Seconds: A Salvation Society Novel

by Freya Barker

  “Okay,” I whisper, dropping a soft kiss on her lips before I pull the door closed.

  I grab some clean clothes for myself, and head to the second bathroom down the hall. I’ll be fast and I’m not planning to go far. I’ll give her some time, but I’m gonna make sure I’m close by if she needs me.

  After a quick rinse off, I step into the hallway and walk over to her bathroom door, putting my ear against the door. At first all I hear is the water running, but then I hear something else and without hesitation, I push the door open.

  Reagan

  I could feel it coming, the meltdown.

  I quickly wash my hair, and allowing the shower to beat down on me, I let go of the tight control and the tears flow. When my body starts shaking so hard I’m afraid my legs won’t hold me up, I sink down in the tub, holding my knees.

  I’m not sure how long I sit there when the door opens and Cal slips in, sinking down beside the bathtub with his back against the wall. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t interfere, he just sits there—looking straight ahead—and yet his presence calms me.

  When I lift my head and reach over my shoulder to turn off the faucet, he gets up. He slides the shower door open, reaches for my hand, and helps me step out. Then he pulls a towel off the hook, wraps it around me, and finally he folds me in his arms. My wet hair is getting his clean shirt wet.

  “Your shirt.”

  “It’ll dry,” he rumbles, slowly stroking my back until he finally asks, “Did that help?”

  “I don’t cry a lot.” I feel his hand still on my back and I lift my head so I can see his face. He looks puzzled. “I mean, I know it’s a turn-off for most guys. I didn’t want you to think I make a habit of it.”

  Now he looks pissed.

  “I’m not sure where you get your information but for the record, I don’t give a flying fuck if you cry. Cry all you damn want but don’t block me out.”

  That shuts me up.

  I’m so used to hiding emotions, I automatically withdrew when I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold them back. Most men I know would run at the first sight of tears—hell, Neil did until I stopped crying in front of him—but not Cal. He was hurt I shut him out.

  I wrap my arms tighter around him and burrow my face in his chest, no longer caring I’m getting him wet. He doesn’t.

  Suddenly I’m bone-tired. I feel him press a kiss to my head before he takes a step back.

  “Why don’t you go lie down for a bit?” he suggests gently, and I’m struck by how tuned-in he is. I never said a word but he instinctively seems to know what I need.

  “What if they need to ask me more questions?”

  “They’ll be busy out there for a while yet. I’m going to run downstairs to get the first aid kit, why don’t you get into something comfortable in the meantime?”

  When he walks into my bedroom minutes later, I’d just laid down on top of my covers. Silently he checks the cuts on my feet and puts on some antibiotic ointment before covering my feet with the socks I left on the bed. Then he tilts my head back and checks out the cut on my chin, which seems to have stopped bleeding.

  “It’s not that deep,” he concludes. “You can probably get away with a couple of butterfly bandages.”

  “There’s wound glue in the basket.”

  He digs it out and carefully applies it before pressing the edges together. Then he covers it with a large Band-Aid.

  “Get some sleep,” he whispers, his face hovering over mine. “I’ll leave the door open a crack, so you can call if you need me.”

  “Thank you for being so good to me.”

  His lips brush mine.

  “Thank you for letting me.”

  Then he packs everything back in the basket and leaves the room.

  I close my eyes but instead of falling asleep, I see the events of this afternoon play out in my mind. The smells, the sound of Winters’ voice, Neil’s dead eyes staring at me. The stark fear when Winters caught up with me, and panicked I swung that branch my hand found at his head. It wasn’t enough to stop him, but it did injure him and it got him very, very angry.

  My hand comes up to cover my neck remembering that cold blade. I expected any moment I would feel it slicing through my throat.

  Like a movie it plays through my mind again, and again, until finally—exhausted—I fall asleep.

  Cal

  “She okay?”

  Mark is in Reagan’s office, where he’s taken over Sally’s desk, when I come back downstairs.

  “Still sleeping. Have you heard from Dean?”

  It’s been a couple of hours and they’ll be losing daylight soon. It’ll be darker still under the canopy of the trees. Dean, who stuck close to Melville, has been texting us a few updates. We know they found the trail where Tory’s car was parked. Rather than track through Reagan’s property, they’ve been using that same trail to bring in the crime tech unit and more recently the coroner’s van.

  “He says they’ll be another half hour or so. Coroner just left with the bodies.”

  Good, that’ll give Reagan a little more time to sleep because I’m pretty sure Melville will stop here after. My eyes catch on a picture frame on the bookshelf behind her desk. A snapshot of Reagan and Jackson at some outdoor event, both of them laughing.

  I spoke with Jackson after leaving his sister to rest. I didn’t want him to find out what happened through the grapevine. Turns out, he was on the East Coast for some meetings both in New York and at his office in Norfolk. He’d planned to check in with his sister before heading back home, but I’m pretty sure he’ll be here sooner than later, wanting to make sure she’s all right. Reagan may have a houseful by the time she wakes up.

  “We should get some food. A couple of pizzas or something easy.”

  “I can go pick some up,” Mark suggests, shoving his chair back before getting up. “Probably faster than waiting for delivery out here.”

