The Last Execution (11 page)

“I regret not meeting your grandfather long before I did. Maybe if I had...” Her words trailed off as her gaze drifted across the room.

J.T. stood, crossed to the row of pictures displayed on her bookcase, and studied the black-and-white snapshots of Nana and his grandfather. He’d drunk himself to death before J.T. was old enough to remember him. The smiling faces and fake happiness were for the camera. The family shared a dark secret, a disease the old man passed on to his daughter.

And J.T. carried their genes. He’d stopped drinking after a weekend binge while on assignment in Afghanistan. Hell, he’d opened his eyes Monday morning with no memory of Saturday or Sunday. Scared the fuck out of him. He had experience with the destruction alcohol could cause, so he’d sworn off drinking. Not that he didn’t want a drink, the temptation was always there. Just not an option.

“You had a hard life bringing up a child alone. The woman I drove to Peachtree City is doing the same thing. Luckily, her mother and father help with the kid.”

“Speaking of mothers. You have any luck locating yours?”

“None.” He moved to the back window and pulled the curtains open. Nana’s garden was thriving. He could almost smell the gardenias. “You remember Davey Campbell? He’s a cop now. I ran into him. He’s gonna keep an eye out for her.”

“I remember him. Keeping him fed was a chore.”

J.T. leaned over and kissed his grandmother on the forehead. “Like I told you, if a person doesn’t want to be found—”

“You’ll find her sooner with Davey’s help. Now go be a hero. And ask your lady friend to dinner Saturday night.”

“We don’t have that kind of relationship. Besides, I’m spending my weekend crawling through local beer joints.”

Alone. Sober.

Chapter Eight

Friday, April 30, 10:00 a.m.

Jason didn’t like this part of town. He didn’t like the odor of grease lingering in the air around the booth in which he sat. Most of all, he didn’t like it when someone failed him. Maybe if he dumped the scalding hot coffee in Vick’s lap, the ex-con would understand failure was unacceptable and wouldn’t be tolerated. Jason stabbed his spoon in the cup, stirring the swirling black liquid. A mental image of Vick’s skin melting and sliding off his bones helped.

“Your instructions were clear. The delivery of the bicycle and the break-in were both to happen yesterday.”

“It’s not my fault the bitch never showed. I had your stand-in there, primed and ready.” Vick didn’t flinch or back down. His tattooed knuckles fisted then straightened.

“She probably spent the night with the Fed.” Jason didn’t care whether she was fucking the Federal agent or not.

“You want to reschedule?” Vick picked at a piece of food lodged between his teeth with a dirty fingernail.

“After I set up a new alibi. I spent all day in meetings and then a miserable evening with my parents. I sat through a fundraiser for the fuckin’ library. Like I give a shit if they need money to buy new books.” The pressure between Jason’s ears built. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his schedule.

“Is that a no?” Vick laid his open hand on the table.

Did the prick actually think he’d get paid? “Tomorrow I’m attending a play at the Civic Center with my parents. Make it happen between nine at night and one in the morning. No later. My mother’s always at home and in bed by then.”

“You got it.”

“Look into having Leigh’s house bugged. And make sure your man wears the cologne I gave you. Call me with an update, and be sure you use the throwaway.”

****

Friday, April 30, 10:30 a.m.

J.T. leaned back and listened to Leigh’s voice as she read the case file on Angie Preston.

“After the beating death of her daughter, Angie had slipped into severe depression. A year later, her husband supposedly died in a fiery car explosion, leaving little of his body to identify. Shortly after her husband’s body was exhumed and the corpse turned out not to be his, Mrs. Preston shot herself in the right temple. According to a friend’s statement, it was all too much for her to handle.” Leigh closed the file with a snap. “How can you find humor in such a tragedy?”

“I like listening to your voice. It’s sexy.”

Pink flags of color hit her cheeks, spread upward, disappearing into her hairline. Her hands went to her head, and she patted at the curly wisps of hair around her face. He’d scored a direct hit.

His mixed reaction to her pissed him off. One minute he wanted nothing to do with her, and the next he was considering his grandmother’s advice.

