Broken Halo: The Montgomery Series, Book 2

by Asher, Brynne

  I see the light come on and he looks me up and down. He’s shorter and balder than I remember, and definitely rounder, which is saying something. The last ten years have not been kind.

  “It was a long time ago, but I need to talk to you about that case. You investigated me for months for purchasing high volumes of ephedrine with cash, which I did not do, and my only alibi refused to talk. I want to know what you remember about that.”

  He looks down at my card again and frowns. “You’re the lead attorney for Kipp?”

  “No.” I don’t add that I’d rather be dirt poor again before lifting a finger for Kipp Montgomery. “I work for his oldest daughter, Jensen. His youngest daughter, Ellie, was my only alibi and she recanted her statement. You’re the one who talked to her while she was in the hospital. I have questions about that.”

  He kicks the dog back one more time and steps onto the rickety porch, not that I’d come in if he invited me.

  Once he slams the door, he crosses his arms, glaring at me like he has some sort of authority. Not anymore, asshole. He hung his power over my head when I was twenty-two, sitting shell-shocked in his interrogation room, but not today.

  After months of them trying to pin me, they found out it was my Uncle Dustin, who’s almost as big of a douchebag as my own father, and I was in the clear. By that time, Ellie was long gone attending Juilliard, and I’d made plans to leave for Stanford.

  “You digging up bones, boy?”

  I take a step closer and don’t miss it when his eyes flare. “You were buddies with Kipp and Kipp hated me. Seeing from all the articles I pulled on you, you’re about as straight and narrow as your hound’s back leg. It seems you’ve spent a lot of your career massaging the outcome of investigations to your liking … or the liking of your multi-millionaire friends. You’ve got nothing on the line and I promise not to rat you out if you tell me what I want to know.”

  “You knocked-up Kipp’s daughter. You thought he wouldn’t do everything he could to keep you away?”

  “What did Kipp do?” I demand. “Why wouldn’t she at least speak the truth to clear my name on the ephedrine purchases? She was my only alibi.”

  “I don’t have to tell you shit.”

  I figured it would go this way. I reach inside the breast pocket of my suit jacket and produce the ammunition I knew I’d need. “Two years ago, you testified on the stand that a certain crime scene was contaminated. So contaminated that the shithead’s case was dismissed on all charges for battery and armed robbery. That shithead is a second cousin to a barmaid two counties over who you regularly bang. My PI interviewed two of your deputies who corroborated that the scene was, in fact, not contaminated. They were instructed by you to look the other way.”

  His eyes widen and he works his jaw, rubbing his thin, crusty lips together.

  “Right. You’ve been out of the game for almost a year now, but I’m pretty sure you know it’s been a federal crime to lie under oath, since … let me think,” I take a breath, “oh yeah. For-fucking-ever.”

  He takes the paper with the written statements on it from his incredibly disgruntled deputies. Disdain bleeds into his features like a bad rash and he angles his eyes to mine. “You did this?”

  I shake my head. “No. You did this all on your own. My PI didn’t even have to work hard to find this, who knows what else there is if we dig a little deeper. Surprise, Logan—the law is mightier and higher than your self-satisfying ego.”

  “Dammit,” he hisses under his breath.

  “I also know from digging around that your friends who are bigger and more important than you ever were, like Kipp Montgomery himself, have distanced themselves from you after your career in law enforcement took a nosedive because of your shady behavior. No one’s going to come to your defense. Unless you want me to hand this over to the DA, you’d be wise to make me your new best friend—you do not want me as your enemy.”

  His wrinkly fist tightens and the evidence I have against him crinkles into a ball.

  I give him a fake smile. “Checkmate, asshole. Tell me everything about Ellie Montgomery and what went down ten years ago.”

  He shakes his head and exhales. “Everyone thought you were in on the meth lab, we just didn’t have the evidence to prove it. Kipp’s baby girl gave you your alibi, but Kipp threatened her to keep her mouth shut. You’re lucky your ass didn’t land in jail for statutory rape once Kipp found out you two were together when she was seventeen.”

  Ellie was eighteen when I got her pregnant. I had no clue Kipp knew we were together a couple months before her birthday. Fuck. Seventeen might’ve been the age of consent, but I was twenty-two, more than three years older than her. I didn’t know it then but I know the law now and he’s right. I could’ve been charged, and even though my life has had its shit moments, it would’ve been a whole lot worse sitting in prison for statutory rape.

  He keeps talking and it all comes together. “I don’t know why—she’s a Montgomery and could’ve caught any boy in North Texas—but she retracted your alibi and kept her mouth shut when we informed her of the fact you’d rot in prison for who knows how long since you broke the age of consent law. Never seen a girl so messed up over some punk-ass kid. She wouldn’t utter another word and just clung to her sister.”

  Fuck. I was even stupider than I gave myself credit for. I cut her out of my life completely.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out and look to the screen. Charlie.

  I ignore it and look back to Logan. “What else?”

  His forehead wrinkles deeper. “What do you mean what else? You were never charged. That girl saved your ass. You would’ve been labeled a pedophile for life. Do you know what happens to them in prison?”

