Absolute Power (Southern Justice #1

by Cayce Poponea

  “Adams Lighthouse would keep the original ownership of the program and all the components of the system, including the rights to the passwords and firewalls. Basically selling them a system, which would give our company the keys to the front door.”

  Adams Lighthouse was the company who snatched Austin up the second he graduated from MIT. They sold him on a corner office with a great view and an expense account. From the research I’d done on the company, and little doubt, the same research he did as well, the company checked out legit. Fifteen months ago, old man Lighthouse died of cancer and his wife, who was twenty-five years his junior, took control of the company. She had a new CEO and fuck buddy a week later. It was this new CEO who had begun to tarnish the good name Lighthouse had worked so hard to achieve.

  “I can do a lot of things, y’all, but I can’t work for a thief.”

  I could practically see the smile on our granddaddy’s face. “Never trust a man who stays mad through Christmas week.” He would be so proud of the man Austin had become.

  “I gave them my notice the next morning. I’ve got enough money in savings to live on, if I sell my apartment and move back to Charleston.”

  Did I hear him correctly? Were all three of the Morgan boys going to be within a three hundred mile radius?

  “You tell Momma yet?” Chase questioned before I could.

  “No, just Dad,” he admitted confidently. “I signed a ninety day, non-compete clause when I was originally hired. He is looking into the legality of it since the company changed ownership.”

  Well…fuck me! Dad never said a word to me about this. Momma was gonna flip the fuck out. The news would be all over town by this time tomorrow.

  “He’s renting me office space in his building. I’m going to work with a few security firms, do their intel. Do background checks on douche bag cheaters and scammers, while still creating programs to help companies reduce their security risks.” Hearing the pride in Austin’s voice was enough to quench any anger I might have felt toward Dad for not sharing with me.

  Our entire lives, we had been encouraged to be men of honor and courage, to protect the people we loved, all the while respecting the strangers surrounding us. Austin was living the life, being the honest man we all knew how to be, while Chase and I risked our lives, serving those nameless faces of women and children they showed on the media. Was I really doing everything I could to continue to be honorable and just?

  “Dylan, we’ve been brothers for years, shared more secrets than the Pentagon. I can tell by the sound of your voice something is very wrong.” Chase adding an agreeable “um-hum” in the mix.

  Dad was right; if there was anyone who would have my back in this, help me to figure out what I wanted to do, what I needed to do, it was these two. So I shared everything, holding nothing back, including my trip to the doctor. How I felt as if I was at a crossroads in my career and in foreign territory when it came to Claire.

  “So, Dylan, if you were to think about it, right this second, what made you the most happy growing up, what would your answer be?” Chase was the follower in our trio; he was also the critical thinker in the pack. Where Austin was rational and I was the hot head, Chase could figure out a strategy in the blink of an eye. Lucky for him, he had the muscles to back up his decisions.

  “Chase, when I came back to my office after checking on Claire, I looked to the sky and thought to myself, this would be a hell of a night for a ride on the bike.” Someone snickered, but I wasn’t sure, and didn’t care, who.

  “Every time I think back to the good times we had growing up, nine times out of ten my thoughts go back to Dad’s garage and building our bikes. All the conversations we had about life, love, and women. How Dad would ignore the fact we snuck a beer or two while we worked out there. How Granddaddy would sit in the corner, telling stories of when he was younger and the shit he pulled.”

  All the memories came flowing back like a white-capped river, churning over all the bad shit the day had brought.

  “So, you gonna build a new bike? Do less hours at work or somethin’?”

  Thinking of my job, how much of a failure I was at it, brought the storm clouds back to my briefly lived clarity.

  “You’ve got room in that house of yours, don’t cha?”

  The questions were coming into my mind, yet I wasn’t processing them. Austin was sickened by the gross misconduct his employer partook in. He searched around and found something to keep him employed and yet eager to go to work every day. I didn’t hate being a Detective, I just didn’t feel the sense of pride and worth I once had. I no longer felt as if I were making any difference in the problems. Only shuffling around the issues, giving myself, and the people I swore to protect, a well-constructed lie.

