Seconds: A Salvation Society Novel

by Freya Barker

  “Yup. He found the skip, but ran into some resistance from local law enforcement.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Up in them there mountains; some small dot on the map on the South Carolina border with Georgia.”

  “Does he need help?”

  I won’t be able to go myself until my own situation is resolved, but Mark could go down if he needs a hand. Dean may be only half Jamaican—the other half is German—but all people see is a large black man, and believe it or not, in some areas that can make our job a bit more challenging.

  “No, he says he has it under control, but it’ll likely be Wednesday before he gets back.”

  “Good. Anything else pressing?”

  “Nothing we can’t handle. So you’re not coming back here?”

  “Think I’ll work from here.”

  “Sounds good. Oh, Boss? Mark wants a word.”

  I hear rustling in the background and then Mark’s voice comes on.

  “Did you get my message?”

  I glance at my screen and notice a message waiting.

  “Sorry, had the phone on silent in court and forgot to switch it back on. What’s up?”

  “Hoped I would catch you before court this morning, but remember that gym Walker has a membership for? I thought I’d poke around the place early this morning and hit pay dirt.”

  “Walker?” I guess.

  “Yes, but you’ll never guess who was spotting him on the bench press. Looking pretty chummy too. I watched them for about twenty minutes. The conversation looked intense.”

  I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see it. “Killing me here,” I grumble.

  “Right. None other than your lady’s ex. Neil Tory.”

  His contact in the prosecutor’s office.

  “No shit.”

  “None. I was too far to hear. I hung around after both were gone and tried to get a little more information from the girl at the shake bar. She said she’s seen them work the weights together before. Sorry I couldn’t get more.”

  “Not to worry. This is fine.”

  All the pieces are starting to fit into place.

  Walker must’ve gone to his buddy, Tory, to push through the charges against me. Whether he was pissed I apprehended his girlfriend, or perhaps was trying to make Krista look more like a victim for leverage in her upcoming trial, it doesn’t really matter. What matters is he found a willing ear in Tory as soon as the man found out his ex-wife—the one he’d just lost a big case against—was listed as my lawyer.

  The one thing I can’t figure out is how the torching of our building and the subsequent murder of Reagan’s client comes into play, but something tells me it’s all connected.

  “Okay,” Reagan says thoughtfully, as she picks up our empty plates and dumps them into the sink.

  I just shared my thoughts with her over dinner. She’d been busy with Sally in her office this afternoon and I was able to get caught up on some work myself. Then I ran out, got a few groceries, and ended up cooking dinner while she was finishing up her day.

  Anything to get to the celebration part of our day faster. It’s well overdue.

  “But what would’ve connected those two in the first place?” she continues, her back to me as she runs water in the sink. “You say Walker transferred from Norfolk sometime last year? Neil came to the Suffolk office sometime in the fall. He was in Richmond before. I don’t see the connection. I know Walker didn’t work on the Davies case or I would’ve met him before.”

  I step up behind her, reach around, and turn off the water with one hand, while the other splays wide over her stomach, pulling her body against me.

  “No more work,” I whisper with my lips against her ear. “We’ve come to the fun part of our day, I’ve waited long enough.”

  I slide my hand from her stomach down and under the waistband of the lounge pants she changed into before dinner.

  “Fuck, Slick,” I hiss when I find out she hasn’t bothered to put on panties.

  Nothing but soft skin, a tidy patch of trimmed hair, and warm wet folds. The moment my fingers brush her clit, she groans and drops her head back on my shoulder.

  “So warm, so fucking wet for me.”

  She inhales sharply when I broach her entrance, sliding first one, and then two digits inside her tight channel. Her hips rock against me as I press the heel of my hand against her clit. With my other hand I manage to unbutton my jeans, shoving them partway down my ass. Then I pull down her pants and she grabs onto the sides of the sink, tilting her ass.

