Accused (Troubled Boys, Strong Men #1) Page 11

  Was she so blinded by her web of dysfunction she couldn’t be objective? Did she see innocence where there should be guilt?

  Silent tears rolled down her cheeks. She needed to get her act together. Refusing to give in to the panic attacks that had de-railed her life some seventeen years ago, Jillian decided to go home, put on soothing music, close her eyes and hope to sleep.

  ***

  “Cole Matthews, what the hell are you two doing?” The cop kept his hand on the butt of his gun as he blocked their path.

  “Trying to track down the witness to a homicide.” Cole skirted around one cop but was stopped by the other.

  “When did you become a member of the force?” the second cop asked. “Here I thought you were too busy getting off the guilty with that drive-through law practice of yours.”

  Sam looked longingly down the street, recognizing the futility of the moment. Cole pushed a lot of buttons for people. He was bright and aggressive and a good lawyer. Most cops translated that into ‘getting the guilty off Scott-free.’

  Cole glanced down the block and cursed. “You’re still pissed about the McClean incident, but really, boys, you need to move on. You violated his rights pure and simple. Get over it.”

  One of the cops got in Cole’s face as if daring him to make a move. “That’s not how we see it.”

  “Then you need to look again. The law’s the law. Maybe you needed to do a little more studying when you were in cop school.” Based on the rigidity of Cole’s jaw and the way his hands were clenching and unclenching at his side, he was well beyond pissed.

  “Are you saying we’re stupid?” The second cop inched even closer.

  Cole placed his hands on his hips and his voice came out as a near growl. “Yeah, I am.”

  Sam decided to intervene. The way things were going they’d both end up in jail. “Continue on, officers. We don’t want to get in your way.” Without waiting another second, he grabbed Cole’s arm and forced him back into the truck.

  ***

  After the scene with his mom, Travis was too wiped to do much that afternoon even if by the time she left, she’d seemed cool with him being a dumb ass. Damn, he wished he had confessed about the Fitzgeralds’ house earlier. But it had never seemed like the right time.

  And then he’d forgotten. And then all hell had broken loose. And then he’d had much more pressing issues to worry about—like not getting stabbed in the back, literally or figuratively.

  He put his hands behind his head and lay back on his bunk. Almost immediately, he fell asleep.

  The pain radiated through his chest down to his extremities. He found it hard to catch his breath. He tried to run, but couldn’t.

  Blackness swirled all around him. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear and couldn’t negotiate his way through the maze. Giant stalks of corn rose up around him, blocking any path he chose to take. Wait, they weren’t stalks, they were people, staring at him, taunting him, unwilling to let him pass. A heavy weight pulled at him, refusing to let him go.

  When he kicked, his legs didn’t seem to move. They came closer moving in like villains in a bad slasher movie. His heart seized for a moment or two as he tried to figure a way out.

  Except there wasn’t.

  He was caught. Without ropes or handcuffs, he was bound as tightly as if there were.

  Blood slipped through his fingers and onto his hands.

  People shifted in unison around him, but he couldn’t distinguish one from the other. He didn’t know them. Why were they doing this to him?

  Wait. Was that Lexie?

  “Arghhhhhh” Travis struggled to a sitting position as he awakened from the dream. His hands shook. He brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs, resting his head against his arms.

  It all felt surreal.

  What did it mean?

  Was his memory from the night coming back in twisted, weird fragments, or was he filling in the blanks with his own imagination?

  ***

  “And you accuse me of being a hotshot? What was that dumb ass move you pulled with the cops?” Sam was glad they were finally back at Cole’s office. And even happier they hadn’t been arrested. “You acted like you were fifteen again.”

  “Asshole cops bring out the punk in me.” He plopped down in the chair in front of his desk. “There’s some beer in the fridge to go along with this pizza. I don’t know about you, but I need one.”

  “At my age, and considering it’s barely two in the afternoon, I probably could use something a little stronger, but I’ll settle.” Sam walked to the small frig and pulled out two bottles. He handed one to Cole then sat down and took a giant gulp.

  Cole grinned sheepishly. “I’ll admit it. I was pretty out of control back there.” He took a swig of beer and sighed. “Maybe I should see Dr. Stern for help with my anger issues.” He grabbed a piece of pizza, and bit into it.

  “Speaking of which, did you find out anything about him?” Sam chewed on the slice he’d taken.

  “The good doc runs in some fancy circles. Must be making a good living based on the high-class digs and ride. He’s got a contract with the county and sees most of the juveniles coming through detention. Along with that he has a private practice that’s a virtual who’s who list.”

  “How about his background?”

  “Pretty solid. Lived in the area his whole life. Came from a wealthy family. They’re still alive and kicking so his lifestyle isn’t due to an inheritance. Mom’s a lawyer. Dad was a lawyer now a judge. His sister’s on the California Supreme Court; his brother teaches law at Stanford. I guess he disgraced the family by going into a reputable profession,” Cole grinned.

  “Any info on the tenants in that office building Jillian and I staked out? It would be great to know who Victoria Gill went to see.”

