Savior (An Impossible Novel) (5 page)

“What do you want?”  I snapped.

Agent Silverman spared me a cursory glance before turning her attention back on my brother.

“Mr. Baker,” she addressed him loudly.  “Can you understand me?”

Greg didn’t respond.  She pulled out her cell phone and dialed.

“I need a bus here,” she said, her tone cursory.  “The
perp needs medical attention before we can bring him in.”

Perp
?  Bring him in?

Oh no.  That wasn’t going to happen.  I wouldn’t let it.  I turned to Clayton, desperate.  I wasn’t above begging.

“Clayton, please.  He just needs help.  My brother is a good person.”  He had to listen.  He had to believe me.

Clayton looked distinctly uncomfortable.  “He’s involved with bad people, Mary.  I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to arrest him.”  He stepped forward to brush past me.  He was going for Greg.  They were going to take him from me.

The fury I so often suppressed came bubbling up.  “No!”  I shrieked.  “I’m not letting you take him!”

Hardly aware of what I was doing, I drew my hand back and cracked it across his cheek.  He didn’t even flinch.  I had a moment to register that his eyes had narrowed angrily, and the next thing I knew my body was pressed up against the wall, my arm twisted behind my back as he trapped me in place.

“Mary Baker,” he half-growled in my ear, “you are under arrest for assaulting a federal agent.  You have the right to remain silent.  Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.  You have the right to an attorney.  If you cannot afford one, one will be provided for you.  Do you understand your rights?”

Cool metal encircled my wrists as the cuffs clicked closed around them.  In other circumstances, this would have been pretty hot.  But this wasn’t kinky role-play.  Right now I was pissed off beyond belief, and I jerked against his hold on me. 
Which of course accomplished nothing.

“Do you understand your rights?”  He demanded again.

“Oh, I understand,” I hissed.  “I understand that you’re a heartless jackass.  And my name is Rose, asshole.”

I felt him stiffen behind me, and his grip tightened incrementally.  He said nothing as he stepped away from me, but he didn’t release my arm.

“You good here, Sharon?”  He asked his partner.

“Yeah,” she nodded.  “Medics should be here any minute.”

Clayton returned her nod jerkily.  He didn’t look at me as he ushered me out of the apartment and down the three flights of stairs to the street.  He helped me into the back of a black sedan.  Like a criminal.

Occasionally, he shot me a glare through the rearview mirror.  I returned it, seething in silence.

The truth was, I was at a loss for words for the first time in my life.

Chapter 3

I had been sitting in the uncomfortable metal chair in the grey-walled FBI interrogation room for what seemed like an eternity.  My hands alternatively twisted in my lap and balled into fists as worry for Greg warred with my anger at Clayton.  Why did he have to turn out to be such a bastard?  I had almost convinced myself that he was a genuinely good guy.  But apparently he was a cold douchebag who could fuck a girl senseless one minute and then tear her life apart the next.

I was going to lose everything: my job, my brother, and probably my freedom.  What was the penalty for “assaulting a federal agent”?  My actions had been rash and stupid.  If I had just kept my cool, I might have been able to sway Clayton.  But my temper had gotten the better of me, and I hadn’t been able to hold back.

I only wish I had actually inflicted some damage,
I thought resentfully.  He had hardly blinked when I slapped him.  I had enjoyed how helpless I had felt in his strong arms, but now I was considering taking up weightlifting.  They had gyms in prison, didn’t they?  I didn’t want to be weak; I wanted to be strong enough to hurt Clayton like he was hurting me.  But that would only land me in deeper shit.

Still, it took effort to stop myself from lunging at him when he finally entered the room.  All of my muscles coiled and my fingernails bit into my palms.

“I want my lawyer,” I snapped.  No way was I going to talk to him without someone there to look out for my interests.  And maybe they could even help me figure out a way to get Greg off the hook.

Clayton sighed heavily when he sat down across from me.  He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table between us as he studied me carefully.

