by Becky McGraw
He could have killed her and dumped her body somewhere in the Texas wilderness. As intractable as the man sitting at the table was, Veronica could believe he could do it too. Trace Rooks was a lot less tempting when that thought settled in her mind. Veronica scooted backwards from under the table, whacking her head as she tried to stand.
Rubbing her scalp, Veronica met his eyes, as she asked, "Did you fuck Leigh Ann Baker?"
His eyebrows raised. "Why the hell do you care?" Trace asked sullenly, and she heard him zip his pants before he sat up in the chair.
Veronica was good at off-the-cuff, shock value questions. They caught people off guard, and sometimes they got the answers she needed. If he said yes, it would confirm that he had been with Leigh Ann and probably knew where she was.
She shrugged. "If so, you lied to me about how long it's been since you've had sex. And I don't put my mouth on men who sleep around," she said flatly as she slid her pad off the table and put it in her briefcase, before dropping her pen inside.
He didn’t respond, and she hit her limit on patience with him.
Ronnie picked up her briefcase, then faced Trace Rooks. "As tempting as your offer is, I'll have to decline. You can keep your answers, and take them with you when they fry your ass if she's found dead," she told him then yelled for the guard. "Forget I offered to help you," she said as she walked toward the guard feeling his hot eyes burning her back.
***
Ronnie was still steaming when she pulled her car up in front of her house and turned off the ignition. She sat there a moment and took a deep breath. How dare he talk to her that way. Not much got her rattled, but Trace Rooks rattled her today. But there was nothing more she liked than a challenge. He had done that as well.
His whole performance today had been an act to test her. A battle of wills to show her he was in control. He’d meant to rattle her, and had done a damned good job of it.
Mark one up for him. He’d won the battle, but the fight was far from over.
She was going to help him whether he liked it or not. It wasn’t about helping him really, it was about helping herself. Ronnie needed to help him, so she could finally stop rethinking her actions, and forget about Trace Rooks. Stop feeling guilty for being such a self-serving pushover three years ago. She would make amends by getting him out of this new mess he’d gotten himself into, then she would walk away with a clear conscience.
She grabbed her briefcase off the seat beside her, and opened the door. Ronnie was good at picking the truth out of a pack of lies. That’s what she did for a living.
Trace Rooks had lied and hedged a lot today, but one thing he said was true. He hadn’t done a damned thing to Leigh Ann Baker. Ronnie was sure of that. The woman was still alive somewhere. She didn’t know what was going on there, but she was going to find out. He was going to tell her.
Tomorrow, she would go back to that jail, and she was through playing with him. Tomorrow would be all about getting the answers she wanted.
And she wasn’t giving him a blow job to get them.
***
That night, after he finished the slop they tried to convince him was dinner, Trace lay on his back on the narrow cot in his cell counting the divots in the plaster ceiling overhead. When he heard keys being inserted into the lock of his cell, he wanted to hang a Do Not Disturb sign outside his door. A guard visit after lights out could only mean one thing. He had another fucking visitor. He wasn’t in the mood.
Trace rolled onto his side to face the wall, and feigned sleep. Maybe they’d just tell whoever the hell came to visit that he was sleeping and they’d have to come back tomorrow. He sure as hell hoped it wasn’t Ronnie Winters coming back for round two. He definitely wasn’t in the mood for that.
“Get your ass up,” the guard growled, and Trace tensed. There they were again, his favorite words. The guard must’ve known he was playing possum, because he came over and shoved his shoulder. Hard.
“I said get up,” he repeated, and with a sigh, Trace rolled and sat up on the bed.
“Am I getting out?” Trace asked.
The guard laughed. “You wish.”
Trace stood and preceded the guard to the door, walked out then put his hands on the cold concrete wall, so he could be cuffed. After the guard finished, he grabbed his bicep and escorted him down the hallway.
“Where am I going? Are they finally going to arraign me? Kinda late for that, isn’t it? Trace asked with frustration.
It was late in more ways than one. Not only was it probably nine o’clock at night, he’d been in here a freaking week now, and hadn’t been before the judge yet. He was being held for questioning. And had been questioned many times. He gave them the same answers, a stoic stare and tight lips. He knew they were getting frustrated, and it was kinda funny. Trace wondered if maybe tonight, they’d amp up their interrogation techniques, and maybe take him to the broom closet for a little while.
Nah, this was the twenty-first century, he had rights. They were careful not to infringe on them. Except when he pissed them off. But he wondered where the hell he was being taken if he wasn’t getting out.
“Where are we going?” Trace growled.
“You have a visitor.”
“No, shit?” Trace replied sarcastically with a snicker.
The guard’s fingers dug into his arm, as he led him to the interview room and opened the door. He didn’t take Trace to the chair, he shoved him inside then locked the door behind him. Trace went to the chair on the far side of the table, so he could see the door when his visitor came in.
Keys rattled, the door opened and his mother walked in. His eyes widened, and hers watered, as she sucked in a sharp breath. He saw her stiffen her shoulders, and draw up her courage. This woman did not look like his mother.
