Absolute Power (Southern Justice #1 (10 page)

Carson and Georgia were the type of people I wished my parents would have been.

“Listen…” I grabbed Carson’s hand. “I love the fact you work so hard to protect me, but trust me, I have a lifetime of great examples of what I don’t want from life.” Georgia silently wiped a tear from her eye, as Carson rounded the table to hug me. “You don’t have to worry. Dylan Morgan will never be interested in me.”

Friday night, and a full moon in Charleston, was a guaranteed combination for a busy night. From the moment I checked in, I was on the move. Everything plus one came through those doors—from vehicle accidents to college pranks gone wrong. No matter where you lived in this country, when your friend said, “Hey, watch this.” Get ready for a trip to the emergency room.

Shayla and I worked together on Monday night, I didn’t know how she was able to work a busy night shift then stay out all day hanging out. When she came in for her shift, she was all-aglow about a new guy she met the day before. “I’m telling you, he wants me to meet his family.” Her cell phone was glued to her ear as she told the unlucky caller all about the new fuck in her life. “Listen, I’ve got to let you go, but he wants to get together tomorrow night.” She stood in the middle of the walkway, twisting her hand around in the air and rolling her eyes at what the caller was saying. “Whatever bitch,” she snapped and ended the call.

“Hey, Claire.” She walked around the desk, tossing her phone on the Formica and her drink behind the desk phone.

“Shayla,” I responded, not making an effort to be friendly.

“Hey, I heard something yesterday.” She tapped her red nails that resembled the kind Portia had the other night, in an annoying rhythm on the countertop. I wondered briefly if they got a two for one discount on those things. Was there a frequent buyer card; a punch every time they added another layer of trashiness?

“Oh really?” I’d play…

“I heard you and Dr. O’Leary were going out.” Her tone was disbelieving, her face however, had malice written all over it.

“Yes, he invited me out to see something local.”

The corners of her mouth turned up and the devil himself would have backed away by the look in her eyes. “Listen, Claire.” She moved in closer, placing those red fingernails on my arm. “Don’t make this into something it isn’t.” I tilted my head slightly, my brows wrinkling in curiosity. “He’s just being nice. His interest in you is only as a friend.” She rolled her eyes at the mere thought I could catch the eye of a wealthy and fine doctor. I turned to walk away, not bothering to make a comment against what she said—her opinion didn’t matter to me in the least.

“Hey, I’m just trying to be a friend.” I turned back, her lips now wrapped around her straw. “He has a serious girlfriend back in Ireland.” She shrugged her shoulders as she placed the cup back in its place. “Don’t believe me, ask him.” She pushed past me, knocking her shoulder into mine as she left the area.

As hard as I tried to ignore what Shayla had told me, I couldn’t. There was no way I would ever be anything more than a friend to a man who was in a relationship with another girl.

Cheyenne and Shayla could do it with ease; I wasn’t made the same way. If what she said was true, I would be forced to cancel. Truly, the only way to find out would be to ask him. Since this was his weekend off, I would have to text him. He had the next week off, as Dr. Gillman was back to work; which incidentally made Kitty happy.

Kitty had been feeling guilty about the attack. She had been running around like crazy during the trauma earlier and she didn’t get time to eat. Since the cafeteria was already closed, Dr. Gillman had gone across the street to get her something to snack on. When he came through the doors the other day, he’d received a standing ovation, followed by a tight hug by Kitty. They stayed locked in each other’s arms, whispering words only they could hear. The renaissance romantic in me, hoped it would be confessions of how much they cared for one another.

Dr. Gillman was another strikingly handsome man, with his dark curls and brown eyes. His kind personality complemented his rugged good looks. He, like Kitty, was nice to everyone. There was just something extra special in the way they looked at one another, too. Almost as if they were memorizing everything about each other, saving the image for the times they were apart.

I had put off texting Sean long enough. It was well after dark and I knew he would either be in bed soon or at his family bar and unable to hear his phone. I decided to seek out Shayla, hoping to take a quick break and settle this girlfriend issue once and for all. However, the trauma line sounded, the red indicator light flashing overhead. Never a good thing, to have happen.

Dr. Gillman slid into the area, which housed the phone and radio, doing an awesome impersonation of Tom Cruise in
Risky Business.
After he identified himself, he looked to his watch and then to me, listening intently. After the call, he set the receiver on the cradle, his face now serious. “Claire, ambulance is five minutes out, attacker and victim on their way.” He crossed the floor in my direction. “We are going to need your expertise with this one.” His hand landed on my shoulder, squeezing sharply. I closed my eyes tightly, shoulders slumping in dread. I knew what was on its way and why they would need me. For now, girlfriends would have to wait.

