Leather Pants

  “How’d you know about that?”

  “I read his contract.”

  “You spied on my brother?” he growled.

  “No. Didn’t Colt tell you? He asked me to read it. Oh, wait—of course he didn’t tell you.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean? My brother trusts me. I’m the only one who has his best interests at heart. The money means nothing.”

  As a judge, Sarah’s rule of thumb was that when a person was caught doing something wrong, they generally denied it, even if there could be other offenses or crimes within the realm of possibilities. For example, a seventeen-year-old boy gets caught with a can of spray paint in his hand while sitting at a bus stop late at night. A policeman sees him and goes to investigate, the officer asks something like, “Where’d you get the spray paint?” If the reply is, “I found it in my dad’s garage,” that’s probably the truth—or at least a fifty-fifty chance. However, if the reply is something like “Hey, I didn’t steal it,” then the kid, in all likelihood, did. Stealing was a leap the kid made on his own.

  She hadn’t accused Mike of manipulating his brother for money, yet he’d brought it up and defended himself.

  “What I meant, Mike, was that Colt didn’t tell you about having me review the contract because he was shot right after. Why are you so defensive?”

  Mike seemed flustered. “Like I said, it’s been a long few days. And it’s time for you to go.”

  Sarah nodded, thinking through what she should do. She had no doubt in her mind that Mike had done something—something bad. But what? Maybe he’d taken advantage of his brother’s condition in some way. Or perhaps Mike had finally realized that Colt wasn’t going to recover in time for his show and it was far better to forgo the money than have Colt get up on stage and make an ass out of himself.

  Sarah thought about that for a moment. Mike had mentioned that if Colt didn’t recover in time, he’d come up with something. And for certain, they didn’t want the public finding out about his condition since they believed it would dilute his star power. So had Mary been the backup plan? Getting shot would provide a really good excuse to cancel the tour, one that wouldn’t expose Colt’s secret.

  No. That still doesn’t make sense. Why would Mike do everything possible to ensure Colt played his gig, but then have him shot so the tour could be cancelled? Why would Mike risk killing his own brother?

  Sarah tried to sort the pieces into a clear motive, but they wouldn’t fit. Including the fact that Mary had said “he” was making her do it.

  Let’s see if Mike knows Mary.

  “Sure, I’ll go. I’m pretty tired anyway,” she said, starting to wheel herself out. “Oh, by the way, any news on that Mary woman?”

  Mike’s gaze drilled into Sarah like he wanted to cut out her tongue. “I don’t know the assailant. And if I had seen her, I would tell the police. Not you.”

  Crap. His lie had just told the truth. He knew Mary. And he had seen her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Not wanting her mother to see her so upset, Sarah returned to her room and told her mother she was going to sleep. In reality though, she spent the rest of the day in mental and physical anguish, the only highlight being that they removed her IV and gave her solid food for the first time—Jell-O had never tasted so good.

  What tasted bad, however? Mike. Mike had been involved with Mary and the shooting. But why? Didn’t it behoove Mike to ensure Colt kept making money?

  Unless he was afraid of Colt never getting better. In that case, would Colt be worth more money dead?

  Oh no. Sarah covered her mouth. Dead. He’s worth more dead if he never recovers. Mike did have power of attorney over Colt’s estate. Colt said so himself. And a rock star tragically dying versus his or her career falling to pieces would prevent the assets from losing value. John Lennon, Elvis, and Michael Jackson had proven that to be true.

  But would Mike really go as far as having someone shoot Colt?

  Sarah’s cell phone rang on the nightstand. For a moment her heart raced, thinking by some miracle she might see “Bruno Mars” or “Pepe the Butcher” pop up on the caller ID. But no, it was Maria. It was almost midnight.

  Shit. Something’s wrong.

  “Hello?” Sarah held the phone to her face, trying not to throw up. She couldn’t take any more drama.

  “Did I wake you?” Maria said.

  “No. I was contemplating my next career move. What do you think of professional crier?”

