Without You

“Why are you calling me at home, Jackson?”

“I take it that’s a no-no.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

He hesitated several beats, then said, “Okay, I’m sorry. But I couldn’t remember if I thanked you for taking my case.”

“I haven’t taken your case exactly, but yes, you thanked me.”

Silence.

“It was good to see you, Hallie, after all this time.” His voice had grown low and husky.

She crossed her legs and tried to control her labored breathing. Would she ever get over the hots for this man? Even through the phone lines the heat fizzed. She suspected he felt it, too. Yet she was loath to end the conversation.

“It was good to see you, too.” And it had been, though she was loath to admit that, as well.

“I know I shouldn’t say this—”

“You probably shouldn’t,” she responded in a weak voice.

“If you don’t want to hear it, then you’ll have to hang up.”

She stayed on the line.

“I’ve missed you like hell.”

Without You

Mary Lynn

Baxter

www.mirabooks.co.uk

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My sincere appreciation to Lance McFaddin for

his assistance with the information on private

clubs that I used in this novel.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Prologue

The wheels on the cleaning carts squeaked as they lumbered along the otherwise silent hallway. Once the carts touched noses, the two housekeepers grinned at each other.

“How many more rooms you got to clean today?” Myrtle Tittle, short and plump, reached up and straightened her askew blond wig.

Clara Means, equally plump but taller in stature to Myrtle, pursed her thin lips, deepening the Howdy Doody lines around her mouth. “A lot. How ’bout you?”

“I’m in the same boat.”

“Me and my old man are supposed to go dancing tonight,” Clara said, “but it don’t look like that’s gonna happen. After today, I’ll be ready to drop. I’d sure like to know where all these folks come from.”

Myrtle scratched under the wig. “Me, too. This hotel ain’t ever been this crowded. Something going on we don’t know about?”

“Probably something to do with Elvis and that great big old house of his.” Clara gritted her teeth. “I just wish they’d let him rest in peace.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Myrtle replied with a sigh. “The poor man’s been dug up and replanted so many times, he’ll never get no peace.”

“Good thing it’s not our problem. Guess we’d best get to work before we get caught visiting. You know how Connie hates for us to stop and talk.”

“Maybe if she had a man, she wouldn’t be so uptight.”

Clara chuckled, then sobered. “She can have mine. He’ll whip her into shape real quick-like.”

“So would mine. Look, I’ll check you later.”

Clara nodded, then shoved her cart on down the hallway. “See ya,” she threw back over her shoulder.

The blonde turned and knocked on the door, then called out, “Housekeeping.”

No answer. She pecked again. When another silence greeted her, Myrtle breathed a sigh of relief. There was no Do Not Disturb sign visible, so at least she wouldn’t have to return. Not only was the hotel full, but the visitors were plumb lazy.

Once she had propped the door open and walked inside, she pulled up short, her feathers wilting. The woman occupant was sitting at the table with the side of her face resting on the top. Must’ve tied one on last night, the maid thought to herself, disgust charging through her.

“Ma’am,” she said in a soft tone. When she received no answer, Myrtle upped her volume.

Not only didn’t the woman answer, but she didn’t so much as twitch a muscle. The maid stepped closer. “Ma’am, it’s housekeeping.”

Still no reaction. Frowning, Myrtle did something she’d never done to a guest. She touched her on the arm, then watched in horror as the woman slid off the chair onto the floor.

Stumbling backward, Myrtle muttered, “Oh sweet Lord.” Then turning, she ran back out into the hall. “Help! Someone help!”

One

Jackson Cole started his day off with a five-mile run. He’d need the stamina the run provided to get him through the grueling hours that lay ahead. More than anything, he enjoyed his morning ritual.

Fall in Memphis was glorious, and he made every effort to take advantage of it. Mother Nature usually chose the last few weeks of October to start painting the leaves their brilliant colors. This year was no exception.

