Chapter 8
He was damned exhausted. The day had lasted a lifetime.
The visit to Lee Brady’s office had provided Clint with a list of things he needed to do.
Get his driver’s license. The names of car insurance companies that worked with guys like him.
See the attorney who took care of his mother’s estate.
Take care of all the legal stuff and let Brady know if Clint needed any help.
Yeah, right. He doubted Lee Brady or Ray Hale could do one damned thing to help him.
The scene outside Brady’s office had made leaving a nuisance.
Twenty or so people, their frenzy tuned to a fever pitch by Troy Baker and Keith Turner, had gathered to make their opinions known.
Like Clint told Ray, he didn’t give a damn what people thought.
They had a right to do and say whatever was on their minds.
Didn’t change a damned thing. They’d just have to get over the fact that Clint was here, because he wasn’t going anywhere—not for a while, anyway.
None of it had really bothered him until he’d seen her.
She’d been headed to join the crowd of demonstrators, he imagined.
He hadn’t expected to run into her right out of the gate.
Actually, he hadn’t expected her to let him run into her.
He’d figured she would avoid him. But he’d seen her twice today, both times with nothing more than a meager span of asphalt or grass between them.
Emily had followed him, then hung around the cemetery watching.
Then Troy Baker had appeared. Clint had been aware that Troy or one of his cronies had been close by all afternoon.
After everything Clint had been through, he’d still tensed when Troy hugged Emily.
It made Clint want to kick himself. Talk about screwed up.
He’d watched her when she hadn’t been watching him.
She hadn’t changed at all. Still wore her dark brown hair long.
The skirt and blouse were a little more conservative, but she was as pretty as ever, thinner maybe.
Too bad she’d been like poison to him. She had single-handedly destroyed his life.
If she kept following him around, maybe he should invite her over and tell her about a few of his jailhouse experiences.
That might just change her mind about whether or not he’d gotten the full extent of what he deserved.
Or maybe she wouldn’t care.
Either way, he had to stay focused, to watch his step or Miss Emily Wallace would be trying to lure him into a trap of some sort.
Clint figured she hadn’t shown up back here in Pine Bluff the same day he had for nothing.
Ray had mentioned that she’d moved away years ago and rarely visited.
Given her obvious agenda, Clint damned sure shouldn’t be attracted to her.
But considering he hadn’t been with a woman in over a decade, it wasn’t a major shock that she stirred old feelings.
Still, she was his enemy and he had to keep that in front of him.
He checked his mirrors again. He was surprised she hadn’t followed him from the cemetery, but she’d been too busy chatting with Baker. Maybe the two of them had been planning the next phase of their surveillance strategy.
Well, Clint had plans of his own. Plans that included not only Emily Wallace but also his former boss’s son, Sid Fairgate.
The man who’d hired Clint to take that car that night was dead, but the son would know whatever secrets the father had carried to the grave.
Clint was sure of that. Just as he was sure that Emily, if given the proper motivation, would recall that night with a little more clarity.
All he had to do was manipulate a reaction that would reverberate through the whole damned town.
Having his conviction overturned was only the first step. He wanted this fucking town to know he was innocent.
Movement in the rearview mirror snagged Clint’s attention. A truck, an older-model Chevy, had topped the hill behind him moving way too fast. Clint edged nearer the shoulder of the road to allow plenty of room for the driver to go on by. But he didn’t do that. He roared up closer behind Clint.
“What the hell?” He braced just in time for the impact.
The truck nudged his car.
Clint tightened his grip on the steering wheel and floored the accelerator in an attempt to put some distance between them. The truck responded likewise, nudging him again before he could get his momentum going.
Clint topped the next hill. A slow moving or stopped car on the road in front of him forced him to brake hard. The truck didn’t.
A sharp cut to the right scarcely avoided the crash and sent Clint bucking across the shallow ditch and into the cornfield, clearing a wide path of stalks.
He swerved left, came down hard on the brake.
The Firebird skidded to a jarring stop.