Seconds: A Salvation Society Novel

by Freya Barker

  “I remember him mentioning you were badly injured in a training accident. Your leg?” He nods, his hand inadvertently reaching down to rub his left leg. “Is that why you didn’t become a SEAL?”

  “Artificial knees don’t work well for SEALs.”

  There’s bitterness in his voice and I instinctively reach out and put my hand on his arm. He pulls back like he got burned, startling me.

  “I’m sorry,” I mutter, afraid I’ve overstepped.

  “No need to be.” His mouth twitches into a self-deprecating smile. “I probably wouldn’t have held up under all that structure anyway. It all worked out. My training and my size got me a job working for my uncle. He was a bail bondsman in Richmond.” He shrugs. “The rest is history.”

  “Does it still bother you?”

  “My knee? Nah, it gets tight from time to time and I’ve learned to avoid landing on it, but other than that, it’s become just another part of my body.”

  His smile is friendly, but something is different. Suddenly unsure what to say, I turn to my Keurig.

  “I’m gonna make some coffee, do you want one?”

  “Sure, but I should probably take it to go.”

  I’m glad I have my back turned so he can’t read the disappointment on my face.

  “Okay.”

  “Reagan…”

  “Regular or decaf?” I quickly ask, my voice a bit squeaky.

  I reach up to grab a travel mug from the top shelf when I feel the heat of his body right behind me.

  “I’ve got it,” he says, his breath brushing my cheek as he easily picks a mug and sets it down on the counter in front of me. But he doesn’t move, and I’m afraid to breathe.

  When I finally feel him step away and try to focus on setting up the Keurig, my hands are shaking.

  Five minutes later I’m showing him the door, and he surprises me with a brief hard kiss on my lips before he marches to his truck without a word.

  Cal

  Shit.

  I rub a hand over my face at the sound of my alarm. It had taken a while for me to fall asleep.

  I bailed last night, all but ran from Reagan’s place with the excuse I had some work left to do. The damn coffee she handed me is still in my truck—cold by now—but that goodbye kiss I stole from her still burns on my lips.

  God knows what she must be thinking; I went from hot to cold in the time it took her to mention Jackson’s name, who I’d conveniently relegated far to the background. The reminder made me realize I at least owe the man a heads-up I’m interested in his sister. He won’t like it and there’s nothing I can do about that, but he needs to know I intend to see her.

  Of course, after last night, she may not be as receptive, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.

  I swing my legs out of bed and get started on my day. There’s work waiting for me at the office.

  Aaron Morales, who goes by Moe, looks up when I walk in.

  “You’re early,” I point out, throwing my keys and phone on my desk before sitting down.

  “I know. Got a call from Troy Jensen’s mother an hour ago. She says she went to check on him this morning, and it looks like he packed a few things and took off. His truck’s gone too.”

  “Fuck!”

  The armed robbery trial for the twenty-two-year-old punk is scheduled to start next week. We’ve been keeping close tabs on him with the help of his mother, who had to take out a second mortgage on her house to pay his bond. The kid’s been a squirrely pain in the ass from day one.

  “I’m just here to pull all the contacts I have for him before I head out,” Moe explains, Troy’s file open in front of him.

  “Do you need backup?” It would mean my own work would have to wait, but that can’t be helped.

  “I’m good. I’ve got Mark on standby, should I need an extra hand.”

  I nod my understanding and turn to the constant pile of paperwork on my desk. It seems every time I think I’m making a dent new files appear.

  I’m buried so deep in my work I barely acknowledge Moe when he takes off, calling out a rushed goodbye, but for some reason I clearly hear it when someone enters the office next door a couple of hours later. A quick glance out the window shows Reagan’s toy car in the parking lot, and just like that my concentration is shot.

  Sitting back down at my desk, I grab my phone and find Muff’s number in my contacts. His cell phone rings five times before going into voicemail. Instead of leaving a message, I find his home number and try again with the same result.