“You don’t need a lawyer,” he told me simply.

“You told me I could have a lawyer,” I insisted.  “That’s my right.  I’m not talking to you without one here.”

When he spoke, his tone was low and calm.  The richness of it threatened to wrap around me like a warm embrace, but I shoved the sensation away.  “You don’t need a lawyer because you’re not under arrest,” he explained.  “I arrested
Mary
Baker.  I read
Mary
her Miranda Rights.  Rose Baker was never actually arrested.”  He gave me a small smile.  “I got you off on a technicality.”

“
You
got me off?”  I said angrily.  “You’re the one who arrested me in the first place!  Am I supposed to be grateful towards you after you treated me like a criminal?”

His smile was gone instantly, and his eyes narrowed.  A part of me hated that I had wiped that smile away, but the fierceness of his harsh expression made something delicious stir to life at my core.  It was a sensation I tried my best to ignore.

“I didn’t expect your gratitude.  But I was hoping for a hint of remorse.  Do you want to tell me what possessed you to slap an FBI agent?  To aid a wanted criminal?”

“I slapped you because you deserved it,” I said staunchly.  “And
my brother isn’t a criminal.”

His expression softened, and the kindness in his eyes almost penetrated my righteous anger. 
Almost.

“I’m sorry
things turned out this way, Rose.  It’s not what I wanted.”  His tone was regretful, but he was spearing me with a level look.  “But your brother
is
a criminal.”

“He’s just an addict,” I
said desperately.  “I know buying heroin is illegal, but he just needs help.  He needs to go to rehab, not prison.”

I thought I saw a hint of sadness in the depths of his blue eyes, but he continued to regard me seriously.  “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Rose, but Greg has been working for the Latin Kings for more than a month now.”

Clayton’s words hit me like a blow to the gut.  I shook my head vigorously.  That wasn’t true.  It couldn’t be.

“You’re wrong,” I insisted.

“How do you think Greg affords his habit?”  Clayton asked pointedly.

I had been wondering that myself.  And then someone had beaten him up today.  Who would have done that?  Why would anyone do that to Greg?

“The Kings are recruiting, Rose,” Clayton continued ruthlessly.  “Your brother owed them money, and he was desperate for more heroin.  He’s been selling for them in order to pay for his habit.”

I shook my head again.  “Greg wouldn’t do that.”

“Your brother might be a good person, Rose.  But addiction can drive good people to do bad things.”

Greg didn’t have any money.  And I hadn’t given him any.  What Clayton was saying made sense.  And I hated him for it.  I fixed my eyes on a spot just over his shoulder, refusing to look at him any longer.

“I’d like to leave now,” I said coldly.

“I’m afraid I need to ask you a few more questions, Rose.”

I folded my arms over my chest.  “Well I’m not going to talk to you,” I snapped.  A part of me knew I was acting childish, but I couldn’t bear to be near him any longer.  And if I couldn’t leave, then he was going to have to.

“Okay, Rose.  I understand.”

And damn it if he didn’t sound like he understood.  I would have almost preferred it if he had acted like an asshole.  That would have made it easier to hold onto my anger.  If I let it go, I knew grief would overwhelm me.  And I wasn’t going to break down.  Not when Greg needed me.

I refused to watch him leave, but out of the corner of my eye I saw his female partner enter the room as he left it.  The woman’s expression was cool and professional when she sat down in Clayton’s vacated seat.  She looked competent and controlled in her neatly tailored white button-down shirt and black pinstriped slacks.  I scowled at her.

“I’m Agent Silverman,” she began.

“I know who you are,” I snapped.

“But you can call me Sharon,” she continued on over me as though I hadn’t spoken.

Like hell I would.  Were we supposed to be
friends? 
Did she really think she was going to have a girl-to-girl chat with me?  This bitch had arrested Greg and hardly spared me a second glance when Clayton had arrested me.

