Three Seconds To Rush
Danielle Stewart
Random Acts Publishing
Copyright © 2016 by Danielle Stewart
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Three Seconds to Rush
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Just for a Heartbeat - Book 2
Just for a Heartbeat - Prologue
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Three Seconds to Rush
Tara Shiloh knows she’s not a drug addict. She’s positive she’s a good mother and hard worker. So why is she in an alley with a needle in her arm? Waking up in the hospital without her son is terrifying. Being told she can’t have him back nearly crushes her. With her memory spotty and the circumstances incriminating, Tara must fight to learn the truth and wrestle with the idea that maybe her son is better off without her.
Reid Holliston defends guilty people for a living and it's slowly killing him. He’s certain there is no such thing as a truly blameless client anymore. When his phone rings with a voice from his childhood his jaded views make him certain Tara is just one more criminal claiming innocence. But even his skepticism isn’t enough to keep him away.
Best friends from a lifetime ago, the two must find a way to trust each other again in spite of how the years apart have changed them. Can a promise made in childhood be enough to save them both?
Chapter 1
Tara’s nose filled with pungent fumes reminiscent of her short lived job as a housekeeper in a run-down motel. The place had always been so dingy regardless of how much bleach she used on the rings in the tub or the amount of muscle she put into ridding the grubby walls of marks. Nothing ever really came clean. But the clientele who frequented the facility didn’t notice. They weren’t on vacation. They were all there to escape, to hide. At the end of every shift Tara would smell like the cleaning aisle of the supermarket and feel like she hardly accomplished anything.
But Tara wasn’t at the motel. She hadn’t worked that job in over two years. So where was the smell coming from? If her eyes could open she’d be able to figure it out. No matter how she ordered her lids to rise, they would not comply. Other senses began to return, however. Incessant beeping and the hum of people clamoring around her suddenly flooded in. Then hands on her body were the next sensation, followed immediately by stinging. Immense pain tugged and shredded her skin, as though she was being yanked in every direction, about to burst apart.
Tara heard a far-off cry, a shriek that petrified her as never before. It wasn’t until she felt her vocal chords strain that she realized the scream was her own.
“Calm down,” she heard a woman order as her shoulders were pressed back violently and pinned. “We can’t help you if you fight.”
Open, she demanded of her eyes. Open so I can make sense of this. Finally, her eyes complied, letting the bright halogen lights overhead bleed in. There were faces above her. Strangers.
“What’s happening?” she stuttered out, trying to lift her arms but realizing they were restrained. Her legs flailed until someone grabbed her by the ankles and slammed them down.
“We will sedate you if you don’t cooperate,” the same nasally and stern voice explained.
“What’s happening?” Tara cried out in terror.
“You’re in Haultin General Hospital. You’re being treated for an overdose.” This voice was new. A man with a foreign accent and a slightly softer tone. She focused her eyes on his face and slowly it became clearer. He was a slump-shouldered Indian man with a pockmarked face and large gold-rimmed glasses. His smile was yellow, and his eyes were black and circled in darkness. But there was something comforting about the way he was looking down over her.
“An overdose?” she asked, attempting to move her hands again, forgetting the restraints.
“Stop fighting,” the angry woman demanded impatiently. “I can’t draw her blood like this.” She snapped and huffed, her dramatic noises sounding like a pissed off one-man-band.
The doctor’s face hovered gently over Tara’s. “Can you stay calm for me?” he asked, touching her shoulder firmly. She nodded her head and pinched her eyes closed.
Tara wasn’t fighting the restraints. She was fighting for reality. If this was a nightmare, she was totally engaged—like no dream she’d ever had before.
A flash of a face suddenly crossed her mind. She saw pudgy overstuffed cheeks that butted up to a round freckled nose. Two almond shaped brown eyes flecked with gold and damp with tears appeared next. Finally, the wispy curls fell across a forehead and it made Tara cry out. “Wylie,” she bellowed as she began flailing her arms and legs again. “My son. Where is my son?”
“She’s going to pull out her IV,” the nurse protested.
“Sedate her,” the kinder doctor ordered, sounding apologetic and disappointed.
She didn’t hear anything else over her own screaming, as darkness crept in and folded over her body, but she knew the world was slipping away. She tried to fight it as the last few words of the nurse crept in.
“She finally asked about her son. I was wondering if she even cared about what happened to him.”
