5. Dayton
CHAPTER 5
Dayton
C atching movement out of the corner of my eye, I glance up from my computer and find Jamie standing in the doorway with a smile on her lips and a paper coffee cup in her hand. “Hey, can I come in?”
If she weren’t my assistant, hired by my boss to work for me, I would tell her no, but unfortunately, that is not an option. Just like her working for me wasn’t an option. I just showed up at the office two months ago, and she was sitting at a desk outside my door that didn’t exist until that morning, and I was informed she would be helping me out.
It didn’t take me long to catch on to the fact that she wasn’t hired because I needed an assistant. It’s because my boss is having an affair with her, and he wanted her close. But not so close that his wife would get suspicious and start to ask questions about the much younger woman suddenly working for him .
“What’s up?” I take off my glasses and set them aside as she sashays toward my desk in her tight skirt and silk blouse that is unbuttoned to show off a good amount of cleavage.
“I wanted to bring you this.” She bends unnecessarily low, and I know if I took the opportunity, I’d be able to see right down the front of her top as she places the cup in front of me on the desk. But I don’t.
Instead, my jaw gets tight in annoyance.
In the beginning, I chalked up her clothing choices and the flirting as an aspect of her personality. But over the last few weeks, her skirts have gotten shorter and tighter, and her tops are starting to ride the line of inappropriate. Not to mention her behavior. The bending over in front of my desk is the least of what she’s done to test the waters and see if I will take the bait that she is so obviously dangling in front of me.
It’s never happening.
I don’t fuck women I work with, and I sure as fuck don’t knowingly sleep with women who have no moral compass. Sure, I know that affairs happen every day, but that doesn’t mean I don’t find that behavior disgusting. And although the blame for her current situation isn’t completely on her shoulders, I know she is well aware of Billy’s wife and children and that she doesn’t give a fuck.
She hasn’t considered what the consequences will be when the truth about her relationship with Billy comes to light. And it will come to light. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but eventually, someone will fuck up, and an entire family will implode. Maybe Billy’s marriage will survive the fallout, and maybe it won’t, but either way, the kids who are completely innocent will suffer. Meanwhile, Jamie will walk away completely unscathed and likely marry some other guy who either has no idea about the kind of woman she actually is—or is okay with the shit she’s done just because she’s pretty and has nice tits.
“Thanks.” I set the cup aside. It’s too late in the day for coffee, and I already have a hard enough time getting to sleep at night lately without the extra caffeine.
“You’re welcome.” She walks around the side of my desk and comes to stand too fucking close. “Do you need anything from me?”
“I need you to move.”
Realizing I’m not joking, she takes a step back. “You’re never any fun.”
“I don’t get paid to be fun.”
Hearing a knock, I turn to the door as Mary steps into my office with a folder in hand and her eyes on Jamie.
“Can you leave? I need to speak with Dayton,” she says coldly, her hand on the door indicating it’s not a question but a demand.
“Of course,” Jamie says quickly, rushing out of my office, and Mary shuts the door behind her. Turning back to face me, she walks to one of the two chairs in front of my desk and takes a seat.
If the role of District Attorney was filled based on experience and results, I have no doubt that Mary would hold that position. She’s smart, articulate, and wise beyond her years. But since she refuses to submit to anyone and doesn’t have a penis to get into the good ol' boys club, her climb up the ladder has been slow-moving. She started working for the DA’s office right after graduating from Yale, and it took her too many years to get promoted to Assistant DA.
“Is everything okay?” I ask her.
“I have a case that I want to go over with you.” She leans forward and passes me a file, and I flip it open. The first sheet of paper is the printout of a grainy photo. It’s of a woman who I would guess to be in her early twenties with a mass of curly blonde hair, wearing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. She has a bright smile on her face as she looks at someone off-camera.
“That’s Alice Groden. She was murdered in 1997 in her home one week after giving birth to her son. Her husband was at work during the event, and her son was with her mother-in-law, who had offered to take the baby that morning so Alice could get some rest. The detectives working the case first suspected her husband’s friend, who had made her uncomfortable on a few occasions and had no alibi for the time Alice was murdered. But they never had any evidence to connect him to the crime, and he passed a polygraph, so they felt they had no reason to keep looking into him.
“Then, four years after her murder, Charles Feller was arrested for the murder of Debra Oshae.”
My brows drag together, Charles's name sounding familiar.