  Shit. I was hoping to have this dealt with before going next door. I call the cell again and this time, leave a brief message for him to call me.

  My mind on the woman next door, I give up on clearing my desk, turn off my computer, and hit the lights. But as I’m locking the door behind me, a police cruiser and an unmarked car pull in. I turn to face the parking lot and recognize Walker as he gets out of the car. From the look on his face I know he’s here for me.

  I wait for him to come up the steps, the officer right behind him.

  “Please turn around, hands behind your back,” he says, and I comply.

  As the officer is snapping on the cuffs, my eyes meet Reagan’s shocked ones through the door to her office.

  “Callum McGregor, you are under arrest for the rape and sexual battery of Krista Hardee.”

  He grabs my elbow and turns me around. As I’m led down the steps I hear the door behind me open.

  “Excuse me!” Reagan calls out, her voice strong and authoritative. “Where do you think you’re going with my client?”

  “Your client is under arrest,” Walker fires off at her over his shoulder, as he presses me up against the cruiser.

  Reagan hurries over as the officer pats me down, tossing my wallet, keys, and phone on the hood.

  “Don’t worry and don’t say anything until I have a chance to find out what’s going on,” she urges me.

  Not that I was planning to, but I can’t deny I’m worried. I give her a nod and I get a reassuring smile in return. That settles my racing heart some.

  “I’m good,” I tell her, feeling far from it. “Can you take my phone and stuff? Call Mark?”

  Mark is my second-in-command and I know from Moe he’s around.

  “For sure.” She sounds calm but when she reaches to pick up my things, I see her hands shaking. She’s not as composed as she appears. “I’m just gonna lock up and will be right behind you.”

  Her eyes hold mine as Walker puts me in the back of the cruiser, and they don’t waver until we start moving.

  Despite not having a clue what the fuck is going on, I trust Reagan enough to know she won’t rest until she gets to the bottom of this.

  Chapter Seven

  Reagan

  I’m vibrating with tension as I enter the police station.

  A man I’ve seen go into McGregor Bail Bonds a few times gets up from a bench and walks toward me. He’s tall, taller than Cal, fair-haired, clean-shaven, and well dressed. I already know he has a British accent.

  “Mark?”

  “Yes. Good to meet you,” he returns with a nod.

  “I’m surprised you got here this fast. Have you found out anything?”

  He shakes his head. “Shaughnessy won’t talk to me.” He indicates the officer eyeing us from behind the desk. “You’ll probably have more luck.”

  I nod and walk up to the counter.

  “Officer Shaughnessy?”

  “Sergeant Shaughnessy,” he corrects me.

  “I apologize, Sergeant. My name is Reagan Cole and I’m an attorney. I understand my client was arrested and brought in. Callum McGregor? I’d like to speak with him.”

  “Why don’t you have a seat while I check with the arresting officer?”

  “Could you perhaps tell me the exact charge?”

  He looks at Mark over my shoulder, then seems to shrug.

  “It’s not a secret. Rape and sexual battery.” He doesn’t strike me as unfrie
ndly so I reward him with a little smile.

  “I see. One more question, if you don’t mind?” I notice his eyes darting down the hallway, leading to the bowels of the building before returning to me. He leans a little closer.

  “Be careful,” he whispers under his breath just as Walker comes walking our way.

  It takes everything out of me not to ask what he means, but the detective is watching us.

  “Ms. Cole.”

  Oh, that man likes me about as much as I like him. Not.

  “Detective Walker. I understand you’ve arrested my client.”

  “For a crime he committed, that’s correct,” he says smugly.

  “I see you may need a refresher course in your criminal law, Detective. Guilt is decided in a court of law, by a jury of his peers, after hearing all the evidence. Which reminds me, I have left you several messages this past week but you have failed to respond to any of them. Last time we spoke, you were going to check the cameras in the jail parking lot.”

  He throws a quick glance at Shaughnessy before returning to me.

