by Angel Smits
“Hey, boy,” the letter began, and Jace heard Mac’s laughter. Their age difference had always been Mac’s greatest entertainment. He knew Jace hated being called boy. Jace hadn’t been a boy for too many years to count.
“Bet you’re wondering where all this came from. Don’t worry, I didn’t rob a bank or anything. It’s mine. Free and clear. Living on the streets, I didn’t need it much. So I started saving. You know, I really thought I’d be able to find my ex-wife and little girl.
I know I drove you crazy with stories of them. I appreciate your listening. I owe you for that, boy. Owe you more than you’ll ever know.
Since I couldn’t find them, I want you to have everything. It’s yours. No strings attached. You’ve got dreams, Jace. Follow them. Be the man I’ve always seen inside you. Be what I couldn’t be.
You’re as much a son to me as that little girl was my daughter...if not more. I never let you know how much you meant to me when I was alive, so I’m saying it now.
Love, Mac”
Jace could only stare. At the money. At the letter. At what was left of the man who’d saved his life more than once.
The streets of L.A. had been a hell of a place for a sixteen-year-old. But long before Jace had come along, Mac had lived on those streets alone. They’d become a team, and in time found a small apartment to share.
Still a creature of the road, Mac had left their apartment dozens of times. He’d wanted to just “be out there” and he had been until he was so worn-out that the state came and put him in a nursing home.
Three squares a day and a bed every night weren’t for Mac.
Two months later, he was dead and gone.
“Was he nuts?” Jace finally asked.
For the first time, Stephen Haase cracked a smile. “No. Not completely. I knew Mac for many years. He was actually quite brilliant.”
“Yeah,” Jace said, not really agreeing or disagreeing. Years on the streets had given him an understanding of people. He could find and scavenge just about anything. It’s what kept him—and sometimes Mac—alive. He knew how his friend thought better than anyone, but even to him, this didn’t make sense. Why hadn’t Mac used this money for himself in the end? Why had they gone without so many times?
“And there’s this.”
Jace looked up, having nearly forgotten he was in the lawyer’s office. Haase held out another, smaller envelope. Frowning, Jace took it and opened it.
The contents fell into the palm of his hand. A key. Not just any key, but the one Mac had always worn around his neck. It felt cold in Jace’s trembling hand.
He knew Mac had always kept a safe deposit box. Though he’d gone to the bank with him a few times, Mac had never told him what was in it.
Jace abruptly shot to his feet. “Thanks for your time.” He shoved the envelope of money into his jacket pocket. He needed to think, and the walls were already closing in.
“Uh—you’re welcome.” Haase stood as well, a frown of confusion on his brow. “Do you know what that’s for?”
“Yeah. A safe deposit box.”
“Do you know where?”
Mac had trusted no one, and it meant the world to Jace that he had shared this with him. Mac must have had a reason for not telling the lawyer. Jace respected that, and simply nodded.
He headed for the door. “Damn it, Mac,” he whispered as he stepped out into the afternoon sunlight. “I don’t want this.”
* * *
TWO DAYS LATER Jace gave in and went to the bank. Armed with the legal papers Stephen Haase had given him, he accessed the box. He really didn’t want to see what was inside, but he’d come this far. With a deep breath, he shoved the key into the lock. No turning back now.
He was doing this for Mac, he reminded himself. For the man who’d been the closest thing he’d had to a family in years. Suddenly, he missed him desperately. The metal box wavered in his vision, and he blinked several times to clear his eyes.
“Whatever you hid here, buddy, it had better be worth it,” Jace whispered. Slowly, he lifted the lid.
He could only stare. The entire box was full of cash. Neatly bundled fifty- and hundred-dollar bills.
Jace cursed. He should just close the box and climb on his bike. Run, the way he always did.... No, he owed Mac.
What the hell had Mac been thinking? There had to be thousands of dollars in there. This was much more than what had been in the envelope the attorney had given him. This was more money than Jace had ever seen before—more money than he’d ever deserved, that’s for sure.
