Suspended Lives (Suspended Trilogy Book 2)

By Salomé Veder

Owen Sedgewick has lived his life simply, without connection. He's learned the tough lesson of losing those you loved and having no one else to anchor you. But he is a man that can no longer live that way.
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He soon discovers that a woman he should not want is not only special, but life changing. She is someone who can quiet the restless ghosts of his past. Someone who uses her special gift to help others find solace from their pain. Just when he's finally living his life to the fullest, is it suddenly taken away from him.
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But when tragedy strikes, Owen calls upon her for help--to use her special gift, no matter where that road may lead.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Salomé Veder
• Release date: Dec 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005964412

Salomé Veder

I'm a 30-something (headed into 40-something) wannabe writer that's been writing since I could write but only started publishing in 2017. And I will never make it big. I write stories people will never read but characters who refuse to be shut out or unknown.Maybe you, dear reader, will be one of the few that ever sees a cover with my name or happen to fall in love with a hero or heroine that stays with you.Ever since I was little, I always had these stories filled with fully-fleshed characters that felt real. They talked to me. They told me who they are. They wanted to be known. Putting these worlds and personalities into words and creating a book out of those scenes that ran like a movie in my head was, well, fucking heady.But I love it.Pen to paper--or rather--the click-clack of the keyboard on my laptop, I let them all out. Writing my first book felt like I could truly breathe for the first time. Like the creativity in may soul was, at last, f-r-e-e.My stories are filled with drama, tension, love, angst, tenderness, suspense, mystery--and sometimes ugliness. My goal is to not just tell you a story, but to give you an experience...I hope you enjoy!****************************| ἐγώ εἰμί |Legō.Scrībō.Amō.*S t a l k * M e*Goodreads➜https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17034804.Salom_Veder (F.U. Amazon--if I ever make it big, I will never sell on your platform. EVER. Smashwords, someday, you'll be glad I choose you. Barnes and Noble--get ready for meeeeee!)Mail➜[e-mail]➜https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCs9Bl1ec9icF-uO6jUXCLJA

Book preview

He’d been to hell.

He’d seen it. Lived it. Had survived it.

But this was worse.

He’d always been alone. That had always been of his own choosing. And today, he’d discovered the cost of that choice.

Rho’s DNA in his house. All over. Everywhere.

Eye witnesses that stated they’d seen her sneak into his house both from the front and backyard. That’s when Reis got a warrant for his truck and house.

Nothing but accusations, innuendo, harassment, and worse: They all thought he’s guilty.

They all think he liked little girls and that he’d preyed on his neighbor’s kid sister.

The thought of it made him sick to his stomach.

Children were a topic he’d always avoided, both in his sentiments and in real life.

Living a quiet life was all he’d ever wanted. But today, right now, his quiet life was painting a very different picture to a whole lot of cops. Being a loner had a price, and he was realizing just how high that price was.

Reis and company had taken him to the local FBI field office in the Javits building in Lower Manhattan but took the back way in. Even though no press had greeted them, he wasn’t going to expect any leniency. Then, as he’d anticipated, all morning, he’d been interrogated and grilled on every little thing possible.

He knew the fallacy of not asking for a lawyer but he hadn’t been arrested or booked. This was all informal for now but could quickly escalate if he didn’t show some cooperation now, as Reis put it. A part of him wanted to know what the agent knew before stopping this process. He’d thought about demanding a call and calling Ken, but why drag his friend into his mess? As far Owen knew, his whole life was over even if none of this was made official. The media would destroy him. It didn’t matter if he was released and innocent—life as he knew it would not be the same from this moment on and there was nothing he could do about it.

Reis paces, had been pacing and wearing a hole in the floor for hours while the other two agents sat quietly across from him, scrutinizing him and every expression or twitch he makes.

Let’s start from the top.

Owen leans back, scrubbing his face. This would be the sixth round of the same questions phrased in a different way. He’d declined lunch. Who’d have an appetite in a situation like this? The Feds could hold him for another day but after that...

But then Reis suddenly stops pacing. He’s got an earpiece that Owen had noticed right away.

A minute later, a well-dressed man in his early 40s enters the room.

Gentleman. Name’s Adam Carswell, Mr. Sedgewick’s lawyer, he announces, smiling pleasantly, but the pleasantness ends there in his hard gaze at each of the agents. If you could kindly leave the room so I can consult with my client, that would be greatly appreciated. The man moves toward the table. And I’d like a copy of this interrogation. Thank you, and as I said: you can leave. Now, preferably. And no more cameras, please.

