Breaking Free (Steele Ridge Book 5)

by Adrienne Giordano

  On cue, the phone rang. Miss Joan scooped the cordless from the base and checked the number. “Ooh. Evie.” She poked the button. “Hello, sweet girl…What’s wrong?…You did? Well, all right, don’t get uppity about it. I’ll look.”

  She put her hand over the receiver. “Evie thinks she left some notes in her room and she has a test today. I need to take a look. Watch those cookies.”

  Mom left and Gage snapped his fingers at Reid while Micki checked the underside of the table. The big man eyed her and Gage snapped again, drawing his attention.

  Not wanting to waste time writing a note, Gage pointed to his lips. “Kitchen,” he mouthed. “Bugged.”

  Reid’s jaw flopped open. “Shit,” he said.

  Amen to that. The three of them spread out, working in silence, running hands along every surface, checking under the lip of the counters, the cabinets, the inside of the pantry door.

  Where are you, you little fucker?

  Micki dropped to her knees, checking the baseboards and the kickplates on the bottom of the cabinets.

  Nothing.

  Okay. Back up here. Flynn had been sitting on the other side of the table so Gage moved to the spot and sat.

  Options.

  To get to the counters, he’d have to walk around the table and that would cost him time.

  Closer. Wherever he'd hidden that bug had to be closer.

  He spun back, scanned the wall and the framed photo of the original Tupelo Hill. He bolted from the chair and lifted the frame to check the back. Nothing. He reset it. Beside that hung a letter organizer with a slot for storing larger envelopes. The slot angled outward at a forty-five degree angle.

  There.

  Lifting the envelopes out, he ran his fingers along the inside of the slot and…hello.

  He waved his free hand at Micki and Reid. Reid lifted the organizer from the wall, studied the inside of it and…nodded.

  Bingo.

  They’d found it. The son of a bitch had actually bugged the place. Reid made a move to pop the tiny listening device out, but Gage shoved his hand over the top of the slot. If they removed the bug, Flynn would know they’d found it.

  He gestured to Reid to hang the organizer, then replaced the envelopes and pointed outside. All three of them filed out, heading to the same spot where he and Micki had talked.

  Reid flapped his arms. “What the hell, man? We gotta get that thing out of my mother’s house.”

  “If we remove it, he’ll know. And if Micki talks to the feds, I’m not sure we should touch it. I’m no lawyer, but if she tells the feds it’s there, let them be the ones to remove it. He's planted an illegal listening device. It’s evidence. Now that we know it's there, we’re a step ahead of him.”

  “Meanwhile, my mother’s privacy is invaded.”

  “Not if we tell her.”

  “Oh, no way,” Micki said.

  “It’s her house. She has a right to know.”

  Reid wandered in small circles. “He’s right, Mikayla. I mean, we could pop that sucker out, but we might be better off letting him think we don’t know it’s there.”

  Gage poked a finger. “Exactly. Why give him the heads-up? If we get lucky, the feds’ll move quickly, and with what Micki has to say, they’ll arrest him. The bug alone will get him jail time.”

  Micki dragged her phone from her pocket again. “I can't wait any longer. I’m calling Owen. If he can get me a meeting, I’ll talk to the US Attorney today. This is my fault. Now I have to fix it.”

  After leaving an ATV—aka The Gator—hidden behind the tree line and buckling into the work truck that was normally kept in the barn, Gage drove down a pitted dirt road with enough holes to rattle Micki's teeth as they bounced in and out of them.

  Two hours earlier, Reid and Gage had driven the truck to this secluded spot on the property as part of their sneak-Micki-out plan.

  “Wow,” Micki said. “Didn’t even know this was back here.”

  Gage swung left to avoid a crater-sized hole. “It’s new. We wanted multiple access areas for emergency vehicles. Obviously, we have some repair work to do, but if someone gets hurt, first responders don’t have to go all the way around to get on the property. No one knows this is back here yet.”

  “So if Phil is watching the main entrance, he won’t see us leave.”

  “Correct.”

  “How did this become my life?”

