Not for a Moment

by Nadirah Foxx

  “I need to show you something I found.”

  “What?”

  Quirking my finger, I led Scott back into the kitchen. Going over to the cabinet near the stove, I yanked out the drawer beneath the counter. I flipped it over and removed the duct tape. The cleaned-up bloody knife I found earlier fell out.

  His eyes widened as he picked it up. “Why is this here?”

  “It was inside the vacuum cleaner—in the canister. When I found it, it was covered in blood.”

  Scott exhaled and glanced up from the blade. “You cleaned it?”

  “Yes,” I said flatly.

  “Bad move, Rachel. You tampered with evidence.”

  Lowering my voice, I said, “And what if someone planted this to set Matt up. I don’t believe for a minute that he killed anyone.”

  A shadow crossed over Scott’s face before he replaced the knife behind the drawer. “You can’t be sure of that.”

  I shook my head and leaned back. “I thought you were his best friend.”

  “I am. It’s just—”

  Raising my palm, I said, “I don’t want to hear it. Friends look out for one another. If you’re not here to help him, get the hell out.”

  “Rachel, you don’t—”

  “You heard her,” Matt’s voice came from the hall.

  Scott’s gaze bounced between us. He jerked his thumb toward the door. “Don’t forget there’ll be someone outside around the clock. Don’t do anything stupid.”

  With those words, he stormed out, leaving me alone with Matt. I worried my lower lip as my stomach tensed. We exchanged an uncomfortably long stare before he opened his arms wide, but my feet wouldn’t budge. The bravery I felt with Scott was fleeting. Every doubt I had came roaring to the surface. My muscles froze right along with my words.

  Matt pursed his lips, bobbed his head, and lowered his arms. “I guess I deserve that. Maybe you should leave too.”

  Swallowing hard, I summoned the strength I didn’t feel. “I need you to be completely honest with me, Matt. If you want me to stick around… If you want my support…”

  He lowered himself onto the steps behind him and propped his arms on his knees. The leg of his jeans rose, and I noticed the ankle bracelet circling his leg. Matt caught me staring.

  “It’s the only way I could come home, but I get special status.”

  “What’s that?” I asked, still standing in place.

  “I can’t leave here. No going to the store or anything. The cop on duty might let me use the gym in the building.” Matt glanced at me. “Come, sit down.”

  I hesitated.

  “Are you afraid of me?”

  “No,” I lied as my limbs shook. “I-I—”

  Matt lowered his head in his hands. “Please go. I have enough on my plate without dealing with you.”

  He was right. I wasn’t helping. “I’ll come back later.”

  “Don’t. Just leave me the fuck alone, Rachel. It’s best that I get used to life without you.”

  His defeated voice broke my heart, but it also fueled a fire in me. He was not giving up. I wouldn’t give up.

  ∞∞∞

  As soon as I reached my car, I called Richard Gaspe and asked him to meet me. His choice of venue was Andrews on the Corner, a laid-back lounge on Joseph Campau. When I arrived, I found him toward the rear of the bar in a corner. He was already nursing what looked to be a tumbler of whiskey.

  “Do you want a drink? Something to eat?” he asked as I took a seat across from him.

  “Just coffee for me. Black.”

  Richard flagged down a server and placed my order. He also asked for a bowl of their famous chili. My stomach growled, and he requested a second one.

  Once the man left, Richard asked, “What’s going on?”

  “I want to help Matt.”

  “The cop who was arrested?”

  “Yeah.” My father’s friend shot a skeptical look at me. “He didn’t do it.”

  “Got any proof?”

  “Not yet, but that’s where I need your help.” I glanced up when the server came with our food.

  “What do you think I can do? I have seen nothing to make me think he’s not guilty.” Richard put a spoonful of chili in his mouth.

  “Are you still investigating Leon Allen?”

  Richard nodded.

  “I think he shares a history with Matt. Foster brothers, I believe.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “What if Leon is the real suspect? What if he set Matt up?”

