Passion In The First Degree Part 8

They decided Shelby would drive her own car and follow Michael. Minutes later as Shelby rolled down her car window to allow in the warm morning air, her thoughts turned to Billy and the kiss they'd shared in the bar the night before.

It was still there. Whatever powerful force had exploded between them on the night of Mama Royce's death was still there, simmering with intensity, volatile and unpredictable. She wished it wasn't. She could pretend it didn't exist, deny it to Billy, but she couldn't fool herself.

He touched her like no other man, but she knew it would be foolish to follow through on the attraction. He needed her legal prowess, nothing else. She'd survived one bout with Billy; she wasn't at all sure she could survive another.

She would keep their relations.h.i.+p firmly on a professional level. Although she knew there were times when lawyers got intimately involved with their clients, she'd never considered it a smart move. She smiled and reminded herself that as of last night, according to Billy, she no longer worked for him.

She'd sort that particular detail out later. As far as she was concerned she wasn't off his case until she decided. Pulling in to a parking s.p.a.ce next to Michael's car, she turned her attention to the building before her.

The community center was a large, nondescript, onestory building. On one side a fence surrounded a playground full of colorful playground equipment and on the other side was a basketball court. Behind the building the edges of the swamp encroached, filling the air with the scent of exotic flowers, dense greenery and always the underlying scent of something rotten.

Michael met her as she got out of her car. "It's not much to look at, but it's a beginning," he said. "We provide before- and after-school care for the kids around the area, we've got a teen program and are working now to provide some services for the elderly." His gaze went toward the dark marshlands. "At least this is one place the people from the swamp can come and be safe." Michael shook his head sadly. "There isn't a family in that swamp that hasn't been touched by the serpent murders. They say at night you can hear the mournful cries of the bereaved."

Shelby s.h.i.+vered at the haunting image his words evoked. "Bob says there have been no clues, nothing to indicate who might be responsible."

"No clues, no pattern to the timing of the murders, no motive tying them all together. I have little faith the killer will ever be found. Whoever is responsible for the crime is smart and evil."

"And so people will just continue to die? What a horrifying thought. And the worst part is that n.o.body seems to care."

Michael smiled at her. "Your Don Quixote syndrome is showing." He took her arm as they walked toward the front door. "You always did joust at windmills. Honey, you aren't going to change the prejudices of this town overnight. We're making a start here, but we've got a long way to go."

He opened the front door and together they walked into a room filled with chaos. More than a dozen children were seated at tables on one side of the room, uncooked elbow macaroni, bottles of glue and colorful construction paper providing their entertainment.

"Father Mike." Several of them left their table and ran toward him, their arms outstretched. Michael bent and embraced each one, laughing as they chattered, each vying for his attention. It was easy to tell these were children from the swamp. Although clean, their clothes were faded and ill fitting. The children were thin, their faces already weathered by nature's elements, poverty and a hint of distrust.

Michael patted them each on the back, then sent them back to their places at the table. He straightened and smiled at Shelby. "The young ones are the purest. Their hearts haven't been hardened yet by their circ.u.mstances and this town's hatred."

"Father Mike, you should have married, had children of your own," Shelby observed, noting the loving expression on his face as he watched the children at work.

He shook his head. "No. I knew from a very early age that marriage wasn't for me." He grinned ruefully. "We didn't exactly have the best example of a healthy marriage with Mother and Father. Mother had her bottle, and Father had his other women."

Shelby looked at him sharply. "Big John had affairs?"

Michael grimaced. "Sorry, I just figured you knew."

She smiled ruefully. "Ah, another ideal shattered beneath reality."

"I remember one spring night years ago when I overhead Mom and Dad fighting about his latest mistress. It scared me because I was certain he was going to leave all of us for her. Funny, I think it was the year you left home."

"I'm really not surprised," she replied thoughtfully. "Makes you wonder, doesn't it?"

"Wonder what?" he asked curiously.

Shelby grinned. "How we turned out so normal and well adjusted."

They both turned as the door opened and in walked a tall, dark-haired woman and a young boy. "There's Angelique and Parker Royce," Michael murmured, then went to greet the two.