  “Still working on it, but I did find out who isn’t a tenant there—Eric Tallman.”

  “Then what in the hell was he doing in the area harassing us?”

  “Not sure, but he lost his lease at that place. I’m guessing the private dick business isn’t going so great.”

  “Or he moved on to bigger and better digs.” Sam couldn’t help wondering how it all fit together.

  “Or he moved on to bigger and better scams, like framing a kid for murder. Great way to get rid of the rich husband and console the grieving widow,” Cole added.

  “I like where you’re headed with that, but if she wasn’t there to meet Eric, who was she meeting?”

  “Back to the million dollar question. It’s not like they’re conducting church services there.”

  Sam snickered. “Not that Victoria’s the church type, unless the church involves some big money.”

  “That’s why we’re stuck. Most of the offices are medical practices, which we eliminated from the get go. We have to do a little more research on the ones left to see what they do. I know there’s a PR firm and an ad agency in the same building. I’m guessing they wouldn’t be open on Saturday either.”

  “A work in progress.”

  “Definitely.” He shuffled through some papers. “Crap. I’ve been waiting for this.” Slitting open a large envelope, he dumped the contents onto the desk.

  “What is it?”

  “I did some research on Jillian Connor Beckett.” His finger rifled through the paperwork.

  “Why—”

  “Don’t get that sad puppy dog look on your face. It’s good practice to know what’s in store when it comes to trial. If there are any skeletons—” He paused to swear softly. “What the hell is this about?”

  Sam’s stomach clenched. He didn’t want to know this shit. He had no right to view her skeletons, especially since he had more than enough of his own. Despite his misgivings, he asked. “What’s it say?”

  “Her parents died in a car accident when she was in college. There was some speculation they were drunk at the time, but there was no mention of it in the paper. Somebody hushed it up pretty quickly.
The victim in the other car apparently received some money from an unnamed source and local news coverage ended before it started. Prior to the accident, her dad was a judge, her mom—”

  “Great. But what does this have to do with Jillian? ”

  “Don’t be so touchy,” he clucked. “This is where it gets interesting. Seems like Judge Connor was pulled over many times, but there’s no DUI on record.”

  “Then how did you get the dirt?”

  “I have my sources.” Annoyingly, Cole continued to leaf through the information, giving random pieces of paper to Sam, none of which made any sense. “Only a cop with some balls gives a judge a ticket for a DUI, so him getting a pass doesn’t surprise me too much. What has me curious is the accident. Logic would tell me alcohol was involved. It should have been splashed all over the paper, but it wasn’t. That takes some serious pull. I’m guessing their daughter who was a senior in college at the time didn’t have the connections to pull it off.”

  “So you’re saying Archie must have made it all go away. Is that it?”

  “Pure conjecture, but it’s the only thing that makes sense since she was already involved with him. Jillian’s parents were killed, but the driver of the other car had only minor injuries. There was no real reason to drag the judge’s good name through the mud unnecessarily—that would have been the argument of Mr. Beckett or ‘his people’—since you can’t charge a dead guy.”

  “Wouldn’t it be insurance fraud if they hid the information?”

  “This is where it gets interesting. It seems that the claim was settled but not through insurance. Somebody paid the victim’s medical bills.” He dusted his hands together. “Done deal.”

  “Maybe there was a big life insurance policy.” He didn’t want to believe the Jillian he knew would have married somebody strictly for money. Since he had first-hand experience of what that looked like, he should be able to spot somebody like that a mile away. She was so different from Ariel that he couldn’t imagine money being her motivation.

  “A possibility I guess, but still—”

  “I’m trying to see where you’re headed with this.” He hoped like hell Cole wouldn’t point out his less than stellar choices in women. Again. Been there done that as far as he was concerned.

  “If the kid is tried as an adult and there’s a jury trial, all sorts of things are going to come up that could cause a negative reaction for the jurors. Let’s face it. Archie Beckett isn’t known for his humanitarian efforts. He’s known as a cutthroat businessman who’s making millions, which doesn’t make Travis a sympathetic character. So then we focus on mom who lost her parents in her early twenties, except she sold out to the man with the money.” He held up his hand to stop Sam’s ready comment. “Let’s face it. Ordinary folks—the ones they put on juries—don’t like Hollywood types. If it turns out mom was complicit in her own cover-up, that makes Travis look like a bratty little rich kid whose family has a history of buying their way out of things.”

  “Maybe it won’t get to that. The State might not go there.”

  Cole clucked. “Denial is a powerful tool, my man, but don’t dig your head in the sand,” he shook his head. “And do I dare mention the elephant in the room? Her parents were both alcoholics. What are the chances she doesn’t have an addiction problem as well?”

  ***

  Jillian wasn’t too sure how long she’d sat in that car. But in the end, she’d been able to pull herself back from that precarious edge. While she felt she’d been run over and stomped on by an elephant, she could and would function. Giving in to those demons was a slippery slope that had consumed her life for nearly six months. She wasn’t grateful to Archie for much, but he had helped her dig her way out of the abyss.

