“Do it! Do it! Go ahead. Then maybe I’ll understand more of what Claire endured.”
Tony staggered backward. Brent’s words cut deeper than any knife and were more painful than a fist to the jaw. “It was before”—Tony’s fight evaporated as his knees buckled against the chair—“It was a long time ago. Things are, or were, different—this time. I didn’t have anything to do with her recent disappearance.”
Brent fell into a chair and fought to control his words. Finally, he asked, “So, you’re telling me this is true? You did this shit to a woman you claimed to love—a woman you married—a woman you charged with attempted murder and later wanted to reconcile with? You did this sick-ass-shit to the mother of your child?”
“No!” Tony stared at Brent. He felt the black fill his eyes as red filled his vision. “I’m not saying that. I’d never do that to the mother of my child or the woman I was reconciling with. Like I said—it was different.” He rubbed the stubble on his cheeks. Suddenly, his face weighed too much for his neck. Tony collapsed against the back of the chair allowing his head to rest against the cinderblock wall. “The only person, who understands—me—or any of this—is Claire.” Indignation returned and his neck strengthened. “Tell me this isn’t relevant. Tell me you can suppress this evidence”—Tony stood as the volume of his voice rose—“I paid a lot of money to have this disappear!”
Brent shook his head. “Shit! Did you just tell me, an attorney, that you paid to have evidence suppressed? Jesus, tell me you didn’t just say that!”
Tony felt the blood drain from his face as his limbs suddenly felt heavy. “I—I”—Perspiration appeared on his brow as he contemplated his answer and sunk back against the cool cement wall—“What I meant to say is that this evidence is old—things change, people change. Please...” It may have been the first time he’d ever used that word with Brent, but that didn’t make it any less heartfelt. “Please, tell me you can convince them I didn’t hurt her.”
Brent stared.
“This time”—Tony’s tone hardened as he pushed back the emotions he refused to reveal. His words slowed—“I didn’t hurt her this time”—he paused momentarily and gathered his thoughts—“This time she came to Iowa of her own free will. We were having a baby”—shaking his head he corrected himself—“No, we are having a baby. She accepted her engagement ring”—He held Brent’s gaze—“You are my friend as well as my personal attorney; tell me you believe me.”
Brent’s shoulders relaxed and he said, “We should eat.”
“No! Food doesn’t matter.”
Leaning forward, Brent steadied his tone. “Tony, listen to me—I know that’s not your forte, but shut-up and let me help you.”
The air left Tony’s lungs. “You’re still willing to help me?”
“I’ll be honest with you. We have been friends and maybe we still are, but right now I’m pissed as hell and friendship isn’t why I’m willing to do this for you.” He sat straighter while maintaining eye contact. “When this is all done, you can fire me, but going in, you should know, I’m not doing this for you—I’m doing this for Claire. If she trusted you again—after all this shit”—he pointed to the binder—“I will too.”
Tony’s neck gave way as his face fell forward. Rubbing his hand through his hair, he exhaled. “You’re not fired. What can you do?”
“I’ll make some calls. If the FBI isn’t pressing charges, I think I can get you released, at least momentarily. When we’re back in Iowa, we’re gonna talk about this...”
Only those you trust can betray you.
—Nathan Rahl
“Mr. Simmons, we believe it’s in the best interest of your client to keep him here for at least forty-eight hours.”
Brent tried to clarify an earlier statement, “You’re saying you believe Mr. Rawlings is in danger? Yet you won’t tell us what threats or evidence you have to support this claim.”
“I’m not at liberty to divulge that information.” Hearing the mechanisms of the door, everyone turned to see another agent enter. Agent Jackson introduced the newest member of their conversation, “This is Special Agent in Charge, Easton.”
SAC Easton stepped toward the table. Tony searched his expression; deep lines embedded in his forehead displaying years of concentration and stress. Though Tony looked for some sign of accommodation, Easton’s grimace, instead, warned of impending doom.
Clearing his throat, Easton began, “Agent Jackson, thank you for your diligence. Mr. Rawlings, it’s come to our attention that you’re to be released.” He straightened his stance, and added, “At this time we’re not prepared to formally charge you with any crimes.”