Passion In The First Degree Page 17

  She rubbed her forehead wearily, then punched on the computer, knowing it would take her most of the afternoon to make copies of all of Tyler’s files. She opened her purse, withdrew her glasses and put them on as she waited for the computer to boot up.

  There was no way she’d believe Billy was guilty, and it had nothing to do with his expertise as a lover. The key to Tyler’s murder was in his files, files that involved the swamp serpent murders.

  Punching the appropriate keys, Shelby attempted to call up one of the files she wanted. She frowned as she received an error message. FILE NOT FOUND. Tapping on the keys, she tried again. FILE NOT FOUND. What was going on? She tried another file and received the same message. Finally, going to the root directory, she scanned the list of files. All of the swamp serpent ones were gone, as if they’d never existed.

  “Damn,” she muttered. Shutting off the computer, she felt cold fingers drag up her spine as she realized what had happened. While she had been gone, somebody had sneaked into her room and erased all the files. Somebody in the house…a member of her family. And there was only one reason for the files to be erased—somebody had been afraid of what she might discover.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I’ll be back to pick you up later this afternoon,” Billy said to his son as he gave him a quick hug.

  “Okay, Dad.” Parker looked at Angelique. “Is Rafe awake?”

  She nodded. “He’s in his bedroom watching cartoons. Go on.” Parker scurried down the hall and disappeared into Rafe’s room.

  “Walk me out?” Billy said to Angelique.

  As they stepped out on her porch, the morning sun was just rising above the trees, casting a shimmering golden light on the swamp land. Angelique looked at Billy, noting how even the golden light of day couldn’t dispel the darkness of his eyes.

  Angelique knew it was the pervasive darkness that all people born and raised in the swamp carried with them. It was something others couldn’t understand, a darkness bred in savage beauty and deepened by nature’s supreme survival law. One had to be strong to make it in the swamp.

  “I don’t know how long it will take for Shelby and me to go over all the reports we need to read. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  Angelique shrugged. “You know Parker is always welcome here.”

  He nodded, his gaze lingering on her with a studied detachment that caused a niggle of fear in Angelique. “You’ve been a good friend, Angelique,” he said.

  “Rafe, you and Parker are the only things I’ve cared about since Remy’s death,” she answered. He smiled, but still she sensed a distance from him that frightened her. She stepped closer to him, wanting to bridge the distance, but knowing it had nothing to do with their physical proximity.

  “Shelby tells me she found a dead bouquet in her bed.” His eyes flashed an emotion Angelique had never seen before. “I’m not making any accusations, I just want you to know that I will kill anyone who harms Shelby.” His intensity dissipated somewhat and he smiled once again. “I need her. She’s the only one who can get me out of the mess I’m m, the only one who believes in my innocence.”

  “I believe in you,” Angelique said.

  Billy placed an arm around her shoulder. “Yeah, but you aren’t my lawyer.”

  She wished she was. She wanted to be as important to him as Shelby Longsford. If she was lucky, her dreams would come true and would make Shelby’s heart dead, make it impossible for Shelby to ever love Billy.

  “I don’t know for sure when I’ll be back for Parker,” Billy said. “It’s going to be a long day.”

  “You know it doesn’t matter. Parker will be fine here with Rafe and me.”

  He kissed her on the cheek and stepped down off the porch. “I’ll see you later.”

  She nodded and watched as he moved through the swamp, finally disappearing into the glare of the morning sun. Leaning against the wooden railing, she drew in a deep breath. She knew Billy had meant his threat. He’d kill anyone who harmed Shelby Longsford.

  With another sigh, Angelique turned and went back inside, trying to forget all the people she’d lost to the swamp serpent, how frightened she was of losing Billy to Shelby.

  “I HAD TO BEG AND PLEAD with Bob to give me all this stuff after I told him I didn’t have Tyler’s computer files anymore,” Shelby said as she slapped a stack of manila folders down on Billy’s table.