He remembered the nights he and Mac had sat talking, when it had grown cold and they’d huddled together in some doorway to keep warm. All those nights at the apartment, once Jace had convinced Mac that he was too old to sleep on the cement anymore, Mac had talked about his family.
A family he’d lost because he couldn’t keep his head out of the whiskey. Mac had cursed his own stupidity, while alternately berating the woman who’d taken their child and left him. Left him and never come back. Never hunted him up for child support. Never sent school pictures, though Jace had reminded him there hadn’t been anyplace to send them.
Jace slammed the lid down on the safe deposit box. He’d leave the money here until he figured out what the hell he was supposed to do with it. Mac might have given it to him, but Jace didn’t feel he had any right to it.
He returned the box to the teller and wound the key onto his ring, right next to his ignition key.
Just touching that key calmed him. That bike was his lifeline, his key to freedom. Literally.
Outside, the sun burned his eyes and he slipped on the heavy sunglasses he favored. It was like slipping on a mask, something he frequently did.
His bike, his baby, the Harley Fat Boy he’d spent months rebuilding, sat at the curb, calling him to find the freedom of the open road. There were still fifteen minutes left on the meter, but for the first time he didn’t care if he wasted them. Slowly, he climbed on and lifted the bike off the stand, but didn’t start it. He frowned. Something wasn’t clicking.
In the years he’d spent on the streets, he’d learned to trust his gut, to follow those instincts. Something felt very wrong with all this, and it wasn’t just the money.
He pulled the note Mac had left him from his jacket pocket. Slowly, he climbed off the bike again and turned to open the saddlebags. There, in a small packet, was the other letter. He read it through, rifling through all the pages.
The letter informed him, yet again, that he was an heir to Mac’s estate. Estate. Jace swallowed back a near hysterical laugh. He focused on the thin pages of the will. More legalese than actual information about Mac. Four pages were all it took to boil Mac’s life down to...to nothing.
And then the last page. He hadn’t paid attention to it before. It was simply a list of the people who had been sent a copy of the paperwork.
Jace could only stare. Two other names nearly burned a hole through the letterhead. Why hadn’t he noticed them earlier? He didn’t even remember looking at this page.
Madeline Grey. Amy Grey. With addresses in Arizona. Jace knew from all those stories Mac had told him that they were the wife and daughter he had spent the past twenty years searching for. The same two people Mac had spent every waking moment wanting and missing. How the hell had Stephen Haase found them when Mac couldn’t?
Jace hurt. His heart hurt. His soul ached. The one thing Mac had longed for, Jace had found so carelessly. It wasn’t fair. It felt so very wrong.
In that instant, Jace’s resolve solidified.
He brought the big bike roaring to life. The powerful engine shattered the quiet of the afternoon. He drove through the streets of L.A., weaving in and out of traffic, ticking off multitudes of drivers, but not caring.
When he reached the highway, he let his
bike run as fast as the city traffic allowed, relishing the squeal of his tires.
Finally, he stopped. The engine ticked as it pretended to cool. He looked up. The chrome-and-glass building in front of him soared into the late afternoon sky, easily twenty stories high.
Had it really been only a couple of days since he’d been here? Seemed like years.
Haase had known where Mac’s family was and hadn’t told him, and for that, Jace wanted to kill him. He grabbed the papers from the saddlebag and stalked toward the building. Mac might be gone but his work wasn’t done. Jace yanked open the giant glass door with more force than necessary and stepped inside the air-conditioned lobby.
The same young receptionist stared at him when he got off the elevator. Her eyes widened and Jace realized she wasn’t just startled—he’d scared the living daylights out of her. Good.
He didn’t sit in her fancy waiting room this time, either. He didn’t even talk to her, or look at the trapped fish. Instead, he stalked down the hall to the office he’d been in earlier.
