back in the driver’s seat, I started the car and locked the doors, my gaze taking in the families on the neighboring porches and lawns that had come out to watch. I counted three baseball bats, two of them held by women. The neighborhood was damned tired of losing its men.

I didn't blame them.

I closed my eyes for a second before pulling onto the street. Hearing the thunk of a rock hit the back bumper, I looked into the rearview mirror. A teenaged male stood in the middle of the street, his arm cocked back with another rock in his hand.

I prayed then, for the first time in a very long time. I prayed that I wouldn’t make any more mistakes. I asked to find Ray Epps' killer -- for the sake of his family's sanity and his neighborhood's peace. And if I couldn't have that, I asked to find at least enough evidence to convince the prosecutor there was too much reasonable doubt to win a conviction against Dante's son.

Alex sure as hell couldn’t afford for the case to go to trial in Masonville.

Chapter Four

Finally out of the neighborhood and onto a main street, I accelerated, my sedan's speedometer quickly passing the posted speed limit. I kept my eyes locked on the road, my voice terse. "Where do I drop you?"

"Liv..." Dante pulled the blue bandana from his pocket and wiped my cheek.

I hadn't looked in the mirror again, but I could see red on the cloth. I jerked my head to the side and pushed his hand away. "Where do I drop you?"

"I know I shouldn't have pressed you to go to Ray's. You were right--"

"Where?" I looked in the mirror, saw a new bead of blood forming and a quarter size bruise surrounding it. I snorted, furious at my stupidity. I deserved a bigger bruise and more blood for what I had just done to the Epps family. And I had done it because I couldn't control my feelings for Dante Serrano.

He started to open his mouth again and I cut him off, my voice half a decibel from yelling. "Where, Dante?"

"Fuck it, Liv, here. Drop me off here."

I looked to where he was pointing. The Jackson House was Masonville's oldest, most expensive, hotel. I cut a glance in his direction before jerking the car into the drive. "You live at the Jackson House?"

He lifted a hand, signaling the valet to wait, and turned to me. "No, but they'll call a cab and I can sit inside until it gets here."

Feeling his gaze on me, I chewed at the inside of my lip, my anger dissolving. That wasn't what I wanted. I knew I would give in and agree to take him home if I so much as opened my mouth again. And I really didn't want to know where he lived. I didn't want to pull up in front of his home and see the place where he slept.

Hell, even though he had tried to seduce me in my office that morning, I didn't know if he had remarried after divorcing Alex's mom. He hadn't mentioned a wife -- neither had he mentioned a two-months pregnant girlfriend when we were engaged.

Dante put his hand on my arm. I yanked it to my side. When his hand dropped to my thigh, I froze.

"I know you're pissed and you've got every right to be -- and for a damn sight more than today. But we are going to talk. Not now. I understand that. You need your space to work, to make the best decisions for Alex, and I fucked that up tonight."

He squeezed my leg. His grip was light but it made me want to cry out. He had to stop touching me. I couldn't deal with the emotions it evoked -- or the needs. My body remembered his down to a molecular level. Every brush of flesh produced a memory, the slide of skin over skin, his arms around me, his sweet but firm mouth sampling mine, the soft whisper of his voice in my ear, telling me how much he loved me, how he couldn't wait until we were married.

I shook my head, the motion so violent a drop of blood spun from my cheek.

"You said you'd give me a week," he pressed. "Look at what you've accomplished in one day. You can't deny that kind of progress, Liv."

I gave no response, my throat too tight to argue. He sighed and moved closer. His scent wrapped around me. I wanted to breathe in deeply, to turn, knowing that he was so close our lips would brush. Instead, I reached to my left and unlocked the passenger door.

"Fine, I'm going," he whispered and I could feel his breath warm on my neck and jaw line. "But I'm not going to let you just shut down on me. You are going to talk to me about the case and, when the time is right..."

I took a ragged breath in, the beginning of a sob.

Dante abruptly pulled back. "Liv, love--"

No. Absolutely not. He could not call me that!

"Go, now, or I don't know if I can hold up my end of the contract." I glared at him, felt the slide of a tear down my cheek and the sharp sting of saline hitting the cut.

"The contract…Right, this is all about the contract." His door clicked open and Dante put one booted foot on the ground. "Goodnight, Olivia."

Silent, I wrapped both hands around the wheel, gripping it until my knuckles went white waiting for him to get the rest of the way out. As soon as the door shut, I pressed the lock button. I hit the accelerator too hard. The car jerked forward then crawled toward the end of the drive.

