Inhaling sharply at the sudden déjà vu vision of her slapping cuffs on him and hauling him off to jail, Tim not only held his ground, he forced himself to step off the curb toward her. She pushed herself into a standing position and waited for him, her expression unreadable.
“Tim,” she said at last, more a statement than a greeting.
“Mitzi,” he said, banishing his fear and trying to sound warm. “It is good to see you.”
Her lips thinned as she pressed them together. It appeared she needed a moment to think about that. A wisp of dark hair, an escapee from the ponytail at the base of her neck, lifted in a wayward breeze as he approached, but it did little to soften her expression.
“I know it’s not much, but thank you,” he fumbled, looking for the words he’d rehearsed in anticipation of this moment.
Mitzi frowned and held up a hand to stop him from completely closing the distance between them. “I’m not at all certain bringing you out here is a smart thing to do, and it goes against my better judgment as an officer of the law. But I’m also your sister, and I want to believe prison taught you right from wrong. You really have Blue to thank. He’s the one who convinced me to give you the benefit of the doubt.”
She put her hands on her hips as she continued. “Now, I’m only going to say this once, Tim. Your last second chance starts right now. If I catch you in one lie, catch you fighting, drinking, breaking curfew, catch you doing anything other than going to work, sleeping, or eating, I’m sending you back to Denver. Your PO will violate you and you will go back to prison. No exceptions, no explanations, no appeals. Do you get me?”
Tim nodded mutely. He had already heard these conditions from his PO, and hearing them from his little sister didn’t make them any easier to swallow. But he had left rebellion behind in cellblock G. And he had given up thinking of Mitzi as a little girl six years ago when she threw him against a wall, slapped cuffs on him, and stuffed him in the back seat of her patrol car next to Tom.
“I understand,” he said at last. “I won’t disappoint you. I promise.”
“You can’t disappoint someone who is expecting you to fail.”
Those words cut deeper than any conditions she might set against him. Something in his expression must have betrayed his hurt because she amended her statement. “Half-expecting.”
She turned to open the passenger door of the pickup and gestured for him to get in.
“Is that all you brought?” she asked abruptly, as if just now realizing he didn’t have any proper luggage.
Lifting the bag slightly, he nodded. “These are prison-issue. Dad said they gave my stuff to Goodwill. This is the suit Legal Aid got me for the trial, and I have my wallet with my ID. Everything I call my own. I don’t even have a driver’s license.”
Mitzi pulled at the sleeve of the suit, seeing that it was about two sizes too big. “This won’t do. When the general store opens tomorrow, we’ll get you some work clothes.”
“I don’t have any money,” Tim informed her, “but I’ll pay you back. I swear.”
“That’s right, you will. I’ll let Blue tell you about the work he has for you, but whatever cash you get above room and board goes to me until I get back what I spent for your bus ticket and your clothes.”
“I....” Tim clenched his jaw, looking down into the firm expression on his sister’s face. “I’m more grateful than you know. The words aren’t much, but just getting the chance to show you what this means to me....” He stopped again. How many times could he tell her he wasn’t going to let her down? He needed time to prove it to her.
Echoing his thoughts, Mitzi’s voice sounded a bit softer. “Just show me, big brother. Time is the only thing that’s going to prove your intentions.” She gestured again for him to get in the truck. “Come on. Let’s go. It’s too late to take you out to the ranch tonight, so we’ll stay at my apartment in town, then get cracking first thing in the morning.”
He turned to get in the truck, but her hand on his elbow stopped him. He looked down to see her holding out her right hand. Surprised, he slowly took it. She pumped it once, her eyes shining suspiciously bright. Her mouth worked, but no words came out. Instead, she covered his hand with her left hand.
Tim realized that, despite her tough resolve, his sister still loved him. He smiled at her and, for the first time in years, allowed himself to hope.
