Rich Blood (Jason Rich #1)(24)

Since opening his law practice, Jason had dated many women, but none who were as much fun as Lakin. They laughed. They partied. They enjoyed each other’s company. And they eloped nine months after the tryst in Nashville.

Had Jason’s family approved of Lakin? Hell no, they hadn’t. Lakin was from Talladega, Alabama. Her father had spent a lifetime in stock car racing, working the pit crews for Bobby Allison and the Alabama Gang. Her mother was a waitress at Huddle House. The only money Lakin had was in her purse. Lucas Rich had wanted his only son to marry a woman with a dowry, who came from “good stock.” He frowned on Lakin, telling his son that he could have done better. Ironic, really, since Jason had never managed to please his father, but somehow, suddenly, he was too good for his bride?

Meanwhile, Jana ignored her new sister-in-law, deeming her “trashy.” On their rare visits to Guntersville, Jana barely acknowledged Lakin.

And Jason’s mother would not challenge her husband or Jana. Joyce Rich was polite. She sent a wedding gift. But she never embraced Lakin as her daughter-in-law.

Lakin probably could have handled being rejected by Jason’s family, but Jason couldn’t. Nor could he get on board with his wife’s desire to have a family of their own. As the years went by, he worked more and drank too much. He wouldn’t commit to having kids and, eventually, was unfaithful. If he were honest, he knew he had given Lakin no choice but to divorce him. He’d damn near begged her to do it with his actions.

And when his father had died thirty days after the divorce became final, he’d felt something inside himself snap. He’d become a ship without a rudder, slowly self-destructing until he drank three Bloody Marys before the deposition of Eileen Frost.

And now here he was. Staring at the boxes that held the ruins of his former life. Regardless of whether he took Jana’s case, what was he going to do with the rest of his life? If he was honest with himself, there was nothing for him in Birmingham anymore except his law firm, which had run fine and dandy without him around. Hell, maybe he was holding Izzy back.

You’re the brand. He could hear his persistent partner’s voice in his head. Maybe so, Jason thought, as he locked the door to the apartment.

But that’s about all I am anymore.

He rode down the elevator gazing at the tile floor, trying to quiet his thoughts. When he stepped back out into the muggy night, he saw a familiar face leaning against the side of the Porsche.

Harold Michael Davenport wore a black T-shirt and faded jeans. A cigarette dangled from his mouth, which he dropped and stomped out as Jason approached. “Don’t tell Izzy, aight?” he asked, glancing down at the flattened nicotine stick.

“Hear no evil, see no evil,” Jason said, holding his fist out, which Harry nudged with his own.

“Heading out already?”

“No time like the present.” Jason scratched his neck and gazed back at his condo. “Besides, that place gives me the heebie-jeebies. I think I’m gonna sell it.”

“And go where?” Harry asked. His voice was gravelly, scarred from years of smoking. At five feet nine inches tall, he was a couple inches shorter than Jason, but his arms were taut with lean muscle, and his hands were as rough as sandpaper.

“I don’t know.”

Harry took a pack of Marlboros out of his back pocket. He lit another one and blew a cloud of smoke into the air. “Want one?”

“No thanks.”

“I thought everyone that went to rehab ended up addicted to cigarettes.”

“Not this cowboy.”

“You got that right.”

Jason cocked his head. “What?”

“You’re a cowboy, all right. Never tried a damn jury trial in your life, fresh out of rehab, and going to Marshall County to take on a capital murder case.” He exhaled a ring of smoke. “That would make damn Roy Rogers proud.”

“Yippee-ki-yay,” Jason said. He threw his duffel into the convertible and shook his head. “You and Izzy sure do jump to some conclusions. I haven’t said I was taking the case yet. All I’m going to do is talk with my sister.”

“Right,” Harry said.

“If you came here to harass me, I’ll be on my way,” Jason said, walking around the front of the car and opening the driver’s side door.

“I came to drop off the Explorer, and I wanted a word with you.”

“Well, you’ve had several words, and I have a long trip ahead of me. Is there anything else? I’m fine by the way. Rehab was great. Feeling awesome. In case you were wondering.”

“Bullshit. You look like you could fall off the wagon any second. Hell, it’s fifty-fifty whether you make it to Guntersville without having a drink. There’re a lot of convenience and liquor stores between here and the Marshall County line.”

“What do you want, Harry? You’re starting to piss me off.”

“I want you to go back upstairs. Tell your crazy sister to fuck off and take this thing slow.”

“What thing?”

“The rest of your life, amigo. I’m your friend, remember? Good ole Harry. I’ve saved your ass more than a few times, and I’ve been wiping it for the last couple of years while you’ve wallowed around feeling sorry for yourself.” He took a step closer, poking his finger hard into Jason’s chest. “Going to Guntersville is too much, too fast, too soon. You’re gonna get hurt, brother.”