Trouble With the Law (35 page)

In that hotel room,
Trace had known what she was about to say to him when he was leaving.  She was about to tell him she loved him.  Hearing that, opening that can of worms between them, would just have made his leaving harder on both of them.  Now that he had a little hope they might actually pull this off, prove his innocence, Trace didn’t know what he would do if she tried to say it again.  Maybe they could try a personal relationship and see where things went.

W
ho the hell was he kidding?  He had plans.  If somehow he got out of this bind, he was going out as far in the country as he could get.  Away from people.  Away from stress. Away from the prying eyes of people who wanted to judge him against his father, or his past. 

He was going to raise cattle and grow shit.  That was not a life he could see Ronnie
Winters living.  She was city slick and successful.  Her career was everything to her.  She thrived on it, got her whole identity from it.  Trace was not about to put his toe in those waters knowing even if she agreed to test the waters with him, she would get bored with him and his boring life and would leave.  He had a feeling if Ronnie experienced the peace he always found in the country, she would have too much time to think.  Without the stimulation and adrenaline of the courtroom drama, she would wither away. 

No, it was better if they just
left things where they were.

“Someone needs to get my car from the hotel,” Lou Ellen said
suddenly.  “The files from the lodge are in the trunk, remember?”

“Jamie
still had your keys from last night.  He left in it before the shooting started, so he’ll probably be at the office when we get there,” Dave replied.

“He better not wreck my car,” Lou Ellen said with a snort.  “That boy drives like he got his license in a bubble gum machine.”

“He’s taken so many offensive and defensive tactical driving classes, if he wrecks your car then you better get ready for the second coming.”

“He better get ready for it, because
if he wrecks my Caddie, he’s definitely going to meet the Good Lord,” Lou Ellen assured with a dry laugh.  “And someone needs to get my damned suitcase from that hotel.”

“I’ll handle it,” Dave said shortly.

“Aunt Lou, I think that pink housecoat suits you,” Trace said with a chuckle.  “You’ve never looked prettier.”

“Save your horseshit for her,” Lou Ellen grumped nodding her chin at Ronnie.  “I think she thinks it smells like a rose bed now.”

Trace squeezed Ronnie’s hand.  Lightening the mood couldn’t hurt.  He could feel the tension in Ronnie’s arm.  “Makes good fertilizer for sure.”

He heard another chuckle beside him and smiled down at her.  He pulled his hand from hers and dropped his arm around her shoulder to pull her closer into his side. 
Ronnie leaned her head against him and sighed.  Yeah, Trace could definitely come to love the softer side of the Shark Lady.

An hour later, the van stopped, and Dave got out.  The side door of the van opened and Trace lifted his arm from Ronnie’s shoulders.  He hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep, so he caught her when she almost fell across his lap when he moved. 

“Wake up sleepyhead,” he said with a laugh, gently tapping her cheek.

She moaned sleepily and the sound shot through him, because it reminded him of the moans she made when he made love to her.  Well,
when he had sex with her.  He hadn’t really made love to her yet.  As hot as it had been, against the door, didn’t count.  In the bathtub didn’t count, and neither did that time in the gathering room at the lodge when she had been trying to get information out of him. 

Trace made a decision right then that before he let Ronnie go, he was definitely going to make love to
her.  In a bed.  She had shown him her softer side, he was going to show her his romantic side.

She opened her beautiful brown eyes, and looked around disoriented.  “We’re at Dave’s office.  C’mon, baby, we’ve got work to do.”  She rubbed her eyes, and Trace propped her against the back of the van and twisted to put his feet outside the door.  Bright sunlight almost blinded him, and he shaded his eyes to look around.  Dave’s office it seemed was more like a compound. 

There were several tan buildings scattered around a huge clearing in the middle of a copse of tall trees.  Trace looked back and saw a six foot chain link fence topped with razor wire.  A chill raced down his spine and his stomach rolled, because he almost felt like he was in prison again.  Trace had to force himself to step outside the van.  He looked at Dave.  “You use the schematic from Alcatraz to build this place?” he asked Dave with a laugh.  Ronnie got out of the van and stood beside him.