Reis mumbles something under his breath and leaves. The other two agents gather their stuff then get up, slowly, clearly annoyed but leave.

Slightly perplexed, Owen stares up at the man before asking, Who the fuck are you?

Your lawyer.

Yeah, you said that, but I didn’t call for one.

Which is stupid, and I was told you’re a smart guy, Carswell says with a slight snort. "You’re lucky your friend Nate Tisdale does have a lawyer. Me. And now you. You’re welcome."

Owen blinks at him, taken aback. How’d he even know?

Mr. Tisdale has a lot of connections.

Whatever that means, Owen mutters as his new lawyer sits across from him.

It means he’s got your back, clearly, Carswell says, opening his briefcase. And smart.

Meaning? Owen inquiries, leery.

Private PI firm sussed you out, which is the protocol for any politician. Thus, knowing the missing girl was your neighbor, Mr. Tisdale made sure to keep an eye out on you as most can conclude that after family members—it’s always the people nearest to the victim outside the family. Lucky you.

Touché, and much appreciated, Owen says, grimly.

I’ll let him know. Carswell analyzes Owen for a good, long ten seconds. Why didn’t you ask or call for a lawyer right away?

I haven’t been charged.

Not formally, no, but that was the next step unless the heavens opened up and God declared you innocent himself, you know this, yes?

Owen nods. I wanted to know what they knew and calling a lawyer would stop that. If I got stuck with a shit lawyer, I wouldn’t learn a damn thing—only what he or she was told and I like to assess intel on my own, unfiltered.

Carswell raises his brows at him. That’s actually pretty smart—as long as the cops didn’t catch you in a lie.

I didn’t do anything wrong so no need to lie.

"That’s when you should lie, Mr. Sedgewick. And don't be so naïve. It’s a very worrisome trait in a client."

Owen sighs at his new lawyer’s bedside manner but then again, the man doesn’t seem like a bullshitter, which is what he prefers. Why don’t we move on to the important stuff?

Great idea, Carswell returns. I only got the bare bones basics on my way here. He has a pen and legal pad out. But, considering the Feds have kept a tight lid on you this long is good news though.

How’s that?

They don’t see you as a real suspect—not really. It's mostly for show, to spook you, and considering your considerable military past, Reis wanted to go for the scared shit show right away.

How you figure that? Owen asks, not as optimistic as they’d bot just agreed that getting arrested and booked was the next logical step in this process.

Experience has taught me to not overreact quite yet.

"They sure haven’t given me that impression."

Yeah, well, they’re doing their job. But they must explore all avenues, no matter what. Reis, from what our firm’s investigators have dug up, has a good rep for being tough but fair and very thorough, Carswell remarks, getting things out of his large briefcase and situating them on the table as though he’s preparing to be here for a long time. Sounds like the lead agent wanted to keep this as quiet as possible, which is good considering the eyewitnesses stating they saw the girl enter your home and that’s a little concerning.

Trust me, I know. Now what?

Carswell puts his game face on. "You tell me every...little...thing you told the cops, and everything else you didn’t tell the cops. Ready?"

But just as Owen’s about to repeat it all again, the door opens. One of the agents that had been in the room helping to interrogate Owen is there. You telepathically order another lawyer?

Uh...no… Owen says, confused as he stares blankly at a tall and thin older man in a nicer suit than his first unsolicited lawyer.

Clyde Barrow, of Barrow, Gentry and Associates, he says, slipping inside and tilting his head slightly at Owen. He turns toward the agent. You can leave us now, sir, thank you.

The agent gives Barrow a pinched look but does as ordered.

Barrow looks between them with no expression on his face. You must be Carswell, he says to the other man.

I’m flattered you know who I am.

I don’t, Barrow states. An agent close to the case told me Mr. Sedgewick already had a lawyer by the name of Carswell.

Carswell smirks then gestures to the chair next to him. By all means, join the party. The more the merrier, as the saying goes.

Yes. One can never have too many lawyers, Barrow murmurs, taking a seat next to Carswell.

"Who are you?" Owen asks, confused as hell.

Ms. Monroe thought you might need some help, he says kindly.

Now that shocks Owen. She sent you...but why? We hardly know each other.

