Traitorous Heart 4 Read online

  I got out and walked behind him. At first no one noticed I was there, and I thought I’d make it inside unscathed.

  But then a girl shouted. That’s Birdy’s friend. What’s her name?” And I was swiftly surrounded.

  Questions came at me faster than I could possibly answer.

  “How’s Birdy?” A woman with bright blond hair in the shape of a football helmet asked.

  “She’s in jail for a crime she didn’t commit. I think it’s safe to say she’s had better weeks.” Cage paused halfway up the stairs, looking for something. When his eyes caught mine he smiled, encouraging. I kept walking.

  “Have you been to see her?” That question was from a young woman holding a Channel 5 microphone. Her brown eyes and big smile were inviting. I’d seen her before, doing local pieces. She seemed fairly competent.

  “Yes, just yesterday, in fact.”

  Some munch-head asked, “Did she do it?”

  I chose not to respond to that piece of bullshit question.

  “What’s she going to be wearing?” The question from a guy at the entertainment channel.

  I thought about shouting, telling them all to back the fuck up and leave me alone. Instead I smiled sweetly. “You’ll see.”

  I was grateful no one realized I was Reid’s fiancée. Had they known, the questions might have been worse. More personal. Or maybe they did know but didn’t care. That was very likely.

  When my feet found the top step, Cage was waiting. He took my elbow.

  “No more questions,” he said.

  We went inside and I heaved a sigh of relief.

  Once the doors closed I was grateful and nearly sagged into Cage.

  “Next time we might need to bring some muscle,” he said, smirking.

  “Probably not a bad idea.” I adjusted the belt at my waist, making sure it was centered, then straightened up and ran a hand through my hair.

  The New York City courthouse had been built in the late eighteen hundreds, but it had gone through a major overhaul in two-thousand-and-one. It looked new, with brass fixtures and marble. A mixture of excitement and trepidation seemed to fill the empty spaces. The smell of ink, old books, and cheap coffee permeated the air. Had I not been nervous about what would happen with Birdy, I’d have loved spending time in that place.

  “We’re in here.”

  A security guard opened the door for us. I went in first, checked out the long bench made of oak. It’d been stained a medium color that was popular in the late seventies. The floor was a dark blue. I guessed one of the two tables was for the plaintiffs’ counsel and one for the defendants’ counsel. There were already men and one woman sitting at both tables. Birdy’s dad was there as well.

  The courtroom was packed. Nearly every seat had been taken. News crews stood antsy in the back.

  Her dad glanced back. Nodded. No warm smile. No hi, how ya doin’? None of the pleasantries.

  I returned it.

  “Have a seat right here. I’ve got to go over some paperwork. Get ready,” Cage said.

  “Good luck,” I told Cage as he walked away.

  He pushed his way through the swinging wooden door and took a seat next to Birdy’s dad. Jonathan said something. Cage responded. Jonathan’s features were angry. Cage steeled his, working to contain his emotion. Their whisperings grew louder. I heard Jonathan mention Birdy’s name several times and wondered what he was saying.

  A side door opened. Birdy was ushered in. I stood, hoping she would notice me amongst all the other people in the crowded courtroom. At the sight of her everyone began talking, until the room sounded like a gaggle of seagulls.

  When Birdy finally saw me, I waved. She tried to smile, but didn’t quite get there. “I worried you wouldn’t come,” she mouthed.

  “I’m here.” I sat.

  Birdy’s wrists and ankles were cuffed. A rather short chain between her ankles made her shuffle instead of walk. She looked nice in the suit I brought. Her blond curls had been combed into place and they’d let her wear makeup. She almost looked like herself. Not quite though. All the bubbliness that normally oozed out of her was gone.

  Once Birdy was seated, the police officers unhooked the cuffs. She massaged her wrists. I noticed her dad didn’t say another word, not to her or to anyone. He clamped his lips shut and kept them tight. It looked like she tried to talk to him, but he didn’t respond.

  Asshole, I thought, leaning back, crossing my legs.