Shelby would have known Billy's son in any place, among any crowd. His paternal stamp was all over the child, in the s.h.i.+ny dark hair that covered the boy's head, in the stubborn thrust of his chin and in the overwhelming darkness of his eyes. He had his father's eyes, only in Parker's there was still a wealth of hope, a childish trust that had yet to be betrayed.

He smiled at her, a shy, sweet smile that arrowed right through to her heart. Shelby knew if Billy went to prison it wouldn't be the memory of Mama Royce's eyes that haunted her dreams. It would be Parker's.

Her gaze moved from the child to the woman. Whoever she was, she was beautiful, with the proud carriage of a queen. Her multicolored skirt and blouse only added to her exotic allure. She spoke with Michael only a moment, then released her hold on Parker's hand and gently pushed him toward the other children. She headed for the front door, then hesitated and turned, her gaze locking with Shelby's.

Shelby's breath caught in her chest as she fought an impulse to step back, to escape the powerful hostility that radiated from the woman's eyes. It was there only a moment, then masked beneath pa.s.sivity. Shelby didn't breathe until the woman went through the doorway and disappeared from sight. She exhaled and turned to Michael, who'd rejoined her. "Who's that woman?"

"That's Angelique Boujoulais. She's a friend of Billy's and supposed to be a powerful woman in the swamp community."

"Powerful how?" Shelby wrapped her arms around herself, warding off a chill as she thought of the brief eye contact.

"She's reputed to be a powerful healer. Even Doc goes to her for help in herbal cures. Some say she dabbles in magic."

The chill that Shelby had tried to ward off s.h.i.+vered up her spine as she once again remembered that moment when their eyes had locked and Angelique's had radiated malevolence. Terrific-as if she didn't have enough to worry about, she'd somehow managed to garner the gypsy woman's animosity.

She wondered if Angelique and Billy were lovers, and was surprised when the thought brought with it a tinge of jealousy. Once again her head filled with the memory of his kiss, so seductive, so provocative.

"Shelby, you okay?"

She jumped when Michael touched her arm. "I'm fine." She shoved thoughts of Billy aside and smiled at her brother. "Why don't you show me the rest of this place and introduce me to the children?"

IT WAS NEARLY NOON when Shelby left the community center and drove to the nearby police station, anxious to give Bob a statement about the shooting the night before, then get back home for a nap. Her shoulder throbbed, and her restless night was catching up with her.

"Shelby, I was just going to send my deputy after you," Bob greeted her as she walked into the station. "Jonathon LaJune is in the back." He gestured toward a closed door. "He's spilling his guts. He's the one who shot you last night."

"Tyler's father?" Shelby looked at him in surprise.

Bob nodded. "He's convinced Billy is responsible for Tyler's death. He decided to mete out his own brand of justice last night, but his aim isn't as good as it used to be. I'll need your statement so we can press charges."

"I want to speak with him before I give a statement."

Bob hesitated, then shrugged. "I suppose it would be all right." He ushered her through the door, down a hallway and into a small interrogation room.

"I'd like to speak to him alone," she said before going in.

Again Bob paused, then nodded. "Okay, I'll give you five minutes. He's grieving, Shelby, but he's also a very angry man."

Shelby had childhood memories of Tyler's father, memories of a man as vivid, as powerful as Big John. But the man who was seated at the table in the small interrogation room held little resemblance to the man of her memories. He seemed to have shrunk, his shoulders slumped forward as he rested his head between his hands.

He looked up when she closed the door behind her, and his eyes filled with tears. "Shelby, I'm a foolish old man," he said, his voice full of the tears his eyes couldn't hold. "I could have killed you."

"Yes, you could have," she agreed, and sat down across from him at the table.

He swiped at the tears angrily and glared at her. "I wish I'd hit him. I wish I'd killed him. I'll dance on his grave when he's gone."

Shelby sucked in her breath at the intensity of his hatred for Billy. "Mr. LaJune, I don't believe Billy is responsible for Tyler's death."

He leaned back in his chair and studied her for a long moment, his expression alternating between profound loss and simmering rage. "I heard you came all the way here from Shreveport just to defend that killer." He leaned forward, allowing Shelby to smell the scent of cigar smoke and grief that clung to him. "You were Tyler's friend. How can you let yourself be taken in by Billy Royce?"