Chapter 2
Tara startled awake to someone scraping a metal chair across the linoleum floor to her bed. She quickly realized her hands were still strapped down, but her senses seemed to have returned. She was fully aware that the dingy yellow walls and beeping equipment meant she was in the hospital.
“Was I in an accident?” she asked with a hoarse and tired voice.
“Tara, my name is detective Nelson Monroe. I’m here to read you your rights and tell you about your arraignment date.” The man’s crisply starched white shirt never wrinkled as he sat down next to her hospital bed. His heavy gold badge dangled from a chain around his thick, leathery, tan neck. The deep set wrinkles around his eyes could use some of that starch from his shirt, Tara thought as she looked him over.
“Charges?” she asked, shimmying herself to a sitting position and taking inventory of all the wires and lines hooked to her. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“Memory loss can be common after an overdose. You are lucky the officer on scene had Narcan. More and more of us are carrying it now that heroin has become prevale
nt.” Detective Nelson was speaking with so little expression that Tara considered searching around for a hidden camera. Surely this was some kind of joke.
“I’m not suffering from memory loss,” Tara countered through an exasperated laugh. “I’m suffering from some kind of mistake. I don’t do drugs, and I certainly did not overdose.”
“Hmm,” Detective Nelson hummed as though he’d heard it all before. “You’ll be arraigned in the morning. A lawyer can be appointed for you.”
“You aren’t listening to me,” Tara asserted. “Where is my son? I want to see him now.” She pulled hard against the restraints again, feeling like a chained dog.
“Your son has been treated for his injuries and released into Child Protective Services. A social worker will be in shortly to speak with you about that.” Nelson blinked slowly as he explained this seemingly unimportant information.
“Injuries?” Tara choked, her eyes welling with tears as her mouth dropped open and no more words came.
“Again, the social worker will discuss that with you. I’m here to talk to you about the charges you’re facing.” He flipped open a small pad and read silently, moving his lips like a child just learning the skill. When he finally caught himself up he addressed her again. “Because of the Good Samaritan and overdose laws you won’t be prosecuted for the drug-related charges. But child endangerment is a felony charge because of the degree of risk to the child.”
“Where is Wylie?” Tara begged, banging her head back on the pillow over and over again. This was not reality. It couldn’t be.
“As I stated he has been treated and released from the hospital and is now in the care of Child Protective Services. The social worker will have more information for you. I’d be far more concerned with the felony charges. I’ve spoken with your doctors and they believe you will be released in the morning. An officer will escort you to the courthouse. As for a lawyer, do you have one?”
“Should I try to get my own lawyer?” she asked in a barely recognizable husky voice. Her eyes were still stinging from an endless stream of salty tears.
Detective Nelson seemed like he’d been woken from a dream, finally seeing her face and realizing she was more than just a number on his sheet. “If you can afford one,” he said empathetically. “There are plenty of good court-appointed lawyers, and there are some I wouldn’t let defend my dog. Is this your first time in the system?”
“Yes,” she replied indignantly. “I’ve never been in any trouble before. This is all a big misunderstanding. A terrible nightmare or something. No one believes me. I just need someone to believe me.” Her emotional words cracked and faltered as she reached her cuffed hands up toward his arm. And with that, his humanity reabsorbed into his tired body and was gone. She’d played the one card everyone played. She claimed innocence.
“You can get a phone call if you have a lawyer to contact,” he uttered flatly as he stood and moved back a few steps. “I’ll bring you a phone.”
“I don’t know his number. I need to look it up.”
“Someone will be in shortly to find that number then.” There was no goodbye or good luck. He faded out the door of the small hospital room and closed it tightly behind him. The locking noise reminded her how trapped she was.
Someone will listen to me. Someone will finally believe me. This can’t go on forever.
An hour passed before anyone came to get her. All her thoughts, every ticking second was dedicated to her son. Part of her felt that if she forgot to miss him, to be desperate for him even for a second, she’d lose him. As if by sheer will of her mind she could stay connected to him until this was all sorted out.
“Do you need to make a phone call?” an old crooked woman asked, as she let her heavy eyelids rise and fall slowly, looking like she could fall asleep standing up. Her glassy grey eyes were rimmed with outdated blue mascara and her yellowed crooked teeth all came to a point.
“I do,” she said, sitting up as straight as possible as though her elementary school teacher asked her a question. Maybe the better she behaved the faster all this would go. “There’s a lawyer, his name is Reid Holliston. He’s based here in Boston. I don’t know too much more about him.”
