Knock 'em Dead (25 page)

In no time, Becky had a copy of an article up on the screen. “Zack and Paolo were codefendants in the fraud case.”

“The spiderweb.”

“What?”

I took back the laptop and searched for prison tattoos. “You noticed that Paolo’s body art was bad, right? A spiderweb is a common prison gang tattoo in Canada. Most likely, he had the red leaf done to cover the spiderweb.”

“What made you think of that?”

“The Discovery Channel did a thing on prison life.”

“You need to get out more.”

I set the laptop aside and went into the kitchen to refill my coffee mug. “Liam said the weirdest thing to me.”

“He wants to jump your bones?”

“No.”

“He doesn’t want to jump your bones?” Becky’s voice perked right up.

“No.” Technically. “He said he’s been trying to tell me something.” I poured cream in the mug and didn’t bother stirring. “Kinda like Ellen harping on me that I miss details.”

“About the case?”

I shook my head. “No. He’d tell me if he knew something that could help Jane. It’s personal, except that we aren’t
personal
.”

“Betcha could be if you blew Patrick off.”

“I’ll get around to it.”

Becky jerked as if she’d been slapped. “Really?”

“Probably. Maybe.”

“Why are you vacillating?”

“It’s a big deal. I don’t want to hurt him. He’s been good to me.”

“Too good, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t. Has Liam been coaching you? He never misses an opportunity to rag on my relationship.”

“Maybe he knows something you don’t?”

“How could he? He met Patrick one time. In passing.”

“When?”

“When I was in the hospital after the Hall thing.”

“You know, he was the one who tracked Patrick down.”

“What?”

She shrugged. “I asked him to. I wasn’t going to leave the hospital until I knew you were okay.”

“What could he possibly know about Patrick that I don’t know after all this time?”

“You could ask him,” she suggested.

“I’d rather cut off my own tongue.”

“We could Google.”

I winced. “I am not going to do a computer search on my own boyfriend based on nothing but some snide remarks from a man who does nothing but make me crazy.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Good.”

“I will.”

A decent, trusting person would have grabbed the laptop and steadfastly refused to invade the privacy of another. Apparently, I’m neither. “Well?”

“Lots of Nick Lachey Web sites. He’s cute. I’d do him.”

“Becky!”

“Sorry.” I heard the tap of her fingernail as she scrolled through the listings. “There’s some pilot association stuff.”

I let go of the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. My muscles relaxed, then tensed again when I thought about how Liam had manipulated me into participating—albeit passively—in violating the no-Googling rule. “There’s nothing to find.”

“Maybe not. Maybe—holy shit!”

“What?”

As she lifted her eyes to mine, Becky’s expression registered complete and utter shock. “You’re not going to like it. But it does explain a lot of things.”

I remained planted about two feet away. “Like?”

“His trips.”

“Are you telling me he isn’t a pilot?”

“No.”

“He’s gay? Bi?”

She shook her head. “Worse.”

“What’s worse than finding out your boyfriend is cheating on you and is on the down low?”

“You’re halfway there, Finley.”

“What did you find? Is he running an Internet personal ad or something? Is he cheating on me?”

“Kind of.”

“Cyber-cheating is cheating.” So is intellectual cheating, but this wasn’t about my transgressions.

“This isn’t virtual. This is real.”

“How real?”

“
Really
real.”

“Tell me.”

“According to Ancestry.com, he’s married.”

A
fter the shock wore off, the anger set in. Becky offered to stay, but I wasn’t exactly in the mood for company. I don’t mind being shallow at times. Or being selfish occasionally. But I never wanted to be a poacher. Yet, thanks to Patrick’s lies, I was exactly that. I was the other woman.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, Liam knew it. Had known it for months. I added him to my list of men I hated as I continued tossing every gift Patrick had ever given me into white trash bags. Once I finished with the closet, I went to the dresser.

The first thing that caught my eye was the gift bag with the Christmas ornament inside. I ran my finger across the three letters on the foil sticker and felt like I’d swallowed the big stupid pill all over again. “NYC,” I said. Not some fancy initials for an exotic store somewhere. “New York City.”