  When I sink inside her, I glance up at our reflection in the kitchen window; her mouth open, the blush I love dark on her cheeks, and her eyes burning with heat for me.

  Magnificent.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Reagan

  “I’m not going to take up much of your time.”

  We wait for Judge Raymond to sit before we do the same; only Neil stays standing.

  “Your Honor,” he says, a smug look at me before he turns to the bench. “I have reason to believe—”

  “Mr. Tory, take a seat please. Like I said; I won’t waste your time, the way the prosecution has wasted this court’s.”

  I try hard not to smile. Those words are music to my ears. Even though I didn’t think any judge worth his salt would’ve continued with this farce, you never know until he makes his ruling. From the corner of my eye I see Neil sitting down, his head turned to the back of the courtroom. Waiting for someone?

  “I’ve given you the benefit of the doubt by merit of the office you hold, Mr. Tory. However, after going over the original complaint, the police report, the video you provided, as well as the recordings and motions from the defense, I’m afraid I had more questions than answers. As a result, I took it upon myself to do due diligence, something I would’ve expected from you.” Neil is pinned with a glare and I see him squirm in his seat, still nervously darting glances over his shoulder. “I had copies of all the jail’s security feeds for the date in question dropped off at my office yesterday afternoon.”

  That gets Judge Raymond Neil’s undivided attention, and mine as well.

  “The only thing I haven’t decided yet is whether I should let this go as just shoddy work on your part and grant the defence motions, Mr. Tory, or whether to add charge of prosecutorial misconduct for you.”

  Behind me the doors slam open and turning around, I see Detective Walker marching into the courtroom.

  “Your Honor, before you make any rulings on misconduct,” Neil says, jumping to his feet and reaching over the railing to grab an envelope Walker hands him. “I have evidence of misconduct on the part of the defense attorney, Ms. Cole, who is involved in a relationship of a sexual nature with the defendant, Mr. McGregor.”

  Judge Raymond drops back in his chair and lifts his eyes to the ceiling.

  “You have got to be kidding me.”

  I’m stunned. Too stunned to even speak although I should probably have objected at some point, but this is playing out like my worst nightmare.

  I watch helplessly as Neil hands the bailiff the envelope. There isn’t currently a rule that prohibits a client/attorney relationship, however, it’s not exactly ethical and therefore is frowned upon. Any goodwill I might have had with Judge Raymond may have just blown up in my face.

  “Fuck,” I hear Cal hiss beside me, but my eyes are focused on that damn envelope, wondering what the hell he might have in there.

  This time when the judge leans forward, his sharp glare is for me. The bailiff slides the envelope in front of the judge, who slaps a hand on top. After what feels like fifteen minutes of his scrutiny, but was probably just a few seconds, he shoves the envelope back.

  “Take this to Ms. Cole and have her take a look at it first.”

  “But, Your Honor,” Neil almost whines.

  “Mr. Tory, I’ve had it up to here with you. Sit down and be quiet or I’ll hold you in contempt.” Then he looks into the spectator gallery. “Detective Walker,
I believe? Take a seat.

  “Ms. Cole, I’m afraid to ask…”

  “Yes, Your Honor. I am in a relationship with a good friend of my brother’s, my landlord, my neighbor, and yes, Callum McGregor is also my client.”

  It’s not exactly a lie, but the timing is questionable, something I’m pretty sure Judge Raymond can smell a mile away, given his narrowed eyes on me.

  I lower mine to the envelope and slide the handful of pictures from the envelope, gasping when I get a look at the first one.

  “Sonofabitch,” Cal growls, pushing up from his seat.

  I grab for his arm and yank him back down.

  In the photograph, I’m clearly outlined in my own damn kitchen window and Cal is visible behind me. Thankfully with my shirt in place, but from the look of bliss on my face there is no way to misinterpret what we’re doing.

  “Ms. Cole,” Judge Raymond calls me to attention. “Where were those pictures taken?”

