Riding High

by Stacy Finz

  “Ah, hell, I didn’t mean for you to hear that, Emily.” Flynn felt like a heel.

  “It’s okay.”

  Clay blocked her. “You’re sick, Emily. Flynn and I will work this out on our own.”

  She moved in front of Clay. “Come inside.”

  He followed her in because he didn’t want to be disrespectful, not to Emily. She led them into the kitchen, poured them each a glass of lemonade, and put a tray of banana bread on the table.

  “I just made that, so dig in while it’s still warm,” she said, Clay standing stiffly at her side. “Sit down, both of you.”

  She was just a bit of a thing, but she barked orders like a three-star general. Clay, who had been a naval officer, heeded her command. Flynn did likewise.

  “This can’t continue,” she said, shaking her hand between the two of them. “You two grew up together, for goodness’ sake. Clay would like to apologize to Gia. He was rude and that’s not the kind of people we are.” She pierced her husband with a glare. “But our ranch does neighbor hers and Clay has a right to have concerns. We would really like it, Flynn, if we could continue to have an open dialogue about Gia’s proposal.”

  “She would like that as well.” Flynn made eye contact with Clay and held it. “Before she did anything she hoped that you all would give her your blessing. But she’s certainly under no obligation to get it.”

  “We realize that,” Emily said. “And really appreciate that Gia went out of her way to discuss it with us. Clay has been under some stress lately.” She held her husband’s gaze. “Otherwise I know he never would’ve talked to her like that.”

  Clay remained cagey as a tiger but didn’t contradict Emily.

  Just to piss him off, Flynn stuck out his hand. “Truce?”

  “Yeah, truce,” Clay said begrudgingly.

  Flynn grabbed a piece of banana bread for the road and rose. “I’ve got an appointment I need to get to. My understanding is that Gia will be calling you soon to have another meeting.” He turned to Clay. “I do hope this one can be civil.”

  The sly sumbitch grinned, got up, and gathered Flynn in a bear hug. “You still want to punch me, don’t you?”

  Chapter 20

  Gia felt more nervous than the first time she’d made it onto the floor of the New York Stock Exchange.

  Flynn’s family’s ranch was less showy than hers but every bit as magnificent. The land, with its green rolling hills, took her breath away. And the white farmhouse, made from clapboard siding, complete with a wraparound porch, seemed as at home on the land as Flynn did.

  There were dogs and kids on the front lawn when they got out of the truck and all of them tackled Flynn at once.

  “Uncle Flynn, Uncle Flynn,” one of the children shouted while the dogs barked and ran in circles, beside themselves with pleasure.

  “This is my nephew, Case,” Flynn said and put the boy in a half nelson.

  A beautiful girl with long brown hair and big green eyes came toward them, staring warily at Gia. Kids weren’t her thing. In fact, they scared her to death with their sticky fingers and temper tantrums. Flynn’s niece and nephew looked too old for that, but still . . .

  “This is Whitley,” Flynn introduced the girl.

  “Pleased to meet you both.” Gia smiled at them while they ignored her to slaver over Flynn.

  When Whitley finally let go of her uncle she turned to Gia. “Grandma said you used to be on TV.” By the way Whitley gauged Gia’s jeans and blouse she seemed unconvinced.

  Flynn had said the dress code was country casual. What did the kid want, Badgley Mischka?

  “Yep,” she responded, not wanting to prolong the subject.

  “Do you know Taylor Swift?”

  “No. I wasn’t really that kind of TV person. I was the host of a financial show.”

  “Oh.” Whitley was clearly underwhelmed. “Do you, like, know anyone?”

  Gia searched her brain for someone who would impress a fourteen-year-old and came up dry.

  “Justin Bieber’s her best friend.” Flynn draped his arm around his niece’s shoulders.

  “Seriously?” Whitley suddenly looked at Gia like she might actually be worthy.

  “No,” Flynn said and her face fell. “We’re going inside the house. You guys coming with?”

  Case shook his head and stayed with the dogs. But Whitley tagged along, probably hoping Gia could get her tickets to a One Direction concert.