Thanks to an in-depth search, I now knew cheating Patrick and his presumably innocent, genealogy-obsessed wife lived in Westchester. I wondered how many of the gifts he’d given me actually came from trips abroad and how many came from stores in the city.
Prick.

At some point, I realized three things. A—I wasn’t as mad at Patrick as much as I was mad at myself for being so stupid. B—I wasn’t going to add to my stupid quotient by returning
all
the gifts. Hell no. I’d keep the Coach bag, the Prada shoes, and most of the jewelry. I felt perfectly justified. It was kind of like a fine for two freaking years of deception. My only regret was I wouldn’t be seeing him for another thirty-six hours, so I felt cheated out of the opportunity to toss the reject gifts in his face. Or at his nuts. No, I didn’t want any part of his nuts. His nuts were married. Briefly, I’d thought about calling his cell or sending him a text message. However, it was the middle of the night and I didn’t want to run the risk of having his wife find out about me. Being the other woman was one thing. I sure as hell didn’t want to add home-wrecker to my résumé. Even if I was just as much an innocent bystander as the wronged wife. Only wronged wife trumps wronged girlfriend every time.

C was a little harder to work through. I needed to get some sleep. Just a few hours so I wasn’t brain-dead for Jane’s hearing followed by the dreaded apology-slash-gratitude brunch with my mother. As soon as I finished surgically removing all traces of Patrick from my apartment, I laid down and managed to grab a couple of hours of fitful rest.

It showed too. It took three doses of eyedrops to get the red out and two passes with concealer, foundation, and powder to cover the dark circles. Was I really going to let Patrick’s deception mess with Jane’s day of freedom? Hell no. Stomping thoughts of the assholejerkwadprickhead to my very deepest subconscious, I promised to dedicate the next few hours to Jane, and whatever it took, smiling through the pain.

The temperatures were predicted to top ninety again, so I paired a lime-and-turquoise-print skirt with a simple turquoise top and sweater. It was a little matchy-matchy for my taste but it was exactly the kind of ensemble my mother liked. Since I was about to spend twenty-five thousand of her dollars on bail for Jane, I figured it was the least I could do.

I poured the last of the coffee from the pot into my travel mug. I had to remember to pick up the roses before brunch. And I wrote the addresses and phone numbers for Barbie Baker, Renee Sabato, Harrison Hadley, and Matthew Gibson on a small piece of paper and tucked it inside my purse along with the Payton DVD. My afternoon would be devoted to visiting the rest of the Fantasy Date Special Assessment clients. I doubted Jace or Kresley would give me another shot, so it was time to press the others for information. Might as well do it alphabetically, so I’d start with Barbie Baker. If Ms. Baker wouldn’t answer my calls, I’d make a point of dropping in on her.

My stomach was in a tight knot by the time I drove to the Palm Beach County Courthouse. I parked, looped my sweater over the slightly irregular handle on my Dooney & Burke bag, and stepped out into air that was already thick and hot.

Becky and Liv were waiting in the breezeway. One look at Liv’s face and I knew Becky had blabbed. I shot the tattletale a “Thanks a lot” while Liv gave me a long, sympathetic hug.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine.” I glanced around, refusing to acknowledge that I’d wasted the last two years of my life on a—“Today is about Jane. Please tell me that Taggert’s inside.” They both shook their heads. The knot in my stomach twisted. “So, what do we do?”

Becky glanced at her watch. “We still have twenty minutes.”

“Have either of you seen Jane?” I asked.

“Yeah, we had a few minutes when I dropped off the clothes Liv brought.”

“How is she?”

“Holding up.”

“Has she heard from Taggert?”

“No,” Liv said, obviously angry. “He can’t just disappear off the face of the earth.”

“A lot of that going around,” Liam remarked as he joined us.