⋘ ⋆⋙
Angelisa Salgado stared out the window of the gray Nissan sedan, her eyes narrowing as the portly man in the ill-fitting suit walked out the door of the parole office and headed for the parking lot. Franco Vincenzi had not answered his phone all week, and since she would not chance leaving a message, she had given up trying to reach him by phone. But she had learned over the years, both in her illicit career as a drug dealer and during her brief stint in military intelligence, that the best resource to find someone who had gone to ground was often the most direct.
This method was far more risky, but she was confident the sheer brass of it would throw Vincenzi into a turmoil he would not soon settle out of. He wouldn’t know what hit him, but he would tell her where Tim Reardon had gone.
Watching Vincenzi climb into a Jeep Wrangler, with its rack of spotlights and big 4WD mud tires, she thought how completely out of character it was for the suit he wore. Angelisa shook her head. Rednecks and their toys.
As he turned right out of the parking lot, she pulled out behind him, knowing her crew would be in front. From having watched him for the past week, she knew the man was as predictable as clockwork. From work, he would go to a bar over in LoDo, which was perfect. He would pass outside of HALO, where the observation cameras could spot them, and they would be able to make their move.
As planned, once they turned left down Wazee Street, the stolen pickup in front of Vincenzi appeared to stall, blocking the way. She moved her stolen Nissan in behind him, blocking any retreat. Apparently, Vincenzi hadn’t twigged to anything more than an inconvenience because he opened his car door and leaned out, putting one foot on the ground. “C’mon, buddy! Get a move on!”
Vincenzi didn’t realize he was in trouble until the driver and his passenger got out, revealing nothing behind their rubber masks and blue coveralls. By then, Angelisa had her pistol to the back of his head, and the other two had sawed-off shotguns leveled at him.
Vincenzi put his hands in the air, not even trying to look around at her. “I don’t have much money, but I don’t think you want to rob me anyway. I’m—”
“I know what you are,” Angelisa said, lowering the pitch of her voice and speaking carefully in an attempt to avoid disclosing her gender. She might not be able to fully disguise the fact she was a woman, but that was a chance she had weighed against her need to ask her questions directly. “I don’t want your money. I want information.”
Vincenzi waited, and she thought maybe he was smarter than he looked.
“Tim Reardon,” she said. Vincenzi remained silent, so she poked him in the back of the head with the barrel of her pistol.
“What about him?”
“How can I find him?”
“He left town.” She poked him harder, an unspoken demand for more information. “Just today.” She poked him even harder, and the two men in front of him took menacing steps forward. “Okay, okay. He went to Kansas, all right?”
Angelisa took a brief moment to process this information. Kansas? What on earth is in Kansas? “Why?”
“For work.” He paused, but before she could poke him again, he continued. “A ranch in Hamilton County.”
Before she could say more, Vincenzi’s phone started playing the “Bad Boys” ringtone. Angelisa figured it might be a co-worker. Just her luck.
“Look, I gotta answer...,” he began. Angelisa silently nodded. She had not come here to kill the man. She poked him very hard in the back of the head, then waved her crew off.
As a unit, they turned and walked across the street, leaving the stolen cars to block the way. She didn�
�t think Vincenzi would follow them without backup, and they had planned this route very carefully. Using a planter box and mail drop box to hop over the wall to a parking lot, they hurried across the pavement and out the other side to the pedestrian alley beyond, tucking their weapons inside their coveralls as they walked. The parking lot for the lofts had security cameras, but the rest of the route—through alleys, all the way to the rail yard—was free of them. Another turn and they could remove their masks.
“Did you get what you needed?” Eddie asked, but she only hissed in response.
She would have to see what the internet could tell her about Hamilton County, Kansas.
⋘⋆⋙
Janie’s alarm roused her before dawn. She turned it off before it could disturb Kylie, who had worked swing shift at the diner out at the Chew, Brew & Pit Crew Truck Stop. Sitting up, she stretched before heading for the bathroom. As she had taken to doing lately, she flipped the curtain back without turning on the lights, looking out the window to see Cody’s SUV parked across the street. The glow of his e-cigarette told her he was awake.
