by Debra Webb
“Let’s go.”
Clint straightened and walked through the front door with number one right on his heels. Two more goons waited in the entry hall. Both huge. Pumped-up bulk achieved at a gym, not lean fighting muscle culminated from basic survival.
“Mr. Fairgate is waiting for you in his office.” This goon grinned, his lips curling away from his teeth the way a dog did right before he attacked. “He says you’ll remember the way.”
Clint walked straight to the spacious staircase in the center of the hall and started up. Sly hadn’t chosen a first-floor room for his office. He preferred another layer of security between him and the outside world. He’d had the second floor renovated so that his office sat in the precise middle of the couple thousand square feet on that level. His office included his bedroom suite. The rooms where his bodyguards slept fanned out all the way around him, a barrier between him and any exterior wall.
If a threat entered the house, they would literally have to go through his bodyguards to get to him, no matter the time of day or night.
Sly had rarely left his compound. Clint doubted that his son did any differently.
More bodyguards waited on either side of the double doors that led into the office. Neither spoke as Clint walked past them. A wave of déjà vu slammed him as he surveyed the room with its posh velvet chairs facing the wide mahogany desk positioned in the very center. Sid, wearing the predictable white business suit and looking just like his daddy, sat in the same Italian leather chair his father had once occupied. Sly had always said you couldn’t put an adequate value on good-quality property, but every human being on the globe, no matter how God-fearing, had his price.
Sid stared at Clint a moment with those beady black eyes, the fingers of his right hand busily twisting the ring on his left. Big, platinum, hosting a shiny rock embellished with the Fairgate family crest. Sly had worn one just like it. Thin brown hair, thinner face. Blade of a nose. The Fairgates weren’t much to look at, but no one who wanted to keep breathing would risk saying so.
Sid’s fingers stilled, the glare from those beady black eyes intensified. “How dare you come here like this,” he rebuked. “You rise up out of that hole you were sentenced to and you think you can come to my home and threaten me. I could kill you and nobody would care. The whole fucking community would celebrate.”
He was probably right about that.
“Your daddy was a lot of things, Sid, but he wasn’t a coward.”
Sid stood so fast his chair flew backward and banked off the credenza behind him. He rounded his desk and walked straight up to Clint. “You still a tough guy, Austin?” Sid reached beneath his tailored jacket and pulled out a big black pistol to wave. “Funny, you don’t look so tough anymore. Tell me, how did a young, pretty boy like you survive inside those prison walls with all those hard-ass motherfuckers who hadn’t seen a woman in a couple of decades?”
Clint didn’t let the bastard see the fury spiraling inside him. He maintained a perfectly calm exterior, even smiled. “I’m sure you’re not really interested in my recent social life.” He made it a point to tilt his head down to maintain eye contact with the shorter man.
“Don’t waste my time, Austin. What do you want?”
Funny how no one had cared when almost eleven years of Clint’s time was being stolen from him and wasted.
“I want my life back, Sid,” he said bluntly. “Your daddy stole it from me and I’ve come to collect.”
Red’s most violet shade rose up Sid’s neck from the collar of his white designer shirt. His closed mouth twitched two, three times before he managed to spit out the words trapped behind his clenched teeth. “Do you have a death wish, Austin?” The red darkened to the purple of rage. “You show up here and degrade the memory of my father! You must have a desperate desire to meet your Maker!”
Clint chuckled. “Get real, Sid; you hated him just as much as everybody else. I’ll bet you had a party the night you buried him to celebrate your good fortune.”
The muzzle of the weapon bored into Clint’s ribs. “Shut up! Or I will blow your ass away where you stand.”
“Go ahead.” Clint nailed him with a look that let the rage and determination building inside him make an unholy appearance. “I spent ten years in that shit hole they call a prison. I’ve been beaten unconscious so many times I don’t feel pain anymore. I’ve been used in ways you don’t even want to imagine. So if you think the idea of being shot by a prick like you scares me, get a grip; nothing scares me.”
The color slowly seeped from Sid’s face, leaving a pallor that announced just how nervous he was. “Make your point, Austin. I have things to do.”
And people to rob, Clint tacked on silently. “Your daddy gave me a job that turned out to be my last one for him. I’m sure you recall the one.”
Sid simply stared at him, without the vaguest reaction.
“He lied when the police asked him about my alibi.”
Sid’s mouth twitched again. “The old man was a compulsive liar, Austin; you of all people should recall that. I don’t know what you expect me to do about it.” His lips compressed back into that line that screamed of his impatience.
“Here’s the thing, Sid.” Clint leaned closer. “Your daddy fucked me big-time and I want you to make it right.”
Those thin, flat lips pursed with the rage building all over again. “And if I don’t …”
Now that was exactly what Clint had wanted the sawedoff little coward to say. “Then we have a problem.”
Clint turned his back on the man and walked out of his office. Down the stairs and out the front entrance. Not one of Sid’s goons attempted to stop him, and since no bullets ripped into his back, Clint had to assume he’d made his point.
He checked the Firebird before dropping behind the wheel. As he started the engine he stared up at the second floor of the Fairgate mansion. Sid would be ranting and raving about how he didn’t have any protection and that no one appreciated the service he provided.
