Trouble With the Law (36 page)

Trace stood when Ronnie did, and her eyes met his.  “Good luck, Red,” he said with a smile.

She snorted and gave him that haughty look he knew well.  “I don’t need luck.  I’m the best, remember?  We’ll call you when it’s over.”  She bent and picked up the black satchel.  Dave picked up the files and her notebooks.

“Well, kick butt and take names, then,
Shark Lady,” Trace said as they walked toward the door.

“Now, that we can do,” Ronnie said with a laugh and a last glance over her shoulder.

An hour later, Trace was cooking breakfast when his mother walked into the kitchen.
  She walked up behind him and put her arms around his waist.  After a quick squeeze, she stood to the side, leaning against the counter.  “Today is going to be a good day,” she commented and he could hear the happiness in her tone.  “The best day I’ve had in a long time.”

“Me too, Mama,” he said and flipped the egg he was frying in the skillet.  “You hungry?”

“I could eat something,” she said with a laugh.  “But I’m not sure I’ve ever had anything you cooked.  I wasn’t even sure you were paying attention when I taught you how.”

“I was paying attention,” he said and met her eyes.  “I always pay attention to what you have to say.  You’re a smart woman.”

Allison laughed, but her eyes got serious.  “That woman is smart too, son.”

Trace
knew she was talking about Ronnie.  “I know, but she’s not the one for me.”

“You could do a lot worse, and I think she loves you.”

“Doesn’t matter. It also doesn’t matter if I think I love her either.  We’re too different, and want different things.”

“What do you want?” She asked and watched him baste the grease on top of the egg.

“I want to be a rancher like grandpa.  I want to work with my hands and have the space to breathe.  Somewhere to start over.”

“Done,” Allison said.  “Your grandpa’s spread is yours.”

His heart tripped in his chest and Trace’s eyes flew to hers.  “You sold it, Mama.”

“It’s for sale again,” she said with a soft smile.  “And it’s yours.”

Emotion closed off his air, as the spatula dropped from his hand and clattered on the stove.  Everything in the world he’d ever dreamed of was right there.  “Oh god, Mama…” he said sucking in a shuddering breath.  He’d been living in hell for the last four years, and now he was going to live on his grandpa’s ranch.  His ranch.  He was going to be a rancher.  “I don’t know what to say,” he said and hugged her to his chest.

“Just say you’ll stay out of trouble out there, and I’ll be a happy woman.  This has been too much, son.”

“I agree,” he replied.  But it was almost over.  And he was going to stay as far away from more trouble as a man could get.  His grandpa’s ranch was at least twenty miles from the nearest town.  His little slice of heaven.  His happy place.  His own ranch.  “I love you, Mama.  You always know what I need.  Thank you for not giving up on me.”

She laughed.  “Like that was going to happen.  I knew something smelly was going on and that your damned daddy was behind it all.  I’d like to kill that man.  He’s lucky I didn’t just put a pillow over his head in his sleep and help us all.”

“Prison isn’t fun, Mama.”

“Seeing you in that ugly orange color is the only thing that kept me from it.  I look awful in orange,” she said with a watery chuckle.

“He’ll get his,” Trace assured her.  Because Ronnie Winter’s was at Susan Whitmore’s office right now driving nails in his coffin.  Adding bars to his prison cell.  Trace didn’t give a damned which was the end result.  Either way he’d never have to deal with the man again.  And neither would his mother.

Trace was in the living room pacing in front of the television.  The stupid sitcom on the television that usually had him laughing wasn’t even penetrating the thick fog of worry that clouded his brain.  It was almost dusk and he hadn’t heard a word.  He’d called Dave’s cell phone at least twenty times and he hadn’t answered.

His mother and Lou Ellen were taking a nap, and all Trace had to do was listen to the tick of the clock on the wall and keep an eye on the TV for any news breaks.  Nothing.  If they didn’t get back soon, he was going to wear the soles out of his borrowed boots.
  He heard a loud squeal and rattling outside the trailer, so he ran to the window and saw the automatic gate opening.  Trace ran to the door and flung it back on its hinges.

