I’m done. I take my keys out and head for the garage. This whole town is making me sick to my stomach. It’s time to go back home.
SCANDAL
Part two
—one—
Jaxson
It’s hard to tell the time in here. I have no window, no watch, just this sickly, never-changing dim light. It could be late afternoon or I could be way off. The only certainty is that time can be a cruel bitch, fucking vomiting out its claustrophobia and paranoia like prison bile.
I know what the inside of a cell looks like. It might be the first time I’ve been arrested but it’s not the first time I’ve been imprisoned. It’s more than just a saying that the walls close in on you. The constant pacing of your feet when in isolation creates a desire to call out for a guard or a loved one or a rat—anything to make contact with something other than your failing mind.
What makes this time different is Ella. The sense that there is someone out there waiting, someone wonderful, creates an ache in my chest like I’ve never known before. I haven’t decided yet if this is a weakness or a strength.
I’ve been trained to stay calm but my gut tells me I’m in serious trouble. Real, not-going-away, shit-your-pants kind of trouble. Someone with the ability to fabricate evidence wants me in here. I must have made the wrong kind of enemy. It could even be my uncle who’s behind this. He likes to teach lessons. It’s unlikely that he would go this far.
The truth, I fear, is far uglier.
Footsteps approach. A guard stops in front of my cell. “Cole, your lawyer is here,” he says, unlocking the door. He steps inside to put handcuffs on my wrists. Again, not my first time with handcuffs. That road I have traveled for both pleasure and pain before.
The guard leads me to an interrogation room where Elaine Parker waits for me with a tall man in an expensive suit who must be my lawyer.
“Hello, Jaxson,” Elaine says, patting me on the shoulder before the guard unlocks the cuffs, pushing me down on a chair behind a table. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine,” I say, “all things considered.”
“We’ll clear this up,” she says as the guard leaves the room.
Elaine eyes me silently for a second or two in a way that makes my stomach churn. Her expression tells me I’m in trouble in more ways than one.
I turn to the tall stranger in a suit who poses as my lawyer. Maybe he is, maybe he’s not. But he’s definitely a lot more than that.
“Let me have it,” I tell him, too tired and impatient to ask for his name or pretend I don’t know why he’s here. They can play their games on their own time. I’ve been locked up for hours and right now I need answers and I need them fast.
“Okay,” he says, taking his eyes off me to open his briefcase on the table. He extends his hand to me. “Eric Borland.”
The name means nothing to me. I shake his hand silently.
“Here’s the deal,” Borland says. “The police have evidence that places you at Madison Starr’s apartment on the night she was murdered.”
“That’s bullshit,” I say, banging my fist on the hard surface of the table, needing the pain to help me stay focused.
“No interruptions, Mr. Cole. You can air your grievances after I’m done.”
There is something in his eyes that gives me pause. A dark mix of cruelty and joy. Bad combination. There’s some fucked-up wiring behind those eyes. So I shut up and let him finish.
“I can get you out on bail with the assistance of your uncle.”
“And by that you mean his money or his connections?” Yeah, to hell with Borland’s personal story of darkness, I’ll interrupt the motherfucker all I want. I can flip the badass switch too, when needed.
“Both. Consider yourself lucky.”
“What’s the catch? Dear Uncle Lucius never does anything out of the goodness of his heart. There’s always a catch.” Why bother to explain? The dude either knows my uncle or he doesn’t.
Borland’s eyes glisten like fog lights on water. “Same old story. Do as I say. Don’t think twice. When you’re out, you go visit your uncle.”
“Easy as pie,” I say, incredulously.
“With cream and cherries,” Elaine says, trying to convince me.
“Listen, guy,” Borland says. “Do your part and you’ll be out Monday morning. Don’t complicate your extraction.”
Ex-military. He might as well wear his fatigues and boots. He picks up his briefcase. I don’t want to show Borland my relief, but my lungs feel like they can exhale for the first time since I was arrested. I’m not sure what I think about Lucius coming through for me. It’s better than the alternative.