Breaking Free (Steele Ridge Book 5)

by Adrienne Giordano

  After perusing her last page of notes, Emily made eye contact with the FBI agent and Mr. IRS.

  “Gentlemen, any other questions?”

  Both men shook their heads. Merciful God, this ordeal was coming to an end.

  “All right.” Emily faced Micki again. “Thank you for coming in today. We’ll need to look into this. If necessary, I’ll call Owen to set a follow-up meeting where we can discuss a plea agreement. You’d be willing to appear, in court, as a witness against Mr. Flynn?”

  The big question. In truth, the thing they’d come here for. Could she testify? Live with Phil’s brewing hatred when she understood, better than most, what he was capable of?

  A picture of Gage popped into her mind. Next to her mother, he might be the most honorable person she knew. Now they were both here for her, Mom and Gage.

  Micki met Emily’s gaze and held it. “Yes, ma’am. To make this right, I’ll do it.”

  Gage met Micki around the corner from her lawyer’s office, where they once again used a parking garage for cover.

  The whole James Bond-ish scenario seemed to unnerve her, but she’d have to suck it up. Staying safe was the goal. Still, after being alone for so long, it had to be…a lot.

  Gage waited for her to drag the seat belt over and, needing something to do, grabbed it from her to buckle it up.

  “Thank you,” she said. “But I’m pretty sure I can buckle my own seat belt.”

  “I know you can. I’m antsy. How’d it go?”

  “You’re antsy and I’m dog tired and feel like crap. I suppose it went great.”

  This poor girl. She’d been through the wringer these past few days. He tickled her cheek with the tip of his index finger and took it as a good sign when she didn’t pull away. A few days ago, she’d flinched when he got within a foot. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That had to be rough.”

  She avoided eye contact by staring out the window. “Talking about it was easier than I thought. The hard part was knowing I helped him. As much as I wanted to believe I didn’t get directly involved with the shakedowns and threats, sitting through that meeting was like floating outside myself, watching and listening to it all, yet somehow not believing it.” She finally looked back at him. “Admitting it helped me realize how manipulative Phil is. He's a pro at it, really. With the family I have, I shouldn’t have been so weak-kneed, and yet he still got to me. As much as testifying sucks and terrifies me, I think it’ll help me move on.”

  Not wanting to sit idle too long and attract attention, he backed out of the parking space and hit the gas. “You’re doing the right thing. Absolutely.”

  “I know. You’re a big part of it. Thank you.”

  He shrugged. “You’re welcome. It helps that I’m crazy about you and I'm hoping you'll hang around a while.”

  “Assuming I don’t go to prison, I think that’s exactly my plan.”

  “Good. So, where to? Home?”

  The day had been long and the dull headache wouldn’t quit, but he wasn’t ready to let loose of Micki yet. Still, dealing with the Steele family, at this point, might get complicated. He loved them, but when they got dug in, the whole lot of them, they weren’t easy to handle.

  “How about…”

  “What?”

  “Dinner? Will you go on a dinner date with me?”

  He came to a stop at the garage exit, checked right and left, glancing at her along the way and grinning like an idiot. “Easiest decision I've had all day. I think we should go to the B.”

  Time to let the people of this town know he and Micki were…what?

  Eh, who cared what it was, he didn’t like sneaking around.

  “The B? After everyone seeing us at the tree lighting, that’ll get the tongues wagging. Are you ready for that?”

  “I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t.”

  “Well, be prepared, because the busybodies will be planning our wedding.”

  That thought, no matter how preposterous after only a few days, didn’t seem so awful. Plenty of time for that, though.

  He hooked a left, heading for Highway 64, a winding two-lane road with no stops. He liked the simplicity of it, the calming energy found in the trees and random roadside foliage. He'd pass on the clouds rolling in, but as long as the damned rain stayed at bay, he'd live with it.

  “Sit and relax,” he said. “You’ve had a long day.”

  “I don’t want to be rotten company.”

  “You’re never rotten company. Close your eyes, give yourself time to rebound. You’ll feel better.” He grinned over at her. “I promise.”

