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Ace felt his stomach clutch, though nothing about the guard had struck him as familiar, no more than the name Pete rang any warning bells.
“I was all set to start in a few days,” Pete said, scowl deepening. “They just needed me to come on in and fill out a little paperwork. And that was when the boss man—this same fine fella we have before us right here—puts a stop to things. Calls the Human Resources lady and tells her my rusted-out pickup is parked in the space marked off for his fancy imported sports car.”
“If you’re going to tell the story,” Ace said, stopping to stare back a challenge as the incident came back to him, “maybe you ought to tell it right.”
“You got something you want to say, prisoner?” the guard said, pulling his baton out of a holster as his small eyes glittered with menace. “Because I’m not your daddy, and you’re not skulking around the office with a loaded gun.”
Bruised and stitched up as he was already, Ace should have kept his mouth shut. And maybe he would’ve let the jackass tell his story his way had it not been for the crack about his father’s shooting. And the fact that Ace had never had any patience when it came to lying bullies. “I was just going to say,” he said, raining down the full weight of an authority he no longer had any claim to, “you left out the part about how Colton Oil security cameras caught you sideswiping my administrative assistant’s car on your way in—the first brand-new car she’d ever bought in her life—after you’d stopped along the way for a few celebratory slugs from that flask you had on you.”
Scowl deepening, the tall guard raised his baton high to strike, but instead of flinching, or turning a shoulder to block the inevitable blows, Ace stood there, saying, “Go ahead, man. Do what you want, if it makes you feel any better. Heaven only knows you can’t make me feel much worse.”
Lowering the stick, Pete sneered, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Seein’ me lose this job, too, when we march you in to meet with the DA and your lawyer, and those others, all black-and-blue and bloody?”
“I’m meeting with the—” Dread coiled cold and oily in Ace’s stomach. Were the charges against him about to be upgraded? Had any chance to make things right with the only father he had even known—or to get to know his daughter—passed him by forever?
“Don’t get too cocky, though, Colton,” the tall guard warned, “because the minute you’re out of there, we’re taking you straight to the general lockup—”
“After we’ve had a little talk with a few of our favorite troublemakers about the way you’ve been talkin’ about how you don’t want to be associated with broke-ass trash like them,” his frog-faced younger colleague added. “And then we’ll both get busy catchin’ up on all that paperwork we’ve let pile up just lately. Maybe we’ll even get around to seein’ to your visitors’ list—if there’s anything left of you to visit.”
As the two men shared a chuckle, Ace smothered a sigh, wondering if there was any chance that Sierra could possibly make good on her promise to free him from his nightmare—or any hope he could survive it long enough for the real truth to come to light.
* * *
Ace was still shaking two hours later when his attorney walked him out through the jail’s rear sally port and into the bright spring sunshine.
“You all right? You should be walking on air now, what with all the charges against you being dismissed.” A tall man in his late fifties, Michael Seaver led him toward a long, black Escalade with tinted windows in the rear of the parking lot. Dressed as usual in an expensive, slim-cut suit and designer glasses, he grinned as if he’d expected this outcome all along, even though they both knew that at their most recent meeting, the outlook had been far grimmer. “Instead, you look about ready to fall over. You feeling okay? Or are your injuries still—”
“I’m healing fine,” said Ace, wearing an oversize sweatshirt with a pair of cheap, ill-fitting denim pants and canvas shoes he’d been issued for the unexpected release. “I’m in shock, that’s all. I can’t believe I’m walking out of here, a free man, and that—is that...?”
His attention was captured by Sierra, a sight for sore eyes in her silver hoop earrings and jacket over form-fitting jeans and soft, gray boots. A breeze stirred her long, red-gold hair as she raised her hand in a muted greeting from where she was standing near the Escalade.
When their eyes met, the warmth of her smile loosened the tightness inside his chest enough for him to breathe again.
She’d kept her word after all, he understood, earned her finder’s fee and then some. And more than that, she’d elected to come here in person, to meet him at the gates of hell.
“You know this woman?” the attorney asked as she approached.
“Not as well as I’d like to,” Ace admitted, his mouth going dry at the perfect combination of beauty and athleticism in her movement.
Seaver gave a snort of amusement. “I see your recent troubles haven’t affected your good taste in ladies.”
“Too bad they’ve made me the last man on the planet any sensible woman would want to get tangled up with.”
“Never say die, man,” the attorney fired back. “Never say die.”
“You must be Ace’s mouthpiece,” Sierra said as she drew within earshot. “I’m a friend. Sierra Madden.”
“Ah, the famous bounty hunter.” Seaver scrutinized her with a look of frank admiration before he offered her his hand. “Yes, I understand you are a very good friend to the defense indeed.”
A wicked smile lit her eyes over their brief handshake. “Don’t let it get around. I’d hate to ruin my reputation as a heartless mercenary.”
“Thanks, Michael,” Ace said. “I’ll be going with Ms. Madden now.”
“You’re sure?” The attorney’s gaze flicked to his shiny black Escalade. “I did promise your sister I’d bring you straight to the family compound.”
“You don’t have to worry about that, Counselor,” Sierra said with a nod toward Ace. “I’ve been in touch with Ainsley, and we’ve agreed we’ll be meeting up at eight at Ace’s condo in town.”
“What about right now? I’m sure he’d love to get back home to the Triple R and his loving family.”