  “What happened to the computer files?” Billy asked. He poured her a cup of coffee, then refilled his and joined her at the table.

  Shelby sighed. “Somebody went into my bedroom and erased all the files.”

  Billy regarded her thoughtfully. “Are you sure you didn’t somehow delete them yourself?”

  She shook her head. “I’m no computer expert, but I know I didn’t delete them. And the hard drive didn’t crash, either. All the other files were still there. Only the ones pertaining to the murders were gone. Somebody intentionally erased those. Damn it, I should have made backup copies. I can’t believe I was so stupid.” Her gaze met his and she wondered if her fear radiated from her eyes. “Billy, I have to face the fact that somebody in my house, a member of my family, is the swamp serpent.”

  He gave a quick nod. “Or somebody in your house is protecting the swamp serpent,” he added.

  “Who would protect such a killer?” she asked, finding little relief in his words. Although she preferred to believe nobody in her family was a killer, that one of her own would protect the murderer was just as heinous as actually committing the crimes.

  “Somebody who believes in what the killer is doing,” Billy answered.

  An ache of harsh reality twisted in Shelby’s stomach. She thought of her father and his venomous disdain of the swamp community. “All the time I was in Shreveport, I played a game with myself. I’d tell other people how wonderful my family was, how supportive my parents were, how much love there was between me and my siblings. I painted a pretty picture with words that had nothing to do with reality. Reality is somebody in my family might be a killer, and the sad thing is I can’t discount anyone.” She rubbed the back of her neck, where tension had built to substantial proportions. “God, to say my family is a mess is an understatement.”

  Billy stood and circled behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders and gently massaged. “Having a screwed-up family puts you in good company.” His thumbs moved to the base of her skull, working in small circular motions to ease the tightness. “I grew up hearing about the horrors of my parents. I suppose you heard all the stories.” His finger pressure increased, although not painful.

  “I heard that your father killed your mother, then hung himself in the swamp,” Shelby answered softly.

  Billy laughed. “Ah, yes, that was the most popular rumor. The only good thing it accomplished was as I was growing up it scared the other kids into leaving me alone. I think they figured if my father was a crazed killer, who knew what I was capable of.”

  “So, what really happened?” she asked. She reached up and caught his wrists in her hands, stopping the massage, wanting to look at him, not have him speak from behind her where she couldn’t see his face, try to read his features.

  He hesitated a moment, then returned to his chair. “I heard the whispers of my father’s madness and crime until I was twelve. In my heart I couldn’t believe the stories were true. After all, my father was Mama Royce’s son. I couldn’t believe she would raise a murderer.”

  Shelby smiled. “That’s the very reason I knew you were innocent. Mama Royce raised you and I knew she couldn’t raise a murderer.”

  Billy sipped his coffee, a wistful sadness deepening the hue of his eyes. “I finally asked Mama Royce what had happened and she told me the truth. My mother was ill with cancer. By the time she went to a doctor it was too late for treatment. She died in her sleep, and my father found her dead one morning.” He drew a deep breath and Shelby knew the emotional cost he paid in sharing with her. “Mama Royce said he went crazy with grief. They found
him later that afternoon. He’d hung himself.”

  He stood and went back to the counter to refill his coffee mug. “What bothered me more than anything was that I wasn’t enough to keep him alive.” Even with his back toward her, Shelby heard the pain reflected in his deep voice…the pain of a little boy who believed he’d been lacking because he hadn’t been enough to keep his father alive.

  She got up and walked to him. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing against his solid back in an effort to assuage his hurt. “Oh, Billy.” She sighed. “As children we want our parents to be perfect, and it’s sad when we realize they’re only human and horribly imperfect.” She stepped away from him as he turned around and faced her.

  Gone was the moment of vulnerability, hidden beneath a mask of strength. “I guess we’d better get to work on those files.” Again a whisper of sadness darkened his eyes. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and find something that will completely exonerate all the members of your family in the murders.” Placing an arm around her shoulders, he led her back to the table where the files awaited them.

