Trouble With the Law by Becky McGraw Page B

tall.  It would have to do, because he wasn't waiting anymore.
    He pushed Pretty Boy and the man landed on the couch in a heap.  Trace aimed the pistol at him, but looked at Ronnie.  "Go out the back door and wait at the side of the house," he instructed then swung his eyes back to the man on the sofa.   "Give her your car keys."  Conner kept his eyes on the pistol as he reached into the pocket of his slacks and pulled out his keys.  He tossed them to Ronnie. 
    "If I'm not out there in five minutes, take his car and haul ass.  Don't stop until you are out of Texas.  Find somewhere to hide and call Seth Copeland with the Amarillo Police," Trace instructed.
    "But—"
    "Just do it , Ronnie.  And hurry ," he ground out, then added, "Ray will be here with his posse any minute.  Don't let them see you."
    Ronnie nodded then headed for the back door, and Trace sighed.
    "I didn't tell them where you are.  I had no idea you were here.  And my name is Conner Lucas, not Pretty Boy," the man said indignantly.  "I'm a defense attorney, and I can help you.  We can all go to the place I told Ronnie about.  We'll be safe there."
    "Like Ronnie was safe here after she called you?" Trace said with a laugh.   "I don't think so."
    "I didn't tell them," he repeated.  "I don't even know who they are.  Ronnie just said she was in trouble with some kind of thugs and needed my help."
    Trace didn't know what Ronnie had told this man, so he didn't know if he was lying or not.   He didn't even know why he was trying to help Ronnie Winters.  She deserved what she got for calling this asshole when he told her not to.  But on the off-chance Pretty Boy was telling the truth, and the fact that he would probably be the first one Ray shot when he walked through the door, Trace decided to at least give him a fighting chance to survive, just in case.  "Get behind the couch," Trace ordered and walked back there himself.  The man followed and crouched down beside him.  "If you make a move I don't like, I will shoot you," he warned, resting his weapon on the back of the sofa aiming directly at the center of the door.
    "Just tell me what I can do to help ," Conner replied. 
    Like this fancy pants beside him could do a damned thing to help get them out of this situation.  The best thing Pretty Boy could do was keep his mouth shut and his damned head down.  It was ridiculous that he offered.  "Maybe you could throw that five-hundred dollar pair of loafers at the first man through the door," Trace suggested with a snicker.  "Or choke him with that ugly silk tie."
    Beside him, Pretty Boy growled and shot him a hot look.  Trace balanced the barrel of his pistol on the edge of the sofa and ignored him.  If the guy was lying, he was damned good at it.  But then he was an attorney, so lying was his job.  It was Ronnie's job too, and Trace needed to remember that.  She and Pretty Boy were two peas in a pod.  And obviously the two of them had shared a pod before a time or two.  That thought sent anger surging through him.  Trace had pissed her off, so she called this asshole to piss him off. 
    Job accomplished, he thought.
    What he wanted to know was how Ronnie knew where to tell him they were.  She had been half out of it all the way here from the roadside park.
    "I have a brown belt in Karate ,” Conner said, as if that was supposed to impress Trace.  “I can help you.” 
    He could break Slick Dude’s neck before the guy could blink, and right now he'd relish the idea.  Trace looked at him.  "What you can do is keep your damned head down so you don't get it blown off," Trace growled then dragged his eyes back to the door.  "Let me handle Ray and his men.  If something happens to me, your best bet is to run, because you'll be next."
    There was a heavy knock at the front door, which surprised Trace.  Criminals knocking?  He wanted to laugh.  Some arguing ensured on the doorstep then the doorknob jiggled, right before someone