  The bailiff came in. “All rise for the Honorable Devin Stevenson.”

  I stood, as did everyone else in the crowded courtroom.

  The judge was a crotchety looking old guy with salt and pepper hair, dark brown eyes, and a demeanor that said Mess with the bull, you’ll get the horns. He had reading glasses sitting on the end of his nose. He’d brought in a box of something. I couldn’t tell what it was.

  After he sat, the bailiff said, “You may now be seated.”

  Everyone sat.

  The judge picked up a folder, slid his glasses up, and read. “This is a hearing for a Miss Pamela Bird?” He glanced at both tables as he spoke.

  “Yes, your honor,” Cage said, standing.

  The judge pressed his lips together. “Proceed.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Katie

  First Birdy’s parole was denied, and then the judge agreed with the prosecution to expedite the trial. It was set to begin in four weeks. She’d been devastated. Her dad, the Jonathan Bird, immediately left the courtroom after the proceedings. He didn’t say a single word to his daughter.

  Birdy cried. She tried to climb over the wood partition and had to be physically removed from the courtroom. A paparazzo snapped several photos. I had no doubt Birdy’s photo would end up in one of the gossip magazines. I felt so bad, but, as I promised, I would figure out the truth. I would find out who’d actually killed Reid.

  I needed to look through Birdy’s stuff.

  Cage dropped me off. “Text later,” he said.

  “I will.”

  After I got upstairs I locked the door, changed out of my dress and into a pair of sweats, took out my contacts and put on my black-framed glasses, then got to work.

  That meant I had to do something completely against what I’d ever done before. I had to snoop in Birdy’s things.

  I poured myself a glass of wine, took and giant gulp, and walked into her bedroom. It was a mess. Designer clothes and shoes were everywhere, mostly the floor. They were also on her bed, spilling out of her closet, and hanging from picture frames and doorknobs. Her bedspread draped half on and half off the floor. Near the window was a dresser. I danced my way carefully through the clothes and the shoes on the floor to get there.

  A trinket box overflowing with all kinds of jewelry sat on top of the dresser. I rifled through it, picking up each pretty piece and holding it to the light. Birdy had great taste.

  I gulped another large drink of wine, beginning to feel warm.

  Opening the first drawer was difficult. It was her underwear drawer. I dug through it until I reached the bottom, where I found a manila envelope. I polished off the wine, set the empty glass on the dresser, and walked over to the bed. Opening the clasp, I looked inside. There were papers, photographs, and an old fashioned key attached to a silver chain. I shook the contents on to the bed and picked up the key. It was dainty, intricate. There was an inscription on the long portion of the key. To: P.B. You’re always in my heart. Love: H.J. I guessed the PB was Pamela Bird, but HJ? I thought through the names of her previous boyfriends, relatives, and so on. No one came to mind.

  I picked up the photographs. The edges were bent and worn. I skimmed through the pictures. The curly blond hair made it easy to recognize that it was Birdy through the years.

  Riding a sparkly blue tricycle.

  Hanging upside down on the monkey bars.

  Her sixth grade graduation.

  In one she was kissing another girl on the cheek. After staring for several more seconds I recognized
the other girl in the photo was me.

  “But we didn’t meet until college.” I spoke aloud, too shocked to keep the words inside.

  There was an official document. A birth certificate. It was Birdy’s. The name read: Pamela Blue Bird. She weighed six pounds, ten ounces and was twenty-one and a half inches long. There was a print of her feet. They were tiny and adorable.

  I kept reading.

  Mother: Barbara Stacy Kellogg

  I knew Kellogg was her mother’s maiden name.

  Father: Harold Don Jayne

  “What. The. Fuck.” That couldn’t be right. I read the name again. Several times. Then I flipped the document over, hoping it would be a fake. When I realized it wasn’t I tossed it on the floor, stood, picked up my wine glass, and went to the kitchen where I refilled it. I chugged it and filled it again.

  Harold Don Jayne was my father’s name, which meant Birdy and I were half-sisters.