  “At my home, Your Honor. Last night, through my kitchen window at the back of my house. We had a reasonable expectation of privacy, given that my backyard butts up to the wildlife refuge.”

  I don’t bother adding that my house is set back from the road at such a distance; you wouldn’t have been able to see much had we been naked on my front porch. It’s not illegal to take pictures of someone in a public setting, or if in full view of a public space like a sidewalk, but that was clearly not the case here.

  “I see.” He nods, rubbing a hand over his face before he looks up at the prosecution table. “Mr. Tory, I’m at a loss as to what your motivation may have been to resort to these levels to discredit, or distract, or whatever the hell you think you were doing…” His voice rises with every word as he tears into Neil, who fruitlessly attempts to get a word in during the judge’s tirade.

  I’m unsteady on my feet when we finally walk out of the courtroom, clutching the envelope with damning pictures, and Cal’s hand at my elbow. I should be thrilled, getting all charges against Cal dropped, but instead I feel like I just climbed out of a particularly dirty sewer.

  “I need a shower,” I tell Cal when we step out on the sidewalk.

  “All I need is few minutes alone with those pieces of shit,” he growls in response as we approach his truck.

  “Please don’t.” I turn to face him, and slide a hand along his jaw. “Getting you out of trouble once was enough. I have no desire to head back in court for seconds.”

  Cal

  I’m still seething when we get to Reagan’s place.

  Don’t get me wrong; I’m relieved the judge dismissed the charges against me. What I’m seeing red about are those fucking pictures, taking a private and intimate moment I shared with a woman I’ve fallen fast for and dirtying it.

  I can handle people throwing shit at me—in my line of work it happens more often than not—but the lengths to which Reagan’s ex and that dirty cop went to discredit Reagan pisses me right off. Having the judge threaten both those bastards with an investigation into their professional conduct doesn’t quite satisfy me. I want to know why.

  “Are you gonna be okay here?” I ask Reagan when we walk in the door. “I’ve got a few things I want tackle back at my place.”

  “Sure,” she answers easily, placing a hand in the middle of my chest. I cover it with mine. “I’ll be fine. Sally’s here and if I don’t have a ton waiting for me, I might even go out and garden for a couple of hours.”

  I lean my forehead to hers. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, knowing she’ll understand what I’m apologizing for.

  “Don’t,” she whispers back. “Maybe I’ll make a potato salad, we’ll throw a few steaks on the grill, and make a bonfire after. Burn those damn pictures and take back that amazing memory.”

  I can’t help the grin. “Amazing, huh?”

  “Oh please, you don’t need that large ego of yours stroked,” she teases. “You know it was.”

  Instead of answering I kiss her hard.

  “I might want seconds.”

  “Don’t push your luck, handsome, it won’t be in front of that kitchen window.” She gives me a little shove and I reluctantly let her go, but not before I get the last word in.

  “Maybe not, but I recall a nice big mirror over your bathroom sink.”

  “Need your help on something, Muff.”

  I don’t even bother trying to keep my conversation with Jackson private. There’s not a lot my guys don’t know about me.

  “What’s up?”

  I fill him in on what’s happened since the last time we spoke, ending with this morning’s events in court. Not my first choice for him to find out his sister and I had sex in the kitchen, but those pictures make it impossible to avoid.

  “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

  “Wish I were and as much as I hate those goddamn pictures, I’m more worried about the why. If a prosecutor and a police detective—neither with any real marks against their records—do something like this, how far are they willing to go? What is their motivation?” I share what Mark told me about what he saw at the gym. “Clearly there’s something tying these two.”

  “I’ll find out,” Jackson says with confidence. “I’ll put my guys at Cole Security on it. Leave it with me.”

  I want to object but the truth is, when it comes to tracking my guys may be top of the line, but for digging up dirt Cole Security is better equipped.

  “Fair enough,” I concede.

  “You look after Reagan.”

  “No need to ask,” I bite off, annoyed.

