Broken Halo: The Montgomery Series, Book 2 Page 5

  Jen knew exactly what she was saying when she told me to be cooperative—she knows I have little patience and even less of a filter. My bitch is surfacing, hovering in that dangerous, shallow area where I have trouble governing her.

  I want this woman off my driveway and out of my life. The quicker I can do that, the better. “Fine. There’s nothing for you to find anyway—go for it. If you’ll excuse me, I need to make dinner for my son. I’ve been at work all day and he came with me.” I turn to go into the house but can’t help myself when I flip my hair over my shoulder and add, “I wouldn’t want anyone mom-shaming me for using daycare or anything. But don’t worry, we managed just fine.”

  It seems Paula has an inner-bitch as well. She returns a glare that rivals my own.

  But what I didn’t know is that, today, my impatient, inner bitch would end up costing me in a way that my trust fund and every bank account left over from my asshole dead husband would never be able to fix.

  The price being so hefty that, after all I’ve been through, I might have finally found my breaking point.

  * * *

  I’ve never believed in the so-called sensation referred to out of body experience until this moment.

  I thought I’d hit my low yesterday, when CPS showed up the first time, threatening my most treasured role in life, the best thing I’ve ever done—being a mother. I know I’m the delinquent child. I’ve always gone my own way and flipped everyone off in the process. Jen and Cam have loved me in spite of my ways. My parents, on the other hand, have silently communicated how I’ve disappointed them over the years.

  But being Griffin’s mom, learning it was possible to love another human in a way I never knew before, changed me. Dance, Juilliard, Broadway—they were my mother’s dreams and she pushed me hard to make sure I attained every single hellacious one of them.

  But me? I only wanted to love, be loved, and from that, be a mom.

  So far in my first twenty-eight years, I’ve only had one perfect thing in my life.

  Griffin.

  When that woman tore him from my arms, it was a pain I’ve only experienced one other time. It might’ve been a decade ago but that feeling will never go away. And I hope it doesn’t. I hold on to that memory tighter than any other.

  Yesterday was a walk in the fucking park. But today?

  Today, I will never forget.

  This is what an out of body experience feels like and it’s being burned into my brain as it plays out.

  * * *

  “What’s going on?” My sister runs into the chaos that has quickly become my life. The moment her eyes meet my wild and frantic ones, her face pales.

  I pull at my arms out of sheer panic and instinct—hindered by two police officers who are wrestling cuffs on my wrists behind my back as I listen to my child scream at the top of his lungs, fighting the woman who stole him from my arms as someone else started to read me my rights.

  With tears running down my face and my lungs searching for air, I’ve never been so relieved to see anyone.

  “Take him,” I plead. “Don’t let them touch him. Please, Jen. I don’t know what’s going on, but you have to promise me you won’t let him out of your sight.”

  Despite what she’s walked in on, she doesn’t hesitate a second and turns to Paula, demanding, “Give him to me—I’m his aunt. You’re scaring him.”

  Just like I knew she would, Jen doesn’t wait for an answer, and plucks Griffin from the CPS worker’s greedy hands. That bitch, just minutes ago, walked into my kitchen where I was making dinner, holding a clear “evidence” bag.

  I’m just as confused now as I was then. I don’t smoke pot. At least I haven’t in years—way before I met Robert. And as far as I know, Robert didn’t either.

  “It’s not mine,” I cry, the metal cuff cutting into my skin, but it might as well be my heart. I try to twist and look over my shoulder at the officer. “Let me go. It’s not mine! I don’t know who she is, but she seems to have it out for me. She must have planted it for you to find.”

  The officer, twice my size, doesn’t respond and barely gives me a shake of his head.

  “Take her in and process her. I need to stay here with the child and fill out the paperwork to leave him with the aunt,” Paula drawls, unimpressed by my pleas before pinning her gaze on Jen who’s trying to console Griffin and keep him from seeing his mother being dragged off by the police for possession of drugs that aren’t hers.

  Jen bounces Griffin in her arms and levels her eyes on me as she digs through her bag and produces her phone. “Over my dead body will I let him go. Don’t worry, I’m going to make sure this is taken care of.”

  “You can make your phone calls after you and I are done filling out paperwork,” Paula throws her power at my sister.

  But Jen does what she does best, ignores her, putting her phone to her ear, and promises me, “I’ll deal with her and have someone meet you at the police station. Try to be calm and do not talk to anyone until someone gets there. Do you understand? Don’t say a word.”

  Paula steps in front of Jen. “If you want the child to stay with you, I suggest you hang up the phone so we can take care of his arrangements.”

  One of the officers yanks me from my kitchen, through the expansive entryway, and out the double front doors that were left standing open when Jen came running in. The last thing I hear as I’m ushered out of my home is my sister biting off the head of the CPS worker, who’s bound and determined to create nothing but havoc in my life. “If you want my résumé, I’ll give it to you, but trust me—I’m completely capable of multitasking this shitshow.”

  * * *

  Trig

  I pull out my ID to start the bail process.

  “How long has she been here?”