  “There’s nothing worth seeing on the feed,” he responds.

  “Right. Could you see my client arrive?” I’m seething, but I’m trying to hold it together for my client.

  “Possibly.”

  “What do you mean—possibly?”

  “Couldn’t really tell who it was, the tape was poor quality,” he answers with a smug smile.

  My hands are tight fists, nails digging into my palms, and I take a few deep breaths in.

  “I will expect a copy of that tape.”

  “Sorry. I handed it over to the prosecutor’s office. You’ll have to get it from them.”

  “Do you at least have a copy of the warrant?”

  “Shaughnessy can get that ready for you,” he says magnanimously, and I’d love to plant my heel on his instep, but refrain.

  “Good. Then I’d like a few minutes with my client now.”

  “I’m afraid he’s being processed by the magistrate right now. You’ll have to wait.”

  There isn’t a doubt in my mind he’ll keep me waiting longer than necessary, but there’s little I can do about that, so I simply nod and walk over to Mark.

  “I was wrong,” he says when I take a seat on the bench beside him.

  “Sorry?”

  “When your brother first got in touch and told me to contact you, I wasn’t sure it was a good idea. I’d seen you around and—please don’t be offended—you didn’t exactly have the appearance of an arse-kicker, but I stand corrected.”

  “Thanks—I think. Although I’m not so sure I’ve kicked any ass yet.”

  “Oh, but you will,” he confirms with conviction.

  I sure hope he’s right, because there isn’t a whole lot I can do for my client at this point.

  “You know, you don’t have to hang around,” I tell Mark. “I’m sure it’ll be a while before I get in to see him, and I can already tell you there’s no way he’ll get out today. We’ll have to wait until Monday when he goes in front of a judge.”

  “I’m waiting with you.”

  Stubborn, but it’s a free country and if he wants to sit on a bench in a police station on a weekend, I can’t stop him.

  At some point Shaughnessy walks up and hands me a copy of the arrest warrant, which I don’t expect to offer anything I don’t already know, but it gives me a chance to ask about his earlier warning.

  “Why did you tell me to be careful?”

  He throws a furtive glance over his shoulder before responding.

  “Walker’s an ass with connections, who somehow has developed a hard-on for your client. Don’t know why, I just know he has the ear of the prosecutor’s office.”

  “I see. Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I know and like McGregor, and this charge stinks to high heaven.”

  Someone walks in from outside and Shaughnessy rushes back to his post behind the desk and I turn to Mark.

  “Have you guys had any run-ins with Detective Walker?”

  “Not that I know of. I don’t really know the guy. I can look into him if you like, though.”

  “Might be a good idea. At best, what they have on Cal is thin, hardly enough to be moving so fast on an arrest, so I’d love to know what Walker’s beef is.”

  He gets to his feet. “I’ll get on it right now. Will you be all right here? ”

  “I’ll be fine. Thanks, Mark.”

  “Anything to get Cal out as soon as possible.”

  I just nod and watch him walk out the door.

  As expected, it takes another hour and a half before an officer approaches and invites me to follow him to the holding cells.

  I sit down on the cot beside Cal, who looks royally pissed.

  “This is bullshit,” he volunteers.

  “I know.” I lean in a little close to avoid being overheard. “Have you ever had a confrontation of some kind with Walker?”

  The puzzled look on his face tells me enough.

  “Didn’t know the man before he walked into the interrogation room the first time. Why?”

  “Remember I mentioned I thought he had his own agenda? I just had an interesting tête-à-tête with Shaughnessy in the lobby. He said to be careful of Walker, that he has connections, and something stinks about these charges.”

  He snorts. “No shit. They’re bogus.”

  “Mark was here earlier, he’s digging into Walker. I’m gonna look into that security feed, because something’s fishy about that as well.” I twist my body so I’m facing him. “The earliest I can get you out is Monday.”

  “I know. The magistrate can’t allow bond on a violent felony charge.”

  Of course he would know.

