Redeemed Book 2: A Military Stepbrother Romance (8 page)

I just needed him to know, and I hoped he understood.

Harrison said nothing to suggest he did, just nodded at me. I squeezed him tight one more time then let my arms fall to my side, sighing at breaking off contact with him.

One of the police officers coughed, both of them still in the doorway. I felt my cheeks flush, and wondered if either of them suspected things between Harrison and I, while still murky, were not the typical relations between a stepbrother and stepsister. I had to be on the lookout for either of them looking at us funny.

I turned and faced them both. “Shall we get started?” Officer Stallman asked. Now he and officer Jefferson had a cup of coffee wafting steam upward in their hands - one of them must have made a trip to the kitchen while Harrison and I talked.
 

I stared at the floor, still embarrassed by showing that much affection for Harrison in public, though, “public” didn’t really do a police station justice.

Hah, justice. Good one, Laurel!

“Yes, of course, didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

Officer Jefferson bristled. “We do a lot of waiting around here.”

With a glance at Jefferson, Officer Stallman turned back to me. “Don’t mind him, he hates weekend shifts.”

“I can’t imagine being away from your family on a weekend during the holidays,” I consoled officer Jefferson, trying to establish at least a little rapport with him.

Officer Stallman poked Jefferson in the ribs as he spoke. “This guy? Getting away from his family is the best part about it. Plus the extra pay. Doesn’t make him any more of a pleasure to work with, though.”

Jefferson gave him a glance and straightened up, sipping his coffee without a word. Stallman nodded back to him and straightened up himself.

They both looked at us like a jeweler looked at an uncut stone. Finally, Officer Stallman stepped into the room, Jefferson following him close behind. “Can we get you anything?”

Harrison and I both said in unison, “no thanks”. Stallman nodded and came around the table, taking a seat at the far end. Officer Jefferson sat directly opposite Harrison. That was my cue, and I took the chair right next to Harrison.

We settled down and looked each other over, the two officers taking languorous sips from their coffee cups, while Harrison sat with his eyes closed, almost as calm as the police.

I remember reading that one of the ways the police assessed guilt was by how calm and collected the suspects were. The more relaxed they were during interrogation, the more likely they were guilty. An innocent person would try to do anything to clear their name, but a guilty suspect might just accept their fate, maybe even with a little relief.

If that was the case, Harrison looked guilty as all hell, despite looking as calm as the Buddha. I didn’t know how to help him, and I didn’t have any way to tell him to step out of it. It’s not like I knew what I was doing; I hadn’t been in a police station since I was a child.

Officer Stallman broke the silence. “Harrison, do you know why you’re here?”

Harrison took a deep breath, exhaled, and opened his eyes, staring officer Stallman down. Jefferson leaned forward, the beginnings of a sneer on his face, wanting to hear what Harrison said. “I have to be pretty thick not to know by now. I’ve been here for more than 12 hours.”

Stallman and Jefferson both nodded at the same time. “Then why don’t you tell us, why you’re here. Just so were all clear,” Jefferson said, laying the sarcasm on as thick as he could, as if with a knife.

Harrison stayed defiant, not saying a word. At this point, neither of the officers looked surprised. I had a hunch this was how the entire night had gone. They must have dragged out his cell every couple hours, wanting to talk, wanting to see if he would give them any information at all. If there was anything Harrison was good at, it was putting on a very convincing portrayal of a statue. I got a glimpse of it right then.

Officer Stallman’s eyes flicked towards me. “Now, you see what we’ve been working with?”

I nodded, trying to put on a brave face, to support Harrison’s lack of cooperation, but at the same time I wondered if it was the right move. These two police officers held Harrison’s future in their hands. Depending on how he talked to them, interacting with them, they would decide what the next steps for his case were.

I wanted to say something, both to Harrison and private, or to the police officers. I wanted to assure them that Harrison would cooperate, that he’d done nothing wrong, and that he intended to fight these charges. I wanted to say these things because Harrison wouldn’t say them for himself. Some messed up since pride Wouldn’t let him.