“Nobody is gonna get in here unless I want them here,” Dave replied shortly.  “Let’s get these files, and get inside.” 
Dave took the files from his mother’s arms, so she could get out of the van, then grabbed the black satchel from Lou Ellen.  They got out, but Talmedge Bartlett didn’t follow.  Trace walked back to the van door and leaned inside.  “Get out.”

Talmedge didn’t move.  His head was lolled to the side on his shoulder, and Trace thought he must be in a dead sleep.  He crawled back into the van and over to him.  He shook his shoulder hard and the man’s head bobbed, but he didn’t open his eyes.  Trace put his fingers to the man’s throat, and figured out why he didn’t wake up.  Because he wasn’t in a dead sleep.  He was
dead
! 

“Dave!” Trace shouted as he eased the man to lay on the floor of the van.

Ronnie stuck her head inside the van.  “What’s wrong?”

“Get, Dave.  I think he’s dead.”

“No!” Ronnie shouted and scrambled inside to kneel beside him.

“Go get Dave, Red,” Trace repeated loosening Talmedge’s collar and tie.  “He’s not cold yet, maybe…” he said then tilted his neck back. 
His pupils were fixed and foam came out of his mouth.  Trace realized there was no maybe about it.  This man was dead, and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do.  They were right back where they had been before he showed up at the hotel.  Trace was right back there again.

“Don’t give up,” Ronnie said as if she read his mind.  “Let’s look at those files again.  We were half asleep when we went through them last night and this morning.  And we need to see what’s in that satchel.  We can still do this,” she said.

“Ronnie, this is it.  The end.  Without his help decrypting the files, you know it’s useless.  Without his testimony, the feds aren’t going to have a case.”

“Bullshit,” she said harshly.  “Leave him there, and let’s get to work.  Leland Rooks is not going to win.
  I won’t let him win.”

“Leland Rooks always wins,” Trace said with a defeated shake of his head.
  “We all might as well just give in.”

“Not this time,” Ronnie said forcefully.  “
I’m not letting him win.”

Trace knew it was hopeless, but Ronnie’s resurgence of optimism was contagious.  What did he have to lose at this point?  His mind maybe, but
he was on the verge of losing that anyway.  He might as well jump off that cliff with her holding his hand.  He sighed.  “Let’s go see what’s in that satchel.”

They walked through the heavy wooden front door of the building where Trace had seen Dave take the others, and ran right into him on his way out.

“I was coming to see what ya’ll were up to.  We’ve got a lot to do,” Dave said impatiently.

“Well, add finding somewhere to store Talmedge Bartlett’s body to your list,” Trace said with a dry laugh.  “Looks like he had a heart attack or something from all the excitement.”

“You sure he’s dead?” Dave asked making a motion to go around him.

“Oh yeah.  Very sure,”
Trace replied and Ronnie nodded.

“Well, hell,” Dave said shoving a hand through his thick dark hair.
  “I’ll take care of him, but you need to get in there, because I think Lou Ellen and your mother found something.”

They walked down a long hall and Trace heard voices in a room to the right and went inside.  Lou Ellen had thick yellow envelopes stacked beside the black satchel, and three five subject notebooks.  She looked up at him and smiled widely. “It’s about damned time you two came.  We were about to start the party without you,” she said smartly.

“I don’t know how much we have to celebrate, Aunt Lou.  Talmedge evidently had a heart attack on the way here.  He’s dead,”  Trace informed somberly.

The gray box that was in his room at the lodge caught his eye.  It was sitting beside the files from the lodge at the other end of the table.  Someone must’ve picked it up thinking it was supposed to go with the files.  It wasn’t.  That was personal.  Between him and his former partner.  And he still wasn’t ready to open it.  He walked down there and picked it up.

“What’s that?” Ronnie asked curiously, as she sat down at the table.

“It’s personal.  A box that Sean left with his wife to give me in case something happened to him.  I imagine it’s just memories.”  His voice shook when he said it and sadness filled him.

“We should see what’s in there.  Remember the S.C. mystery.  Maybe there’s an answer in there,” Ronnie said looking up at him.

“And maybe it’s just stuff I can’t deal with right now on top of all this,” Trace countered.

