Page 41 of Accidental Fire
It took him five minutes to check on all of them, and when he walked back over, my driver’s license was on top, leading me to believe he’d checked me out too. “Timmons is in a cell facing extradition to Santa Clara County. Ashe and Robbins are awaiting arraignment so bail can be established.”
“Thank you. Is there somewhere I can wait for their lawyers?”
“Benches outside.” He then turned away, so I went outside and sat on a bench in front of the police station, watching people going on about their lives, most appearing oblivious to anything going on around them.
It was human nature, I guessed. Going on with one’s life without a care or concern for passersby. Then, one day, a person comes along and changes everything. River was that person for me.
He made me want to protect him and take care of him, even though he’d never asked me for anything. River had quickly become the most important person I’d ever met. I wished my mother were alive to meet him, and I couldn’t wait for Pop to meet him. There was something about River that I knew my father would like a lot.
Would River acknowledge me in public? Did it matter to me if we could never be open about our relationship in public? Is that what I wanted? Was I gay? I’d said I wasn’t in a hurry to label myself, but was it important to River?
Hell, I couldn’t ask him any of those questions unless I got him out of jail. Just as I was about to storm into the police station anddemand his release, a handsome gentleman stepped in front of me, blocking the sun.
I glanced up to see him smiling at me. “Are you the lawyer?”
“One of them. My partner is on his way. Got stuck in traffic. I’m Barton Reardon. My partner is my twin brother, Antel. Let’s go get your band out of jail.”
We went into the station, and Barton strolled up to the desk, putting his briefcase on the wood laminate top and smiling as he checked his watch. The cop was speaking on the phone, so Barton waited patiently.
Suddenly, the door flew open, and a blond man came inside. He looked disheveled and scattered, and aside from his glasses, he looked exactly like Barton, only he appeared to be the opposite. It was unbelievable to see them standing together.
The cop hung up and turned around, his face falling. “Oh, it’s you two.”
“Hello, Sergeant Hoskins. We’d like to see our clients.” Barton smirked.
Antel dug through a damn messy shoulder bag. “Ah, here it is. I’m here for Arlo Timmons.”
I was actually relieved. I didn’t have anything against Arlo, but Barton seemed to have his shit together, which was exactly what I wanted from whoever was going to keep River from getting into deep shit.
“I’m here for River Ashe and Golden Robbins, please.” Barton didn’t even open his briefcase.
“Come in.” The sergeant pressed a button, and the door buzzed.
Barton reached for the handle and pulled the door open, tilting his head for Antel to go in first, before he smiled at me. “Please, come with us. You know our clients and can offer a proper introduction.”
I shoved my hands in the pockets of my shorts and followed Antel inside. Barton stepped up to the desk on the other side of the door.
“Take a seat, and I’ll get the guard to collect your clients and put them in interrogation rooms.” The sergeant walked away, not appearing happy to see my companions at all.
Antel glanced my way. “Who are you?”
Barton leaned around me as I’d taken a seat between them. “Don’t be rude. This is— I don’t think we were properly introduced.”
I stuck out my hand. “I’m Kit Hansen. Nate Ashby is my uncle. I’m transporting the band’s equipment during the tour.”
“Ah. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m assuming you’re acting on the record label’s behalf in this matter?”
I wanted it to be perfectly clear where I stood. I loved Nate, but he didn’t need me looking out for the record label’s interests. The guys in the band needed someone since Kensington wasn’t doing anything for them.
“I’m not. I’m here for the guys. I’m looking after their best interests. Their manager has disappeared, and I want to be sure they don’t get the shaft,” I said.
“Did the kid really have sex with an underage girl?” Antel asked me.
“I wasn’t there. I don’t know,” I responded.
He chuckled, just as a guard stepped into the waiting area. “Reardons. Your clients are in A and B. Who’s this?” The guard pointed at me.
“He’s my paralegal. It was his day off,” Barton responded. The three of us stood and followed the man down a hallway. He opened the first door, and Arlo was seated at a table—actually, he was handcuffed to it.
