Trouble With the Law (4 page)

Not to mention his career, and his dignity
.  No, apologies weren't going to fix what she had taken from him, done to him.

"I didn't have a choice," she said and dragged her eyes away to stare at the wall
.  At least she wasn’t saying it wasn’t her fault anymore.  That was progress, he supposed.

"There are always choices, Red
.  You made the wrong one, and one day you will pay for it, just like my daddy will," he promised. 

Trace hoped that would be sooner rather than later, but he had enough fish in the frying pan right now
.  He would deal with her later.  But he did want to revisit his own agenda.  Finding out the truth about why she'd sold him out. 

So, Trace went fishing
.  "You don't need to lie.  I know why you sold me out, Red."

She had either been sleeping with Leland, or he had paid her off to put him away.

"You
know
?" Her voice broke on the words, and her face couldn't look any guiltier.

Disgust travel
ed thorough his every pore.  Trace shoved his chair back and stood.  Breathing hard, he leaned over the table.  Almost in her face, he ground out, "The old man must be a damned good fuck to have you panting to do his dirty work.  Could the old bastard even get it up? I thought you had better taste." Trace shook his head and backed away a little to look at her through narrowed eyes.  "Or did he pay you? How much, Ronnie? How much was two years of my life worth to the old fuck? To you? Did you buy that fancy sports car you drive with that money?"

Her hand flew to her throat, and her eyes slid to his shackled wrists
.  "I wasn't sleeping with him," she said indignantly. 

But she didn’t deny he had paid her off
.  Trace finally had his answer.

"
Bullshit
.  I know you didn't fix his
problem
for free." He wanted to know how much she had been paid.  This is the information he had been waiting for three years, and if he had to strangle it out of her, he would.

Trace had become Leland's problem when he made the mistake of confronting his daddy about some things he and his partner had discovered in the course of another investigation
.  Things that could have put Leland behind bars, or at least have him removed from office.  Trace thought because he was family, he would give Leland the opportunity to explain himself, rather than taking it through channels and letting the D.A. handle it.

Big mistak
e.  Next to trusting Ronnie Winters, the biggest mistake of his life.

Leland had laughed it off, and tried to convince him he was imagining things
.  Butter couldn’t have melted in the old bastard’s mouth.  But after Trace left his office, his daddy went to work covering his ass and hanging his son out to dry.  His partner had lost his life over it, and Trace had lost his freedom.  Dead men didn’t talk, and convicts were not credible witnesses.  Problem solved. 

Trace was arrested and convicted of negligent homicide in his partner’s death, and possession of narcotics
.  Then Leland hired Ronnie Winters, supposedly the best criminal attorney in Amarillo, to represent him so he kept face with the public.  He pandered to the cameras and news crews as the shamed, but supportive parent of a fuck-up.  A bad cop.  Then he paid Ronnie to put a knife in Trace’s back, and twist it a few times.

It all made perfect fucking sense to him now.

Senator Leland Rooks was a master manipulator.  A spin artist.  A seasoned politician.  That is why he had been in office as long as he had, even with people knowing what they did about him.  It was also why his own mother had walked around with blinders on for so long.  Leland was damned convincing.  Trace was glad that Allison was finally seeing the light.  After thirty years, she had filed for divorce.  It was about damned time.

"What problem?" the beautiful redhead asked, batting her eyes in confusion
.  Ronnie Winters was beautiful, but she was also like poison in a perfume bottle.  And just as lethal.  He had learned that the hard way.  He wasn’t falling for her act again.

"Get a better acting coach, Ronnie
.  And stay the hell away from me," he said with contempt, then yelled, "
Guard
!" as he walked around the table to stand by the door.  It flung inward and the guard filled the door.  He took a threatening step toward Trace, but Ronnie rushed over to him. 

"I'm not done with him yet," she said with a pointed look at Trace.

Well, he was done with her. 

If it took getting his ass kicked by this burly guard to get out of this small room with Ronnie Winters before he killed her, that is what he was going to do
.  Just like he'd kicked those other inmates asses in prison so he'd' be put in isolation, so he could at least sleep with his eyes closed.  Trace would do what he had to do to survive.

