Trouble With the Law

by Becky McGraw

  "You can trust Conner, Trace. And his family," Ronnie said as she gyrated her body to get out of the car.

  "I don't trust anyone," Trace grumbled. He shut the door, then turned to look at the cabin. He was already trusting these two though by just coming here. One of them he had enough reason to never trust again, but he was doing it anyway. Trace hoped he didn't regret that later.

  Lights came on inside the cabin and Trace sucked in a breath as the wide front porch lit up too. Heavy wooden rockers spread across the length of the massive front porch. The damned thing was wide enough to hold a party for a hundred out there. The second story was dark, but he could see tall windows lining the front from one end to the other.

  A vacation mansion is what this was. Not a hunting cabin. Ronnie was right, Leland's wealth was nothing compared to this. "I hope they have something other than caviar in there,” Trace grumbled snarkily, as he walked toward the porch. “I'm starving."

  He opened the heavy front door and went inside. The smell of cedar surrounded him, as he stepped into the gathering room. Looking up at the high ceiling he expected to see clouds it was so high. All he saw was rough wooden beams though, and a thick post railing lining the overlook on the second story.

  Ronnie walked inside behind him and shut the door. "Pretty spectacular, huh?" she asked moving up beside him.

  "You've been here before?" Trace asked looking at her.

  Probably with Pretty Boy, he thought and jealousy tried to surface, but he pushed it back down. Pretty Boy could have her. Trace was not going there with the woman who had put him in jail. He would accept their help, because he needed it right now, and Ronnie Winters owed him. But after this mess was over, he was getting the hell away from her. He would use her, just like she’d used two years of his life to get that promotion, but after that he wasn’t coming within ten miles of her. A hundred miles. He was moving out to the country and forgetting all about Ronnie Winters.

  Ronnie breezed by him, his eyes latched onto the curve of her round ass in the too short shorts and his dick got hard. Maybe before this was over he’d use her in more ways than one. She seemed to be on board with that at Sarah’s house. But she’d been drugged then, so maybe not. And Pretty Boy was in the picture now. Trace had no idea what their relationship was, but he would bet they were more than friends. They were too chummy. The Shark Lady didn’t get chummy with anyone. Especially men.

  "Yeah, we used to come out here to unwind when things got hairy in law school, or when we needed to study. It's pretty quiet," she informed then laughed. “Except during hunting season.”

  Trace would bet they did a lot more than unwind out here. Conner Lucas would be just Ronnie Winter's type. Wealthy, connected, good looking and slick. A city boy who fit into her world. Trace had been raised in the city too, trained in social graces and made to act like the perfect politician’s kid. But he was more than rough around the edges still. As much as Leland tried to groom him into the perfect son, the more he rebelled. That got him sent to his grandfather’s ranch in the country. His idea of heaven. Out there he could find the peace he didn’t have in his father’s household. His grandpa hated Leland too, so they had that in common.

  Conner walked into the room and plopped into a big overstuffed chair near the huge fireplace you could almost walk into. Ronnie sat beside him. "I checked and the pantry has been restocked, so we're good," he said dropping an arm over her shoulders cozily.

  Trace growled, and headed toward the door Conner had entered the room through. That had to be where the pantry was located. "That's good, because I'm starving."

  “There are sandwich fixings in the fridge," Conner yelled behind him, then looked at Ronnie. "What's the plan here, Vee?"

  "I guess we'll have to hide out here, while you dig around for us. I’ll call in sick to the office in the morning, and take an emergency leave. If that man Ray Brown didn’t get picked up at Sarah Copeland’s house, he’ll be looking for us. Dave Logan can help us find him. If anyone can find him, Dave can,” she replied.

  “And what? You’ll cool your heels out here until he finds that guy?”

  “I won’t be cooling anything. I’m going to go through the records from Trace’s trial and revisit his case. He was wrongly accused, and falsely convicted and I’m going to prove that. I want to figure out who set him up and why. He either has no idea himself who did it, or he just won’t tell me, so I’m going to have to figure it out myself.”