She sighed, wondering if she ought to have Mitzi talk to him about stalking her. She wasn’t afraid of Cody—more embarrassed for him. Kylie told her that her father had taken to escorting her home from work when her shift ended. Kylie was convinced he was harmless, that he just wanted a chance to get back into their lives, so Janie let him be. If he had nothing better to do with his time....
She got dressed quickly—a shower could wait until after she got done “playing” with the new arrivals—then grabbed her work keys and headed out the door. The company pickup waiting in the driveway had already been loaded with the supplies she’d need out at the Lazy J, so she wouldn’t have to stop by the office.
As she opened the pickup’s door, she noticed the interior light of the SUV come on, and hurried to climb into the utility pickup and start it so she didn’t have to begin her day with another circular conversation.
Chapter Three
Tim was slow to wake from the best sleep he’d had in years. The soft bed and clean, fresh sheets disoriented him, and it took a minute to remember where he was. While he assessed his surroundings, he held himself perfectly still, only moving once he assured himself he was safe. He sat up, folded the covers back, and slid his legs over the edge of the mattress to put his bare feet on the cool floor.
His clothes lay where he had left them, folded neatly on top of the bureau. He stood and pulled the suit pants on over the prison-issue underwear he’d slept in, then listened to the silent apartment. Even after five months on the streets, the sound of silence was a treasure he cherished whenever he found it. Neither prison nor the streets of Denver were ever truly silent.
Picking up the button-down shirt, he opened the door and peered out into the apartment. When Mitzi showed him in last night, the simple two-bedroom had surprised him. He had expected to find a homey married couple’s residence, not a spartan space that hardly looked lived in. Mitzi had explained that she and Blue lived in a house out on the ranch, and the apartment was for the times when her work kept her in town. She only stayed there a few nights a month.
The door to the other room was open, so Tim knew Mitzi was already out. After a visit to the bathroom, he pulled on the shirt and walked into the kitchen to find a pot of coffee already brewed. Two empty cups waited beside the machine. It didn’t smell burned, and the coffee maker gave a little sigh, so he knew it hadn’t been sitting more than a minute or two.
He poured a cup and took a moment to savor the scent of gourmet coffee—the first he’d ever smelled in a cup of his own. He took a sip and, despite scalding his tongue, it tasted even better than it smelled. He blew on the liquid before taking another sip, then paused when he heard the front door open.
Mitzi came around the corner to find him standing with a guilty expression on his face, the cup still raised to his lips. She was again dressed in her dark green uniform, and he noticed how she wore it like it was second nature. Like uniforms alone made up her wardrobe.
“Morning,” she said. “How’s the coffee?”
“Best ever,” he said, smiling at the fact he hadn’t misunderstood the waiting cups. “Thanks for letting me sleep in.”
With a non-committal shrug, Mitzi came around the counter and picked up her own mug. “It’s still early,” she said. “But just so you know, you’ll get up with the sun starting tomorrow. Every day. The store opens in ten minutes. We’ll head over as soon as we finish our coffee.”
“All right.”
They drank their coffee in awkward silence, both of them standing in the kitchen and facing each other, not meeting each other’s eyes. Tim thought they had plenty to talk about, but he didn’t know where to start. He had plenty of questions, too, but five years of not speaking to cops unless he was spoken to was proving to be a hard practice to break.
When they walked out the door fifteen minutes later—Tim had insisted on washing out their mugs first—and stepped into the parking lot of the apartment complex, he realized it was indeed early. The cars in the lot still had dew on the windows, and the air smelled fresh and clean. He couldn’t hear any traffic on the nearby street, just the rumble of a semi out on the highway.
“Wow,” he said. “It’s so quiet.”
Mitzi smiled for the first time since he stepped off the bus. “Welcome to Syracuse.”