  “Crappy circumstance, that’s how. You’re dealing with it. Don't get hung up about it.”

  Micki’s phone rang and she checked the screen. Her lawyer. She tapped the speaker button. “Hi, Owen.”

  “Good afternoon.” Owen's all-business lawyer voice filled the cab of the truck. “We're all set to meet with Emily Roberts at three o’clock. She’s the lead AUSA—assistant US Attorney—for the Western District of North Carolina. Based on the information we’ve provided, she will have a couple of AUSAs with her and possibly an FBI agent. I wouldn’t be surprised if she pulls the IRS in as well. More than likely, they’ll be able to catch Flynn cheating on his taxes.”

  No doubt about that. The man ran extensive cash transactions and Micki knew for a fact he kept stacks of money hidden in a wall in his attic. For emergencies.

  Or for Doomsday, when he’d have to bug out.

  Micki shifted to look at Gage, who’d worked his way down the rutted path and turned onto the mountain road leading into town.

  “We’re just leaving now,” Micki told Owen.

  “That’s fine. The US Attorney’s office is only a few blocks from mine. When you get close, call me. There’s a parking garage you can pull into. It’ll give you some cover rather than on-street parking. I know I don’t have to tell you this, but be careful. If you think you’re being followed, let me know and we’ll figure something out.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Gage said, his voice taking on a flat, almost bored quality.

  As if Owen should know Gage was a one-man wrecking machine.

  Micki smiled. “Owen, say hello to Gage. He’s my own personal Green Beret.”

  A pause. “Green Beret? Really?”

  “Former,” Gage said.

  “Well, this’ll be easy. If it works, I may hire you to handle all my Queen for a Day clients.”

  At that Gage snorted. “Let’s not get crazy.”

  “We’ll talk,” Owen said. “See you in a few.”

  Micki tapped the screen. “How funny would that be? You getting a job out of this deal.”

  “I already have a job. One that keeps me plenty busy.” He cruised to a stop at an intersection a few miles from town and tucked a ball cap over his head. “Do me a favor and slide down in the seat. I’ll detour through side streets in town, but let’s be cautious in case Flynn is out and about. Between the different truck, the ball cap, and no one in the passenger seat, we should be fine, but…”

  “I know.” She unbuckled and lifted her backpack from the floor to make room. “Just in case, I’ll leave my phone with you when we get to Asheville.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ve made a living hacking into people’s phones to track them. By now, Phil probably has another black hat on me.”

  She folded herself onto the floorboard, maneuvering to find a somewhat comfortable position for her stilt legs. “Good thing I’m skinny,” she cracked.

  “Once we get away from Steele Ridge, you can get up. Until then, I won’t look at you. Can’t risk it in case anyone sees me. And, you’re not skinny. You’re lean. Big difference.”

  She smiled up at him, Mr. Sunshine, always finding the upside. “You’re funny.”

  “Why am I funny?”

  “You can see the positives in any situation. Me? I’m the glass-half-empty girl. If something bad will happen, it’ll happen to me.”

  “I don’t believe that, but even if I did, I’d say we balance each other out.”

  There, he might have a point. “The way I see it, you’re the light to my darkness.”

  He
cocked his head, keeping his gaze on the road and refusing to look down at her. Maybe her light to dark analogy didn’t sit well with him.

  Snap. Relationships had never been her forte. She’d always been too paranoid to allow herself to open up. To let someone in. A girl with secrets didn’t make for great company.

  In reality, there hadn’t been a lot of guys in her life she’d been gooey over. Gooey didn’t fit with her lifestyle. What fit was denial and hiding and ignoring the immoral side of her job.

  At least until Gage. With him, gooey felt all kinds of perfect.

  She propped an elbow on the bench seat and stared up at her Iowa farm boy, the sharp angles of his face, the expanse of his shoulders that were just the right side of muscular, but not beefy. How a man could look so insanely perfect was lost on her. And she adored him.

  Which meant, in the midst of figuring out how to break free of Phil and the wretched life she’d been living, she’d found a safe harbor in Gage Barber.

