Seconds: A Salvation Society Novel

by Freya Barker

  She throws me a meaningful glance before unlocking the doors and getting in. I wisely keep my mouth shut until we pull out of the parking lot.

  “Your brother told me you left Thatcher, Cleaver, and Associates to strike out on your own. What precipitated that move?”

  “He did, did he?” She glances at me and I can tell it isn’t a subject she’s comfortable discussing, which makes me even more curious. When I keep my eyes on her and my mouth closed, she finally concedes, “It ended up being a dead-end street for me.”

  “I see,” I volunteer. I’m pretty sure there’s more to that story but it’ll keep. I’m intrigued by her and if it were up to me, there would be plenty of occasions to dig a little deeper.

  “When did he tell you that? Jackson.”

  Guess it’s fair turnaround she does a little digging of her own. I could play dumb, but chances are this will come out at some point, regardless, so I may as well get ahead of the curve.

  “When he called to see if I knew of an office space for rent.”

  I catch her eyes narrowing and her hands tighten on the steering wheel.

  “For me.”

  It was more of a statement than a question, but I answer anyway.

  “Yup.”

  “And you happened to have an empty office beside yours?”

  “Sort of.”

  Suddenly I feel put on the spot. I’m sure her brother had a reason not to tell her about our connection, but I’m not privy to it. Rock, meet hard place.

  She turns into the parking lot in front of our building and turns the engine off. I can feel her eyes on me.

  “Sort of?”

  “The previous tenant was delinquent on his rent. I’d been lenient too long already.” I keep the fact her brother paid off any outstanding rent the real estate agent owed me, in return for him to vacate the premises in days. Fucking Jackson can tell her himself.

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that,” I confirm, opening the car door and unfolding myself. After I close the door, I realize she hasn’t moved. I walk around to the driver’s side, motioning for her to lower the window, leaning down so we’re at eye level.

  “Appreciate this. I’ll pop by tomorrow to settle with you.”

  She huffs and waves me off. “Don’t worry about that yet. We should sit down and strategize, though, so whenever you have some time you could spare, I’ll be in the office most of the day.”

  “Strategize? You don’t think this is the end of it?”

  She shrugs. “It’s possible, but something tells me Detective Walker will be back. I hope for the best, but experience has taught me I should plan for the worst.”

  I wonder what kind of experience would have netted her that lesson.

  “I’ll drop by,” I promise. I likely would’ve anyway and that has nothing to do with this bogus charge and everything to do with her. “It’s late, you should head home.”

  She smiles at me. Fuck, she’s gorgeous.

  “Now you sound like my brother.”

  Oh, hell no. I stick my face a little farther into the open window.

  “Trust me, I’m nothing like your brother,” I promise, and she sucks in a sharp little breath, drawing my eyes to her mouth. I notice a small streak of red in the corner. Salsa, I suspect.

  “Thanks for dinner.”

  Her voice is a little hoarse and against better judgment I reach in the window. With my thumb I brush her plump bottom lip before cleaning the spot.

  “You’re wearing it.”

  Immediately she starts wiping at her mouth, but those eyes stay on me. If I don’t get out of here now, I’m going to do something I’ll regret.

  “And it was my pleasure.”

  I rap my knuckles on her roof and head toward my vehicle. It’s the smart thing to do.

  Chapter Four

  Reagan

  Feels like spring out here.

  It’s not often I take my time in the morning, but it was a late night last night and it took me a while to get to sleep. I let the early morning sun kiss my face.

  I already talked to Sally and let her know I’d be in by ten. She’s warned that should Cal show up, she’ll make my apologies. Of course that prompted some questions, but I was able to avoid getting into it over the phone with a promise I’d fill her in when I got there.

  With my feet propped up on the deck railing, I look out over my backyard and the swamp beyond. I bought this old farmhouse when Neil and I split and sold the marital home in downtown Norfolk. Sadly I haven’t had much time to enjoy it.

  I’ve always wanted to live in the country. Somewhere I could put down roots, maybe have a few animals. Growing up a military brat—my dad was an Air Force pilot—my mom had her hands full raising my brother and me, basically on her own. There was no way she was going to add animals to the mix.

  Ironically, I’ve lived here for almost two years and still don’t have a single animal—not even a goldfish—because I’m afraid I’m too busy to look after it. I’m wondering if being too busy is always going to be an excuse for me.

  I take a sip of my coffee and watch a flock of birds settle in the treetops, a melancholy feeling pressing on my chest.

  Neil and I never had kids for the same reason; too busy. What didn’t help was he’d wanted kids but expected me to sacrifice my career for it. I’d always dreamed parenting would be something you did together, as a team, but not my ex. So in the end I may have wanted children, but certainly not with someone who had no plans to contribute other than sperm.

  Okay, now I’m just making myself miserable with those depressing thoughts. I throw back the dregs of my coffee and make my way inside, closing and locking the sliding door behind me.

  I’m in my car on the way to the office when my brother calls.

  “Morning.”

  “What happened? Waited all night for your call.”

  “Well, hello to you too,” I snap, my bristles up at his agitated tone.

  There’s a pointed silence before his voice is back, a tad more moderate.

