Chapter 10
A few minutes later, Claire and Black stood in front of the elevator, ready to roll. “We probably ought to call his suite first,” Black told her, pressing the button. “It might freak him out if we just show up out of the blue with a badge and start questioning him about a murder.”
“No way. I don’t want him to have time to make up some story or call in his lawyers. He’s probably got a whole team of them at his beck and call. He certainly had enough of them when I arrested him in Los Angeles.”
“Are you telling me that you’re planning to arrest him when we get down there?”
“No. I can’t prove anything yet. But he’s up pretty high on my suspect list, unless he’s got a rock-solid alibi. You treated him. You think he’s capable of murder?”
“I think anybody’s capable of murder under the right circumstances. In his case? Maybe, if he was high on drugs at the time. But he’s pretty much off the hard stuff now. He’s not an evil person, if that’s what you’re thinking. Let me warn you: no telling what we’ll find going on inside his suite. He’s been known to do some rather strange and unpleasant things.”
“I’ve seen lots of strange and unpleasant things in my lifetime. Let’s go.”
When they stepped off the elevator on the floor below, a couple of Black’s burly security men were standing around—no doubt on double duty guarding Jonesy Jax from his druggie fans—looking sharp in their Cedar Bend black and tan uniforms. Down at the east end of the hall, in front of the double doors leading into the opposite suite, a couple of guys carrying shopping bags were entering their room. On the west end of the hall, a big black guy stood guard in front of Jonesy’s suite. This had to be Jonesy Jax’s own man. He looked like he pumped iron and ran twenty miles a day and fought grizzly bears on the weekends. He knew Black, too. But who didn’t? Her guy was famous.
Black was just so polite—most of the time. He started with the introductions. “Claire, this is Benjamin Hargate. He’s been Jonesy’s personal bodyguard for as long as I can remember.”
“How do you do, Mrs. Black,” Hargate said to her. Also polite, no doubt unless they tried to break down the door or touch his unsavory rock star. He was acting like a regular human being, even after being in close association with Jonesy Jax for so long. Good sign, that. Maybe a miracle, in fact.
“How you been, Dr. Black? Congrats on your marriage.”
Black said, “I’m good, Ben. Thank you. How are you?”
The guard nodded, then turned and tapped on the door with one large knuckle that appeared to have been broken on somebody’s nose several times over. They waited. He tapped some more. Finally, about ten minutes later, it seemed, the door swung inward and revealed a young woman standing before them in a slinky black lace teddy, a garter belt, and black fishnet stockings. Hooker high heels, of course, just to lounge around the suite, because it all looked so comfortable. Luckily, she also had on a short black silk robe, which was unbelted and hanging open, for easy access, no doubt.
“Good morning, Ms. Kisses,” Black said, still being mannerly, not laughing at the woman’s ridiculous made-up name. Probably a former, if not current, porn star. “We need to speak with Jonesy. It’s important that we see him. Is he up yet?”
“Well, no.” The woman was clearly of a sarcastic bent, and gave them a short but effective guffaw at Black’s bizarre notion. “It’s just ten. Get real, dude.”
“Are you Candi Kisses, ma’am?” Claire asked, but it didn’t exactly roll off her tongue with ease. In fact, she almost choked on the sheer absurdity of having to say it out loud. It was just such a moronic thing to have to say that Claire couldn’t quite get a handle on it. She grimaced instead and let that be enough.
“Of course I am.”
Of course you are, and you’re an imbecile as well, Claire thought. Another Hollywood nutzoid working for a lunatic.
“Who the hell are you?” Candi looked at Black. “I can’t believe yous just showed up here at Jonesy’s door without calling me for permission first. That is just so crazy rude. Yous can’t do that.”
Claire could only stare at her. Okay, she was a nutzoid from Brooklyn. It was plain to see that this kid was as clueless as a blind poodle on a computer keyboard—maybe even more so. Even Jules Verne could chase a ball and bring it back. This gal would need instructions. Black was saying nothing. It was Claire’s game and she had to play it, even with a saucy little twit with an idiotic name. She inhaled a deep breath and dealt with the girl, kid gloves still folded in her act-nice drawer. “Well, yes, we can most certainly do that, Candi Kisses. See this guy standing here beside me? He owns this hotel and everything in it, including your suite. And I am a Canton County Sheriff’s homicide detective, with a badge hanging right here around my neck and a big old Glock under my arm and the power to throw you in jail lickety-split for noncompliance. That a good enough invitation for you, Candi Kisses?”
