I snorted out a surprised laugh at that last part, which made her stop pacing. She took a step closer to my desk and put her hands on the opposite edge, leaning forward. The new position made her T-shirt gape at the collar, and even though I refused to look down, I could see the hint of a leopard-print bra peeking out. That hint of something that shoul be forbidden made my mouth go dry and had my pulse kicking. It was a powerful reaction to very little provocation, and I made myself beat it back, forcibly.

"Every single picture you're in, after you got out of the Army, you're in a suit. Blue ones, black ones, gray ones, pinstripe ones. That's a lot of suits."

I grunted. "I spend a lot of time in court. Suits are necessary for that." They also set me apart from that kid running through the forest with exactly one pair of new jeans and one pair of boots that didn't have holes in them. "And I've accomplished a lot because I work hard and I'm good at what I do." I'd been working hard since I was born and I hadn't ever had the opportunity to stop. When I was in high school, I pushed myself academically so that I could take advantage of every accelerated cla.s.s my school offered. I knew college wasn't going to be an option without the military, which meant I was giving four years to my country, so I was going to lose that time when it came to my career. Luckily, by the time I graduated high school, I had enough AP credits under my belt that I practically had an a.s.sociate's degree. My undergrad took no time at all, but I'd killed myself academically when I was younger to make that possible.

"Yeah, I got that you are kind of a workaholic from all the stuff printed about your divorce."

Her dry tone made me stiffen. I dropped my hands and tapped the fingers of one against my bent knee in obvious irritation. "I don't discuss my private life with clients, Avett."

A grin pulled at her mouth and her dark eyebrows danced upwards. "Why not? Your clients are probably the only people in a worse position than you were. We're the last people that can judge what's going on behind anyone else's closed door. I'm here because I'm trying to prove I didn't help my ex-boyfriend rob a bar. What's a little infidelity compared to that?"

I shot to my feet before I could control my reaction, shoving my hands through my hair. "She was unfaithful, not me. Not that it matters or that it's a topic open for further discussion." It was the wound that bled and bled, no matter how much pressure I applied to stop it.

Avett righted herself and put her hands on her hips. She looked at me for a second and tilted her chin down a little bit. "Even when someone doesn't want our story, we are still compelled to tell it."

My words to her from the interrogation room at the jail hit me hard when she threw them back at me like a fastball.

She started pacing again and quietly told the room because she was no longer looking at me, "I also learned you are very good at your job. You win more than you lose. You have sent some very guilty people back to the streets, as well as saved some very innocent ones from a life behind bars. If I'm going to gamble on my future, then I couldn't ask for anyone better to be holding the cards. I choose to believe that, for once, the deck is stacked in my favor." She stopped once she was across from me again and we spent a moment staring at each other. "Thank you for not letting me fire you, Mr. Jackson."

Her softly spoken words spurred me on to say something I hadn't said to a client since I started practicing law professionally. "Call me Quaid."

Her spectacular eyes widened a hair and she bit down on her lower lip. "All right, Quaid. I'm not going to take the plea deal and that's my final answer."

We both sat back down with my big desk between us. There was a pulse in the air, a vibration I couldn't name, but it felt electric and more alive than anything that had crossed my path in decades. In fact, the last time I had the same shot of adrenaline, the same thrill racing through my blood, making my heart beat erratically, I had been getting on a plane for the first time in my life, headed to basic training and far, far away from an existence that was a constant struggle and hardship. It was like starting over, being given a second chance at something worthwhile. I understood it then ... I was baffled by the rush of it overtaking my common sense now.

"The preliminary hearing will be set in a few weeks. The State is going to take that time to dig up every little thing they can on you in order to prove they have enough to make the charges stick if we go to trial. I'm going to remind them that their case against you hinges on a known addict and is nothing more than hearsay. We also have the video from the parking lot that shows the boyfriend manhandling you. Our evidence and witnesses that point the finger at Jared being the sole perpetrator are far more compelling than anything the State might pull out of its hat." I grinned at her and I thought I heard her suck in a breath. "Honestly, if I was in your shoes, I would tell the prosecution to shove their deal, too."

She gasped out a surprised laugh and it made something low in my gut tighten.