“Mr. Holmes. What brings you back? Is there a problem?” Stephen Haase asked as he stood.
“Yeah, there’s a problem.” Jace stepped forward and felt a little thrill when the man took a step back. Jace dropped the papers on the desktop. “You did this, right?”
The lawyer peered down at the papers. “Yes. I just gave them to you.” He looked at Jace as if he thought maybe he was high on something, or crazy.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Haase.” The young receptionist’s voice came from the doorway behind him. Jace didn’t turn around. “Security is on the way up.”
“Don’t worry, Jan.” Haase lifted a hand and tried to smile. “I’m sure Mr. Holmes won’t be long.”
“You’re damned right, I won’t be long.” Jace leaned forward, into the man’s space. “You bastard. How long have you known where Mac’s family was? Why didn’t you tell him?”
“Why would I do that? Madeline didn’t want him to know.”
Jace bit back a curse and clenched his hands into tight fists. He wanted to belt the man, shove him through that shiny glass window at his back. Nothing would be enough punishment for the pain Jace had watched Mac suffer.
Twenty years of searching for the baby girl his wife had taken away had killed Mac. Yeah, he’d sunk deep into a bottle, causing the damage to his liver—but that had been the only way he’d been able to cope. His only escape. Even in the last hours of his life, death closing in, Mac had cried out for his little girl.
Jace heard footsteps behind him. Security had apparently arrived, and with it, the lawyer’s backbone. Haase leaned forward, bracing his hands on the desktop. His glare would have wilted anyone else. Jace feared nothing at this stage of his life. Nothing he’d admit, anyway.
“Don’t judge me, boy. You don’t know anything at all about Mac and his life before he landed in the gutter.”
“I know plenty. This.” Jace stabbed the rumpled papers with his finger. “This was his family. His life. He’d have given anything to see them again.” Pain shot through Jace’s chest and for an instant he thought maybe the security guards had pulled out a Taser. No. This wasn’t that kind of pain. This came from deep inside. He ignored it.
“And what about my family?” Haase bellowed, lifting a palm toward the door—to stall security, apparently. “Mackenzie was my business partner once. Surprises you, doesn’t it? He had the world at his feet, trying cases and winning. But he chose to dive into that bottle and destroy everyone. Himself. His family. My business. My family suffered because of that—that...”
Jace was stunned. Mac a lawyer? The man who kept all his worldly goods in a worn shopping cart and slept more often under a cardboard box than a roof? But though he was stunned, Jace recovered quickly. He glared at the older man.
“You destroyed him. The bottle was only your accomplice.” Jace’s voice broke. His gut churned and he knew if he stayed much longer, he’d be sick. He couldn’t get out of here fast enough. He spun on his heel.
Two pimply-faced guns-for-hire cowered in the doorway. The receptionist seemed more likely to do something. But even she backed out of Jace’s way.
He yanked the fancy glass panel open, wishing it would slam and shatter, but the hydraulics simply made it whisper closed. Stalking away from the receptionist, her flunkies and her empty lobby, he didn’t glance back.
Once outside, he opened the saddlebag and shoved the papers into what little space was left. The envelope of cash stayed nestled close to his chest, feeling heavy, like some type of commitment. Cursing, he closed his eyes and pictured Mac’s familiar, smiling face. Jace couldn’t let his friend down now.
Finding people wasn’t the hard part. Convincing them they wanted to be found was.
Opening his eyes again, Jace let the calm of the day and the familiarity of the bike soothe him. He knew what he had to do. He focused his mind and pulled away from the curb.
Arizona, huh?
He’d never been there.
Looked like that was about to change.
CHAPTER TWO
THE SCREEN AT THE BACK door slammed with a loud thwack. Amy looked up from where she was wiping down the coffee bar to see Katie trudge down the main aisle with her half teddy bear, half husky, Butcher, trotting behind.
“Hi, sweetie. How was your day?”
