Page 98 of Held-
Joe finally looks up, his expression mild but his eyes sharp. “Process her for what, exactly? You haven't formally charged her yet.”
“Assault and battery. It's in the warrant.”
“A warrant based on the uncorroborated statement of an ex-husband with an obvious motive to lie.” Joe closes his notebook with deliberate slowness. “Detective, let me be clear. If you proceed with formal charges against my client without substantial corroborating evidence, I will file a civil rights lawsuit so fast it'll make your head spin.”
Simmons' face reddens.
“I'd advise you to think very carefully about your next move, Detective,” Joe continues. “My client has visible defensive injuries that contradict Mr. Kincaid's version of events. We have a legitimate claim of self-defense against an alleged sexual assault.”
I watch Simmons' Adam's apple bob as he swallows. The mention of sexual assault has clearly thrown him off-script. This wasn't part of Ethan's carefully crafted narrative.
“That's a serious allegation,” he says finally.
“Yes, it is,” Joe agrees. “One that should have been investigated before you slapped handcuffs on the victim.”
Simmons shifts his weight, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “We're just following procedure based on the complaint filed.”
“A complaint filed by the son of the man who signs your department's budget,” Joe points out. “Quite a coincidence.”
The detective's eyes narrow. “Are you implying something, counselor?”
“I'm stating facts. You can draw your own implications.” Joe stands, gathering his papers. “Now, unless you're formally charging my client—in which case we'll be requesting an immediate bail hearing—I believe we're free to go.”
I hold my breath, watching the internal struggle play out across Simmons' face. He nods towards my bruised wrists, then back to Joe's impassive expression.
“We'll need to discuss this with the Sheriff,” Simmons finally says, his authority crumbling under Joe's steady gaze.
“By all means,” Joe replies, gesturing toward the door. “Lead the way.”
I stand on shaky legs, trying not to show how relieved I am. Joe places a steadying hand on my elbow as we follow Simmons down the hallway toward the Sheriff's office. My heart pounds against my ribs with each step, hope and anxiety warring in my chest.
The station is busier now than when I was brought in, deputies moving between desks with coffee cups and file folders. A few glance our way, their expressions ranging from curiosity to discomfort.
Sheriff Miller looks up from his desk as we enter, his weathered face giving away nothing. Mayor Kincaid sits across from him, and the sight of him makes my stomach clench. He rises slowly, straightening his expensive tie with manicured fingers.
“Well, well,” he says. “Ms. Montgomery. I was just discussing your situation with the Sheriff.”
“I bet you were,” I mutter, earning a warning squeeze on my elbow from Joe.
“Mayor Kincaid,” Joe says smoothly, extending his hand. “Joseph Mendez, Ms. Montgomery's attorney. I wasn't aware you had an official role in the justice system.”
Kincaid's face tightens as he takes Joe's hand, his grip visibly firm as if trying to establish dominance through a handshake. “I'm simply here as a concerned citizen, Mr. Mendez. When a violent assault occurs in our community, it's my duty to ensure justice is served.”
“Violent assault?” I can't help the bitter laugh that escapes me. “That's rich coming from the father of the man who did this.” I hold up my wrists, the bruises now darkening to an ugly purple-blue.
Sheriff Miller clears his throat, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Perhaps we should discuss this privately.”
“I think that's an excellent idea,” Joe says smoothly. “Though I'm curious why the mayor needs to be present for a law enforcement matter. Unless, of course, this isn't about law enforcement at all.”
Kincaid's politician smile slips for just a second. “I'll leave you to it, Sheriff. I trust you'll handle this...appropriately.” The threat in his words isn't even thinly veiled. It’s spelled out in flashing neon lights.
As Kincaid brushes past us, he pauses beside me. “Such a shame, Cecelia,” he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear. “Your father must be so disappointed.”
I bite my tongue until I taste copper, forcing myself not to respond. Joe's hand on my elbow tightens, silently warning me not to take the bait.
Once the door closes behind him, Sheriff Miller gestures to the chairs in front of his desk. “Please, sit down.”
Joe and I take our seats, and I notice how the sheriff avoids looking directly at my bruised wrists. Guilt, maybe? Or just discomfort at being caught in the middle of Kincaid's political machinations?