Seconds: A Salvation Society Novel

by Freya Barker

  I feel a little bad for Cal, though. He was out for a bit this morning, but since he got back it didn’t sound like he got a lot of work done. Matt’s been talking for most of the past hour. I came out here to grab a coffee and maybe distract the boy for a bit, when he cornered me about a dog.

  “Come on, Auntie Reagan, you live out here by yourself. Think of all the fun a dog could have here.”

  “I don’t have time for a dog, Matt.”

  I throw a dirty look at Cal, who’s chuckling at the dining table and suddenly I don’t feel bad for him anymore. Bastard, he’s guilty for starting this. He’s been on my case for days now.

  “Besides,” the boy continues, “Mom used to say you were too busy for a boyfriend too, but you got one of those.”

  “Matt!” Sally yells from the other room and Cal bursts out laughing, causing the boy to giggle.

  I try to keep a straight face but when a beet-red Sally comes barreling in, looking at her son with murder in her eyes, I lose the fight.

  “Great,” she grumbles, throwing her arms in the air. “Blood, sweat, and tears to teach this one some manners, and you two encourage him.”

  She promptly turns on her heel and stomps back to the office.

  “Sorry,” I call after her, only making Matt giggle harder. “You…” I point my finger at him. “You’re trouble, mister. Watch your show.”

  Cal winks at the boy before turning a grin to me. “Majority rules, Slick.”

  “My house, my rules, Mac,” I lob back, as I make my way to the coffee pot. “And if you want a dog so badly, get one yourself.”

  “Yeah!” Matt, who closely watches the interaction, cries out.

  Wonder how long it’ll be before the kid starts bugging his mom for a dog of his own. I shake my head while I pour myself a refill and make my way back to my office, ignoring the male bonding going on in my living room.

  “Too busy for a boyfriend, huh?” I tease Sally when I sit down across from her.

  “The kid can’t remember to put his socks in the laundry, even though I remind him on a daily basis, but he recalls something I mentioned in passing months ago,” she says, dropping her head in her hands. “During a discussion on why everybody doesn’t have a boyfriend like Corbin Becker’s mom does.” She lifts her head. “For some context; Amy Becker landed herself a hunk of a firefighter, who drags her kid everywhere. He was hounding me to get a boyfriend so I may have brought up the fact you didn’t have one either. Just so you know, I don’t make a habit of discussing your love life—or until recently, your lack thereof—with my ten-year-old son.”

  “No worries,” I assure her with a smile, but that last remark earns her a little revenge. “You know, you could always get him a dog.”

  The horror on her face is immediate and I stifle a chuckle.

  “Ohhh, you wouldn’t.”

  “I might,” I shrug, “It would help get the heat off me.”

  That earns me a dirty look, but Sally doesn’t get a chance to say anything when my phone rings.

  “Reagan Cole.”

  “Ms. Cole, it’s Detective Melville. Do you have a minute?”

  “Sure. What can I do for you, Detective?”

  “Two things actually. I wanted to let you know we’ve closed the arson investigation. We found evidence confirming Sean Davies was the one to vandalize your car and set fire to your office.”

  “What kind of evidence?” I’m curious to know.

  “Some forensic evidence, but we also found a stack of journals in Mr. Davies’ house. His last entry is about a fantasy scenario describing pretty much what happened at your office, but he ends up a knight in shining armor saving the damsel.”

  I shake off an unpleasant shiver running down my back. Scary to think what that kind of delusion might’ve led to.

  “Okay, but then who killed him?”

  “That’s the thing,” Melville muses. “I’ve been working from the premise these are two separate cases, but I’m starting to think they’re connected.”

  “How?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question I was hoping you might help me with. Now I may be reading too much into this, but I’ve been asked by my chief to take over a colleague’s caseload, who was suspended from duty a few days ago, and going through his notes your name pops up.”

  My ears perk up when I realize who he’s talking about.

  “You mean Walker?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid he doesn’t like you very much.”

  I snort. “That doesn’t surprise me. Along with the prosecutor—who happens to be my ex-husband—he tried to railroad Cal McGregor on a bogus charge and discredit me at the same time, but that seems to have backfired on them. If Walker is anything like my ex, he’d be looking for outside sources to blame. Me being the preferred target.”

  “But there is nothing indicating Walker knew Sean Davies or had any connection to him,” Melville states before he falls silent, like he’s waiting for me to fill in the blanks.

  I rack my brain. The only connection would be through Neil, who was on both cases and is apparently friendly with Walker, but that still doesn’t give either a reason for harming Sean. Or does it?

  Neil has always been the passive-aggressive type, prone to bursts of temper but never physical. He never struck me as a violent person, unless you count the sharp edge of his tongue. I can envision him doing a lot of bad things, but killing someone? And why?

  “My ex was the prosecutor in both the Davies case and also this recent farce. I’ve recently learned from an acquaintance he’s on friendly terms with Detective Walker—they apparently frequent the same gym—but I can’t really see how that would be important to your case. I leave that to you to figure out.”

  From a legal perspective, it’s probably better for the detective to discover these things in his own investigation, even if I did point a finger in the right direction.