  Flynn opened the screen door and ushered Gia in. Whitley ran ahead. The scent of food cooking made Gia’s stomach growl. The TV was turned up to ear-piercing decibels and someone shouted to lower the volume. The foyer had white wainscoting and toile wallpaper. And the wall going up the staircase featured a gallery of family pictures.

  “Are those all Barlows?” Gia started to examine the photos, but Flynn steered her the other way.

  “Yep. I’ll show them to you later. First, introductions.” He tugged her into the living room where two men sat on recliners, watching a game. “Dad, Wes, this is Gia.”

  Both men put their beers down and stood up to give Gia a proper welcome. She could definitely see a family resemblance, though Flynn was the most handsome of the three. At least to Gia. Flynn’s father, Ron, wasn’t nearly as grizzled as described. He was in good shape for a man in his sixties, tall with no visible paunch—Flynn in twenty years. Wes smiled at her and she felt herself blush.

  “You meet my better half yet?” he asked.

  “Not yet,” Flynn answered. “We’re making the rounds. She did meet the kids, though. Whitley’s got seriously bad taste in music. You ought to talk to her about that.”

  “Yeah, we’re working on it,” Wes said.

  Gia gazed around the room. It wasn’t fancy. The furniture was gently worn, the walls covered in framed photographs, and an upright piano sat in the corner. Gia wondered who played. Everything about the house said family, comfort, and warmth. Like a grandma’s kiss.

  Flynn moved her through the house, a labyrinth of rooms and hallways that held the same vibe as the living room, leaving her no time to explore. She wanted to examine the pictures of Flynn as a little boy, a high school student, and a young man. But he had a mission that ended in the kitchen. There, Patty, Whitley, and a woman she presumed was Wes’s wife sat around a big weathered farm table snapping green beans.

  “Welcome.” Patty got to her feet and introduced her to Jo, Wes’s wife. Whitley’s resemblance to her mother was uncanny.

  “Don’t mind the mess,” Jo said and hurriedly took off her apron.

  Flynn helped himself to something on the stove. “Mmm, good.”

  “Stay out of that.” His mother shooed him away. “There are snacks in the other room. Go join your dad and Wes. We’ll keep Gia with us.”

  Flynn held her gaze, silently asking if she was okay with that plan. She nodded, though the idea of being left with Patty and Jo was a little intimidating. The women obviously wanted to interrogate her. Her mother would do the same thing with Flynn.

  Jo pulled out a chair for her and pushed the bowl of string beans closer. Gia sat and watched, intrigued at how the other women snapped off the ends. It seemed easy enough and she tried one. Wow, it was addictive, like bubble wrap, so she snapped a few more. As the afternoon sun drenched the room with warmth and light, they continued breaking the beans into sections. Gia felt as if she’d been thrown back to an earlier time. It was relaxing yet purposeful at the same time.

  “The green beans came in early this year,” Patty said. “We usually don’t get ’em until June.”

  Gia presumed Patty meant from the garden, which she’d only caught a sliver of on her way inside the house. “What else do you grow?”

  “A little bit of everything. Would you like a tour?”

  “Sure.” Gia had always wanted a garden. In New York the most her terrace could accommodate was a few pots of geraniums.

  Patty guided her out the back door to the most elaborate kitchen garden Gia had ever s
een, though admittedly she hadn’t toured many. But this one seemed so organized. It was completely fenced and divided into sections. One with raised boxes for vegetables and herbs, another large area for fruit trees, and a segment with rows of cutting flowers. A flagstone path wended its way through the various parts, each one designated with a vine-covered arbor and a wooden sign.

  Here Flynn had grown up in domestic heaven while Gia was lucky if she could dice an onion, let alone grow one.

  “This is really impressive,” she told Patty. “Seriously, it looks like something out of Sunset magazine.”

  “Thank you,” Patty beamed. “I’m very proud of it. Later, have Flynn show you the beehives.”

  They went back inside and resumed their places at the table. Patty got Gia a glass of iced tea while she put the final touches on dinner, including doing something that smelled wonderful with their snapped green beans.

  “How are you liking Nugget?” Patty asked. “It must be very different from New York.”

  Very. “I like Nugget better, though I miss the shopping and the food.”