“You won’t know until you open it,” Ronnie said.

“And I won’t open it until I’m ready,” Trace replied.

“Fine,” Ronnie said brusquely.  “What did you find, Lou Ellen?”

“I think we’ve got him,”
Lou Ellen informed in an excited tone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Who was the mysterious S.C. who had received payoffs from his father
?

The women talked, as they sorted through the evidence and worked out how it all fit together
, but Trace didn’t hear a word.  He was too busy pondering that question, and shifting the gray box in his hands, listening to the metallic slide, and long slow roll of whatever the box contained.  Sean had been his best friend since grade school.  He was a man that Trace knew better than anyone.  He knew that Sean would never betray him like that.  Even if he lost his house.  Even if he lost his wife and kids.  Even if he lost his life.

They were brothers in every sense of the word.

These women were trying to prove Trace’s innocence by tying the evidence from the trial files and the files they’d stolen from Leland together.  Sean’s name was mentioned.  If that wasn’t addressed, he knew Ronnie would speculate on who the mysterious S.C. was because they didn’t know for sure.  Well, Trace was not letting his dead partner or his grieving family be dragged through the mud.  It would send his son over the edge he was already teetering on.  Trace was going to prove that Sean wasn’t the S.C. taking payoffs from Leland, before his name was even mentioned.  It was the least he could do.

“I can’t help here.  I’m going to see Carrie Collins,” Trace said and got up.  He picked up the gray box and the long slow roll, and metallic slide
inside teased him.

“Who is that?” Ronnie asked looking up from her notepad.

“Sean’s wife.  You want to know who S.C. is?  Well I can tell you who it isn’t—Sean Collins.  I’m going to get their financial records to prove it.”

“You’re dead, Trace,” Ronnie said flatly.  “You can’t go anywhere, or someone is going to see you.
  We’re too close here for you to risk that.”

Ronnie was right. 
If Carrie saw him she probably would call the police.  She hated him.  Her giving this box to Seth to give to him did not mean she had forgiven him.  It only meant that she wanted it out of her sight, because it reminded her of Sean.  Of Trace and his connection to her dead husband.

Trace s
at back down at the table and the long slow roll happened again.  Trace growled and took out his pocket knife.  He stuck it in the slot on the lock and twisted forcefully.  The lock didn’t give, so he twisted in the other direction.  Something popped and the lock hung in the hole.  He tried to pull the latch over the lock, but it wouldn’t fit.  Taking the blade of his knife, he shoved it behind the face of the lock and drove the heel of his hand against it.  The lock popped off, bounced on the table then fell on the floor.  Trace laid down the knife and his hand shook as he flipped the latch upward.

The lid squeaked as he pushed it back on the hinges and his heart sped up in his chest.  He picked up the baseball that was signed by all the members of their championship police league team
six years ago.  Spinning it around, he read the names and his eyes burned.  At least two of those guys were dead now.  One was a beat cop who was taken off guard in a traffic stop, and the other one was Sean.  Senseless tragedies. 

Sean had been the pitcher for their team.  It made sense that he would keep the ball, and that it would mean a lot to him.  That he gave it to Trace meant a helluva lot to him.  Emotion clogged his throat as he sat the ball back in the box.  He moved his thumb, and something caught his attention.  One of the names appeared to be crossed out.  He picked it up again and examined it closer.  Thumbing away a dirt streak that partially occluded the name, he realized Sean had crossed out Seth’s name from the ball. 

Seth isn’t on our team anymore
.  It was almost as if he heard Sean whisper that message in his ear.  Emotion built like a powder keg inside of him, Trace gripped the ball in his hand tightly, and a roar exploded from him as he reared back and threw it as hard as he could at the wall across the room.  It ricocheted off of the cold concrete blocks then pinged on the walls around the room until it stopped. 

That is what Sean was going to tell him the night he died.  Sean was killed by a service revolver.  With a bullet the same caliber as the one that Trace carried.  And it wasn’t any damned wonder
.  Seth Copeland didn’t have the flu that night.  He had to kill Sean to keep him from talking.

“Have you lost your frigging mind?”
Ronnie asked breathlessly.  “You could have hit one of us.”