Jonesy’s girlfriend blew out a breath that was soaked with rum and a strong odor of nicotine. Unpleasant up close ? Oh, yes, very. “Well, I guess I can’t stop yous from coming in here then, if he owns the hotel, but we are pretty busy. Why don’t you just come back later, after you’re invited?”
It was difficult, but Claire ignored most of that annoying prattle. “Busy doing what, Candi Kisses?”
Black glanced down at her, disapproving of her mocking tone. Imagine that.
“Busy minding my own business. How about you do the same, lady?”
So it wasn’t an act: This girl really was incredibly ignorant. Twenty-ish, and brain already fried to a crisp, like a cracked egg in grease. Like the employer, the employee goes. Or whatever function the nearly naked girl was slated to serve for Jonesy Jax. “Do you really want to see the inside of a jail cell, ma’am? That won’t be a problem, believe me. Don’t know if the orange jumpsuit will flatter your pink hair, though.”
“Ha. Aren’t you hilarious.”
A great and steadily building wave of loathing was rising up inside Claire’s chest, like a tsunami wave of destruction, and after only one and a half minutes. That was a new record for Claire. Usually it took two minutes for annoying X-rated womenfolk to enrage her. Black was watching her warily, as if she were going to do something rash to the silly little bubble brain, like bust her in the nose with a fist. It was a nice fantasy, but she would waste too much time mopping up the blood, and it would be hard for Candi to answer questions with cotton stuffed up both nostrils. Otherwise, it was a grand idea.
“We’re here to see Jonesy Jax. Not you. So go get him, ma’am.” Claire held up her badge right in front of Candi’s eyes. “Now.”
The woman invited her to participate in a flat-eyed stare-off for approximately five seconds, and then she flounced off in her skimpy attire. Claire and Black stepped inside and closed the door behind them. Ms. Sexpot stripped off her robe as she crossed the room and glanced back over a naked shoulder to see if Black was watching her smut show. Flirting at its most pathetic.
“Bet that sexy stunt got you goin’, huh, Black?”
“I’m more concerned with the murderous look on your face.”
“I don’t care for Candi.”
“No kidding.”
“But, no worries: I’m not going to shoot her. Pistol-whipping might be in the cards, if she takes off anything else to entice you.”
Black just shook his head.
“Okay, I was told last night that Miss Candyland is his booking agent. Surely that cannot be true: she’s not old enough to drive yet.”
“Afraid so. If I recall, Jonesy usually makes his current lover double in that regard so she can travel with him.”
“This case just keeps getting sleazier.”
“It can get a lot worse than this. Let’s just hope it doesn’t.”
Claire glanced around the giant living room. It was as beautiful as the rest of Cedar Bend Lodge, of course. A bit more enthusiastically decorated, to wow a bride and groom, she assumed. It was rustic in a high-end, expensive-decorator kind of way. Big sliding doors opened onto a long balcony overlooking the frozen lake. The porch was covered with snow drifts that slanted up one wall. Frost had configured icy snowflakes on the plate glass. Everything in sight was frozen and dead and waiting for the spring thaw. The gas fire logs were dancing and burning hot in their artificial way, but the room was quite dim because of the never-ending dark clouds pressing down over the water.
At the moment, however, Black’s major luxury suite was a total disaster area. There were discarded clothes flung everywhere, lots of black and red teddies lying about, and other unmentionable things that Claire wished she hadn’t noticed. Empty rum and whiskey and beer bottles littered the giant white coffee table, and ashtrays overflowed despite the fact that Cedar Bend was smoke-free. Guess rock stars got to do anything they wanted. The acrid stench of cigarettes hung in a dark cloud near the ceiling. Yuck and more extreme yuck.
“Better put up some more no-smoking signs, Black, before these people choke to death.”
Black didn’t look pleased at the state of Jonesy’s housekeeping, either. He had always been the super orderly type: his extensive military training, no doubt. “He keeps sober better if he gets to smoke. We found that out in therapy. I can let things slide now and then if it’s good for my patient’s mental health issues.”
“This is all so utterly distasteful that I think I’m gonna break out in hives, especially the fact that he’s got an underage nympho staying in here with him.”
“She’s not underage. I asked to see her driver’s license when they checked in, just to make sure.”
“Very astute of you, dear. How old is she?”
“Eighteen.”
“Trusting that it’s not a fake ID, huh?”