  With that, he flipped on the radio and hummed along to an old Brooks and Dunn song. For the next ninety minutes, if all went well, they could pretend they were simply out for a drive.

  And not about to clash with a seriously bad guy.

  21

  Rather than swing into one of the open spots in front of the Triple B, Gage drove around and parked in the alley near the back door. Precaution never hurt. Plus, ugly black storm clouds threatened and they'd at least have a quick run back to the truck if the sky opened up.

  On a Tuesday night, the place was quiet, leaving half the tables open. A few regulars sat at the bar watching CNN, clearly engrossed in the latest political wranglings.

  Randi stood at the register, poking at the screen, but raised her free hand in greeting. “Hey, you two. I’m expecting Britt any time now. He’ll be happy to see you. Sit where you like.”

  “Thanks, Randi,” Micki said.

  Gage grabbed his favorite table and slid into the seat against the wall so he could watch the doors.

  One of Randi’s servers cruised by, dropped two menus, and took their drink orders. Gage opted for one of the craft beer specials and Micki went with a sweet tea. Did she even drink alcohol? As yet he hadn’t witnessed it, but there hadn’t been many opportunities.

  In addition to her many secrets, there was a lot he needed to learn. Simple stuff. What kind of food she liked, her favorite sweets, assuming she ate sweets as well as baked them.

  The front door opened and in walked Britt, still dressed in jeans, an untucked work shirt, and steel-toed boots. His usual workwear. He beelined for Randi, but she pointed toward the back table at Micki and Gage, so he detoured.

  “Hey.” He pushed a hand through his shaggy blond hair, shoving it out of his eyes. “Didn’t know you were coming in tonight.”

  Micki smiled up at her older brother, and suddenly all the tension she’d had on lockdown vanished. Her face softened, stealing the hard angles of stress, and Gage couldn’t move. Taking his eyes from her, the way he felt right now, would be a tragedy of the worst kind. This side of her, the relaxed, unfiltered side, made his chest hurt. A good hurt. The kind that made a man want to stay put awhile.

  Britt leaned in and kissed the top of her head. “Jonah told me where you went today. I'm sorry you have to go through this.”

  “It's all right,” she said. “It could have been worse. We should set up another family meeting.”

  Gage glanced around, making sure the town gossips were out of earshot. “Britt, no offense, but we probably shouldn’t do this here. We’ll need to fill you in on some stuff.”

  Dude, don’t ask me to explain.

  Not here anyway.

  Fully understanding the nonverbal signals, Britt held up a hand. “I’ll call you later.” He angled back, checking on Randi, and Micki touched his arm. “Do you want to join us?”

  “Nah. I’m just picking up Randi. Looks like she’s about ready. I’ll take a rain check, though.”

  “You’d better take a rain check,” Micki said. “I’ll hold you to it.”

  “Mikayla, I'd welcome that.” In true older brother fashion, he cuffed her on the shoulder and made his way to the end of the bar, where he settled on a stool to wait for Randi.

  The waitress dropped off their drinks and Micki sipped at her tea, taking in the room and fiddling with her straw, smacking it against the ins
ide edge of the glass and stabbing at the ice. “Sitting here with you and talking to my brother is nice. I don’t feel…desperate.”

  “Desperate?”

  “Two weeks ago, I couldn’t imagine sitting in a bar, just talking. Now I can’t believe I did without it for so long.”

  “Don’t think too hard about it. Just enjoy it.”

  “Oh, I will, Captain America. Don’t you worry.”

  Something popped in his chest. Day-am. He set his mug down and fought the urge to lean in, to touch her, to satisfy his craving to put his mouth on hers.

  At least until someone dropped into the chair next to him. What the hell? He sat back, whipped his head to the dark-haired man.

  Tomas.

  Son of a bitch. Right in front of him, the guy had slipped in. Gage had been too busy fantasizing about Micki to even see it.

  Dumbass.

  Slowly, Micki shifted and all the softness, the relaxed easiness disappeared as fast as it had arrived.

  Not now.

  Gage pushed his chair back, facing Tomas and letting his hands dangle at his sides in case he needed them. “You’re not welcome here. Leave.”