He jogged in a park near his home, where the trees had exploded into fiery colors; his favorites were the huge red oaks. A cool front had blown in last night, and his shoes slapped the fallen leaves. He guessed he could run all day. Only because his desk at the club had been piled high with work did he quit.

Now, hours later, as he stood at the window in his plush office and stared out on to Beale Street, he felt the afternoon sunshine on his body. It radiated through the glass with warmth and light. He moved his tense shoulders up and down, feeling the heat relax him. As predicted, his day had been a mother.

He loved Elan, his upscale restaurant and bar on Beale Street, with a passion. But lately, things had not been going his way, and the timing couldn’t be worse. He’d been well on the way to scaling back on his work, trying to get a life outside the club, when the trouble had started.

The problem was, he didn’t know what to do about it. So far, he’d kept his mouth shut and tried to deal with things on his own. How long that ploy would work was anyone’s guess. But he knew he was taking a chance by playing such a dangerous game.

A sigh filtered through Jackson as he moved his shoulders again, keeping his muscles loose. He turned and stared at his desk, relieved to see that some of the paperwork had been dealt with even though he’d been mentally distracted.

The only item on the day’s agenda left hanging was searching for a new band. The dance floor at Elan was one of the largest and best maintained, which allowed the club to attract top-notch entertainers. Without them, the floor would be empty, thus greatly reducing his clientele. He couldn’t allow that to happen.

However, his assistant and friend Terrance Mayfield, could take care of finding the perfect group. All Jackson had to do was give the final okay.

“You got a minute?”

Jackson swung around and faced his assistant as Terrance sauntered into the room. He motioned for him to take a seat. “Your timing’s on the money.”

“How so?” Terrance asked, plopping down in one of the fine leather chairs adjacent to Jackson’s desk. “Looks to me like you’ve tackled the pile of papers like you were fighting a war.” He paused with a grin. “A war you’ve obviously won.”

For a minute, Jackson didn’t speak, thinking how lucky he was to have Terrance. His body was toned but solid, bearing testimony to his long hours in a gym. His groomed mustache and beard surprisingly didn’t detract from or hide his charming smile. When it came to fraternizing with the customers, he was a smooth operator.

Although Jackson paid him out the kazoo, money didn’t necessarily buy loyalty. And loyalty was Terrance’s trademark. When he left Terrance in charge, Jackson never worried about the day-to-day operations.

“I didn’t quite cover everything,” Jackson finally said.

“Anything I can handle?”

“Yeah, finding us a new band ASAP.”

Terrance’s dark eyebrows rose in a question. “Aw, hell, don’t tell me The Jammers quit?”

“They did. Apparently they had a squabble that couldn’t be resolved.”

“Damn, what a crock. They were the best we’ve had in a long time.”

“I agree, but we have no choice but to move onward and hopefully upward.”

“I’ll get on it pronto.”

“When you’ve narrowed the choice to two, let me know.”

“Will do.” Terrance rose and walked out the door, only to return a minute later, his features scrunched in a frown.

Jackson was already back at his desk, going through the ledger. Looking up, he asked, “What?”

Terrance cleared the threshold, then eased the door shut behind him. “You have a visitor.”

“Who?”

“A Detective Gomez.”

A matching frown marred Jackson’s features. “What does he want?”

“Wouldn’t tell me. Said he needed to see you.”

Jackson shrugged. “Then, send him in.”

“Want me to hang around?”

“Nah. I’m sure it’s nothing. You just tend to the band business.”

Moments later, the detective strode through the door. Coming around his desk, Jackson met him in the middle of the room and they exchanged handshakes.

Jackson sized Gomez up quickly: young, good-looking and cocky. Though he couldn’t say why, the hairs stood up on his neck. Perhaps it was the way Gomez was eyeing him, like he was fresh meat about to be devoured.

Jackson smiled politely and asked in a cool tone, “What can I do for you, Detective?”