“No, I think I finally found it,” Trace replied as he sat the ball aside, and took out the key from the bottom of the box.  He weighed the key in his hand, then closed it in his fist.  It was a key to his old locker at the station. 
Those were the only two things in that box, but Sean had known he would get it.  And he did.  Seth had set him up.

It had been Seth who tipped off Ray Brown that he was at his sister’s house.  It had been Seth who put that bag of drugs and money into his locker.  It had been Seth who took those bribes from Leland.  Because instead of fighting to take down that drug ring, he was taking bribes from Leland Rooks to give them information.

That information led to Sean’s death.  For fucking money.  Well, Seth Copeland was going to pay for killing Sean, but Trace wasn’t going to be asking for money.  He swallowed hard, took a deep breath then stood.  “Seth Copeland is a dead man,” he announced in a choked voice.  He met Ronnie’s eyes.  She looked like she did think he’d lost his mind.  “I’m going back to jail, but I’m going to deserve it this time.” 

He staggered around the table, but before he got to the door, it flew inward and Dave walked inside.

“I got a call from the lab,” he said in a voice as close to excited as Trace had ever heard Dave Logan use.  “They found prints on the zip lock and paper bands Conner Lucas dropped off on his way out of town.”

“Did they identify them?” Ronnie asked leaning back in her chair to look at him.

“They did.”

“And?  Do I have to beat it out of you?” Ronnie asked leaning forward in her chair looking like she was about to get up and do that.

“They ran it through the criminal record database and got nothing.  I told them to try the CHL database, and then the department database for Amarillo police employees.  They hit pay dirt,” he said smugly.  Dave surprised Trace by smiling, as he announced, “The partial print they found on the bag of drugs belongs to Detective Seth Copeland.  And the full thumb print on the money band belongs to one Senator Leland Rooks who is the proud owner of a concealed handgun.” 

Allison Rooks whimpered, Lou Ellen let out a country girl whoop, and
Trace felt like his knees were going to buckle, so he grabbed the table and rested his butt on it.  Ronnie put her hand on his knee.  “That is the best damned news I’ve had in four years,” she said with fierce relief in her tone.  Ronnie pushed against his knee to stand and walk over to hug Dave Logan’s waist.  “Thank you.”

“Thank Conner.  He’s the one who thought about getting the old evidence tested.  I just gave him the name of a lab I work with.”

She leaned back and looked up at Dave.  “No, thank you for
everything
.  We couldn’t have figured this out, survived long enough to figure it out, without your help.” 

Ronnie tiptoed and kissed Dave’s cheek and his face flushed.  “You’re welcome,” he said gruffly and pushed her away.  “Right is right, and wrong is for nobody,” he said with a soft smile.  “Someone told me that once.”

“I think that was me,” Ronnie volleyed back with a return smile.  She sucked in a breath then turned toward Trace.  “All we have to do now is get this evidence to Susan Whitmore in the morning, and I think that will wrap things up.  I’m also going to file a petition to have your conviction overturned.  If they give me crap, I’ll go to the governor.  I’m not shy.”

Things had turned around so quickly, Trace’s head was spinning.  He was too stunned to speak, so he nodded.  Ronnie walked up to him and put her hand on the side of his face.  “Cat got your tongue now?”

He turned his face and kissed her wrist.  Ronnie swiped his cheek with her thumb then leaned toward him to kiss the same place.  She kissed lower, until her mouth brushed his at the corner.  Trace woke up and with a growl, he pulled her to him for a desperate, needy…thankful kiss. 

At sunrise the next morning, Trace sat at a table in the kitchen of the housing trailer Dave had let them use the night before sipping a cup of coffee.  He hadn’t been able to sleep last night he was so excited.  And he hadn’t been able to make love to Ronnie, because the sleeping arrangements were barrack-style bunk beds in a common bedroom.

 
Today he would finally clear his name.  Today, his father was going to be taken down.  Today, Seth Copeland would learn a lesson about being a dirty cop.  The same lesson he had set Trace up to learn four years ago. 

Today
was the first day of his life as a free man.  And he owed it all to the redhead who walked into the kitchen in the stiletto heels and red power suit.  He owed Ronnie Winters his life.  He would never be able to repay her. 