"We're in this together, Avett. We gamble together, which means we win or we lose together."

She snorted a little. "Except I'm the only one stuck doing time if we lose."

"True. But I've won cases far more complex, with way better evidence stacked up against my clients. If I lose this one, it makes me look like I'm slipping. I don't slip."

"I gathered from the way your secretary was giving me the hairy eyeball that I'm not your typical kind of client."

"Well, if you called Pam a secretary to her face that might have something to do with it. She prefers to be referred to as my a.s.sistant." I gave her a steady look and made sure she could hear the sincerity in my tone when I told her, "And my typical client is anyone that can afford me. I don't care if you have pink hair or if you're the star running back for the Denver Broncos. If you hire me, you will get the best defense I can give, and I will treat your case like it is my top priority."

She breathed an audible sigh of relief. "I'll need to thank Asa for hiring you, then."

I decided not to tell her that her dad was picking up the bill now and instead absently told her, "I like your pink hair, by the way."

She blinked rapidly at me and then lifted her hands up so that the tips of her fingers were touching the rosy ends of her hair.

"You do?" She sounded incredulous.

I nodded. "I do, but you might want to consider changing it before court. It never hurts to look as respectable and as law abiding as possible." She frowned at me and I lifted my hands up in front of me like I was warding off her ire. "That's the kind of advice your dad would tell you to listen to if he was here. I told you, I spend a lot of time in court, and while your hair might seem insignificant to you, it can have a huge impact on the impression you leave on the judge and the jury. If we get that far." Even though I would be inexplicably sad to see it go. It suited her and I liked the way it and she brightened up my typically drab office.

She fisted a handful of the pink locks and closed her eyes for a split second. When she opened them back up, they glimmered with resignation. Again, her bottom lip jutted out in a pout that not only did I want to bite, but that also made the custom fit of my suit pants much tighter.

"Okay, besides my hair, what else do I need to do before the preliminary hearing? How do I make myself respectable and law abiding?" She sounded so disgusted by the idea, I had to bite down another chuckle.

"The hair, and dress appropriately for court. Something conservative but not too stuffy. You're young and you look fairly innocent. You've got your entire life ahead of you. We want to play that up. Besides that, do what the arraignment judge told you-stay away from the boyfriend and try and keep yourself out of trouble."

She stiffened across from me and whispered, "Ex-boyfriend, and I told you, I don't ever want to see him again."

"And I told you that you aren't going to have a choice." I looked at the watch on my wrist and was shocked to see that I had been talking to her for well over the time I had blocked out in my schedule to meet with her. It felt like it had only been a handful of minutes. "I understand where you're coming from. I wouldn't want to see the person that got me into this kind of mess either, but you're the one that walked in here claiming you want to do something right. That you don't need someone to hold your hand. It's up to you to put the guy that hurt you, the monster that threatened those people with a gun and tried to rob a place that means so much to your family, away for a very long time. It is a huge step in the right direction, Avett." I got to my feet and she followed suit. "I have another client waiting on me, so we need to wrap this up. I'll be in touch. I'm sure the D.A. is going to want to talk to you about their case against the boyfriend. I should have a date for the next hearing soon."

I reached out to shake her hand and almost jerked my palm away when our skin touched. A jolt shot up my arm. It took all my restraint not to rub it like I had brushed up against a live wire.

She pulled back and curled her fingers into her palm, like she was trying to hold on to the vibrant electricity the contact between us had created. When we touched, my blood felt charged, stimulated in a way I'd never felt before.

"I look forward to hearing from you." She delicately cleared her throat, making her way to the door of my office. Once she was there, she paused with her hand on the k.n.o.b and turned back to look at me over her shoulder. "Quaid."

I looked up from the file I had turned my attention to and lifted my eyebrows at her in question. "Yeah?"

"I'm neither as young nor as innocent as you seem to want to believe I am. If you want to sell that to a judge and jury because you think it will help keep me out of jail, then I'll play the part. But you need to recognize that's not the reality of the situation." She was out the door before I could formulate a response.