I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to call our parents, but at the same time I knew Harrison wouldn’t let them help him. He didn’t need anyone, and he wouldn’t let them in, wouldn’t let them protect him.

And I shuddered to think what my father would do when he found out. Not only would he blow up at Harrison, I might even end up in his crosshairs after not telling them. Worse, my father’s health wasn’t exactly the best these days - he could use a lot more exercise in his day. I worried for his heart if he found out.

Of course, he would find out, if this didn’t end soon. Our parents would be back from wherever they were some time this afternoon. I dreaded that conversation.

“Oh hey, Laurel, we’re back from the cabin. Looks like you didn’t burn the house down, that’s good!”

“Yeah, I wanted to, but I was all out of matches, and it was too cold to go out and get some more.”

“Next time stock up in advance, that’s what I always say? Say, on that note, where’s your brother?”

“Stepbrother.”

“Right, right. Where is he, anyway?”

“About that…”

Yeah it wouldn’t go so well from that point on. Ruth would cry, and Dad would console her for a few minutes while the anger boiled up inside him. All that effort, he would stay, all that time and effort trying to help Harrison clean up his life and escape his past, all down the drain.

My father was really big on dramatic stuff; couldn’t resist. He liked to make mountains out of slight inclines in the ground, but this time I was worried he’d be right.

Harrison could really screw up his life in the next couple hours. Sure, he’d served his country in the military and gone to war to make sure people were safe - he was a decorated soldier. But the justice system still didn’t take too kindly to soldiers who beat up regular people. Even if those regular people were up to no good.

If this case kept going beyond today, Harrison could be looking at serious jail time, and after that, who would hire him? He’d have to disclose that he was a convicted felon on every job application, and I had a good feeling that would outweigh anything he could tell a prospective employer about his prior military service.

And it wasn’t like Harrison was formally out of the military yet - they probably be too thrilled with a soldier being charged or even convicted of a felony while on leave. This was getting worse and worse the more I thought about it. I stared at Harrison, trying to figure out what his game was.

Did he think that if he said nothing this whole thing would just go away? Did he think they would just let him go with a pat on the back after what he’d done, no matter the circumstances?

After all his dealings with the police so far, and all his time in the military, did he really know so little about how the whole world worked?

No one had said anything in a long time. “Do you have anything to say in your defense, Harrison? Anything at all that could help you out, give us a little insight into what happened?”

Harrison said nothing, his eyes forward, not looking at anything or anyone in particular. Maybe he was inspecting the far wall for hairline cracks or a bad paint job. I couldn’t tell.

“Because, son, let me tell you…”

Harrison’s face turned almost purple with rage. “Don’t call me son,” he whispered, if you could call it that. It was a whisper with teeth. Teeth that said don’t go down that road any further, for that way madness lay.

Officer Stallman held up his hand and waved Harrison off. “Right, right, well, let me just tell you, Harrison,” he emphasized the name, and I exhaled sharply, “you’re not really helping yourself out here.”

“Yeah, these stonewalling tactics might help overseas,” Officer Jefferson butted in, cutting Stallman off, “but back here in America we prefer it when suspects cooperate.”

Stallman gripped Jefferson’s shoulder, and I could see it wasn’t a casual hold. Jefferson winced at the force Stallman used. “That was out of line, Jefferson, and you know it.”

Stallman didn’t let go of Jefferson’s shoulder till he nodded. When Stallman let his hand fall, Jefferson immediately reached up and massaged his shoulder gingerly, his face flushed. Jefferson clearly was not happy that Stallman had embarrassed him in front of us. Still, what he’d said was totally out of line, and I respected Stallman for pointing it out in such a forceful way.

“Where were we?”

Still Harrison said nothing, and I didn’t know what to do either. How could I let him stay silent? But what could I say to help? He clearly didn’t want to talk, clearly didn’t want to explain what really happened. I had no idea why.

“Oh right, the silent treatment. I figured I left that at home,” Stallman joked, trying to lighten the mood. No one responded, and he waved it away again, picking up his coffee cup and taking a sip, scowling at the result. “Every time I get my hopes up, and every time they’re dashed on the rocky shore of bad coffee mountain.” He sighed as he put the cup down.