  “Morning, Sis. Did you get things sorted last night?”

  “For the time being anyway.”

  “Took long enough. I tried calling a few times.”

  “Yeah, I had my phone turned off at the police station and forgot to turn it back on until I got home.”

  “So fill me in?” he asks.

  I hesitate; he may be my brother, but it’s not my place to discuss my client’s business with him and for now, Cal is the client.

  “Reagan?”

  “Don’t feel comfortable discussing this with you, Jackson. I mean, I know he’s supposed to be your friend, but I’d never heard his name from your mouth until last night.”

  “Of course you have,” Jackson insists.

  “Pretty sure I would’ve remembered.”

  “I’m sure I’ve mentioned Mac before.”

  “Mac? Cal is Mac?”

  I remember Jackson talking about Mac, a buddy whose leg was crushed during BUD/S training. I can vaguely recall a couple of other times his name was mentioned, but I’d never met the guy.

  “One and the same. We’ve kept in touch over the years and he occasionally does some work for Cole Security.”

  That’s Jackson’s security firm here in Virginia. It shouldn’t surprise me Cal has a call sign; most of the guys working with Jackson do. Hell, Jackson himself is known as Muff or Muffin. He still hasn’t shared what earned him that title, but maybe I can convince Cal to tell me.

  “Good, then you can call him yourself to find out what happened.” I stick to my guns.

  “Always playing by the rules,” he teases.

  “You know it.”

  I grin when I hear his exaggerated sigh.

  “I’m at the office, Brother-dear. I should get going. Give my love to Catherine and the girls.”

  “Fine, blow me off.”

  I pull the car into my slot and turn off the engine, grabbing my phone from the dock and
putting it to my ear as I get out of the car.

  “Finally he clues in,” it’s my turn to tease.

  “Jesus, when did you grow into such a hard-ass?”

  “Since I wiped the courtroom with my ex.”

  Jackson barks out a laugh. “You won? You beat the bastard?”

  My brother never was a fan of Neil Tory. I believe he may have been the first one to call him a snake-eyed shyster, a term I’ve used quite a few times myself in the past years.

  “I got my client an acquittal, yes,” I confirm, more modestly than my shit-eating grin implies.

  “Atta girl, Sis. Gonna have to celebrate soon.”

  “I’m game if you’re buying. I’m at the office, I’ve gotta go.”

  “Okay, I’ll give Cal a call. Later, Sis.”

  “Later.”

  I’m still smiling when I walk into the office to find Sally chatting with Sean Davies, who is holding a big bouquet of flowers.

  “There she is,” Sally points out unnecessarily. “Sean came by to pay his bill.”

  My client is in his mid-fifties and owns a small trucking company. He’s not without means or charm—a handsome enough silver fox, or so he likes to describe himself—but neither his money nor his charm has worked on me. He’s tried. I’ve had to remind him gently several times as his lawyer it would be inappropriate, if not downright unethical, for me to go on a date with him. Never mind the fact I’m not interested, certainly not in someone who hits up bars to pick up hookers.

  Unfortunately, it looks like I’ve been a little too gentle, as Sean presses the opulent bouquet in my hands.

  “I thought we should celebrate,” he starts, and I dart a look over his shoulder at a wide-eyed Sally. “The invoice is settled and technically you’re no longer my—”

  I hold up my hand to stop him, guessing where this is going to go.

  “That’s kind of you. Sally and I are happy with the outcome of your case. I certainly hope you won’t need our services again.”

  His face drops and he looks crestfallen at my veiled dismissal.

  “Of course,” he quickly catches himself. “I just thought…I’m uh…”

  “Here,” Sally jumps in, grabbing the flowers from my hand. “Let me get those in some water. Oh, and, Reagan? Mr. McGregor should be here shortly.”

  I could kiss her for rescuing me from this uncomfortable standoff and I grab onto the cue she’s handed me.

  “Yes, thank you for reminding me.” I turn to Sean and hold out my hand. “Well, I should prepare for that meeting, but thank you for the flowers, they’ll cheer up our office.”

  He shakes my hand and opens his mouth before closing it again with a nod. I think the penny has dropped.

  I watch him leave the office before turning back to find Sally sticking her head out of the kitchen.

  “Sorry. I didn’t have a chance to give you the heads-up.”

  “No worries. I think he got the message.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure.” She grimaces and sets the vase on my desk. “Found this in the bouquet,” she says, pointing at a small card tucked in the flowers.

  I fold it open and groan when I read what is written.

  Hope we see each other again. Soon.

  Yours, Sean

  “Oh, shit,” Sally snorts.

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  Cal

  I came in early; trying to get a head start before Mark Phillips, one of my bondsmen, and Pooja Bahri, my office manager, came in and I’d had to explain what happened last night. I barely got done with that when Jackson called, and I ended up going over everything again with him.

  Apparently he tried his sister first, who waved client privilege in his face. That gets a chuckle out of me, especially since he sounds disgruntled by her refusal to share.

  It does give me an opening to talk a little about her.

  “She seems to know her stuff, your sister.”

