by Callie Rose
After a few rings, a pleasantly rough voice asks, “Hello?”
“Hello, Mr. Hollowell. This is Harlow Thomas. I used to work for the Black family with my mom. Penelope.”
“Oh… yes, of course.”
There’s recognition in his voice, but confusion too. He definitely knows who I am, but he’s gotta be wondering why on earth I’m calling him.
It’s not like we really know each other. I saw him at a couple of Samuel and Audrey’s cocktail parties, but we’ve never had an actual conversation or anything. In fact, I didn’t even like him all that much the first time I met him. He was one of about a dozen guys who “accidentally” brushed against me at the first party I worked, although—unlike the rest of them—he kept his hands to himself after that, so maybe his actually was an accident.
But he recognized me when I opened the door for him at the last cocktail party, and I swear there was sympathy in his voice when he said my mom’s name.
He might not know me, but he does know her. At least a little bit.
And I have to hope that’s enough.
“I’m sorry to bother you on the weekend, but I’m calling because my mom’s gotten into a little bit of legal trouble.”
“Ah. Yes. I know,” he says slowly.
“She’s been accused of murder, but she didn’t do it!” I blurt out. He saw her get arrested, so even if he doesn’t know all the particulars, there’s no reason to sugarcoat this or dance around it. “They’re holding her without bail, and her trial date is set, and her court-appointed lawyer sucks—”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Thomas.” Alexander cuts me off, and although his words are a bit abrupt, I still think I hear sympathy buried in his tone. “But what do you think I can do for you? I’m not a lawyer. I can’t represent Penelope.”
“I know.” I crane my neck to stare up at the ceiling, wishing I could articulate what I want from this man. I want you to put on a damn cape and come rescue my mother. “But you know the law. I just thought maybe you’d have some advice or be able to help her somehow.”
There’s a short beat of silence, then Judge Hollowell sighs. “I do know the law, that’s true. But that doesn’t mean I’m free to dole out legal advice to defendants or their families. I’m sure she’s in capable hands. Which public defender is representing her?”
“Scott Parsons,” I say quickly, and there’s an even longer pause on the other end of the line.
Fuck. I knew it. And Judge Hollowell obviously thinks so too. That guy is not qualified.
“I do wish I could help, Ms. Thomas.” There’s reluctance in his voice. “But I really can’t.”
Dammit. He sounds like he really means that—both the part about wanting to help and the part about not being able to. Normally, I’d respect that kind of integrity, but right now, I wish he’d fucking break the rules. Or at least bend them.
“Could I just meet with you sometime and talk to you?” I ask desperately. “Not even about her case specifically. Just about these kinds of cases in general, so I know what to expect, what to do—whether the lawyer is giving us good or bad advice.”
“It really isn’t possible. I’m sorry.”
His tone is firm and unyielding, and I can see how he got to be such a prominent judge. It’s the kind of tone that allows no argument, that cuts any pushback off at the knees.
“It’s okay. I understand,” I say, not because I actually do, but because I don’t want this call to end with him thinking I’m some kind of crazy psycho who phoned him on his day off and yelled at him. He does seem to want to help, so maybe if I give him some time to think on it, I can try again later.
“I hope everything works out.” There’s a pause so long I glance at the screen to make sure he hasn’t already hung up. Then he adds, “Tell her to make sure Parsons sticks to his defense strategy. He sometimes hops from plan to plan, and it never works out well.”
My heart leaps in my chest, excitement thrumming through my veins. That’s usable. That’s helpful. And he didn’t have to say it.
“Thank you. I’ll definitely pass that along. Thanks so much.”
“Good luck, Ms. Thomas.”
He ends the call, and I drop the phone into my suitcase, glancing up to meet River’s gaze. I was facing the couch while I spoke, so I’m guessing he picked up my end of the conversation. I grin at him, unable to contain my relieved glee.
It’s a little thing, but it’s a start.