  “Exactly. Your case will go up in front of a judge for arraignment and I likely won’t have a chance to talk to you before. You’ll be asked to plea—”

  “I’m familiar with the process,” he interrupts brusquely.

  “I’m sure you are, but I still need to go over this with you,” I tell him firmly, before walking him through what to expect. More so for my sake, so I don’t miss anything. “Can Mark access funds?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, I’ll ask him to be there with a check for your bail on Monday. We’ll get this sorted.”

  I get up and tug my bag over my shoulder. His eyes drop to my mouth and I automatically lick them. His nostrils flare.

  “Stop,” I whisper.

  “What am I doing?” he asks, an eyebrow raised.

  “I’m your lawyer.”

  “I’m well aware.”

  “If you want me to continue representing you, you can’t look at me like that. Especially in court.”

  “So noted.”

  Yet his gaze still burns me as the officer opens the door for me.

  Cal

  That was not pleasant.

  I’m not talking about jail; that was luxurious compared to some places I’ve stayed in. No, what was hard to take was not being able to get myself out of this. I spent forty-eight hours fucking twiddling my thumbs while I had to trust others to do what needed to be done to get me out of here.

  I’m not a stranger in the courtroom but I’ve never seen it from this perspective, which is something I could’ve done without. At first all I felt was anger that Krista would stoop this low, but now I’m starting to worry that even when I’m cleared, this will leave a lasting tarnish on my reputation.

  “Pretrial is set for a week from today. I expect you there, Mr. McGregor.”

  Reagan elbows me and I reluctantly answer, “Yes, Your Honor.”

  After that it’s a matter of Mark paying the bond and the three of us walk out of the courthouse.

  “What the hell was with that prosecutor?” Mark asks Reagan.

  A sour-faced lawyer from the Commonwealth’s Attorney’s Office entered a motion to deny me bail, but luckily the judge agreed with Reagan, who was prepared and calmly listed all the reasons I would no
t pose a flight risk.

  “Not sure,” she answers tensely, “but you can be assured I plan to find out.”

  She and Mark are parked side by side, but I opt to fold myself into the Kia’s passenger seat. I’ll catch Mark at the office but I want to talk to Reagan first.

  “Talk to me,” I tell her when she starts driving.

  “There’s a lot. Don’t you want to go home first? Shower?”

  I didn’t think of that. I’m probably ripe by now.

  “Fine. I’m not far. Familiar with The Lofts on East Washington?”

  “I am.”

  “So fill me in?” I ask when she pulls onto the road.

  “Don’t hold your breath,” she warns me with a quick side-glance. “There isn’t a whole lot to tell you. At least on my side. I’m starting to suspect there was a purpose to arresting you on a Saturday morning. I’ve still not had a call back from the Commonwealth’s Attorney’s Office, but I plan to park on their doorstep later today until I can get some answers.”

  When we stop at a traffic light, she presses her hand against her forehead and I notice for the first time how tired she looks.

  “Are you okay?” My question seems to startle her.

  The light turns green and it takes her a moment before she answers.

  “Yeah, I’m good. I’m just frustrated. It feels like we’re being railroaded. I haven’t had a chance to confer with Mark yet, but I haven’t been able to get anywhere.”

  I point her to my parking spot in front of my building and she follows me inside, not shy about checking out my place.

  “Nice,” she comments. “My real estate agent had me look at a show model for one of these lofts when I first moved here. The building was still being renovated then. Yours is nicer, though.”

  “Thanks. Look, make yourself comfortable. Feel free to help yourself to some coffee or something.” I point at the kitchen. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”

  It ends up being more like ten. As I wash the imaginary stench of the holding cell off me, I’m well aware of Reagan just feet away in my apartment and my body immediately responds. That eats up another few minutes to take care of. By the time I’m dressed and walk into the kitchen, she’s sitting at the island, flipping through an old newspaper and sipping coffee. Fuck, but I like her in my space.