I kept my eyes fixed on the top button of his shirt, gritting my back teeth to stop the flooding of humiliation. I was furious that he hadn’t told me about Patrick when he’d apparently found out four months ago—but I didn’t dare get sidetracked.

“Shaylyn and Zack?” Becky asked.

“No one’s seen them. A friend of mine pulled their DMV records. In addition to the Bentley, there’s a black Lexus, a brown pickup, and a horse trailer registered to them or the business. There’s also a boat title registered with the tax collector’s office in Broward County. I’m working on finding out where they keep it docked.”

“Can we use the DVD?” I asked, slipping the corner of the case out of my purse. “Wouldn’t that and the fact that the limo driver was killed after Jane’s arrest prove to the judge that Jane should be released?”

“I’m not counsel of record,” Becky said. “Faulkner’s a real stickler. I don’t think he’ll grant me leave to represent Jane without proper notification being given to Taggert.”

I sighed heavily. “Just in case, did you bring my mother’s check?”

Liv nodded. “It’s in my purse. Along with what Patrick—oh, sorry.”

I felt my cheeks burn. “We should get inside,” I suggested.

“I talked to the detective in Charleston, again,” Liam added.

Curiosity got the better of me, so I looked up and met his gaze. “Why?”

“It’s been bothering me that Zack and Shaylyn would have set Jane up to take the fall if they didn’t know about the Molly Bishop thing in Charleston.”

“And?”

He glanced over at Liv. “When did you make the arrangements for the date?”

“Three and a half weeks ago.”

He smiled. “Three weeks ago a woman contacted the criminal courts division and asked for a copy of Jane’s arrest record.”

“Tell me Shaylyn left her name,” I practically pleaded.

“Said she was Taggert’s secretary, only the fax number she used wasn’t Taggert’s.”

“Fantasy Dates?”

He shook his head. “Nope. It was disconnected last week. Before then, it was one of seven lines listed to R. Sabato.”

“Renee Sabato?”

“Who is she?” Liv asked.

“A Fantasy Dates client. I’m going to talk to her this afternoon.”

“Not smart,” Liam said. “Would you ladies mind going in and saving us a seat?” he asked as his fingers closed around my upper arm. “We’ll just be a few minutes.”

Becky and Liv waited for me to give a silent nod of approval before they left me alone with Liam. Turning, I planted my feet slightly apart and jerked my arm free of his hold. “How could you
not
tell me?”

“I’m telling you now.”

“Your timing sucks.”

“I just found out.”

I blinked. “Exactly what are we talking about here?”

“Renee Sabato.”

Oops.
“What about her, specifically?”

“Don’t you read the newspaper?”

“Yes.”

“Three months ago a female torso washed up on the beach near her house. Ring any bells?”

I vaguely remembered the grisly story. No head, no hands, no way to identify the body. “Renee Sabato’s dead?”

He shook his head. “No, she’s alive and well.”

“All the more reason for me to talk to her. I mean, I’m sorry a body part washed up on her beach, but she might know something that could help Jane.”

“Let me handle this, Finley.”

“You don’t think I’m capable?”

“It’s not about capable. It’s about the fact that I carry a gun and you don’t. For all you know, Renee Sabato is some lunatic killer.”

“You think she killed someone, then tossed the body on her own beachfront?”

“It happens,” Liam said. “I know you’re really committed to solving this yourself, but at least let me check the woman out before you go barging blindly forward. Let me do my job.”

“You didn’t even want the job.”

“So, I changed my mind.”

“I’ll think about it. Jane’s hearing is about to start.”

“Why are you pissed today?”

“Because my friend is still in jail and her attorney is a no-show?”

His eyes narrowed. “Nope. There’s more to it than that. Jane was in jail last night when we—”

“Did nothing. Which is good,” I said as I took a step backward. “Better than good. I have no interest in you or any other man for that matter. You’re all pigs.”

Slowly, the corners of his mouth curved into a sly grin. “Figured it out, did you?”

“No thanks to you.” I crossed my arms. “How long have you known about Patrick being…being…?”

“A while.”

“So you amused yourself by keeping quiet?”