But there was one thing he could do.  That was let her go. 

As much as he wanted her, needed her—loved her—after this was over today, he was cutting her loose.  He had all night to think about it.  Hanging onto her, trying to keep her isolated out in the country where she was out of her element, denying her talents to other wrongly accused people, would be a travesty.  The world needed Ronnie Winters to defend them. Righting wrongs and standing up for what was right is what Ronnie Winters was born to do.  What she’d spent her life training to do.  Trace wouldn’t be surprised if there was an S under that silky white blouse she wore.

Staying in town, living in her world, wasn’t an option
for him either.  Once he had his freedom again, he was going to find some space.  Somewhere he could think and enjoy the life he’d reclaimed.  That place was not in the city, in the fast lane he’d lived in for too long.  Even with the stress he’d been under out at the Diamond Bar Ranch, he remembered again how much he loved working with his hands, living in the country, working with animals at his grandfather’s ranch when he was growing up.  It was simple, honest work.  Exactly what Trace needed to soothe his soul.

“Morning, beautiful,” he said taking a long sip of his coffee.

Ronnie poured herself a cup of coffee and walked over to sit at the table with him.  “Morning, handsome,” she said with a smile.  “Are you excited about today?”

“You have no idea,” he replied, taking another sip of his coffee.  “I couldn’t sleep last night, but I noticed you did.”

“Like a baby.  It was the first good night’s sleep I’ve managed in three weeks.”

“You ready for today?”

“Susan Whitmore better be ready,” she said cockily.  “I’m about to hit her with both barrels between the eyes.”

Trace laughed.  God, he wanted to go just to see the Shark Lady confront the Barracuda.  It would be a fight to the finish, he was sure.  He had no doubt Ronnie would win, but Susan would give her a run for her money.  “Just stay out of her reach,” he warned with a grin.

“Damn, I love seeing you smile again,” Ronnie said and her face turned pink. 

Ronnie Winters blushed.  Trace was so shocked he grinned wider.  “You’re pretty when you blush, but you better not do that around Susan.  She’ll eat you alive.”

Ronnie cleared her throat then put on her Shark Lady face.  Arrogant, confident and so damned sexy he wanted to drag her onto his lap and fuck her senseless.  “I promise she’d choke.  I’m not sweet or tender,” she said.

Trace reached across the table and thumbed the corner of her pinched mouth.  “I beg to differ, ma’am.  That is the sweetest mouth I’ve ever tasted.”

“Spicy,” she corrected and leaned her head against his hand.

“Sweet and spicy,” he agreed, stroking his thumb over her lower lip.
 

She jerked her head back.  “You’re going to ruin my lipstick
.  Back off.  No kissing right now,” she said gruffly.

“I remember you liking it when I ruin your lipstick.”  He’d had it all over his face too when he kissed her in the bedroom at the lodge.

“Don’t distract me right now.  Dave and I need to get going soon, so I don’t have time to fix my face again.  I promise there’ll be plenty of time for kissing later.”

Trace dropped his hand back to the table and cupped
it around his coffee mug.  No there wouldn’t be.  “Ronnie we need to talk.”

“Not now!” she hissed, as she slid back her chair to stand.  “I ne
ed to focus, Trace.”  Ronnie began pacing behind her chair.  “This is too important for me to fuck it up.”

“Chill out, Red.  You have this,” he said with a laugh.  “And whatever you do, don’t drink any more coffee.”

Ronnie huffed out a breath, and sat back down. “I’m sorry, I’m keyed up.  I want to get this over with.”

So she could get back to her life.  The one that didn’t include him.  “Ronnie, I…” he started, but Dave Logan walked into the kitchen.
Now wasn’t the time, he thought and held his tongue.

The man must not own anything but camo and black t-shirts, Trace thought.  Trace had a lot of room to talk about fashion right now. 
He was still wearing the same jeans and shirt he’d pinched from Caleb the night of the party.  Last night.  Jesus, it seemed like centuries had passed in the last twenty four hours.  He almost wished that were true.  Because if time passed in those increments he’d have a lifetime with Ronnie.