I narrowed my eyes.
“You were wrongfully sent to prison, Trouper,” I said. “That warrants me looking into your case.”
His eyes looked terrified for a second.
“Don’t, baby,” he whispered. “Don’t do that.”
I knew why he didn’t want me to.
Because the last time I’d poked my nose into this case, I’d nearly died. He’d gone to prison.
His long-time friend had nearly lost his life at his hands.
He’d been dishonorably discharged. He’d lost other friends.
He’d lost his career.
But ultimately, he’d nearly lost me. And that he couldn’t tolerate.
Sadly, he didn’t have a choice.
Why didn’t he have a choice? Because he’d been utterly shafted.
His lawyer had been shit.
He couldn’t afford more.
And the prosecution had been well and truly set up with all kinds of ammunition that would make Trouper look bad.
Oh, and the FBI, having wanted to continue to pursue the case, hadn’t stepped in and protected him. Me? Yes. Trouper? No.
And now I was going to battle, preparing for war.
I also didn’t care what Trouper thought.
This was getting fixed, and this was getting wiped from his record. I was going to get his career back.
I just had to make a few inquiries, club a few heads, and meet a few contacts.
Oh, and take down a sex trafficking ring.
I just had to bring a few key players into the mix first.
Just as I was about to continue with what I’d come here to say, an alarm started to blare.
Surprised, I looked up at the flashing red light above my head and frowned.
“Motherfucker.” Trouper growled. “Baby, get out. Now.”
“Sorry, darlin’,” I heard the officer say behind me. “It’s time for you to go. That’s the riot alarm.”
My heart jumped in my throat at the idea that there was a riot going on in the prison that my husband was going to be locked in.
“What?” I shook my head. “No!”
But before I could answer, Trouper was already standing up.
“Don’t come back to this place, Beck,” Trouper whispered before hanging up the phone.
Before I could slam my hand on the glass, to get him to listen to reason, he stood up, turned around, and walked away.
His orange-jump-suited ass was the only thing I could focus on until he was completely out of the room.
I narrowed my eyes just before hanging up the phone.
Game on, Trouper Aoki. Game. Fucking. On.
The warden looked at me through the glass, and I saw the promise there.
He would call me to let me know everything was okay.
I drew in a deep breath and let it out, then allowed the guard to not only lead me out of the room, but out to my car.
He looked at me when men started to shout on the other side of the tall as fuck chain-link fence wrapped in razor wire.
“He’ll come around,” the man said. “Just give him time.”
And for some reason, I believed him.
“Thank you,” I said softly.
He winked, then was gone, jogging back to the front doors where he pulled out a set of keys.
I got to my—Trouper’s—car and dropped inside, staring blankly at the prison for a few long moments.
Then I reached for my phone.
When I touched the screen, it lit up with a text, four missed calls, and a voicemail
The voicemail was from my brother.
Two calls were from my mom, one from my dad, and one from my brother.
I sighed and called my brother back first.
“Where the fuck are you?” he asked. “Your shit is gone.”
I’d been staying with my brother, who’d obviously noticed that I was gone after getting home from work.
He was an officer at the Kilgore Police Department just like my dad was.
He was also exceptionally unobservant because I’d been gone since yesterday.
“I’m in Montana,” I said.
He hissed in a breath.
He knew why I was in Montana.
There was only one reason for me to be in Montana.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because he’s my husband,” I told him. “And I love him.”
“Beckham,” Louis groaned. “Why are you doing this to me?”
I stiffened my spine. “Why am I doing this to you? Louis, I’m not doing shit to you. I’m trying to be something in life.”
As far as my brother knew, I was going to school to get my Master’s in Adventure Education—which happened to be a park ranger.
And, though I was doing that, that wasn’t why I was doing it in Montana.
Trouper was why I was in Montana.
“You know that our parents are going to ask me if I’ve heard from you. What am I supposed to say?” he countered.
Neither my parents nor my brother knew exactly why Trouper had gone to jail. They’d heard about the shit that had gone down, dismissed it, and that was that. They didn’t know that I was the reason that things had gone badly. That I was the reason that Trouper would be cooling his jets in jail. They liked to think the worst of him, and for now, I was okay with that. I didn’t have the time, nor the inclination, to set their thoughts straight. I had things to do, and very little time to do it before things changed irrevocably.