I called Pam to let her know I needed a few minutes to prep before my next client meeting, rocking back in my chair as I tried to recover from Hurricane Avett. She was a tiny whirlwind of destruction and I couldn't seem to keep up with the different directions she was blowing my emotions in. I'd never encountered anyone like her. I couldn't remember ever dealing with someone as real, as open with their faults and failures, as Avett seemed to be. I'd never met anyone as reckless with their own fate as she was. Something about that was really intriguing. So was the gauntlet she threw down on her way out.

Obviously she was technically young, much younger than me at least. When I was twenty-two I had gotten back from the desert and was starting college for the first time. I wasn't as untried as a lot of men in their early twenties but that had more to do with the way I was forced to grow up than it did with fighting for my country. Still, the difference between what I knew then and what I know now was huge, so yes, Avett Walker was young, regardless of her a.s.surances that she wasn't.

As for her being innocent ... I had her criminal record in front of me, so I knew she wasn't an angel. However, there was something in those wild eyes of hers that seemed so gentle and soft. How innocent she may or may not be was still very much up for debate.

I was getting ready to call Pam and tell her to bring my client in when the phone on my desk rang as I was reaching for it. I knew from the caller ID that the man on the other end was Orsen McNair, the man who had hired me and who was the McNair in McNair and Duvall, the founding partners of the firm. I liked Orsen, appreciated that he gave me a shot right out of law school and the fact that he had stood by me during the divorce when Lottie had done her best to drag not only me but the firm through the mud. I owed the guy a lot considering my pedigree wasn't as polished and shiny as most of the attorneys hired right out of school. I also recognized I had made it to this point in my career based on my own work ethic and own skills at knowing how to read and work a jury. I wanted my name on the sign along with Orsen's and I hadn't been shy about letting him know that.

"What's up, old man?"

There was a raspy chuckle on the other end of the phone and I could hear his chair creak under his weight. "I hear we're in the business of representing punk rockers now."

I frowned, even though he couldn't see me, and glared at Pam through my closed door. "Where did you hear that?"

"Come on, Quaid. You know the ladies in this office gossip like that's what they get paid to do. Pam couldn't wait to tell Martha about the girl with pink hair, saying she was locked up with you in your office for over an hour. Told her that she seemed flushed and agitated when she finally came out. You have something you want to tell me, kid?"

I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples in vicious circles. "Nothing to tell, Orsen. She's a new client. She was referred by another client. The pink hair is a minor issue, but I already advised her that it needs to go before court. If she seemed upset or worked up in any way when she left my office, it was because I told her she was going to be the State's star witness against her boyfriend. She's not happy about it. Pam has a big mouth."

"Pam is worried about another gold digger getting her claws into you."

The reminder of what I had been through, what I had put the firm through, hit its mark. "She doesn't need to worry about that happening ever again. I've told you a hundred times I've learned my lesson."

Another rusty-sounding chuckle made its way across the phone line. "You need a willing woman that knows how to give a man what he needs and that looks good while she's doing it. In fact, you should find yourself one and bring her to the partners' holiday party that will be here before you know it."

I grunted and forcibly turned my mind away from the image of walking into Orsen's opulent Belcaro mansion with a pink-haired hurricane on my arm. The partners would lose their minds and not just because she was a client. McNair and Duvall had an image to upkeep, a reputation to uphold, which meant everyone that represented them was expected to look and act a certain way. On the outside, Lottie was the perfect lawyer's wife, even though she was corrupted and the worst kind of wife on the inside. It made me cringe that I was even comparing the two women. They weren't cut from the same cloth at all; in fact, I was pretty sure Avett came from some kind of custom textile that only existed to create her. "I'll see what I can do. My caseload is a nightmare at the moment, so that hasn't left a lot of time for much else."

"There's always time for the right kind of woman, kid, especially after you wasted so much time on the wrong kind of woman. Pencil me in for a lunch meeting early next week. You can catch me up on what you're working on, including the punk rocker."

He barked a good-bye, hanging up before I could tell him pink hair did not automatically equal someone being a punk rocker. Orsen was old school and set in his ways. He wouldn't recognize the hair as another facet of Avett's spirited and untamed personality. I wasn't lying when I told her I liked it. It was different and suited her, but I was practical enough to know that it had to go, even if I disliked the idea almost as much as she did.