Two black SUVs rolled through the opening and Trace’s heart sped up. 
Behind them were two police cruisers, and another black SUV.  Suspicion tickled his brain.  What if Dave and Ronnie had double crossed him, cut a deal to turn him over to the feds?  Maybe they hadn’t been able to convince Susan to drop the charges against him, and they had to turn him over to avoid charges themselves.  Susan was a tough woman, he knew that.  He had a bad feeling she wasn’t going to be easy to convince.

Trace stepped out onto the porch, so he had room to maneuver in case that was the situation.  In his mind he worked out a plan.  In for a penny, in for a pound. 
What the hell did he have to lose?  He watched to see who was the driver of the lead SUV.  That man would have the keys to the vehicle.  But the man put the SUV in park and Trace didn’t see him take the keys out of the ignition.  He got out of the vehicle quickly and shut the door. 

Even better. 

A blond woman he recognized as the Barracuda herself stepped out of the passenger’s door and slammed it.  Her serious blue eyes met his and a chill raced down his spine, as she took even strides toward him.  The back door of the SUV opened and his eyes tracked there over her shoulder.  Relief washed through him when Carlos Ramos moved around the door and shut it.  His arm was in a sling, and he wasn’t wearing a suit.  Carlos wasn’t dead, and he was evidently on the mend.  He even tilted his chin at Trace as he walked toward the porch.

Movement on the other side of the SUV caught his eye and he looked over there.  A red suit, auburn hair, then a broad smile made his shoulders relax a little when Ronnie walked around the front of the vehicle.  She was smiling, that was good right?

“Trace Rooks?” Susan said gruffly as her foot landed on the bottom step.

Trace could barely hear her voice over the pounding in his ears.  It was all he could do to shove words past his constricted throat. 
“Yes, ma’am.”

Susan stuck her hand out to him.  “I want to thank you.”  Shock rocked him and it took a second for him to move to shake her hand.

“Thank me for what?  I fucked up your operation.”

“You saved it too,”
Susan said looking over her shoulder at Ronnie.  “You and Miss Winters accomplished something I didn’t have any hope we would ever be able to do.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“You have given us enough evidence to take down your father, Seemus Nichols, Judge Earl Jennings, Talmedge Bartlett, the warden at the prison where you were incarcerated, a drug operation, a human trafficking operation and a stolen horse operation.  Agents are serving warrants as we speak,” she said, and her face finally softened as she smiled.  “I think I need you on my team,” she said with a wider smile.

“No, ma’am.  I’m not ever going to be in law enforcement again.  I’ve had more than enough of that to last me a lifetime.”
  A sudden thought hit him.  “What about Seth Copeland?”

“I forgot to mention that your former Captain already took him into custody for us.  We’ll be talking to him later this afternoon.”

Air escaped Trace in a long rush, and his mother whimpered behind him then put her hand at the small of his back.  “Congratulations, son,” she said in a trembling voice.

“Talmedge Bartlett is dead,” Trace informed.  “He had a heart attack on the way here, I think.”

“Hope he roasts in hell,” Susan said bluntly.  “That man has enabled the good Senator to do his dirty work for thirty years.  He was just as guilty as Leland.”

“He would have been a good witness for you.”

“I have more than enough to have a jury eating out of my hand to take them all down without a word from him.  I wouldn’t have cut him a deal anyway.”

If they had everything they needed, what the hell were all these people doing here?  “
I’m glad that everything worked out and you’ve got a solid case.  What I have to ask though is why ya’ll felt it necessary to come here?”  Trace asked then laughed.  “I thought you were coming to arrest me.”

“Well you did shoot, Carlos, but he’s going to be fine.  And you did assault two men you knew were federal officers.  And you were in possession of a gun and you’re a felon.  I’m sure there are numerous other things you’ve done that I haven’t listed.  Those are enough to get you a long vacation in the federal pen.”

Trace’s back stiffened.  Maybe she was here to arrest him.  He took two steps toward the side rail of the porch.  He glanced over there and figured he could take it in one leap, then he gauged the distance to the driver’s door of the SUV.