“Charles has been convicted of murder-for-hire here and in Florida. He’s also been charged with the homicide of three women, who he killed just because he’s trash.”
“Right,” I mutter, and she nods.
“While Charles was being interrogated for the murder of Debra Oshae, he confessed to the murder of Alice. The detectives at the time were not convinced that he was telling the truth, even after he gave the layout of the apartment and details about the crime that no one else would know.”
“Okay.”
“After he was convicted for killing Debra and sentenced, he recanted his confession of Alice’s homicide to the media, claiming that it was coerced. He wasn’t. There is an audio recording of the conversation, and he gave that information without even being prompted.”
She sighs, then continues, “The case had been tucked away and forgotten until recently, when a woman with a podcast started looking into it and contacted the department, asking questions. They shared what information they had but made it clear there were not enough funds to perform the most recent DNA testing.”
This doesn’t surprise me. Most police departments barely have money to do DNA testing on cases as they come in. They wouldn’t prioritize a cold case.
“When they told her this, she offered to pay for the testing herself and to share the information she was able to gather through her own investigation of the crime. So, they opened the case back up and submitted what evidence there was for DNA testing.”
“Did it come back as Charles?”
“Yes, but as you know, with these things, it’s never as easy as just saying that the DNA is a match.”
I nod, knowing she’s right.
“I spoke with Billy, and we have decided to let you take the lead on this case.”
I try to keep the surprise off my face, but I can’t this time. Normally, I’m in the background, working the cases that are brought forward, so either she or Billy can go to court with all the information I gather.
“How long do I have to prepare?”
“Charles isn’t going anywhere, so we’re not in a rush to push this case through, but we’d like to file charges within the next few months. Hopefully, that will give you enough time to go over everything. Alice’s family and her husband deserve closure, which means we need to make sure there are no stones left unturned, and you should know there are a lot of stones. Alice’s husband is still convinced that his best friend committed the murder, and Alice’s family is convinced that her husband murdered her with the help of his best friend, which the defense will use to their advantage.”
“And they know about the DNA?”
“They do, but the detectives who had taken on this case were adamant that Charles was not the one who committed the murder, so they are having a difficult time believing that he did it now.”
“Got it,” I mutter, and she nods, pushing up to stand.
“Just so you know, I spoke with Billy about Jamie.”
Shit.
“All right.” I lean back in my chair to wait and see where she’s going with this.
“He might think he’s good at hiding what he’s doing, but it took me just a week to figure it out, and my guess is it won’t be long before people begin to whisper. The last thing we need is for someone who has it out for him to start talking and for the media to catch wind of the story. We already have enough heat on us, especially with elections coming up.”
“Agreed.”
“He should not have pawned her off on you. If you have any issues with her, come to me.”
“Will do.”
With a nod, she starts to turn for the door. “You know how to get a hold of me if you need me.”
“Thanks, Mary, and thanks for trusting me with this.”
“There is nothing to thank me for. You earned this case by proving yourself time and time again,” she says before walking out the door and closing it behind her.
Dropping my eyes to the top of my desk, I take in the image of Alice and start to turn to the second page of the file when there is a knock. Lifting my head, I press my lips together when Jamie pokes her head inside.
“Hey, there is someone here to see you.”
“Who?” I frown. I never get visitors at work.
“She said her name is Francisca.”
My muscles bunch.
Logically, I know there are thousands of women with that name, but I only know one. The one I kissed and fucked against a wall, losing control and my sanity. Something that has never happened to me before with any other woman.
“What does she want?”
She looks at me like I’m an idiot. “To see you.”
Fuck.
“Send her in.” I get to my feet, but don’t move from behind my desk as Jamie disappears from the doorway.
What feels like a lifetime later, Francisca walks through the open door and into my office, her steps slow and unsure. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t talked myself out of going to her apartment and knocking to see if she’s home about a million times over the last few weeks, but I didn’t because sometimes things are better left as they are, and I have nothing to offer her.
“Umm, hey,” she says quietly as I take her in.
She looks nervous but still as beautiful as I remember, with her hair flowing down her back. She’s wearing a long, floral-print dress with thin straps that’s clinging to her breasts, with a light, loose sage-green sweater over it that has slipped off one shoulder, exposing a good amount of skin.
“Sorry for just popping in like this, but I didn’t know how else to get a hold of you.”