Trace met her eyes, then put his shoulder into the guard, knocking him off balance
.  The burly guard grunted, then shoved him into the door, before taking him to the ground and slamming his head into the floor with a forearm to his neck.  Pain shot through his skull, and Trace saw stars.  The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth, and he figured he'd either bitten the hell out of his tongue again, or his nose was broken.  It wasn't a little blood. 

The guard pushed down hard on his back for leverage to stand, then yanked Trace up to his feet
.  Definitely a broken nose, he thought as his airway closed off, his head swam and blood dripped down his face onto his shirt. 

Veronica gasped, and Trace smiled at her, as the guard pushed him through the door ahead of him
.  Where there’s a will, there’s a way, he thought, laughing as the guard led him down the hallway.  He definitely had the will to pay Ronnie Winters back, and he would find a way to do that.

CHAPTER THREE

"Get your ass up.” Goddamn, Trace loved that wakeup call.  All prison and jail guards must be trained the same way, because every one of them said the same thing.

Trace sat up on the edge of the cot and squinted his eyes trying to focus
.  Since his incident with the guard yesterday, his vision had been in and out.  They’d taken him to the nurse, but all she had done was pack his damn nose and give him ice.  He imagined this morning his eyes were going to be as blue and swollen as his nose was yesterday. 

Add a crooked nose to his scar, and he was going to have to beat women off with a stick, or they would beat him off
.  At the rate he was going, pretty soon Quasimodo would have more luck with women than he would.  Trace wasn’t worried about that though.  There was only one woman on his mind these days.  A certain redhead who he owed a rude awakening, but even she wasn’t his first priority.  Taking down Leland was.  Trace was so damned close to doing that he could taste victory.  If he could just get the hell out of here to finish what he started.

Pushing up off the cot, he
swayed on his feet and swallowed down the nausea that rushed up to his throat.  That nurse said he didn’t have a concussion, but Trace didn’t believe her.  His head felt like he had been hit with an iron skillet, and every time he moved too quickly, he wanted to hurl.  His price for getting away from Ronnie Winters, and he would pay it again.  He put his hand over his stomach to ask the same question he asked every time a guard came into his cell.  “Am I getting out?”

When the guard walked inside, Trace assumed the position against the wall, but the guard grabbed his shoulder, instead of cuffing him
.  "You're out.  I don't know how, but we just got the order to let you go."

Trace knew how
.  Susan Whitmore, Special Agent In Charge of the Dallas FBI office, had finally sprung him.  He was thankful, but damn, it had taken the woman long enough.  He’d been in here for more than a week.  He was impatient to get out, but he trusted Susan to do what was best for him and for the operation at the Double Bar Ranch.  If that meant spending a few more days in hell, he would do it.  And thank her.  If all this worked out in the end, he had a lot of reasons to thank the woman.

She might be a tough cookie, but miraculously, she had listened to him when nobody else would
.  Trace had written to her, saved up the pennies he got from his labor in jail, and then paid to have it snuck out through the convict underground mail.  In an eight page handwritten letter, he had told her his story.  Instead of ignoring him, Susan had looked into it, and then she offered him a deal—help her nail Leland and she would get a year shaved off of his sentence.  A win-win proposition in his book.  But something nobody else in Texas would do. 

Leland Rooks wielded a heavy and long stick in the
Lonestar state.  Most people wouldn’t dare cross him.  Trace was crossing him, and crossing back, because his father meant absolutely nothing to him now.  Less than nothing.  He had lost everything because of that man.  Trace wasn’t afraid of him, because he had nothing left to lose.  And the beauty of it was Leland had no idea he was doing it.  His father had even helped him get the job at the ranch after he was released from prison.

Trace had to apologize to him and beg for his help
getting that job, of course.  It was the most difficult thing he'd ever done in his life.  But somehow Trace had convinced Leland that he believed he should have covered the old bastard's back.  Shoved all the information he had about him under the rug, and forgot about it.  Even though it barely fit through his throat, Trace also thanked him for all he had done to
help
him when he was fighting the charges.  Paying for his attorney.  Pulling strings with the judge to lessen his sentence.  Putting him in fucking jail for three years, was something Trace didn’t thank his father for though.  Taking him down would be his thanks for that.