“I’ll let you read the rest for yourself.”

Her gaze lowered to the page in her hand. So she intended to ignore the fact he had blatantly flirted with her?
Just as well
. He decided against asking Leigh about her father. Being in the house with a full complement of family, including a kid, well, had been more than unnerving. Ethan was the first child J.T. had ever been around—unless he counted the line at the grocery store. During his short time at the McBride house, he’d discovered kids scared the crap out of him. Ethan had befriended J.T. instantly and without question, which meant they were too trusting and too friendly. The child’s open-mindedness freaked him out. And Jesus, they never shut up.

Why did Leigh keep the fact she had a son a secret. And where was the boy’s father? He almost knocked his chair over when a hand clamped down on his shoulder

“Hello?” Olivia stood bent over him, her mouth next to his ear. “Anybody home?”

“Sorry. I was deep in thought.” J.T. pulled a chair over so she could sit next to him.

Olivia whispered, “I saw what ‘thought’ you were ‘deep’ into. You like Leigh? Go for it. Nobody here cares.”

“Moving on. What’ve you learned?”

“Leigh.” Olivia motioned Leigh to come closer. “Want to hear my news?”

Leigh stood and joined the conversation.

“I do if you’ve learned Preston’s wife covertly sent him money, and you found a paper trail.”

“I wish. However, she left a sizable trust fund. Get this…the money is for her husband should he ever come forward.”

“I’m not surprised,” Leigh said. “Her suicide note stated she didn’t know Preston had faked his death. She didn’t know he’d decided to take on the role of judge, jury, and executioner. If I had to guess why he wanted her to believe he was dead, I’d say to protect her.”

“Love from the grave.” J.T. took a dim view of taking the coward’s way out. “I don’t get why she killed herself?”

“Who knows?” Leigh said. “Sounds like she died still in love with her husband.”

Was that melancholy in her voice? If so, it was quite different from her work persona. J.T. got more curious about her by the day. His thoughts were all over the place. She pulled him to her like a magnet. If he didn’t shake the attraction building in his gut, they’d never get this case solved.

“Maybe, we can use the trust to our advantage.” J.T. remembered the newswoman from the last crime scene. The pretty piranha, the firefighter had nicknamed her. “We get the media to run a special-interest piece on how Angie Preston left a trust for a dead man.”

“But he’s not dead.” Olivia raised an eyebrow in question.

“The article can’t come out and say we know he’s alive. We tweak the story. Don’t tie it to our sniper. Her leaving a trust fund to a dead man makes the situation bizarre enough. We need to find somebody who’ll run it,” J.T. responded. “Handled right, Doyle Preston won’t know the information came from us. If he needs money, maybe he’ll try to get his hand on it. “

“Certainly can’t hurt.” Olivia stood. “Okay then, back to work for me.”

“Thanks. Keep digging.” J.T. pulled up the local FOX station on his computer and found the work number for the newswoman he’d avoided at the crime scene.

“Clarisse Chancellor a friend of yours?” Leigh’s tone had a frosty tinge to it.

“Jealous?” His blood spiked hot. The sound of her accent laced with envy had a profound effect on him.

“Not hardly. You two make a cute couple.”

“I do prefer blondes.” He leaned toward her, inhaled deeply to pull her scent closer. Even in that God-awful tight knot, her hair smelled of citrus. Lemon or grapefruit? Man, he loved grapefruit.

“Do tell.”

“They’re easier to find in the dark.”

“You do think a lot of yourself. Don’t you?”

“I care more what you think of me.”
Damn.
He considered biting the tip of his tongue off when her pupils widened.
Why did he care?
Move this conversation back to business.
“Surely, you know someone at the newspaper.”

“I don’t ‘know’ any reporter who could compete with Ms. Chancellor.”

Her instant temper flare puzzled him. Which statement pissed her off, the reporter or his way-out-of-line comment about what she thought of him? She probably didn’t think of him at all. Ever. Period. He’d hit her hot button when he mentioned the reporter and had no idea why.