“It’s okay.” I motion to the chairs in front of me. “Do you want to sit?”
“I….” She licks her lips, looking at the chair, then me. “Sure.” Once she’s seated, I sit back down in my chair and wait, wondering what’s brought her here.
“I guess there’s no easy way to start this,” she whispers, almost like she’s talking to herself, as she fiddles with the handle of her purse on her lap. I notice then that her hands are shaking. “Do you remember when we…?” Her cheeks get red, and she shakes her head, dropping her eyes to her lap. “Of course, you remember. That’s such a stupid question.”
“Fran—”
“I’m pregnant,” she cuts me off, then lifts her wide eyes to mine. “Oh… God.”
“Pardon?” I ask, sure I misheard her.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to just blurt it out like that. I’ve just been so scared to tell you, and I know that we don’t really know each other.” She lifts her hands toward me. “I’m not trying to trap you. I promise I’m totally okay with you not being involved… or being involved. It’s up to you. Totally up to you. I just wanted you to know because?—”
“It’s not mine.” The statement sounds harsh to my own ears, and her lips part.
“What?”
“It’s not mine,” I say a little more calmly.
“It is, Dayton. I wouldn’t lie about something like this.” The conviction in her tone gives me pause, but I carry on.
“I had a vasectomy years ago, Francisca, so I know for certain that I’m not the father. You need to figure out who else you were with.”
“You had a vasectomy?” Her brows drag together.
“Yes.”
“Why?” Her eyes wander over my face, and I know what she sees—a man in his prime, likely around the age where he’d start looking for a partner to settle down and start a family with.
But that man is not me.
“Because I don’t want children.” The statement echoes through the room before sliding into place between us like a brick wall.
“Oh.” She swallows, dropping her gaze from mine.
“Fran—”
“You know what?” she interrupts as she pushes up to stand, her movements jerky. “You’re probably right. I probably just got my dates all messed up. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Fran—” I move to my feet as she stumbles on the way to the door.
“I’m sorry for bothering you.”
“Francisca.”
“Just forget I was here.” She rushes out of my office, leaving me staring at the empty doorway.
What the fuck?
Rubbing my hands down my face, I attempt to dissect the emotions running rampant through my system. But I can’t. There are too many.
“Is everything okay?” Dropping my hands from my face, I look at Jamie.
“Everything’s fine.” I move to my desk and start gathering all my things.
“Are you leaving?” she asks, coming too fucking close.
“Yes, you can leave early, too, if you don’t have anything to do.”
“Are you sure you’re okay? That sounded pretty intense.” Did she overhear that conversation? My head comes up, and my eyes lock on hers. She must see something in my gaze because she looks away. “Sorry.”
“Goodnight, Jamie.” Stepping around her, I leave her in my office and head down the hall and out the front door of the building. As I’m starting the engine of my SUV a few minutes later, my cell starts to ring, and Billy’s name pops up on the screen.
Cricking my neck, I press accept on the call. “Billy.”
“Dayton, how’s it going?”
“All right. Just leaving the office. What’s up?”
“Did Mary talk to you?”
“She did.” I back out of my parking space.
“How do you feel about the case?”
“I haven’t had a chance to go over everything yet, but I plan on spending the weekend looking into it.”
“Good, that’s good.” He goes quiet, and I frown at the dash when I see his call is still connected.
“Did you need anything else?”
“I have a favor to ask.”
“Shoot,” I mutter, hoping like fuck his favor has nothing to do with Jamie. With the mood I’m in, I’m liable to tell him to fuck off.
“Tomorrow, there is a charity golf game, and my son can’t make it. Do you have any plans?”
“What time?”
“It starts at eight. I know this is last minute, but you’d be doing me a favor. Not to mention, it’s for a good cause.”
In any other reality, I’d say no, but I can’t in this one. Saying no to my boss just isn’t an option.
“Sure, I can do that.”
“All right, I’ll send you the details and see you in the morning.”
“Sounds good. Have a good night.”
“You too.” He hangs up, and I head toward home, scanning the street for Francisca. Of course, I don’t see her. I never do.
When I get into the building, I don’t go to my apartment. I head up to my brother’s place on the top floor. I need a beer and someone to talk to. As I reach his door, I don’t use my key to let myself in like I would have before he got married. Instead, I knock and wait, loosening my tie, that feels like it’s strangling me.
“Dayton,” Willow answers the door with my nephew Rowen on her hip.