Leland had bought it and
Ray Brown hired him on Leland's recommendation. 

The guard shoved him toward the cell door and Trace cast him a hot look, shifted his shoulders then took a deep breath as he walked out of the door into the hallway
.  Trace stood back, while the guard opened the outer door and he walked through first.  Heading across the lobby toward the front door where he saw sunshine and freedom, Trace stopped in his tracks when Ronnie Winters stepped out of a side room and called his name.  A harried looking Lieutenant stepped out behind her.  Without a word, the man walked off, his back stiff.

Trace knew how the man felt
.  Every man who came into contact with her was either instantly intimidated or scared shitless.  That's why most men steered clear of her.  Trace wanted to steer clear of her for another reason.  He just didn't have anything to say to Ronnie Winters.  When she needed that damned backbone of hers to save his ass, she sold him out.  Unforgivable.

"What the fuck do you want, Red?" Trace asked as he shoved open the front door and inhaled deeply of the clean air.

"I'd like to talk to you.  I thought I could give you a ride to wherever you're going," she offered stepping outside and letting the door shut behind her.

"I have nothing to say to you, and I'd rather walk," Trace grated as he walked down the steps.

She rushed behind him down the stairs.  "I got you released.”

What did she want? A fucking prize? "I'd say thanks, but it's the least you owe me," he replied sarcastically, but stopped as the implication of her words sunk into his brain
.  The FBI would have gotten him out if it was safe for him to be out.

"Fuck," he said shoving a hand through his hair.

"What?" Ronnie asked, coming down the steps to stand beside him.

“What you did
is probably get me killed.”

"
Really?  Why do you think that?” Ronnie asked walking beside him as he stalked across the parking lot.

“Quit following me, Ronnie,” he replied gruffly as he reached the sidewalk
.  “Slither back under whatever rock you crawled out from and leave me the hell alone.”

She grabbed his arm, and Trace spun around, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides
.  If she didn’t leave him the hell alone, Trace was afraid he would go with his instinct to just strangle her.  Then he would have real problems.

“Trace, I want to help you,” she persisted and his irritation grew
. 

At the point that her voice and words almost felt like sandpaper rubbing against his brain, Trace turned to wait for the traffic to clear
.  “Help yourself, Red and stay the hell away from me,” he growled, then started across the street to the pay phone he saw beside a convenience store.  He had to call Susan and tell her what had happened.  They needed to regroup and fix this shit, before Leland found out. 

If Ronnie and Leland weren’t in cahoots, she could have signed her own death warrant too by getting involved, because Leland would think they had double-crossed him and were working together
.  Leland knew exactly how he felt about Ronnie Winters, and would definitely get suspicious when he found out she had gotten him out of jail.

Fuck, could things get any worse?
  Yes they could.  Trace knew they could.  That’s why he needed to talk to Susan Whitmore right now.  He stopped at the payphone and shoved his hand into the pocket of his dirty jeans and came up empty.  If he had fifty cents to put into the pay phone, that is exactly what he would do.  Trace hung up the phone to bang his forehead against the cold metal.  Pain shot through his skull and nausea made his stomach roll.  He had been in such a hurry to get out of the jail, he hadn’t stopped to pick up his wallet and cash.  Or his cell phone. 

Trace
turned toward the curb again, and there sat Ronnie Winters in her sleek red Mercedes convertible.  Trace stalked to her car and leaned into the open window.  “You want to help me? Give me fifty fucking cents.”

“I use plastic
.  I don’t carry cash around, especially change,” she replied then gave him a forced smile.  “Get in and I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

“Just let me use your cell phone,” he grumped and stuck out his hand.

Ronnie pulled her phone out of her briefcase and handed it to him.  Trace walked away to make the call.  Since he was using Ronnie’s phone, he decided to call Susan later.  All he needed was her to figure out who he’d called, so he called one of the FBI plants at the ranch instead.  He knew Carlos would come out and get him.  He was also sure, Carlos would inform Susan about what was going on, because the man was sleeping with her.  When nobody else could get in touch with the woman, he could.