“Wow, mom. You look…different,” Trace said, and swallowed hard. She looked better than he’d seen her look in years. There was a confidence about her that he had never seen. It looked good on her.
“I got a makeover,” she informed him, and walked over to sit down at the table.
He wondered why she was there. He hated that she was. Trace had refused her visits in prison. He hadn’t wanted her to see him like that. He didn’t want her to see him like he was now either. “You shouldn’t have come,” he said dragging his eyes from hers.
“I told you that I’m divorcing your father when I called you the other day. I wanted to talk to you about it.”
His eyes swung back to hers. “This couldn’t have waited until I got out of jail?”
This was not something he wanted to deal with right now. Trace was glad she finally saw Leland for what he was and decided to get away from him. She should have done that years ago. But she wanted to talk about that now?
“No, it couldn’t. You’ll go back to that ranch, and I can’t talk to you there. I’m not going there. I know what goes on out there.”
Trace’s eyes narrowed. “You do?” Good Lord, she better not say that too loudly, or she would be right in here with him.
Her coral painted lips twisted smugly. “I know that and a lot more. That’s exactly what I told your father too. I know he issued the order to have Leigh Ann Baker killed.”
Trace vaulted up and walked around the table. Leaning down close to his mother’s ear, he hissed, “Mom, shut the hell up!”
“I also know you’re working for him now at that ranch, and that he got you the job there when you got out. It’s sickening that he turned a good man, my own son, into someone I don’t even know anymore. Someone I don’t want to know,” she said and her voice wobbled. “That’s only one of the reasons I hate him.”
A shiver passed through Trace. His mother was treading in some dangerous water right now. Especially if she’d confronted Leland about what she knew. “Mom, you need to stay the hell away from him, and for god’s sake don’t threaten him like that.”
“I know you’re afraid of him now. And I know you only took that job at that ranch, because he did
n’t leave you any other choice,” she said then stiffened her shoulders. “But I’m not afraid of him anymore. And if you think I need to stay away from him, you do too. You don’t need to go back to that ranch. I’ll help you find something else to do. You tell them where Leigh Ann Baker is, Trace. It’s the only way you’re going to get out of here.”
Guilt shot through him, mixed with a good dose of fear. What Trace didn’t need was his mother getting involved in this mess. Worrying about her safety on top of everything else was more than he could handle right now. “Mom, you look great, sound great. Get away from him. Just walk away, and forget everything you know. Don’t worry about me, I can take care of myself.”
“I am walking away, but I’m not forgetting. That man is not going to get away with ruining my son,” she replied, her voice breaking. “If he made you do something to that woman, I’m going to kill him myself.”
“I can’t talk about it mom. It would only put you in more danger. You know Leland and what he’s capable of. Remember it, and stay the hell away from him!” Trace ground out.
“I don’t have the connections he does, but I can help you. I will find you a good job that you like, Trace. You don’t have to kill yourself out there at that ranch, or be his flunky. If you stay out there, you’re going to wind up dead, and Leland will just go on smiling at the cameras, because he doesn’t give a crap about you. I care, and I want to help you, son.”
Emotion shot up to his throat, and Trace swallowed it down. It looked like the only way he was going to get rid of her, to keep her safe, was tough love. “Just leave me the fuck alone, mom. I know what I’m doing. I like my job at the ranch, and I’m damned grateful to daddy for getting me a job there.” Trace swallowed down the bile his next words produced. “I know you don’t trust Leland, but I do. He’s my father, and I don’t appreciate you bashing him. If you want to divorce him, fine, do it. If you don’t love him, walk away. But don’t spew your venom to me. I don’t need to hear that,” he finished roughly then shoved his chair back from the table to stand. “What I do need is for you to stay the fuck out of it. I’m a big boy, and can take care of myself now.”
Trace’s heart felt like it was being ripped from his chest as tears welled up in her eyes to cloud the disappointment he saw there. Her lips trembled, and she quietly got up, as the tears started streaming down her cheeks. She put a hand to her mouth and swallowed, then said, “I’m sorry for bothering you, Trace.”
Allison turned toward the door and her posture was a lot less confident than it had been when she came in. She stopped at the door, but didn’t look back at him. “I love you. You take care of yourself,” she said and knocked on the door.
“Wait, mom,” he said when he heard the keys jangle. She didn’t turn back to look at him, but her shoulders tensed. “I love you too. I’m sorry for disappointing you.”
She nodded and walked out the door when the guard opened it and Trace wanted to run after her and explain. Make her feel better. Let her know he wasn’t the asshole she thought he was. But he couldn’t do that. If he did that, she could be the one to wind up dead, and so could he. At the very least, he would wind up in prison again.
He’d rather be dead.
CHAPTER TWO
"Get your ass up," someone shouted at his cell door. Trace opened an eye and saw the same guard who had been on duty yesterday morning shove his key into the lock. Trace sat up, rubbed his beard roughened jaw then pushed up to stand. Maybe the feds had covered him enough to keep him alive, and they were busting him out.
He sure as hell hoped so.
Saving that damned beauty queen had cost him time. Her little trip out to the Diamond Bar could have ruined the investigation at the ranch. Six months of work down the tubes, along with his chance to clear his name, or at least take down his father.
