Blood in the Water(16)

And at the moment, the only suitable course of action was to continue on with her evening and hope an idea came to her, which meant traveling to Beauregard Manor and pretending things were fine for the moment.

Time to pull it together.

Heaving a sigh, she got back in the car, punched Byron Beauregard’s address into the GPS, and took off for his place.

An hour later, she pulled into his driveway. A thunderstorm was in full swing, illuminating the sky with crackles of lightning, booming thunder in the distance. Jane tried not to see it as a bad sign.

The Beauregards lived in a mansion in Hell, Texas, done in the antebellum style, with long Corinthian columns along the front porch. It put Gone with the Wind’s Tara to shame.

Jane was secretly thrilled the first time she’d driven up. As a teenager, she’d had a soft spot for Rhett Butler.

The property had a rich green lawn, a rarity in Texas, with dozens of ornate flower beds, probably maintained by an army of gardeners. The long, curving driveway was bordered by gigantic magnolia trees. As Jane passed by, she noted security cameras inconspicuously positioned in the branches, disguised by foliage, recording her every move.

Tonight, she found the security reassuring.

Jane pulled in front of the house and threw the car in park. Blood roaring in her ears, she dashed inside. Somehow she made her legs work—right, left, right. She felt cold—her fingertips and toes were so icy, Jane wondered if she’d ever feel warm again. After she wiped away the rain droplets with tissues from her briefcase, she headed to Beauregard’s study. It was a familiar journey, so she was able to do it on autopilot.

Right now, she should be mentally preparing for the meeting, but her mind was still in Valentine’s dark room.

Armed guards nodded to her as she passed. Since she was a regular visitor, they didn’t put her through any security paces. To the left side of the room loomed a black vault door.

Beauregard stood behind a large oak desk in an elegant black three-piece suit, with a cut-glass tumbler of clear liquid in his grasp. Jane was willing to bet it was moonshine, his family’s recipe. Byron was blond with beautiful blue eyes—which perversely, had an innate purity—even though he had a sinful reputation.

Like his poetic namesake, Byron Beauregard was mad, bad, and dangerous to know. According to rumors, the Dixie Mafia were into all kinds of illegal activities–drugs, murder for hire, and extortion. And as the outfit’s brand new Underboss, Byron was the ringleader.

As Jane walked inside, she noticed the lights were off. In the hallway, there’d been a series of Coleman lanterns, but she’d been too distracted to put it together. A candelabra sat on Byron’s desk, full of blazing white tapers. A fire burned in the fireplace. She must’ve had one hellacious night because the place seemed downright cozy.

“Can I get you a drink, darlin’?”

“No, thank you, Mr. Beauregard.” Jane thought she’d probably throw it up.

“And you’re gonna call me by my first name—don’t even try to get out of it.”

Jane couldn’t summon the wherewithal to protest. They’d gone back and forth several times on the use of his given name. Professional boundaries seemed like a ridiculous concern at the moment.

“As you like, Byron.”

Tonight, in his black suit with his heavenly eyes, Jane was almost glad to see him. He might make her uncomfortable with his romantic overtures, but Byron Beauregard was the kind of monster she’d made a career of handling. He wouldn’t make her an accessory to his crimes, wouldn’t confess his love for her.

Byron wanted to sleep with her, but it didn’t go further than sex. Interacting with him would be blessedly normal.

“As I like? Since when’ve things been as I like between us?” His brow furrowed. “Who are you and what have you done with Jane?”

Good question. She felt like a bedraggled shadow of her former self.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Allow me to give you an example. You’re never late.” He checked the Rolex on his wrist. “Tell me why you’re laggin’ behind.”

“I had a prior meeting, which ran a bit long. Don’t worry, I won’t bill you for the extra time.” Jane searched for another topic to distract him. “What happened? Did you forget to pay the light bill?”

He snickered. “The storm knocked the power out. Come to think of it, the candlelight’s a bit romantic, ain’t it?”

Jane didn’t reply.

He cocked his head to one side, eyes sliding up and down her body with a clinical sort of precision. “Enough small talk. You’re shakin’ like a leaf in a stiff breeze. What’s wrong?”