  Never did I think I’d be posting bail for Ellie Montgomery-fucking-Ketteman today. Ten years ago? Maybe. I’m pretty sure the only reason she never got into trouble back then was because Jen covered her ass more times that I could count.

  She was a spitfire and threw caution to the wind, not giving one shit about the law and even less about what people thought. Even with all that, she wasn’t stupid then and I’m sure she’s even smarter now. No way would she have given consent to search her house if she knew there was anything to find, and the way Jen described it, sounds like there was enough pot to charge her with a Class A Misdemeanor. I still don’t have the details, but they wouldn’t have arrested her for just a couple of joints.

  The clerk at the desk takes down my information and speaks while looking at the screen in front of her. “Says she’s been here about thirty minutes.”

  As much as I want to not give a shit, the thought of Ellie being thrown into the general population of the county jail makes my insides tighten.

  The clerk finally looks up. “You’re the fanciest bail bondsman I’ve seen all day.”

  “I’m not a bondsman. Consider me her dark knight. I’m sure she’s going to be about as thrilled to see me as she would the devil himself.”

  Her eyes widen and she looks impressed. “Wow. Not many druggies have people like you bailing them out.”

  I frown. “Pretty sure she’s not a druggie. How much do I owe?”

  “Three hundred dollars. She can’t leave the state, and if she travels, she needs to check with us first. We’ll contact her with a court date.”

  “You’ll contact me,” I correct and hand her my drivers license along with my business card. If Ellie keeps this up, I’m going to run out. “I’m her counsel and everything will go through me.”

  The clerk nods and starts to enter my information into her computer. When she finishes, she returns my ID. “Have a seat. It’s gonna take a hot minute to process her.”

  I run my hand through my hair and sit back, knowing from my time as a defense attorney, their minute is more like thirty. My clients were high profile and I rarely had to spring anyone from the county jail, but from the experience I’ve had, I know they’re slow. “If the
y could speed things up, I’d appreciate it.”

  The lady rolls her eyes with the attitude of a teenager in detention. I would know since I spent my fair share of time there back in the day. “Wouldn’t we all.”

  Since I have no pull here and haven’t made many contacts in local law enforcement since I moved back, I do my best to hide my irritation and pull out my phone to text Jen.

  Me: Just posted bail and waiting. Anything your fiancé can do to hurry this shit along would be good. I had to cancel two meetings.

  Jen: He’s on surveillance but already made some calls. His contacts at the PD assured him she’d be out quick.

  With nothing else to do, I slide my phone into my breast pocket and lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and wait. The minute hand creeps around the clock forty ticks as I watch one so-called criminal after another released while others are brought in. I’m getting wound tighter than ever as I sit here, useless and helpless, becoming more fucking irritable than I could imagine.

  “What are you doing here?” Her voice cuts through the chatter, phones, and foot traffic of the lobby where I’m sitting and I’m pissed I’m just as attuned to her as I was a decade ago.

  My head pops up, and there she is, in a pair of skin-tight jeans and a T-shirt that proves she has more curves than she used to. That’s not saying much since she hardly had any then. If it weren’t for her bloodshot eyes and her shoe laces that she’s white-knuckling in her hand, you’d never know I’d just sprung her from the county jail.

  I stand but don’t go to her and tip my head. “I just posted your bail. You’re welcome.”

  “But…” She hugs herself and looks to the side before piercing me with deep blues that, today, are cold and wounded. “I called Eli and he said he was taking care of it. I thought that meant he was coming.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you. Your sister called me. She’s at your house with your son. Your parents are out of town and Eli is busy on a case. If you’d rather sashay your ass back into the slammer, feel free to make yourself comfortable until he can get here.”

  Her bloodshot whites disappear as her lids fall slowly and she brings her hand up to roughly brush her face where she’s already rubbed all her makeup away. She takes a breath so big I’m surprised her lungs don’t burst when she nods and moves my way. You’d think I have the plague the way she side-steps around me as she heads toward the elevator with her heels slipping out of her Vans with every clip she makes.

  I stand behind her as she jabs the elevator button with anger and spite, her laces still dangling from her hand—a reminder she’s been officially slapped by the prison system that doesn’t want her to hang herself on their watch.

  The doors open and we take our opposite corners in the empty elevator.

  But instead of turning to the front, I shift to face her and cross my arms.

  I don’t pretend to look away or try to make her comfortable or pretend that any of the shit that’s between us isn’t right fucking here in the middle of the elevator.

  She fidgets, wrapping those damn shoe laces around her fingers, over and over and over again, like she’s facing death row and wasn’t even offered her last favorite meal.

  The digital numbers, telling us which floor we’re on, count down, one-by-one, holding us prisoner in a different kind of cell—painfully with each other.

  She stares at the numbers.

  I stare at her.

  Unabashedly.

  “Stop it,” she spits.

  “Stop what?” I spit back.

  She still doesn’t give me her eyes. “Staring at me.”

  “Why?”

  She exhales, pissed, probably at the world. “The pot wasn’t mine. I don’t know where it came from.”

  “Do I look like I give a shit?”