“Can’t guarantee that. I hope it’s not.”
It took Jax some time to show up. After fifteen minutes, Black sat down beside the fire and Claire chose an easy chair near the balcony doors, where the cigarette smoke wasn’t so thick that it gagged her, and waited silently—if not happily—for the next fifteen minutes. Not the most patient detective in the world, Claire got up and opened the sliders to clear some of the acrid smoke out of the place. The cold, fresh air felt good and smelled clean and the snow was coming down again in light and fluffy flakes. Lake of the Ozarks was absolutely beautiful in the winter, especially when it snowed this much. She enjoyed the view for a while.
“Shut those goddamn doors,” came a low and hoarse voice from somewhere behind her.
Claire turned around and found Jonesy Jax standing there in the flesh— literally. He had on a pair of tight black Jockey briefs and nothing else. It was not a sight anyone wanted to see this early in the morning. Or ever.
Black took offense to his guest’s language and attire, or lack thereof. “That’s my wife you’re talking to, Jonesy. And put a robe on, for God’s sake.”
Jonesy jerked his head around to Black, apparently unaware of his presence. “Wife? You get married, Nick? When?”
Nope, Claire’s hatred had not dried up. Both he and Candi just made it so damn easy to despise them. Who could blame Claire? Who in their right mind wouldn’t hate them?
“Claire and I got married last summer. I’m surprised you didn’t see it in the tabloids. Everybody else on earth did.”
“I quit reading those stupid things. Got tired of all those lies they told about me and my ladies.”
Ladies? Yeah, right, Claire thought. She’d met him for the second time half a minute ago and now would believe anything horrible that anybody said about him. He looked older now, quite haggard in the face, his skin tinged a little gray. Her take? He had better see a cardiologist, and quick. He still had his long hair woven into those ugly bleached white and braided pigtails. He had tattoos all over his body, and that meant everywhere she could see skin. The ink alone must have cost him a fortune.
Jonesy looked back at her, as if sizing her up as a wife suitable for his friend and paid shrink. Then he suddenly yelled out at the top of his lungs: “Bring me a robe, Candi, damn it!” Claire jumped slightly but was chagrined about it. Then the fabled rock star looked back at Black. “Sorry, man. I just woke up. Still a little wasted, I guess. You know how it is.”
“Actually, I don’t.” That was Black, the disapproving head doctor dripping recriminations.
Claire walked over and stood a few feet from Jonesy, but not too close for fear of catching something nasty. She didn’t shut the sliding glass doors, either. She wouldn’t close them now if he said “please” and paid her ten thousand dollars to slide them together just one inch. Candi appeared swiftly and held out one of Cedar Bend’s white monogrammed terrycloth robes to Jonesy. He poked his arms through the sleeves and belted it, all the while staring at Claire.
“Well, you got yourself a looker there, Nick, I’ll give you that. Maybe I can put her in my next video. But she’ll have to dress sexier than those jeans. Can she dance?”
Her deep dislike plummeted to sheer abhorrence. Claire stared at him in a way that even a plastic mannequin could understand. Black said nothing, used to that look. This was her show. He knew that, and he also knew she could handle it without bloodshed. “How I dress is not pertinent to my investigation, sir.” That last polite reference to him galled her, but hey, she could be professional. Even when it was uncalled for.
“Investigation? What’s that supposed to mean?” Jonesy stated with a furrowed brow and a confused expression.
“What that is supposed to mean, Mr. Jax, is that a woman was murdered there yesterday, inside your new residence. So tell me, where were you yesterday?”
Jonesy’s bloodshot eyes widened. They were swollen, with whites the color of tomato sauce. Jeez, the rock star was all discombobulated. “What do you mean?”
Crap, she needed a kindergarten teacher to translate for her. Claire lifted her badge and showed it to him. “Maybe you should splash some cold water on your face and get yourself a couple of pots of coffee. Maybe even brush your teeth. Make yourself presentable for this official police interview. Then you might be able to answer my questions.”
Black slanted her one of his warning looks, recognizing the signs of her annoyance, but he elected to stay out of their conversation.
On the other hand, Jonesy didn’t seem to care for her. “Yeah, and maybe I ought to call my lawyer, too. I don’t like fuckin’ cops.”