The woman didn’t speak as she flipped open her laptop and began to hit the keys harder than seemed necessary. Her long red nails punched a number into the cell phone and passed it toward Tara. It took some maneuvering to move her head down close enough to the hand still tied to the bed. As the phone began to ring she suddenly felt like a fool.
“Morris, Morris, Freeler, and Banks,” a chipper singsong voice said then paused, waiting for her to speak.
“I’m looking for Reid, I mean Mr. Holliston,” Tara forced out. “I’m an old friend of his.”
“Oh-kay,” the woman on the other end of the phone said slowly and drawn out as though she were dealing with a complete idiot. “Your name?”
“Tara Shiloh,” she replied, sending up a silent prayer that her name would still mean something to him. “It’s important that I talk with him right away.”
“He may be in a meeting; please hold.” Before Tara could tell the woman that this was an emergency the line was beeping, indicating she was on hold.
“Hello,” a man’s voice said tentatively. She tried to convince herself she could recognize it, but the last time she’d talked to Reid was ten years ago.
“Reid,” Tara said, swallowing back the emotion, “I’m so sorry to bother you. I need some help.”
“Tara?” Reid asked, and the uncertainty in his voice made her worry that she’d overestimated his memories of her. They’d lost touch so long ago it might have been foolish to think this call would be received well.
“I know it’s been a long time. We were just kids, but I was hoping you could help me. I need a lawyer. I saw on social media a while back that you worked in the city with this firm.”
“Um,” he breathed heavily, “I’m actually a defense attorney. I handle criminal charges and felonies. I can recommend a good family lawyer if you need something like that. Is it a divorce?”
“No,” she murmured embarrassed to be watched so closely by the woman who’d handed her the phone. “I actually need a defense attorney. I’m not exactly sure what’s going on. I woke up in a hospital, and a detective was here telling me I was under arrest and reading me my rights. I need someone who knows me to come help.” She could hear how frantic her voice was, but she had no power to stop it.
“I’m not sure that I can help you,” he replied stiffly. “My caseload is pretty full. Like I said, I can refer you to someone who I’m sure can help you sort this out. Hang on.”
“No,” she pleaded, crying now. “My son. They’ve taken my son from me, and I don’t understand what’s happening. He’s three years old. His name is Wylie, and he must be scared out of his mind right now. He has to be wondering where I am. Please, if you can remember just for a minute how close we were, how much we meant to each other back then, maybe that would help. Just remember.”
She could hear him breathing, but he seemed at a loss for words. The pause was painfully long before he decided to speak again. “Where are you?” he asked reluctantly.
“I’m at Haultin General Hospital. They are going to release me in the morning and transport me to my arraignment.”
“What are the charges?” he asked, still void of any type of emotion about what she’d told him.
“Felony child endangerment,” she whispered, as though the quietness would make the words smaller than they were or the situation less daunting.
“Felony?” he asked, sounding shocked. “What exactly happened?”
“I honestly have no idea,” she gasped out. She could feel the familiar flutter in her chest that told her she was getting too worked up for her heart to handle. The machines clipped to her body seemed to agree as they began to chirp louder. “I was grocery shopping with my son. The next thing I knew I woke up in the hospital. They told me it was an overdose, but I don’t do
drugs. You know that.”
“The last time I saw you, you were fourteen. I can’t corroborate what you’ve been doing for the last ten years.” His voice was as unfriendly as the last two people she’d encountered. “If they are charging you with a felony that means they believe great bodily harm or death was a probable outcome of your behavior. What drug were you using?” He whispered something to someone, indicating she barely had his full attention.
“I wasn’t using any drug,” she boomed. “I was grocery shopping. I was buying cereal and chicken nuggets. You have to believe me. No one believes me.” The familiar wave of anxiety flooded her again.
“Okay,” he replied, and for the first time she heard an ounce of reassurance in his voice. “I’ll come to the arraignment in the morning and give you my best legal advice. But if this goes to trial, I won’t be able to represent you. Lucky for you the state is so backlogged that, as long as you get bail, you’ll be walking free for close to a year while you wait to go to trial. More likely you’ll end up with a decent plea deal as long as the judge is reasonable.”
“My son,” she rasped. “When can I have my son?”
“I’ll look over the case in the morning before the arraignment. I can’t say much else unless you can shed more light on what happened. You aren’t giving me much to go on.”
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