  “I’ve never been,” Jo said. “Last summer it was between New York and Hawaii for our annual vacation. Hawaii won, though I’d like to go someday . . . maybe when the kids are a little older.”

  Patty handed Whitley a stack of plates and told her to set the table. Gia asked if she could help but was told that today she was strictly a guest.

  “Flynn doesn’t usually bring home female friends,” Patty said, sounding inordinately pleased that he had. “Next time we’ll put you to work, though.”

  Gia wasn’t sure there would be a next time or what she and Flynn were to each other. Attorney-client with privileges, she laughed to herself but didn’t think Dudley Do-Right would appreciate her particular brand of humor.

  He came into the kitchen and her pulse quickened.

  “We eating soon? I’m starved.” He winked at her and a shot of warmth spread through her insides. Suddenly she was starved too—for Flynn.

  “Five minutes,” Patty told him. “Get your dad and your brother.”

  They assembled in the dining room, which had a big fireplace and a long antique table that sat at least twelve. The tablecloth was lace—Gia thought it could be an heirloom—and the centerpiece was a silver candelabra. She wondered if every Sunday dinner was like this.

  Flynn pulled out a chair for Gia and sat in the one next to her. Throughout dinner he reached under the table and traced his hand down her leg. Each time a bolt of electricity arced through her veins. He also whispered in her ear. Nothing overtly sexual, usually things like “pass the potatoes, please,” but his lips on the whorl of her ear made her dizzy. Thank goodness no one seemed to notice because he flirted with her the entire supper, even rubbing his foot under the hem of her jeans. It was everything she could do to keep up with the dinner conversation.

  “What are you doing?” she asked once she’d gotten him alone.

  His eyes heated and he said, “You make me lose control.”

  “Well, knock it off. It’s bad enough I have a reputation as a white-collar criminal. You want your family to think I’m a hussy too?”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “A hussy? No one thinks you’re a hussy. Though Wes thinks you’re hot. My dad said, and I quote, ‘She looks like a lady with a good head on her shoulders.’ And my mother is planning our wedding. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that’s never gonna happen.”

  “Nope.” She felt a stabbing pain in her chest as she said it. But yeah, he was 100 percent correct. Marriage was out of the question, not that he’d asked.

  Flynn finished giving her a tour of the house. She saw his old bedroom, which still held shelves of trophies, ribbons, and medals from his youth, a stack of yearbooks, and pictures of him riding in local rodeos.

  He shut the door and kissed her so tenderly her knees buckled. His arms tightened around her and he whispered, “You want dessert?” He eyed the double bed and she pushed him away.

  “Your mom’s dessert. Let’s go down before we do something we shouldn’t.”

  After pie and homemade ice cream they said their goodbyes and headed to Nugget. Flynn needed to be in Sacramento in the morning. If not for her, he would’ve made the three-hour drive after dinner.

  “I should’ve driven separately,” she said.

  “What, you don’t want me staying the night?” He slid her a sideways glance while driving.

  “I do, but I feel bad that you have to make that commute so early in the morning.”

  “I’m used to it.” He put his arm around her and she lay her head on his shoulder.

  She still didn’t know what they were together, but today they’d felt like a couple. A real couple. And it definitely hadn’t sucked.

  But the warm fuzzy feeling flowing through her didn’t last long. When they got to the gate at Rosser Ranch, four law enforcement cars blocked the entrance. Flynn stopped and a man in an FBI vest tapped on the window.

  “Will the both of you please step out of the vehicle.” It wasn’t a request.

  They complied as agents surrounded them. Rhys was there too. The FBI must’ve given him notice this time. He stood off to the side, looking as uncomfortable as Gia had ever seen him.

  “What’s this about?” Flynn asked.

  The agent with the vest stepped forward. “We have a warrant for Miss Treadwell’s arrest.”

  Chapter 21

  Flynn hauled ass to Sacramento, breaking every speed limit on the highway. He wanted to get there as fast as possible to gather his team and work out the logistics of posting a bond for bail. There was no getting around the fact that Gia would have to be held overnight. Even if Flynn called in every favor owed to him, no way would they be able to get a federal magistrate on the bench on a Sunday night. Furthermore, she’d have to meet with pretrial services before a bail determination could be made and that would take time.

