MY GAZE MET Charli’s only briefly as the policeman guided me into the backseat of his car. Guided was a kind way to say that he pushed. That wasn’t my concern. Connecting with the golden-eyed love of my life and making sure she was safely out of Savannah was.

“Go!” I silently willed. “Get out of here. Do it before they suck you back in!” Though the words had never left my lips, I sent them with all the urgency I could muster.

Closing my eyes, I recounted the devastation in her expression and anguish in her tone.

Fuck!

We were so fucking close. Two more minutes and the plane would have been moving. We would have been gone.

Then it hit me. The police knew they couldn’t keep Charli or Chelsea here. It was all a sham, a stall.

My shoulders ached at the pressure on my wrists as the police car bounced along the Savannah roads.

I willed my muscles to relax, to not fight the handcuffs. I’d have them off soon enough.

My mind filled with everything I knew and all we’d learned. If the two officers in the front seat spoke, I wasn’t listening.

The memory that fought to consume my thoughts was of Charli. I’d had her in my grasp, feeling her warmth next to me, inhaling the scent of her perfume, and holding her hand in mine. I exhaled, pushing those thoughts away as the car bounced along Savannah’s roads. I needed to concentrate. What was the charge?

I assumed it was battery. I’d punched Alton Fitzgerald. I expected more of a fight from him at the estate. That wasn’t the way he played. He’d never make it in an octagon. His technique was slimy and backhanded. Give us a little taste of freedom and pull it all away.

I reached for my own fingers and rubbed. My hand was obviously injured, not severely, but my knuckles were scraped. It could be used as evidence. More than likely the manor had surveillance footage of me punching Fitzgerald. I wouldn’t and couldn’t deny the altercation. The guards, I could. Without proof, there was no way I’d admit to hitting them.

After what seemed like forever, the police car pulled into the back of the police station. I deduced our location by the chain-link fence and multitude of police cars as well as the crowd of people near the front. Thankfully, I didn’t appear to be the main attraction.

No one outside the fence seemed to care as the two officers escorted me up a ramp and through back doors. As a new officer booked me, I took in the scene. My location was relatively isolated, yet I could hear the buzz.

Melissa Summers.

Edward Spencer.

“What the hell is going on?” I asked as they took my final photograph.

“You’ll learn more as soon as the detective comes to question you.”

I tilted my head toward the large room of desks filled with people. “I mean over there. It seems like a busy Saturday night.”

The officer led me by the arm. “It’s not like we never have murders. We do.” He leaned closer. “But this is a big deal. The FBI is here. It’s a shit show.”

The handcuffs were gone. They’d come off during the booking. Unceremoniously, the officer deposited me in a small room with a metal table and four chairs. “The detective from the scene will be in here in a few minutes to ask you some questions.”

“I refuse to answer any questions until my attorney arrives.” I knew it was the right move; nevertheless, I wondered when that would be. Demetri Enterprises had a slew of attorneys, none of whom were in Savannah, Georgia.

“Mr. Demetri, we’ve been informed that your counsel is on his way.”

Truly all I wanted was to hear the charge, make a plea, and pay my bail. “After he arrives, when can I see the judge? I have places to go.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath. More than likely your case won’t be heard until morning. It’s already after midnight, the detective needs to question you, and as you saw, this place is hopping with a case much bigger than yours.” And then he was gone, behind the solid door. I’d watched enough crime shows to guess the large mirrored surface was really a two-way window. Did anyone ever not know that?

After midnight. Really?

I couldn’t even remember what time it was when we drove away from Montague Manor. The whole night was a blur of scenes like pieces of a puzzle that didn’t quite fit. I looked to my watch, but it was gone. The policeman had taken that and most of my other personal belongings during the booking. Though they hadn’t taken it, I didn’t have my phone either. The last time I had it, I’d handed it to Charli.

I didn’t want to make a call—I was confident Deloris was on this. What I wanted was to open the necklace app, to see Charli’s blue dot flying toward New York. If I could be reassured that she’d done as I wanted, I could concentrate on the shitstorm around me.

Just then, the door opened and I stood, stunned and surprised that I recognized the first man to enter. I’d spoken with him only a few days before.

“Mr. Demetri.”

I extended my hand. “Mr. Crawford. I didn’t expect you.”

He tilted his head to the left. Beside him was a tall man with dark skin and intelligent eyes. “This is Daryl Owen.”