  For a little over two hours they sat at the table, not speaking, both reading page after page of police reports, statements and notes gathered about the swamp serpent murders. After reading the autopsy reports, staring at grotesque photographs, Shelby wondered if she would ever sleep without nightmares again.

  The pictures of the victims haunted her, the details of their deaths horrifying her. What kind of a person could use a knife and savagely steal life? And how could she even begin to believe that somebody in her family was capable of such a thing?

  “Let’s take a break,” Billy said, interrupting the silence that had engulfed them.

  Shelby nodded and closed the manila folder before her. “I could use a break,” she admitted.

  “Let’s drive into town and get lunch at Martha’s.” Shelby readily agreed, needing not only a break from the crime reports, but an escape from Billy’s closeness, as well. She’d felt his gaze on her frequently, as if questioning, probing, needing something she was reluctant to give.

  She had a feeling that sooner or later she was going to have to say that sleeping with him again had been a mistake, one she wasn’t going to repeat another time. She couldn’t, because she knew she was at risk of losing her heart to Billy.

  As they drove in his pickup toward town, she considered her relationship with Billy. That there was passion between them was certain, but Shelby knew passion was not love. They also shared a curious bond forged in childhood and their mutual love of Mama Royce. One thing that didn’t concern her was the ridiculous notion that she and Billy couldn’t fall in love because he was from the swamp.

  One of the things she admired about him was his passion for the swamp and its people, his utter devotion to seeing to their needs, working for their futures. She’d seen his rage over the murders, knew the bitterness he held in his heart for whomever was responsible. If one of her family members was responsible for the heinous crimes, she feared that each time Billy looked at her, he’d see the faces of the victims.

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Not really.”

  “You will be when you walk into Martha’s and smell some of her gumbo or jambalaya.”

  “Isn’t it strange that Martha’s is the one place in town where swamp and town people come together without conflict.”

  Billy smiled wryly. “There’s one other place, also. The cemetery.”

  Shelby leaned her head back against the seat, her gaze still on him. “Did you know my father had an affair with Angelique’s sister, Marguerite?”

  “I think most people knew about it. But that’s old news. Marguerite has been dead a long time.”

  “Yes, she was the second victim of the swamp serpent.” Shelby sighed in frustration. “I keep trying to figure out a motive for the killings. At first I thought maybe Marguerite had broken off with my father and he killed her. But that doesn’t make sense. She wasn’t the first victim, nor was she the last.” She frowned. “God, listen to me, attempting to tie my father to a murder.”

  “No, you’re trying to logically think through a crime and unfortunately your father is a strong suspect.”

  “It’s a horrible feeling, to think that your own father might be a killer.”

  “I know,” Billy answered softly. His hand found hers on the seat and gently enfolded it in warmth. They rode that way in silence until they pulled up in front of Martha’s. Only then did he release her hand, leaving her with a momentary bereavement and making her realize how tenuous was her hold on her own heart.

  “I spoke to Olivia about her dinner with Tyler on the night he was killed,” she said after they’d been seated and placed their orders. “She said they just ran into each other, decided to eat together, then parted ways.”

  “Sounds innocent enough,” Billy said.

  “Yes, but I keep thinking what if Tyler told Olivia he was close to discovering the identity of the swamp serpent, then innocently she repeated that to somebody else…somebody who realized Tyler was a threat?”

  “Who might she have repeated it to?”

  Shelby fought a wave of helplessness. “Who knows…my father or Roger, anyone in the house.” She hit a fist against the tabletop. “If only I could remember what I saw that night. It’s there, trapped in my mind, but I can’t get to it. I toss and turn all night long, trying to recall all the details of that night, but when I get to the face of the killer, it’s blank.”

  Again Billy’s hand covered hers, his dark gaze full of sympathy. “You’re probably trying too hard. When you least expect it, you’ll remember.”