Trace figured that’s why he was at the ranch.  To keep her informed.  The man couldn’t even ride a
fucking horse.  But he could speak Spanish, so that made him indispensable.  Trace could speak the language too, passably at least, but he was far from fluent.  But nobody knew it.  He’d learned a lot by keeping that information to himself.  The women that were being trafficked through the ranch were all Spanish speaking. 

Since Susan hadn’t sprung him,
Trace would just have to come up with a cover story and get Carlos to help him sell it to Ray Brown.  He dialed and Carlos picked up.  Trace filled him in on what had happened, and Carlos said he would do his best to get away to pick him up.  After he hung up, Trace walked back to the car and shoved the phone through the window.  “Thank you,” he said gruffly.  “Now get lost, Ronnie.”

Trace paced at the bus stop
at least an hour before Carlos pulled up to the curb in the ranch truck.  He stepped toward the curb and jerked the door open when it stopped there.  “Took you long enough,” he growled as he got inside and slammed the door.

“I had to pull off to talk to Susan,” Carlos informed
.  “Who is Veronica Winters, and how do you know her?” Carlos asked gruffly, letting the truck idle without putting it in gear.

“I’ll tell you on the way back to the ranch
.  Let’s just get out of here.  She could be watching.” Trace looked into the side mirror, but didn’t see her red convertible, so he breathed a sigh of relief.

He made Carlos go back to the jail, so he could get his stuff and they finally hit the road. 
Once they hit the interstate, Carlos glanced at him.  “We’re on the way.  Now who the hell is Veronica Winters, and why did she get you out?”

“She’s the attorney who sent me up the river
.  Sold me out to Leland.”

“So why is she getting you out now?” Carlos asked with confusion in his voice.

“I don’t know if it’s a guilty conscience, or if she’s in bed with Leland again.”

“Oh, man
.  That’s not good.”

“I told her to stay the hell away from me
.  But we need to come up with a cover story, so Ray Brown doesn’t put a bullet in my head.  I’m kind of screwed right now.”

“We could put you in custody,” Carlos suggested.

Trace’s eyes flew to his.  “Hell no, I want to be there for the take down.  I’ve worked too damned hard.  I want to see Leland go down.”

“You’ve done your part
.  It’s not worth taking a bullet, man.  He’s going down, you can sit back and watch now.  That’s what Susan wanted me to do.  Take you to a safe house until we do the take down in a few weeks.”

“No way
.  I haven’t proven that he set me up.  I want to clear my name.”

“Is that worth losing your life?” Carlos asked incredulously.

“It’s worth any price to me to show the world what a slimy asshole my father is.”

Ronnie watched Trace walk off down the sidewalk until he rounded the corner and disappeared.  She huffed out a frustrated breath.  Something was going on with Trace Rooks, and she hoped like hell he hadn’t changed teams.  Gone over to the dark side for real this time.  Sometimes jail did that to innocent men who were convicted of crimes they didn’t commit.  Especially cops who had spent their lives trying to serve and protect the people who had wrongly convicted them.

If that had happened, Ronnie would never be able to get rid of the guilt trying to burn a hole in her stomach.  That hole was three years deep, and it was time for her to fill it in.  God, why did she have to be born with a conscience? Life would be so much easier if she could just leave well enough alone.  Forget about things like her father did.  But as hard as she was on the outside, Ronnie wasn’t that lucky.  If she didn’t fix this, she would never be able to live with herself again.  And that is why she scrolled through her phone to see who Trace Rooks had called.  She hit recall with her heart galloping in her chest as it rang.

A man with a deep, slightly accented voice answered, “What the hell, Rooks? Ray Brown wasn’t happy, but I’m on my way.”

Ronnie hung up the phone and glanced at the name on her screen.  Carlos Ramos.  Her phone rang back, but she didn’t answer it.  Her hand shook as she slid the phone back into her briefcase, and put her car in gear.  Ronnie had some digging to do, and she needed to be at her office to do that.  Her friend Dave Logan could help her.  His private investigation company in
Dallas was the best around.