  Micki plowed right over that. “How’d you know we were here? I thought you went back to Vegas.”

  Tomas ignored Gage, instead giving his full attention to Micki. “Look, we can still fix this.”

  She let out a frustrated laugh. “Can we? Really?” She sat forward and jabbed her finger into the tabletop. “I’d lay odds you paid someone in this place to spy on me, and you think we can fix this?”

  “Micki,” Gage said, “don’t talk to him.”

  “No. It’s okay.”

  It’s okay? What? She’d just spent two hours confessing her misdeeds—misdeeds that the guy across from her took part in—to a United States prosecutor, and somehow it was okay?

  Not.

  Ixnay.

  Bullshit.

  Tomas finally looked at Gage, a satisfied smirk in place. Smug son of a bitch.

  He went back to Micki, holding one hand out. “I shouldn’t even be here. Before this gets nuts, tell him you’ll come back to Vegas. Come back and we’ll all talk it out.”

  “Micki—”

  She swung her head to Gage and held his stare for a long minute. “Please. I need to handle this.”

  After everything they’d talked about, the conversations they’d had, ones she’d initiated by asking for help, suddenly she didn’t need him. Perfect.

  But—all right. He’d see how this rolled. Not get twisted about it. Letting her take a stab at dealing with this asshole would probably help her. Allow her to, as she’d put it, move forward.

  He sat back, still keeping his hands ready. His skull pounded. Damned headaches. Total hassle.

  “Tomas,” Micki said. “Tommy, I’m not going back. I can’t do this anymore.”

  “We’ve been doing this together for years. This is me, the guy who sat with you when your appendix blew up.”

  “Come on, man,” Gage said.

  Tomas turned, gave him a hard look. “Not. Talking. To you.”

  “Stop,” Micki said, her voice carrying an edge sharp enough to slice metal. “Both of you.”

  She might have been speaking to him, but she wouldn’t look at him. That alone sent his oh-shit radar into the red. “Look at me,” he said, forcing the issue.

  Immediately, her shoulders flew back and the hardness he’d seen that first day, when he’d met her on her mother’s porch, roared back into her eyes. Everything about Micki, right now, had literally turned to stone. Jesus. Complicated woman.

  But at least she’d finally looked at him.

  “Don’t let him inside your head. You know how this works.”

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  Tomas jerked his chin at her. “I can’t be here long. Phil thinks I’m in Georgia.”

  “You shouldn’t have come,” she said.

  Wasn’t that the world’s largest understatement? And Gage had to sit here, like a good little boy, and listen to this bullshit when all he wanted to do was rip this guy's throat out. One good yank and—boom—done.

  The Vegas contingent needed to leave her be. Whatever Tomas’s—Tommy’s—motives were, hell, he might be sincere in wanting to help Micki, but convincing her to go back to Vegas was the dead last thing she needed.

  And who was Gage to be involved in this? The dead last thing he needed was to be in the middle of Micki Steele’s problems. This was the reason he hadn’t gone home to Iowa. The whole being everyone’s go-to guy. How the fuck did he wind up right where he’d fought so hard not to be?

  Fuck me.

  Suddenly, the meditation he'd done in the truck while waiting on Micki in Asheville wasn't cutting it and his eyeballs throbbed. Damned fatigue.

  “Micki,” Tomas said, “Phil is losing his mind. Totally unhinged. He’s got your mother’s house bugged, for Christ’s sake.” He poked his finger at her. “You know he’d skin me if he knew I told you that. But I’m doing you a large on that one because you and me, we’re a team. Always have been. And I’m telling you, he won’t stop.”

  Micki glanced at a fuming Gage. He didn’t like this. Not one bit. She had a news flash for him, because he couldn’t fix everything. She created this mess and she'd be the one to fix it. Certain things were her responsibility. Including making Tomas realize she couldn’t go back.

  Really, neither should he. Once she signed the proffer agreement, Tomas would go to prison right along with Phil. Depending on the deal Owen negotiated, she might even have to do time.

  All the years together, the camaraderie, as dysfunctional as it was, streamed in her head. Tomas had been more than a coworker. In him, she had had an ally. The one person who understood her life.