  I went back into her room. There was a final piece of paper I hadn’t looked at. It looked like worn stationary. A letter. I opened it and recognized the lazy scrawl that was my dad’s handwriting.

  Dear Pam,

  Thank you for agreeing to meet for lunch the other day. I so enjoyed the little bit of time we had to get to know each other. I was surprised that you sought me out. Curious about how you came to discover the truth. When you brought your birth certificate I was astonished such a document was in your mother’s possession.

  By all accounts your father is Jonathan Bird. As far as I know your mother told no one the truth. Certainly not Jonathan. She made me swear not to tell my wife. I couldn’t keep it from her for long, though. By the time you turned one, Daisy knew. She and I agreed to honor Barbara’s wishes though. I stayed away.

  Then fate stepped in. Somehow my daughters ended up as roommates at the same college.

  The first time I saw you it was all I could do not to wrap my arms around you and tell you who I was. As you can see from the pictures I stayed away, but never too far or for too long.

  I hope now that you’re of age you’ll allow us to get to know each other. I know my Katie adores you. Daisy and I do too.

  Always in my heart,

  Harold

  My head was spinning. Birdy had known the truth for quite a while. I couldn’t believe it. How could she and my mom and dad keep something so huge a secret? And why?

  My phone chimed in the other room. I still had a lot of searching to do. If drawer number one was any indication about what other secrets Birdy had, I was in for a crazy ride.

  But I needed a break, more wine, and a smoke.

  CHAPTER 7

  Griffin

  It was that time again—the weekly dinner with my father. Dorvey’s was busy tonight. A line extended out the front door. I walked past waiting patrons and went inside.

  The hostess greeted me by name. I didn’t know hers. “Hey, Mr. Maxwell.” She picked up a menu even though I didn’t need it. My father and I had been coming here for so long the manager kept the same table reserved for us. Not to mention I had the menu memorized. Tonight I would have steak and potatoes with a side of grilled asparagus. The hostess reached the table and smiled. I sat.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  His face lit up with a smile. I knew it was meant more for the hostess, not for me. Appearances were everything. My dad had recently been to the Bahamas on a golf-slash-work trip. It showed in his already tanned skin.

  “Griffin,” he said.

  “Can I get you a drink?” the hostess asked.

  “Vodka on ice.”

  “Very good.” She turned to my father. “Would you like yours freshened?’

  “Please.” He handed her the glass. Once she was gone, so was his smile. “I hear you’re heading to Los Angeles?”

  I leaned back in my chair, wishing I had my liquid courage now. “That’s right. We leave Friday.”

  “And who are you speaking with?”

  “Warren Records,” I answered, keeping it matter-of-fact.

  “You think they’re going to sign you?”

  I shrugged. “Don’t know.” I didn’t know how my father found out about the meeting but speculated he was having me followed. It wouldn’t be a surprise if that were the case.

  A waitress returned with our drinks. Thank God.

  I downed my drink in one gulp and handed it back. “Get me another.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Of course.”

  My father sipped on his. “You’ll keep me posted, won’t you?”

  I clasped my fingers together and rested them on the table. “I have a feeling I don’t need to, but sure.”

  He sneered. “If your mother could see you now.” It was a sentence he threw out whenever he wanted to inflict the most pain.

  I nearly left right then. I hated when he used her memory. There wasn’t much I remembered. Of course I knew the story. She’d unbuckled her seatbelt to reach in back and pick up my toy. I’d been throwing a fit because I’d dropped it. At that moment a car rammed into her side, killing her instantly. Her death was my fault. If I hadn’t been such a selfish child, my mom would be alive.

  Over the years I’d come to accept the blame.

  “If she could see you,” I spat back.

  “What’s that supposed to mean, you little prick?”

  A different waitress brought my drink. “Thank you,” I said, taking it from her and slamming it back. “Can we order?”

  She blanched. “I’m not—”

  “I’m starving,” I added, turning on the Maxwell charm.