And Alexander Hollowell might say he’s not able to help, but he just showed that there’s some wiggle room in that.
And I intend to take full advantage of it.
22
Finals week feels like a fucking marathon.
Pretty much every minute I’m not actually inside the walls of Linwood, I’ve got my face buried in one of my textbooks, cramming for whatever exam is coming up next. It’s a good thing I know winter break is almost here—and with it, access to the empty Black family mansion—or I’d have a harder time focusing on schoolwork.
My last test is on Friday, and by that point, I’ve gotten grades back for two of my other classes.
I got B’s in both, and I’m honestly thrilled. Considering what a wreck this semester has been, passing at all feels like an accomplishment. And I was still a little worried Savannah would find some way to fuck with my tests, but I don’t think she did. I earned those scores on my own.
The guys all do well. I don’t think any of them were worried. They’re all incredibly smart, and it sort of seems like excelling academically is just an expected part of the world they live in. In some schools, it would make them nerds and outcasts, but here, their straight A’s just make them more likely to go on to careers as high-powered businessmen or politicians or whatever.
The weekend after our last day of school drags by. We can’t go to Linc’s house until his parents leave on Monday, but now that homework isn’t sucking up all my available brain space, I’m chomping at the bit to get started. I visit Mom and pass on the message about making sure Scott Parsons sticks to his defense plan. I don’t tell her exactly where I picked up that little tidbit—I don’t want the guard overhearing us and getting Judge Hollowell in trouble.
Finally, on Tuesday afternoon, Dax and Chase swing by to pick us up. I practically sprint to their car, with River not far behind me, and Chase chuckles, glancing over his shoulder as I climb into the back seat.
“Now that’s the kind of greeting I like to see. Missed you too, Low.”
When we arrive at Linc’s place, Dax parks in one of the open garage spaces. It feels strange to step back inside the Black family mansion. It’s only been three weeks since I left to stay with River, but time has been doing funny things lately, speeding up and slowing down at random intervals, and it seems like it’s been so much longer than that.
Linc greets us downstairs, and the guys throw their stuff in a couple of guest rooms on the second floor. I drop my bags off in my old bedroom, glancing at the stacked boxes of my mom’s belongings as I do. They look abandoned, and it breaks my fucking heart.
Bri was given the week off to spend time with her family before the holidays pick up in earnest, so she isn’t around.
“Gwen will be here for a few hours every afternoon though,” Linc tells us when we reconvene in the grand foyer. “I didn’t want to tell Dad not to have her come since it would seem suspicious. So we’ll just have to break from searching while she’s here.”
“Works for me. And at least we’ll have food.” Chase grins.
I wish we didn’t have to stop for anything, but I also know it’s not really reasonable to think we’d spend all day every day ransacking the house either. And Linc’s right. Anything that draws attention or makes his dad suspect something’s up should be avoided if possible.
Hell, we probably shouldn’t even let Gwen know we’re all staying here—at least, not me.
“So how do we want to do this?” River asks, glancing around at our small group. “Work top to bottom, star
t with the most likely rooms first, what?”
“More likely rooms first, I think.” Lincoln purses his lips, the color of his amber eyes seeming to shift like flickering firelight. “Study, master bedroom, storage room. I want to see if I can get into the security system and look through old footage too, but I don’t know how far back it archives—and I have to be careful not to make it obvious I looked.”
“Okay.” Chase claps his hands, rubbing them together vigorously as a determined look crosses his face. “Let’s do this shit.”
Tearing the house apart looking for some unknown clue turns out to be both tedious and nerve-wracking. We split up to cover ground more quickly, but the mansion is fucking massive, and every little sound makes me jump. I’m not even sure why. No one’s here but me and the guys, but my heart still beats harder and faster than usual.
Lincoln and I take the study the first day, and despite Linc managing to get into a few other locked drawers in the room, we don’t find the paternity test or anything else that references Iris or a baby.