“But we’re not here to arrest you.  In light of all the free investigative work you’ve done, and the amount of time you’ve saved the bureau, I’ve dropped all the charges against you.  We’re here to take you to the governor.  He wants to meet the man who managed all this
.  He wants to personally thank you and apologize for the, um, misunderstanding that sent you to jail.  I think after that he’s going to personally sign the papers to expunge your record while we’re there,” she informed then laughed.  “Hell, he might even schedule a parade for you.  He was that happy.”

“Isn’t the office closed?  It’s almost dark.”

“We’re going to the mansion
for dinner,” she said with a smile.  “He insists.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Metal tinkled against glass, and Ronnie stopped speaking to look toward the raised platform where the string quartet had been playing soft background music for her party.  The party her firm was throwing to announce her promotion to senior partner.  Carl Duncan stood up on the dais in his tuxedo trying to get everyone’s attention. 

This was it.  The moment she’d waited for all her life.  The moment she had worked for all of her life.  She was finally going to beat her daddy. 
She was being promoted to senior partner in the firm five whole years ahead of when her daddy reached that same benchmark in his career.  And Phil Winters was here to witness it.  Luckily when she let him know about the party, he had been in between cases or he probably wouldn’t be there.  But he was, and he was also there to soak up the credit for her moment.  She had overheard him receiving congratulations for it.  Saying things like ‘the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’ and ‘I always encouraged Veronica to pursue law and tried to set a good example’.

Bullshit.  Phil Winters contribution to her success consisted of sperm donation, and even that wasn’t a certainty.  Her mother was not known for her fidelity.  Everyone knew that both of them had lovers on the side the entire time they were married.  There was one other thing, her daddy could take credit for though. 
Phil Winters had pushed her to want to be better than him at his game.  And she had done that.

So why the hell wasn’t she happier about it?

There must be three hundred people in the ballroom of the hotel in downtown Amarillo to celebrate this moment.  Or to take advantage of the gourmet dinner they’d had an hour ago.  That was more likely.  Even Trace’s mother, Senator Allison Rooks was there.  But the person she wanted to see most was not.  Trace hadn’t found it necessary to attend evidently.  She wasn’t important enough to warrant an appearance by him.  Or a call, or even an email.  Since they left the governor’s mansion the night Trace was given his freedom by the governor, Trace Rooks had disappeared off of the face of the earth.

His mother, the newly appointed Senator, who was finishing her incarcerated husband’s term in office
by appointment of the governor, told Ronnie that Trace had bought a ranch on the outskirts of Amarillo, and was pretty much keeping to himself these days.  Ronnie could see the anger in Allison’s eyes too, feel her disappointment in her son.  The sympathy in the Senator’s voice though was almost more than Ronnie could take.  She had to walk off, before she did something out of character.  Like cry in front of Allison Rooks.

Ronnie had to face the fact that all she was going to get from Trace Rooks for her efforts to clear his name was the
perfunctory kiss on the cheek and offhand thanks he’d given her three months ago when the agents dropped him, his mother and Lou Ellen off at the Rooks mansion.  Ronnie had expected more, but it looked like she wasn’t going to get it.  She should have known not to expect anything from him.  Trace Rooks had given her the brush off just like her daddy had for years.  He was a man and wasn’t any better than Phil Winters.  He was just like him.

Ronnie had been so angry that night, i
t had been all she could do to keep her composure until the agents dropped her off at the airport to rent a car.  She had thought about it all the way back to Amarillo.  Let it consume her.  She even had to stop twice to get herself under control.  Ronnie Winters, the Shark Lady, a woman with nerves of steel, had let a man’s rejection devastate her.

A hush settled over the room, she saw her daddy at the edge of the crowd.  He pushed his way to the dais and took the two steps up on the stage to stand beside
Carl Duncan.  The two men shook hands, then her father stepped to the microphone.  He cleared his throat, then smiled that smile that had charmed every judge or jury he stood before. 

