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Sinclair stood at the end of the walkway, practically vibrating with anger, pointing a finger at Ricky. People walking by slowed or stopped altogether to watch the fireworks. Ricky turned a guilty shade of red but strode right up to her until they stood toe-to-toe. “I’m within my rights, Sinclair. You’re the one who violated the terms of the lease—”
“This?” She held a flagged page up to his face. “‘Lessee agrees not to use the property for any purpose not authorized under local zoning laws?’ That’s nothing but a convenient legal loophole you’re exploiting. When the trust entered into the land lease, you knew I planned to live in the barn. You know I’ve been living there for two years. I’m a private citizen. You, Ricky Pinkerton, are a city councilmember as well as a stakeholder in the Pinkerton Family Trust. And between the two of us, which one was in a better position to know my portion of your land wasn’t expressly zoned for residential use?”
“What you didn’t know isn’t my problem. You’ve violated the lease. We’re terminating it. You’ve got thirty days to get off the property.”
Shane walked faster, not missing the way Ricky pushed out his chest and balled his fists. Sinclair read none of those signals, or if she did, her own temper superseded caution.
“I’m going to make it your problem, Ricky, because this looks like fraud to me. You entered into an agreement you knew was invalid thanks to the zoning laws—and happily took my money for two years—or you were too stupid to research the rights associated with your own land. Which is it?”
“You’ve always been a self-righteous bitch, haven’t you?” The question came accompanied by a two-handed shove to Sinclair’s shoulders. “Haven’t you,” he repeated and shoved her again, this time hard enough to knock her back a couple steps.
That’s where things got blurry for Shane.
A long-buried, liberating current of electricity shot through him, energizing his body and unstrapping it from the constraint of his conscience. He remembered dropping his computer bag. He remembered closing in on them. He even remembered Sinclair turning to him, seemingly in slow motion, all wide-eyed and suddenly pale. The next thing he knew, his right hand throbbed with an undeniably satisfying ache, Ricky lay in a fetal position on the ground, and he was standing over him, saying, “I thought I made this crystal clear ten years ago, you worthless piece of shit. You don’t touch her. Not then. Not now. Not ever.”
“You broke my nose!”
Probably true, given the amount of blood flowing through the fingers Ricky clamped to his face, but at the moment, it was hard to muster up any regret. “Damn right I did. You touch her again, I’ll break it again.”
“You’re washed up, Maguire.” Ricky struggled to his feet and took the handkerchief offered by the middle-aged man standing next to him, who Shane recognized as one of the local attorneys. “Ten years, and you’re still nothing but an out-of-control, redneck thug. I’ll—”
“You pushed the lady first,” a gray-haired bystander chimed in. “If I was twenty years younger, I’d ’a slugged you myself.”
A murmur of agreement rippled through the small crowd around them.
“Come on, Richard.” The attorney took Ricky’s arm. “You have nothing more to say.”
An older woman stepped up and wagged her finger at Ricky. “Ricky Pinkerton, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. I’m telling your grandma about this. You can bet your spoiled butt she’ll have something to say.”
Ricky brushed the attorney away and pointed at Shane. “I’ll see that the city cancels your contract.” With that threat hanging in the air, he took a step away. Then another. Apparently, distance made him bold, because he added, “You’re out of here. You got that?”
Shane stood his ground while the lawyer led Ricky away, but with adrenaline subsiding, all the realities set in. He’d fucked up. Lost his shit. Done exactly what Haggerty had told him not to do. Worse, the potential solution he’d come up with for Sinclair had just slipped away like sand through his fist. Mitigating the flood risk by elevating the barn did her no good if she couldn’t live there. That hadn’t even been part of the equation. He’d told her to trust him, promised he’d figure something out, and he hadn’t. He pinched the bridge of his nose, where a headache hammered.
A hand landed on his arm. “Shane?”
Sinclair. He looked up. Looked at her. “Are you all right?”
Her blue eyes lit with fire. “I’m fine. I’m also perfectly capable of handling Ricky myself. You shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t.” He stepped away, because suddenly the air itself felt too close. Technically she might be right, but she was also fundamentally, bone-deep wrong. “Don’t even think about telling me I should stand by and let some bully push you around. I’ve never been that guy, and you know it. If that’s what you expect, baby girl, you’ve got the wrong man.”
Jesus, now he sounded like an asshole. The red flags unfurling across Sinclair’s cheeks told him she agreed. He was blowing this on all fronts. Nothing good would come of continuing the conversation at this point. He wasn’t going to apologize for what he’d done, nor was he in the mood to get punched by the woman he loved right there on the sidewalk where he’d just flattened Ricky, so he turned and headed across the street to the alley where he’d parked his car.
“Shane!” she called after him. He kept walking. If he wanted to be told he’d fucked up, there were other people he could hear it from who had more immediate standing to say as much. Haggerty, for one. He had to call the man, explain the clusterfuck he’d just caused, and probably accept an immediate and permanent reassignment to another project—if he was lucky.
Though it was only sixty degrees outside, the inside of the Rover felt like a sweatbox. He started the engine and lowered the windows a couple inches before activating Blue
tooth and calling his boss. Barb, Haggerty’s assistant, picked up on the first ring, and her voice flowed over the speakers. She asked him to hold for a moment. No problem. He had all the time in the world. He dragged off his suit jacket and tie while he waited.
“Solve a mystery for me,” Haggerty said by way of a greeting. “Why is Barb waving a note in my face telling me Mayor Campbell is on the other line?”
He winced and summarized everything as briefly as possible.
“That explains it,” Haggerty said when Shane finished.
“Sorry,” Shane managed.
“No, you’re not.”
