8. Char
CHAR
Thank fuck Marcie wasn’t the one to clean me up.
A couple of the female officers aided in the changing of my clothes into something that didn’t reek of hours-old piss.
With a floor-length skirt on that was hiked up almost to my fucking titties, the pathetic tank top they pulled over my head barely harnessed them.
It felt like I was about to spill out of the damn thing as they led me into an interrogation room that certainly wasn’t the one we had used.
So I had to assume we were being recorded which meant I had to stay in character.
It wasn’t all that hard.
The depression that slowly crept over me as the hours ticked by overwhelmed me as I sat there in the hard metal chair, waiting for someone to join me.
The anxiety of the situation was shutting me down, especially after being up for twenty-four hours without any sort of sleep.
I felt my PTSD mounting. My memories, continuously trying to rip me back.
The harshness of the light I sat under made sweat break out along the nape of my neck.
I looked down at my feet with my hands folded in my lap, and it reminded me of watching my feet swing from all of the metal interrogation chairs I had sat in when I was a child.
Swinging my feet and waiting for someone to come talk to me.
I felt like I was nine again. Trapped in a fucking nightmare that simply wouldn’t cease.
I wanted to vomit as the memories held me hostage.
Jesus, maybe I really am losing my mind.
“Miss Charlotte?”
Commander Hadley’s voice was the last one that I expected.
Tears crested my eyes as I touched my toes to the floor.
I couldn’t do that when I was nine. I had to practically slide off my chair in order for my tippy toes to touch the floor.
And as I planted my feet flat onto the floor, tears slid down my cheeks once more.
True tears. Actual, real tears. All these years, and I still hadn’t gotten away from the interrogation rooms.
It felt like the walls were closing in on me as I wrung my hands together.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” the commander said as he scraped his chair across the floor.
He brought it closer to me before he sat down. He was so close that I saw his shining leather patent loafers sticking into my field of vision.
“Miss Charlotte, can you look up at me?” he asked.
I just let the tears fall as my shoulders continued slumping. As my body melded to the back of the metal chair.
Jesus, are the walls getting closer?
The room felt so goddamn small. Since when did these rooms get so fucking small?
“I know you’re afraid, Miss Charlotte,” the commander’s soothing voice said, “but we can’t get anywhere if you don’t talk to someone. Even if it is a doctor.”
The good cop, bad cop routine wouldn’t work on me.
I had more pressure on my shoulders than I’d ever had in my entire life.
Even with my father’s trial. At least there, I knew I had the leg up.
At least there, we fought for the same cause.
Now, it felt like me versus the world in an attempt to protect a bunch of men I grew fond of.
More than fond of, really.
At least for three of them.
For my guys that held my heart.
I’m in so fucking deep.
“Would you like to take my hand?” Commander Hadley asked.
He held out his palm for me, and I had to admit, feeling a comforting touch was tempting.
His voice sounded so kind and his presence was much more appealing than Marcie’s.
But I didn’t flinch. I didn’t allow his kindness to affect me.
I had three men at stake. Three very important men that were trapped in the clutches of one of his team members.
As far as I was concerned, he was the President of their crew. He was their Deac.
And we weren’t going down without a fight.
The commander placed his hand back in his lap and crossed his leg over his knee. Something that I was shocked he could even do, given the same paunch he had hanging over his belt that Sheriff Nielson had.
Must be an old man thing.
“Been a whirlwind of the past few days, huh?” Hadley asked.
Try a few weeks, asshole.
“How long have you known the guys?” he asked, trying another route.
I can’t wait for you to find out just how dirty your own kind is.
“Did you meet them through work? I saw in your file where they bought the bar you worked for.”
Work. The bar isn’t shut down.
But that was his game, right? Trying to get me hung up on the details of my own backstory just so I’d talk to him.
It was the ultimate power move: act like you give a shit until you trap your prey where you want them.
I steeled myself. I wanted to haul off and punch the fucker, but I steeled my gut and kept my silently crying eyes directed toward the floor.
I couldn’t look at the walls. They kept closing in, and I knew I’d fall apart if I kept staring at them.
God, twenty-four hours surrounded by cinderblock walls, and I was already questioning my own existence. My own choices.
I wondered if my mother would have done this for Dad? If it was someone else that he killed, would she have done what I was doing? Would she have helped him? Pleaded insanity just to help him get out of trouble? Would she have been willing to help Dad, no matter what it cost her?
Had I become just like her?
They’re nothing like Dad, even you know that.
The voice in my head was right. The voice that kept me company since I was handcuffed spoke some sense into me.
None of them were like my father. They didn’t hit me or disrespect me.
They didn’t yank me around, or demand that I perform certain duties to justify my existence.
They respected me. They wished me well. They took care of me, and protected me, and did their best to make sure I had what I needed.
That was so much more than I could ever say for my father, who sold off every last possession we owned just to find his next high.
I missed them so fucking much that more tears sprang to my eyes, and I simply let them fall.
After all, they could only help me at that point.
“You’re going to have to speak with us eventually, Miss Charlotte,” Hadley said. “We have plenty of evidence that shows you’ve befriended a crew that we’re chasing. You won’t be able to shut down in order to get us to go away. Eventually, you’ll have to talk.”
Oh boy. This man really knew how to push my buttons.
My heart rate skyrocketed. I felt my stomach lurch into my throat.
I wanted to haul off and punch that motherfucker right in his jiggly jowls.
But my body felt so heavy as I sat there.
As I pivoted my eyes from the floor to the wall.