  “It’s been a while since I worked out,” Melville says. “Maybe it’s time I get back into it.”

  I smile and look up at Sally, who’s been following along closely.

  “May not be a bad idea, Detective.”

  Cal

  Cute kid.

  I lift a hand in response when he waves from the back seat of his mother’s car. He hadn’t been happy when Sally declined an invitation to stay for dinner, but she put her foot down, telling him it was time they get out of our hair.

  I’m secretly glad, because sharing space with Reagan without being able to touch her the way I’d like to was proving difficult. I thought I had more restraint than that, but she is proving me wrong. Or maybe it’s just her.

  Part of me wonders if it’s the chaos we seem to have landed in which makes melding our lives together so easily. It really shouldn’t be, considering we haven’t known each other that long, and are both used to our own space. Still, this past week has been almost effortless.

  We work during the days and have quiet nights at home, enjoying the sunsets out back, a lot of talking, making out, and inevitably we roll into bed together. Nothing special and yet more meaningful than anything I can remember.

  I’ve always been restless—a little wild even—it’s one of the reasons why the adventure of the military drew me in. When that didn’t end the way I’d hoped, bounty hunting was a good replacement. With this job I never know what the next day brings, or where I’ll end up. The fact it’s unpredictable is a big part of the attraction, and yet here I am, hoping my phone won’t ring tonight.

  A hand slides along the small of my back and Reagan ducks under my arm, snuggling into my side.

  “Everything okay?”

  I give her shoulders a squeeze. “Yeah.” I turn her away from the open door and close it before walking into the living room.

  “I feel like pizza.” She tilts her face up to me and I drop a kiss on her mouth.

  “I’m good with that. Want me to order?”

  While I call, Reagan goes upstairs to put on something more comfortabl
e. I hope that means something with an elastic waistband. By the time she comes back down, pizza is on the way, and I’m waiting outside with a couple of beers.

  I lean my head back and she bends down, kissing me sweetly before she takes the seat next to mine.

  “So…” I grab her hand and play with her fingers. “Rescue or breeder?” I grin when she pulls her hand back and her eyes throw daggers at me.

  “I’m not getting a dog,” she snaps.

  “I know, you told me to get one.”

  I snag her hand again and, despite the stubborn look on her face, she lets me entwine our fingers. A moment later I have to let her go again when my phone rings in my pocket. When I fish it out I see it’s Jackson calling.

  “Your brother,” I announce before answering. “Hey.”

  “Detective Marshall Melville. Recognize the name?” Jackson asks right off the bat.

  “Hello to you too, I’m sitting here with your sister so I’m putting you on speaker, and the answer is yes.”

  “Reagan’s there?”

  “Hey, Jackson, what’s up?” she says.

  “Detective Melville, I just got off the phone with him.”

  “You did? I talked to him today as well. Why were you talking to him?”

  “Cal called me Tuesday, told me what happened in court, and I’ve been looking into Tory and Walker.”

  I’m at the receiving end of another emasculating glare from Reagan. I didn’t mention I’d spoken with her brother, and I’m guessing that’s a firm no. I make a mental note not to keep things from her in the future.

  “Find anything?” I ask Jackson.

  “Oh yeah. One of my guys has a contact in the Commonwealth’s Attorney’s Office in Richmond. Rumor around the watercooler has it Daddy Tory caught Neil doing drugs in the office and they had a big fight. Not long after, he was moved to the Suffolk office.”

  “Neil? Drugs?”

  It’s clear Reagan had no idea, judging by her reaction.

  “Yup. Remember Jenna Dolinsky?”

  I have no idea who he’s talking about, but apparently his sister does.

  “His college buddy. She was at our wedding. I don’t even know if they stayed in touch, though.”

  “They did. They were living together while he was in Richmond.”

  I hear Reagan’s gasp and when I look over her face has paled. I guess that was news to her.

  “How long…” she starts asking, but then shakes her head. “You know what, I don’t wanna know.”

  “No, you don’t,” Jackson says in a sympathetic voice.

  That stupid motherfucker cheated on Reagan? That piece of crap is not worth the dirt on her shoes.

  “Is there a point?” I ask abruptly.

  “Yeah, she confirms he had a drug problem. Apparently they didn’t part on good terms because the woman was spilling all the dirt. Including the name of his dealer. A woman he’d met at the country club by the name of Krista Hardee.”

  Neither of us interrupts as Jackson goes on to explain how he contacted the chief of police at the Suffolk PD and was passed on to Detective Melville. He ended up talking to him at length, outlining his findings.

  Even after he ends the call, we sit quietly side by side, each lost in our own thoughts while we sip our beers.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t know,” Reagan finally says, sounding stunned. “I used to think of myself as relatively intelligent, but now I feel like such a fool.”

  “Hey…” I turn to her and cup her face, those beautiful eyes looking dull. “Addicts are the best liars. You know this.”

  “Still. What does that say about me?”

  “No, you don’t take this on. This says nothing about you and everything about him. I knew he was a loser for letting a treasure like you go. He’s the fool in this scenario.”

  She blinks a few times and I see the life come back to her eyes.

  “You need to stop being so damn amazing,” she says in a scolding tone. “You’re already irresistible enough.”