  “Yes, but will it be too late? Billy, we don’t have much of a defense for you. Sure, I can tell the jury that Tyler was working on the swamp murders and we believe that’s what got him killed, but there’s no guarantee they’re going to take that theory over Abe’s speculation that it was a crime of passion committed by you.”

  “Then I guess you’ll just have to be sure you remember before they come back with a verdict and put me away for life,” Billy said.

  Shelby grinned and pulled her hand from his. “Thanks for the no-pressure approach.”

  When the waitress brought their orders, they fell into silence. Shelby found her mind wandering back over the files she’d been reading, reaching, struggling to find something, anything that might exclude all members of the Longsford family from any culpability.

  Billy ate methodically, his gaze distantly focused on the tabletop. Shelby wondered what he was thinking, if he knew the precarious position he was in and if he contemplated running. She couldn’t bear the thought of him in a prison. Shelby knew that, like a wild creature in captivity, confinement would eventually kill him. And what of Parker?

  “Billy, I know you don’t have any relatives, but what about Fayrene? Did she have family?”

  He shook his head. “No. Like me, Fayrene had nobody. I think that’s part of what initially drew us to each other.”

  “You loved her?

  “I thought I did.” He smiled sadly. “I was lonely. I wanted to build something of my own, a family, financial security. I wanted to take the money Mama Royce left me and build something to give back to the swamp community, make a difference to those people. I thought Fayrene wanted the same kinds of things, but I was wrong. She was angry that I invested instead of spent. She’d been poor all her life and wanted baubles and nice things. She didn’t want community work, she wanted luxury. I didn’t realize until too late what a mistake it had been for us to marry each other.”

  “I’m sorry.” And she was, sorry for shattered dreams and broken promises. She understood the desire to build something, the hunger for somebody to turn to in the night, to whisper shared dreams.

  “What about you, Shelby? Why haven’t you found some nice man and started a family?”

  She twirled her straw in her soda, finding his question difficult to answer. She couldn’t tell him that the single exp
erience she’d shared with him so many years before had tainted other men for her, although that was partially the truth. “I don’t know. I dated occasionally back in Shreveport, but nobody special, nobody I could imagine spending the rest of my life with.”

  “I have a feeling when this is all over I may have problems finding dates. Especially if the real killer isn’t found and there’s a lingering doubt about my innocence.”

  Shelby smiled. “You might be surprised. There are plenty of women who enjoy flirting with and dating dangerous men.”

  Billy reached out and stroked the back of her hand, the caress evoking a heat inside her. “What about you, Shelby? Are you drawn to dangerous men?” His voice was as seductive as a tongue against her ear, as beguiling as a kiss against her neck.

  “Billy, what happened between us the other night was a mistake, one I don’t intend to repeat. Professionally, it was a very stupid thing to do. You’re my client and we need to maintain a professional relationship.”

  “It’s a little late for that.” His eyes spoke to hers in passionate whispers, igniting a flame as his gaze lingered on her lips, then on the swell of her breasts. He leaned forward and claimed her hand once again in his. “It’s difficult to forget the sweet sounds you uttered when I made love to you.” He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it. “You’ve gotten under my skin, Shelby, and I think we’re going to make love again and again.”

  She snatched her hand from his. “You think too much,” she snapped, irritated that her body had responded so quickly to his touch, his words.

  Billy laughed and took a sip of his soda. “I find it amusing that years ago it was me telling you that making love was a big mistake. Now you’re saying those same words back to me.” His smile faded and he regarded her soberly. “I wonder if the timing will ever be right between us, when we’ll make love and neither one of us will consider it a mistake.”

  “You’d be better off worrying about your legal position than your love life,” Shelby answered. “If we don’t improve your legal position, you won’t have much of a love life.” She busied herself with her napkin, wiping her mouth then wadding the napkin into a ball at the side of her plate. “In fact, I’d say it’s time for us to get back to work on those files.”