He lifted his hands, palms up. “It was none of my business.”

“You’re right. It still isn’t.”

“Not that I have to defend myself, but until a week ago, I thought you knew your boyfriend was married.”

“What kind of person do you think I am?”

His grin broadened. “I try not to judge.”

“I’m going inside.”

“Finley?”

“Kiss off,” I said, back straight and eyes focused on the security station ahead. “By the way, if you’re so well trained and well informed, how come you didn’t know Zack and Paolo spent time in a Canadian prison for fraud?”

“Where’d you hear that?”

I dropped my purse on the conveyer belt. “Read it on the Internet.” I passed through the metal detector.

“You have to—”

Beep!

A large, burly, shaved-head security guard practically shoved Liam back through the detector. “Sir, you have to empty your pockets first.”

“Finley,” Liam said as he started emptying the contents of his pockets into a plastic container. “Hang on a minute.” He tried to make it through the sensors again.

Beep!

He was muttering a curse when my purse slipped through the X-ray machine into my waiting hands.

“Finley!”

Beep!

“Sir, if you’ll step this way?”

I didn’t turn around as the security guard escorted him into the cordoned-off area. I did smile, though.

“Why isn’t Liam sitting with us?” Liv asked in a whisper.

“He’s radioactive.”

“What?”

“Had a run-in with the metal detectors. Too bad they don’t use that paddle thing to do body cavity searches.” Becky was standing at the front of the gallery waiting for Jane to emerge from the holding area.

“Taking your anger out on him?”

“You bet. If it has testicles, I hate it. Men are nothing but a big-time suck. I think I’ll get a dog. A
girl
dog.”

“You don’t like dogs.”

“Okay, a fish.”

“Did you call him?”

“Fish have telephones?”

“Patrick. Did you call Patrick?”

“No.”

“Going to?”

“No. I’ve decided to handle it like an adult.”

“Put everything in a box already, did you?”

“Trash bags.”

Liv patted the back of my hand. “Very adult.”

“Thank you.”

Jane entered the courtroom looking so gaunt and terrified that I wanted to cry. Her desperation was palpable and it got worse when her dark eyes darted around the courtroom. It didn’t take long for her to realize that her attorney wasn’t present.

Becky started whispering to her, but whatever she was saying didn’t seem to be alleviating the panic.

“I hate Taggert too,” Liv said.

“Shame we can’t put him in a trash bag.”

“All rise,” the bailiff announced.

Judge Faulkner took the bench, scowling when he saw the vacant chair at the defense table.

It looked as if State Attorney Brent would do a happy dance. “Your Honor, in light of the fact that defense counsel isn’t present, the state moves for an immediate ruling on the motion.”

My whole body tensed. I half expected the judge to agree, bang his gavel, and head for the closest golf course.

“If I may?” Becky began as she stood. “Rebecca Jameson, Your Honor.”

“Yes, Ms. Jameson?”

“Due to Mr. Taggert’s absence, I would like to be named replacement counsel for the defendant.”

“Are you prepared to proceed?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“The state objects,” Brent said. “My office did not receive appropriate notice of Mr. Taggert’s withdrawal from the case. As this is a Motion to Reconsider Bail, it would seem prudent to stay this matter until such time as appropriate notice is filed with both the court and the state attorney’s office.”

Faulkner didn’t miss a beat. “I tend to agree.”

“Your Honor,” Becky argued, stepping past the swinging gate separating the gallery from the counsel tables. “Ms. Spencer should not be forced to remain in jail when, respectfully, the right to counsel is hers, not subject to the opinions of Ms. Brent. To dismiss the motion without argument would be tantamount to denying the defendant due process.”

“It’s Saturday, Ms. Jameson. You’d have a hard time finding an appellate court to accept your theory. However, in the interests of justice, I will continue this hearing until four
PM
, at which time I expect you to have Mr. Taggert or his duly executed Motion to Withdraw in hand. If you can’t produce one of those things, call my clerk. Do not waste this court’s time.”