Passion In The First Degree Part 3

"Who's the prosecutor now?" Shelby asked, her mind scooting back to Billy's case.

"Abner Witherspoon."

She looked at him in surprise. "I thought he was dead. He worked as a campaign manager for my father about a hundred years ago."

Bob laughed. "There are some who wish he'd retire and get out of town. He's the leader of a small group of the old guard still left, men who don't want to see any change."

Abner Witherspoon. Uncle Abe, as she had called him in her early childhood. If Shelby agreed to defend Billy, she would face Abner in a courtroom. It was a daunting thought. Abner had a reputation for being shrewd, manipulative and a master at legal maneuvering. He would be a lethal adversary.

"Shelby, I really enjoyed this evening," Bob said as he pulled the car around to the back of the house.

"I did, too." She was surprised to discover she meant it. She had enjoyed his company, found him pleasant...safe. Frowning, she wondered what had made her think of that particular adjective.

Bob walked her to the door, his hand at her elbow in courtly fas.h.i.+on. Shelby could smell his after-shave, a pleasant light spicy scent. They paused at the door.

"Will you have dinner with me again?"

She smiled. "You promise to talk about your work again?"

His eyes lit with pleasure and he reached out a hand and swept a strand of her hair away from her shoulder. "I think we could come up with some sort of a compromise." He leaned closer to her, his fingers softly caressing the side of her face. "We'll talk about my job over dinner, and we'll talk about yours over dessert." He smiled and stepped away. "Good night Shelby...and welcome home."

She stood on the veranda and watched until his car lights disappeared from sight. Still she lingered, reluctant to go inside. The night air wrapped her in a humid, sweetly perfumed embrace and the moon overhead hung low, a crescent moon like a sliver of ripened fruit.

Shelby had always loved the night. Countless nights in her youth she had sneaked out her bedroom window, climbed down the column and run to the warmth and love of Mama Royce's cabin. The swamp had never frightened her, despite the inherent dangers. Mama Royce had taught her to love the marshy bogs, the roots and flowers that grew in dank, shady places, the untamed wildness filled with mystery and beauty.

On impulse, she kicked off her shoes and stepped off the veranda. The gra.s.s licked her feet with cool dampness. The night spoke to her in buzzes and clicks and throaty croaks. It was a nighttime lullaby, a childhood melody she'd missed.

The slice of moonlight silhouetted the trees at the outer edge of the swamp but couldn't illuminate the heart, which remained dark and mysterious.

As Shelby stared at the moon-dappled trees, her throat closed up with fear. A memory tapped on her brain...figures dancing in the dark, the moon a silver orb hanging low, a scream trapped deep inside her. Fear, rich and full, s.h.i.+vered through her and she took a stumbling step backward, back toward the safety of the veranda.

Something in the swamp. Something ugly...something horrid. The scream that clogged her throat cut off her breath. She couldn't breathe. The need to scream clawed at her insides. Turning in panic, she released the scream as strong hands grabbed her shoulders from behind.

"Shelby."

She whirled around and stared at Billy. Without thought, acting only from need, she threw herself against him and wrapped her arms around his neck. His arms instantly responded in kind, enveloping her against his hard strength. "I don't know what the good sheriff fed you for dinner, but he ought to do it more often." Billy's deep voice vibrated inside Shelby, and as quickly as the inexplicable fear had appeared, it vanished.

She jerked out of his grasp. "What in the h.e.l.l are you doing sneaking around out here in the dark?" she demanded, anger safer than fear. The moonlight stroked his dark hair, causing it to glimmer as if shot through with shards of silver.

"I must hand it to you, Shelby. First day back in town and you snag a date with the town's most eligible bachelor. How is the good sheriff?"

"Have you been watching me?" It was an unnerving thought, that he'd hidden in the wall of brush, beneath the cypress trees, and watched her leave with Bob.

"Are you going to defend me?" He took a step toward her, bringing with him the smell of the swamp, a dark, mysterious scent that stirred her senses as Bob's pleasant spice smell never would.

