Hale Series Boxed Set

by Marie James

  “Shut the fuck up, asshole,” he says as he backs out of the room. Hernandez. I commit the name on the front of his uniform to memory then try to calm my nerves, because seriously? What can I do? Not like I would ever attack a cop, but this guy on the fucking street would be a whole other situation.

  Before I can revel in my anger and hatred over the entire situation Kaleb and another very tall, burly man walks in.

  “Fuck,” Kaleb mutters. “I told Hernandez you didn’t need the cuffs.” He pulls his key ring from his pocket and begins to release me from the cuffs.

  Once free, I circle each of them with the other hand, not realizing how tight they were placed on me until the circulation was allowed back into them.

  “Yeah, well,” I begin. “The guy's an asshole so no wonder he didn’t listen to you.”

  “Sorry about that, Garrett. We can’t help the book-in process but you weren’t supposed to be taken to the holding cell.” Kaleb apologizes to me.

  The other cop in the room shoots daggers at him, like being cordial is against the rules during an interrogation. Then I narrow my eyes at them; my anger from my arrest as well as the way Hernandez treated me for no other reason than the guy is a douche, coming to a head.

  “I have no interest in whatever fucking good cop; bad cop scenario is playing out here.” Kaleb leans against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest and has the nerve to look affronted by my statement. “In no way, shape, or form am I involved in any of the shit you guys are saying I did, but I’m not saying a fucking word until my attorney shows up.”

  Big guy nods to Kaleb instructing him to do God knows what and Kaleb turns and walks out of the room. The man, who I assume is also a detective, sits in the chair across the table from me.

  “My name is Randall Holt. I’m not the lead detective, but just filling in for Stan Rhodes until he can get away from the scene.” He clears his throat and leans back in the chair crossing one leg over the other at the knee. “Detective Perez just went to go check on your attorney.” He explains.

  “Who…who died in the fire?” My throat is dry and dread sits in my stomach waiting for the answer. Johnny and the lead waiter are the only ones who have keys to the place beside me. I’d never wish such a death on anyone, dying in a fire is horrendous, but I find myself praying it’s not him.

  “You’ve asked for your attorney, Mr. Hale. I can’t give you any information on the case until that person arrives,” he says with no inflection of his voice.

  Detective Holt just watches me from across the table for what seems like hours until the small phone on the wall rings and the person on the other end informs him that my attorney has just checked in at the front and is being escorted to the back.

  A few short minutes later the door swings open and Kaleb walks in behind a tall, sophisticated man whom I’ve never seen before. He’s carrying an expensive soft leather briefcase and wearing a visitor sticker badge.

  “A moment with my client, please detectives?” He asks and waits for them to stand and leave the room. He narrows his eyes at Holt. “Please don’t forget to turn off the cameras, Detective.”

  Holt looks shocked like he would’ve never even attempted to record a confidential conversation. It gains him a little respect in my book. Holt nods at the attorney with a mild look of contempt and exits the room.

  When I start to speak he holds his finger up and points to the camera in the corner and waits for the light to go from green to red.

  “Mr. Hale, I’m William Prince. Ian Hale called and told me to get here quickly, but it seems he’s as in the dark as to details of the charges. Have you gained any knowledge of what your charges are?” He pulls a pen and legal sized yellow tablet and occupies the seat that Detective Holt just left.

  I scrub my hands over my face. “What time is it?” I ask because there are no clocks in here and they took my watch when they brought me to the jail.

  He flips his wrist and looks down at his arm. “Just after two. The charges?” He prompts again.

  “They told me I was being charged with arson…” It literally just dawned on me that Kaleb was called into work because a business burned down and there were drugs inside. “Did my fucking club burn down?” I hadn’t even considered the arson charge. It’s kind of hard not to get pushed to the back of your head when you’re handcuffed and the charge of murder is mentioned.

  He nods solemnly. “Ian told me that Ampere was where the fire occurred. They haven’t shared any news with you?”