  I head to the laundry room after he leaves, switching the load from the washer to the dryer. I’m washing both our dirty clothes. They were caked in mud and covered in blood, and I didn’t want to leave them lying around as a stark reminder of what Reagan went through this afternoon. I’m sure it’ll be seared in her mind as it is.

  I’m just washing a few dishes in the kitchen when I hear the front door open. An unusually disheveled Jackson walks in. He normally looks like he just walked off the pages of GQ, but not today. His dark hair looks like he’s been running his hand through it and his face looks gaunt.

  “Where is she?” is the first thing out of his mouth when he sees me. A little too loud.

  “Watch the volume, she’s sleeping.”

  He immediately makes a move to the stairs, but I manage to grab his arm.

  My friend makes for an imposing figure, he’s only a couple of inches taller, but even that rumpled suit jacket can’t hide the buff body underneath. I’m no slouch myself, but I don’t spend nearly as much time keeping my physique in top shape. I like my beer and my takeout too much. Muff could probably take me down in a heartbeat.

  From the look he shoots me, it’s clear he’s about two seconds away from reminding me of that fact.

  “I said she’s sleeping. She doesn’t even know I called you yet—something I’m sure I’ll catch flack for—and the last thing she needs is another shock today.”

  “She’s my goddamn sister,” he growls, his eyes shooting fire, but I’m not standing down.

  “And she’s my woman, which is why I’ll go up in a minute and give her a heads-up we’ve got company.”

  “We?” he sneers.

  My own temper is flaring, but because I get where he’s coming from I’m staying calm.

  “Yeah, we. My stuff is in her closet, my toothbrush in the bathroom, and right now our clothes are sharing the dryer, so yes—we.”

  As quickly as it flared, the anger disappears, leaving him looking tired and worn.

  “Is she okay?”

  I told him over the phone alre
ady, but I get he wants to look me in the eye when I repeat she’s fine.

  “Come have some coffee.”

  Without waiting for an answer, I turn and head to the kitchen. A large hand drops on my shoulder as I’m getting another mug from the cupboard.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s all good. Have a seat and I’ll fill you in on the latest.”

  Leaving Jackson looking a little less ragged and a lot more calm, I head upstairs.

  She’s curled on her side, still sleeping, but the moment I sit down on the edge of the bed her eyes shoot open.

  “Hey.”

  The little smile accompanying the sleepy voice is encouraging and I lean over to kiss her forehead.

  “Sleep okay?”

  “Yeah.” She rolls on her back and looks at the window. “Oh my God, it’s nighttime. How long did I sleep for?”

  “Couple of hours. I came to wake you up because it looks like Melville may be heading this way soon. They’re almost done out there.”

  I hate the reminder deepens the soft lines on her face instantly.

  “Okay, I’ll get up.”

  She flicks back the covers right away, and I make room so she can swing her legs over the side.

  “Also,” I continue, “I called Jackson earlier.” I know she’s annoyed when she turns a glare on me and I hold up a hand. “You know your brother, he has eyes everywhere and I didn’t want him to find out from anyone else.”

  Understanding dawns on her face and she nods. “Good call.”

  “Yeah, what I didn’t know, though, is that he’s on this side of the country. In fact, right now, he’s sitting in your kitchen.”

  “He’s here?” Her face lights up and her eyes go to the door.

  “Having coffee.”

  She gets to her feet and moves toward the door, but I pull her back and wrap my arms around her.

  “What?”

  “Kiss,” I mumble, dropping my mouth to hers. Her hands fist in my shirt as I feel her melt against me. “Also,” I add, when I lift my head, “before you rush down, you may wanna freshen up first.”

  She instantly pulls out of my hold.

  “Are you saying my breath stinks?”

  I have a hard time not cracking a smile, but I have a feeling it might cause damage to some of my favorite parts if I do.

  “You’ll probably feel better,” I try for diplomacy.

  I guess I have a bit to learn in that department when she spins on her heel and—as much as her bandaged feet will allow—stomps off to the bathroom.

  By the time I follow her, she already has her mouth foaming as she glares at me in the mirror. I bend my head so my mouth is at her ear.

  “I love you,” I whisper, before dropping a kiss on the tender part of her shoulder.

  I back out of the room, leaving her with her toothpaste-covered mouth open. Just as I turn to head down the stairs, I hear her call after me.

  “Callum McGregor! Don’t tell me that when I’m pissed!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Reagan

  “Morning.”

  Two heads turn in my direction when I walk into the kitchen. Cal is by the stove, cooking something that smells amazing, and Jackson is sitting at the island, a mug of steaming coffee in his hand. I head to my brother first and kiss his cheek.

  “You sleep okay?” he asks in his familiar rumble, looking a lot better this morning than he did last night.

  “Like a baby.”

  I’m not lying. Despite my nap yesterday afternoon, I’d been exhausted again by the time Detective Melville and Cal’s guys left. Jackson had crashed in the spare bed after shooting a sharp look at Cal’s back as he walked ahead into my room.

  When I’d come downstairs yesterday, I’d barely had a chance to greet my brother before the detective and Dean came in through the sliding door. Mark showed up not long after with a stack of pizza boxes he dumped on the dining room table.