Clint roared down the drive, only slowing for the gate to open far enough for him to glide through. He barreled out onto Red Bird Lane the way he used to whenever he left the Fairgate place. Always with a new assignment to rattle somebody’s cage. Sly Fairgate had never waited for a client to be late to start laying on the pressure. He firmly believed in heading off trouble before it happened. So Clint would provide the needed reminders. Occasionally he would round up a little leverage for the boss to use until the debt was paid.
That had been Clint’s job that night almost eleven years ago. Take the car of a customer who failed to meet his obligations to Fairgate. Easy as taking candy from a baby. Clint had hot-wired dozens of cars. He knew the easiest way to disengage the locking mechanism in the steering column. He knew all the tricks. The car would be held hostage until the debt was paid.
The job should have been a piece of cake. Slide the Slim Jim into the door, pop the lock, do his magic inside, and drive away. Simple.
But nothing about that night had been simple.
The anger and bitterness he worked to keep in check rumbled. Clint shoved the gearshift into high, floored the accelerator, and lunged well beyond the posted speed as he exited the Pine Bluff city limits. It would take some time on the open road to work through this simmering rage and to clear his head.
For two years before that night, he’d worked for Sylvester Fairgate. Clint had done his share of customer motivation, but his primary position had been as a collector.
He’d never failed to get the job done. Not once. He’d walked a fine line with the law, but that never kept him from doing the right thing when the situation called for it.
That was his one mistake that night.
He’d gone out of his way to do the right thing, to play the hero. But he’d been left high and dry for his trouble. His boss had refused to confirm Clint’s alibi, in order to protect his own fourteen-carat ass.
Now someone had to own that deceit.
CHA
PTER ELEVEN
3:15 P.M.
It was a risk.
Emily chewed her lip as she studied the front door of her parents’ house. It was a crying shame when a woman Emily’s age was afraid of facing her own parents. Maybe not afraid. She dreaded facing them. Desperately wanted to avoid another talk.
But she had to go inside. She needed her cell phone charger. Her battery was almost spent. Like everyone else in the world, she couldn’t survive without the damned thing.
She’d spent most of the day at the library doing research on incidents of parolees going back to prison for violations, just to reassure herself that her quest was reasonable. Focusing on that research had helped keep her mind off the whole “he might be innocent” nonsense. Clint Austin wasn’t innocent. The rumors meant nothing. Principal Call hadn’t seen anyone else, and neither had Emily. Only Austin.
Another warning chirp forced her out of her car. Technically, since her car was equipped with OnStar she could make an emergency call if she found herself between a rock and a hard place, but she preferred the convenience of her cell. She needed the charger. She walked deliberately to the front door. With a deep breath she turned the knob and opened it, trying hard not to make a sound. She’d had lots of practice at that the past few years.
The cool air inside made her shiver. She looked around; so far so good. Holding her breath, she eased into the hall to the right of the foyer. She was almost there.
A shout stopped her cold. Male. Her father?
More shouting. Her mother this time. Definitely coming from Emily’s father’s study, a fourth bedroom claimed for other purposes, just left of and across the hall from her bedroom. The door was closed. She frowned. How strange.
Dread congealed in her stomach as the arguing continued. Had her actions pushed her parents to this? Were they at each other’s throats because of her?
Cringing at even the brush of fabric against her skin, she stole the rest of the way to her room and slipped inside. She narrowed the door opening to a mere inch, left it ajar just enough to peek out. Then she stood perfectly still and listened—eavesdropped, an act she’d been taught from birth was both inconsiderate and underhanded.
“There has to be something you can do!”
Her mother.
“I can try to pay him off!” Emily’s father bellowed. “Maybe that’s what he wants. He won’t say at this point.”
His tone took Emily aback. Her father never raised his voice to anyone, much less her mother.
“This was supposed to be settled,” Carol insisted, much more calmly. “No matter what you offer him, what’s to keep him from telling someone? You know you can’t trust a Fairgate.”
“Just tell me what you expect me to do, Carol!”
Fairgate? Emily couldn’t fathom a reason her parents would be discussing the name Fairgate. She didn’t really know the Fairgates, just the reputation, and it was all bad. Very bad.
“I have no idea,” her mother snapped. “You got us into this mess, you can figure the way out.”
She burst from the room. Emily jerked back.
Her father stayed behind. The silence almost tugged her out into the open and across that hall to check on him. God, she hoped this didn’t have anything to do with something she had done. Or failed to do.
Fear joined the dread inside her. Austin had worked for Fairgate. Could this be about that? Surely not.
The remark Justine had made about Austin’s alibi nagged at Emily. It was a lie. Old man Fairgate had sat on the witness stand and said so under oath. For a man like him the oath part probably didn’t mean squat … nor did it mean that Austin was telling the truth. He’d lied. No question.
Her father’s voice hauled her attention back to the study.
“This is Ed Wallace. Put Fairgate on the line.”
The silence seemed to go on forever. Emily’s pulse thumped in her ears. There had to be a mistake. She was surely missing some important piece of the conversation that would explain away the implausible portion she’d just overheard. Edward Wallace could not possibly have any dealings with a Fairgate.