  “I think it’s a poor choice given you’ll be smiling. They caught Mary Shaffer—your shooter.”

  If Sarah’s abdomen didn’t have a gazillion stitches in it, she would’ve sat up and said, “Getthefuckout.” Instead, she lay there and started to tear up.

  “Oh, jeez. Are you fucking crying?”

  Sarah nodded. “Yes.”

  “Stop that. The Hammer doesn’t cry.”

  “You know about my nickname?”

  “Everyone knows. Didn’t you?”

  She whimpered. “I just found out. I thought I was a nice person.”

  Maria burst out laughing on the other end of the phone. “Hysterical. Anyway, I thought you should know that you’re safe from Mary now. The district attorney will be filing two first degree attempted murder charges. Rumor is she’s going to plead guilty.”

  Sarah sighed with relief. That meant Mary would be getting twenty-five to life. But one more issue remained: the “he.” Sarah had told the police about Mary’s comment, but as of yet, she hadn’t heard anything about a second person.

  “Any word on the person Mary was working with?” Sarah asked, hoping for a yes and that it wouldn’t be Mike.

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  Dammit. “Maria? Can you do me a favor?”

  “Sure.”

  “Tell the DA that I might know who had Mary shoot us.” No, she didn’t know it was Mike for sure, but it was a question that needed to be asked, and that was the DA’s job. Hell, maybe he could get something out of Mary.

  But I hope to God I’m wrong. Because Colt would be heartbroken.

  Around ten in the morning, Sarah was woken by one of the nurses, who apparently had a death wish. Sarah couldn’t have been asleep more than an hour, after a very restless night. “Go away…” Sarah groaned.

  “Colt Young is asking for you,” the blonde nurse said with a giddy tone.

  Sarah snapped to. “He’s awake?”

  “Yes.”

  “You mean awake-awake? As in fully conscious?”

  “Uh-huh.” The nurse nodded with a big smile. “And he says he won’t let the doctors touch him until he sees you.”

  Sarah covered her mouth. This was as close to a miracle as it got. “Tell him I’ll be right there as soon as I clean up. Are you any good at shaving legs?”

  The nurse gave her a look.

  “All right. How about helping me take a quick shower, then?” Not like she and Colt would be getting it on in their state. Not for a few more weeks.

  The nurse helped Sarah to the bathroom. It was the quickest shower of her life, but she’d be damned to have Colt’s first glimpse of her after his near-death experience be ruined by her really greasy hair. The nurse helped her towel off and put on a fresh gown after changing her dressings.

  “Slow down. You’ll pop your stitches,” she warned.

  “Sorry. I can’t wait to see him.” Sarah went straight for the wheelchair.

  “Neither can I,” said the nurse with a sultry tone.

  “Hey. Back off. He’s mine.”

  The nurse gave her a surprised look.

  “I really like him,” Sarah offered.

  “You and a million other women.”

  Sarah realized the nurse was right. She couldn’t assume that simply because she’d come around to Colt’s true internal hotness that he’d be ready to jump into anything serious. There were plenty of fish in the sea for a man like him.

  Oh, stop. He said he wanted you.

&nb
sp; Sarah lifted her chin, feeling confident that this would be a new beginning for both of them.

  The nurse wheeled her down the hall, past the officer—a woman this time—and into Colt’s room. He was already sitting up in his bed, his cheeks pink, his eyes clear.

  “Holy crap. It’s so good to see you like this,” Sarah said. The nurse closed the door and left Sarah and Colt alone. A good thing. Because he didn’t look happy.

  “Did you fucking have my brother arrested?” he growled.

  Crap. That was fast. The DA must’ve found something. That or Mary implicated Mike. Otherwise he wouldn’t have arrested Mike.

  “So you remember me,” she said, half joking.

  “Answer me!” he yelled.

  She held out her hands. “Before you get angry, hear me out.”

  “Get the fuck out of my sight, Sarah. I never want to see you again.”

  He couldn’t possibly mean it. “Okay,” she wheeled herself closer, “I understand why you’re angry. But you’re also a very smart man, and you know that I would never point a finger at someone without probable cause.”

