“Here’s the thing, Sid.” Clint leaned closer. “Your daddy fucked me big time and I wantyouto 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 sawed-off 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. 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 ten 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 ass.
Now someone had to own that deceit.
15
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 anothertalk.
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 reading over all the articles about that night. No matter that she was certain of her memory, she needed to quell that tiny sliver of doubt vying for her attention. Clint Austin was not innocent. The rumors meant nothing. Principal Call hadn’t seen anyone else, and neither had Emily. Only Austin. And though she had read over the original trial transcript prior to the latest trial, she felt the need to refresh herself on the feelings in the community. The best way to do that was to read the media reports from that time.
Another warning chirp forced her out of her car. She needed the charger. She had stopped at two different shops to try and purchase one, but both were out of the one her phone used. She walked deliberately to the front door. With a deep breath she turned the knob and openedit, 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.
