Page 33 of Freedom's Kiss
Chapter 15
Present Day, Florida
Adam gripped the steering wheel and flexed his wrists. The motion on Trent’s Harley would rev the engine, but against the stitching of a Volkswagen Jetta’s steering-wheel cover, did nothing but warm his palms and create a bouncing, screechy sound as skin skidded across leather. He lifted a hand and slammed the heel of his palm against the top of the wheel, a phrase he wouldn’t normally give voice to tearing off his tongue and whipping around the inside of his car like a lash that curved back and struck his flesh.
He balled his hands into fists and kneaded them into the top of his thighs.
Don’t do anything rash, son.His father’s words came back to him for the hundredth time. They were the only thing that had stopped him from storming over to Hudson’s house after he’d dropped Olivia off last night.
What was the man thinking? How could he possibly represent—defend—a rapist like Dan Munchouse? Hadn’t Burke learned anything from Adam’s mistake?
The fury that he’d managed to stuff just under the surface began to steam again, and he kneaded his quad harder.
Someone had to talk some sense into Hudson before it was too late. Before he became shackled with the guilt of letting someone like Munchouse back on the streets and the stricken face of Stephanie Singh became an unrelenting personal accusation.
His hand hovered over the car door handle, his dad’s warning passing through his mind once more. He wouldn’t do anything rash, he promised himself. Just talk sense into Hudson.
Pulling the handle toward him, he opened the door and stepped out of the car. Vehicles stopped at an intersection in the heart of downtown, and Adam crossed the street with a rush of other bodies. Two blocks down he entered a historic building of quaint offices, memories slamming into him with more force than the cold air of the AC.
Stepping onto the travertine floors was bittersweet. Success had been his within these walls, and he’d helped a lot of people. But he’d also embraced his lowest moment here, and he couldn’t help but feel that the eyes of the portraits of Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, and Abraham Lincoln that hung in the lobby had turned from ones of understanding to denunciation.
“Mr. Carrington!” A female’s surprised greeting bounced off the tiled floors. “It’s so good to see you again, sir.”
Lori came around her desk and folded her hands in front of her. He felt her appraisal and didn’t miss the pity in her eyes when they rose to meet his.
He glanced down and saw what she saw. Keen sandals, cargo shorts, and a wrinkled shirt. If he’d had a mirror, he wouldn’t be surprised to find bloodshot eyes and unruly hair that could use a taming with a comb and some gel. Their receptionist had never seen him in anything other than Italian loafers and tailored suits. How far he must have fallen in her estimation.
Adam was only disappointed that he didn’t have more useless things to sell. His donation to the Survivors Trust had been sizable after the sale of his condo and Porsche, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough to expunge his conscience.
“Is Hudson in?”
Lori turned to look through glass doors that led to Hudson Burke’s sizable office. She faced him with a forced smile. “Mr. Burke is on an important business call and can’t be disturbed at this moment. Should I tell him you stopped by, Mr. Carrington?”
“That won’t be necessary, Lori.” Adam blew past her and down the hall.
“Mr. Carrington! Mr. Carrington, you can’t—”
Her protests ceased to register as Adam slammed open a door at the end of the glass-encased hall.
Hudson spun at the intrusion, the back of his suit coat fanning out.
All the indignation and outrage that Adam had felt at first hearing his former partner’s name alongside an accused rapist came flooding back through him.
Hudson’s eyes flashed, but with a calm voice he spoke into the phone he held up to his ear. “Something has just come up, and I’ll have to call you back.” He lowered the phone into its cradle and regarded Adam with a hint of disbelief and a touch of wariness.
“Adam, what a pleasant surprise. Are you here to finally accept—”
He’d never understood the termseeing redbefore, but at that moment Adam got it. His vision flushed as blood coursed through his body, making him instantly hot. Like coals being shoveled into a steam locomotive, his body shot forward, his hands fisting the lapels on Hudson’s jacket as he shoved his old partner against the nearest wall with a loud thud.
Hudson’s eyes widened as Adam thrust his face forward until their noses were mere inches apart.
“Adam, calm down. Don’t do anything rash.” Hudson’s voice shook, though his face remained impassive.
Don’t do anything rash, son.
Like a splash of cold water, the reminder cooled him, and he realized one of his fists had dropped from Hudson’s lapel and was poised to punch the man across the side of his face. Taking a step back, he shook out his hands while glaring at the puppet in a suit.
“Munchouse, Hud? Seriously?”