  I shake my head no. “They’ve been pretty tight-lipped. I don’t even know who it was inside that burned up.”

  “I didn’t do this. I have no involvement with drugs and I sure as fuck didn’t set my club on fire.” I tell him and even though it’s not his job to believe me, I pray that he can see my innocence in my eyes, ensuring he will fight for me and not just for the extensive amount of money he will make from a case like this.

  “Where were you today?” He asks.

  “I decided to keep the club closed today. We’ve had staffing issues the last few weeks. Business is good enough we don’t really need to be open and many of the other clubs are closed on Mondays.” I have no idea why I’m giving him all of this information. I sigh. “I was at home most of the day. Left to grab my girlfriend Alexa from her work and then headed to Ian’s.”

  He’s writing all of this down so I wait until he’s caught up. “When did you leave your place?”

  “Fuck I don’t know. I wasn’t really on a time schedule. Maybe three forty-five?” I answer.

  “Don’t ask me. Tell me,” he prods.

  “Fuck!” I slam my hands on the table. “I didn’t spend my day logging my actions. I didn’t anticipate needing a fucking alibi!”

  “You went straight from home to the girlfriend’s work?”

  I nod.

  “How far is that?” His pen is poised ready for my answer.

  “Fifteen minutes maybe.”

  “How far is your club from her work?”

  “Fifteen minutes or so.” I respond. “Why are we going over this?”

  He writes down what I said and then lays his pen down on the paper. “The detectives are going to ask you the same questions. I just need you to be aware of what your answers are going to be. There is a fire and a dead body. They will know a very good estimate of when the fire started by the nine-one-one call that was placed. So they have a timeline. Now they’re going to want to know what the timeline of your day looks like.”

  “That’s all well and good, but when can I get out of here?”

  “After you see the judge and you’re arraigned.” He explains.

  “And then I what? Post bail?”

  He nods.

  “I’ve asked Ian to procure your passport. With your means the judge will be more accepting of a bond request if they know you can’t leave the country.” He pauses. “It’s going to be hard enough as it is with the murder charge.”

  “Want to bring the detectives back in so we can tell them no comment?” I chuckle at his nonchalance.

  “Is it that easy?” I ask.

  He gives me a slight grimace. “Not really but I’ll advise you on when to answer and what is safe to say. You say you’re innocent so I don’t imagine anything you tell them will hurt your case.”

  “I am innocent,” I ground out. “Yeah, bring them in I guess.”

  He stands, walks to the door and knocks on it. Less than a minute later Kaleb and Holt walk back in.

  I glare at Kaleb. “Does he have to be in here?” I nod toward Kaleb; his face falls but he looks resigned and turns to leave.

  “Detective Perez,” Holts says in a booming authoritative voice, “is involved in this investigation. Since this is an interrogation, you as the suspect don’t get to pick and choose who’s in the room.”

  He settles in the chair across from me and sets a thin folder on the table in front of him. Kaleb stays on the wall, looking uncomfortable and I can’t tell if it’s b
ecause he’s been put in a position that puts us on opposite ends of the criminal justice spectrum or if he’s disgusted with me as a person.

  William settles in beside me. “What are the charges?” He asks as he readies his pen again.

  Holt looks as me as he answers his question. “Possession of a controlled substance with intent to deliver, arson, and homicide.” His eyes never leave mine and I do my best to hold his gaze but hearing those words officially in this room after just being booked-in to Denver City Jail make it hard to do.

  “Type of drug?” William continues.

  “Cocaine.” Holt answers.

  I wish this man could have been a fly on the wall any number of times I’ve kicked people out of my club when they’ve been caught with the shit. I don’t even let my VIPs get away with that shit and I know for a fact that at most clubs in the city the owners overlook it.

  “I don’t use or sale drugs, Detective Holt. Feel free to drug test me or check the cities records. Every time I’ve caught people using in my club I call an officer out to issue a criminal trespass warning so they can’t return.” I explain to him.