"I told you we'd talk about it tomorrow."

"He didn't kiss you good-night. He's either an upstanding gentleman, or incredibly foolish." His teeth flashed white in a smile. "I would guess that he's a fool." He stood so close to her she could feel the heat from his body, see the moonlight reflected in the depths of his eyes.

She had never forgotten the feel of his callused hands against her bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s, the taste of his mouth so hungry against hers. No matter how she had tried to forget that single night with Billy, she couldn't. And she hated him for it. She hated him for branding her with his touch, his possession, causing an indelible mark no amount of time had erased.

Gazing at him coolly, she wondered if he could hear the fierce pounding of her heart. "What are you doing here, Billy? I thought we'd agreed to meet in the morning."

"I decided not to wait until morning." He bent and picked up her shoes, then motioned for her to sit in one of the wicker chairs on the veranda. "I've always done my best negotiations after dark."

"I'm sure," Shelby answered thinly as she sank onto the chair.

He went down on his haunches and lifted up one of her feet. Sliding on her sandal, he let his fingers linger on the delicate skin of her ankle, making the act far too sensual for Shelby's comfort. She s.n.a.t.c.hed the other shoe from his hand and maneuvered it onto her foot.

He stood and crossed his arms, a lazy grin of amus.e.m.e.nt curling one side of his mouth.

She stood back up, her face flushed with heat. "I don't like you spying on me." She hesitated a moment, then continued, "I heard today that you were stalking Fayrene before her death."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "You've been listening to rumors and innuendo." He leaned a hip against the veranda railing. "So, are you going to represent me?"

"Why was a knife belonging to you found at the murder scene?"

He grimaced. "I gave Tyler that knife months ago. He'd always admired it. It wasn't...it didn't have anything to do with the murder?"

She felt the tension coiled inside him and quickly shook her head. "No, but the sheriff considers it evidence that you were there."

Shelby thought of Mama Royce. The old woman had loved three things-the swamp, Billy and Shelby. If Mama were alive now, she would encourage Shelby to help Billy. There were powers at work here, more than just a debt to a dead woman, more than the remembered pa.s.sion shared in a single night of youth.

This was the kind of case she'd only dreamed about. Billy Royce already had a dozen strikes against him just in the mere accident of where he was born, where he had grown up. Without a good defense lawyer, Billy was as good as a dead man.

She looked at him, seeing the aura of danger that surrounded him, the mocking half smile, the arrogance that would make it difficult for him to find any other adequate representation. No good lawyer liked an uncooperative client, and she had a feeling Billy could be very uncooperative. "Yes. Yes, I'll represent you," she finally agreed.

He nodded, as if he hadn't expected any other answer. "Then we can discuss the particulars at our meeting in the morning."

"And I don't want you spying on me anymore." Shelby moved toward the door. "I'll see you in the morning." She started to open the door, but hesitated as he called her name. She turned back to look at him.

"You haven't asked me." His voice was soft, but filled with a repressed energy.

She frowned. "Haven't asked you what?"

"If I'm guilty or not."

She looked at him for a long moment, then sighed. "Maybe that's because I'm afraid of your answer." Without waiting for a reply, she slipped through the door and into the house.

Chapter Four.

"So, the rumor is true. You've finally come home." Big John Longsford looked at Shelby expectantly as she walked into the living room where the whole family was gathered.

"h.e.l.lo, Daddy."

He sat on the sofa like a king, the rest of the family gathered around like loyal subjects. She walked over to him and kissed him on the cheek, then did the same to her mother, who sat in a nearby chair.

"What will it be, sis?" John Junior grinned at her from behind the bar. He had the slightly glazed look of somebody who had already reached his limit of alcohol but would never admit it.

"Just a club soda." Shelby walked over to the bar and took the beverage from her eldest brother. It was amazing how in the past twelve years he had become a young replica of their father. He carried himself with the same arrogant a.s.surance, parted his hair carefully on the left. His chest, although not quite as barrel-like as Big John's, was emphasized by the tailored cut of his expensive dress s.h.i.+rt.