  Now, he’d just admitted Mom's house was bugged. He’d broken Phil’s most valued rule and defied him. For her. Finally, the Tomas she knew—Tommy—was back.

  “Thank you for telling me that.”

  “Of course,” he said. “What’d you expect?”

  “I don’t know. This is all crazy. I want my family back. Why do I have to choose?”

  “Come on. You know better. I’m telling you, he’s losing his grip. Tell him you’ll come back and we’ll work something out that lets you visit every couple of months. Be smart about this.”

  “Hey.” Britt walked up to the table and stood between Tomas and Gage, his huge looming presence stirring the already tense air.

  She straightened up. “Hi.”

  “Who’s this?”

  “That’s her coworker,” Gage said. “From Vegas. He’s trying to talk her into going back.”

  The glare Britt sent Tomas's way should have blown him to China. “She’s staying here.”

  Micki circled a finger. “Britt, just so you know, your girlfriend has a spy in here. Probably a waitress or a busboy looking to make fast cash.”

  Tomas rose from the table. “I’d love to sit around and talk this shit through with y'all, but I’m busy.”

  He pushed his chair in, then put his hand out to Micki. Working on habit, she smacked it and they fist-bumped.

  After watching the exchange with his jaw locked and his mouth zipped, Gage hopped to his feet. “You said you were leaving. Go.”

  “Whoa, there.” Britt set one of his big hands on Gage’s chest. “Relax.”

  Tommy rolled his eyes, clearly baiting Gage. And with his head injury, a brawl in the middle of the Triple B could land him in the hospital.

  “Thank you, Tomas,” Micki said. “You should go now.”

  “I'm going. Trust me on this, he won't give up.”

  He headed to the door and her mind tripped back to her last day in Vegas, when he’d left the office and that same sadness, the weighty pull of loss and disappointment, pressed down on her. He'd been her friend, she thought. Now, she didn't know what to think.

  God, this was awful.

  This, this…moving on. Rebuilding. Starting over.

&nb
sp; “You’ve got to be kidding me?”

  The harsh growl in Gage’s voice snapped her from her thoughts. “I know you’re mad at me.”

  “Mad at you? I'd love it to be that easy. I get over being mad pretty goddamn fast. This goes beyond mad. I don’t know what the hell you’re doing.”

  “Settle down.” Britt clasped Micki's arm, lifting her from her seat, then shoved Gage to the back door. “Outside. We don’t need the B talking.”

  Gage jabbed a finger at the door. “That guy doesn’t give a shit about you.”

  Micki flinched at his uncharacteristic yelling just as a couple at the next table made a show of looking at them.

  He pulled his wallet out, tossed a twenty on the table. “Forget it. I’m not doing this. I’m tired and my head hurts.”

  Now he wanted to leave? To be a jerk. All because she’d had a conversation with a man she’d spent years working side by side with.

  Men were dicks. Just total assholes.

  “You know,” she said, “a little understanding right now wouldn’t kill you. You're pissy because I wouldn't let you save the day. Sorry, Captain America, some things aren't yours to handle.”

  “Knock it off with the Captain America crap.”

  “Why? You love it. You know you do. What is it, Gage? A fix you need? And here I am, the poor damsel in distress.”

  He gawked. Just stood there with his mouth hanging open, and shame washed over her. Finally a decent man comes into her life and she lashes out at him. Way to go, girlfriend.

  “I'm sorry,” she said. “That was mean.”

  He shook his head. “Forget it. It's all bullshit anyway.”

  “Of course it is,” she said, heavy on the sarcasm.

  The blast of his half-insulted-half-enraged deadly stare set her back a step. Dammit.

  Britt gave them another shove toward the door, but Gage wasn't ready to give up the fight.

  “Since you showed up, I’ve done everything you needed. Plus some!”

  “Guys,” Britt said, “shut up.”

  She followed Gage, ignoring the curious looks from patrons. “Britt, we’re adults. Adults fight. If the gossips want to run with it, let them. I don’t care.”

  “Well, I do. Now shut up.”