  “Okay.” She smiled and took out her pad to take my order. Then she took my dad’s. “I’ll get this in for you.”

  “You’re a doll,” I said, sending the charm into megawatt status.

  She batted her mascara-coated lashes, beaming.

  After she was out of earshot, my dad smirked. I knew it well. In fact I had the exact expression. “You’re an asshole,” he said with a mean chuckle.

  “I’ve learned from the best,” I responded.

  “Hey, Griffin. Mr. Maxwell.” Long, cool fingers grabbed my shoulder.

  I shuddered internally, but turned on the fake charm. I watched my dad do the same. We were quite a pair.

  “Hey, Nichole.”

  She moved into my line of sight. “Mind if we sit with you?” she asked, glancing between my dad and me.

  For the first time ever I was more than grateful to see her. Bitch or not, her and her mom would be a great buffer. “Absolutely. Dad and I just ordered.” I called the hostess over.

  “We’re going to have the Thorn sisters join us.”

  “Very good.” She left to grab two more place settings and two chairs.

  My dad could barely contain his fury. I could see it boiling under his skin. His smile was tight and didn’t reach his eyes.

  Not good, Dad, I thought.

  Once they were seated, Jessica said, “How sweet of you to invite us to join you.” She patted my hand.

  I smiled. “Of course. We’re happy to have you.” I winked at my dad. “Aren’t we?”

  He cleared his throat. “Absolutely.” I knew why he was so pissed. He and Jessica had had a thing a decade ago. Everyone knew, including Martin, Jessica’s husband and my dad’s best friend. It was still a sore spot between them… not because Martin cared. He probably hadn’t fucked in wife in twenty years. It had to do with some unwritten code.

  Nichole’s hand touched my knee. I forced myself not to cringe. She was always cold. It had something to do with her iron levels or circulation or some shit. I hadn’t been totally listening when she shared.

  Maybe inviting them had been a bad idea.

  Had they been the same age they would’ve looked like twins. Both had long, bleached blonde hair, bright brown eyes, and fake tans. They were thin. Their faces, breasts and who knew where else had been sucked, puffed, fluffed, and altered to the point that they almost looked like cartoon characters.

  I guessed some guys got off o
n that. Not me. I liked my women natural, a little softer.

  Katie, I thought.

  An image of her delicious pussy in my face came to mind and my cock twitched. I glanced at my watch. Just a few more hours and I’d see her again, come inside her again.

  That alone made my cock harden. I don’t know why. I was usually so particular about protection. Katie seemed to be our first night together, too. But since then, there’d been no protection between the two of us.

  “Griff, you playing at The Attic tonight?” Nichole was asking.

  “Yeah, I am.” I smiled. “You coming?”

  That was all it took to get her to smile, her Juvaderm-enhanced lips peeling back her face.

  “I wouldn’t miss it.” Her hand travelled up my thigh to the bulge in my pants. She arched an eyebrow and graced me with a secret smile.

  I pushed her hand away. It isn’t Katie’s hand, I thought darkly.

  Nichole wasn’t to be deterred, though. She redoubled her efforts, working the tip of my cock.

  I was about to say something when our food arrived. Jessica ordered a salad. Nichole ordered a Fuzzy Navel and a salad, keeping her hand on my dick.

  She knew what she was doing and my cock got bigger.

  “How’s work?” Jessica asked my father.

  He’d just stuck a piece of chicken masala in his mouth and held up a finger while he chewed. After he swallowed he said, “It’s been good. Profits are up. Costs are down. All the good stuff.” Then he looked over. “It’ll be better when I can retire and Griffin can take over.”

  “You seem too young to retire,” Jessica said, smiling demurely.

  I sent out a silent thank you to Jessica. Even though she probably had no idea, she’d just saved us from an all out argument. My father’s ultimatum gave me until I was thirty. I still had time.

  Nichole unzipped my pants, sticking her hand inside. I’d gone commando. Her hand was warmed from working my shaft. She touched the tip, swirling the pre come.

  I took a big piece of steak and shoved it in my mouth. Chewed.