Trouble With the Law (3 page)

“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.

Ronnie knew
Trace Rooks was not guilty.  She knew that someone was being paid off.  But she made the recommendation to him, because sometimes that’s just the way things worked in politics, and in law.  During the pre-trial conference Judge Jennings had intimated he would be amenable to probation.  No big deal. 

It became a big deal at the actual sentencing when Judge Jennings handed down a three year prison sentence that stunned them all, and then her appeals had fallen on deaf ears.  Later, she figured out the judge had probably been paid off too.  Too late, Ronnie also heard whispers around her office that Senator Leland Rooks had been a busy boy behind the scenes.  That his son was being taught a hard lesson about crossing his daddy.  The man must be a cold bastard to do that to his own son. 

Ronnie had gotten her promotion, but Trace Rooks had paid the price for it.

I
n the end, it hadn’t made a damned bit of difference to her father.  He’d sent her flowers and that damned ink pen.  From Antigua.  Where he was on vacation with his latest fling.  A woman just two years older than Ronnie.

Ronnie never got the whole story though
.  She had asked Trace, but he wouldn’t talk to her again after they carted him off to prison.  After that, she stopped digging because some things were better left under the rock where they were hidden.  She knew if she dug around too much, she might turn over that rock herself, and wind up in the same position as Trace.  If Leland Rooks could do that to his own son, he wouldn't hesitate to take care of her too.  At least Trace hadn't had to serve the entire term. 

For unknown reasons, he had been released six months early
. 

It wasn't for good behavior, that was for sure
.  Trace had been in fights with other inmates every time they released him from isolation.  Ronnie had kept up with him, while he was incarcerated.  The warden at the prison had put him into general population.  An ex-cop in general population usually didn't survive to the end of his term.  He had obviously made it through the ordeal alive, but not unscathed. 

Everything about the man was hard now
.  His face, his body and his attitude.

Her eyes moved to the scar on his cheek
.  Trace was damned lucky that was the only souvenir he had from the experience.  Even with the scar though, the man was more good looking than he had a right to be.  More so now, in her opinion.  Before, he was a cocky, silver-spoon fed, pretty boy.  The scar just made him edgier, more masculine.  So did his new attitude.  But those scars, both physical and mental, probably also reminded him of the time he spent in jail when he looked in the mirror every day and the cause for it.  Her. 

No wonder he hated her so much, and had become so hardened.

Before his prison term, Trace had been a smooth-talker, a man who knew the effect he had on women, and used it to his advantage.  Back then he was charming enough to make even her want to take her panties off and hand them to him on a silver platter.  That didn't happen often.  Men usually had to work damned hard to get Ronnie’s attention.  Trace Rooks had done that with one of his sexy smiles.

Trace Rooks wasn't smooth anymore though
, and she hadn’t seen him smile once.  He was rough, always ready for someone to take a swing at him.  A man who used abrasiveness like a coat of quills to protect himself from the world.  Sort of like her.

If she was going to help him, she had to find a way to get around that coat of quills
.  Maybe an apology would be a good start to mending fences with him.  "I'm sorry for how things turned out before, Trace.  I know it must've been...rough for you."

All he did was grunt in response
.  But Ronnie saw his shoulders tighten and the muscles in his back flex tightly under his t-shirt.  Ronnie didn't apologize, ever.  Things were what they were, and she couldn't second guess herself in her profession.  If she showed one ounce of weakness, her peers and opponents would eat her alive. 

For her t
o give Trace Rooks the apology he deserved, she had let down her defenses, put her own quills aside.  And all he could do was grunt?  Ronnie was winding up, prepared to blast him, but before she could, Trace grunted again, then without looking up, he asked sarcastically, "You charging by the hour to sit here and stare at me?"

"Trace, stop being an ass, and let me help you."

He snorted, then lifted his head to pin her with his angry dark eyes.  "Like you helped me last time, sugar? You gonna get me sent to the pen for life this time?"

"That's what I'm trying to help you avoid," she replied with a frustrated sigh
.  "If you did something to Leigh Ann Baker, you need to tell me."

"I didn't do a damned thing, just like I didn't do a damned thing last time
.  But that won't matter, they'll crucify me anyway, and I'm sure you'll help them drive in the nails."

"So, she's alive?" Ronnie asked, zoning in on what he really said.

"I'm not saying anything, so you can just march your tight ass back out the same door you came in, Veronica."

"Do you have counsel?"

Trace huffed out a short breath, and Ronnie flinched as he sat up and slammed his hands down on the table.  "What the fuck do you care if I have counsel? Even if I wanted you to represent me, which I'd be a fool to even consider, I don't have a dime to pay you.  I know you like your expensive things," he said, his dark eyes glittering angrily.  "My daddy isn't paying you this time.  So, you're wasting your time here,
Ms
.  Winters."

"I'll do it pro bono," she offered quickly.

"Why would you do that, Ronnie?" he asked warily.  Heat shot through her as his eyes took an insolent tour down to her breasts, then back up to her eyes. 

"Because I want to make it up to you."

Trace wanted to laugh.  If she hadn't gone into law, he thought this woman would definitely have made a killing as an actress.  Her tone had just the right amount of sincerity, her brown eyes were just earnest enough, to make him almost believe her.  But he wasn't a fool.  He knew Ronnie Winters always had an agenda.

"You could spend a lifetime trying to make it up to me, Red, and still have miles to go when you're eighty
.  You helped them take two years of my life that I'll never get back."