Chapter Thirty
B irch’s heart stopped beating during the seconds it took for Jocelyn to school her expression when Deputy Torres entered Fogerty’s office to escort him to one of the small holding cells in the back of the station.
It was part of the plan, written up and signed off on after eleven hours of negotiations between Epson’s sheriff, Jocelyn, Birch, and Adrian Puller, his beast of a lawyer barking nonstop through a video conferencing app on Jocelyn’s phone. Dozens of emails and phone calls were placed, signatures were collected, and papers were still sliding through Fogerty’s printer.
She knew the plan.
He knew the plan.
But when Torres walked in and Birch stood, the fearlessness she’d carried for both of them fractured for a moment.
It was the first crack she’d shown, the first hint of the strain she was hiding to keep him calm while those around him discussed arrests, arraignments, deals, and sentences.
“Hey,” he whispered, leaning close to her ear. “I know for a fact there are no group showers here. You good with a rain check?” When her expression shifted into a detachment that would send his blood running cold if she were to ever turn it on him, he straightened and joined the deputy, doubling back to hand her the few things he’d kept in his pockets. “No hotels. Drive safe.”
With his phone, keys, and wallet in her hands, she gave a single nod.
If her throat was half as tight as his, he understood why she was silent for the first time since they’d walked into the station.
Puller’s voice over her cell phone speaker followed him down the hall, each step he took toward the familiar cells feeling heavier until he stood in front of the one that he would be calling home for the next twenty-four hours. The bars slid open and he walked in, waiting until they closed to turn around.
It was something he’d learned about himself during his three years in the state pen. As long as he didn’t see the doors shut, he could keep it together for another day.
Sitting on the hard cot, he fixed his attention on the floor and hoped Jocelyn really could make everything okay.
*
Jocelyn woke in Birch’s bed and her hand instinctively reached for him, finding nothing but the cold sheet beside her.
She could hear Grey moving around downstairs and she sat up, checking her phone for any last minute changes to the plan they carefully constructed yesterday.
Until Birch’s brother left for school in twenty minutes, she was trapped. The last thing she wanted to do while so many balls were in the air was drop one. And having Grey realize what was going down with his brother was a ball she definitely didn’t need bouncing away. Her need to lay low had been so embedded into her mind last night, she’d killed the truck’s engine before she hit the driveway, coming to a rolling stop before she tiptoed up the veranda, unlocked the door, and slipped up the stairs undetected.
The front door heaved shut and she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, bending over to grab a change of clothes.
There was no need for a power suit and heels today.
Today was more of a jeans and sneakers kind of day.
A jeans, sneakers, and shirt she was about to poach from Birch’s closet kind of day.
Rushing through her shower, she yanked one of his favorite thongs on, stopping just long enough to snap a quick picture in the mirror with his phone.
Hair brushed and makeup applied, she bounded down the stairs and out the door, locking up before she hopped in her car and drove to the cop shop.
The receptionist didn’t acknowledge her as she passed straight through to Fogerty’s office this time, so she knocked and waited for him to open the door.
“Ms. Carter,” he welcomed, motioning for her to enter. “I’m glad you’re early. We may be going in sooner than expected.”
She sat in the chair Birch was in yesterday. Her fingers grazed the armrests in a futile attempt to feel remnants of his warmth. “Why is that? Is Drayson moving already?”
Nodding, he sat in his chair and pulled up a series of images on his computer screen. “He was shuffling boxes out through the back door until someone in a black SUV stopped by around two this morning. A few words were exchanged that we couldn’t pick up, and the car left. Drayson followed shortly after with the boxes, went straight to Mr. Baker’s home, and unloaded them into the treed area bumping up against the shed.” Turning the screen away from her, he sat back. “He arrived back at Serpent’s Tongue twenty minutes ago, presumably to open the shop. My team is split between the two locations of interest. If luck will have it, Mr. Baker should be out in a few hours.”
Frowning, she ran through the expected outcomes. “That asshole tried to shift all the evidence directly onto Birch. Has Puller been notified?”
“Of course. You were next on my list to call.”
Making herself comfortable, she drummed her fingers on the armrest. “Would you mind if I waited it out in here?”
Clearing his throat, Fogerty shrugged. “Fine by me. Help yourself to the coffee in reception. Might be a few bagels left over unless Klaussen stopped by on his way to the tattoo shop.”
Taking him up on the offer, she wandered back down the hall, fighting to stay away from the door she knew led to the cells where Birch sat waiting for her to fulfill her promise.