  “He’s my fucking brother, Sarah.”

  You couldn’t be more right. “Fucking brother” was spot on.

  “Don’t you think I know that?” she argued. “It’s the reason I never told you he had me blackmailed.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  Sarah looked down at her lap. “Remember the video Mary said she took of you and me leaving the bathroom together that night? Well, Judge Wright—the judge who oversees our court—had that video, and he threatened to show it to the world if I didn’t give you leniency in your sentence. Your brother admitted to me at the charity ball that he was the person who actually gave the tape to Wright.”

  Colt’s eyes showed no emotion.

  “I’m sorry, Colt, but it’s true. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to upset you or make you think I only cared about what happened to you because of my own interests. I knew it was wrong to withhold the information, but what else could I do? You were showing signs of improving and the truth felt like it could wait.”

  “Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that my brother had Mary spy on me, take a video of us at that club, and gave it to Judge Wright to blackmail you?”

  “Basically, yes!”

  “Why? What would anyone gain?”

  “Wright said he had friends who would be very disappointed if you didn’t show up for your first concert date. And after reading your contract, I understand why. Ten million is a lot of money, and so is your brother’s portion.”

  “Then my brother would never do anything to hurt me if that’s all he wanted. Not that he did.”

  “I would really like to believe that, but maybe he realized at some point you weren’t going to be able to do the concert—or any concert ever—and then the world might find out about your memory issue.”

  Mike probably had this all planned out. He hoped Colt would recover in time—as did Colt—but if that didn’t happen, he’d go to plan B. Shoot his brother.

  Colt’s nostrils flared. “You think my own brother tried to have me killed?”

  “Yes. I mean, maybe.” Sarah ran her hands through her hair. “It makes sense, and you did tell me he has power of attorney over your estate.”

  “I see your point.” Colt nodded, his face void of emotion.

  Sarah released a breath. “Thank God. Because I can’t tell you how nervous I was about—”

  “Now leave.”

  “What?”

  “Get the fuck out of my sight, Sarah. I never want to see you again.”

  “But what did I—”

  “You think I don’t know what you’re trying to do? You think you’re the first person—or woman—to try to get between me and my brother so you can take his place? I’m not stupid, Sarah. I know how much I’m worth and what women are willing to do to get their hands on me and my money.”

  Really? He really believes that? Sadly, she wasn’t surprised. This was not the first time she’d seen a family member turn on another out of greed. What always surprised her, however, was how the victim, if they survived, didn’t always cooperate with the prosecution even when the evidence was shockingly clear. Plainly put, it wasn’t easy to accept when someone close to you, who was supposed to protect you, wanted you dead.

  “This isn’t some scam, Colt. And if you really think I’m doing this for some personal gain, you’re wrong. My only intension was to help because it’s pretty obvious that Mike has not been watching out for your best interests. Look at the way he spends your money without asking.” The charity event made it clear that Mike did as he pleased with Colt’s money without consulting anyone. That was not the definition of “looking out for someone.”

  Colt’s eyes narrowed in on her. “It doesn’t make my brother guilty.” He hissed out a breath. “I fucking expected more from you, Judge Alma. Oh, wait. I heard you’re not a judge anymore. A true loss to the world.”

  Wow. That hurt. Sarah’s eyes began to tear up. “Just do yourself a favor and find out why Mike was arrested. Ask what they found, okay?” Because Mike sure as hell wouldn’t be arrested without actual evidence. “Goodbye, Colt. And good luck. You’ll need it.”

  She turned and fumbled with the door a moment before the officer opened it for her. She wheeled out of his room, too destroyed to even cry.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Four Weeks Later

  “Please reconsider, Sarah. We don’t want you to go.” Maria sniffled and wiped her nose across her long sleeve while helping pack up Sarah’s apartment.

  Folding towels and linens—all of the light stuff—Sarah tried not to cry. “You know I can’t sponge off of you and Franco, honey. I just don’t know what I’ll be doing in the long term.” Aside from wallowing in self-pity and wondering where it all went wrong.

