Page 82 of Holding On

Maya scoots down so she can’t be seen. If this is to work the way Nic explained it on the phone, Barr can’t see her coming. Nic parks the car fifteen feet or so behind Carlson’s, and we three men exit. I make a point to open and close the rear door quickly so Maya won’t be seen.

Carlson nods in our direction, and we stand behind him. I can’t help but notice Nic is standing off-balance, distributing his weight unequally, ready to spring if this asshole tries anything.

Barr, still in a work suit, waves his hand. “And what’s this, Detective? You have a Russo in your back pocket? And part of the Colton Security Team? What the hell is going on here?”

“You’re getting served with two papers today, Judge—a search warrant and an arrest warrant.”

“Serve them. Then I’ll turn around and sue your department for harassment. Just try it.”

Carlson, unflappable, gestures to the open trunk. “Where were you going?”

“I am going to Canada. To Quebec to be exact, to visit my sick aunt. But it’s actually none of your business.”

Carlson cocks his head to one side. “Kinda is.” He motions two officers to approach, and they do, warily. They’re young men, really young. Too young to be Rodger Bloom’s brother, I realize, and too new to be taking bribes.

“This is bullshit. You come to my house to embarrass me in front of my neighbors and then intimidate me—God only knows what for. What new theory do you have? What have I done now?”

“Here’s the search warrant. You’re officially served. McCallister and Groven, secure the house.”

Barr’s voice, rather than getting louder, grows softer. “I will have your badge for this, Jack Carlson. This is about revenge with you, isn’t it? Your houseboat? I had nothing to do with that. My son has a mental health problem. If you would like to use that against me, the newspapers would love it. I’m sure the local press would take that story for a shot at the national news. I can see the headline now: Cop Goes After Judge’s Son with Mental Health Issues.”

“Are you done?”

“No.” Barr looks a Nic, Jackson, then me. “Why are they here?”

“Because this has nothing to do with your son or my boat getting torched a few years ago. Really, this has to do with you and the fact that you killed two people while under the influence, harassed a witness, extorted a cop, and tampered with evidence. You’re also being charged with human trafficking. It’s all listed on your arrest warrant.” Carlson hands over another set of papers.

“I wasn’t drunk at the time. I was never even tested. The jury said George Hamilton fabricated that phone call.”

I feel like someone just punched me. I don’t think any of us knew this piece of the story.

Barr pauses while he reads the paperwork. When he glances up, his eyes are frosty blue. “You’re making a huge mistake, Carlson. I’ll have your head on a plate.”

Carlson shrugs. “I guess that’ll be up to a jury.”

I’m so close to shoving my phone with the photo of the tox results under his nose, but Jackson’s hand is on my arm. Barr sees this too.

“Is that why he’s here? To make an old charge stick? Where are the rest of them? Don’t they all stick together? Hmm. I always wondered why Chloe ran away. Maybe George got a little too close?”

I’m ready to punch the guy.

Nic’s whisper is in my ear. “He’s fishing. Let it go.”

Oh, but that is fucking hard to do.

Carlson’s done. For a man who seems to move slow and rub his head a lot, musing, he can pivot when he needs to. He doesn’t wait for Barr to turn around anymore—the clock has run out. Instead, he steps around Barr and deftly turns to cuff him from behind.

“Are you actually doing this?” Barr is incredulous as another officer steps up to stop any physical altercation.

“I actually am.”

The cuffs are about to go on when Barr jerks his wrists away from Carlson and turns around, and the officer steps back.

“So this is just payback after all these years? Payback for something I didn’t do, that I was exonerated from? You can’t charge me—”

“I can charge you with negligent homicide, obstruction of justice, witness tampering . . . And you know we’ll offer Rodger Bloom a plea deal.”

“Why? Because some beer bottles were found in a field?”