The guard shoved him roughly toward the door, and Trace walked out then put his hands against the wall, and spread his legs. He knew this routine now, had even caught himself at home doing it a time or two when he rolled out of bed after he got out. That had been a real eye opener for him. Trace Rooks, formerly decorated detective with the Amarillo Police Department, was now an institutionalized criminal.
"Am I getting out?" Trace asked gruffly.
"No, your attorney is here," the man replied after he snapped a cuff on one of Trace's wrists. He turned him around then cuffed the other, before he knelt down to snap shackles onto his ankles. He shoved Trace and he stumbled, then righted himself to do the jail house shuffle toward the door.
"I don't have an attorney," Trace said. "Judge hasn't given me one yet."
"Veronica Winters says differently. She wants to talk to you again. You're damned lucky she's bothering with you." Trace stopped and the guard leaned around him to unlock the door.
Yeah, lucky. That's exactly what he was, Trace thought, with a groan. At least fucking with Ronnie again today would break up the monotony, while he waited for the feds to figure out how to break him out of here, without getting him killed. He should be helping them out at the ranch, and here he was cooling his heels in jail.
The guard led him to the same interview room that he'd been in yesterday, then opened the door and shoved him inside. Trace staggered forward, caught his balance and walked around to the chair that faced the door. Keeping his back protected had become a habit for him too.
The guard shut the door, but Trace could see his head through the small window that was nearly at the top of the door. He knew that big brute would love nothing better than bashing in his skull. Trace wasn't going to give him that opportunity. If he had to sit here all day staring at Veronica Winters, that is what he would do. He was going to play the game he had gotten very good at in prison, the quiet game. That would probably irritate her more than engaging her did yesterday.
He laughed again at his suggestion she give him a blow job. What was funnier in his opinion was he thought she had actually considered doing it. The Shark Lady was going to suck his dick. But then the thought that she had probably sucked Leland’s dick too made his humor fade. It was probably something she was used to doing.
A few minutes later, the door opened and the leggy redhead walked inside, and Trace frowned. Today, she had on a very short black mini-skirt with a soft-looking Royal blue blouse. The heels she wore could only be described as platform stripper shoes that matched the shirt.
"Where is Leigh Ann Baker?" Ronnie asked shortly as she walked to the table and sat down. No prelims today, he thought. It looked like her mood matched his too.
Trace just stared at her.
"What did you do with her, Trace?"
Trace stared at her, then he leaned forward to lay his forehead on the table.
"Her family is worried about her,” Ronnie continued. “They want to find her."
Trace was tired, totally fed up with her bullshit.
He shut her out mentally, by imagining the day his daddy would be sitting in the chair he was in now. The day she might be here too. He’d bet she wouldn’t be so smug and confident then. The women in prison didn’t like female lawyers, especially ones with her attitude. That would be the day he could finally clear his name, and let the world know he wasn't a bad cop. Those images floated through his mind to comfort him and Trace dozed off with a small smile on his face.
Veronica sat back in her chair and folded her arms over her chest, amazed at the soft snores coming from the man across the table from her. Never in her life had she dealt with a more difficult man. The last time she dealt with him had been easy compared to now. At least then he had been friendlier, more open to talk to her. Even though half of what he said was couched in sexual innuendo and flirting, she could handle that. Had handled him then just fine. She didn't know how to handle the hard ass that he'd become in jail.
Trace Rooks almost seemed hopeless now, like he had no faith in anyone. Didn't trust anyone. He hated her, and blamed her for his jail time. That was obvious. Ronnie deserved that blame. She had sold him down the
river for a promotion that she would have probably gotten anyway.
In hindsight she should have told the partners to go fuck themselves when they put pressure on her to convince him to plead guilty. At least then they would have respected her more. She would still respect herself. And she wouldn’t be sitting here feeling guilty and trying to help a man who didn’t want to help himself.
Ronnie was pissed when she left yesterday, after the stunt he pulled. But after mulling it over last night, she decided he had a right to want revenge. That is what his offer had been about. He wanted to humble her, degrade her, get his pound of flesh from her.
Like that was going to happen.
What was going to happen though was her helping him with his current situation, if he would just cooperate and talk to her. Veronica would finally have a chance to ease her guilty conscience and rectify the only regret she had since she'd been practicing law—recommending that Trace take that plea deal, when she could have gone to court and probably won acquittal.
No jury in their right mind would have convicted him for killing his partner based on the weak, trumped-up evidence the prosecutor had against him. No attorney worth their salt would have lost the case if it went to court. Ronnie's salinity was well known in the legal community. That's why the senior partners had put the pressure on her to convince him to plead. They knew she would have won the case. They held the strings to her career, so she had taken a dive, like a newbie prizefighter.
At the time, the promotion had been the most important thing in the world to her. Because of her daddy. It had taken four years longer for him to get to Junior Partner in his firm. Beating him at his game had been her focus ever since she started law school. She wanted to be bigger and badder than Phil Winters. And that was pretty damned big and bad in the legal profession.