I hide upstairs when Gwen comes in the afternoons, and at night, the five of us gather in kitchen, eating leftovers of whatever she cooked and talking over what we found.
Which is always, disappointingly, nothing.
On Friday evening, Linc stands in the kitchen with his elbows resting on the marble counter and his face buried in his hands. He spent the day combing through the archived footage from the home security system, and every time I saw him, he was in a progressively worse mood. Now, he’s practically vibrating with frustration and anger.
“There’s nothing. Fucking nothing!”
He straightens, pounding the counter with his fists. When he turns to face us, I realize he’s got dark circles under his eyes that weren’t there when we started this search four days ago. He really thought we’d find something, and it’s killing him that we haven’t.
He’s not the only one.
“The footage doesn’t go back far enough to cover the time when Iris and I were hooking up. I only brought her here a couple times, and I can’t tell if she was ever here before or after that. I don’t know if she met my dad here or not.”
“Even if she did, he could’ve gone in and deleted that footage, right?” River asks, his voice quiet and thoughtful.
“Yeah. Probably.” Linc shakes his head. “I know he was out of the house the night Iris was killed and got back a little before we did, but that doesn’t actually prove jack shit.” His agonized gaze shifts to me. “Your mom was out too, and we know she didn’t do it.”
I nod. The leftover pizza I’m eating is slowly turning into a rock in my stomach.
We’re running out of time. Linc’s parents will be back on Monday, so we only have a few more days of unrestricted access to the house. And considering we started with the most obvious places, it’s starting to feel like it’ll take a fucking miracle for us to find anything.
I set my slice down on the plate, resting my elbows on the counter like Lincoln just did and taking a deep breath, trying to calm my rising panic.
“Jesus. Look at you two.” Dax chuckles as he says it, but when I glance up at him, real concern reflects in his eyes. “You look like you’re about to lose it. We need a break.”
Linc and I both shake our heads, starting to object, but Chase steps up beside his brother.
“He’s right. If we only have a few days left, we need to be smarter. Strategic. Which means we need to be thinking clearly. You know?”
“Just for the rest of tonight,” River says, surprising me by taking the twins’ side. Then again, he looks a little worried too, so maybe Lincoln and I really do seem like we’re about to snap. “Then we’ll start fresh tomorrow.”
Linc’s amber gaze darts between his three friends before settling on me. And I think it’s what he sees in my face that finally convinces him. He lets out a sigh, and his bunched shoulders relax slightly.
“Yeah, all right. Fine.”
“Good.” Chase nods decisively. “Then for the rest of the night, no more talking about the search or thinking about it. We need something else to distract us.”
“Yeah, good fucking luck with that,” Dax mutters, his green eyes narrowing as he looks at me, as if he can actually see the gears continuing to turn in my head.
They’re probably right about us needing a break. My brain feels like a hamster on a wheel that won’t stop spinning, and it’s fucking exhausting. But Dax has my number—I really don’t know how to stop thinking about it all.
“I know.” River’s voice pulls my attention to him, and his lips tilt up in a pleased, amused sort of grin before he glances past me to Lincoln. “Do you have any cards?”
My heart kicks in my chest.
Oh, fuck yes.
I haven’t gotten to play poker in weeks, and even though there’s been good reason for that, I miss it. Playing a good game always makes me feel better. And what the hell, if I’m off my game from all the damn stress, at least I’ll be playing with people I trust.
Although I definitely won’t be betting any favors. Learned my lesson on that one, thanks.
Linc’s slightly haggard expression lightens, and his lips tilt up slightly before he turns and strides out of the room. When he comes back, he’s got an unopened deck of cards and a nice set of poker chips. Just the sight of them is weirdly calming to me, and I wolf down the rest of my pizza in a hurry, suddenly hungry again and excited to start playing.