“Answer a few questions.” He paused. “If you don’t mind.”

“I’ll let you know after you’ve asked them.”

From the expression on Gomez’s face, the answer didn’t sit well with him, though he said, “Fair enough” in an even tone.

“Care to have a seat?”

Gomez shook his head. “I prefer to stand.”

“Suit yourself.”

For a moment, silence prevailed in the room as though each man was sizing the other up. Jackson had already done as much and decided Gomez didn’t like him. That in itself didn’t mean anything, except that it made this visit more awkward.

“I understand Roberta Klein is a friend of yours.”

Jackson hadn’t the foggiest idea what this interview was all about, but in his wildest imagination, he wouldn’t have connected it to Roberta. “You’re right,” he said with caution. “Has been for years. Why do you ask?”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“What’s this all about, Detective?”

“If you don’t mind, Mr. Cole, I prefer to ask the questions.”

Jackson was a master at hiding his emotions. If Gomez thought he was going to rile him with his brash tactics, he couldn’t be more wrong. “Fine. Fire away.”

“So, again, when was the last time you saw Ms. Klein?”

“Last evening, though I suspect you already know that.”

“It appears you were the last person to see Ms. Klein alive.”

Shock rocked Jackson. “Are you saying she’s dead?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

A weakness invaded Jackson’s system, making it impossible for him to remain standing. He sat down and stared at the detective. Impossible. Roberta couldn’t be dead. A million questions blazed to mind, but he kept his mouth shut. The truth was, he didn’t know what to say. And this was Gomez’s show—he’d made it clear he intended to run it.

“Care to comment, Mr. Cole?”

“When I left her, she was alive and well,” Jackson responded in a dazed voice.

“That so?”

Jackson suddenly wanted to knock the condescending smirk off his face. Instead, he managed to keep his cool even under the unexpected assault. “How did she die?”

“She was found slumped over the table, apparently strangled to death.”

Jackson felt sick to his stomach. At the same time, blind fury charged through him. If he got his hands on the person who had so cruelly snuffed out Roberta’s life, he’d save the justice system a lot of time and money.

“Know anything about that?” Gomez asked.

“Am I under arrest, Detective?”

“Not at this point. You’re one of many we’re questioning, though I have to tell you, you have the inside track.”

“Which means I need a lawyer.”

“It’s your call, of course.” The detective paused. “However, I’d like for you to come voluntarily to the precinct and answer a few questions.”

“When?”

“Now.” Gomez’s gaze pinned Jackson like a trapped rat. “If that’s convenient.”

Jackson knew Gomez didn’t give a damn if it was convenient. Voluntarily or not, he was in a heap of trouble.

“I’ll be there. With my lawyer.”

“Thanks,” Gomez responded. “I’ll expect you.”

With that, he turned and left the room. Jackson’s stomach roiled again as he splayed the palm of his hand on the top of his desk to hold him steady. He couldn’t believe Roberta was dead. And in such a brutal manner. Who would do such a thing? And why?

The Roberta he knew didn’t have any enemies, he thought, only to correct himself mentally. She had at least one, one who hated her enough to kill her. A shiver darted through Jackson, and he was chilled to the bone for more reasons than one.

The fact that he was a prime suspect sent another chill through him. He couldn’t ignore that, pretend Gomez and his suspicions would simply go away. They wouldn’t. He was in deep trouble.

What should he do? That was where things got sticky, especially when an answer jumped readily to mind: he could pay a visit to his ex-fiancée. Only, he wasn’t willing to pursue that option.

Yet did he really have a choice? No. He was desperate and desperate people often did stupid things. But this was not just about him. He couldn’t forget about Roberta. He had to find out who killed her. He owed her that much.

He didn’t remember when he hadn’t known Roberta. They had grown up in the same neighborhood. She had been like a sister to him and he’d spent a lot of time at her home, since he had not had one of his own. But like everyone else, Roberta had had her share of problems. She was a “needy” person whom he’d continued to help. Until he realized there was no helping her.

