All I've Ever Wanted - Adrianne Byrd [21]
Truth was, right now he didn’t remember having that picture taken. He wasn’t sure whether that was because of a bad memory or the effect of alcohol on an empty stomach. How old was little Frankie then—two, three?
“My, how time flies when you’re having fun.” He returned the photograph to the table. Problem was, he wasn’t having much fun. He downed another long gulp, halfway wishing that this bottle would take him to oblivion—a place where pain didn’t exist and nothing mattered.
He cursed under his breath. What was wrong with him? Oblivion was a temporary solution for a long-term problem. How on earth was he supposed to live with just seeing his son one weekend a month?
Max slid his gaze back to the picture, then narrowed his eyes at the woman who had ripped his heart out. Even sober he couldn’t laugh at the memory of his once-upon-a-time yearning for her—dreaming and planning on happily ever after. It was sickening, really. Since then, willingness to trust or even love again had ranked in the bottom five hundred on his list of life’s ambitions.
Another gulp and he emptied the bottle. He was no closer to oblivion now than he’d been five hours ago. Better luck tomorrow night.
In the fireplace, the once roaring fire had been reduced to glowing embers—such was his life. He waved off self-pity and depression with a sweep of his hand and grabbed the manila folder.
As his eyes peeled over notes and facts, he wondered why Underwood had been killed, instead of who had done it.
He shifted his gaze back to the fireplace. The embers brought back an unexpected memory of a certain pair of eyes that held their own kind of spark.
He smiled to himself, then worried about the truth of his own warning. How much trouble was Kennedy St. James really in? Did she understand what she was up against?
He remembered her little boy and thought more on his own son. It didn’t take much to understand why she wasn’t talking; to be honest with himself, he really couldn’t blame her. But he had a job to do, and that job was to get her to talk.
Chapter 10
Aaliyah rubbed her tired eyes and continued to stare at her computer screen. At this point, she wished that she could take her coffee intravenously to avoid the trouble of getting up to fill her cup.
She’d spent the last few days researching everything she could get her hands on regarding A.D.A. Marion Underwood. Some articles painted him as a hero. Professionally, he’d won countless, impressive cases, ranging from domestic violence to organized crime. All were possible leads to his murder.
Then there were the articles regarding his personal life that portrayed him as a hypocrite, a liar and a thief. Those were the ones that interested her.
Marion Underwood, born and raised in Atlanta, had been married four times: once to a cop, the other three to the same woman, Judge Sandra Hickman.
From what she could tell, his life hadn’t become interesting until his second marriage. He’d wed a Det. Jaclyn Mason, a cop with all the right connections. The bride’s father was Lieutenant Governor and her mother was District Attorney. How lucky could one ambitious man get? Though the marriage was brief, Underwood had emerged from it with a new job and a whole new lifestyle.
At dawn, Aaliyah decided to call it quits. Other than marital woes, she couldn’t really find any dirt on the man, which was a great disappointment and meant that she’d wasted her time.
Another article appeared on the screen just as she was ready to log off.
FULTON COUNTY INMATE SCREAMS FOUL PLAY
Aaliyah leaned forward in her chair and read the date of the article. July 13, 1992. She reached for her mug and sipped absently at the lukewarm coffee.
According to the article, the inmate claimed that he’d been railroaded by the D.A.’s office. He also pointed a finger at A.D.A. Underwood for requesting a bribe.
The way the piece was written, it dispelled the inmate’s ramblings as delusional and