  Sarah had said goodbye to everyone at the courthouse two weeks ago, yet she still felt as raw as ever. Right after being released from the hospital and sending her mother home to Florida, she was informed that she would be facing charges of obstructing justice—basically, her worse nightmare. On steroids. Wrapped in a delightful blanket of turds and sprinkled in broken glass. The only silver lining was that they would not be proceeding with any charges related to her forcing Colt Young to get freaky with her. Probably because that man had a solid reputation for freely giving out the goods, and it was very difficult to make a man have intercourse if he really wasn’t in the mood. A little thing called an erection was required for good old-fashioned sex. Plus, they’d probably spoken with Colt—or his new attorney—and discovered they’d both been ready, willing, and able. Still, the damage would be forever done. Colt, on the other hand, was hotter than ever. Women were wearing T-shirts that said “I’ll be your judge, you bad boy” and “Colt Young, I am your Capitan now!” They loved the idea of him being their plaything.

  Evil trollops! He was a real person. With feelings. Not some sex object.

  Okay. Yes, he was. That was how he happily sold so many albums.

  Anyway, while Colt’s career had obtained rocket boosters and the media buzzed about rumors that he would soon announce his “Rebel Rebound” concert tour for next year, Sarah had been looking for a lawyer. She ended up turning to her college roomie, Melissa, for the arraignment hearing, and it was the most soul-crushing experience of her life. The case and initial evidence were strong—the video, testimony from Wright, and fact that Colt was in her apartment when he got shot. All proof they had a relationship during and after Sarah had him in her court.

  Meaning, no more bench.

  No more hopes of state supreme court (or any court for that matter).

  No serving justice.

  Instead, she enjoyed twenty-four-seven paparazzi, endless abuse in the tabloids, and an offer for tell-all book deals: I Made Colt Young My Sex Monkey.

  Worst of all, she missed Colt and wished things had ended differently. She car
ed and had been trying to help him, but instead of seeing that, he’d treated her like dirt. He’d accused her of throwing his brother under the bus and gold digging.

  Well, screw him. What happened to Mike and Colt no longer concerned her. Time to move on. In more ways than one.

  Sarah pulled a tissue from the pocket of her overalls and blew her nose. She glanced at Maria’s sad face as she packed up dishes. This is awful. She would miss seeing her friend every day. She would miss the boys and Franco, too. They were like family. But without a job, Sarah could no longer afford this apartment. Especially if she were going to live through a long, dragged-out trial and possibly years of appeals. Maria would let her stay indefinitely, but Sarah could do the math. There was still a mortgage to pay and children to feed. Letting Sarah live there rent-free would stretch Maria and Franco’s budget thinner.

  Sarah pasted on a consoling smile, not wanting to pull Maria down. “Don’t worry. I’ll still come over and babysit when I can.” If I’m not busy being Cellblock Sally’s new bitch. “And Taylor has plenty of room at her house. With the new baby coming, she’s going to need all the help she can get.” Taylor lived in the Berkeley Hills across the street from Taylor’s brother Jack, but Jack was always running to the hospital. As for Bennett, he would be traveling a little more than usual because of his charity foundation. He planned to be home Thursday through Sunday, but on the road the rest of the time. And, given that Taylor’s mother had died when she was a baby, Sarah and Holly were her only real female support.

  “Come on, Sarah. Ben and Tony are going to be devastated. They love their crazy aunt Sarah, even though they say you don’t know how to have fun.”

  “What? I know how to have fun. We read books and play chess. We do puzzles and watch Law and Order. Fun!”

  Maria lifted a brow. “They’re ten and twelve. Not eighty and a hundred.”

  Sarah thought it over for a minute. Maybe Maria had a point. Her life had been one hundred percent academics since bad boy number one almost ruined her future. After that, her career came first, and it hadn’t given her much time for letting loose. She couldn’t remember the last time she took a real, honest-to-God vacation—the kind that lasted more than two days where she unplugged completely.