  Richard tilted his head, holding his spoon in the air. “Why would you think that?”

  I was losing patience with the man, but I needed to start some place. “Come on, Richard. Take two boys who grew up in the same house. They weren’t blood brothers or even friends, but their foster parents wanted them to be. One was a great kid—always obedient, a shining star. The other one was always in trouble.”

  “Go on.”

  I took a sip of my coffee. “Surely, a situation like that would cause a rivalry—maybe even jealousy and hatred.”

  Richard lifted his drink, took a deep swig, and then held the glass in his hand for a moment. “So, you’re purporting that this is the case between Matt Wallace and Leon Allen? Hatred would be Leon’s motivation?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Okay.” Richard tossed back the rest of his drink. “How do you prove it?”

  I shrugged. “Can’t you get a warrant? Check out his apartment?”

  “It’s a nice theory, Rachel.”

  “But…”

  “But you don’t have a plausible reason for a warrant.” He shoved another spoon of chili into his mouth. “Leon has done nothing to you other than threaten.”

  “What about the bodyguard? Somebody killed him.”

  “The police are investigating—”

  “What if Leon did it?”

  Richard dropped the spoon and wiped his mouth with the napkin. “Whoever killed my guard had to be a bigger man—or a taller man—than Allen or Kilpatrick, or whatever the fuck he’s calling himself this week. Police picked him up for questioning. He doesn’t fit the profile the detectives have put together. He’s not tall enough for starters. Hell, he’s not even strong enough to overpower anyone working for me.”

  I shook my head. “So you think Matt is guilty?”

  “I believe it’s probable. Most likely, he killed my employee. As much as you hate to hear it, he’s a bad cop. It happens.”

  Reaching for my purse, I pulled out my wallet.

  Richard waved his hand. “I got this.”

  “Thanks.” Despite what he said, I didn’t plan on giving up.

  ∞∞∞

  As a kid, I was notorious for never quitting. When I’d get an idea, I’d keep going until I either hit a wall or found what it was I sought. I was fairly certain that anyone would think I was an idiot for believing in a man like Matt. Sure, I’d made some dumb decisions in my life. And yes, I’d dated some serious losers—Leo included. Deep down, though, I sensed Matt was one of the good guys.

  After my failed meeting with Richard, I swung by the Harbortown Market and picked up a few items for Matt. Anything else he’d need could be ordered and delivered. I’d check his supply of insulin and get it refilled for him too. With my bags of groceries, I headed into Matt’s building.

  I knocked several times, but he never opened the door. The cop on duty eyed me like I was aiding and abetting a criminal. Fortunately, I’d kept his keys. I set the bags down and let myself in.

  Matt was right where I’d left him—sitting on the steps. I sighed and looked at the officer. “Can you at least help me with these?”

  The man turned away from me like I’d never said a word.

  “Jerk.” I stuck out my hip to catch the door and then picked up the other two bags. It was a struggle, but I got it all into the kitchen. “Have you not moved?”

  Matt’s gravelly voice hit me. “Why did you come back?”

 
I placed a loaf of bread on the kitchen island. “I came back because you need me.”

  “I don’t need anyone.”

  Walking out of the kitchen, I stopped in front of Matt. “I’m sorry for earlier. I shouldn’t have hesitated.”

  “But you did.”

  “True, but I’m here now.” I sat beside him. “Let’s get you cleaned up, and then we need to talk. Really talk.”

  “About?”

  “Everything. You’re going to beat these bullshit charges.”

  He nodded and then leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Thanks.”

  Matt took the stairs slowly, like he’d had one beer too many. I returned to the kitchen. He needed me, but I had no idea how I’d help him.

  26

  Reality

  Matt

  Warm water flowed over my head, past my shoulders, and down my back. I basked in the flow, wishing for more. According to the priests, holy water was meant to purify us, cleanse us of our sins. With the shit pool of degradation I was in, it would take a whole goddamned ocean, and that wouldn’t be enough to sanctify me. It was too late for that.