  When she got home she dragged her sorry butt out of the car and headed for the front door. It was still early in the day but she felt it should be midnight by now. Funny how earlier today she’d felt energized with possibilities. Now the weight of the world once again pressed down on her shoulders. She toyed with the small package of pills Dr. Stern had given her.

  A long time ago she’d become over-reliant on pills to help her cope with her parents’ death and subsequent panic attacks. The pills had become an everyday crutch to help her make it through the day. The lure was strong now to take one and escape for even a couple of hours.

  Weariness slipped through her like an old acquaintance; familiar but unwelcome. While her rational mind argued that she didn’t have the time to check out as she had years ago, the irrational part of her was bone tired and wanted any snippet of relief from the pressure.

  She’d resisted the lure of falling back into bad habits when Travis got into trouble the first time. To be honest, however, every time she thought about taking pills to obliterate some of the pain, she’d envisioned Archie’s mocking face insinuating she’d succumbed to her familial legacy. That sobering picture had kept her on the straight and narrow.

  But this was much different. She didn’t have Archie to contend with, potentially overseeing her day-to-day activities. No one would know what she did or didn’t do in private.

  After opening the foil package, she held the capsule in her hand and contemplated the ramifications of taking just one to help her put her mind to rest for even a short period of time.

  Relief.

  Just a few short hours would be a Godsend. She hadn’t eaten, but didn’t feel much like it anyway. Had she even had breakfast? She shook her head. She’d barely had a cup of coffee before she’d set out to visit Travis.

  She sat at the kitchen counter. After placing the tantalizing pill in front of her, she weighed her options.

  What would be the harm in taking one? Because one became two, and two became three and then before she knew it, she’d need them every night to get to sleep. But what if she took only half of one? She could throw out the rest, but still stop this overwhelming sense of loss shimmering through her.

  Without a moment’s more of contemplation, she used the knife on the counter to slice the pill in two and threw half in her mouth, following it up with a glass of water. Maybe she could escape for a few hours.

  Chapter Fourteen

  He’d heard about what had happened earlier and didn’t like it. To ensure there wouldn’t be a repeat of the dynamic duos macho performance, he wandered around the neighborhood before he headed for home. This neighborhood filled with lowlifes and degenerates had been his gold mine. A steady paycheck and the promise of getting away with murder was an irresistible enticement to get people to do his bidding.

  Some liked the challenge. Some were sociopaths ready to kill anyone to get ahead. Some were hardened by the streets and enticed by the easy money.

  But this time it wouldn’t be the slam dunk it had been in the past. Maybe he’d chosen the wrong victim. Maybe he’d chosen the wrong patsy. Maybe he’d chosen the wrong crew to get the job done.

  Bullshit.

  He’d been doing this successfully for a very long time. He’d perfected the art of planting evidence and having others incriminate themselves through their actions. Where had he fucked up this time?

  Hell, no, he hadn’t fucked up. He’d had challenges that he hadn’t anticipated. There was a first time for everything, he guessed. But he was much too good at what he did to get caught.

  Success was an expectation in his family. Screwing up was not an option. His parents had made that clear when he’d flunked out of law school. He’d love to see their faces if he confessed to what he’d been up to. How he’d used his knowledge of the law to circumvent getting caught.

  Planning and execution had always been his forte. That and having others do all the dirty work while he kept his hands lily white. Nothing could ever be traced back to him. And it never would be. He was invincible.

  ***

  The sensation crawled up her back, smothering her. Jillian fought against the ever-present sentinels of fear.

  None of this needed to happen. It could have been prevented. Sh
e’d known the answers all along but couldn’t or didn’t want to give in to reality. And because she’d ignored the warning signs, it had happened again. Everything could be blamed on her.

  She’d failed in her duty as a daughter, as a wife, as a mother. Although the mistakes were hers, others had paid the price. But the price she’d paid for each transgression had been exacting and steep. The pound of flesh extracted had been merciless and cruel in its toll.

  In her efforts to make things right, everything had gone horribly wrong each and every time. When would she learn?

  “You can’t handle the truth.” The words from A Few Good Men seemed to be spoken in Archie’s voice. They reverberated within the nooks and crannies of her brain until she thought she might go mad.

  Then again, going mad might be a welcome relief.

  ***

  “Travis, I’m Felicia Jones. Cole Matthews should have told you I’d be stopping by.” She held out her hand and Travis took it.

  She was a lot younger and a lot hotter than he’d expected. Was it weird to be crushing on his shrink?

  “That was fast. I met with Cole yesterday.”

  “I was in the neighborhood, so it was convenient. Is this a bad time?”

  “Seriously?” Travis couldn’t help chuckling. “It’s not like I have much to do here unless you count nearly getting my ass kicked.”

  “I heard a little bit about that from Cole. I know Harvey or Slash—as he likes to call himself—and while I don’t like to ever say kids are bad, he comes pretty darn close. Best you stay far away from him.” She sat down next to him on the bed. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

  Travis told her about his mom coming by that morning, Slash the snitch and everything in-between. “I feel bad about deceiving my mom. I mean, the trashing of the Fitzgeralds’ house happened like last year and with everything that happened in-between, I kinda forgot.”