The entirely unprofessional thoughts I was having where Avett was concerned also needed to take a hike. If there was a right kind of woman for what I currently needed, it absolutely wasn't one that was an almost felon and that seemed a hundred times more comfortable in her skin than I had ever been. I needed a woman I could f.u.c.k and forget, not one that was already lingering on my mind and poking holes, without even trying, in the iron facade I had spent years hiding behind.

CHAPTER 5.

Avett

You look pretty, Avett." My dad's gruff voice startled me from where I was still trying to pin strands of pink hair into the tightly coiled bun at the back of my head.

I should have changed it. I'd had almost three weeks to buy a box of dye, to make the pink no more, but I couldn't do it. Every time I thought about it, every time I really contemplated the fact I might have to go to prison for an extended amount of time, the idea of going away as someone that wasn't me, the thought of facing the judge and everyone else slotted to judge me as an imitation of myself, it made my skin crawl. Plus, every time I had a meeting with Quaid in his stuffy office, with its fancy carpet and boring furniture, the first thing he did was look at my hair, then look at me with a combination of reproach and admiration in his eyes. I liked both of those responses from him. I liked any kind of response from him. Getting him to react to me had become a personal challenge, and I was well aware I was pulling on a big, golden lion's tail. The man was a predator, a civilized beast in a designer suit. There was more to the handsome lawyer than met the eye. I was dangerously intrigued by what kind of secrets his killer grin and steely blue gaze kept hidden.

He never mentioned me changing my hair again, so I was secretly hoping he realized it came with the territory ... one more choice I was making that might bite me in the a.s.s, but like all my other choices, I would face the consequences of my actions. I would own being the type of person that was critically flawed and forever f.u.c.king things up. I wasn't hiding any of that, so that meant the pink hair stayed, but I did my best to make it as subtle as possible, and I did concede to part of Quaid's advice, deciding not to dress like a college dropout for the big day. That was why my dad was leaning in the door of the open bathroom looking at me like he hadn't ever seen me dressed up before.

Probably because he hadn't.

My family was casual to our bones. I owned one skirt that dated back to high school. I'd had to go shopping, with my dad, because I didn't have a car or any kind of cash to buy something that was suitable for convincing a judge I would never take part in an armed robbery.

I put my hands on the sink, looking at my dad's dark gray eyes in the mirror. Things had been tough since I'd come home. There was a tension there, a lingering cloud that hovered over us, and I wasn't sure how I was ever going to fix things with the most important person in my whole world. I knew a lot of his unease came from the fact my mother still wasn't happy with me, and when she wasn't happy Brite wasn't happy. I didn't know how to make things better with her either and that meant I did nothing. Doing nothing was always the action that seemed to hurt the worst and, even knowing that, I still found myself doing it over and over again.

"Thanks, Dad. How does the hair look?" The tightly coiled bun had taken more time than I'd spent on my hair in all my twenty-two years. Generally, I let the loose and wavy strands do their own thing. I was all about no-fuss-no-muss.

"Pretty, all of it is pretty. You can't even see the pink from the front." He was trying to be rea.s.suring but I could tell he was nervous by the tense set of his broad shoulders and the downturn of his mouth within the forest of his beard.

"Good. I'll remember not to turn around in front of the judge. Thanks again for the cla.s.sy duds." I pulled at the front of the lacy, cream-colored, three-quarter-sleeved, knee-length dress he had actually been the one to pick out for me. It was cute and totally conservative enough when I paired it with black leggings and ankle boots. It wasn't something that made me look like a mom or like some high-cla.s.s chick I would never, ever be. It was an outfit that made me look like a twenty-two-year-old that should, theoretically, have her s.h.i.t together. So that's who I was determined to be, even if it felt like I couldn't have my s.h.i.t less together if I tried.

"I'm happy to help you out, Sprite. Always have been." His frown went deeper into his fuzzy face as his salt-and-pepper eyebrows slanted down over his eyes. "Your mom, too."

There it was. The Darcy-sized elephant in the room that had been hovering between us since he bailed me out of jail ... or longer. Things had never been particularly easy between me and my mother. I blew out a breath and turned to face him. I leaned back against the sink and met his solemn gaze.