  I’d never considered myself a sinner. Didn’t they have a signature look or some dumb-ass crap like that? But on introspection, maybe I was a man who had one foot in Hell already. Where was my redemption?

  My thoughts snagged on the concept for a moment. What did it take to scrub a soul, purge it from blackness? Could a man outrun his destiny? I firmly believed I could.

  I hoped I could.

  I had my parents to thank for my fucked-up existence. Mom tried. She just wasn’t strong enough to raise a kid alone. That was the bullshit the social worker fed me. When I became a cop, I looked up the file on Mom. Supposedly, she died with a needle in her arm.

  There wasn’t a thing on my father. I drew my own conclusions about him. The main one? He was a heartless jackass. The bastard left my mother with me—just a baby. I was determined not to follow in his footsteps. As a matter of fact, I made sure of it years ago. Whoever I married would have to be good with never having children.

  Did Rachel want kids? If she did, we could adopt. A child that didn’t share my DNA had to turn out better, right?

  Turning around, I rested my back against the cool, wet tiles and looked down. Just thinking about her stirred my dick—the last thing I needed. Although with my possible future, I should take any and every opportunity I could get for hetero sex. Shaking my head vigorously, trying to dislodge images that shouldn’t be in any straight man’s mind, I sprayed droplets of water like a drowned dog. Then I noticed my shower sponge on the floor like a blatant reminder of future endeavors.

  Really, I should get out and get dressed. I’d been in the shower too long—my fingers were pruning. Sighing, I knew why I lingered—because I could. Truth be told, if I didn’t find some way to beat the rap, my days would be filled with quick moments under the nozzle with my ass in that position—solidly against a wall.

  Despite the cold water, I remained in the stall. Cowardice? Definitely. Ashamed? Who would blame me? That shit wasn't supposed to happen to me.

  Me!

  I was a fucking cop! I was supposed to be one of the good guys! Yes, I made mistakes. We all made them, but I didn’t kill that girl. I sure as hell didn’t hack her body up.

  And the ketamine?

  Honestly, it wasn’t mine either.

  Famous words of every person on death row. My destination, according to my lawyer. Never good when your legal rep didn’t believe in your innocence. Not the case with that amazing woman downstairs.

  She came back. She was there for me. That should have meant something, but instead, the fact that Rachel left stuck in my mind and made my breath hitch. Why did she leave in the first place? Shouldn’t she have fought me? Told me how much she had to be with me in my time of need?

  I guessed her action did mean a lot. My heart beating frantically had to be proof of something real. Did she have feelings for me?

  I hoped she did. After all, I needed someone in my corner who cared. It sure the hell wasn’t Scott. That rat bastard would probably turn me in first chance he got.

  Not true. Remember all that he’d done for you?

  Scott was the brother I wished I had. He’d always had my back. So why is he doubting me now?

  Because you doubted yourself—pure and simple.

  Along with my insecurity, I had issues with Rachel. I simply distrusted her ability to help me.

  Why? Because she was a decent woman who didn’t realize that she’d invited two monsters into her life. One of us tried to forget our hideousness while the other one got off on that shit. Simply wrong.

  In all honesty, how was Rachel to know? She was one of those trusting souls who believed everything she heard. She only questioned things when shit happened. It was what I tried to get her to see about her neighborhood. Rachel thought she was safe. There were no safe places. Anywhere.

  It was Rachel’s naivety that was responsible for all of that shit. I didn’t want to blame her, but how could I not?

  Seriously, when I saw that infectious smile, I should have kept walking. So damned sweet, but it sucked me in—stole the oxygen in the room and left me clinging to her every word. Rachel became my weakness. Correction. My weakness had always been a kind-hearted woman. She was just more proof of my illness.

  It was why I was drawn to April. She loved unconditionally. She loved a flawed soul like me. Damn, I missed that.

  Would Rachel stick around if she knew the truth?