At that, Black rose up to his full six-feet-four-inch height. He looked deceptively calm, but deadly. Funny thing, he had always hated it when people called her a fuckin’ cop. It simply irked the hell out of him. Sometimes it even shook him out of his psychiatric serenity and into protective husband mode. Like now. “Watch what you say to my wife, Jonesy. You do whatever you want. Go ahead. Call a lawyer. Be stupid some more. My wife is a police officer and a good one. She’s not going to put up with your crap, and neither am I. You insult her like that again, and you’re gonna end up on your back on the floor.”
Claire beamed at her dear husband. Good job, Black. Threats of physical violence and everything. How sweet. She was gonna keep him. Usually he was just an observer, tagging along to keep her calm. Maybe he didn’t like Jonesy Jax as much as he had professed.
Jonesy appeared as if he didn’t want Black to knock him down and disfigure his face, but didn’t care to admit as much. “Okay, Nick, just cool it for a minute. I’m just not awake yet. Still a little high. Don’t even remember last night, or what I took. Gimme a break.”
Claire reentered the friendly conversation. “Well, you better get awake, because right now you are wasting my time. Also, it’s not exactly brilliant to openly discuss your drug habits with a cop present.”
She and Jonesy had one heck of a mutual hatred, and they stared at each other in a death duel for about twenty seconds. She knew this was going to happen. She remembered what he did when she’d stopped his limousine. After a few seconds, however, Jonesy turned around and headed back into one of the bedrooms. A moment later, Candi Kisses slunk out, still in her come-hither underwear but sans robe. “He says he’s gonna take a shower and brush his teeth and put some clothes on, and take a bunch of Excedrins and a belt of whiskey and then he’ll be back.”
That was putting a load of specifics on things. But Claire approved. “Maybe you should do that, too, Candi Kisses. Especially the clothes part. It’s snowing outside. You know, twenty degrees, or under. You’ll catch cold, if you’re not careful. But that’s strictly up to you.”
Candi shrugged, ran over to the balcony doors, and slid the door closed. “Well, this is all just too fuckin’ boring. I’m gonna go back to bed.”
“Thanks for sharing,” Claire told her. She turned to face Black. “I cannot believe you ever spent time in the same room with these people,” Claire muttered softly after the girl had sashayed out of the room. “Makes me worry about your, you know, good judgment and healthy habits.”
“I’ve had to deal with a lot worse than Jonesy Jax.”
“Poor you.”
Black only shrugged. Claire sat down beside him and waited. They watched the snow float down for at least thirty more minutes before the rock star finally strolled back into the room. This time, he had clearer eyes, but the famous swagger was alive and well. Good thing was, he had some sweats on: all black, his name and picture emblazoned on the front and the back.
Claire wondered if Jonesy had taken a hit of cocaine to help pull himself together so fast. He walked straight over to her and extended his hand. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Black. I was an asshole earlier. I hope you will overlook it. I didn’t mean to offend you. Or you, Nick. I wouldn’t ever want to do that.”
Loathe to touch him, to actually have her flesh press up against his flesh without a protective covering, Claire hesitated, but then she extended her hand in an act of distasteful reconciliation. They shook, and then he smiled. He was not bad looking, not once she saw him close-up and not almost nude. Then he walked over to Black.
“I’m sorry I spoke to your wife in that disrespectful manner. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have done it.”
Black readily agreed. “She’s a police officer, Jonesy. Better remember that. She can lock you up.”
And throw away the key, Claire finished for him, pleasantly jacked up by such a lovely fantasy.
“Sit down, please. Would you like some coffee, Detective? I’ve ordered a couple of pots to be brought up. Got some cheese Danish coming, too, and blueberry muffins. The works.”
Claire shook her head. “No, thank you, we had breakfast earlier.”
Jonesy was staring at her. “Hey, you look kinda familiar. We met before?”
“I think I might’ve arrested you in Los Angeles once, for numerous counts of misdemeanors and felonies.”
Jonesy laughed, thinking Claire a real jokester. Then he got serious. “Okay, I guess I’m ready. Now what’s this you’re telling me about my new house? Do you mean the one I just bought out on the lake, that one up high on that cliff?”
Claire wondered how many houses he had bought in the vicinity. “Yes. The one you approved to be featured on the Christmas at the Lake tour. You did know that it was being used in that regard, did you not?”
“Sure, I knew about that. No big deal. I wasn’t ready to move in, anyway. I’ve been waiting for my daughter to show up. I sent her the key, and she’s supposed to call me as soon as she got out here. That’s why I bought the place, so she’d have a house in a safe area where she can live when I’m out on the road. Life on tour is no place for a girl as young as her.”