"Sit down, Shelby. I was just telling the family about our success in New Orleans."

Shelby tamped down an edge of resentment that flared at the command in her father's voice. Big John never asked. He demanded, and expected immediate compliance. She slid onto a bar stool, feeling as if she'd been thrust back in time. Big John had always liked family meetings with all his children gathered around him as he drank bourbon straight up and held court.

"You should have heard Junior's speech. It was brilliant." Big John looked at his namesake proudly.

Junior grinned and poured himself another drink. "Of course it was brilliant. You wrote it."

Big John's laughter filled the room, robust and deep from years of bourbon and cigarettes. As he rehashed the speech and Junior's performance, Shelby studied the members of her family.

The years hadn't diminished her father, rather he seemed bigger, bolder, more colorful than Shelby's memory. Time hadn't been as kind to her mother. Celia Longsford had faded, her features blending and becoming indistinct, like a watercolor painting left out in the rain. It was as if Big John sucked all the oxygen out of the air, not leaving enough for his wife to flourish.

Olivia sat next to Big John on the sofa, rapt with attention as he spoke. Beneath her caustic wit and hard crust, Olivia had always adored Big John, despite the fact that he often treated her with a casual cruelty.

In truth, Big John had always had little use for the women in his life. A fact Shelby had long ago accepted but Olivia continued to try to change.

She looked over at Michael, who winked at her like a coconspirator, as if he read her thoughts and commiserated with them. Again Shelby realized how much she had missed having Michael in her life. When she'd left Black Bayou so many years before, she'd left a lot of good behind in her attempt to flee her own confusion and misery. Another strike against Billy Royce, she thought irritably.

"Shelby hasn't told you yet what brought her home," Olivia said to Big John, then smiled archly at Shelby, obviously aware of the can of worms she opened. "She's come back to defend Billy Royce."

Celia gasped, a hand shooting up to cover her mouth.

"The h.e.l.l you say." In an eye blink, Big John was transformed. His features grew taut, the warmth of his brown eyes hardened to cold, hard speculation as he looked at Shelby. "Is that true?"

"It is." She met his gaze steadily, her heart taking up a beat from childhood.

"And what if I tell you I don't want you to do that?" The silence in the room was deafening as Big John confronted his youngest child.

"Then I'd tell you that I'm sorry you don't approve, but nothing changes. I intend to defend Billy."

"And what if I told you that you aren't welcome here if you're going to defend that man?"

Celia gasped again and Shelby shrugged. "There are several adequate hotels in Black Bayou. I'm sure I could find accommodations."

"Now that would sure as h.e.l.l give the gossips a field day." It was Big John who finally broke their eye-contact battle. He stared down into his gla.s.s. "d.a.m.n it, Junior. My gla.s.s is empty." As Junior hurried forward to refill the gla.s.s, Big John looked at Shelby once again. "This is my house. I won't have that trash here."

Shelby nodded curtly. She would respect his wishes even though she hated his prejudice. At times she wondered if that wasn't what had first prompted her to befriend Mama Royce, some kind of childish rebellion against the strong prejudice her father had always entertained against the people from the swamp. However, in those years of visiting Mama Royce, mingling with the people who embraced the wildness as their home, Shelby had developed a respect for them far greater than she would ever have for members of her own family.

Big John finished his bourbon in one deep swallow, then stood. "Been a long day. I'm ready to turn in." Celia rose also, as if connected by wires to her husband. It had always been that way. When Big John was tired, Celia also slept. When Big John was hungry, Celia ate. Shelby had never seen her mother as anything but a shadow. Big John's shadow.

"Some things never change," she said the moment Big John and Celia had left the room.

"Things have changed," Olivia protested. "Mother used to wait until c.o.c.ktail hour to have her first drink. Now she starts far earlier."

"Mother hides her pain in a bottle," Michael observed. "And you hide yours in flirting."