  “Huh,” Gage said. “I don’t know that I agree totally. I’m not Mary Sunshine all the time. Regardless, I think we're good together.”

  “Well, Captain America, I'm with you on that.”

  Ninety minutes later, Gage and Owen did their James Bond thing and managed to get Micki safely to the US Attorney’s office in Asheville. The office was located in the federal courthouse and Owen had made arrangements for Micki to be brought in the rear entrance of the grand, six-story limestone building.

  Everything about the building, the massiveness, the Art Deco carvings etched above the entrances, the terrazzo floors, the marble, did exactly as it should. Inside these walls, Micki, and every other criminal—because yes, that’s what she was—became a teeny-tiny bug. Someone to be crushed by the weight of this mighty building.

  Except her visit meant making things right. Coming clean. Literally washing away her sins. Once she did that, maybe she’d forgive herself for the past ten years.

  Maybe she’d even go to church.

  Owen, dressed in a GQ suit à la Grif, led her to an elevator bank. Her boot heels clunked and echoed in the cavernous space, setting off a weird pulsing in her stomach.

  This sure wasn’t church, but she was about to confess her sins. Sins that might land her in jail.

  But not today.

  Today?

  Queen for a Day.

  At the elevator bank, Owen hit the up button. “This shouldn’t take long. Two hours at the most. If I tell you not to answer a question, don’t answer it. Our goal here is to wet their beaks. A nibble, if you will, that will compel them to offer you a plea agreement. Once the agreement is signed, you give them everything. Understood?”

  Micki nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Don’t call me sir.”

  He hit her with a wide smile and the full force of his charm. No wonder he’d been dubbed the best criminal defense attorney in the county.

  The elevator doors whooshed closed and Micki focused on the seam in the door. “Yes, sir.”

  “So that’s how it’s going to be?”

  “Yep. Live with it. If you get me out of this, I’ll call you sir for the rest of my life.”

  For her, it was respect born of her Southern breeding, but more than that, he’d taken a chance on her. Sure, her billionaire brother greased the wheels, but Owen didn’t need her.

  She needed him.

  The elevator doors opened. “You’ll be fine. It’s a conversation. That’s all.”

  “Got it.”

  Inside the US Attorney’s office—a neat, no-frills space—a receptionist's desk kept company with six metal armchairs and a veneer coffee table. The receptionist immediately led them down one of two narrow hallways to a conference room at the back of the suite. Fine with Micki. The fewer people who saw her the better, because Phil was a master at finding weakness. He’d unearth someone—perhaps the nice receptionist who probably only made twenty-five K a year—looking to make fast money in exchange for information.

  The receptionist opened a door and waved them into a long, narrow conference room with a tattered table and cloth chairs straight out of the ’70s. Stacks of boxes three and four high lined the far wall, where shades had been lowered to block out daylight.

  The door closed again and Micki faced her lawyer. “Why do I get the feeling they don’t want me seen?”

  “They could have another witness in here and they don’t want you two passing at the water cooler. It’s safer for everyone if they keep witnesses out of sight.”

  The door opened again and in walked a tall woman of about forty with sleek red hair that hung over her shoulders. She wore a no-nonsense sea-green dress topped off with a rope of intertwined pearls.

  Behind the woman were a shorter, balding man, another dark-haired man with a nose so crooked it had to have been broken a minimum of six times, and a woman about Micki’s age. Between her frizzy hair and puffy eyes, she might not have slept in a month.

  The gang’s all here.

  The redhead held out her hand to Micki, meeting her gaze directly. “Good morning, Ms. Steele. I’m Emily Roberts. Thank you for meeting with me today.” She turned, gesturing to the balding man behind her. “This is Dave Relind from the IRS and Special Agent Frank Norford. Frank is from the FBI. And this is Donna Tremain another assistant US Attorney.”

  Introductions were completed while Emily and Owen said their hellos. Clearly, these two had worked together before, because it was all how’s the husband and the kids are fine.