Claire stared at him. Hypocrite, anyone? What the hell was Candi of the Kisses if not an exploited young girl? Then, all of a sudden, in a flash of intuition she did not wish to examine, Claire sucked in her breath. A very awful thought had blazed its way across her conscious mind. Her belly gave a little quiver of sick. She turned to Black and knew instantly that he’d already come to the same unwanted conclusion. Oh God, this interview was not going to turn out well. She knew it. She felt it. She heaved in a deep, bracing breath. “I didn’t know you had a daughter, Mr. Jax.”
“Call me freakin’ Jonesy, okay? Everybody else does. Hey, I was rude this morning. I know it. I wasn’t sober yet. But I’m not the man in the tabloids anymore. They exaggerate everything about me. I’m okay now. Nick’ll tell you that.”
Claire knew all about the media, that was for damn sure. She waited a few seconds and then asked the question that she had to ask but didn’t want to. “Can you tell me where your daughter is right now? Is she here? In your suite, maybe?” Claire realized how hopeful her voice sounded. She stood there and waited for the boom to drop, because she had a feeling it was coming down hard on top of them.
Jonesy actually smiled. He looked totally different with that smile. It was real, too, not the maniacal one he manufactured to wow his crazed groupies. “Not yet. She was supposed to get out to the house yesterday but didn’t show. Guess bad weather must’ve messed up her flight.”
“Have you tried to contact her today?”
“Yeah, sure. So did Candi. But she’s not picking up. She does that to me sometimes. You know, just wants to do her own thing.” He shrugged. “Don’t want Daddy checking up on her, and all that. So I give her space. She’s a good girl.”
“So she’s an adult?”
“Yeah. Almost nineteen. Will be in January. On the fifth.”
“You never told me you had a daughter,” Black said, looking very sober now.
“I didn’t know it myself until about a year ago. I’ve kept it quiet, didn’t want her in the spotlight or her pictures to get out in the tabloids. She’s kinda quiet and shy. I didn’t want the paps to chase her around like they do me.”
“Why didn’t you know about her?” Claire perked up at that. Maybe the bludgeoned girl was not his child. Maybe she was a random victim, chosen by the killer and brought into his house because of its isolation. Maybe his kid was snowbound in some dink airport somewhere. God, she didn’t like Jonesy Jax one bit, but she wouldn’t wish this kind of terrible grief on anyone. But maybe she was wrong. She hoped she was.
“Her mother was a girl I dated for a while. She got pregnant and didn’t tell me. She didn’t like my lifestyle, so she took off. Can’t say I blame her. That’s how I didn’t know anything about it. She just showed up after her mother died. Said her name was Heather Cantrell, and she had a birth certificate with her that named me as the father. Of course, that happens all the time, so I took a paternity test and it turned out positive.” He smiled at them, eyes filled with happiness. “Once I got over the shock of having a teenaged kid, it seemed like a fuckin’ miracle. A fuckin’ Christmas miracle. I’ve already given her my legal name. Now she’s Heather Jax and just the greatest kid to have around. You’ll see that when you meet her.”
“I see,” Claire said, and she did. Heather Cantrell was the name given to her by Oliver Wood.
She sat on the chair across from him and looked down at her lap for a moment because she knew, she knew in her gut that the dead girl in that house had to be Heather Jax. Now she was going to have to tell him that his daughter was gone again, for good this time, and in a terrible, horrible, inhumane, murderous way. But she had to be sure first. Black was watching her now, his eyes telling her loud and clear: want me to tell him for you?”
She did indeed, of course she did. She would’ve loved to pass that awful task onto Black’s shoulders, but she couldn’t and wouldn’t. It was her job and her place to break the news. But she had to know for sure. “Do you happen to know anything about a tattoo of a grim reaper holding a scythe?”
Grinning, he pulled back his sleeve and showed her his forearm. “This what you’re talking about? It’s the logo of my band. Got it on the front of all my albums. Heather got one, too, once we got together.”
“Would you happen to have a photograph of your daughter, Mr. Jax? A recent one, preferably.”
Jonesy jerked up his head and held her steady gaze, not as dimwitted as she’d always figured. The calm look in his eyes slowly turned to panic as his mind fumbled to put together her words and what they meant. He was breathless with dread when he spoke again. “Why? Why do you want to see a picture of her?”
“Please, sir, just allow me see a photo, if you’ve got one here at the hotel.”
