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.
CHAPTER 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
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.
CHAPTER 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
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