“There’s that temper again, Hotshot. I have zero contacts here in Atlanta. You must’ve made at least one friend in the newspaper office.”

She shifted her gaze away from him. “I do know someone who’ll help.”

“Good. As long as we can trust him.” Relieved, he closed down the picture of the FOX reporter.

She pulled out her cell. “I’ll try to catch him before he goes to lunch.”

****

Friday, April 30, 2:00 p.m.

Leigh sat on a bench in Piedmont Park and finished entering her notes while J.T. walked Alan Forge to his car. Her skin chilled. Alan had been the lead reporter for the Atlanta Journal Constitution during Jason’s trial. Should she worry he’d divulge her personal information? No. She shook off the goose bumps on her arms. He didn’t know about the pregnancy.

J.T.’s gaze lifted briefly and locked on hers. When had he stopped scowling? Had it been her imagination? He sure wasn’t frowning now. Her heart did a little cartwheel. Her lower stomach heated, muscles contracted, and warmth spread south.
Stop.
He’d made his feelings about marriage and children loud and clear. She wasn’t shopping for a husband anyway. Any man she dated had to like kids.

Her mother had been right. The scar didn’t diminish his looks. Leigh doubted any movie star filled out a starched white shirt and black slacks as well. The day had grown warm, and without a breeze, the park turned steamy. While J.T. talked, he rolled his sleeves up far enough to reveal muscular forearms. She’d feel safe and protected if he wrapped them around her. Did a bed of black hair nestle in the middle of his broad chest? She’d have to remove the shirt and T-shirt to find out. Ah, she sighed, maybe in another life. She returned her laptop to its case after Alan drove off and J.T. returned.

“Nice guy,” he commented. “Meeting here was a good idea.”

He surprised her by extending his hand to assist her in standing. As he folded his fingers around hers, electricity shot up her arm. Fearful J.T. was experiencing the same heat, she pulled away, hooking the laptop case strap over her shoulder.

“And he keeps his word.”

She hadn’t thanked J.T. for not discussing the trip to Peachtree City with anyone at work. Before she got in the car, she stopped and took this opportunity. “You didn’t discuss my family or the bicycle incident with Olivia or Romeo, and I appreciate your discretion.”

“How do you know I didn’t?” One corner of his mouth rose into that lopsided grin.

“They asked me who Ethan was. So you must not have told them.”

“Not my place to tell. Besides, then you might’ve told them your kid beat me on a video game.” J.T. slid in behind the wheel and waited for her to buckle up.

“Your secret’s safe with me.” She kept seeing flashes of the nice guy he worked hard to keep hidden. Funny, she liked both sides.

“How’s your dad?”

“He’s fine. The bike died.”

“I got damn good at fixing my broken toys. Want me to take a look?” He started the car, letting it idle.

“Thanks, it looked past resuscitation to me.” The blood drained from her head. The urge to say yes almost overwhelmed her. Taking him up on the offer meant inviting him to her house. Other than her dad and babysitter’s husband, she’d never allowed a man inside her home. Maybe she was paranoid, but trusting came hard for her.

“Your folks didn’t buy the bike?”

“No. Somebody had it delivered already assembled. Dad assumed it came from me.”

“Bicycles don’t normally show up assembled, ready to ride, without shipping documents and no signature required.” J.T. shut off the engine and turned to look at her. His scowl had returned.

“I know. And I know who sent the damn thing. Can’t prove it. Nobody on the block saw anything, and that bike’s sold by every major retailer in the area.” She rolled her hands into tight balls. “I should box the pieces up and send them back to him.”

“Him?” J.T. rested his hand on her knee. The same warm comfort she felt before settled in her heart. “Ethan’s father?”

Seconds ticked by. Leigh’s shoulders ached from carrying the weight alone. Dare she open up and share the secret she’d guarded for almost seven years? What if she told him the whole story? Would he condemn her for bringing a rapist’s child into the world? Would he understand how she’d leaned on her rape crisis group to help her out of the dark hole she’d been in after the attack? Would he agree with her final decision that nurture overrode nature when it came to children?
Too risky.
Maybe she should trust him with only part of the truth.