"I don't know what to say to her, Dad. She isn't you. She doesn't forgive the way you do." When I started my downward spiral, when I went from being a simple yet defiant party girl to the girl determined to ruin everything good in her life, my mom didn't understand and she watched me fall with little sympathy or compa.s.sion. Granted, she didn't have the whole story but I wanted her to love me enough to forgive me and excuse me anyway. Instead, she forced enough s.p.a.ce between the two of us that my guilt and the blame I fostered from the night I learned how tragic doing nothing could be had plenty of room to flourish and grow.

"You have so much of your mom in you, Sprite. I think you're both too stubborn and hardheaded to see it though. She loves you. She will always love you and support you just like I do. She had to find her way just like you did, kiddo. Darce wants more for her baby girl. She doesn't want to see you waste your time on loser after loser like she did, and she doesn't want you tied to a no-named bar. We both know you have so much more to offer. Those aren't bad things to want for your kid."

I sighed and stiffened my spine. "I'll convince Mom I'm innocent and have learned my lesson after I convince a judge. Deal?" He looked at me until I squirmed under his intent gaze. "Dad, I promise I will figure out a way to work on things with Mom. I've let things go for far too long and it's gotten me nowhere good."

Finally, after a beat, a grin that transformed him from surly, grumpy biker bada.s.s into a warm, kind, and much more Santa-esque bada.s.s broke across his face. "I know you will, Sprite. I have faith in you ... always. And you might've let go but we're your parents. We've been holding on tight since the beginning."

I pushed off the sink and nervously tugged at the hem of my dress. "Thanks, Dad. Let's do this thing." Quaid seemed so sure the charges would be dismissed, but he never forgot to remind me that we could take the plea deal, that ninety days in jail was a much better option than three years. I was nervous, but there was something about Quaid Jackson, something about the way he handled himself, something about the way he handled me, that gave me unbridled confidence that the situation would go the way he guided it. I honestly believed the man would get the charges dropped, and if he didn't, then I had full confidence he could unleash that dangerous grin and wicked charm of his on a jury and bend them to his will.

My dad moved out of the doorway and followed me down the hall towards the front of the house. I grabbed my purse and was pulling the front door open when my father's heavy hand landed on my shoulder. I turned to look at him in question and was relieved to see his grin was still in place.

"Avett, you need to understand how I got to a place where I learned how to forgive. The main reason I can hang in there until someone that's lost finds their way is because I was a man, not too long ago, that needed that kind of forgiveness and needed someone to show me the way. All the choices we make, good and bad, have a lesson in them. I think it's time you quit letting those lessons go over your head, Sprite."

The lessons weren't going over my head. They were hitting me right in the heart, right in my very soul, and I deserved all of them. Those lessons reminded me every single day what kind of person I was; they reinforced the fact that when you were a bad person, bad things happened to you, and I knew I deserved them all. Every lesson I learned, I held close and let p.r.i.c.k at me with sharp barbs over and over again.

My dad pulled the door closed behind him and we walked down the front steps of the beautifully restored two-story Italianate brick home that my dad had lived in since his split with my mom. It was home, as much as the bar had always been, and I loved it and the Curtis Park neighborhood it was located in. We were walking towards his red truck when he stopped by my side and waved at someone across the street. I squinted against the sun to see who he was waving at, but all I got was a flash of rust-colored hair and an arm full of brightly inked tattoos as it disappeared into the driver's side of a beautiful old Cadillac. The guy moved quick and his car sounded loud and mean when he started it. That wasn't a show Caddy; that was a Caddy with some b.a.l.l.s and well-maintained guts.

"Who was that?" Dad pulled open my door for me because even the most bada.s.s of bada.s.ses treated his daughter like a lady, and wouldn't accept anything less from any man in her life.

My dad lumbered up behind the wheel, slapping on a pair of mirrored sungla.s.ses. Maybe Quaid should have given my old man a list of dos and don'ts for proper court wear instead of me. At least he had left the Harley T-shirt at home and had opted for a plain black one in its place. That was totally how Brite Walker dressed to impress. I chuckled a little at the thought as he backed out of the driveway.