  Cal had slapped hands and barked at the guys when they fell on the boxes like a pack of hungry wolves, making sure I had food in front of me first. I noticed Jackson was observing this closely.

  While eating, Melville—who’d asked to be called Marshall by this time—gave us a rundown of what they found. The men didn’t appear affected when he explained the extent of damage done to Neil, but I quickly lost my appetite.

  The coroner would do a proper autopsy this morning, but in his preliminary findings he’d mentioned my ex-husband appeared to have been tortured for some time before Winters finished him off. A fate—had Cal not found me—would undoubtedly have befallen me.

  More enlightening had been the discovery of Neil’s car, which proved to be a treasure trove of evidence to be used against Walker in court. Dead men can’t talk, but my ex’s briefcase did all the talking for him.

  They’d found a phone they’d been able to access using his own thumbprint—a detail that sent shivers down my back—revealing text messages between Walker and him. Threats of exposure and disbarment if Neil did not cooperate. He may not have been a particularly good lawyer, but he was meticulous. Aside from the telling text messages, he also had a legal pad with handwritten notes in his chicken scribble inside his briefcase, giving a more complete picture.

  From what Melville could piece together, Walker had been the one to first make contact with Neil, on behalf of Krista Hardee. He’d already been in hot water with his father at the Richmond office, and the last thing he needed was to be exposed in a drug trial.

  The knowledge my ex-husband had been forced into collaborating with a crooked cop and his drug-peddling girlfriend, nor his subsequent death, did much to alleviate my disgust for the man. He made his bed. Unfortunately for him, while he was looking in one direction to avoid justice, it caught up with him from another at the hands of Winters.

  I walk over to Cal, slipping under his free arm as I press myself to his side.

  “Whatcha cooking?”

  “Your favorite.” He smiles down at me.

  “Stuffed French toast?”

  “What else?”

  I rise up on my toes and meet his lips for a sweet kiss.

  “You keep taking care of me like that, I’ll be double my size in no time.”

  He shrugs. “More for me to love.”

  He told me last night when I was pissed, and I didn’t have a chance to come back to it, but there are no such distractions this morning.

  “Good. And for the record, I love you too.”

  He drops the spatula on the counter and wraps both arms around me, a smile in his eyes.

  “Figured you might,” he says, as he takes my mouth and kisses me thoroughly. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on for dear life as he…

  “Ahem.”

  I feel Cal’s lips pull in a smile against mine before he lifts his head, turning to look at my brother who made the sound.

  “Problem, Muffin?”

  “That’s my baby sister you’re mauling,” he protests, a scowl on his face.

  “And?” I contribute, challenging him. “I was mauling him right back.”

  “Don’t need to fucking see that on an empty stomach,” he grumbles. “Ruins my appetite. Although the declarations of love were bad enough. You’ve known each other how long?”

  Now he’s pissed me off and I’m working up a good head of steam.

  “A: I’m forty years old and long since stopped being a baby anything. B: How many times have I walked in on you and your wife going at it? Even after you already had the girls. And finally, C: just because you took forever to get your head outta your ass before settling down with Catherine doesn’t mean everybody else should diddle around.”

  I feel Cal shaking with suppressed laughter but I keep my angry eyes on my brother. I notice with some satisfaction he at least looks a tad sheepish.

  “Diddle?” Cal repeats, now laughing out loud, which earns him an elbow in the ribs.

  Then the front door opens and Sally walks in, stopping in her tracks whe
n she spots my brother.

  “Jackson? What the hell did I miss?”

  Cal

  “He’s right, you know?”

  I can feel her eyes on me as I leisurely stroke my fingers up and down her arm.

  We’re out on the back deck, watching the sun go down. I’d been afraid at first she might have negative associations out here, but other than a long look at the wheelbarrow still standing next to her vegetables, it doesn’t appear to bother her.

  Jackson left earlier, he had business to take care of in Norfolk before heading back home, and I’d been highly amused by Reagan’s teasing. She gave him grief about how he’d better not wait another six months before showing his face, and if he dared show up without his family again, she wouldn’t let him in.

  I’m an only child, so I don’t know the play between siblings, but these two—as much as they can bicker—love each other a ton.

  They hugged on the front porch, her brother getting her back with threats of calling their mother, so the minute he took off, she ran inside to grab the phone. That resulted in a long conversation I was reluctantly drawn into for a FaceTime introduction to the parents. Both firsts for me: FaceTime, and meeting the parents. Probably a good thing she threw me under the bus, because if I’d known in advance I might’ve made myself scarce.

  Her mom is sweet, but I can sense the spine of steel underneath, much like her daughter. Dad is former Air Force and grilled me relentlessly on my background until his wife finally put a stop to it. She promised as soon as her husband was feeling better, they’d come for a visit.

  That’s when I suggested out loud we could go visit them instead. Another thing that is apparently not done without discussion, as I found out later. Her mother jumped on it and had us commit to a weekend in July. I realized after we got off the phone and I got an earful from Reagan, that apparently ‘it’s hotter than hell’ in Arizona in July.