Claws raked over Enzo’s insides at the fear in his voice. “Of course not, baby. We’re gonna figure this out. Let’s just get her out of jail first, and we’ll go from there.”
“Right,” Seven said, his eyes vacant.
When he made no move to leave, Enzo guided him from the stall and out of the bathroom. “I’m gonna put you in my office and go talk to Lourdes. Then we’re going to get your stuff and head to the precinct. It’s going to be alright. Trust me.”
Seven’s gaze snapped to him. “I do,” he assured him, nodding his head vehemently. “I really do.”
Enzo frowned. “Good, baby. That’s good. We gotta go now, though, okay?”
Seven nodded woodenly, putting one foot in front of the other. “Yeah, okay.”
Why did police stations all smell so weird? Like canned air, nicotine, and…regret? Seven sat where Enzo had put him in a chair in the lobby of the precinct. It wasn’t a grubby place with anemic lighting and people handcuffed to benches; it just looked like any other municipal building, except there were cops everywhere.
Seven hated cops.
Enzo had left him a bottle of water and a box of animal crackers like he was a toddler. He’d then said not to move until he came back for him. What did it say about Enzo that he had those things in his bag? Better question: what did it say about Seven that he followed his orders blindly?
He’d spent the last hour absently biting the heads off circus animals and sipping his overpriced glacier water, while having a staring contest with the officer behind the intake desk. Every ninety seconds or so, the man would glance over at him, then stare pointedly at his shaking leg, like he thought he could telepathically get him to stop.
Nothing was going to make it stop. Seven could either bounce his leg or claw his skin off, and the former seemed like the slightly saner option of the two. Time worked differently in this place, like a casino in reverse. Every minute dripped by, making him feel like he’d grow roots if he sat for much longer.
What was happening back there? What was Enzo doing? Was his mother okay? What if she’d been hurt…or worse? He’d heard a million horror stories.
He shook the thought away.
Rationally, Seven knew what happened when someone was arrested. The cops would have fingerprinted and photographed her before she’d even had a chance to make her phone call. After she’d talked to Seven, she’d likely been stuck in a holding cell with a bunch of other women to wait for their attorneys. Was she still there, or had they moved her and Enzo to one of those stripped down conference rooms where they could speak without fear of being recorded?
It was bullshit that Seven wasn’t allowed in with him. He worked at the same law firm. He should have been allowed in. Enzo said only one person could go in at a time. Rationally, he knew it made sense, but that didn’t make it any less infuriating.
Seven had no idea how they would pay for an attorney. Enzo was helping out with the bail hearing, but there was no way the firm would let him take on his mother’s case. Even if the firmdidallow it, they couldn’t afford Enzo. He charged a fifty thousand dollar retainer on his most basic cases and then an hourly fee of two grand. It wasn’t that Enzo didn’t deserve it, just that Seven and his mom didn’t have that. One hour of Enzo’s time was half their rent.
They’d just have to use a public defender. And it wasn’t that public defenders were bad at their jobs, they just had heavy caseloads. Whoever had set up his mother wouldn’t make this easy on them. The cops clearly weren’t going to look any deeperthan they already had. They seemed pretty convinced they had their man. Or woman.
Whatever. They weren’t going to look for alternate suspects, but Enzo would. He’d do anything to win.Anything. He wasn’t bound by the same code of ethics as most attorneys. He didn’t mind doing bad things for a good reason. He understood that what was right and what was legal sometimes wasn’t the same. He’d have made sure his mother walked, no matter what.
Maybe he knew a public defender they could trust?
Seven sighed, aggressively biting the head off a lion, then munching thoughtfully. How did this happen? How had it even come to this? There was no way his father had somehow talked her into doing?—
No, that was ridiculous. His mother might be crazy about Stan, but she wasn’t a criminal, not even for him.
This had to be a mistake. Nothing else made sense. Seven didn’t know much about accounting, but errors happened everywhere. This had to be some kind of fluke. A glitch.
“Seven!”
Seven’s head snapped up at the sound of his name, relief flooding his system as he saw Jericho and Freckles standing in the doorway of the police station. He didn’t even think about it. He just crossed the room and fell into Jericho’s arms, letting the older man crush him against him.
This was how a real dad behaved. Jericho was more of a dad to him than the man who’d contributed to his conception. Jericho had fed him, protected him, taught him right from wrong. Jericho hadraisedhim right alongside Seven’s mother. Had Enzo not immediately jumped into action, there was no doubt in his mind that Jericho and his father-in-law, Thomas Mulvaney, would have been there the moment Seven called.
“What the hell is going on, kid?” Jericho asked, his words displacing Seven’s hair. “Francesca called and said Neith was arrested? For what?”
How had Francesca found out? Had Enzo called her? Why? Not that Seven cared, but it seemed strange that Enzo would’ve called his mother about Seven’s mother, like they were family or something. It couldn’t have beenjustto get Jericho to Seven. Surely, Enzo had Jericho’s direct number. Didn’t he?
Seven felt like he was trapped in a nightmare.
“Embezzlement,” Seven whispered. “They claim she stole from her job. But she wouldn’t do that. There’s no way. There’s no way,” he said again with more conviction. “Right?”
“Of course not,” Freckles said. “Your mom is a good, hard-working pillar of the community. Enzo will have her out of here before nightfall.”