  “I am?”

  A blush darkens on her cheeks as she smiles almost shyly.

  “Don’t tell me you don’t know you already have me falling hard.”

  I pick up her hand and kiss her palm.

  “Then my job here is done,” I tell her just as the doorbell rings announcing the arrival of dinner.

  Grinning, I kiss the top of her head before getting up to get our pizza.

  “Don’t look so smug,” she fires off over her shoulder.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Reagan

  Having my hands in the dirt feels wonderful. It’s been my favorite way to de-stress and think since I bought this place.

  I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since Jackson’s phone call Friday night. I stopped loving Neil a long time ago, so why does it feel like betrayal? It’s not like I thought there was much redeemable about the man before, but what Jackson uncovered still shocks me. It taints the few good memories I was holding on to, but also makes me question my judgment. I’ve always been able to tell myself when I fell in love with him he was a different man. Now I wonder if that was ever true. What if it turns out he was responsible for Sean Davies’ death? A few days ago I wouldn’t have been able to imagine Neil getting his hands dirty like that, but I’m not so sure anymore.

  I grab my wheelbarrow and head to the next bed. My garden is a combination of flowerbeds and raised vegetable planters. I’ve already been able to eat some of my own beets, kale, and onions. Beans will be next; I’m guessing another week or so.

  It’s peaceful out here, no traffic noise, no neighbors mowing the lawn, just the sound of birds from the swamp.

  I’m about to start weeding around the tomato plants when I hear the sliding door open.

  “We’ve got company, Slick,” Cal calls out.

  I left him on the couch watching baseball when I went outside earlier. Such a domestic scene: cooking a late breakfast when we finally got out of bed, cleaning the kitchen together, and then Sunday afternoon sports. Much the same pattern followed in many households, I’m sure. I know it was in our house growing up.

  “Who is it?”

  I’m trying to think of who might show up at my door on a Sunday afternoon, when Detective Melville steps out behind Cal. I quickly hustle to the hose to wash the dirt of my hands and wipe them dry on my jeans before I join them on the deck.

  “Sorry to barge in on you on a Sunday afternoon, but I have a few questions.”

  “Not a problem,” I tell the detective. “Can I get you a coffee?”

  “Already offered, Sweetheart,” Cal mumbles, tucking me under his arm the second I’m within reach.

  “Thanks, but I’m trying not to take up too much of your time.”

  “Well, at least have a seat,” I offer.

  He sits down and I take the other chair, Cal perching on my armrest.

  “I received a call from your brother on Friday.”

  “Yes, he told me.”

  “Good, that saves me explaining why I’m looking into your ex-husband. I’m currently investigating his role in the handling of Mr. McGregor’s case. We spoke with Ms. Hardee, and we already have Walker on a seventy-two-hour hold but we haven’t been able to locate Tory. Any thoughts on where we might be able to find him?”

  It’s on my lips to tell him I don’t have a clue, but then I remember his father’s hunting cabin. He spent many a men’s weekend there while we were married, but I hadn’t seen the place once.

  “His father has a cabin not far from Roanoke, but I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you where exactly. I’ve never been there.”

  “I can find out,” Cal offers, but Melville waves him off.

  “Appreciate the gesture, but I’m sure you understand the need to do everything by the book. I told Ms. Cole’s brother the same thing when we spoke. Luckily, we have Judge Raymond on board, who is more than a little upset a mockery was made of his courtroom. I’m sure we’ll have the necessary information in no t
ime.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “There’s one last thing before I let you get back to your Sunday. It’s been bugging me. I know your ex lost the case against Davies, but I can’t really see a reason he would want to kill the man. Walker has talked some, but stays adamant he knows nothing about Davies. I’m having a hard time coming up with a motive.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t help you there,” I apologize to the detective. “Maybe Sean knew something? Saw something? I’m grasping at straws, I really have no idea.”

  Melville nods and gets to his feet.

  “Only person with answers is Mr. Tory. All the more reason to chase him down. I’ll leave you folks to it and if there’s any update, I’ll let you know.”

  “Much appreciated,” Cal answers for both of us. “I’ll show you out.”

  I head back to my vegetables and start yanking at weeds, lost in thought. I suddenly want for all this to be over. I was always passionate about my work but with everything that happened this past month, I’m losing the stomach for it. Maybe it’s time to find another way to put my law degree to good use, although I’m not sure what direction to take. Perhaps all I need is an extended vacation. I don’t remember the last time I’ve taken one. Even our honeymoon was no more than a long weekend in Myrtle Beach.

  I catch a rustle in the grass and am about to turn around when a blow snaps my head sideways, and takes my knees out from under me. I gasp at the blinding pain but before I can open my mouth to scream, the lights go out.

  Cal

  “My offer stands,” I tell Melville when I walk him to his cruiser. “Anything that’ll help you get and keep that lowlife behind bars.”

  He lowers his head to hide a grin.

  “So noted, but let me reiterate the need to keep this investigation clean. Tory has some major connections with ample legal muscle, including but not limited to his own father. Any case against him has to be airtight and beyond reproach, or they’ll make mincemeat out of it.”