Katie didn’t respond, simply tossed her backpack to the floor by the coffee bar and headed for the tall stool on the opposite side of the counter. Butcher flopped down at her feet.
The store was quiet this time of day, so Amy could stop what she was doing and focus on her daughter. Amy knew that look, knew not to push. “So, everything okay?” She slowly wiped the counter, all the while watching Katie out of the corner of her eye.
She’d known today would be rough for Katie. Her beloved teacher, Miss Davis, was out on medical leave, and the new teacher started today.
“Yeah.”
That wasn’t much help. Maybe distraction would loosen her up. “Do you want something to drink?”
“Nope.”
Amy sighed again, put her cleaning supplies away and wiped her hands. “What’s up?”
Katie swung her legs and looked down at the scarred surface of the old counter. Her tennis shoes resembled a pendulum swinging back and forth.
She’d chosen to wear her favorite pink jeans and a shirt they’d bought on their last trip into Phoenix. Her blond hair hung in two not-so-neat ponytails that just hit her tiny shoulders.
“Mama?”
“Yeah?”
“How come I don’t have a daddy?”
Amy’s stomach dropped and she swallowed hard. Here we go again. She did not want to get into this conversation, not now, not ever.
Ever since the mother of one of Katie’s schoolmates had gotten remarried, Katie had been obsessed with her own lack of a father. Every time Amy thought they’d moved past it, something brought it back.
She walked around the counter and sat on the matching bar stool beside Katie. She’d have pulled her into her lap and never let her go, but Katie had resisted “being treated like a baby” for some months now.
Katie wasn’t ready to hear the truth—of the man Amy had thought she’d loved, who’d forced himself on her and left her shattered and pregnant. Now he was nothing more than a sperm donor and a piddly monthly check.
“What brought that up?” Amy stared down at her little girl. Katie’s beginnings had been...difficult. Remembering those days always proved painful.
Matt had been so much stronger, and the body that had violated hers had been conditioned by hours of football practice and steroids. She’d never had a chance. Or a choice.
She’d thought about an abortion, but couldn’t do it. When she’d realized she was pregnant, she’d confronted him. What a mistake.
He’d laughed and written her a check.
“Thanks for the good time, babe,” he’d said as he tossed it at her and walked away.
She’d decided then—at all of eighteen—that her revenge would be to keep the child. One day he’d change his mind and she’d deny him any connection.
She hadn’t planned on falling so completely and wonderfully in love with the baby. Her baby. But she had, and now Amy had to find a way of giving Katie answers.
“Honey, we’ve talked about this.”
“I know, Mama, but my new teacher had us draw pictures of our family today. I didn’t have a daddy to draw.”
Amy knew she wasn’t the only single parent in the community. “What about Emily?” She mentioned the name of another girl in the class whose mother was single.
Katie frowned. “She drew her dad in Chicago with the new lady. Even Rachel Bishop drew her daddy up on a cloud in heaven.” Katie pouted. “I don’t have anybody to draw. Just a big old empty spot.”
Amy’s heart hurt for her daughter. “Sweetie, we’re all different. It’s a good thing.” She shuddered. If this was so important now, what were Katie’s teen years going to be like? Amy bit back the groan.
“No, it’s not. I don’t want to be different.” If Katie had been standing, she’d have most likely stamped her foot.
“I’m sorry, Katie. I can’t change it. It’s the way things are.” Amy reached over and stroked one of her daughter’s silky ponytails. She silently debated if she should talk to the teacher. What should she say?
Katie didn’t seem satisfied with the answer, which Amy knew really wasn’t one, but she didn’t say anything more, either.
“How about a cookie?” She didn’t normally let Katie have sweets so close to supper, but figured if there was ever a time for sugar therapy, now was it.
“Okay. Long as it’s not one of those homemade ones.” Katie pointed at the glass display on the counter and wrinkled her nose. Butcher sat up eagerly, though.
“Butch likes these.” Amy grinned at Katie. “Don’t you want to share with him?”
