BILLIONAIRE ANGEL (Point St. Claire, where true love finds a way) Read Free Page B

other, and snapped the glass pattern out.
    One down. A hundred or so to go. It’d be worth the effort. He couldn’t wait to see this sign, and its message, fixed above the front door.
    When his phone rang, Jax’s whipped off his protective glasses and took the call.
    “Got the info you’re after,” Tim Fielding from the Portland Police Department said down the line. “It’ll cost you a beer.”
    “I’ll throw in a steak, too. Whatcha got?”
    “Your contact’s right on the money. That particular robbery was reported in Point. St. Claire ten years ago this month. A ring matching your description was the only item lifted.”
    “Ruby and pearls surrounded by gold wings.”
    “Sounds like something my wife would go mad for. I’d just have to rob a bank to afford it.”
    Two years ago, Jax would’ve shared the sentiment. These days, money wasn’t an issue. Keeping a lid on bad memories and guilt were the weights that held him down.
    “Name of the complainant?” Jax asked.
    “Last name Slade. Oldest of a pair of sisters. She was visibly shaken, but the detective didn’t discount an insurance job.”
    “For how much?”
    “Doesn’t say.”
    The money was paid out, Jax thought. So, either way, the insurance company must’ve bought the story.
    “No signs of forced entry, by the way,” Tim went on. “Doesn’t mean a lock wasn’t picked or window jimmied.”
    Jax heard a creak as Tim Fielding leaned back in the chair his butt had been close friends with for fifteen years.
    “So, buddy,” Tim went on, “sounds like you’ve got itchy feet. You thinking about getting back in the game?” He paused, lowered his voice. “What happened a couple of years back...that was a tough break. Real tough. But you can’t go on blaming yourself. That kind of stuff can destroy you—”
    “I’m just making inquiries for a friend,” Jax cut in. Good intentioned or not, he didn’t need reminding. “Suspects questioned?”
    “The girl’s boyfriend. Some neighbors. A couple of friends. A David Green, Dean McPherson—”
    “ Whoa . Hold up.” Jax’s pulse rate had spiked to the red zone. “Did you say Green?”
    Silence echoed down the line.
    “Jax, buddy...Green is a real common name.”
    Jax shuddered, nodded. Knee-jerk reaction. Of course, there were thousands in every State, the vast majority of them law abiding citizens.
    Jax willed the heat from his chest, from his throat, and got back on track.
    “Anything else?”
    “There’s a note here about the youngest Slade, Belinda Joy. She needed to be sedated, she was so upset. Kept going on about her mother who’d recently passed away, how she’d let her down, would never forgive herself. A subsequent investigation looked into whether Belinda should be placed under care in the system. It questioned whether her older sister was providing a stable environment.” Tim groaned. “Poor kids. No father around, either. But looks like the town got behind them both. Lots of support poured in.”
    “Any names?” Sometimes perpetrators liked to get extra close to the scene after the crime, even offer assistance.
    “Judson Bartholomew Everett pops up a few of times,” Tim said, “and during both investigations―the theft and child services.”
    So, from a police report perspective, Belinda Slade’s story checked out. People of interest had been interviewed. And now...
    Well, Jax wanted to know more. Not because of any unlikely Green connection. Just because it had piqued his interest.
    Because Billy Slade―then and now―could use a little help.
     
    *
    As soon as Billy got back from doing Millers Bakery’s books, she jumped into rehearsing for a part she was so excited about. Billy had met a Hollywood director at a recent homecoming celebration for her friend Helene Masters and her new husband, a prince from a Mediterranean kingdom, no less. The director was putting together a new series and looking for an actress to play the part of a brilliant, but