⋘⋆⋙
An hour later, they were back in Mitzi’s patrol truck, heading out on a county road that was little more than a worn asphalt track. Two paper sacks in the jump seat held a shaving kit, three pairs of Levis, three dark blue t-shirts, two light blue button-down shirts, a six-pack of work socks, and a six-pack of Jockey boxer briefs. In place of his suit, he wore another new pair of jeans, a work shirt, and a pair of sturdy cowboy boots.
He had kept his shopping practical and short, and would have been okay with two sets of work clothes, but Mitzi insisted he get more. Her only explanation was that ranching was dirty work.
As they passed rolling hills with clumps of trees scattered here and there, Tim reflected that it was nice to have clothes that fit. He had never been a big man, and the second-hand suit hadn’t fit him from day one. In the pen, he had worked out with the other cons until his already wiry frame was lean and muscular. The prison-issue clothes had always been too big around the waist, the legs were too long, and the sleeves too short for his arms. His celly had once called him “chimp.” Once.
They rode in silence, and Tim wondered where she was taking him. They passed no other vehicles on the road. If she hadn’t just spent a couple hundred dollars on clothes for him, he might have entertained the notion she was taking him out into the prairie to dump his body.
They’d been driving for nearly thirty minutes before they crossed a cattle guard and drove slowly past several cattle meandering near the road.
Finally, he spotted a gateway on the horizon. It was on the right side of the road, and looked like something out of an old-time Western. The wooden posts surprised him. He hadn’t yet seen a tree tall enough to provide one, let alone two posts that size. The crosspiece was high enough to allow semi-trucks through, and hanging from it was a sign made of cut steel. As they came closer, he read it: Lazy J Ranch. The letter “J” slanted back, as though leaning against the “R”.
The driveway was almost as long as the highway they’d driven up on, and Tim began to understand why they hadn’t come out last night. It occurred to him that anybody who lived way out here would want to plan trips into town.
They passed a dirt lane leading to a clump of trees off to the right, and Mitzi flicked a finger to point it out. “That’s our place,” she said. Tim could see the walls of a white clapboard house through the branches. Simple and unpretentious.
Cresting a low rise, he saw the rest of the ranch buildings spread out below them. Somehow, it was both smaller and bigger than Tim had imagined. He spotted what looked like the main house off to one side, a river bend beyo
nd it shining in the sun. A building across the compound, facing the house, looked like an office. Four smaller buildings sat in a row behind it. The biggest building was a barn, a two-story central structure with lower, one-story additions on three sides.
The corral was central to the scene and hosted a buzz of activity. A cattle truck had backed up to a ramp, and several black cattle were being unloaded into the corral where a cluster of people engaged in various activities.
As Mitzi pulled up, staying well away from the truck, there was a moment of calm when nothing came out of the trailer. Tim noticed the stench blowing in through her open window and put his hand up to pinch his nose between his fingers. As he watched, he heard an awful clatter and the trailer rocked from side to side before more animals poured out and down the ramp. More than one slipped, but only one fell, clambering back to its feet without further incident. The corral quickly filled with the stamping hooves and bellowing complaints of a mass of cattle.
A couple of the men cursed in low voices as several cattle crashed into the rails of the corral, but the way they kept calm and didn’t raise their voices told Tim they were trying not to rile up the animals.
Tim tried not to shrink into his seat. He recognized that these cattle were young, but they were big! He’d never been so close to a cow before, and had no idea they could be so frightening. He’d only ever seen them on TV or at a distance, standing or walking calmly in a pasture, looking as harmless as stuffed animals.
Tim began to realize working on a ranch was not going to be like anything he had ever done before. He climbed out of the truck and stood uncertainly as Mitzi climbed out the driver’s side. A big, healthy-sized man separated himself from the others and came over to her. With gentleness that surprised Tim, coming from such a big guy, the man slipped his arm around Mitzi’s waist and lifted her up so he could kiss her soundly.
Last Second Chance (A Thomas Family Novel Book 2) Page 2