  Holt doesn’t respond to me and William continues. “Amount?”

  “Two bricks. Hasn’t been unwrapped and weighed yet. My estimate is around two kilos.”

  William continues to write. “The deceased?”

  At this, Holt opened the folder and slides a paper across the table. I don’t even know why I glanced down at it, but one look and my stomach turned suddenly; the sight of one of my valued employee’s lifeless body brings a wave of nausea up my throat. The trash can that caught the contents of my stomach right beside the table tells me they either intended to show me this picture and anticipated my reaction or people puke often during interrogation.

  “That wasn’t necessary, Detective,” William chastises.

  I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and watch as Holt just shrugs his shoulders and places Darren’s picture back in the folder.

  “Deceased is Darren Davies, waiter at Ampere.” He answers the question William asked prior to me getting sick.

  I swallow roughly. “Darren was a good kid. I have no idea why he would even be at the club. We were closed today.”

  Once William is done asking questions about the charges, Holt begins asking his own set of questions. I answer each one honestly.

  I told him myself, Johnny as my right-hand and Darren as the lead waiter had keys to the building and the alarm codes. The only other person is the boss of the cleaning crew I outsource to.

  He asks about the security feeds and I inform him I’m the only one with the ability access it, which makes him smirk a bit. Just as William said he would, he grills me about my whereabouts all day and I answer him as honestly as I was able to answer my attorney.

  Holt asks questions for what seems like hours, but he’s very calm and mostly professional about it all and I have to wonder if he would behave the same way if I didn’t have counsel present. Eventually he grows weary of asking the same questions or he’s run out of ways to alter them to get me to slip up.

  It’s daytime by the time we are done and we’re informed that the judge is on the bench and ready to begin. As I’m walked, back in hand cuffs, to the small courtroom in the jail I realize that I didn’t ask nor was I offered a phone call. I’m hoping I won’t need to make one and I will be heading home shortly, but if things don’t go my way I’m hoping they will allow it after this hearing is done.

  More than anything in the world I need to hear Alexa’s voice right now.

  Chapter 23

  Alexa

  Hours. He’s been gone for hours. Not only has he been arrested but I somehow allowed Ian to talk me into not going up there. I had him bring me home to get his passport and I stayed so I can be here when Garrett calls or gets to come home. I made Lorali promise me that she will go to the police station with Ian since I’m at home.

  She’s texted me constantly so I know his attorney made it up there quickly. She did tell me that the attorney walked to the back to meet with Garrett and the detectives and she hasn’t seen him in hours. Five to be exact. I can’t even imagine the hell he’s going through.

  I don’t know policy and procedure as far as the police are concerned but I’m certain the local news anchors have much more news than they should. They release the name of the man who died in the fire. Darren Davies. Doesn’t ring a bell to me but I haven’t been to the club but a few times since being shot and that was just to visit with Garrett or hit him up for an after work quickie if he wasn’t going to be home until late.

  I had to stop watching the news. After a while it just became repetitive. Police have someone in custody. They haven’t said Garrett’s name yet but it’s only a matter of time. Several kilos of cocaine were found in the building. How would they know that shit?

  The stress of it all hit full force a couple of hours ago and that’s when the drinking started. I know that drinking while upset and stressed out is the worst thing to do, but my nerves can’t handle this situation without a little help.

  By the time Lorali texts me to tell me that the judge relented and is allowing Garrett to be released I’m drunk to the point of not even getting off the couch. I immediately regret my decision and the two bottles of wine I emptied solo while waiting to hear about the situation. Now I’ll be a mess when Garrett gets home and he doesn’t deserve that.

  I don’t know how much time has passed between Lorali’s last text and when I’m jostled awake on the couch. I’m engulfed in the delicious scent of Garrett as he scoops me up from the couch and carries me to our room.

  “I need you, Angel,” he whispers in my ear but I’m still clouded in the haze of alcohol and don’t wake up fully. I’ve failed him when he needed me the most.

