Page 94 of Held-
“Do not count on rescuing her today,” he says, already turning away. “Cells have a way of swallowing girls her age. Men such as you, though…you vanish into places like this without anyone blinking.”
I release a slow breath and stare down the hallway leading to her cell. My hands are still unsteady—not from fear, but from holding myself back. She’s back there, depending on me, and I will not fail her. I swear on every oath I’ve ever broken that I’ll get her out. Richard Kincaid doesn’t get the final word. Not today. Not ever again.
“Careful, Mr. Cole. Threatening an elected official is a serious offense. One more to add to your impressive record, perhaps?” His smile is all teeth, no warmth. “Though I suppose compared to your other crimes, it would barely register.”
The front desk deputy shifts nervously, his hand still hovering near his weapon. I force myself to take a step back, even though every muscle in my body screams to lunge forward and wipe that smug look off Kincaid's face.
“My son has filed a legitimate complaint,” Kincaid continues, smoothing his tie. “The evidence speaks for itself.”
“Evidence?” I laugh, the sound harsh even to my own ears. “You mean the marks on her wrists that your precious son left when he cornered her in a bathroom?”
“These are serious allegations, Mr. Cole. If you have evidence of such an assault, I suggest you file a report.” His tone suggests he knows exactly how that would go in a department that answers to him. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to speak to the Sheriff.”
I feel a red haze descending over my vision. I've only felt this kind of rage a handful of times in my life, and it's never ended well for whoever was on the receiving end. The deputy's hand is still on his weapon, but I'm beyond caring. All I can see is Kincaid's smug face, and all I can think about is Cece sitting in a cell because of this man's son.
“You son of a bitch,” I snarl, stepping forward again despite the deputy's warning posture. “You know exactly what your boy did.”
The Reverend's hand lands on my arm, his grip surprisingly strong for a man his age. “Brayden, don't. This is what he wants.”
I shrug him off, but the momentary interruption is enough to clear my head slightly. Kincaid is watching me with the calculated patience of a man who's spent decades manipulating situations to his advantage. He wants me to lose control. Wants me to give him an excuse.
“Listen to the good Reverend, Mr. Cole,” Kincaid says, his voice dripping with false concern. “Violence is never the answer. Isn't that right, Thomas?”
The Reverend's face is a mask of barely controlled fury, but he manages a stiff nod. “Richard, I'm asking you as someone who's known you for thirty years. Drop these charges. You know Cecelia didn’t do this.”
Kincaid sighs, spreading his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “The justice system must run its course. I can't interfere with due process simply because we've known each other for years.”
“Due process?” I bark out a laugh. “Is that what you call this railroading?”
The station door swings open again, and a balding man in an ill-fitting suit hurries inside, clutching a worn leather briefcase to his chest. He’s breathing hard—clearly sprinted from the parking lot.
“Reverend Montgomery,” he wheezes, pushing his crooked glasses up his nose. “Terribly sorry I’m late. Traffic from Millerville was a nightmare.”
This has to be Harold, the church’s lawyer—the one who files bake sale permits and mediates disputes over who gets the good folding tables. Wonderful.
“I came as soon as I got your message,” he continues. “This is highly unusual. Cecelia has always been such a good girl.”
Kincaid’s smile spreads, all polished teeth and concealed malice. “Mr. Pemberton, always a pleasure. I believe we last saw each other at the church fundraiser?”
Harold’s complexion drains a shade, his gaze darting between Kincaid and the Reverend as though he’s stumbled into a battlefield without armor.
“You’ll be representing Ms. Montgomery?” Kincaid asks, his voice oozing courtesy that feels anything but.
Harold swallows and grips his briefcase tighter. “Yes, well, that’s why I’m here. To assist the Reverend’s daughter in this…misunderstanding.”
A snort escapes me before I can stop it. This man? This trembling, overworked paper-pusher? He looks ready to faint if someone so much as raises an eyebrow. The way he’s visibly caving under Kincaid’s stare tells me exactly how this would play out: badly.
“Harold,” the Reverend says, “perhaps we should discuss our strategy in private.”
“Excellent idea,” Kincaid interjects smoothly. “Sheriff Miller is expecting me.” He turns to leave, then pauses, glancing back at me with cold calculation. “Mr. Cole, a word of advice—your presence here isn't helping Ms. Montgomery's situation. People might get the wrong impression about the company she keeps.”
“The wrong impression? Like the one where your son is anything but a predatory piece of shit?”
Kincaid's smile freezes. “Slander is a serious offense.”
“It's not slander if it's true,” I spit back.
Kincaid's smirk cuts me deeper than any knife could as he turns away, disappearing down the hallway toward Sheriff Miller's office. I watch him go, imagining all the ways I could wipe that self-satisfied look off his face. None of them would help Cece right now.