Left for Wild - Harloe Rae Page 0,4
back, Rane.”
“What are they gonna do? I can’t be tried for the same crimes twice.”
“There are far worse consequences than attempted murder and selling illegal substances. They could also kill you.”
“Why bother?”
He stares at me for several beats, probably waiting for me to connect some obvious dots. “Because you plan to out them.”
“They fucking deserve it,” I growl under my breath.
Paul sends me a placating grin. “I’m well aware, Halder. Their crimes will catch up to them eventually. In the meantime, let’s focus on ending your incarceration. Watching Streebston Correctional Facility disappear in the rearview needs top priority. Are you good with talking to the parole board? How can I best prepare you for the hearing? Should we review what’s expected of you?”
I flare my nostrils as the implications of what he’s asking poison the air. Admitting to any involvement in this ring of corruption goes against my nature, and everything I’ve been fighting for five years. But remaining in prison for a moment longer than necessary is by far worse.
Movement just beyond the door snags my attention. Shit, has it already been an hour? Being forced to leave the semblance of comfort this space offers has an itch attacking my skin. Nearing footsteps are a thunderous clap across an already stormy scene. I’m one step away from getting dragged back to my cell, and the decision is still hanging in suspense.
A streak of lightning in the shape of my salvation breaks apart the chaos. “Yes, I’m ready. No matter the circumstances. I’ll do whatever it takes to get out of here.”
My lawyer hoots, standing so fast his chair topples backward. “Then you, my friend, are about to be a free man.”
Survival tip #3: Never be afraid to ask for extra salt and limes.
I dodge left to avoid a murky puddle on the sidewalk, almost bumping into another pedestrian on the narrow sidewalk. He lurches to the side while shooting a scowl at me. There’s a wince on my face waiting for him in return. To cover extra bases, I offer a quick wave with my fingers. I’m a prime example of Minnesota nice—born and raised, down to my very core.
We go our separate ways, but his slew of expletives tramples me before he disappears from view. Dwelling on his reaction takes root and will remain with me until I’m distracted by something else. Many claim my heart is too soft. I’m sensitive to a fault. The fact I can’t simply brush off that stranger’s aggression proves the accusations over the years that I’m soft—even weak. Caring too much is a bit of a curse, especially in my profession.
Once my mind begins wandering along that path, lists of unfinished business surface to the forefront. It wouldn’t have hurt to stay in the office for thirty more minutes. I’m running behind schedule as it is, though. The mid-week happy hour with Casey and Grace is a required reprieve in my calendar. Burning out from compassion fatigue at the age of twenty-five would look horrible on my resume.
A blast of crisp wind stings my cheeks, effective in moving me along. At least I’m no longer obsessing over the almost collision. I dip my chin to fight off the chill and set a faster pace. Fingers crossed I don’t disturb anyone else in the next block.
Glowing lights from the gaudy neon sign skip across the concrete in front of me. As I step through the entrance, a jolly chime welcomes me into the warmth of Cup & Plate. The rich aroma of garlic bread and baked cheese makes me moan. Being enveloped in a familiar and comforting atmosphere instantly flicks a few pesky pounds off my shoulders. Leaving the stacks of paperwork on my desk was the correct decision.
I pause in the lobby to search the crowded restaurant for my friends. The hustle and bustle of the approaching dinner rush makes this feel like a hidden items puzzle. A visual sweep to the left exposes their smiling faces greeting me from a corner booth. I blow a few loose strands of hair from my forehead and begin weaving through the maze of tables.
“We were beginning to think you wouldn’t make it.” Grace winks at me while taking an obvious glance at the clock on her phone.
Casey pats the empty spot beside her. “Did we pull you away from an important case?”
I plop onto the leather bench seat with a huff. “I wrapped stuff up for the day. All is well.”
“Are you sure? You