  That does it. Her eyes snap to mine and her words are even colder than her expression. “What do you want? I don’t know why you moved back to Dallas. I don’t know why you agreed to work for Montgomery Industries. I don’t know why you want anything to do with me because, right now, of all the times in my life, I do not need you … anywhere near me.”

  Her last words might as well be a slap across my face and for some reason, that makes me smile.

  The elevator dings and the doors open. But before she can move to leave, I step in front of her, caging her in, and push the button to hold the doors. Leaning down, I level my eyes with hers. “Of all the people in the world, you’re the last person who I should be bailing out of jail, but from where I stand, you don’t have a lot of choices right now—let alone friends. Stop being a bitch because you’ve got problems bigger than me.”

  “Don’t talk to me like that. I didn’t ask for your help,” she hisses.

  “No, you didn’t, but you’re in a bind and you need me. Don’t act stupid, angel, because I know you’re anything but.” I straighten, take my finger off the button, and turn to leave. I hear her moving after me, her shoes slapping against her feet as she follows and I look back over my shoulder. “And by the way, you owe me three hundred bucks.”

  5

  Zero-Three-Zero-Nine

  It may be painful now, but just think, someday when that ache is healed, you’ll be a new person, able to appreciate the agony.

  Ellie

  I haven’t uttered a word on the ride back to my house. He even flipped off the radio the second my ass hit the seat of his Mercedes, and I swear, he did it intentionally to make me uncomfortable. The silence is heavy with pain and memories that cut so deep, they’re just as raw and bloody as the day I stepped on my parents’ private jet to head for Juilliard.

  He hates me.

  And rightfully so.

  I had no idea the ride from the county jail to my house could last a lifetime, but why the hell would I? I didn’t think anything could seem longer than the ride there when I was sitting on a sticky bench in the back of a police cruiser that smelled of stale body odor and old onion rings.

  I’m sure I’ve gotten three gray hairs and a wrinkle between my brows from the stress of the day, not to mention being in an enclosed space with Trig Barrett. Fucking finally, he pulls up to the entrance to my neighborhood and rolls down his window as he turns to me, finally uttering the first word between us. “Code.”

  I wince and squeeze my eyes tight.

  “Ellie, I need the code to get in.”

  I take a breath and exhale.

  He’s losing his patience. “Dammit, Ellie—”

  Without looking at him, I whisper, “Zero-three-zero-nine.”

  He doesn’t move.

  I shift to drop my face in my hand and lean onto the passenger door. If I look at him now, I’ll lose it. I should’ve gotten out and walked home.

  He mutters, “Fuck,” right before he exhales so deeply it almost turns into a groan.

  I hear him punch in the code I use for everything. Every-damn-thing and his muttered curse settles into me where ghosts live.

  I shouldn’t be surprised, but for some reason, it hurts to realize he didn’t forget. But I’m sure it would hurt worse if he had.

  I’ve decided that everything hurts.

  Back to silence, he moves through the gates and when he finally throws it into park in my circle drive, I can’t move fast enough.

  I get out and throw the door shut, but he’s rolled down the passenger window and yells for me. “Did they set your first appearance in court?”

  I stop and turn, looking straight into his icy blue eyes that aren’t hard like they were in the courthouse. They’re guarded, blanketing emotions that seem to be smoldering below the surface. I itch to run back to him and touch him and uncover every one he’s hiding.

  But he doesn’t want that—he doesn’t want anything from me. He made sure I knew that a long time ago.

  I look down at my fingers that I’ve been torturing with my damn shoelaces since they were returned to me right after telling me my bail had been posted.

  I shake my head and take a breath, doin
g everything I can to swallow back my screams of resentment with life in general, barely recognizing my own voice. “I’ll send you the three hundred dollars.”

  And with that, I turn and walk past Jen’s Rover to my front door. I ignore him alternately calling my name and cursing because I won’t answer.

  When I walk into my house, Jen runs to me and tries to pull me into her arms, but I stop her. “Where’s Griffin?”

  She steps back and tries to reach for my hand but I shake her off. “I fed him, gave him a bath, and put him to bed. He was fine after…” she pauses before finishing, “everything calmed down. I just checked on him—he’s out.”

  I swallow hard, trying to keep it together. “Whatever calamity happens next, I can find my own attorney. I’ll start looking tomorrow. Just don’t call him—not for me. Not ever. Do you understand?”

  Her face blanks and she does that thing she does when she kicks ass, takes names, and gets business done in the process. “But he works for MI and you shouldn’t have to get another attorney. Part of his position is to represent our family, which is an extension of the company—”

  “Stop it,” I snap and reach down to tear off my shoes. If they weren’t my favorites and broken in, I’d throw the damn things away since they’ve touched the floors of a jail cell. Tossing the shoe strings down next to them, I push past my sister. “He doesn’t want anything to do with me. With my life falling apart, I don’t need anyone else around who hates me—I’ve already got my asshole in-laws to worry about.”

  “He doesn’t hate you.”

  I let out a strangled, sardonic laugh. “Right.”