  “And how are you going to get those files?”

  “You’re going to pull them for me,” she said with a smile.

  “I have cases pending, Vee. I can’t spend time on that. I can get someone to pull them for me, though.”

  “You need to make the time to pull them yourself. Nobody can get wind of what we’re doing. Especially the partners and Leland Rooks. I think they were involved.”

  "Anything else, boss?" Conner asked with a laugh.

  "Am I being bossy?" Ronnie asked and batted her eyes a couple of times.

  "Aren't you always?" he replied with a lifted eyebrow. "But I like it. The only thing missing is your black leather bustier and paddle," he said with a wink.

  Ronnie felt eyes on her and glanced toward the kitchen door. Heat rushed to her face when her eyes met Trace’s where he’d stopped in his footsteps halfway across the room. His angry eyes said he heard what Conner said. She and Conner always teased each other like that. But Trace didn't know that. "Shut up or I’ll break out the ball gag, so nobody hears your screams when I paddle your ass," she hissed under her breath, as she stood.

  “Don’t make promises you’re not going to keep, Mistress,” Conner said letting his eyes track over her body insolently. Ronnie rolled her eyes and walked toward Trace. Conner’s laugh bounced across the huge room behind her.

  As she passed Trace, Ronnie felt his icy glare on her back, but she didn’t stop. She pushed through the swinging door and walked into the kitchen then went to the refrigerator to take out the lunch meat and cheese. Dropping the packs on the counter, she walked to the phone hanging on the wall. She dialed Dave Logan’s number, but his voice mail picked up, so she left a message. After quickly slapping together a sandwich, she went back to the living room. Sitting on the sofa beside Conner, Ronnie announced, "I called Dave Logan."

  "You did what?!?" Trace shouted, his face turning red.

  "I called Dave Logan to help us," she said taking a bite of her sandwich. After she swallowed, she said, "He didn't answer so I left him a message."

  "We don't need more people involved," Trace said gruffly, as he sat his empty plate down on the table beside his chair. "We can handle this on our own."

  "We need help," Ronnie insisted. "Dave does this for a living. He’s the best private investigator in Texas. He will find Ray Brown, and he will help us get the evidence to convict Leland. Besides, we’re friends and if I suddenly take a sick leave after calling him about that ranch, he’s going to know something is up. He will hunt me down."

  "Tell him you’re okay, but don't tell him where you are," Trace said firmly.

  "Too late, I already told him in the message I left," Ronnie replied taking another bite of her sandwich. If Trace Rooks thought he was going to dictate to her how this thing was going go, he had another think coming. Just like she’d involved Conner, she was going to involve whoever she thought was necessary to get them all out of this mess. Thank goodness her brain had cleared enough that she put Sarah’s name together with Copeland, because she was Seth’s sister. That had given Conner all he needed to find the address to the house they were at.

  "That was stupid."

  "You can trust him," she said after she swallowed.

  "According to you, I can trust everyone!" Trace got up and started to pace in front of the fireplace. He shoved a hand through his hair and his muscles bunched and flexed under his skin. That man's muscles had baby muscles. Her eyes bumped along the ridges in his abdomen all the way down to the waistband of his snug, low slung
jeans.

  Trace Rooks should never, ever wear a shirt. Ronnie was tempted to break into his apartment and burn them all. She shook her head and focused on the situation at hand. Trace needed to get past his distrust of everyone. And she needed his cooperation.

  "It's better than trusting no one,” she said. “You need help, Trace, and that's the only way you're going to get it."

  "I don't even fucking trust you!" he shouted as he turned to face her. "You sent me to jail, remember?"

  They were back to that. Ronnie huffed out a breath and sat her sandwich plate down. "I've apologized for that, and explained it. There are no excuses for what I did, other than I was young, dumb and ambitious. The partners put pressure on me, and I caved, because I wanted that promotion."

  Trace's eyes glittered dangerously, as he said, "And two years of my life were worth that, right?" The steel edge under those words said he'd like to make a shiv out of them and slit her throat with it. A little fear shot through her, but Ronnie wasn't going to apologize for that again. But she was going to help him, if he let her.