“Well,” he said, sitting up straighter and reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out a pen and notebook, “this really isn’t getting us anywhere, Harrison. I’m gonna give you one last chance to make a statement, to say something in your defense. Tell me something, something I can use to help you out.”

Harrison continued doing his statue impersonation, and a damn good one. I couldn’t even tell if he was breathing. His eyes were open, though. That was a good sign. I knew juries could indict a ham sandwich if they were so inclined, but it might be tougher to indict a statue.

Officer Stallman held his pen above his open notebook like he expected Harrison or me to suddenly start talking a mile a minute. He was ready to take notes, but nothing came out. He sighed and put the notebook away, back into his jacket pocket, setting his large and calloused hands back on the table, palms down.

Jefferson grinned back at us, Harrison in particular, like he was about to enjoy this next part. They had us right where they wanted us. Harrison wasn’t talking, and they were going to throw the book at him. Or, at least, start the process of throwing said book.

And Jefferson would enjoy every moment of it.

“Officer Jefferson, would you please give us a few minutes?”

Jefferson whipped his head around to look at his partner. “What?” The shock in his voice was clear.

“You heard me, Officer Jefferson. I’d like a few moments alone with our guests here. Would you step outside?”

“This is highly -“

“Unorthodox, yes, Officer Jefferson, I am well aware at how strange this is. Nevertheless, I am making the request. Will you give us the room for a few minutes?”

Jefferson shook his head, muttering to himself and launched himself into the air, slamming the chair back down on the floor afterward. He picked up his coffee cup, letting some of it spill out onto the table, and didn’t bother wiping it up.

As a last measure before turning toward the door he kicked his chair hard enough that the backrest collided with the brim of the table, a loud metal clang reverberating through the room.

Officer Jefferson opened the door, stepped through, and slammed it shut. I could hear him more than see him stomp down the hall, presumably toward his desk.

Officer Stallman still kept a serene look on his face. He and Harrison were more alike than I initially thought - I wondered if I was there whether each would speak at all, or would they just try and out-smug each other in silence?

“That’s better,” he said. “Officer Jefferson is a good cop, but he doesn’t have a sense of the subtlety it takes to be a real asset to the community.”

He learned forward, rubbing his hands together. “Now, Harrison, you’re facing some serious charges here. You really beat that guy up a couple nights ago, and he’s…not thrilled about it, to say the least.”

He said back in his chair. “Do you know who it was? The man you attacked?”

I piped up this time, trying to put my words in the right order so as not to suggest that Harrison did anything wrong, before I remembered the statement I’d just given Stallman in the other room. I’d made it clear that Harrison was helping me that, what he’d done wasn’t his fault. It was justified. “His name is Steve. He lives around here, works for a family business or something. Manufacturing, I think.”

Harrison looked at me and shook his head sharply. “Don’t say a word, Laurel.” If he was going to be a statue he wanted me to try my hardest to be one too.

Unfortunately that wasn’t my style. “No, Harrison, I won’t stay quiet. You seem determined not to help yourself out and I can’t let that sit any longer. You didn’t do anything wrong and the police need to know that.”

“You’re not helping the situation,” he hissed back at me before resuming his silent tete-a-tete with Officer Stallman.

I reached over and took Harrison’s head between my hands. He tried to shake me off, but I didn’t let go. “And you are?” I implored him when he faced me again. “You think being quiet and letting them railroad you is the solution? What does that get you?”

“Ahem,” officer Stallman cleared his throat across the table, “let me be clear, Ms. Gold. No one is being railroaded here. I am trying to get your stepbrother to listen to reason and tell us what happened and he doesn’t seem to want to do that. But he needs to know,” he stopped addressing me and focused on Harrison, “what you need to know is that this isn’t getting you anywhere. I’ve looked at your file.”

He moved his hands to suggest he was carrying a thick stack of papers. “Your file takes up a good amount of space around here. Sometimes we pass around a file and take bets on how long it would be before we’d see that particular guest of ours back again. When I heard you’d joined the military I put a long bet down, I thought you’d cleaned yourself up.”