Chapter Twenty-Six
J ocelyn sat across from her boss, her knee bouncing impatiently while Angelo wrapped up a call.
Nineteen hours.
It had been nineteen hours since Birch went dark, his phone going straight to voicemail moments after he hung up on her.
Told her he had fallen in love with her and hung up.
If they were fourteen, it would be cute. But they weren’t kids, and there was nothing cute about the hardened determination she’d heard in his voice as his truck’s engine rumbled to life.
“I don’t run.”
“Angelo,” she hissed as she waved to get his attention. “This is urgent.”
He held a finger up and said his goodbyes before he set his phone down, crossed his arms, and stared her down. “Urgent. Nothing good is ever urgent for you.”
Matching his pose, she glared up at him. “This is. I’m taking the red-eye to Nebraska tonight.”
His mouth opened to protest, snapping shut as a smile spread across his face. “Well, well, well, Miss Carter. Does your sudden sense of urgency have anything to do with a man? Because I don’t believe I’ve seen you this worked up in years. Not even when you cracked the Hickens account.”
“First, it’s none of your business. Second, it’s none of your business. And third, it’s none of your business.”
The man who’d all but snatched her from her university graduation ceremony and planted her squarely in his elite firm let out a barking laugh. “You’ve checked your phone a dozen times since you sat down. Who is he? An old flame from high school? A rekindled passion from your past?”
“Birch Baker from Serpent’s Tongue Ink.”
Angelo’s greying brows shot up. “Tell me this is a joke intended to give me a heart attack so you can take over the company. Because frankly, that would be less messy.”
Swallowing, she shook her head. “You saw the account records I submitted. I followed the numbers, and none of them lead to Birch. Not one, Angelo.” Glancing down at her silent phone again, she clutched it tighter. “My findings would stand up in any court. He’s clear.”
“His partner isn’t.”
“His partner will go down alone.”
Rubbing his chin, he sighed. “But the optics, Jocelyn. You know how this will play out.”
She stood, walked over to him, and placed both hands on the desk separating them. “Fuck the optics.”
He removed his glasses and set them down. “What do I always tell you? Keep your wits about you. Jocelyn, you’ve grown up a lot since you started here. You know how the world works. You know how desperation works. You know how men work. And you know better than most how desperate men work in our world.”
“I also know the difference between the good guys and the bad guys, Angelo. After all, I know you, don’t I?”
His brows furrowed, the grey in them more pronounced than it was a few months ago. “Don’t do anything reckless tonight that you’ll regret tomorrow.”
Straightening up, she checked her phone again as she turned toward the door. “The only reckless thing I’ve done where Birch is concerned is fall in love with him, and I don’t regret a single fucking second of it.”
*
Birch sat outside the prison and watched the clock as the minutes ticked by.
Everything was in order, everything aligned.
It took twenty-eight hours to ensure his plan was tight, the lessons from the past setting his game plan into play with sniper precision.
The heavy gates were heaved open by the armed guards on alert as he stepped out of his car and walked in. He kept his identification in his hand while he placed one of the final pieces on the board.
The visitor gauntlet was a trial he endured without complaint, going through the motions until he was led into the large room where dozens of others sat waiting for their loved ones. A baby fussed behind him. The woman to his left touched up her lipstick over and over until the guards entered, their prisoners trudging through the entrance with wary, cautiously optimistic eyes.
Winter stalked over to him with a scowl, sitting only after he took a moment to assess his surroundings. “Why are you here?”
Leaning forward, he looked his older brother in the eye. “I wanted to give you a heads up. You and me might be roomies soon.”
“No, we fucking won’t,” Winter growled low, baring his teeth. “Whatever it is, get the fuck out of it.”
Shaking his head, he glanced at the guard closest to them, the man too far away to listen in. “I need names,” he ground out. “Solid names on the outside I can pass to Grey and River as backup.”
His brother’s eyes bore into him, and his lips drew into a tight line. “What the fuck did you do?”
“Maybe I struck a deal. Maybe I made an arrangement. Maybe I’m just an old dog with old tricks. But everyone’s innocent in here, right? I didn’t do shit. Names.”
“No more goddamn arrangements,” Winter snarled, grabbing the collar of his shirt and yanking him close. “River’s made it out. Grey will. We did that, Birch. You did your time and made your trade-off for it. There’s nothing else worth being in this shithole for.”
“Yeah, there is. Names.”