It looked like it was moving. Ebbing and flowing, like waves of an ocean.
Tears flooded my face. My grief finally weighed me down, taking over as it zapped the energy from the marrow of my bones.
I wasn’t sure I could move, even if I wanted to.
“Her lawyer wants to speak with her,” Sheriff Nielson said as the interrogation room door whipped open.
I felt Hadley’s poignant stare on the profile of my face as he stood. He grunted as he resituated his pants, then buttoned his suit jacket before he left. He glanced over his shoulder at me, and I would have legitimately given anything to know what the hell he thought at that moment.
But as quickly as he appeared, he was gone, and in his place sat Abigail Sinclair.
A woman I never expected to see again after passing off that list.
“Here you go,” Nielson said as he moved Hadley’s chair back in front of me at the table, “have a seat.”
“Thank you kindly,” Abigail said as she sat.
Nielson flickered his gaze over to me before nodding his head. “If you need anything, I’ll be just outside.”
And it wasn’t until Nielson closed the door behind him that Abigail placed a sheet of paper in front of me.
“Here,” she said as she slid the paper toward me, “an updated list of culled names.”
I darted my gaze down to the piece of paper and found exactly what she said it was. Yet another list of lawyer’s names with phone numbers, addresses, what law school they studied at, where in their graduating class they fell, and how many times it took them to pass the bar exam.
Even I had to admit, it was impressive.
“There were a couple of names on the prior list I got to you that I was a bit iffy about. I figured if you didn’t mind calling out of state, there are some lawyers in neighboring states that have passed the California bar.”
I listened, but I didn’t react.
“Right, so,” she said as she slid the paper even closer to me, “I’ve put them in order from who I think will help you the most to who I think will help you the least.”
So start at the bottom. Got it.
Because that’s how desperate I felt. I couldn’t take any chances. I couldn’t shake the idea that her and Marcie worked together. If they talked, Marcie had some sort of influence. That much I knew for certain.
But there was something in her voice…
“I know what you’re doing,” she said pointedly.
I didn’t move my body, but I did, however, shift my gaze to look at her. And when our stares met, she leaned forward a bit and lowered her voice to a whisper.
“If this backfires and you find yourself in need of someone, please call me,” she said as she slid her card toward me on the table. “I know an overstepping cop when I see one.”
“You what?” I asked.
It was so soft that I almost didn’t register it. The whisper was so muted that I almost convinced myself I said it out loud in my head. But when Abigail smirked, I knew my lips moved. I uttered sound into the air.
Fuck, did I just ruin everything?
Abigail cocked her head to the side and slid her card even further toward me. “Dealing with an overstepping cop means I have to play both sides. Yes, Special Agent Dickerson and I have talked. Multiple times. But the more we talk, the more convinced I become that she’s not what she seems.”
My brain ticked over a million miles a second, trying to slot everything into place.
My gaze danced along her features, trying to find any semblance of a lie behind her eyes.
Or behind the twist of her lips. I registered the new information as she spat it out to me, but could I trust it? Could I trust her?
“Go back to staring at the wall,” she whispered quickly.
I did as she asked and she pulled her chair right up to my side. She placed her hand on my shoulder. And as we sat there, side by side, she placed her hand on my knee.
“If you call another lawyer, that’s fine.
I completely get it,” she said, barely above a whisper, “because if the woman I’ve spoken with has put you in this position?
We’ve got a hell of a fight to take on. But I need you to know that I pegged her from the moment I walked into this building.
She shook my hand a bit too hard before wanting to walk off and speak with me privately, and that was all the information I needed to know that something isn’t right here. ”
Jesus Christ, if they had sent this woman in to wear me down, it fucking worked. But I knew that a clean slate would be best. I knew that a lawyer Marcie hadn’t gotten to yet was my best bet. However, if Abigail already knew about Marcie’s attitude? That was a major advantage.
Could I trust the hope her words gave me?
“But,” Abigail said as her voice fell to a whisper, “if you keep me on and let me help you, you’ll have to start by telling me everything.”
My back froze as that word dawned on me. Everything.
“You’ll have to tell me how she put you here, what you’ve got on her, and why she’s coming after you in the first place.
I have to know everything if I’m going to figure out a way to make your insanity plea stick if this actually makes it to court.
And any lawyer you call is going to tell you the exact same thing. ”
I let more tears fall before I slowly panned my head toward the woman.
I locked eyes with her, watching her brown orbs stew with anticipation.
Then something clicked. Something deep down inside.
This entire time, I had no clue what I was searching for.
The insanity plea was a last-ditch effort while I tried to figure a way out of this mess.
And as I sat there, staring at Abigail, I knew that I found it.
I found our way out.
“She’s trying to pin a federal agent’s death on all of us when we have proof she killed him,” I whispered.
Abigail’s eyes widened before she lunged to her feet.
With a determined stare, she picked up her chair, twirled it around, and set it back down on the other side of the table.
She straightened her back and cracked her neck.
I turned to face her for the first time as she tucked her pencil skirt beneath her and sat down in front of me.
Then, with her wild curly hair fluttering about as the air conditioning roared to life, she pulled a blank notebook out of her briefcase before clicking a pen open.
“Start from the beginning and tell me absolutely everything,” she said as she scribbled onto the paper.
Good, she’s not recording. Less of a trail for Marcie to find.
And as I looked down at the card I hadn’t yet picked up, I saw her name. Abigail Sinclair.
The lawyer that my gut was going to make me hire anyway.
Welcome to the gang, Abbie. Don’t make me regret this.