"I'm not being taken in by anyone," Shelby countered. "Right now all I'm looking for is the truth. Tell me about Tyler. I've been gone from Black Bayou for a long time. Where was he working? Who were his friends?"

Jonathon leaned back once again in the chair, his gaze losing some of its intensity. "Of course, I'd dreamed of him coming to work for the family business, but you know Tyler, always writing, scribbling stories and keeping journals. For the last seven years he worked as a reporter at the Black Bayou Daily News."

"How long had he been seeing Fayrene?"

The rage came back, filling his eyes and twisting his features. "I don't know. If I knew he was tied up with that swamp sc.u.m, I'd have had his hide." A vein pulsed in the side of his neck and his breathing was rapid and uneven. "Tyler was a victim of circ.u.mstance. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That was his only crime... accidentally getting in the middle between Fayrene and Billy. He was the victim of a madman's rage."

His pain was a palpable force in the tiny room. He slumped farther down in the chair, as if the rage had been all that held him erect, and with it momentarily expended he was left with only exhaustion. "I'm sorry I hurt you, Shelby. It was an accident, the failing eyesight of an old man. Tyler was my only child, the only heir to the LaJune name. Billy Royce not only killed my child, he killed the hope of future LaJunes."

"Mr. LaJune." Shelby reached across the table and touched his hand, wanting to convey her own sorrow, her grief at the loss of Tyler. "I grew up with Tyler and Billy. Billy couldn't have murdered Tyler. Billy loved Tyler."

Jonathon LaJune smiled, an ugly gesture that had nothing to do with joy. "Ah, Shelby, you're a fool if you think so. Don't you know that Billy Royce loves no one? That man doesn't know how to love."

Bob opened the door and stepped in, preempting any further conversation. "Shelby?" He motioned her out into the hallway. "We'll go sit down in one of the other rooms and I'll take your statement."

"I'm not giving a statement. I'm not pressing charges."

Bob raked a hand through his hair. "Are you sure?"

She nodded. "It was an accident, Bob. The act of a man consumed with grief. I don't think he'll try anything like it again."

"Okay, it's your call." He suddenly looked sheepish. "I've got some other news to break to you."

"What?"

"A warrant was issued for Billy's arrest. A couple of deputies brought him in just a few minutes ago. He's being charged in the double homicide of Fayrene Whitney and Tyler LaJune." Bob's voice was stilted, the voice of the sheriff speaking to a lawyer.

"d.a.m.n it, Bob, you could have warned me," she snapped, her fatigue suddenly gone as adrenaline pumped through her. "Where is he? I want to see him."

"He's in one of the holding tanks. The judge is out of town for the night. The arraignment is scheduled for first thing tomorrow morning, so he'll be our guest at least for the night. Come on, I'll take you back."

As Shelby followed Bob, her mind raced. She'd hoped to have more time. She'd hoped to be able to investigate more, come up with some reasonable doubts to present to a jury. Now the wheels of justice were turning too fast, and unless she came up with something quickly she feared Billy would be crushed.

"Just knock on the door when you're finished with him," Bob said as he unlocked the steel door and motioned her inside.

If she expected Billy to be subdued or humbled by his arrest, she was mistaken. He sat on a chair in the corner of the small room, his hands cuffed together before him.

He smiled as she came in, the same bold, s.e.xy grin he might have offered to her had they met in a smoke-filled bar. "Ah, my lovely counsel has finally arrived."

"Last I heard you fired me," Shelby replied.

His gaze drifted from her face to where the bandage showed through the thin material of her blouse. "How's your shoulder?"

"It's fine. Jonathon LaJune confessed to being the shooter."

"So I heard." He gestured her into the chair next to him. The chains of the handcuffs jangled discordantly with his motion.

"Billy, before we go any further, I need to know that you're committed to me acting as your legal representative. I can't have you firing me whenever the mood strikes or when things get tough." She sat down in the chair, her gaze locked with his. "I'm not a little girl anymore, Billy. I no longer need you to hold my hand and lead me out of the darkness of the swamp. Now it's you who needs me." She held up a hand to still his protest. "You need me, Billy, to see you through the intricacies of the legal system."