  “No, I’m quitting the force and opening a bike shop.” The words were out before my tongue could stop them.

  “Wait!”

  “What?” They shouted in unison.

  “Dylan, you’ve worked hard to make Detective, don’t let one bad day in court make you toss it all away.” Austin tried to make me look beyond the shit show today turned out to be.

  “You’re right, I did work hard. Every day I go out, collect evidence, and talk with witnesses. I spend hours digging through shit and grime to get that one sliver of hope for the victim. Yet, in the blink of an eye, with pretty words and a loop hole, the motherfucker who ruined the life of an innocent girl is out walking the streets, laughing his rotten ass off, thinking he’s above the goddamn law.” The rage from watching Lainie cry into Claire’s shoulder, as they escorted Greyson back to jail, knowing in a mere few weeks, he would once again be out there, looking for his next opportunity…his next victim.

  “I stopped making a difference when I believed that every man out there was as good and honest as the men I grew up with.” I slammed my fist to the wood of my desk, releasing the pent up rage, which had been building for years. “When having the law on my side was an asset and not a goddamn hindrance.” My breathing was labored; sweat covered my face as if I had just run a marathon. But my mind was clear, my decision made. “I became a part of the problem when I failed to be the solution.” In one phrase, I had summed up everything I was feeling and my decision to walk away was solidified.

  “A blind mule ain’t afraid of darkness, Dylan. Just because you close your eyes to the evil around you, doesn’t make it go away.” Granddaddy’s words flowed from Chase’s lips.

  “You’re right, bro. Until I can figure out a way to stop these criminals permanently, I’m doing something to make my life better…” I glanced at the shelf of photos across the room; one in particular was of Austin and myself sitting outside a bar in Daytona, Florida.

  It was bike week and we’d ridden down together to test out my latest purchase. Austin came along to blow off some steam after he caught his girlfriend cheating on him. We’d come across a couple of guys who owned a repair and customizing shop just outside of Atlanta. I could recall how they had a few guys who worked with them and how much they loved doing something for a living, which was as much a part of them as breathing.

  “I’m taking Granddaddy’s money and opening a bike shop.” For the first time in a long while, I felt as if this was the right choice. What Chase had said was true enough; quitting wouldn’t change the issue, but I needed to step away, find the man I needed to be, a man who was worthy of Claire.

  Austin began to laugh, not a little chuckle, but one of those tilt your head back and hold on to your gut, belly busters.

  “Momma is gonna lose her shit.” He continued through his jubilance. “First, all of her boys are gonna be under foot. Second, her manwhore of a son has been wrangled by a girl and, if that wasn’t enough, he is turning over his badge for a wrench and greasy hands.”

  It was rather funny, if you thought about it enough. Girls had always been in my radar, just not as a permanent fixture.

  “Dylan, can I ask you something?”

  “Chase, you’re my little brother,
you can ask me anything.”

  “Would you like a partner in this bike shop? I mean, the military is my life, but it’s not forever.” Chase was strategizing; if he was considering this as an investment, then I was surer than ever this was a solid idea.

  “Only if it’s one of y’all.”

  “Dylan, does Claire know about your history?” Austin always was the one to center things.

  “I’m pretty sure she has an inclination.” I rubbed my hand over my face; perhaps I could find a way to gently break this to her. “She did see me leaving the bathroom after I fucked Portia.” I had never been embarrassed about the way I lived my life or the way I treated women…until now.

  “You did break it off with her and that other girl, right?” Chase asked. He, of all of us, would worry the most about the girl.

  “Actually, we all had an understanding,” I retorted back.

  “Understanding or not, did you tell Claire you weren’t with the others anymore?” Chase demanded, his softhearted nature bleeding through his stern words. He had only met her once, yet he would most likely kick my ass for doing her wrong.