Olivia smiled at Michael. It was not a pleasant smile. Shelby's stomach tensed. "At least I don't hide behind a clerical collar."

"That's enough, Ollie," Junior admonished. He smiled at her fondly, then stifled a yawn with the back of his broad hand. "Guess I'll head to bed. Being charming and intelligent all day has worn me out. Shelby, good to have you home."

"I'm out of here, too," Olivia said, rising from the sofa with the languid elegance of a large cat. She gazed at Michael and Shelby in wry amus.e.m.e.nt. "I'll leave you two to pontificate on why we're all the way we are."

Junior laughed, and together brother and sister left the room. A moment later the back door opened and closed, signaling Olivia's departure from the house.

"I don't know about you, but the last thing I want to do is pontificate," Michael said with a grin.

Shelby laughed and moved to sit on the sofa. "I'm with you. I have too much on my mind to take on the quirks of my relatives."

"Billy?"

She nodded. "In my heart I can't believe he would ever be capable of killing anyone. I spent a lot of time with Billy and Mama Royce, and I know she's the one who raised Billy. I can't believe she'd raise a man capable of murder."

"That time you spent with them was a long time ago. Mama Royce has been dead for years and Billy has been left on his own without her influence. Things change, Shelby. People change."

"I know. That's what frightens me. As a defense lawyer his guilt should be relatively unimportant to me. I'm sworn to give him the best possible defense no matter what. But as a woman, there's a part of me that knows whoever committed that crime deserves to spend the rest of their life in prison."

"Follow your heart, Shelby. It rarely steers you wrong."

She leaned over and kissed Michael on his cheek. "Thanks, big brother. And now I think I'll go to bed. It's been a long day and I have a feeling the days are only going to get longer."

"I WOULD LIE FOR YOU."

Billy turned away from the window at the sound of the low, melodic voice. She stood framed in the doorway between the kitchen and living room of the small shanty. She was tall and slender, her features etched with fierce pride and generations of misery. She was of an indeterminable age, with the unwrinkled skin of a teenager but the eyes of old wisdom. Angelique Boujoulais had been Billy's closest friend other than Tyler LaJune since his grandmother's death.

"I can't let you do that." He sank onto the sofa.

"You need an alibi, somebody who saw you, spent time with you on the night of the murders." She sat next to him, bringing with her the scent of roots, herbs and the black earth of the swamp floor. Although the familiar smell comforted him, it couldn't compete with the memory of Shelby's perfume. "I could tell the sheriff you were here all night with me."

"I won't let you lie for me. Besides, n.o.body would believe you." He smiled humorlessly. "You're the Gypsy Queen."

"Bah, if I was as powerful a gypsy as they all think, I would make a special charm to protect my people who meet the swamp serpent." Her dark eyes narrowed, and Billy knew she was thinking of the family members she'd lost.

First her sister, then her husband. Each had fallen victim to the swamp serpent, their bodies found where they had fallen in their own blood.

With each subsequent swamp serpent murder, Billy had felt Angelique's rage growing until it was a festering wound eating her from the inside out. It was a fury of loss, the anger of a lifetime of prejudice and a town's seeming nonchalance over the lives lost. Billy knew her anger, had its kin inside him. It had exploded only once, and the results had been devastating.

He stood. "It's late." He started toward the door that led to one of the bedrooms.

"Let him sleep," Angelique said softly. "There's no sense in waking him up and dragging him out in the middle of the night. Besides, he and Rafe can play in the morning, then you can come by for him tomorrow after his lessons."

Billy hesitated, then nodded. Rafe, Angelique's son, was Parker's best friend, and Billy knew Parker was in good hands with Angelique. Still, he went into the bedroom and stood over the sleeping child. This child, Parker Royce, was the only good that had come out of his marriage. Initially he'd hoped the child would make Fayrene settle down, be a real wife and mother, but it wasn't to be. Fayrene had the maternal emotions of a stump in the woods.