*
The sound of a ruckus coming down the hall set Birch’s senses on high alert. Ryder’s voice was crystal clear over the clanging and stomping footsteps.
This was it.
All he had to do was be convincing enough to make Ryder believe their deal was in play. Once he gave the signal, the deputies would haul him out under the guise of being taken to state, buying them a little more time to ensure all their ducks were in a row before Ryder realized he’d been crossed.
It was all part of the plan, part of the deal he signed yesterday. The cops needed time to gather the physical evidence and get Ryder off the street before he realized Birch hadn’t taken the fall as intended. Whatever his business partner was into went further than Trevor Drayson and the local police department, but just how far it went was kept from him and Jocelyn.
He didn’t give a rat’s ass where it went, as long as it slammed into a closed door where he was concerned.
There was already talk of deals with Ryder, ways to get him to roll on his own contacts. Birch’s lawyer added in the signing over of Ryder’s portion of Serpent’s Tongue, and hinted Birch’s incidental involvement may not end any time soon if future operations required him. It would be a long, messy few months dealing with the fallout, but it beat spending the next decade in prison.
The cell door next to him slid open. Ryder resisted, the flash of panic in his eyes understandable.
Too bad the bastard didn’t keep that feeling in mind when he decided to deal drugs out of the back of their shop.
With a shove, the cops ensured Ryder was far enough inside for the bars to seal shut.
He stayed motionless on his cot, waiting for his business partner to notice him. It took a few minutes for Ryder to see him past the red haze clouding his furious eyes.
“Slap on the wrist,” he reminded the traitor. “I warned you they would probably book you. Just sit here, shut your mouth, and wait it out. You know how this shit works.”
Ryder ran his hand over his face. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Pacing the floor like a caged bear, he breathed deep and let out a strangled laugh. “Holy fuck, I forgot how fucking small these are. Good thing it’s not for long.”
“Yup. Sucks for me, doesn’t it?”
The words slipped out, the bitterness in them ringing true.
For all Ryder knew, these cells would be Birch’s life for the next decade, paying a price for a crime he sure as hell didn’t commit.
Again.
Ryder stilled. “You better be holding up your end. You don’t know who you’re messing with if you fuck me over.”
“Do I look like a free man to you?” he demanded, stretching his arms out. “Last I heard, I’m being moved upstate for holding. Good fucking times, right? Remember those cells? Top-notch luxury there.” His voice was raising, all the pent-up rage he’d been holding tight unleashing as he rushed the bars between them and slammed his hand against the cold metal, growling low. “This is on you.”
He met Ryder’s eyes for a split second and turned away, giving the signal with the flick of his ring finger.
*
Jocelyn looked at the clock in Fogerty’s office for the hundredth time.
Twenty-four hours, thirty-seven minutes.
“You know about the agreement between Mr. Baker and myself.”
The sheriff’s words weren’t a question, so she remained silent, listening to the quiet hum of noise in the hall.
“The cassette was a good move. It definitely grabbed my attention.” He cleared his throat and straightened up in his chair. “Mr. Baker is a decent man. He deserved better.”
“Yes, he did.”
Clasping his hands on his desk, he stared at her until she lifted a brow in challenge. “Will I be reading about my little backdoor deal on the front page of the Epson Post any time soon?”
He was nervous, the sweat returning to his brow despite his attempts to feign control of the situation. Crossing her arms, she smiled. “No, you will not, Mr. Fogerty.”
“Why not?”
“Because Birch does deserve better. And having someone like you in his pocket, a man with authority and respect? That’s how he’s going to get the better he deserves in this town.” She lifted one hand and examined her nails. “The next few months are going to be tough for him, tough for his brothers, and that makes them tough for me. And when things are tough for me, I take on side projects to distract me. As long as you play nice, I play nice, and we all exist in Epson as one big nice unit.”
Bill’s face pinched into a scowl. “Is this a threat, Ms. Carter?”
“A promise. I don’t make a lot of promises, but the ones I do make, I keep.” She could hear a heavy door opening and clanging shut and she got to her feet. “I like you, Fogerty. Hell, I think even Birch has a bit of respect for you. You were handed a shitty situation, and you did what you could to save your family, even if it meant railroading a guy who was already backed into a corner. But that guy now has the luxury of my contacts, my connections, and my reputation. He also has your confession and Ryder’s on tape, copied onto his phone, and emailed to a few of my friends in high places.” Leaving the words hanging, she opened the door to his office. “Have a good night, Sheriff. I’m sure we’ll talk soon.”