  ***

  I slowly wake from unconsciousness. I say that because I wasn’t sleeping, I was passed the fuck out. My alcohol tolerance is apparently low since I hardly drink anymore; that coupled with the fact that two bottles of wine would put almost anyone in a stupor.

  I groan as I turn on my back, missing the feel of Garrett. If he’s in the bed he’s normally spooned against me or vice versa. Turning over on my left side I see that he is in the bed but he’s sitting up with his back against the headboard. I take notice that I’ve been stripped and I’m naked in the bed. Even with everything going on Garrett undressed me last night, knowing I hate to wear clothes.

  “Hey,” I whisper, my voice gravely. “I’m so glad you’re home.” I admit and run my hand up his thigh.

  He looks down at me dismissively and I’m hit with shame. I wince knowing I never should’ve drunk last night.

  “Did you get any sleep?” I trail my fingertips against his abs hoping I can seduce him and make him forget about yesterday.

  I see his cock twitch in his pants so I’m surprised when he grabs my hand and keeps me from stroking it.

  “No,” he says with no emotion.

  I gape at him. Anger I can work with, frustration I can even build on; but no hint of any emotion shows on his face as he looks at me. His blank expression sends chills down my spine. The man I love and the man who I thought was gearing up to ask me to marry him is not the man that’s in this bed with me.

  That man, I’m sure, was lost the second the handcuffs were clicked onto his wrists last night at Ian’s house. I pray he’s only missing and not gone forever.

  Garret swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands never taking his eyes from mine as I plead for forgiveness, not completely sure the number of sins I need to be forgiven.

  “Alexa,” he says pointing the floor at his feet. “Knees.”

  Even though I’m uncertain of the situation because of his aloofness I scramble of the bed and kneel at his bare feet. I drop my head submissively, still having complete faith that even if he’s upset with me, or the situation he’s facing in general, he would never do anything to hurt me. He may be mad but I’ll never doubt his love for me.
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  “Clasp your hands behind your back and keep them there.” I hear the rustle of fabric and see his boxer briefs pool at his feet. I follow his command as he kicks them absently to the side. “Unclasp them and I’ll keep you tied up all day.”

  My sex grows slick at the delicious threat, but I have no intention of disobeying. I know he’ll make this good for me as well but more importantly if this is what he needs right now, then I’ll give him anything he asks for. Or takes.

  “Suck,” he grunts and I feel the heat of his cock on my cheek.

  I open my mouth and lick him from root to tip just how I know he likes it, peering up at him as I do. He’s staring straight ahead and other than the sharp burst of precome I’m blessed with, no other emotion registers on his face.

  I suck voraciously on the tip of his thick length repeatedly until the surfeit of sensation causes him to grip a handful of my hair and he pulls me off.

  Finally he peers down at me but the smirk or heavy-lidded eyes is not what I get. On his face instead is a flat if not mildly maniacal look of mild contempt.

  “Suck it right or I will tie you down and fuck your mouth until you pass out from lack of oxygen.” I whimper and nod my head in understanding.

  He’s upset and I know that is the only reason he’s acting like this; however, I feel slightly twisted because my reaction to his threat is beginning to seep down my legs.

  He keeps his hands tangled in my unruly bedraggled hair and rather than fuck my mouth he uses his hold on me to push and pull my mouth down his length. I gag slightly each time he presses me down his full length, yet I try to take even more on every downward slide knowing he loves the sound of me struggling with his cock in my throat.

  I want to reach up with my hands and cup his heavy, swaying sac and I also have a sudden urge to lick a finger and slide it inside of him, but I don’t. He was very clear with his expectations and I know with the mood he’s in, testing him would not benefit me.

  A whisper of a grunt is the only warning I get before he explodes down my throat. I drink every last drop of him and continue sucking, hoping for more. He may not be able to verbalize his pleasure but the mildly salty thickness that just slid down my throat is proof enough to me that he enjoyed it.