He reached out and took her hand in his. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but a smile curved the corners of his lips. "I have a feeling before this is all over and done with, we're going to need each other."

Shelby drew in a deep breath, unsure what terrified her more: the battle ahead to keep Billy out of prison, or the thought that she might ever need him again.

Chapter Ten.

"We've got to set some ground rules here," Shelby said the next morning as she walked with Billy into the courtroom for his arraignment. "You don't speak with anyone without checking with me first. You answer the judge respectfully and only when I tell you to." She eyed him harshly. "This isn't a game, Billy. You're out of your league here and I'm talking about your survival."

He nodded, his eyes mocking her, telling her he realized she was repeating his words from The Edge back to him. "You're the boss, Ms. Longsford."

"Let's try to keep it that way, at least until the end of these proceedings," she said, nerves taut as a fiddle string as the district attorney, Abner Witherspoon, entered the courtroom.

"Shelby." He greeted her with a wide smile that reflected off the spit s.h.i.+ne on his patent leather shoes. "I couldn't believe it when I heard that little Shelby Longsford was going to be my adversary in this particular case. I still think of you with pigtails and freckles."

"I never had freckles, nor did I ever wear pigtails," Shelby returned, knowing the mind games had already begun. Good old Abe would try his best to intimidate her before the case even began. "I must confess, I was a little surprised to realize you were presenting the state's case. I thought you were dead." Shelby smiled sweetly, aware of Billy's rumble of laughter as Abe turned on his heel and went to his table.

"Do you think that was wise?" Billy asked as Shelby sat down next to him and they awaited the arrival of the judge.

"What? Baiting Abner? Probably not, but I had to let him know in no uncertain terms that he won't intimidate me." She unlatched her briefcase. "It's part of the game lawyers play."

"What other kinds of games have you learned to play since you've been gone?" Billy asked, his voice soft and insinuating.

"All rise," the bailiff said, preventing any response Shelby might have made.

The proceeding took thirty minutes, and in that time Shelby managed to convince the judge to set a bail. Although she knew Abner only agreed because he was certain Billy would never be able to raise the appropriate percentage of the hundred-thousand-dollar amount. However, both Abner and Shelby were surprised when Gator stepped forward and posted bond, leaving Billy free to walk out of the courthouse, his court date set for the next month.

"We've got a lot of work to do in a short amount of time," Shelby said as they walked out into the brutal humidity and midmorning heat. "I can't believe the judge refused to give us more time."

"Everyone in town is eager to get the crazed killer behind bars," Billy replied dryly. "Why don't we start by going over to Martha's and getting a bowl of her gumbo," he suggested. "I don't have much to say for jail food."

"If we don't come up with some reasonable doubt as to your guilt, you'll be eating jail food for a very long time to come."

He grinned. "Ah, Shelby, a man could get lost in your sweet talk."

They fell silent as they walked down the sidewalk toward the restaurant. Shelby felt the curious stares of the people they pa.s.sed and knew word was out that Billy had been arrested and charged. The gossip mill in Black Bayou was apparently as healthy as ever.

"Where did Gator get the kind of money it took to bail you out of jail?" she asked, breaking the silence between them.

"I gave Gator that money to hold in the event of my arrest."

"Where did you get that kind of money?" She looked at him curiously, trying not to notice how the suns.h.i.+ne played on the darkness of his hair, highlighted the sharp angles of his face.

"Don't worry, it's not stolen or ill-gained," he replied. "When Mama Royce died she left me a healthy nest egg. I've made some investments that have been quite profitable. I've learned how to play money games with Wall Street. There's nothing I like better than to legally rob from the rich and give to who needs it." He paused as they came to the restaurant door. "To tell the truth, Shelby, I'm one of the wealthiest people in this town, but everyone sees me as just another swamp rat." His eyes darkened in intensity. "Money can buy you lots of things, but in this town it can't buy you out of the swamp."

"Is that what you want?" she asked softly. "To buy your way out of the swamp?"