  “She sure does.” He chuckles. “People make the mistake of taking her at face value—pretty girl with those big innocent eyes—little do they know a shark lives underneath.”

  “Good to know I have her in my corner, then.”

  “You couldn’t do any better than Reagan,” he confirms with something more than only brotherly pride, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. Then his tone changes. “Something that fucktard of a husband of hers was too dumb to see.”

  “Husband?” I echo, trying hard to keep the disappointment out of my voice.

  “Ex,” he clarifies and I let out a relieved breath. “Divorced his ass a couple of years ago, but the guy is like a burr that won’t let go. He already made her life miserable but apparently still isn’t done.”

  I’d love to dig deeper but I’m afraid I’ll tip my hand—something I’d like to avoid—and besides, I don’t think Reagan would appreciate me going behind her back for information.

  “Anyway,” Jackson continues, “you can trust her; she’ll look after you.”

  “Thanks, Muff, appreciate it. I should get going, got stuff to do.”

  I don’t tell him the ‘stuff’ I’m referring to is going next door to see his sister.

  The first thing I see, when I walk in the door of her office, is the massive bouquet of flowers on the corner of a desk I peg as Reagan’s because of the stacks of folders, but she’s not at it.

  “Hi.” A short rounded woman with light-brown, spiky hair sticking up every which way and heavy-rimmed glasses leans over her desk and holds out her hand. “I’m Sally, Reagan’s assistant. And you are Callum McGregor.” I take her hand and raise an eyebrow. “Reagan told me who you were.”

  “Nice to meet you. Is she…uh…around?”

  “She’s just finishing up a call in the conference room. She shouldn’t be long, why don’t you have a seat?”

  She indicates a couple of visitors’ chairs in front of Reagan’s desk and I walk over, casually checking out the flowers in passing and noting a small card. The flowers intrigue me and I take the seat closest to them, attempting to read what’s on the card. The only thing I can decipher is a signature scribbled at the bottom, and I wonder who the fuck Sean is and what he is to Reagan.

  “Hey.”

  I snap my head around to find her standing right beside me. I wonder if she caught me checking out the card.

  “Morning. I was just checking out your flowers.”

  “Happy client,” she says with a shrug.

  Behind me I hear her assistant stifle a snort.

  “Must be,” I conclude, catching a twitch at the corner of Reagan’s mouth.

  “Want some coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  “Sally…”

  “Got it,” her assistant chirps.

  “We’ll be in the conference room.”

  I bite down a grin at the term conference room for a space that barely holds what looks like a round dining table, dotted with more folders and paperwork. She quickly stacks them and shoves them to one side before putting a yellow pad in front of her.

  “If you don’t mind,” she starts, “I want to go over the notes I made last night to ensure I got it down correctly. I plan to check in with Detective Walker sometime today. Hopefully he’ll have had a chance to look at the jail’s video feed, but I want to be well prepared in case it doesn’t show what we hope it will.”

  It takes us close to an hour to go over all of her notes, with the only interruption Sally, who brought us coffee. I was able to fill in a few blanks with names, dates, and places where we stopped or stayed on our way back from Texas.

  “I think that’s all for now, if I come across anything else, I’ll give you a call.”

  “Is that a roundabout way to get my number?” I tease.

  A deep blush creeps up on her cheeks. Funny how such a strong and competent woman can still be affected by a little flirting. It only makes her more attractive—and dangerous.

  I reach across the table for her pen and paper, and scribble down my cell number be
fore sliding both back to her. She ducks her head and puts aside the pad before shoving back from the table. I get up as well.

  “We didn’t discuss fees yet,” I point out.

  “We will if it turns out you need me,” she dismisses, walking out of the room.

  When I follow her into the front office I notice that damn bouquet on her desk.

  “Maybe I should be getting you flowers as a thank you?”

  Her eyes shoot to her desk before she turns them on me, laugh lines appearing at the corners.

  “Not necessary.”

  “Perfect; dinner it is.”

  I’m not sure what prompted me to say that. Actually, that’s a lie; I know exactly what prompted me. It’s still probably a really bad idea, but I’m caring less about that with each moment I spend in her presence.

  I catch Sally’s grinning thumbs-up behind her boss’s back as Reagan shakes her head, trying to catch up. At least I have one cheerleader.

  “Wait, I never said—” Reagan sputters.

  I spot one of those little business card holders on her desk and fish one out. It lists both her office and cell phone numbers.

  “Now I have your number too,” I tease. “I’ll call.”

  Sally’s hearty chuckle follows me out the door.

  Chapter Five

  Reagan

  “Way to go, Matt!”

  Sally whistles on her fingers, a talent I don’t have, so I simply stand and clap as her son is surrounded by his teammates, who are slapping him on the back.

  I’m sure my family would get a kick out of me at a kid’s soccer game, given that I avoided sports like the plague growing up. I wouldn’t be here if Sally’s boy hadn’t begged me to come. That was last night, over the pizza I invited them out to. He’d been telling me how excited he was for his first game of the season and I guess I showed a little too much enthusiasm, because the next thing I knew he was pleading with me to come watch. I didn’t have the heart to disappoint him.

  So here I am, leaving the office early just so I could be here for kickoff.