Seeking Shelter. Angel Smits
he missed him desperately. The metal box wavered in his vision, and he blinked several times to clear his eyes.
“Whatever you hid here, buddy, it had better be worth it,” Jace whispered. Slowly, he lifted the lid.
He could only stare. The entire box was full of cash. Neatly bundled fifty- and hundred-dollar bills.
Jace cursed. He should just close the box and climb on his bike. Run, the way he always did.... No, he owed Mac.
What the hell had Mac been thinking? There had to be thousands of dollars in there. This was much more than what had been in the envelope the attorney had given him. This was more money than Jace had ever seen before—more money than he’d ever deserved, that’s for sure.
He remembered the nights he and Mac had sat talking, when it had grown cold and they’d huddled together in some doorway to keep warm. All those nights at the apartment, once Jace had convinced Mac that he was too old to sleep on the cement anymore, Mac had talked about his family.
A family he’d lost because he couldn’t keep his head out of the whiskey. Mac had cursed his own stupidity, while alternately berating the woman who’d taken their child and left him. Left him and never come back. Never hunted him up for child support. Never sent school pictures, though Jace had reminded him there hadn’t been anyplace to send them.
Jace slammed the lid down on the safe deposit box. He’d leave the money here until he figured out what the hell he was supposed to do with it. Mac might have given it to him, but Jace didn’t feel he had any right to it.
He returned the box to the teller and wound the key onto his ring, right next to his ignition key.
Just touching that key calmed him. That bike was his lifeline, his key to freedom. Literally.
Outside, the sun burned his eyes and he slipped on the heavy sunglasses he favored. It was like slipping on a mask, something he frequently did.
His bike, his baby, the Harley Fat Boy he’d spent months rebuilding, sat at the curb, calling him to find the freedom of the open road. There were still fifteen minutes left on the meter, but for the first time he didn’t care if he wasted them. Slowly, he climbed on and lifted the bike off the stand, but didn’t start it. He frowned. Something wasn’t clicking.
In the years he’d spent on the streets, he’d learned to trust his gut, to follow those instincts. Something felt very wrong with all this, and it wasn’t just the money.
He pulled the note Mac had left him from his jacket pocket. Slowly, he climbed off the bike again and turned to open the saddlebags. There, in a small packet, was the other letter. He read it through, rifling through all the pages.
The letter informed him, yet again, that he was an heir to Mac’s estate. Estate. Jace swallowed back a near hysterical laugh. He focused on the thin pages of the will. More legalese than actual information about Mac. Four pages were all it took to boil Mac’s life down to...to nothing.
And then the last page. He hadn’t paid attention to it before. It was simply a list of the people who had been sent a copy of the paperwork.
Jace could only stare. Two other names nearly burned a hole through the letterhead. Why hadn’t he noticed them earlier? He didn’t even remember looking at this page.
Madeline Grey. Amy Grey. With addresses in Arizona. Jace knew from all those stories Mac had told him that they were the wife and daughter he had spent the past twenty years searching for. The same two people Mac had spent every waking moment wanting and missing. How the hell had Stephen Haase found them when Mac couldn’t?
Jace hurt. His heart hurt. His soul ached. The one thing Mac had longed for, Jace had found so carelessly. It wasn’t fair. It felt so very wrong.
In that instant, Jace’s resolve solidified.
He brought the big bike roaring to life. The powerful engine shattered the quiet of the afternoon. He drove through the streets of L.A., weaving in and out of traffic, ticking off multitudes of drivers, but not caring.
When he reached the highway, he let his bike run as fast as the city traffic allowed, relishing the squeal of his tires.
Finally, he stopped. The engine ticked as it pretended to cool. He looked up. The chrome-and-glass building in front of him soared into the late afternoon sky, easily twenty stories high.
Had it really been only a couple of days since he’d been here? Seemed like years.
Haase had known where Mac’s family was and hadn’t told him, and for that, Jace wanted to kill him. He grabbed the papers from the saddlebag and stalked toward the building. Mac might be gone but his work wasn’t done. Jace yanked open the giant glass door with more force than necessary and stepped inside the air-conditioned lobby.
The same young receptionist stared at him when he got off the elevator. Her eyes widened and Jace realized she wasn’t just startled—he’d scared the living daylights out of her. Good.
He didn’t sit in her fancy waiting room this time, either. He didn’t even talk to her, or look at the trapped fish. Instead, he stalked down the hall to the office he’d been in earlier.
“Mr. Holmes. What brings you back? Is there a problem?” Stephen Haase asked as he stood.
“Yeah, there’s a problem.” Jace stepped forward and felt a little thrill when the man took a step back. Jace dropped the papers on the desktop. “You did this, right?”
The lawyer peered down at the papers. “Yes. I just gave them to you.” He looked at Jace as if he thought maybe he was high on something, or crazy.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Haase.” The young receptionist’s voice came from the doorway behind him. Jace didn’t turn around. “Security is on the way up.”
“Don’t worry, Jan.” Haase lifted a hand and tried to smile. “I’m sure Mr. Holmes won’t be long.”
“You’re damned right, I won’t be long.” Jace leaned forward, into the man’s space. “You bastard. How long have you known where Mac’s family was? Why didn’t you tell him?”
“Why would I do that? Madeline didn’t want him to know.”
Jace bit back a curse and clenched his hands into tight fists. He wanted to belt the man, shove him through that shiny glass window at his back. Nothing would be enough punishment for the pain Jace had watched Mac suffer.
Twenty years of searching for the baby girl his wife had taken away had killed Mac. Yeah, he’d sunk deep into a bottle, causing the damage to his liver—but that had been the only way he’d been able to cope. His only escape. Even in the last hours of his life, death closing in, Mac had cried out for his little girl.
Jace heard footsteps behind him. Security had apparently arrived, and with it, the lawyer’s backbone. Haase leaned forward, bracing his hands on the desktop. His glare would have wilted anyone else. Jace feared nothing at this stage of his life. Nothing he’d admit, anyway.
“Don’t judge me, boy. You don’t know anything at all about Mac and his life before he landed in the gutter.”
“I know plenty. This.” Jace stabbed the rumpled papers with his finger. “This was his family. His life. He’d have given anything to see them again.” Pain shot through Jace’s chest and for an instant he thought maybe the security guards had pulled out a Taser. No. This wasn’t that kind of pain. This came from deep inside. He ignored it.
“And what about my family?” Haase bellowed, lifting a palm toward the door—to stall security, apparently. “Mackenzie was my business partner once. Surprises you, doesn’t it? He had the world at his feet, trying cases and winning. But he chose to dive into that bottle and destroy everyone. Himself. His family. My business. My family suffered because of that—that...”
Jace was stunned. Mac a lawyer? The man who kept all his worldly goods in a worn shopping cart and slept more often under a cardboard box than a roof? But though