We don’t have much time to get into who and why we were sent to help you, Mr. Sedgwick, Carswell states, writing stuff down on a legal notepad. Only that our current task is to ensure you aren’t charged or go to jail. At best, they’ll hold you for a full forty-eight hours before releasing you or making formal charges. Time is of the essence.

I agree. The media’s caught wind of your...visit here. Why don’t we begin with some facts that we can’t dismiss, Barrow says, only looking at Owen.

Okay, what? Owen says, looking between his two lawyers who suddenly have turned rather grim.

We can’t get around the fact that the DNA of the missing child is all over your house, Barrow says, soberly.

However, they searched your computer and phone. They’ve dug in deep into your life, Carswell adds. Contacted the military. Close associates of yours. Carpentry clients. The works.

Agent Reis is focused, but he’s by the book, Barrow concludes, sharing a brief look with Carswell. He’ll do his due diligence, but he’s not incredibly imaginative.

Owen gulps, feeling queasy and uneasy about it. And?

You’re not much for the internet, the older man says. Which is good for you.

Owen stares at Barrow, not sure what to say to that.

Or keeping any pornographic material of the minor type—actually, any type—in your house, on your phone, or laptop. Carswell pauses, watching Owen closely. Again, a good thing for our case.

Owen feels sick. Jesus Christ.

But, like, seriously, Carswell says, leaning forward and with an odd expression on his face. "No porn—at all?"

Owen and Barrow both stare at the other lawyer, who holds up his hands in defeat.

Anyway, Barrow resumes, giving Carswell a stern glare. No prints or DNA in your truck. That’s good. It’s all contained at your house, which we can explain away.

How? Carswell asks, leaning forward.

She’s a child, and on her own a lot, Barrow states, addressing Owen. Curious children do curious things. And based on what my firm’s PIs have dug up, Ms. Marshek is not exactly a little angel.

What’s that supposed to mean? Owen states flatly.

She has a tendency to snoop and break into places, Barrow answers.

"What? Are you fucking serious?" Owen states, floored.

Nothing major. All innocent. But we have a pattern, Barrow states. Have you noticed anything unusual occurring in your house since they’ve moved?

Owen rubs his forehead and thinks back. I don’t know… A door open that’s usually closed, lights on that I thought I’d turned off, certain noises… He shakes his head. But some of that was before they moved in and some of it was after. I didn’t exactly keep track.

Barrow doesn’t take any notes like Carswell.

Owen leans back, rubbing his temples. He doesn't know Rho or Jake at all. He doesn’t deny that, but he’s always relied on his instincts and they’d never failed him. Until now, it seems.

What about his military record? Carswell asks, still fiercely scribbling away. My firm hasn’t gotten much back on that end yet other than what I’ve been told by another client that knows Mr. Sedgwick.

Pristine, Barrow answers.

Really? Carswell asks, surprised.

Nothing but glowing reviews.

What about his...y’know, his issue, Carswell butts in.

My issue? Owen asks, frowning.

Yes, could you clarify? Barrow asks, glancing briefly over at Carswell.

There is a history of depression and suicide on your father’s side, Mr. Sedgewick, Carswell says, discreetly looking through some papers. That’s not something the Feds overlooked, I can guarantee you that.

Nate told you that, Owen says.

Carswell gives him a look. He didn’t want me blindsided and he knows cops look at that kind of thing as a blanket reason. He was looking out for you.

He’d been cleared by numerous psychologists and psychiatrists throughout his career, Barrow says, not remotely moved. Mr. Sedgewick himself brought that up when he joined the Army, and it was noted in his permanent records and monitored but deemed a non-issue. And in fact, his superiors believe it worked to their benefit. They were all rather surprised by his sudden departure and tried to get him back. However, Mr. Sedgewick would not bend to their will.

How did you find all this out in such a short time? Owen asks, surprised considering his record is sealed for most people.

I know what to look for and who to contact, Mr. Sedgewick, Barrow says softly. And I know what questions to ask.

You remind me of one of my shrinks, Owen says to Barrow, who just smiles.

Don’t mention your therapy to the media—or anyone—unless it’s one of the investigators directly tied to the case, Carswell states, writing again.

Barrow nods in agreement then says, I spoke to some neighbors of yours.

You did? Owen says, a little uncomfortable now.