We shook hands.

“As you may recall,” Stephen Crawford said, “I’m a law student, not an attorney, yet my new internship is with the practice of Preston, Madden, and Owen here in Savannah. When I received the call from your assistant, Mrs. Witt, I called Mr. Owen, one of the partners. He agreed to take your case.”

“Mr. Demetri,” Mr. Owen said.

“Lennox,” I corrected. “Thank you, Mr. Owen. I appreciate your coming out at this time of night.”

The two men sat across from me at a small metal table.

“I’ll be frank,” Mr. Owen said. “Before the detective comes in, you should know that aggravated battery, in the state of Georgia, faces between one and twenty years in prison and a fine up to $100,000. No one has claimed that you used a firearm, which is in your favor.”

“Aggravated battery? I hadn’t been told my charge.”

“They read you your rights?”

“Yes.”

He nodded and jotted down a few notes. “The detective is going to ask where you were this evening at approximately nine-thirty?”

“I’m not sure of the exact time, but I was at Montague Manor this evening. There was a big party.”

“Were you on the guest list?”

I smirked. “Most certainly, I was not.”

“Yet you were on private property?”

“I was.”

“Lennox,” Mr. Owen said, “we need you to be one hundred percent honest with us.”

“I am.”

“Why were you at Montague Manor?”

“To rescue my girlfriend.”

“Your girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

Mr. Owen and Stephen exchanged looks.

“Would your girlfriend be Mrs. Alexandria Spencer?”

The muscles in my neck tightened. “No. My girlfriend is Miss Alexandria Collins.”

Stephen opened a folder he’d placed on the table and retrieved a paper. Sliding it across the table, he said, “We wanted you to see this before the detective came in. Would this be the signature of your girlfriend?”

I bit the inside of my cheek as I read. Starting at the top, it read:

 

State of Georgia, County of Chatham. To any Clergy or any other person authorized to solemnize: You are hereby authorized and permitted to join the persons named below in matrimony.

Edward Bryce Carmichael Spencer and Alexandria Charles Montague Collins according to the Constitution and Laws of this State, and for doing so this shall be your sufficient…

 

I scanned down.

I hereby Certify, That Edward Bryce Carmichael Spencer and Alexandria Charles Montague Collins were joined together in matrimony on this 6th day of November…

 

My stomach knotted as I read yesterday’s date. Wait, it was now after midnight. That made it not yesterday, but two days ago.

The officiant named was Keith Townsend. It contained the court’s seal, and under his signature were both Edward’s and Charli’s signatures.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed the paper back across the table and looked Mr. Owen in the eyes. “I understand how that may look, but I promise you, they are not married. That’s not her signature.”

“And you know that because…?”

“Because she told me and I believe her.”

The door opened and the detective from the scene came in.

“Mr. Demetri, do you remember me? I’m Detective Holden.”

I nodded.

“I heard the answer regarding the marriage license of Edward Spencer and Alexandria Collins. Tell me, how do you explain her signature on this license dated yesterday?”

I didn’t look at Mr. Owen nor did I correct Detective Holden on the number of days since the signature. I looked directly at Stephen Crawford and said, “I think it was forged just like many other signatures that I’ve seen recently.”

“What other signatures?” Detective Holden asked.

“Detective, how is that relevant to the charges against my client?” Mr. Owen asked.

Detective Holden pulled the empty chair away from the table, flipped it around so he was straddling the back, and sat. “Well, it appears as though, despite your assault, Mr. Fitzgerald has graciously agreed to offer you a deal.”

“A warrant has been issued,” Mr. Owen said. “The ball’s no longer in Mr. Fitzgerald’s court.”

The detective shrugged. “True, but he can decide to drop the charges and refuse to testify on behalf of the DA. I’m sure the state of Georgia will take Mr. Fitzgerald’s recommendation very seriously. They’re a little overwhelmed at this time with other issues, as is Mr. Fitzgerald.”

Mr. Owen lifted his hand, silencing my rebuttal. “What does he propose?”

“Mr. Fitzgerald agreed not to pursue the charges of aggravated battery if you agree to honor the marriage of his daughter and accept the limitations set forth in a restraining order restricting your contact with Mrs. Spencer.”

I shook my head.

“Mr. Demetri, we should talk about this offer,” Mr. Owen said.

“Are you representing me or Mr. Fitzgerald?”