Once we finish eating, we head downstairs to one of the rec rooms. It’s got a wide leather couch in front of a massive TV mounted along one wall, and in one of the opposite corners is a circular table perfect for poker. There are four chairs set up around it, and Linc goes to grab an extra one while I crack open the deck and start shuffling, letting the feel of the smooth, stiff cards between my fingers soothe me.
When the fifth chair is in place, we all settle around the table, and River opens the case containing the chips. “What are we doing for buy-in?”
“No buy-in.” Lincoln shakes his head. “I’m not taking Low’s money.”
I shoot him a highly offended look, narrowing my eyes. But I kind of get it. It’s not like Mom and I couldn’t use the money if I win, and there’s a pretty good chance I could take these four boys to the cleaners. But as River taught me last time we played, that’s not a guarantee.
And if they won my money, I know they’d all feel like shit about it. Mom and I don’t have a penny to spare.
If we’re gonna play, I want to really play. I want to do my level best to kick their asses, and don’t want them to go easy on me just because I’m a fucking charity case right now.
“Agreed,” I shoot back, holding Linc’s gaze as I shuffle. “But I’m not going all in with more favors. So what do we play for?”
He thinks for a second, then shrugs.
“Clothes.”
“What?”
My movement stutters, and the cards that were sliding so gracefully against each other get jammed up, a few of them tumbling from my grip.
He picks one up from the table—the ace of hearts—and hands it back to me, a beautiful, predatory grin on his face.
“You heard me, Low. Clothes. More specifically, the removal of them.”
My cheeks flush as adrenaline, nerves, and arousal spike in equal measures, making my whole body feel electric and alive.
God, I fucking missed this feeling.
“Are you referring to what we commoners call ‘strip poker’?” I ask, arching a brow as I pluck the ace of hearts from his hand and smoothly incorporate it back into the deck with the other dropped cards.
Dax chuckles, Chase snorts a laugh, and Linc’s grin broadens.
“Yeah,” he says, pretending to consider it. “I do think that’s what it’s called.”
I have a sudden vision of me, still fully clothed, surrounded by four completely naked boys as I whoop their asses at poker.
Yes, please. I’ll take that.
“All r
ight.” I shoot him a challenging look, and his eyes heat. “You’re on.”
River counts out chips while the five of us decide on the basic ground rules—namely, that everyone except the winner of each hand will have to remove one article of clothing each, that they get to chose which article of clothing it is, and that anything paired, like shoes or socks, counts as one item.
“I’m starting with pants. Pants first, boxers second, just so you all know,” Chase declares, leaning back in his chair and spreading his legs with a smirk.
Dax throws a poker chip at him, and we all banter and talk shit as I deal.
It’s actually been a really long time since I played poker like this, in a relaxed game where the stakes aren’t about money and it’s more just for the fun of the actual game. It’s been a long time since I played with friends.
Or more than friends.
I kick River’s foot under the table to get his attention, and when he turns to me, I quirk a grin at him. “Promise not to cheat?”
He smiles back, running a hand through his ash-brown hair. “I won’t if you won’t.”
I laugh. “Well… let’s just see how it goes.”
My heart feels lighter than it has in a long time, happiness and excitement creeping in to fill the spaces that’ve been occupied by nothing but fear and worry for weeks.
As we start to play, it feels like getting back on a bike. I’m not relearning the game, but I’m relearning the idiosyncrasies and tells of the four boys around me. We’ve only played together once before, but I learned their styles pretty well that night, and they haven’t changed drastically since then.
Chase still plays too aggressively, betting more than he should and calling when he shouldn’t just to liven things up—or maybe he really is that eager to get his pants off.
Dax is too easy to read, his poker face way too transparent to do him any good. When he has a bad hand, the whole fucking world knows it.
Lincoln and River were the two who gave me a real run for my money last time, and I have a feeling that’ll be the case again tonight. I watch Linc’s face sink into impassivity as he holds his cards, although there’s a gleam in his amber eyes that makes me feel warm all over. And since River and I didn’t actually agree not to cheat, I keep an extra close eye on him.