The greatness of a man is not in how much wealth he acquires, but in his integrity and his ability to affect those around him positively.

~ Bob Marley

“M
otherfucker!”

I tossed the remote to the television in my office as anger finally reached its boiling point. My weekend had been shot to shit; unable to sleep and yet so goddamned tired.

Saturday, my brothers called me up and asked me out to my parents’ house to do some target shooting. My mood got the better of me and I shot like a bitch, only hitting the target twice.

Austin had wanted to take us to lunch, so we hit up a dive bar north of town. They had the best chicken wings in the world and he had been craving them. Chase received an email from Harmony on the way to the bar. He had asked her for her cell number and told her he was in town. He didn’t hear from her until we dropped him off later that night, or rather early Sunday morning. We managed to get inside the bar in time to take the last table. Three waitresses flew around the room, dropping off pitchers of beer and hot, fried wings, but not a one of them was worth a second look.

We ordered enough wings to feed a small country and a pitcher of beer each. Pre-season football played on the televisions, but we ignored it, opting to take the rare opportunity to catch up. “Chase, how are things in the sand box?” I asked around a bite of wing.

He didn’t look up as he answered, not missing a single sliver of meat on the bone. “Fuckin’ hot, dry and on my last nerve. No time or opportunity to do simple shit like this.” He pointed at the table, picking up his glass, drinking over half his beer down.

“When’s your time up?”

“Not soon enough. I’m due to re-enlist toward the end of the year. It’s more money for me, but…” He shrugged his shoulders. This was new, Chase loved being a Marine.

“Are you considering getting out?” Austin chimed in, his glass raised to drink.

“I’m always weighing my options.” His tone gave us the unspoken warning this was all he was going to say about it.

“What about you? Kill any super viruses?” Chase tossed back at Austin.

That was just how we were, always picking at one another. On the other hand, should someone outside our circle say some shit about one of us, they paid the price.

“I’m working on a new program. Hope to have it ready by the first of the year,” he admitted, wiping his face with a paper napkin.

“Oh yeah, what’s this one gonna do?”

Austin told us all he could about the new program he was working on. Something about an ever-changing password for banks and corporations. Computers were never my thing, which explained why he went to MIT and I didn’t.

“What about you, Dylan? Arrest any real criminals?” My brothers felt Charleston lacked the crime found in say, New York or LA. I wasn’t about to answer them with words, flipping them off instead.

“What about the redhead from last night?” Austin wiggled his eyebrows. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you two coming out of the men’s room together. You seeing her or something?”

“Who and what I do in the fucking bathroom is no concern of either one of y’all.”

Chase held up a completely clean chicken bone and looked right into Austin’s face as he said, “If a man is using a knife and fork to eat chicken wings, then chances are he doesn’t know how to eat pussy either.” My fork hit him in the chest; too bad his shirt was black and left no stain behind.

Sunday morning my father called to tell me Granddaddy’s will was to be read Monday afternoon. He made me swear I would clear my entire schedule. I told him I would be there.

First thing Monday morning, Celia called to say her husband had been taken to the Emergency Room with chest pains and been admitted. I asked if she needed anything and to call me with any updates. So when I arrived at the office, I thought for sure my day couldn’t get any fucking worse. Yet, waiting for me in the center of my desk, where there should have been nothing, were three cases I had worked on. Each with good, solid evidence, and every single fucking one of them thrown out of court on a motherfucking technicality. I turned on the news and watched as Lardo walked down the courthouse steps, a fucking grin on his face as if he’d won the fucking Nobel Peace Prize, that cocky bastard, Anderson at his side.

My pissy mood needed to be resolved before I reached Dad’s office. My momma wouldn’t hesitate to slap the taste out of my mouth if she got the notion. One sure fire way to push in the right direction was to hop on my bike. The skies were clear and the weather mild, all perfect combinations for a good ride.

When each of us turned thirteen, Dad took us to a wrecking yard and let us pick out frames from a motorcycle made the year we were born. Every chance we got, a part was purchased with money we earned around the house. Dad and Granddad would help us put it together and by the time we were sixteen, we each had a fully restored bike. I loved her, the only girl outside of the family I could say that about. A cherry red, Harley Davidson Heritage Softail, completely customized and in perfect working condition. Over the years I’d had to replace the motor a time or two, but she was still the same girl I worked on all those Saturdays ago. I’d purchased two other bikes since then, but this girl, she would always be my favorite.