Carmody placed a firm hand on Blake’s chest, his eyes large and alert. Evans released his hold, narrowing his eyes as he gradually positioned himself between Blake and me.
I was trembling from head to toe. From the adrenaline, from the sheer panic of watching the man I loved being taken away from me. Tears fell unbidden down my cheeks. “Blake . . . don’t leave me. Please, you can’t. Tell them the truth.”
His lips parted, but no words came.
“Let’s move.” Carmody pushed him toward the door.
Jaw tight, eyes vacant, Blake followed without a word.
The door closed and I dropped to my knees, no longer able to hold back the agonizing sob tearing from my chest.
* * *
BLAKE
The vision of Erica, tears streaming down her face, was burned into my mind. She was all I could see. And over the slamming and voices and commotion, I could still hear her desperate cry after the door closed behind us. I pressed the heels of my palms against my eyes, unable to rid myself of the pain that lanced through me every time the scene played out in my mind. I took several deep breaths and reached for hope—hope that this nightmare would soon end and I could get back to my wife.
I’d been booked and was waiting for Dean to show up after bailing me out. But the hours bled together with no word from him. Night fell and sleep never came. Not because of the sorry excuse for a bed I was lying on. Not because of the noise of the station and people being shuffled in and out of holding cells through the night. But because my brain was firing through every scenario and every possible solution.
Anyone would have been on edge here, but I’d been here before, and with every second that ticked by, I remembered what that experience had been like. I’d been young and full of confused emotions—not the least of which was the fear that I was going to spend the rest of my adult life behind bars. They’d held me for days while I wrestled with that very plausible reality.
Assuming they’d found enough evidence to charge me with rigging Daniel’s election, I’d be facing the same fears all over again.
Exhausted but no less overwhelmed, I was moved to the courthouse for the bail hearing in the morning. They placed me in a small room where I waited for Dean. I tapped my fingers on the table rhythmically, waiting for him, waiting for answers.
He finally showed up in his suit, his typical put-together self. Not a slicked back hair was out of place, but the tension rolled off him in waves. Nothing about his body language was reassuring.
“Thanks for coming out,” I muttered.
His expression was tight. “I tried to arrange for bail yesterday. No dice.”
“You want to explain to me why the fuck I’m here to begin with?”
He sat down, unbuttoning his coat as he did. “Who’s Parker Benson?”
I frowned. “What?”
“Parker Benson. The guy you did some research on the night before they confiscated everything in your office. Ring a bell?”
“He’s dating my sister. I wanted to know who he was.”
“Okay, well, some people might just use Google or pay for a legitimate background check. Apparently you accessed his bank records and hacked his university email account. None of that was legal.”
I leaned in. “Are you fucking kidding me? That’s why I’m here?”
“I told you they would look for anything, no matter how small or irrelevant to the matter at hand. And you said you were careful with these kinds of things.”
“I was.” I replayed the late night in my mind, assured that I had been.
“So how did they find out?”
For the first time in a while I was speechless.
“They must have tampered with my computer while I was gone, so they could trace my activity after I came back from the honeymoon. I had no idea they could be watching me at that point. Fucking hell.”
“The good news is they still don’t have anything on the election. They’re holding you for this and hoping to get more. But this, technically, is enough to get you into some deep shit.”
I sat back, sinking deeper into my denial. “It’s not enough.”
“It would be nice if that were true, but I think we both know better. They aren’t going to make this neat and tidy for you.”
A knock on the door signaled that we had to move on.
Dean stood. “You’re up. Let’s get your bail set and get you out of here.”
Twenty minutes later, we were facing the judge.
“We are requesting bail,” Dean said.
The prosecutor looked to be in her fifties. She was petite with short blond spiral curls framing her face. As soon as she opened her mouth, though, I knew she was here to nail me to the wall.