“Just tell me what you want,” her father demanded.
The anger in his tone startled her.
“And if I don’t?”
Her heart skipped. Was that a threat he’d just issued? Her father? What the hell was going on here?
“Fine.”
He slammed the phone down.
His face was a deep crimson when, like her mother, he charged from the room.
Emily grabbed her phone charger, waited until she was sure it was clear, and slunk back into the hall. She was not supposed to have heard any of that. If she left now, they might not know.
She made it to the front door. The sound of the icemaker in the kitchen confirmed she was home free. She opened the door, stepped onto the porch—
“Emily?”
She froze, her hand still on the knob of the half-open door. Three more seconds and she might have escaped. Now her parents would know Emily had overheard their argument. She could just ask what was going on, but it didn’t work that way in her family. Ed and Carol’s privacy had always been sacrosanct.
“Em, is something wrong?”
Emily braced herself, produced the requisite smile, and turned to face her mother. “Hey. No, everything’s fine.”
“Are you just coming in?” The flash of cold suspicion in her mother’s eyes settled the issue of bringing up Fairgate.
Emily nodded. “Yes. I just … yeah.” So many lies.
Her mother’s expression thawed. “Some of your friends came by this afternoon.”
“Who?” Did anyone even know she was in town?
“Cathy, Megan, and Violet,” Carol ticked off the names, then smiled warmly. “They were all so excited about the possibility of seeing you.”
Emily moistened her lips. “I’m … sorry I missed them.” More lies. And to her mother at that. “I just realized I left my purse in the car. I should get it.” At least that was true. Emily prepared to escape once more, but Carol Wallace wasn’t letting her go.
“You really should call,” she urged. “Friends are important, Em.”
Emily just wanted out the door before she did something rash, like ask her mother what she and Emily’s father had to do with Fairgate. “I stopped by the school today.”
The words just sort of popped out. Definitely a good choice, though. The idea that Emily had gone to the school seemed to relieve some of the tension in her mother’s seriously concerned expression.
“Principal Call showed me the plaque in the senior hall,” Emily went on. “And I talked to Ms. Mallory. I watched the squad perform a couple of routines.”
Relief, sheer gratitude, and more glittered in her mother’s eyes. “That’s wonderful.”
“I should get my purse.” Emily gestured vaguely toward her car. She really wanted to go. The idea that something so simple as stopping by the school could give her mother such joy spoke volumes about just how worried Emily’s parents were. “Maybe I’ll try to catch the girls for dinner.” Lie. Lie. Lie.
“I left Violet’s number by the phone,” Carol offered. “You cheered on the same squad for all those years, Em, it would be a shame not to get together.”
“Don’t worry; we will,” Emily promised … just not today.
She’d actually started to close the door when her mother added, “Just so you know, I mentioned that you’re having some difficulty with Clint Austin’s release.”
Emily counted to ten. Don’t react on impulse. Be calm. Be cool. Her mother was only trying to help.
With far more poise than Emily would have imagined she could master, she smiled. “I appreciate that. I’m sure they’re as upset by the news as I am.”
Her mother nodded, regret registering along with the concern. “We all understand that it’s far harder for you, Em. I think sharing your feelings with your friends would help.”
“You’re probably right.” Whatever she
wanted to hear. “See you later.”
Emily closed the door behind her. She stood really still, tried to breathe away the ache in her chest.
Megan, Cathy, Violet, Heather, and Emily. The rising seniors on the squad that summer. Emily and Heather had been selected as team captains, a decision that didn’t sit so well with Violet and Cathy. Both had suffered with jealousy issues. Megan pretty much went with the flow, but not the others, especially Violet. Everything had to be about her.
Emily pushed the past away and headed for her car.
She now had a more immediate issue. Were her parents in financial trouble? Why else would they have dealings with a loan shark? They would never forgive her for eavesdropping if she mentioned it.
That left only one way to find out what was going on.
3:55 P.M.
Emily steeled herself as she rolled up to the gate of the property on 612 Red Bird Lane. She’d had to ask the clerk at the Sack&Go for Fairgate’s address, which would no doubt prompt more rumors. After pressing the buzzer on the speaker box, Emily waited.
Not for long. “What do you want?”
“Hello.” She cleared her throat. “My name is Emily Wallace and I’d like to speak to Mr. Fairgate.”
Several seconds passed with no response.
“Hello?” she repeated.
The scrape of metal dragged her attention to the gate in front of her. When it had jerked and scooted out of the way, she drove through.
Her heart climbed into her throat and stuck there in one shuddering lump as she parked in front of the massive house. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but it wasn’t this. She could honestly say that she’d grown up in Pine Bluff and not once had she ever seen this place. Reminded her of Graceland. Big columns. No lions, though. Ah, but he did have dogs. Two fierce-looking Dobermans alternately marched and sniffed their way around her car before marking each wheel.
Thankfully a mountain of a man lumbered from the front entrance and summoned the animals. Gifting him with a grateful smile, she opened her door, glanced around just to make sure there was nothing else to worry about before getting out. A long white limousine sat in the bend of the circular drive.