“What was that all about?” Terrance had entered the room.

“Roberta’s dead,” Jackson said in a dull, lifeless tone.

Terrance’s mouth fell open. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Terrance slammed his mouth shut and shook his head. “How? I mean…” His words faded.

Jackson told him.

“Surely the detective doesn’t think you had anything to do with her death.”

“Apparently he does, as I’ve been issued an unofficial invitation to appear at the precinct for more questioning.”

“Man oh man, that’s unbelievable.”

If you only knew the half of it, Jackson thought grimly. Combined with his other growing problem, this was getting close to becoming more than even he could handle. And he could handle a lot.

Terrance rubbed his mustache, then his beard. “So, what are you going to do?”

“See Hallie.”

Again, Terrance’s mouth gaped. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Jackson’s features darkened even more. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion or your approval.”

Terrance flushed, but he stood his ground. “I know you didn’t, but why Hallie, who’s not even a criminal lawyer? Though I’m sure someone in her firm is. If that’s why you’re seeing her—”

Jackson cut him off. “Look, I have to go.” At the door, he whipped around. “I’ll call you. Meanwhile, see to things.”

Terrance lopped a leg over the bar stool, his features pinched.

“What’s with you? You look like someone just stepped on your dick.”

Terrance threw Clyde Latham, the bartender, a disgusted look. “You have a mouth problem, Latham. You’d best not let the boss hear you talk like that or you’ll be in the unemployment line. You know how he feels about offending the customers.”

Undaunted, Clyde grinned. “You’re not a customer.”

“Then, you offend me personally. How’s that?”

Latham was a big, burly guy who was as competent as he was good-looking. He, too, had a gift for gab with the customers, and his big grin and laugh brought a lot of business to Elan. Still, Terrance didn’t much care for him, though he hadn’t said so. He had learned long ago to keep his mouth shut.

Latham shrugged, then asked, “You want a drink?”

“Not right now. I have too much on my mind.”

“If you’re talking, I’m listening.”

He shouldn’t vent to Clyde, but since his girlfriend, Jessica, wasn’t available, Clyde would do in a pinch. Besides, what had just happened affected everyone at the club. “Jackson might be in a bit of a tight spot.”

“How?” Clyde was wiping some glasses, but he stopped mid-action and stared at Terrance.

“Roberta Klein was found dead this afternoon.”

“You’re joking.”

“Not hardly.” The remark irritated Terrance and he didn’t bother to hide it.

“So, what are you saying? That Jackson had something to do with it?”

“No,” Terrance snapped. “But the police obviously think he might have.”

Clyde’s eyes widened, then he whistled.

“The guy who just left was from Memphis PD. He told Jackson he was the last one to see Roberta alive.”

“Man, I hate that she’s dead. She was a nice lady.”

“I hate it, too. But I hate Jackson’s involvement more.” Terrance scratched his head, a habit he had when he was nervous. And was he ever nervous. “Maybe I will have a drink, even though I’m about to be on full-fledged duty.”

“Scotch on the rocks?”

Terrance nodded.

After he’d felt the liquor hit his stomach with a burn then a punch, he felt better. Jackson would skin him alive if he knew he was drinking when the yuppie work crowd was due. Big drinkers, all of them, which meant they needed to be watched.

Still, he wouldn’t let his drink go to waste, not when he needed it so badly. What a turn of events. If Jackson… Terrance shut that thought down. Underneath his smooth facade, Jackson was tough as nails. And a fighter.

But if he was really a suspect, then things could get tough. If worse came to worst, Terrance knew Jackson would depend on him to keep the club running up to par. With that in mind, he pushed his unfinished drink away.

“So has he been arrested?”

Clyde’s deep voice pulled him out of his dark thoughts. “Not yet. He went to the station of his own free will.”