The guards were watching, advancing on them slowly. Easing his phone out, he swiped it to life and turned it to face his brother.
He could see Winter’s hands flexing and the twitch of his lips, his muscles tensing under his orange jumpsuit as he stared at the photo on Birch’s phone. “She the cause?”
“Nope. The cause would be Ryder Drayson,” he said, refusing to look at the picture before he pocketed the cell again. “She—” Running a hand through his hair, he exhaled loudly. “She’s the reason I’m okay with this. Give me names.”
The guards continued to inch closer, keeping their hands on their weapons as they monitored Winter’s movements.
His brother nodded slowly, hard eyes on the table. “I’ll mail them tomorrow.” Getting to his feet, he shook his head and turned away. “I warned you about your partner. He’s a follower with a safety net. If we end up rooming, the bottom bunk is mine because you’re an idiot.”
*
Birch turned onto his street and a peace came over him along with the knowledge that everything was in place.
He knew Winter would read between the lines of his cryptic language. His brother was well-versed in how open ears were all around the jail. By next week, Grey would have a letter from the eldest Baker, the message mundane and unremarkable to ensure it passed guard inspection on Winter’s end.
And he knew every piece of it from the paper to the envelope would contain names and numbers of men who, for a percentage of the deal, would ensure Ryder and Trevor Drayson upheld their end of their bargain.
Knowing Winter, there would be one extra listed, a skilled set of eyes guaranteeing a certain blond remained untouched and unscathed.
Someday, his brother would ask questions. But not yet. Not until they were both old and sitting in the living room where they grew up, in the place where they’d set their paths with a single look, a silent pact.
If they lived that long.
Distracted, he backed his truck into the driveway, staying tight to the grass to give Grey enough room to bring their old lawnmower out without having to moving the vehicle out of the way. Taking Sheriff Fogerty’s old school tape recorder out of the glove box, he tucked it under his arm with the delicate respect the recording inside deserved and locked the doors.
He was so focused on separating his truck keys from his house keys, he almost stepped on Jocelyn as he walked up the porch stairs, her presence hidden by the darkness of the unlit stoop.
“Jesus,” he gasped, losing his balance and grabbing the railing to avoid falling and crushing her when his foot came into contact with hers. “I…holy shit. What are you doing?”
Pushing herself to her feet on the top step, she crossed her arms and her steel eyes narrowed as she looked down at him. “A better question is what are you doing?” She bent down to scoop her phone off the stairs and tapped it, feigning shock when his own cell rang in his pocket. “Well, I’ll be damned. It does work.”
The calm he’d achieved with the final stages of his plan in place flashed away. His heart pounded hard in his chest with her proximity, a proximity he never expected to experience again unless there was a glass barrier between them. “Why are you here?”
“I’m here to undo whatever it is you’ve done.”
He needed her to be anywhere but in front of him, looking down with her blond hair tucked behind her ear, the lips he craved pursed in anger. When she was gone, his focus was unmatched, his decisions based on calculated risks and facts. Without her questioning eyes on him, he took the roads he knew, placed his markers along the paths he understood.
“Birch.”
Walking past her, he unlocked the door, adjusting the recorder under his arm. “In a week or two, you’ll be getting a call from Grey. He’ll be giving you a name and number to follow up with if Ryder or Trevor give you any more problems.”
Before he could build the courage up to turn around and face her, to tell her to leave, she ducked under his arm and stormed into his house. “What have you done?” Slamming her hand on the wall leading to the bedrooms, she hollered upstairs. “Grey? Grey! Are you home? What has your brother done?”
He was losing control of the situation, and fast. Everything was already set in motion and the train wasn’t coming to a stop anywhere before it arrived at a jail cell. “Jocelyn,” he barked, stalking over until his body was flush with hers. His stomach lurched as he used his height against her, looming over her while he pointed to the door and growled. “Go.”
She held position for a moment, her chest rising and falling against his until she shrunk back a fraction, the move fracturing something deep inside him. With a slow nod, she dropped her flashing gaze to the floor. “I know you, Birch Baker,” she murmured, taking deliberate steps around him. “I know you better than you think. I know you aren’t the bad guy here. I know you’ve put something in play to protect your brothers. I know you’ve made the only choice you think a guy like you can make so no one you care about gets caught in the crossfire.”
He couldn’t look at her, couldn’t bring himself to turn and face her.
“I also know you can’t run distance for shit.”