Seeking Shelter Read Free

for your time.” He shoved the envelope of money into his jacket pocket. He needed to think, and the walls were already closing in.
    “Uh—you’re welcome.” Haase stood as well, a frown of confusion on his brow. “Do you know what that’s for?”
    “Yeah. A safe deposit box.”
    “Do you know where?”
    Mac had trusted no one, and it meant the world to Jace that he had shared this with him. Mac must have had a reason for not telling the lawyer. Jace respected that, and simply nodded.
    He headed for the door. “Damn it, Mac,” he whispered as he stepped out into the afternoon sunlight. “I don’t want this.”
    * * *
    T WO DAYS LATER Jace gave in and went to the bank. Armed with the legal papers Stephen Haase had given him, he accessed the box. He really didn’t want to see what was inside, but he’d come this far. With a deep breath, he shoved the key into the lock. No turning back now.
    He was doing this for Mac, he reminded himself. For the man who’d been the closest thing he’d had to a family in years. Suddenly, 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