“You, sir.”

“First, someone tell me who I supposedly assaulted.”

“Mr. Fitzgerald,” Detective Holden said. “At this time we’re waiting on the video evidence; however, he does have the contusion to support his claim.” He looked at my hands resting on the table’s surface. “And I will recommend photographs of your hand.”

I looked down and shrugged. “Yard work. I work in an office. My hands are soft.”

“Mr. Demetri…” Darryl Owen began.

“No. Tell the all-powerful Alton Fitzgerald that I’ll take the charge. I’ll pay the bail and he can take his offer and shove it up his ass.” I leaned forward as my palm slapped the metal table. “Oh, and tell him that I won’t be the one contesting this marriage; his stepdaughter will. I’ll be the one standing by her side, right by her side, as she hands him his ass in front of a judge and on the front page of every newspaper.”

“Mr. Demetri?” the detective asked.

I leaned back and looked at my attorney. “He was manhandling Alex-andria. He was forcing her into a car where she didn’t want to go. If you have video footage proving his accusation, you’ll also have footage of his assault. Let him know: I’ll encourage his stepdaughter to press charges.”

Though Daryl Owen seemed displeased with my outburst, Stephen’s smile grew larger.

“So you’re admitting to battery?” Holden asked.

“My client has not admitted to anything except rescuing his girlfriend.”

“The wife of another man.”

Though I was certain the vein on my forehead was ready to burst, I swallowed my retort.

“Mr. Owen, there are multiple charges,” Detective Holden continued. “It wasn’t only Mr. Fitzgerald who was assaulted tonight on the grounds of Montague Manor. Two of his guards were found unconscious. One was bound.” He turned toward me. “You wouldn’t know anything about those men, would you, Mr. Demetri?”

I shrugged. “It was a big party. I assume you’ve questioned each and every one of the guests? I saw a few who looked pretty shady.”

“What evidence do you have connecting my client to any of these charges?” Mr. Owen asked.

“He was there. He admitted that.”

“Circumstantial,” Stephen said. “So were over a hundred other people.”

“He just admitted to rescuing a woman from Mr. Fitzgerald, the CEO of Montague Corporation and the owner of the private property where he trespassed. The same Mr. Fitzgerald who was assaulted.”

“There was no admission. At the most you have circumstantial evidence for simple battery. My client can post bond and be out of here in less than an hour.”

“We’re getting the video footage from the mansion.”

Mr. Owen nodded. “Fine, and when you do, be sure to watch for the evidence that my client mentioned—that against Mr. Fitzgerald. You heard Mr. Demetri: Miss Collins could very easily follow through on her charges.”

“And let him know,” I said, “that she will also be filing forgery charges for falsifying her signature on a legal document.”

Detective Holden stood and pushed the chair back under the table.

“I’ll speak to Mr. Fitzgerald’s attorney and be back with you.”

“Mr. Demetri,” Stephen asked, “are you able to post bond tonight if necessary?”

“Yes.”

The detective stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “You were at Montague Manor all evening?”

I shrugged. “I’m not sure of the exact time.”

“Were you there by eight o’clock?”

“Detective,” Mr. Owen said, “why are you asking?”

He looked at me. “Do you know Mrs. Spencer’s mother?”

“I don’t know a Mrs. Spencer,” I replied.

“Mr. Demetri, what do you know about Mrs. Fitzgerald?”

Stephen’s gaze met mine.

“I know she’s been ill and her daughter’s been very concerned. That’s why she came back to Savannah.”

“Yet she was willing to leave Savannah with her mother in grave condition?”

“She was willing to go to our home and away from Mr. Fitzgerald.” I squared my shoulders. “Between Miss Collins and myself, we’re capable of affording her transportation to visit her mother as often as necessary.”

The detective nodded as he opened the door.

Nearly an hour later, Detective Holden returned. “Mr. Owen, Mr. Crawford, if your client will agree to an off-the-record conversation, perhaps we can get this unfortunate situation resolved?”

Mr. Owen looked my direction and back to the detective. “Off-the-record conversation with whom?”

“A private, off-the-record conversation with Mr. Fitzgerald.”

Mr. Owen shook his head. “Lennox, I would advise against this.”

“Detective, can you guarantee this is off the record?”

“Yes.”

“Lennox…”

“Gentlemen, please step outside for a moment. I would be happy to speak with Mr. Fitzgerald.”