  Emily took the power spot at the head of the table. Good for her. A woman in charge. Owen dropped into the seat to her left and directed Micki to the open chair on the other side of him. If the United States Attorney's office wanted access to Micki, they’d have to go through Owen. More and more, she understood why Jonah had gravitated to this guy.

  First Gage had come into her life and now Owen would help her navigate the legal system. For the first time in a really long time, Micki considered herself a lucky girl.

  Emily flipped her portfolio open and slid the pen from the little sleeve. All business, but not rude. Then again, prosecutors, Micki supposed, shouldn’t get too chummy.

  “Ms. Steele, I want to advise you that anything you say in this meeting, if you're truthful, cannot be used against you. Whatever you share with us, the government has a right to pursue. That applies to any leads we get from this session. Please be completely open and honest and provide any relevant information. Once the meeting adjourns, we will determine whether the government would like to proceed in utilizing you as a cooperating witness. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

  “Of course. Let’s get started.”

  And here we go. Micki held her breath against the stale, closed-in air, eyeing each person at the table. Could she do this? Out Phil?

  Panic crawled inside her and she gripped the arms of her chair until her knuckles stretched her skin. She glanced at the closed door, the ugly white walls and the old cloth chairs, and suddenly she needed oxygen. Outside.

  Beside her, Owen set his hand over hers and leaned in, getting right next to her ear. “I’m here for you. You’re fine. Queen for a Day.”

  Yes. Queen for a Day. No harm in just talking.

  Particularly if it meant reclaiming her life.

  She pictured her mother, in one of her Adirondacks, sipping lemonade. That's what she wanted. Time with her mother to just sit and enjoy the view. Time to do this. Micki nodded and Owen sat back. Go time.

  It took thirty minutes for Micki and Owen to give the group the summation of Micki’s life. The nerdy girl with a gift for hacking, the loner, the invitation to a party, the attack on Tessa, Phil recruiting her, all of it dished out like a bad television drama. When she’d been asked who hosted the party, Owen slammed the brakes, obviously saving that potential carrot until after a deal had been made.

  “All right.” Emily jotted a note. “Let’s talk about the wiretaps. Mr. Flynn regularly uses them?”
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  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And you’ve been involved?”

  Micki met Owen's eye and he nodded. “Only to the extent that I’ve heard them. Last week, one of my coworkers listened to a call between a judge and his assistant.”

  “Why?”

  “One of Phil’s clients is going before the judge next month. Phil was hoping to catch the judge doing something potentially embarrassing.”

  “And did he?”

  “It was the start of something, yes, ma’am.”

  “Can you elaborate?”

  Oh, boy. This was quite the experience. Sitting around a table with a bunch of federal employees, about to summarize an episode of phone sex between a filthy old judge and his extremely young assistant.

  The whole thing sickened her. Which, in reality, was a relief. At least she felt something. A week ago? The judge’s disgusting behavior had been commonplace. Nothing to get uppity about. Micki had been dead inside, literally empty from years of witnessing depravity at every level.

  Reclaim your life.

  Micki cleared her throat and sat up a little. “He was having phone sex with his assistant. And, uh”—she scrunched her nose, fought the wave of humiliation—“masturbating.”

  But, hey, old Emily was a pro. She rolled right through it, jotting more notes. “I see. You mentioned payoffs. Tell me about that.”

  Okay. That worked. If she could talk about the masturbating thing, the rest should be easy.

  “I’m often asked to hack into investment accounts, bank records, that sort of thing, to see if we can find any evidence of impropriety. If so, Phil threatens the person with disclosure. Particularly if it’s a public figure or someone, such as yourself, who is held in high public regard.”

  On and on it went, the volley of questions and answers, Owen interrupting occasionally to stop her. Wet the beak. That’s all he wanted.

  At an hour and forty-five minutes, Micki’s energy plummeted. Fatigue from her post-adrenaline rush had set in, not to mention the oily coat of her transgressions suffocating her. Dammit, she needed to be done. To finish this nasty exercise and get home, where she’d soak in a hot shower and then curl up next to one extremely hot Green Beret.