  "No it wasn't. But I'm trying to atone here if you'll give me the chance to do that."

  "There is not one damned thing you can do to atone for it, Ronnie. I could use your help, but don't expect forgiveness as a payment. That won't be coming."

  "I want to help you to make myself feel better," she replied. Dragging her eyes to her hands in her lap, she added, "I don't expect you to forgive me."

  If Ronnie was in his shoes, she wouldn't be forgiving her either. Trace Rooks had every reason to hate her. She wasn't going to beg for his forgiveness either. As long as Ronnie could appease her guilty conscience, that would be enough for her.

  Conner huffed out a breath and Ronnie looked over at him. He rolled his eyes and slapped a hand to his forehead, then stood. "Ya'll just stop with all the drama, please. This isn't getting us anywhere." He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, and Trace’s eyes locked onto it.

  "Who are you calling?" Trace demanded, pinning Conner with a glare.

  "Ben Holliday," he replied, his finger hovering over the keypad.

  "Who the hell is that?” he asked standing. “Why don't you call Leland while you're at it?" Trace growled. "I'm sure the thugs on his payroll would like a leg up on our location. You might as well just give them the GPS coordinates!"

  The two men faced off, but Conner was the one who took a step forward. He put a finger into Trace's shoulder, surprising Ronnie. Trace shrugged it off, but Conner held his ground. Conner didn't get mad often, he was one of the most even-tempered men she knew. Or he appeared to be. Even when he was angry, nobody knew it. Her friend had one of those poker faces that came in very handy in the courtroom. Ronnie could read him though, and right now he was steaming.

  "Buddy, you might think you're the Lone Ranger, but even he had a side kick," Conner grated as he poked his finger in the air near Trace's shoulder. "You need our help, and if you don't lose that chip on your shoulder, you will wind up dead or back in prison. Two of the best legal minds in Amarillo are on your side. You should be thanking your good fortune that we want to help you."

  Trace's eyes locked with Ronnie's. "I had one of these two great legal minds on my side when I faced murder charges and wound up in jail for two years," he grated through his teeth.

  "Yes, you did, and you're right, Vee made a bad decision. But if you're the better man, you'll at least let her help you now."

  "Two years in jail didn't make me a better man. It made me a bitter man," Trace ground out. "A hard man who doesn't trust a fucking soul."

  Ronnie had enough of his stubbornness. If Trace didn't want help, she wasn't going to force it upon him. She walked up beside Conner and took his arm. "I'm not begging, Conner. Let's just go," she said then looked into Trace's hard, angry eyes. "Don't expect a visit from me in jail this time," she said then lifted her chin. "Or a tear at your funeral."

  Ronnie started toward the door, but his words stopped her. "Those men at the ranch are after you too, don't forget that. You need my help too. If you walk out that door, you probably won't make it back to your apartment."

  Fear sliced through her, but Ronnie stiffened her shoulders and turned to face him. "Dave Logan can protect me better than you can. You just worry about yourself. I'm sure the FBI will take those men out soon. Should I give the feds your forwarding address, so they can include you in their takedown?" she asked smugly.

  Trace swallowed hard. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't."

  Conner took her shoulders in his hand and turned her to face him. "Vee, don't cut off your nose to spite your face. He's right those men are after you too. This is the safest place for you right now. I understand why you want to bail," he said with a glare at Trace. "But this isn't just for him now. It's not safe for you to leave."

  "I want to go home."

  "No way. They'll find you," Conner said firmly. "This place is remote enough that I don't have to worry about you. You're staying here."

  Another man trying to tell her what to do. Conner of all people should know telling her what she was going to do was the wrong tack to take with her. The hair on the back of Ronnie's neck raised, and she wound up to blast him, but Trace sighed loudly.

  Leaning around Conner, she asked, "What was that sigh about?"

