“So Arabella became Mansfield. Gotcha.”
“Mansfield’s coming with us, end of story.”
“We can’t take a pet on a road trip.” The feline wound around and around his legs. “You’d better not leave any hair on the suit, furball.”
Yet another betrayal—Georgia, Brady, and now the cat loved the mobster.
“He can’t be left by himself.” As she spoke, she packed up cat food and bowls, along with some toys.
“Fine, he can stay with Ten because he likes cats for some weird reason.”
As Beauregard’s lawyer, she was familiar with all his staff members. Ten was quiet and unassuming, although she’d only spoken with him a couple of times. Jane didn’t like placing her feline with a virtual stranger, but it was a better option than leaving him alone for days on end.
“Aren’t you gonna give me the tour?”
“No, and don’t touch anything while you’re here.” Jane hated having strange people in her space.
“Fine, be difficult. Where are we goin’, by the way?”
“True Love, Texas. According to my records, Valentine grew up there.” It was a tiny town a couple of hours away. Jane was hoping there’d be evidence still left, something to connect Valentine to other murders. She’d searched online for records, but apparently they hadn’t gone digital yet.
“True Love? Oh, this gets better and better.”
“Why? You know it?” She’d heard the name before but had to look it up on a map. Apparently, a lot of couples went there for romantic weekends. They had a chapel, a bed and breakfast, and according to the town’s website, it was the place for lovers in Texas.
“I’ll fill you in later.”
“Fine with me.” She had more pressing matters. Jane walked into the bedroom and gathered up some clothing to wear.
Byron strolled in behind her, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from ordering him out. She reminded herself they’d struck a bargain and Byron was here to help her.
His penetrating gaze missed nothing. “You don’t believe in knickknacks, do you? I don’t see any pictures or personal items.”
“Not my style.”
She liked clean lines and minimal clutter. Everything in her apartment was functional, not sentimental. It was standard-issue—two bedrooms with white walls and gray carpeting. The furnishings were a basic black walnut. Jane hardly spent any time at home between hotel rooms on business trips and working late hours at the office.
It must seem strange to Byron because his home had been in his family for generations. It was littered with family portraits and heirlooms. Last night, she’d been stupefied by all the wicker baskets in the guest room. The ones in the bathroom had been filled with toiletries and a large one at the end of the bed held spare blankets. A medium-sized one next to the bed was stuffed full of worn copies of Southern Living. Why would anyone want a room filled with extraneous items to dust?
He chuckled. “Well, this place is very you.”
“Do you have children?” Since he was poking his nose into her business, she returned the favor.
He blinked at the topic change. “No, why do you ask?”
“You were very good with Brady so you’ve obviously spent time with children.”
He shrugged. “I ain’t what you’d call father material, but I have younger brothers and a sister.”
“And you took care of them?”
“I did after my mother died and my father…left.”
“You mean after your father was put in jail for murdering her.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Yeah.” He turned away. “Let’s talk about somethin’ else.”
Jane closed her eyes. “I’m sorry if I was rude—please tell me if I say something impolite. I’ve always been different, and I don’t obey a lot of social rules.”
“I will, but I think you should’ve said ‘unique,’ not different.”
He startled a smile out of her. No one had ever referred to her as unique. People pointed out every social faux pas she made, and Jane could never quite get the hang of fitting in, no matter what she did.
“Besides, I like your honesty, even if it’s a mite rough.”
“You do?” She was too stunned to speak for a second.
“Yeah, so don’t worry about it. Give it to me with both barrels, I can handle it.” He pantomimed a pair of pistols with his hands.
“I will.”
And then he ruined the moment by sitting on her bed like he owned it.
“Here I am, in your bed—at long last.”
Ugh. The man was exasperating.
And then she realized he was staring at her, watching her. All of a sudden, the air crackled, roiled with a nameless tension.