Page 1 of Gage
GAGE
CHAPTER ONE
Taking a goodlook around the dark, dank, sweaty-smelling bar filled with bearded, tattooed men wearing motorcycle vests and leather pants, Suzanna Dawkins knew she’d made a mistake. Pausing in the doorway of what was little more than a seedy biker bar, she felt like she might shatter into a million pieces. She’d never set foot in a place like this before, and if she had any choice, she’d turn and sprint in the opposite direction as fast as her legs would carry her. But she didn’t have a choice. This dismal, depressing excuse for a watering hole was where she was supposed to meet the man who’d help prove her innocence.
Gage Newsome. Of course, her cousin and Navy SEAL Brandon McKinney swore up and down Gage would help her. Said Gage owned him a favor and helping Suzanna would be a big one. Since it felt like she was neck deep in the middle of the Mississippi River, and about to go under for the third and final time, she’d take all the help she could get. Barely keeping her head above water, every minute spent waiting for the police or the FBI to show up on her doorstep and slap handcuffs on her and haul her away to prison. She really wished her cousin could help her, but right now he was out of the country on an assignment for good old Uncle Sam, and she was stuck looking for a stranger.
Pulling the large messenger bag close against her side, she scanned the dimly-lit interior, made harder by the large dark glasses she wore in a vain attempt to remain incognito. Though she doubted anybody frequenting this kind of place would belooking for her. More often than not she found herself attending fashionable soirees and haute cuisine dinner parties, not down and dirty free-for-alls in public barrooms.
But she was here for a reason, and her best bet was to find a man named Gage Newsome. Brandon had described him, but in typical male fashion, he’d been skimpy on the details. Something told her this was kind of a friends in low places type deal. She didn’t put a lot of faith in tall, black hair, and probably sporting a sullen expression. Yep, those had been Brandon’s exact words. Unfortunately, that described half the guys in here. The other half leered at her like she was the last piece of Godiva chocolate at a chocoholic’s convention.
When her gaze lit on a man seated with his back against the wall, her breath caught. It had to be him. And her cousin definitely hadn’t described Gage Newsome adequately. Though she couldn’t tell how tall he was, slouched in his seat, his dark hair was nearly black with bluish highlights peeking out beneath the bar’s sparse lighting. Even from across the room, his brown eyes sparkled, whether with humor or anger was yet to be determined. Not overly muscled, she could still see he was no slouch. She’d bet he boasted a six pack, maybe even an eight pack, beneath the tight black T shirt.
Get your head out of the gutter, girl. You’re not here to ogle some stranger. You’re here to get help. You’re not leaving until he agrees to do some digging, otherwise you’re about to spend the rest of your life in a concrete ten by ten cell.
Steeling her will, she straightened her backbone and pushed her hair back from her face before marching across the barroom floor, stopping in front of him. “Are you Gage Newsome?”
“I’m Gage. Have a seat.” He gestured toward the seat across from him. Sliding onto it, she swallowed past her suddenly dry throat. Anxiety spiked as she studied the man seated across the table, and she had the sudden urge to get up and run as fastas her legs would carry her. When she’d first spotted him, she’d almost felt lightheaded because there was an instinctual desire to turn tail. This man wasn’t a pushover or a flunky. No, he was a hunter, she could tell. One who wouldn’t give up on catching his prey.
Which was a good thing, because she needed somebody who wouldn’t quit, wouldn’t give up on helping her. And she desperately needed help if she was going to stay out of prison for something she didn’t do.
“Brandon McKinney sent me.” She barely got the words out.
“Figured as much.”
She took a deep breath, trying to steady her already quaking nerves. Laying the messenger bag on the table, she kept a death grip on the handle, afraid to let it out of her sight. Every bit of data she’d gathered was inside, things she’d be turning over to Mr. Newsome if he agreed to help her. Unfortunately, there was pitifully little in the way of actual evidence to point toward her innocence.
“Brandon said you’d help me.” She didn’t add that Brandon stated Gage owed him a favor, and he’d sworn that Gage wouldn’t say no. Normally, she wouldn’t even think about calling in somebody else’s debt, but at this point she was desperate enough to clutch at any lifeline, no matter how flimsy.
“What exactly do you need help with, Miss…?” He let the question trail off.
She glanced around the bar before whispering, “Dawkins.”
“Ms. Dawkins. What did McKinney tell you I could help with exactly?”
She took a deep breath, reached for his beer, and drained the glass. Placing it down gently on the table, she stared into his eyes before responding.
“He promised you’d help prove I didn’t murder my husband.”
Gage didn’t move, didn’t flinch at her blunt words, simply watched her closely. Something about the way he sat motionless, silent, reinforced her first impression that he was a hunter, but now she pictured him as a huge cat, predatory and deadly, and all his focus was on her.
“Did you?”
Two little words, yet she had the feeling he was weighing her answer, gauging her honesty. “No.”
Without breaking eye contact, he raised a hand toward the waitress and then showed two fingers. She fought the urge to squirm, but Suzanna Dawkins had been taught from an early age ladies didn’t show vulnerability, didn’t let others see weakness.
“I only know what’s been in the news. Why don’t you tell me what happened?” His voice was soft, a bit of huskiness to it. It was barely audible over the loud country music playing on the jukebox in the corner.
“So you do recognize me?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t when you first walked in. Thought you looked familiar. I’ve been in and out of the country quite a bit over the last few months, so I don’t know everything about your situation, other than your husband was found dead in your home.”
“Yes.”
“Just yes? Pretty sure you’re going to have to elaborate a bit if you want me to decide whether I’m going to be able to help you or not.”
Panic clutched at her chest, making it hard for her to breathe. Brandon had told her it was a done deal, that Gage Newsome would help prove her innocence. Was he going to back out? She couldn’t let that happen. He was her last resort. Nobody else would even look at her case. The police weren’t looking for another suspect, they were ready to railroad her straight passed the courthouse and into a jail cell. Her husband’s companyand its executives simply wanted the case closed, and the will probated, so they could pocket her husband’s fortune. She didn’t care about the money, she never had. At least not for herself. They could have it all, and she’d gladly sign any papers they wanted to turn over the business to them. Except that wasn’t what her husband had wanted, and she’d made him promises, and meant to keep them.