That smile didn’t charm her. 
Ronnie knew the selfish man behind that smile.  Self-centered, narcissistic and just plain uncaring.  Even at four years old, when she’d tried to hug him for a Christmas gift he’d given her, he had patted her head and pushed her away.  Ronnie still remembered that moment, and the message it held.  But Phil Winters had the audacity to stand on that stage now and perform for this crowd of people here to congratulate her. 

With every word that fell from his mouth, every smile he sent her way from that stage, her anger inched up. 
He told about her childhood, like he remembered any of it.  He related the instance of her failure to make the cheerleading team in high school, and her passionate plea before the athletic director and the school board when the click who selected members hadn’t chosen her.  How Ronnie knew she was better than half the girls who were trying out and had a friend video-tape the whole tryout, because she had a feeling things would go that way.  Her presentation had won her a spot on the team, but it hadn’t won any friends in the process.  That hadn’t mattered to her then any more than it mattered to her now.  Right was right, and wrong was for nobody.

When
Phil Winters started on a similar story from her college days, Ronnie couldn’t take any more.  She walked to the foyer and asked the coat check girl for her purse and coat.  She knew in a moment she was going to be needing them.  Stiffening her shoulders, Ronnie eased her way through the crowd to the platform. 

Her daddy glanced her way, his eyebrows crashed together, then he forced a smile and looked back at the crowd.  “My daughter is beautiful, successful, and she definitely earned her nickname.  She’s a chip off of the old block,” he said with a practiced chuckle. 

The crowd laughed, and Ronnie cringed.  She wasn’t anything like her father.  Never wanted to be.  If she stayed in this profession though, she knew that is exactly what she would become.  Just like Phil Winters.

In the past three months she’d had entirely too much time to think.  A
tally of the number of innocent men she had gotten acquittals for, and the number of guilty men for which she’d done the same didn’t make her feel better about herself.  Two and eight were not odds that made her want to continue to be a criminal defense attorney.  She might be good, and everyone deserved a defense, but she was better than most, and even if they were guilty, she could get them off.  Where was the justice in that?

Ronnie was done.  She was going to find something to do that would benefit a higher cause than getting criminals off of charges they deserved to be convicted for. 
She planned on waiting until the end of the week to tell Carl Duncan and Joe Timmons she was leaving the firm, but tonight was as good a time as any.  It would have more impact. 

Allison lifted the skirt of her skin tight champagne-colored evening gown, and carefully managed the two steps to take the stage beside her father.  He continue
d speaking, but gave her a glance and a tight smile.  She returned it and draped her coat over her arm as she patiently waited for him to finish his soliloquy.

“And without further ado…I’d like to introduce my daughter, Veronica Winters, the Shark Lady, and the newest senior partner of
Duncan, Timmons and
Winters
,” her father said proudly and stepped back to applaud her.

Ronnie stepped to the microphone and looked across the crowd of clients, politicians and partygoers.  These people meant nothing to her.  Less than nothing.  They were all users.  Ronnie was tired of being one of them.

She smiled and cast a glance at her father.  “Thank you, Phil.”  His eyes flashed anger for a moment, but he held his smile.  “And thank you all for being here tonight.”

Applause and a few whistles followed then they quieted again.  Ronnie gripped the microphone, and leaned a little closer to make sure everyone heard her clearly.  “I am truly honored to be promoted to senior partner tonight, but I have to respectfully decline the offer.”  Dead silence filled the ballroom, people cleared their throats and hushed whispers
gave way to loud, agitated conversation. 

Ronnie
tapped the microphone.  “I have one more thing to say.”

Ronnie stepped back, opened her bag and pulled out her keys and ink pen.  She
motioned to her father to join her at the microphone, and he took a couple of hesitant steps to stand beside her.  She met her father’s eyes again and dangled her car keys between her fingers, holding them up so the crowd could see too. 

“Phil, here are the keys to the Mercedes you gave me when I made junior partner
.”  Ronnie took her father’s hand and dropped the keys in his palm.  “And here is the pen you gave me instead of attending my graduation from law school.”  She laid it across his palm, and folded his fingers around both.  His mouth dropped open, and Ronnie would have loved to stuff the keys and pen in there instead.  She met his eyes and his stunned expression made her want to laugh.  “I think that pretty much sums up your contribution to my success in the field of criminal litigation, and in life.  We’re even now,” she said with a smile. 

