When the patrol car I’m in pulls away from the curb, I shake my head and stare out the window. After a few minutes, the detective in the passenger seat turns around and faces me.
“I’m Jeremy, lead detective on this case. Samantha Richards called me an hour ago and informed me that there was a poker game going on that I would be interested in and that she was concerned for the welfare of you and your brother—”
I shoot him an incredulous look. “Sam called it in?”
He nods his response and I clench my fists. My Sammy, the woman I left in my bed to come save my brother’s ass, ignored my request and called it in anyway. I shake my head in disbelief.
“She was worried that you would get hurt, especially if it’s the same bookie that assaulted your brother last time. She did the right thing, Mr. Miller.”
I trusted her to listen to me. I told her not to call, that I’d let her know if I needed help. She didn’t trust me to deal with this myself. She didn’t believe that I could do it without her help.
My anger simmers under the surface as we pull up outside the precinct. It continues to fester and eat away at me as I’m lead inside to an interrogation room. I don’t see Ryan arrive; in fact, I don’t see him again.
After being read my Miranda rights, I explain everything that went down from the moment I received Ryan’s call, to recounting everything the ass**le bookie said to me, including his threats against me, the club, and Samantha. The detective grew antsy when he heard that Sam had been mentioned.
When I was released clear and free a few hours later, the sun was just starting to rise. A patrol car dropped me back at my car which thankfully was still parked outside the bar.
But instead of driving straight home to Sammy, I drove to the club, parking at the back and going straight to my office where I became acquainted with a nice bottle of 1800 tequila that I swiped from the bar.
Around noon, I’m woken up by my ringing phone. When I saw Sam’s name on the screen I rejected the call, knowing I owed it to both of us to sort my head out before talking to her or else I’d likely say something I’d later regret.
Who said history never repeats?
They lied.
Sam
I wake up with a stiff neck, the sun shining straight in my face as I unravel myself from my curled up ball on the living room couch. Checking my watch, I realize I fell asleep and I don’t know what happened. I jump up and run upstairs to the bedroom, expecting to find Sean and coming up short when I can’t find him anywhere. Running back down to the kitchen, I pick up my phone and ring him, getting his voice mail all five times.
Fuck! What if he’s lying in a ditch somewhere? Or sitting in the cage with real criminals?
I bring up Jeremy’s name and bring the phone up to my ear.
“Yo.”
“Jeremy. Where’s Sean? What happened?”
“Slow down, cupcake. He’s fine. I released him a few hours ago. He was dropped back at his car and I assumed he was headed home. He didn’t show?”
My breath hitches. Sean didn’t come straight home. My hand starts to tremble as I realize that Sean must be livid. He’s never been one to shy away from confrontation, and he’s not the type of man who lets problems fester. If he is angry, annoyed, frustrated or simply just pissed off, he deals with it. He’s direct and to the point, and he never avoids dealing with an issue. He just does it. It’s his way. This enduring strength is one of the things that has always attracted me to him.
Now I feel like an imposter in his home. If he didn’t want to come home that means he didn’t want to see me. Then like a Mack truck it hits me, I need to leave.
“Jeremy, what about Ryan?”
“His case wasn’t as straightforward as Sean. He was participating in the game and he knows a lot about the bookie we’re trying to build a case against. He’s clammed up at the moment though, which isn’t helping him or us.”
“You need me to talk some sense into him?”
“It’s out of your jurisdiction, Sam, and if the Captain got wind of it, you could be accused of interfering in the course of justice. What I will say is that right now, Ryan is in a holding cell but could be moved to an interrogation room with the cameras off if someone wanted to come visit him, check on his welfare shall we say.”
I breathe out a sigh of relief. “Text me what room and when. I’m heading down there now. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be there.”
“Sounds great, cupcake. And don’t worry about Sean. I know a thing or two about these big, proud, dominant types. He’ll come around and see that what you did was for the best. Just give him time.”
A lone tear trails down my cheek as his words sink in. I can only hope that what he says is true.
Chapter 21: “Am I Wrong”
Sam
I walk into the station, nodding to the desk sergeant as I walk up the stairs toward the interrogation room where Jeremy told me Ryan would be waiting.
Jeremy’s waiting for me in the corridor, his lips pressed together in a grimace as I walk up to him. He looks at me for a moment, his eyes full of concern as he tries to gauge my mood. “You good, Richards?” he asks.
“I will be once I knock some sense into that dickhead’s skull. I need to scare him straight, Jer, and the only time to do that is going to be right now without his domineering, overzealous older brother breathing down his neck. Right now I’m neutral between the Miller boys, although I am a cop so I can make sure he understands just how bad this might get.” He nods and I continue. “Did you talk to the DA?”
“Amazingly, he took my call and was surprisingly receptive. You get Ryan to agree to testify against the bookie, about the whole damn racket, and he’ll be granted immunity and will escape the third strike. I’m sure he doesn’t need to be told what will happen if he f**ks up again?”
I shake my head and smile at Jeremy before wrapping my arms around his back and squeezing tight. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for this,” I whisper in his ear. I step back and look at him, uncharacteristic tears gathering in my eyes.
“You keep up this human behavior, Richards...” I gasp in shock and glare at him, “...and I’ll tell all the guys you’re really a girl.” He winks at me and I whack him hard on the arm.
“I’m different at work, you know that,” I explain.
“Yep, and you wouldn’t be half the cop you are without that hard exterior. What I’m trying to say is that it’s nice to see what’s underneath coming out. Your friends know it’s there, and I’m sure that your man and his brother definitely know it’s there, and it just might pay to let it shine more often. You won’t be seen as weak, you know. Just the opposite.”