Jonesy jumped up and grabbed a small framed picture that was propped up on the mantel. He hurried over to her. The photograph depicted Jonesy Jax and a pretty young girl. She had a tight grip on his arm and was leaning into him. He had his arm around her. Both had on bathing suits and L.A. Dodgers baseball caps, and they were standing out on some deserted beach somewhere. They had big, happy smiles plastered across their faces. Crap and damn it to hell. The kid in the picture was her victim, all right. There was absolutely no doubt in Claire’s mind. She wished she had thought to Google Jonesy’s family before coming downstairs to do the interview. It just hadn’t occurred to her that Jonesy could have a grown daughter living here at the lake. She held the photo in her hands and kept staring down at it. She was trying to come up with the right words. Words that wouldn’t devastate him. There weren’t any.
“Oh my God, my God, don’t, don’t, please, don’t.” Jonesy jumped up and then squatted down in front of her. “I can tell by the look on your face. She’s the dead woman you found in my house, isn’t she? Oh no! Oh God, fuckin’ no. Tell me, tell me, it’s Heather, isn’t it? She’s dead, isn’t she?”
Claire met his eyes. They looked wild with grief, and his expression was so stricken, his face so white with dread. There was absolute horror inside those eyes. She could barely force herself to maintain eye contact. “I’m so very sorry, Mr. Jax. I had no idea who she was when I came here, or I would have handled this interview much differently. I promise you that.”
Jonesy Jax stared disbelievingly at her. He was too devastated to speak. It was obvious to all three of them. Then, suddenly, he lost it completely, just freaked out, and laid his head in Claire’s lap and grabbed her legs and started in with the most heartrending low keening cries. Then he let her go, and slid down all the way onto the floor and curled up in a fetal position, his head buried in his palms. Utterly distraught. Groaning and moaning, prostrate with grief. Claire leaned forward and placed a comforting hand on his back. She felt sick to her stomach again. “I’m so sorry that I had to bring you this terrible news. I am so sorry for your loss, Mr. Jax.”
Claire looked to Black for help. He came quickly, thank God. He knelt on one knee beside the weeping man. “Come on, Jonesy, let me help you up. You’ve had a terrible shock. It’s going to take some time to pull it together, I know. I’ll be here for you. I’ll stay right here and try to help you deal with this. Let’s go back to the bedroom where we can talk privately. Do you think you can stand up? I can give you a sedative that will help you calm down, if you want.” Then Black turned to Claire. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, but she knew exactly why Black was asking her that. He knew this show of grief would make her relive the moment of her son’s death. Her precious little baby boy named Zachary. He was right; she was reliving it. She was fighting down her own demons that clamored inside her head, just like Jonesy Jax’s. She knew exactly how the rock star felt right now, down there on the floor at her feet. The horrible realization that his child was gone from him forever, that he’d never see her alive again, never talk to her, hug her or kiss her, not ever again. Claire had balled up like that one night on a busy ER floor when her toddler had been killed. She had wept inconsolably, too. She still wept like that sometimes, when she was alone and reliving that nightmare. Claire stiffened her jaw and tried to force out the image of her baby, shove him back behind the shadowy blackout curtains of her mind.
Jonesy was still sobbing when Black helped him up. He grabbed hold of Black’s lapels and buried his face in his chest and wept harder. Black kept patting his back and telling him softly that he needed to lie down, and finally got him headed back toward the bedrooms. The rock star was about as distraught as anyone Claire had ever seen. It was going to take him a long time to accept that his child was gone—if he ever did—and he would never, ever get over it. All Claire could see right now was Zachary’s little face peeking out from between those heavy black curtains inside her mind, his big, innocent blue eyes laughing, his blond hair curling down over his ears. He was so very real at these moments, and she could hear his chortling little laugh as he ran to her so fast on his chubby little legs. Suddenly, she knew she had to get out of that room and away from Jonesy’s loud wailing.
Shaken and trying to pull it together, she headed for the door and slipped out into the corridor. She stood with her back against the wall for a few moments, chest heaving. Jonesy’s bodyguard looked curiously at her when she bent over and sucked in a lungful of air. Okay, she had to stop this. It had been years since her baby had died. She had to shake off this panic attack, or whatever it was. She hadn’t broken down in a long time, but this one was bad. What she needed to do was call Bud and find out when they could get back to work. She and Bud would have to come back to this suite and interview Jonesy Jax and tell him all the cruel particulars of his daughter’s violent death. The idea absolutely made her ill.