  “I became a defense attorney for the sheer fact your sorry ass tried to pin false charges on me. I’ve been working in the legal system for years—I know what they do to everyone in prison.”

  He shrugs like he doesn’t give a shit. He should because I’ve got dirt on him I could kick up at a moment’s notice.

  I nod to the balled-up evidence. “Keep that for your scrapbook, I’ve got a whole file on you.”

  Turning to jog down the stairs and back to my car, I hear him call, “How do I know you won’t use it on me?”

  I open my door and look back one more time to the worthless piece of shit who fucked with my life like it was a game. “You don’t.”

  I don’t give him anymore of my time or mind space. I’ve got shit to figure out.

  The woman I cut out of my life ten years ago saved mine—and I was clueless. I don’t even know where to go from here.

  I pull up my text thread to Jen.

  Me: Something’s come up in the finalization with the Birmingham acquisition. Call me ASAP.

  I put my car in reverse, anxious to get off his property.

  I’m turning onto the road when my boss calls, just like I knew she would.

  I press the button on my Bluetooth. “Jen—”

  She’s irritated. “Tell me we didn’t hit a snag. I thought the acquisition was set to go through next week.”

  “No snag. I lied to get you on the phone fast but while you’re here, maybe you can tell me why ten fucking years have passed and no one felt the need to tell me the truth—that Ellie provided my alibi, but your father and that sorry excuse of a Sheriff threatened her. Everyone—you included—led me to believe she regretted ever being with me. That she was done with me. That she didn’t give a shit if I was thrown in prison for trumped-up drug charges.”

  I hear nothing but the purr of my engine as I press the gas to veer onto the highway.

  “Jensen?” I spit her name, demanding something—anything—from her. No one’s closer to Ellie than her and I know she knows it all.

  I hear her take a breath before evening her tone. “How did you find out?”

  “Logan. I can only get Ellie to cuss at me when I ask her anything. Is it true?”

  “I don’t know what
all you know, but yes, what you said is true.”

  I explode. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

  “You think I didn’t want to?” she bites back. “You think I enjoyed seeing my sister go through that after what she lost and then losing you on top of it?”

  “She wasn’t the only one who lost everything that day,” I warn.

  “No.” She softens her voice. “You’re right, she wasn’t.”

  “You could have told me,” I insist.

  “I couldn’t. Trust me, I wanted to because I knew you were the only one who could truly put her back together. But when my father makes a threat, he means it. And we were young, Trig. He warned me to keep my mouth shut and Ellie made me promise. She knew you’d be charged for being with someone underage and she loved you. She’s the one who made that deal with Dad. The only way she’d retract her statement was if they promised not to go after you for statutory rape. She did it to protect you, hoping they couldn’t prove the drug charges because she knew they weren’t true. It was your only chance.”

  “Fuck me,” I hiss and feel my chest tighten. “I was so angry. When she tried to call me, I cut her out completely. I fucking cut her out, Jen.”

  She lowers her voice. “I know. I was there. It wasn’t pretty.”

  “Fucking-A. All these years.” I drag a hand down my face. I thought it was miserable before, but now?

  Now, it’s excruciating.

  “I tried to talk her into letting me reach out to you but she wouldn’t let me. You know I’ll do anything for Ellie and she begged me not to call you. Begged. After that Thanksgiving when you blocked her, she didn’t come back to Texas for two years and withdrew from our family—even me. I couldn’t do anything to lose her trust, I barely had a hold on her as it was.”

  My lungs constrict this time and it’s painful to breathe. She tried to come back to me and I cut her out.

  “Trig?”

  I sound strangled. “What?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  I change lanes, cutting someone off. Horns sound but I don’t give a shit. I take the tollway and head north but don’t answer.

  “She’s never been happy. Not truly. The only thing that’s brought her any joy in her life since she lost you is Griffin.”

  My blood starts to churn through my veins. “Where is she?”

  “I talked to her a little bit ago and she was at home—"

  “I’ve gotta go.” I hit my gas.

  “Wait!” she rushes. “What are you—”

  I disconnect the call.

  When she calls back, I send it straight to voicemail. This repeats four times before texts from Jen start to roll in. I don’t look at any of them.

  Because I have no fucking clue what I’m going to do and to utter that out loud makes it too much of a reality.

  11

  The Good, the Bad, the Beautiful

  Actions speak louder than words. Shut your mouth and do the right thing.

  Ellie

  Trig: Giving you the heads up, angel. I’m on my way over.

  What?

  Shit. I just put Griffin to bed and I can’t very well rouse him now without being a shit mom. I’ve been dragging him to the studio with me every day as it is and he hasn’t been napping well.

  I’ve successfully warded Trig off for three days and have gotten all my updates about Carl and Teresa through Eli. I nibble on my lip and stare at my screen for too long before I decide how to respond.

  Me: I’m not fucking home.

  Him: Then I’ll be waiting until you get there.

  Shit, shit!

  Me: I’m not coming home. I’m at the ranch—don’t even try to come here. There’s no way my father will let you in.

  Trig: Nice try. I know your parents are still in Europe and Jen told me you’re at home. And I’d like to point out that you just texted me without the word “fucking” in it. I’m going to take that as a step toward us having a civil conversation.