“Hey, is Clay here?” I take Rowen when he reaches for me and hold him against my chest.
“He is.” Her eyes wander over my face. “Is everything okay?”
“Just need to talk to him.”
“Sure,” she says quietly. “He’s in the office.”
“Thanks.” I move past her and head down the hall to his office, with Rowen kicking his legs and jabbering nonsense that I’m sure makes perfect sense to him.
When I push through the door to Clay’s office, he smiles at his son, who yells, “Dada!”
“Hey, little man.” Clay turns his chair as I put Rowen on his feet. His steps are still a little unsure, but he makes it across the room to his dad and falls against him.
As I watch my brother pick him up and kiss the side of his dark head, I feel something wrap so tightly around my insides it’s almost difficult to breathe.
“Everything okay?” Clay asks, and I focus on him.
“Just need a beer. You working?”
“I always have time for a beer.” He stands with Rowen, and the three of us leave his office, heading down the hall and through the living room and kitchen, where Willow is standing at the stove, cooking something while talking on the phone.
We then step into the playroom, which is not just a normal playroom, but a paradise for both kids and adults, with a park-size playset, swings, slides, a treehouse, a full bar, couches, and a huge TV. Clay grabs each of us a beer from the fridge, passing me one before walking over to a round ball pit to place Rowen inside it.
Hearing my nephew giggle and jabber, whatever has wrapped around my insides gets tighter.
“What’s up? And don’t say nothing because you look like you’re about to puke or pass the fuck out.”
I meet my brother’s gaze. He’s not blood, but we’ve been brothers since he, Miles, Tucker, and I ended up in the same foster family as kids. Our bond runs deep. I’d lay down my life for any of them, and I know they’d do the same for me.
“A while back, I hooked up with a woman.” Bile crawls up the back of my throat. Saying I hooked up with Francisca sounds wrong coming out of my mouth. She’s not the kind of woman you hook up with. I knew that the moment I met her.
“She’s not the first woman you’ve hooked up with, so what’s going on?”
“She showed up in my office today to tell me that she’s pregnant.” I take a pull from my beer, watching his brows drag together.
“I thought you made it so that kind of thing wouldn’t be a possibility.”
“I did,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Then what’s the problem? You know the kid isn’t yours.”
“She seemed sure that I’m the father.”
“And you believe her?”
“I don’t know.” I think about the conviction in her voice and the look on her face when I told her that I got a vasectomy because I don’t want kids. “I believe that she thinks I’m the father, but that shouldn’t be possible. Should it?”
“Nothing is ever one hundred percent.”
“Yeah.” I look down at Rowen when he tosses a ball out of the pit toward me. Picking it up, I toss it back and smile when he tries to catch it but falls backward into the balls, giggling.
“You’d be a good dad.”
“I’ve never wanted that life or that title.”
“Sometimes, it’s the things we don’t want that end up being the best things that ever happened to us.”
“You know my history.” My hand tightens around the bottle in my hand.
“I do. I also know that we’re not the people we came from, nor our pasts.”
“Except, I didn’t just come from a monster. That shit lives inside me.”
“I’d trust you with my life, and not just mine but my wife and son’s. And I know if you asked Tucker and Miles, they’d say the same thing. You might have a monster inside you, Dayton, but you’d never unleash that shit on anyone weaker than you, and not just because you know from experience how that feels, but because that is not who you are.”
“Sorry, guys,” Willow says, breaking into the conversation, and we both turn to watch her walk to Rowen, who is looking at his mom like he hasn’t seen her in a year and couldn’t be happier that she is back.
“I’m going to steal this little guy and get him fed.” She looks at me after lifting Rowen out of the ball pit. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”
“I’m good, but thanks, Willow.”
“Are you sure? I made plenty.”
“Yeah.”
“All right.” She looks up at Clay when he wraps his arm around her waist.
“I might be a few, baby. Just eat without me.”
“Okay,” she whispers, leaning up to meet him halfway when he drops his head to kiss her. When he pulls back, she gives him a soft look before smiling at me and carrying Rowen out of the room, closing the door.
I follow him over to the bar and take a seat on one of the stools, while he goes behind it and gets down a bottle of whiskey, pouring us each a glass, then sliding one over to me.
“Now, tell me about this woman,” he says, and I down what’s in the glass in one gulp, then tell him about Francisca—or what little I know about her.