  “See, here’s the thing.” I paused, my nerves getting the better of me. “Claire has no idea I have any feelings for her. I swore to Dad I would get my shit together before I pursued her.” I took a deep breath before admitting the tiny fact I tried to ignore. “She may or may not be dating this Irish fuck she works with.” I shut my eyes tight, waiting for the gauntlet of words, which were sure to come my way.

  “Dad’s right, you should have your shit together. Figure out where your next dollar is coming from.” Austin knew damn good and well money wasn’t a real factor for our family; we were raised to work hard and not ride the coattails of our elders.

  “As for this Irish fuck, until you see a ring on her left hand, she’s fair game.”

  Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light.

  ~Helen Keller

  “Did you hear about Portia?” Joey questioned in a hushed voice, looking around to see if anyone was near. “She was arrested over in Cooper County.” His face colored in an all-knowing secret. My daddy used to say, “Women were good for two things, spending money and gossiping.” I wondered what he would have thought of poor Joey.

  “Who told you this?” I challenged, feeling this was just another overblown rumor created by some of the folks around here with nothing better to do. Portia was one of the girls in Dylan’s harem. There was no way in hell he’d let one of his sources sit a night in jail.

  “My brother-in-law works in booking over there. He processed her himself.”

  His admission received my full attention. He had no reason to lie about Portia or what his relatives did for a living.

  “He said she was on something and arrested for prostitution.”

  Was it sad this didn’t surprise me? I didn’t feel bad for her being fingerprinted and locked behind bars, if only for a short while.

  “Well, I’m sure she didn’t stay long.”

  “Actually, she’s still there.” He added quickly, a serious expression on his face. “Troy said she’d called a few guys she knew, but most of them were in lockup, as well.”

  I ran his words on a loop in my mind, why wouldn’t she call Dylan? Or if she had, why did he leave her sitting in jail?

  I didn’t get the opportunity to dwell on it as work became hectic. What I did get to ponder were the memories the word jail brought back.

  It had been ten days since the judge handed down that joke of a sentence. After the jury had been excused and the judge exited to his chambers, Lainie had leaned over and cried. Although the case was over, her mental anguish was far from finished. She continued to see her counselor, but returned to her job as a graphics designer. She was a true inspiration for not giving up.

  I, on the other hand, could not bring myself to talk with Dylan. I wanted to tell him how grateful I was for his efforts in the case. Thank him for how he’d stood up to that leach of a man, Anderson. I couldn’t face him, though, because if I did, then I’d have to come to grips with the possibility my feelings about him had changed. How I felt admiration for the part of him who stood up for a complete stranger and defended an innocent girl against a man who was out to destroy her.

  Near the end of my shift, Shayla arrived to start hers. I wanted to ask her about Portia, see if she could shine some light on the situation, but as I gathered the courage, I found her huddled in conversation with Joey and Kitty. I didn’t want to eavesdrop, but with the volume of their voices, it was hard not to.

  “I swear to God, I’m telling you the truth.” Kitty raised her right hand as if she were about to testify before the grand jury. “My dad was the other guy’s attorney.”

  My Lord, how I hated the girl I had become, waiting on a tiny thread as gossip was spread like wildfire. It was addicting, getting little bits of information, whether they were true or not. Condemning the subject on precedence alone.

  “She’s right, I saw him the other day and he told me to stop by once he had the shop open.”

  This wasn’t me; I didn’t take joy in the pain of others. Ignoring the conversation, I finished my shift in silence, keeping my dignity intact.

  “So lover boy canceled again?” Lainie teased as she opened her door.

  Sean and I were supposed to go out this evening. He had sworn to me nothing would get in the way. But, for the fourth time in a row, he canceled at the last moment.

  “Yep, wanna be my date for cheap beer and stale pretzels?” I teased back, walking through her front door as if I owned the place.

  “Well, when you put it like that, how can a girl refuse?” She mused, batting her lashes in fake dramatics.