  “Yes, I fucking do—she’s my sister.”

  With that he ends the call, and when I look up I notice every eye in the room on me.

  “What?”

  Moe is the first to speak up. “In front of the kitchen window, dude?” A stapler sails across the room at his head. “Hey! Watch it.”

  “You’re an idiot,” Pooja scolds him, getting up to retrieve her stapler. “First the woman has her tires slashed, her office lit on fire, and then someone’s in her backyard snapping pictures? Maybe you should focus on that.”

  My office manager is probably the most even-tempered, kind woman I know, but Moe has the ability to draw blood from a rock, spouting his inappropriate comments. He’s a good guy, but sometimes has trouble with his filters. In that he doesn’t seem to have any.

  Mark stays silent, observing Pooja as she seems to decimate the much larger, louder man with just a few words.

  “Where is she?” he finally asks me.

  “Reagan? At her place, with her assistant.”

  “You heading back there?”

  “Planning to as soon as I’m done here. Why?”

  Mark shrugs. “Nothing I can put my finger on. There’s just something off about this whole thing.”

  I’m still thinking about Mark’s words when I’m on my way back to Reagan’s place an hour later.

  I sent her a text to let her know I was on my way when Pooja eventually made me leave. She promised she’d keep the guys in check and would have Dean call me the moment he got in, so there was no reason for me to hang around.

  The first thing I notice when I drive up to her house is the single car parked out front. Only the Kia, Sally’s car is gone. Immediately all the hair on my neck stands on end.

  I slam the truck in park and hop out, jogging up the front steps. The door is unlocked.

  “Reagan!”

  I check the office but it’s empty. She’s not in the living room or kitchen either. Upstairs?

  I take two steps at a time and check the bedroom, then the bathroom and even the spare rooms, but she’s not there.

  “Reagan!” I call out again, my heart pounding out of my chest as I run back down.

  Did someone come in? Did they take her? I didn’t notice any signs of a struggle, and I’m pretty sure Reagan would put up a fight. Where the fuck is she?

  I’m trying not to panic and force myself to take a good look around. Her keys are on the hall table, h
er purse on the floor underneath, and when I walk to the kitchen I see her phone on the island next to a bag of potatoes and a cutting board.

  Then I spot the sliding door open a crack and my eyes are drawn outside, to the edge of the swamp. It wouldn’t take much to disappear out there. I step out on the deck, my gaze focused on the tree line when I catch movement from the corner of my eye.

  “Hey. You’re home already?” Reagan steps out of the side door of the garage, carrying a hose and a sprinkler, and walks over to the faucet on the outside wall. I sink down on the steps with relief while I listen to her talk. “I had to dig around for these. The hose had fallen off the hook and was stuck behind some of the boxes. I wanted to put the sprinkler on while I’m cooking.”

  She finally notices I haven’t answered, drops the hose, and walks up to me.

  “Are you okay?”

  I lift my head and look into those gorgeous hazel eyes.

  “Where’s Sally?”

  She seems genuinely surprised.

  “She got a call from the school. Matt’s not feeling well so she left early to pick him up. Why?”

  “Because you were out here alone. Your fucking front door was unlocked, the back door open, and for all I knew you could’ve been dragged out into the swamp.”

  Understanding washes over her face and she looks remorseful.

  “I knew you were on your way because you texted me. I left the door unlocked so you could come in. I’m fine.”

  She reaches out and ruffles my hair like I’m twelve years old. I should be pissed, but all I can feel is relief as I grab her by the hips and pull her on my lap.

  “You’re getting a goddamn dog.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Reagan

  “I’m not getting a dog,” I say for the third time.

  Matt flops back on my couch, his headache and fever almost forgotten.

  Sally has kept him home from school since Tuesday, but her babysitter wasn’t available today. When she called this morning, I told her she could bring him here, and he could hang on my couch while we worked. I love Matt. He and Sally are like family.