“It won’t be long before you can tell them all you told them so.”

“That isn’t what I want.”

Luke switched the phone to his other ear. “I know it isn’t. So tell me about New York. Is it like everyone says it is?”

“New York is crazy . . .”

There was a lift to her voice with the change of subject.

By the time he got off the phone, he made her promise to call him at the end of her day when she was in New York to tell him all about the experience so he could live it with her.

He turned back to the car he was working on with a smile.

The trailer was too fucking quiet.

After seventeen years of noise . . . grown men crying, yelling, grunting as they jacked off or moaning as they violated their bunkmates . . . the quiet was killing him.

Sheryl was at that nothing job at the diner, and Zanya and her brat were gone when his wife worked.

Ziggy was making up for lost time between Sheryl’s legs, even though she complained about being sore after the first week he’d been back. She knew better than to argue, a lesson he’d taught her before the kids were born.

Ziggy had gone out of his way sweet-talkin’ her when he was on the inside.

He had no choice. Intimidation wasn’t an option when she could walk away.

He liked having the upper hand, having control. That control was slowly coming back. It was different this time. A quiet control that didn’t require him to move too many muscles to gain.

The four walls of his piece of crap home were starting to fold in on him. What the hell did he do with his time seventeen years ago? The guys he ran with used to live in Waterville. One skirted alongside Ziggy in maximum lockup for a good five years, and his other buddy moved north into Montana or some nowhere place.

Ziggy turned up the volume on the TV. Damn wife didn’t pay for cable so all he had was fucking soap operas and talk shows all day long. The noise from those shows wasn’t enough to fill his head.

What he needed was an occupation.

And that didn’t mean work.

No one in River Bend would hire him to pick up dog shit, and Waterville . . . yeah, best stay clear of that town. He had a healthy fear of going back to jail. After he was transferred to maximum, he realized where he’d gone wrong.

Ziggy Brown wouldn’t be holding up any mini-marts again. Seventeen years of his life gone for a fucking mini-mart.

Laughter from the other inmates at his weak crime caused many fights. He showed them often how strong he was. Part of the reason he’d been moved around inside the system.

Then he met Axel.

Axel shared the same temper and power behind his fists. They’d fought once, both ended up in their version of the hole for a week, then walked side by side for the better part of ten years. Axel had shown Ziggy how to control his words and actions to appear more calm than he was. It made parole hearings more agreeable, kept the other inmates on their toes . . . and eventually gave Ziggy the ability to leave.

Axel wasn’t up to leave for another two years, maybe less.

They’d get together . . . share a few drinks. Consider their options. Ziggy knew he couldn’t stay in River Bend. Damn town watched him like he was a fish swimming in a bowl. Especially little JoAnne Ward. It took all his effort not to laugh at that bitch when he saw her. Nose up in the air, hand on her gun.

Laughable.

Completely laughable.

Yet every time he heard a car go by, a glance out the window showed the taillights of a squad car. Thanks to his uppity daughter, who he clearly didn’t teach enough lessons to growing up, the only law in River Bend was watching.

While he wasn’t scared of the little girl the town called Sheriff, Sheryl and the rest of them were.

Damn, it was quiet.

Ziggy scratched his nuts and looked at the clock. He needed to fuck . . . well, he needed a drink, but there wasn’t any alcohol in the trailer. His parole officer set him up with the right people to reinstate his drivers license, all dependent on a drug free cup full of urine.

Once he could drive, he’d work his way into Eugene and fill up.

For now, he was no better off than he had been in jail. Yeah, he could leave the house, but go where and do what?

Just a few more steps and he’d have all the real freedom he needed.

He looked out the window. Where the hell was his wife?

Chapter Twenty-Two

Zoe wore a little black power dress, Jimmy Choos on her feet, and a smile on her face. The view from Bar SixtyFive in Rockefeller Center was out of this world. The martini wasn’t bad either.

“You’re making the right decision,” Suki said.

“I haven’t made one yet.”

“You’re picking between three publishers for the book and have two producers who want to wine and dine you to follow you around with cameras. I’d say you can’t make a bad decision. This is all about your gut at this point.”

“I want to hear what your literary agent friends say about each publisher. And I do mean everything. Especially the bad stuff. Adversity will happen, how they handle it is going to determine if we can have a good working relationship.”

“You’re too young to be so wise, Zoe.”

“I’m older than my years.” Last week she felt like she was sixty. “I want to do this right. Let’s keep my income the same, or better, without my time at Nahana.”

“You’re going to have to travel a little more.”

She nodded. “I can do that.”

Suki sat back, crossed her legs, and sipped her drink. “So what is all this about, anyway? Are you tired of Texas?”