  Each time Sean had canceled, he attributed it to some family issue. Although, he never elaborated or confided in me the nature of the issue.

  “Come on, I know just the place.” Her eyes were bright as she pulled my arm toward her.

  Twenty minutes later, we snagged a newly open table inside McGuire’s Pub. Dark wood that surrounded the long bar and aged bar stools nestled underneath it, welcomed patrons to quench their thirst and enjoy a story or two. Various painted mirrors advertising popular beer and liquor, hung on almost every wall. Gold, tin ceiling tiles—some tarnished from what I could only assume was a side effect from a leaky roof—lined the ceiling. Televisions were in most corners; muted, yet alive with sports and news. Waitresses fluttered around, the bar insignia splashed across the backs of their T-shirts; short shorts begged for larger tips. The showstopper, the one thing that drew me in every time, was the backlit stained glass behind the bar. Indicant of the original owners, a wide racked stag stood atop a Silver Knight’s Sallet. The crest, which was centered with the knight mounted on horseback, was surrounded on two sides by winding filigree vines. The family’s name was printed in elegant script on a flowing ribbon at the bottom.

  “What can I get you two lasses to drink?” Hanging around Sean, I’d gotten used to his accent. Its thickness surrounded me and rendered me speechless at times. Red, thick hair, with curls in near perfect spirals, framed the face of this green-eyed beauty. She was new, and by the sound of her accent, fresh from Ireland. I wondered if she was a cousin or sister?

  “I’ll take a light beer, anything you have in a bottle.” I had a theory about beer. Getting something from a keg offered too many variables for error. You never knew how long the keg sat around in the basement or what had walked across the top of the keg before it was opened. Second, and honestly the most important, never accept an open drink you didn’t make yourself. Not even if they came in the hands of a beautiful barmaid with a nametag, which read: Megan.

  “Right, right.” She responded with a smile when Lainie held up two fingers indicating she would have the same.

  “I figure since he can’t come to you because of the family, I’ll bring you to the family.” She opened her arms wide, like a crazy Vanna White, drawing them out to her side.

>   “Thank you.” I told her, and meant it. In the days since the trial, Lainie and I had gotten close. She had gradually become the sister I wished I had growing up. Not that I didn’t love Cheyenne, I loved her very much; it was just different with Lainie. “He never brings me here,” I admitted, feeling slightly nauseous at the thought. I smiled so I didn’t have to deal with the nagging voice inside my head.

  “Here we go now, loves.” Megan placed a napkin, then a chilled bottle of beer in front of me. “Is it just the two of you or are we expectin’ some handsome blokes?” Her hands were on her slender hips, the T-shirt all the other waitresses were wearing tied in a knot in the back and torn in the center, revealing a sculpted midriff and a dangling belly ring, a shamrock to boot.

  “You’re new here, aren’t you?” Lainie clarifies, exhibiting her detective abilities as Captain Obvious.

  “Aye, yes. Been here for ‘bout a month or so.” She nodded her head, her smile as real as her accent. “I came from Belfast to join me betrothed.” She puts her hand out, flashing the princess cut diamond on her left hand. “Weddin’ is in two more weeks and then we start working on some wee lads.” She covered her abs of steel with the hand decorated by Tiffany and Co.

  Shayla’s words came back like a freight train pulling into the station—her warning of Sean having a girl back home, a shiny ring on her finger. “Oh my, God! Claire would you look at the size of that rock. Hell, you’d need a crane just to help carry that thing around.” Lainie grabbed Megan’s hand from her stomach, and then shoved it in my face.

  “Does this Prince of yours have a name?” Lainie quizzed as she released Megan’s hand.

  “He does, his father owns this pub, let me earn some Euros until I wed me Sean.”

  The room suddenly became unbearably hot. Megan mumbled something about getting us anything else we needed, and turned back to the bar. Lainie snapped her fingers, bringing my impending panic attack to a standstill.

  “Hey, Sean is a common Irish name. It doesn’t mean it’s your Sean.”