  I refuse to have a civil anything with Trig. And I’m going to officially kill my sister once and for all. Damn her. No more letting her blabbermouth habits slide. She’s dead to me.

  Me: I hope you enjoy sitting in my driveway. The last time you barged into my space, you emotionally drained me for two days. I’ll take my chances and see you in court.

  Me: Wait. I’ll FUCKING see you in court. See? Nothing’s changed.

  There. I hope the air conditioning in his fancy car is broken. He can sit there in the humidity until he dehydrates for all I care.

  Trig: Angel. On my way, be there in ten.

  Me: Stop calling me that.

  Me: No, stop FUCKING calling me that!

  I wait but get nothing. Not one damn bubble.

  Whatever.

  I hop up from my spot on the sofa where I was going to veg-out in front of mindless TV, but I need to be as far away from him as possible. Grabbing a watermelon sparkling water, I move quickly through the house and flip off the lights as I go. Pulling up my security app, I make sure my system is armed, not that I think he’d break in, but crazier shit has happened. I should know, my marriage was a made-for-television docudrama.

  When my house is darker than a new moon sky on a stormy night, I tiptoe into where Griffin snoozes. I have no plans on sleeping in the bed I shared with my dead husband ever again. In fact, it’s time I get rid of it. I’ll do that tomorrow.

  I set my water down next to the daybed and crawl under my covers. If Trig starts banging on my door again, I’m not sure what I’ll do outside of calling the police, and attention from the police is the last thing on earth I need right now. Especially with CPS all over my ass.

  I check the time again and when almost ten minutes have past, a silent notification pops up.

  Trig: I’m here.

  Huh. No banging. At least not yet anyway.

  Me: Good for fucking you.

  Trig: I know you’re in there. Open the door.

  Me: Why? Are you going to bang it down again if I don’t?

  Trig: I don’t want to wake your son.

  Me: His name is Griffin.

  There’s a pause … bubbles come and go … more bubbles until I finally get a response.

  Trig: I don’t want to wake Griffin.

  Me: You didn’t care about him the other night.

  Trig: I was pissed the other night.

  Me: Which only proves you’re a selfish asshole.

  Trig: Ellie. Open the door so we can talk.

  Me: No. I have nothing to say.

  Trig: Then you can listen.

  Me: There’s nothing you can say that I want to hear. You’re going to do what you need to on my case, am I wrong? The drugs aren’t mine—end of story. If you have information I need, feel free to leave it in my mailbox or give it to Eli. I’ll see him tomorrow.

  Trig: Ellie.

  Me: Go away.

  Trig: You don’t have to say anything but you have to listen.

  Me: I don’t fucking have to do anything.

  Trig: I thought we were past the fucks.

  Me: Never. Fucking never.

  Trig: Enough with the interjections.

  Me: I haven’t even gotten started with the fucking interjections. I’ll throw interjections at you until I’m red in my fucking face.

  Trig: Dammit, Ellie.

  Me: Look, you hate me. I get it but that doesn’t mean I want to talk about it.

  Trig: I don’t hate you. We were young. Young and stupid.

  Me: Really? Because I’m pretty sure you sent that message loud and clear when you blocked me. And speak for yourself—I was never stupid.

  Bubbles work overtime on the screen before they stop. Just when I think he’s given up, there they are again.

  Nothing happens and I wonder if he left. I tiptoe out of Griffin’s room and down the hall to the top of the stairs. I can see straight to the front door and he’s standing with his profile on display through the sidelight.

  I look between
my phone through my darkened house to the window. He’s still wearing his suit pants but he’s lost the tie and his sleeves are rolled at his forearms. He’s leaning against the stone, his head bowed, typing away like a madman.

  I lean against the railing and slide to the floor on my ass to stare at him. There’s no way he’ll see me here in the dark even if he tried.

  Trig: You’re just as stubborn as ever. I came to make a truce. We’re adults and I work for your family—we’re going to run into each other, even if you don’t make it a habit of having a run-in with the law every other day. And, if you do, then I guess we’ll see each other even more. But you refusing to speak to me when you need to be speaking to me is not smart. If nothing else, open the door so I can talk to you for Griffin’s sake.

  I wrap my arms around my knees. He has no clue. I can’t talk to him, let alone be in the same room as him without it all rushing back. The good, the bad, the beautiful.

  Why do beautiful things hurt the most?

  Me: Fine. Text me what you need to tell me.

  I look at him through the dark and he lifts his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose as he closes his eyes. I guess we’re going to pretend nothing happened between us in my office the other day? When he admitted it haunts him, too? He makes no sense.

  Trig: Let me in.

  Me: No.

  I look up quickly to see him run his hand through his thick, dark hair. He lifts his phone to type and mine vibrates immediately.

  Trig: Ellie, please.

  I can’t. There’s no way I can be alone with him here even if it is to discuss my being falsely accused of possession of marijuana, no matter how small the amount.

  Trig: I’m not leaving until you open the door and talk to me.

  Trig: You’re scared.

  The air in my lungs goes stale and if I weren’t sitting, I might collapse.