“What do you want,
Agent Silverman?
”  I emphasized her official title, letting her know I wasn’t up for chitchat.  Although I knew answering her questions was necessary in order to get out of there, that didn’t mean I had to play nice.  This was an interrogation, not a cocktail party.  And I wasn’t going to pretend otherwise.

Despite my caustic tone, she appeared unruffled.  “Okay,” she said coolly.  “I get it.  I’ll cut to the chase.”  She look
ed at me levelly.  “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but Clayton was telling the truth: your brother
is
involved with the Latin Kings.”

The calmness with which she confirmed this horrific news infuriated me.  But this time I didn’t deny it; the evidence was stacked against Greg.  Still, I needed more proof before I was prepared to believe the worst.

“How do you know?”  I demanded.  “What do you have on him?”

“I can’t tell you everything, but I won’t lie to you,” she promised solemnly.  “We received a tip that Greg had been dealing for the Kings, so we’ve been watching him.  There is photographic evidence.  I can show it to you if you need to see it.”

I didn’t want to see it.  But I needed to.  I had to know for sure.  My nod was jerky, my movements reluctant.  Agent Silverman flicked open the manila folder that she had been holding and slid it across the table so I could see its contents.  A series of photos were paper-clipped to it, and I pulled them free with shaking hands, spreading them out before me.  My heart twisted at the images: Greg being discretely passed something by a hard-looking Latino guy who was covered in tattoos; Greg handing off a small package to a woman who looked like she was wasting away, her eyes wild; and the same Latino guy shoving Greg up against a brick wall, clearly threatening him.  Was this the man who had hurt him earlier today?  Was my baby brother truly so far gone that he would do terrible things and willingly take a beating just to get his next fix?

I felt sick; I could taste the burning tang of bile in the back of my throat.  I swallowed hard and shoved the photos away from me, disgusted and heartbroken.  My entire life revolved around protecting my brother as best I could.  But I had failed.  I had let him down.

“How long?  How long has this been going on?”  I asked quietly.

When I glanced up at Ag
ent Silverman, I noticed her eyes had softened, her professional manner slipping.  Maybe she wasn’t such a cold bitch after all.

“About five weeks to our knowledge,” she answered gently.  “Listen, Rose.  We know that Greg has been coerced into this.  The Kings are ruthless, and it’s obvious that they have threatened him and manipulated him into working for them.”

I just shook my head, defeated.  “I should have given him money.”  I hated the way my voice broke.  “I just wanted to help him, to make him stop.  But I couldn’t stand seeing him in pain when he went through withdrawal.  So I ignored the problem; I didn’t question where he was getting the drugs.”  I hung my head in shame.  “He should be in rehab.  But I’m an enabler.  I should have been harder on him, should have done the right thing.  I just couldn’t bear the thought of him hating me if I betrayed him like that.”

Agent Silverman – Sharon – reached out and placed her hand over my clenched fist, squeezing gently.  “I can understand that.”

I glanced up at her, disbelieving.  I was shocked to see nothing but sincerity in her rich brown eyes, and there was a hint of pain in her tightened features that convinced me she truly did understand.

My fingers unfurled, some of the tension leaving me.  “Thanks,” I said shakily, accepting her comfort.  The sensation was completely unfamiliar.  No one had ever treated me like this. 
Certainly not my mother.  And my friends didn’t know me on a deep enough level to know that I needed this.  The bond I shared with Greg was the closest thing I had ever known to this feeling, but I was always the one supporting him, protecting him.  And our lucid interactions had been few and far between over the last year since his addiction had claimed him.  I hadn’t allowed myself to fully realize how much I had missed him.  It would have hurt too much.  But now the pain of my loss crashed down on me, and I couldn’t hold back the tears.  Even worse, I was going to lose him completely; the FBI were going to lock him up, were going to take him away from me.  As destructive as our relationship was, Greg was my whole life, and I didn’t know how to function without him.