  Goosebumps formed on my wet skin. Slowly, I reached over and turned off the faucet. Opening the shower door, I grabbed a towel and took a hard look at myself in the mirror. I didn’t like what I saw. Bruises covered my six pack. My neck was still red from that brute’s attack. The asshole promised if I came back inside he’d kill me. Other inmates boldly checked out my rear and threatened to bury themselves deep in my ass on my return. They would have succeeded had my lawyer not arrived and gotten me out of gen pop. The warden claimed that someone put the paperwork in wrong—I was supposed to have been placed in isolation.

  Yeah, right. Mistake, my ass (pardon the pun).

  I slid on a pair of sweats. Damn leg got caught on the ankle bracelet. My new reality truly sucked. I didn’t know whether to bawl like a child or punch a fucking hole in a wall. I eased the band over the monitor and then tugged on a faded T-shirt.

  As I dried my hair, I thought about a way out of that shit. Of course, there was the easy way—off myself. Let the public believe the lies—I killed a girl, possibly killed more, and I took the coward’s way out. But I couldn’t do that. After April, I swore I’d keep my anger in check. I even saw a therapist, took meds for a while, and confessed my sins each and every Sunday. It was the least I could do after what happened.

  Honestly, I was doing a damn good job. I avoided dating anyone who reminded me of April. No matter how much Scott wanted to set me up with someone, I turned it down. I checked in with an anger management coach monthly. Although I didn’t take the meds anymore, I meditated. Worked out. Whatever it took never to lose control again.

  The DA would have a field day with that information. He’d claim my penchant toward angry outbursts was triggered. He’d tell a jury of my so-called peers—assholes who assumed I abused my privilege and wanted me dead as soon as possible—that I propositioned the young girl. When she turned me down, it instigated my rage. It would turn into the motivation for administering the drug and subsequent rape. He’d close the case by telling the courtroom that hacking up the body was a desperate attempt to hide my shame, absolve my guilt.

  Wrong, wrong, wrong.

  Rachel knocked on the bathroom door. “Matt, you okay?”

  Leaning my head against the wood, I rested a hand on the doorknob. I needed more time. Clearing my throat, I lied, “Yeah. Just give me a few more minutes.”

  “O-okay.”

  That sweet woman didn’t deserve someone like me—or like Leon. We were cut f
rom the same cloth—I was the shiny side while he was the darker. Nefarious acts were coded into our DNA. But while he basked in the evilness, I walked in the sunshine. I had to.

  I took a deep breath and pulled the door open. Rachel sat on my bed. She was an angel waiting on a demon.

  “Everything all right?” she asked.

  Plastering on a smile, I sat beside her. “It is. I’m just appreciating being home.”

  Rachel reached for my hand, paused, and then touched my leg. “We should talk.”

  “I know.” There were plenty of things I needed to tell her. Plenty I couldn’t. Where did I start?

  “What happened in…”

  I glanced at her. “Call it what it is, Rachel. It makes it easier.” He paused. “Somebody screwed up and put me in gen pop.”

  Her eyes widened. “Gen pop?”

  “General population. It’s where the vast majority of inmates go. They hold those who need protection in isolation.”

  “You were supposed to be protected?”

  “Yeah. It didn’t happen. Some prisoners roughed me up. Wanted to let me know what I was in for.”

  “Matt.”

  There was so much hurt in her voice, and I felt the pain. Damn, I’d do anything to take away her agony. I tried hard not to let her know. Really, I did.

  “I’m fine,” I lied, but my grimace gave me away.

  “No, you’re not.” She shook her head. “They didn’t…” Her gaze traveled down my body and around to my ass.

  “No!” My breathing ratcheted up a notch. “Hell, no!” I knew what she was implying. “It’s why I took the beating.”

  Rachel stared at me for a moment. “You didn’t deserve that.”

  She didn’t know what I deserved. It was a lot more than an ass kicking, but I would never tell her that. It was something I’d tell no one.

  27

  Discovery

  Rachel

  “What’s important now,” I started, “is finding out who set you up?”