"New neighbor. The boys call him Wheeler. He runs a garage down in the warehouse district. Boy has skills when it comes to anything with a motor in it. I keep telling him if he comes across a 1959 Pan-Head, I'll buy it no questions asked and have him rebuild it for me. He's a good kid, and my boys like him."

I lifted an eyebrow. "And he just happened to end up in the house across the street from you?"

My dad chuckled and turned to look at me, but all I could see was my own pale and pinched expression reflected back at me. Definitely not a chick that had her s.h.i.t together. I wasn't going to fool anyone.

"The boys may have mentioned he was looking and I may have mentioned there was a for-sale sign in the neighborhood. Kid's got himself a girl and recently got engaged. He's trying to settle down and do right. You know how I feel about a good man trying to do right." He paused and then muttered under his breath so quietly I almost didn't hear, "Even if he's doing right by the wrong girl."

"You don't like his girlfriend?"

My dad shrugged and turned back to the road. In Brite Walker speak, that meant he more than didn't care for her.

"The kid works hard, has raw talent when it comes to what he does. The girl seems happy to sit around and take him for a ride. She's been around a long time and I think the kid doesn't know anything else. Reminds me of my first wife, and my first marriage, and we both know how that turned out."

It turned out bad ... really bad. Dad had cheated with my mom, knocked her up with me, and left the first wife without a backward glance, even though they had been together since high school and she had waited for him for years while he was overseas with the Marines. He said, time and time again, that he regretted the way things ended with his first wife-she deserved better from him-but he got me out of the deal. I was his great story from that bad decision and I knew he wouldn't trade me for anything in the world.

I chuckled again and looked out the window as we got closer and closer to downtown and to the courthouse. "It's not your job to save every single, confused, twenty-something in Denver, Dad."

He chuckled as well, and wheeled the big truck into a paid parking lot because there was no way to parallel-park the beast on the busy downtown streets. Even bada.s.ses hated parallel parking on crowded city streets.

"I'm retired, Avett. What else am I going to do with my time?" I guess he had a point, and as he came around to open my door, I hooked my hand in the elbow he offered, and took a deep breath. My nerves kicked into high gear and my tummy started to tie itself into knots.

"I hope they appreciate you and what you do for them."

He patted my hand where it had gone clammy against his tattooed arm. "Doesn't matter if they do, or don't. I appreciate them and what they do for me." And there it was. He was giant-sized, he took no s.h.i.t from anyone, he was grizzly, and he was gruff, but there would never be a better heart than the one that beat strong and true inside of Brite Walker. He was amazing through and through. I knew I had never done a single thing in my short life to deserve him, but I was selfish and greedy enough to know I would never, ever let him go. Even if I knew I would never feel entirely worthy of his loyalty and devotion to me.

His voice rumbled over my head and distracted me from my dark musings. "You ready to do this, Sprite?"

I took a deep breath as he pulled open the door and guided me towards the security line. "As ready as I'll ever be, I guess."

We didn't say anything else as we pa.s.sed through the security checkpoint, the officers giving my dad pointed looks and predictably pulling him aside to run the wand over him before they let us go. We found the tiny room Quaid had instructed us to meet him in outside of the actual courtroom. When we walked in, he was already there tapping away on his phone and looking as sharp and as pulled together as ever.

Today's suit was black and the shirt under was a charcoal gray. The silk tie knotted at his tanned throat was a pretty royal blue and all of it made him look good enough to eat. The man wore a suit well, but I was curious to know what he looked like out of it. There had been one picture Google was generous enough to share with me of him in his Army fatigues, but he was so young then-a boy, really, and not the tall, imposing man that stood before me now. I wondered if he ever relaxed, if he took the suit off when he got home and rocked a pair of tattered sweats and a stained T-shirt. I doubted it, but I would bet good money that he looked as good in casual wear as he did in a thousand-dollar suit.

His eyes roved over me and he gave a quick nod before reaching out to shake my dad's offered hand.

"I see you took my advice to heart, Ms. Walker. This will do, this will do nicely." I rolled my eyes at him when he called me Ms. Walker. For weeks now, I'd been Avett when we were alone in his office, and he had been Quaid. The formal t.i.tle was a reminder that it was showtime and I better get my act together for the powers that be.