  "Why the hell do I care if you die or not? Hell, I've wanted to kill you several times myself now." It was like Trace was voicing his thoughts, instead of talking directly to her. His eyes were off at a distance near the fireplace. Dropping his chin to his chest, breathed a few times then looked at her. "Stay, Ronnie. I need your help. And your boyfriend is right, this is the safest place for you." His jaw worked a few times then he added, "We've got to end this now."

  What she would like to know is exactly what they needed to end. She had started this whole adventure to help him clear his name and clear her conscience. It had turned into a lot more than that. There was Leigh Ann Baker's kidnapping, and his involvement at the ranch now too. Ronnie would stay because she was too curious not to. She wanted the full story about what was going on, and Trace was going to give it to her. Once she knew, she would decide whether she was going to continue to help him.

  The simple fact that he had asked her to stay and help him shocked the hell out of her. “Well I think the demons are lacing up their ice skates," Ronnie said with a laugh.

  The red-haired devil should know, Trace thought, as he started at her standing there at the door with a smug smile on her face. Trace thought for sure she must’ve possessed him too. Because as much as he despised her, he wanted her to stay. One, so he could watch out for her. And secondly, so he could watch her. Make sure she didn’t run her mouth to the wrong person. Keep your friends close, and enemies closer. His grandfather's favorite saying. Trace wasn't sure which category this woman fell into yet, but he thought keeping her close was a good idea. "Stay," he repeated shortly.

  After a second of studying him, she said, "I'll call my office in the morning and tell them I'm taking a temporary leave of absence. They’re not going to like it, but that’s too damned bad. I need to talk to Dave Logan too. He can help us find Ray Brown."

  "Okay, call them. But don't tell anyone where you are," Trace said.

  Ronnie's lips tightened, then added to her demands, "Conner is also calling Ben Holliday to help us. There are a lot of files to weed through."

  "Fine." Trace didn't have any choice but to agree if he wanted her to stay.

  "And you are going to be nice to me, or I'm out of here," Ronnie pushed, folding her arms over her chest, which made her breasts flow over the top of the too small shirt.

  "Don't push your luck, Red. And don't threaten me. I don't do nice. Especially where you're concerned." Civil was as close as he was going to come with her.

  "You did nice at that ranch,” she said. After a pause, she added with hidden emphasis, “And at your friend's house, you were especially nice."

  "That was out of necessity. Don't misin
terpret things," Trace replied bluntly. He hoped she got his hidden meaning too. It was only sex. Damned good sex, but only sex.

  Ronnie's eyes narrowed. "Oh, I know exactly what that meant. You made your point exceptionally clear, Mr. Rooks. Suffice it to say I won't be putting myself in that position again."

  "Good. If we understand each other, this will be easier." On the surface anyway. Trace knew being in close contact with her twenty-four hours a day wasn't going to be easy for his libido. He might despise Ronnie Winters, but that didn't mean his body didn't want another taste of her. However, that didn't mean he would act on it.

  Conner dropped his arm over Ronnie’s shoulders and squeezed. She looked up at him and said, "I think you need to go back to town, Conner." Slipping her arm around his waist, she suggested, "You can call in a report that you saw a motorcycle go over the bridge. That should get the ball rolling on them declaring Trace dead."

  "I agree," Conner replied with a kiss to her cheek. Ronnie stepped in front of him to put her arms around his waist for a hug.

  Trace was extremely surprised to the see the soft side of the Shark Lady. Evidently where Conner Lucas was concerned she had one. He wondered again what their relationship was. But that wasn't his business, Trace reminded himself, as he walked to the coffee table and picked up the remote to turn on the television above the fireplace.

  "We need to watch the news and see what the latest on the situation is," he said as he flicked through the channels. He found the news, tossed the remote down and sat on the sofa. Ronnie walked outside with Conner, and shut the door behind her.

  Trace fought the urge to peek out the window to satisfy his curiosity about their relationship. Whatever they were doing out there, it was not his business, he reminded himself again, focusing his attention on the big screen. After the commercial break, he leaned forward to prop his forearms on his thighs. He pushed the volume control higher and listened intently to the anchor man.