Chapter Five

Dressed for the bail hearing that morning, I shuffled into momma's kitchen and poured a cup of dark roast coffee, taking it black with no sugar. Momma was already up, dressed in a fresh dressing gown, a hint of rouge on her pale cheeks and her hair pulled back in a tight bun. On the table around her were the remains of that morning's edition of the
Masonville Times.

I bent down as I approached the table and gave my seventy-two-year-old mother a light kiss on the cheek. As she looked up, I caught myself holding my breath. I didn't want her to notice the faint bruise on my cheek hiding beneath a light layer of makeup.

Momma just smiled and I breathed out with relief.

"Morning, momma." I sorted through those sections of the paper she wasn't holding onto and then pushed it away. I was in no mood for economic reports or crime statistics -- not this morning. I wanted something light. "You have the community section?"

She looked at the paper in her hands, doubtful for a second, and then nodded. "The
Times
have just gone to h-e-double-l." Her voice dropped to a whisper at the end, as if the devil himself might be listening for an invitation into the Miller household.

I suppressed a laugh, both at momma's refusal to say so much as hell and the way she said "The
Times
" like it was the almighty
New York Times
or something.

"They used to run your father's sermons on Mondays, you remember?"

"That they did." I took a sip of coffee, hoping this was one of the mornings momma remembered that the good reverend had passed away ten years ago. It was heartbreaking on the days she didn't and had to be reminded. All the grief was fresh, as if she'd just found out he was dead for the very first time. In a way, that was exactly how it worked.

"Now they just talk about killers and liquor stores and I don't understand half of what they're saying!" She jabbed a frail finger at the front page of the community section until something caught her eye. "Didn't you used to know a boy named Serrano?"

I coughed, spraying some of the coffee I'd been swallowing. Some came out from my nose, stinging so sharply my eyes teared up. "A long time ago, momma."

"Daniel, was that it?"

I didn't correct her, just reached my hand out for the paper. Momma wasn't ready to let it go.

"Yes, Daniel. That was it. A nice Italian boy. Not this fellow, then."

Nerves snapping like bacon in a frying pan, I pinched an edge of the paper. "Can I have it?"

"Of course, dear." Relinquishing the paper, she arched her head to one side and gazed through the window at the morning summer sky. "Such a beautiful day already. I think I'll go to the boathouse."

Not listening, I skimmed through the article detailing a cabbie's story about how he had picked up Dante Serrano, father of the accused murderer Alexander Serrano, at the Jackson House and driven him around on a night filled with liquor stores and cemeteries. The store clerk at Bishop’s confirmed a man looking like Serrano had bought a bottle of MD 20/20 and the valet at the hotel confirmed that Serrano, whom he knew by sight, had been dropped off by an "unidentified woman." The reporter ended with a query to readers of just why Dante Serrano had visited the cemetery -- was he visiting a grave, and whose grave, after hours, or could the cemetery possibly contain evidence linked to the death of his foreman?

"Idiot!" The word shot out of my mouth and I froze.

Momma looked at me with big, startled eyes. "You don't think it's a good idea?"

"Sorry, momma." I shook the paper. "It's just like you said, the paper's gone to h-e-double-l. What were you talking about?"

"They don't even cover the cotillions anymore." Momma gave a righteous nod about the state of the
Masonville Times
before repeating herself. "I said I might go to the boathouse this afternoon."

I paused, searching for just the right thing to say. I could say nothing. Chances were momma would forget her plans. Instead, I opted for half the truth, knowing it did no good to ignore her memory lapses. "We don't own the boathouse anymore."

"Silly," she laughed. "Just because you haven't been out there in a while--"

"We sold it ten years ago..." I let the idea sink in, hoping she wouldn't remember that it had been sold through the estate agent after daddy's death. I stood and crossed the kitchen. I removed a lock box from a drawer, opened it and then opened each of the narrow prescription bottles inside to shake out a pill.

Returning to the table, I sat alongside momma and put the pills on the table.

"I've taken my medicine this morning." She pushed the pills back towards me.

I held the key to the lock box up. "You know Ivy and I are the only ones with a key. And Ivy's not here yet."

Momma put the first pill in her mouth and swallowed it with a sip of orange juice. "Ivy? Is she that maid you hired?"

I pressed my lips together a few seconds before answering. "Please don't call her a maid, momma. She's a health professional."

As she had so many days since Ivy's hiring, momma reached out and put her hand on my arm. Her eyes were big again and her lips trembled as she asked, "Are you sick, Ladybug?"

"I...no, momma." I looked down at my watch, hoping Ivy would be on time like she always was. I still needed to get my dry cleaning on the way to the court house.