She met
Carl Duncan’s eyes at the front of the stage.  “Since I’ll be leaving the firm, and there will be a senior partner position open, I suggest you consider Conner Lucas for the job.  He’s the second best criminal defense attorney in town,” she said with a real smile for her friend who was in the third row.  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I need a real vacation.”  Ronnie gathered her beaded skirt and made her way back down the steps then walked behind the stage and headed for the back door.

Ronnie made it out
side and sucked in her first breath of freedom.  It smelled so damned sweet, was so crisp and invigorating, her eyes watered.  Her spirit felt lighter than it had in her whole life.  She was free to do whatever the hell she pleased and it felt good. 

The back door of the hotel swung back on its hinges, and Ronnie turned to see Conner stalking toward her. 
“Vee, have you lost your fucking mind?” he asked in a constricted voice when he stopped beside her.

“No, I’ve finally found it,” Ronnie said lightly
, remembering Trace’s words to her at Dave’s office compound. 

There was one more thing she had to do to completely free herself though.  She needed to confront Trace Rooks and tell him exactly what she thought of him.  And this time he wasn’t going to cut her off.  If she had to handcuff him to a hitching post, the man would listen to her this time.

***

Trace hefted the last hay bale off of the flatbed trailer he’d rented to haul
the load of hay to the ranch.  He swung it up on top of the others he’d unloaded then shoved his hat back to wipe his brow with his shirt sleeve.  He pulled a bandana from his pocket and mopped his face.  It was fall, and the air was crisp this morning, but he was sweating like it was the middle of summer.  And he loved every drop of sweat the hard work he was doing at his ranch produced.  This was his fresh start, and he wasn’t going to waste a minute.

One of
his new horses in the barn nickered, and he smiled.  Trace would never get tired of that sound, or the smell of fresh hay and earthy manure in the barn.  It was the sound and smell of freedom to him.  Something he never thought he’d experience again.

A low rumble that definitely didn’t belong
at his ranch caught his attention.  Trace shaded his eyes to see a dust cloud as someone turned onto the long dirt road that split the pastures at the front of his property.  The rumble got louder and the cloud parted.  He saw his visitor was riding a sleek black motorcycle.  He got a little concerned, because he wasn’t expecting anyone.  He edged his way to the cab of the truck and pulled his shotgun from behind the seat.  Being out here alone in the country, he didn’t go far without protection. 

As t
he bike got closer, Trace saw the rider was wearing a bandana instead of a helmet, with full black leather.  The rider looked like trouble.  But how could he automatically judge them when not three months ago, he had been a bad ass biker too.  Maybe they were just lost out on the country road and wanted directions.  If they wanted anything else from him though, he had his shotgun.  Trace’s hand tightened on the stock of his shotgun as the bike pulled up to the barn and the rider put down the kickstand. 

His eyes slid down long leather-clad legs to spiked high heel boots. 
Unless the biker was a cross-dresser, those and the long red-tipped nails sticking out of the fingerless gloves were a dead giveaway the biker was female.  She didn’t look at him, as she swung her long leg over the saddle to stand.  She untied her bandana and shook out a massive amount of red hair.  Trace’s heart skipped in his chest.  Surely not.  Couldn’t be.  Ronnie Winters had to still be pissed at him for leaving her like he had. 

There was no way she would come all the way out here to see him.
  The woman didn’t smile, and she didn’t remove her dark aviator sunglasses, so he couldn’t be sure.  She walked around the bike and started toward him.  When she opened her mouth though, he knew exactly who he was dealing with.  It was the Shark Lady who was paying him a visit. 

“I’ve got some things to say to you bad ass,” she said in that sexy growly voice that could belong to none other than Ronnie Winters.  Trace swallowed down the instant lust that shot through him as she stopped in front of him. 

His eyes tracked down her delicious body in the too tight leather getup.  “A bike?” Trace asked with a shake of his head.