  There was nothing he could do short of breaking her out. In his panicked state he’d even contemplated the possibility. Shit, how had this happened? Flynn felt like he’d been broadsided. As soon as he got to the office he planned to call Tim at home to rip him a new one. A heads-up would’ve been nice—as well as a professional courtesy. Flynn would’ve surrendered Gia to the court in the morning without all the drama. Then she wouldn’t have had to spend one goddamn second behind bars.

  But clearly the U.S. Attorney’s office was going for shock and awe to make a big splash on CNN. And probably to scare the hell out of Gia so she’d talk. Gia didn’t know squat, but the feds had other ideas. At least they’d let him confer with her before the agents had hauled her off like a common criminal.

  Thank God they hadn’t charged Gia with conspiracy to commit murder. Yet. But aiding and abetting a financial fraudster was bad enough, especially because a grand jury had already cleared her. There was no doubt in his mind that the alphabets—the FBI and the SEC—were getting desperate. Not only did they have thousands of investors screaming for their money back, they’d linked Laughlin to Cleo’s murder. The brass was going to lose their jobs if an arrest wasn’t made soon. Flynn hated to admit it because he believed in the system—most of the time—but that was where Gia came in.

  Over his dead body. He’d move heaven and earth to get her out of this mess. And damn, when had he become such a staunch believer in Gia’s innocence? He assumed it was sometime between her trying to turn her ranch into a residential program for indigent women and sending money to carpenters’ union pensioners who’d been rooked by Laughlin. But he knew. He knew it in his head and in his heart and in his cumulative fifteen years of putting away and defending criminals.

  Gia was no crook. He couldn’t have fallen in love with her if she were.

  And wasn’t that a revelation . . . he was in love with Gia Treadwell. Damn. And right now his woman was sitting in a jail cell. Well, not exactly. At this very moment she was probably still en route to the holding facility, where she’d be booked. />
  He exited the interstate and tried Toad in Florida for the umpteenth time to no avail. By the time he got to his office building he was frustrated as hell. He took the elevator up and smelled coffee even before he opened the door. Doris, bless her heart. She’d agreed to come in when Flynn said he needed all hands on deck. Bellamy too. Flynn found both of them in the conference room.

  “Thanks for making this a priority,” he said. “Anyone heard from Toad?”

  “No,” they said in unison.

  “I’ve gotta run to the jail, but here’s what I want you to do.” Flynn gave them lengthy instructions on the materials he needed gathered and told Bellamy to make provisions for bail.

  “Add this to the mix.” He handed Bellamy a handful of paperwork.

  Bellamy eyed the documents and his mouth formed an “O.” “You sure about this, Flynn?”

  “Yep. I’ll be back as soon as I can. If Toad calls tell him I’m firing his ass.”

  Flynn drove the short block to the jail instead of walking. By now Gia should’ve arrived with the dickhead agent who’d cuffed her. Hopefully she was almost done with booking. Weekends at the jail were usually pretty crowded with family and friends of inmates. Visiting hours went as late as eleven p.m. But tonight the lobby was nearly empty.

  “Hey, Flynn,” someone at the counter waved him over. “You here to see a client?”

  “Yeah. She should’ve been booked by now. Treadwell, Gia.” Flynn gave the deputy Gia’s DOB.

  “I don’t need her date of birth; I know who she is. She’s still being processed. Woo wee, you got yourself a high-profile one. The press will be here any minute.”

  I bet. Flynn could only imagine how quick the feds had dropped a dime once they had Gia in custody.

  “Any chance you can get me in now?” Flynn asked.

  “You know the rules; I can’t until she’s been processed.”

  Flynn turned on his pleading face.

  The clerk looked over his shoulder and said, “Let me see where she’s at” and disappeared through the back.

  While waiting, Flynn checked his cell phone to see if there’d been any word from Toad. Still nothing. It wasn’t like him to go MIA in an emergency like this. Flynn was starting to worry. He quickly called his office to see if they’d heard from him. Doris answered and said he hadn’t checked in there either, which was baffling. Toad was many things but irresponsible wasn’t one of them.