Yes. The children on your street said you were always polite but kept your distance. If they needed help with something, you were always there but really didn’t seem much of a people person. Their parents stated they remember you being rather quiet and a loner. Responsible, pitched in when needed, a good neighbor too. Always bought cookies or whatever sweets some kid was selling to raise money for some event even though you won’t eat it since you’re vegan—probably donated it to a local shelter or gave away since you don’t like to waste things. But beyond the necessity, not at all social. Barrow pauses, slightly. Your parents, your grandfather, were very well liked. Did you know that?

Owen shrugs, getting very uncomfortable.

They felt for you, you know? Barrow continues. What you’d gone through with your family. They understood why you kept to yourself.

That last comment clawed at an old scar that he didn’t want bothered. What people think and what’s reality is never the same.

Barrow nods. True. Very true. And meeting reality is a hard landing. He assesses Owen. I’m fairly certain Agent Reis doesn’t think you’re involved.

Owen says nothing.

He has to follow leads though, and that’s all he’s doing, Barrow adds.

Carswell leans back in his seat, seemingly lost in thought. The younger lawyer may have wanted to be lead, but it was clear Barrow wasn’t going to sit back and let his counterpart control the meeting.

Can you keep my history out of the press? Owen asks.

No, not all of it, unfortunately, Barrow says kindly. I’m sorry. However, my firm does have a media consultant on retainer. We consulted with them right away, and they’ll take the lead on that front.

Owen rubs his eyes. Do we know what the Feds are theorizing?

Not really. We can only surmise until they make their move, Barrow says, leaning back in his seat. Keep in mind, Agent Reis stated he and no one from his team read you your rights, and I think that was on purpose.

But I am a suspect, Owen states. Clearly.

You’re a person of interest, Carswell corrects. That’s all.

Owen shakes his head. Suspect. Person of interest. One sounded less nefarious than the other. He didn’t give me the impression I’m just a person of interest. He’s treating me like the main suspect in this investigation.

He’s got a great game face—and remember, that’s his job, to put pressure on you. To scare you into saying something he can use or twist to his favor and he’ll use all the tactics he can. You shouldn’t be surprised, Carswell says with a snort.

I’ve never been investigated or accused of anything, Owen returns, not appreciating Carswell’s demeanor.

Carswell gives that some thought then shrugs. Well, that works in your favor. He gets up and starts to put his things away in his briefcase, which seemed to indicate this little meeting was over since Barrow also gets up. For now, sit tight, don’t say anything unless it’s to one of us, and let us deal with getting you out of here.

And, if you are charged, Barrow concluded, we’ll deal with the bail if there is one.

I honestly haven’t thought that far ahead, Owen says, realizing he now has to think about the next step.

Agent Reis formally requested an additional twenty-four hours before I came in, Barrow says. But you’ll remain here at the Javits building in a holding cell until you’re officially charged then processed at MCC rather than at Central Booking.

Owen leans back in his seat, not feeling anything. MCC?

Metropolitan Correctional Center, Barrow answers. It’s a Federal facility.

Jesus… Owen breathes out, the puzzle pieces fitting into place. Cases involving kids involve the Feds and everything after that is federal.

Sounds serious but it’s all a strategy, Barrow answers smoothly. Remember that.

He wants you to sweat, Carswell says. Don’t worry, you won’t stay a day or night here more than you have to after these twenty-four hours. He gestures between himself and Barrow. Our employers will take care of it.

Owen looks away, feeling a million things all at once that’s instantly blunted by the hard landing into reality that Barrow had mentioned. This whole thing felt like a boulder that had landed right on top of him.

Soon thereafter, the meeting ends, and he’s put in a holding cell where he’s left to ruminate on the state of his life.

Despite the rescue from people he’d least expected it, his name might get cleared but his reputation would forever be tarnished. While he could care less about his reputation, he wondered what his status was with Westgate despite the gesture. And with everything going on and what was spewing out from the media, the only thing on his mind was what Caroline believed.

The next morning in a similar room where he’d been interrogated—or maybe it’s the same room, he’s not sure—he has a brief visit with Carswell on what’s going on with the investigation.

Forensics concluded a thorough scrub of your house and based on their findings, what Rho touched were doors, windows, picture frames, light switches, inside the closet, the front room of your house—that sort of thing. We’re arguing since she has a history of B&E, she was snooping so her prints found in these areas of the house make sense. They did not find any biological matter in your bed or the bathroom or living room spaces, which is good for us as well, Carswell says, reading off a list.

Owen winces, a pain in his side. He rubs at it absentmindedly. He hadn’t had an appetite since he’d been picked up. "You’re telling me your angle is throwing a little girl