Reclaim - Aly Martinez Page 0,85

attorney.”

“Well, maybe if we’d spoken in the last five years, you’d know.”

“What?” I asked, my head snapping up. It could have been an innocent prod from an old friend. Just a teasing joke. But there was something odd to the edge in his tone.

He smiled. “You ready to go? I called and impound is only open until noon.”

Ooookay. Interesting subject change. But it was Camden, and while things were certainly different between us—seriously, he hadn’t pulled me into a hug once yet—I told myself that it was nothing.

“Um, yeah. Let me just grab my stuff.”

While I packed a new purse and wallet with my emergency credit card that lived in my nightstand and thankfully not in my wallet currently numbered in an evidence locker, he stood in the middle of my living room, scanning the pictures on the wall. It was so incredibly surreal to see him inside my house.

Over the years, I’d spent a lot of nights imagining having him there. Just two friends catching up—at first fully clothed before spending the night doing a little naked catch-up too.

I’d never been brave enough to reach out to him though. In my head, my emotional house still needed a lot of cleaning before being ready for the likes of Camden Cole.

We drove to the impound yard together, making small talk about all the things that had changed since he’d been to Clovert last. I think he was most impressed by how we had two grocery stores now, which solidified my speculations on why he’d never come back for a visit. Buying Cheetos at two different locations only held so much travel appeal.

Things felt normal again on the car ride. We laughed and told stories about old times. When we passed the Leonards’ house, I filled him in on the never-ending feud between their family and the Lewises. Mr. Leonard had been dead for over six years, but his sons and grandkids had gotten in on the action too. Thus, Leonard's Local Tackle was born, putting Clovert on the map with not only two grocery stores, but two bait shops as well.

It wasn’t even ten o’clock on the morning of the day after I’d been arrested, the same morning I’d been suspended from my job, yet Camden had worked his magic so I was grinning from ear to ear when we walked into the small office at the impound yard.

“I’ll be right with you,” greeted a police officer with dark-brown hair who I recognized as a kid Ramsey had gone to school with, his eyes still glued to his computer.

“Hey, Nathan,” I said, stopping at the counter.

He flicked his gaze to mine, his eyes flashing wide before doing a double take. I was used to that. Being the county villain, I usually elicited two responses from people. Either they hated me and went out of their way to make sure I knew it or they hated the Caskeys. And while they didn’t openly support me, they just ignored the problem altogether.

“Officer Pollard,” he corrected, landing himself firmly in the former category.

Okay, so clearly, Nathan Pollard’s balls had dropped since I’d watched him get pantsed in front of the entire school in ninth grade.

I gritted my teeth. “Right. Sorry, Officer Pollard. We’re here to pick up my car.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, his gaze drifting to Camden. “And you needed your lawyer for that?”

Jesus, the Clovert gossip train must have worked overtime for him to already know Camden was my lawyer.

Camden shot him a sardonic smile. “How about you do your damn job and hope someday you get promoted to big-boy cop status, Nathan.”

His eyes narrowed on Camden and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. Damn, it felt good to finally have backup.

Without retort, he turned back to his computer.

I bumped Camden with my shoulder and he shot me a wink, and for a brief second, I forgot I was the most hated woman in all of Clovert. And even if I was, I didn’t care too much when I had Camden at my side.

“That will be six hundred and eighty-two dollars,” Nathan said with a smile almost as disgusting as the number he’d just rattled off.

“Six hundred dollars? For what?”

He swayed his head from side to side. “Towing, storage, security for the lot.”

“Security for the lot? You’ve had my car for one freaking day! I hardly think my 2005 Honda Accord needs a presidential detail.”

He shrugged. “Fees add up. Now, will that be cash or credit?”

“Neither!