“Still, the fact he’s a suspect ain’t good.”

“It’s downright scary is what it is.”

“Hope he’s got a good lawyer.”

Now, that was the kicker, Terrance thought, but he couldn’t say as much. By making a beeline to Hallie, Jackson showed that where she was concerned, the little head was still overruling the big head. But that wasn’t his problem, he reminded himself.

After looking at his unfinished drink with yearning, Terrance got up and made his way back to his office to get ready for the evening.

Two

“So how’s the case progressing?”

Hallie Hunter looked straight into her boss’s eyes and quipped, “Like your worst nightmare.”

Winston Bastrop pushed back in his chair and chuckled. “I can always depend on you to tell it like it is.”

Hallie’s grin was short-lived. “Isn’t that one of the reasons you hired me?”

“Absolutely.”

Normally her private meetings with the founder and senior partner of the firm Bastrop, Tate, and Jones were not this amicable. Though she knew Winston admired her and her ability to get the job done, they didn’t always agree on her method. In fact, he could be a pain in the ass because of his unbendable attitude. He looked unbendable, too.

Winston, a crusty-voiced gentleman in his late sixties, was tall and regal with a thatch of white hair and see-all green eyes. He had a keen mind and was a law scholar, and Hallie admired him.

Admiration aside, though, the two of them squared off more times than not, as he wasn’t wild about her feistiness and in-your-face approach to the job. But since she was the firm’s number-one divorce attorney and brought in the lion’s share of clients, he guarded his tongue and cut her more slack than normal.

“While this might be a case from hell,” Hallie said, closing the silence, “I’m not giving in or up. The Dryers will abide by the rules or I’ll send them packing.”

Winston chuckled again. “What says the other attorney? It’s Rich Philmon, isn’t it?”

“Yes, and he’s about as fed up as I am. When I agreed to represent Cynthia, she was in agreement on property, children, money—the whole nine yards. But along the way, something went awry.”

“Maybe she decided to bleed him for more money.”

Hallie sighed. “I’m not sure. I think it’s more than that. Something personal, though she won’t confide in me. But when she and Bill are sitting across the table from each other, the venom is suddenly free-flowing.”

“I have every confidence that you’ll sort it all out.”

“Like I said, Cynthia will either play by the rules or out the door she goes.”

“Leaving her money behind.”

Hallie picked a piece of lint off her light wool slacks, then looked up. “That’s the deal and she knows it.”

“I’d like to be kept posted on this one. Her father is an old friend of mine with a lot of money and clout. I wouldn’t want our firm to do anything that would offend him. Most of all, I’d like to see this work out for her.”

“My concern is the children.” Hallie paused with a sigh. “I suspect that’s where the new problem stems from. But again, I can’t say, not until Cynthia confides in me.”

“I guess we’ll soon see.” Winston paused, then changed the subject. “Are you happy here, Hallie?”

His question took her aback. She hadn’t known why she’d been summoned into the inner sanctum and she really hadn’t cared. Good or bad, she was capable of handling it.

However, this afternoon she’d sensed a difference in the atmosphere and Winston’s attitude. When he hadn’t addressed anything significant thus far, she had thought she’d been mistaken. Now she knew her first instinct had been correct. Something was up.

“If I weren’t, I’d be gone.” A smile tempered her bluntness.

Winston’s chuckle deepened. “Wasted question, right?”

“Depends on why you asked it.”

“All right, I’ll get to the point. We’re considering taking you in as a shareholder in the firm. A partner, if you will.”

Hallie could barely contain her excitement. She felt the urge to lunge out of her chair and sing the Hallelujah Chorus. Instead, she remained still and calm. “I’m both humbled and honored, Winston.”

“Poppycock,” he muttered. “Honored, yes. Humbled, no.”

Hallie gave him a glittering smile that deepened her dimple, then sobered. “I’ve hoped for those words for a long time, even though thirty-eight is young to make partner.”