Page 36 of Love Set Free

Immediately, several of the police officers exclaim their protests, in both English and Portuguese, the lead detective the loudest of them all. None of it fazes me, and I let it all flow past me, as insubstantial as fog. Much more important to me is the sigh of relief Jackson lets out and his hushed whisper of thanks.

“Phoenix, son…I’m not so sure that’s the best—"

Dad’s objection I do care about. Just not enough to back down or change my mind. My gaze locks onto his, a loving clash of identical dark brown eyes. Having sat through numerous business meetings together, Dad recognizes my serious resolve and he cuts himself off.

If there was ever a doubt about how much I love my father, his swift re-alliance to backing me up would’ve laid all of them to rest. “Detective…Carvalho, was it?” As if there is any sort of chance that Dad’s steel-trap of a mind hadn’t immediately stored away the detective’s name as soon as he’d given it. “I think, under these trying and traumatic circumstances, it’s completely understandable that these two young men would be reluctant to be separated. In fact, one could even argue that it would be a great set-back to their emotional recovery to keep them apart from one another. And we wouldn’t want that. Would we?”

While being all things gracious and polite, there’s no mistaking the steel lacing Dad’s words. Normally, at a moment like this, is when Dad would nonchalantly minutely fiddle with the cuff of his immaculate dress shirt, then smooth a hand down the front of his exquisitely tailored suitcoat—subtly flashing his expensive watch and cufflinks and drawing attention to the high-end fabric of his suit while doing so, naturally—as a nonverbal reminder to whomever he is speaking with of just who he is.

Surprisingly, being dressed in more casual, tropical vacation style clothes doesn’t diminish Dad’s confident, commanding authority. His posture may be laid-back, with his hands tucked in the pockets of his cream-colored linen slacks and his shoulders held loose and easy underneath his pale blue, button-up shirt, with a darker blue, Picasso-esque parrot splashed across the back, but everything about his attitude still shouts thathe’sthe one in charge,he’sthe person who will get his way.

The one-two punch of Dad and I ganging up on Detective Carvahlo and flatly laying out our expectations, completely disrupting the progress of his job and gainsaying his own government-sanctioned authority, almost makes me feel bad for him. Almost.

“Highly irregular. This whole… It’s all highly irregular.” Undoubtedly, the man needs to be level-headed and calm for his job, but we’re all clearly pushing him past his limits. “You have to know I can’t allow that. You must. Not only is it a bad idea,” he angrily states, “but it would go completely against all regulations. I simply can’t allow—"

“Then we’ll walk,” Mom says, not one to be left out of an argument or in being supportive of her family. “It’s in everyone’s best interests, your country’s in particular one would think, to gather as much information as possible about these criminals operating within your borders. No matter how it is you gain suchinformation, regardless of regulations. But if you’re not willing to meet our son’s needs… Go along with what is a relatively minor and easily accommodated request…”

“Now see here…” Detective Carvahlo’s blustering is really quite impressive, as is the red flush on his medium brown skin and the pulsating veins in his neck and forehead. “It seems to me that it would be in your, and yourson’s, interests that we do everything we have to in order to get a lead on whoever it was that kidnapped him. Er, and Mr. Delacroix, as well. So that we can then do our jobs and apprehend the suspects. But instead, it seems to me, you go to all the trouble of contacting us and now…now, you’re not going to cooperate?”

It’s like watching an Old West shoot-out. Well, minus the cowboy hats and guns drawn. It’s rather fun to observe Mom and Dad on one side of the hallway facing off against Detective Carvahlo, and all his officers arrayed behind him, on the other, and listen to them throw heated words back-and-forth at each other.

And while I’m the one who threw the first volley with my refusal to be separated from Jackson, I’m more than content to stand back and just watch the whole thing unfurl, trusting that my parents will advocate for me and, eventually, emerge as the victors. Of course, a considerable part of that is enjoying the way Jackson is still pressed up tight against my back, seemingly wanting to merge his body into mine.

“And it seems to me,” Dad counters, “that you don’t appreciate that my son’s cooperation is completely voluntary. And, as far as I–we’re–concerned, that goes for Mr. Delacroix as well. Rather than dealing with you, and the rest of your local police force, we can just turn the entire matter over to our own private security team. Honestly, we’ll probably do that anyway. I have more faith that they’ll be able to find the unscrupulous individuals involved than you will.”

Detective Carvahlo really, really doesn’t seem to like that, looking about two heartbeats away from blowing his top.

“I know now’s really not the best time…” Jackson’s breath raises goosebumps all over my body and I feel the low, honey-sticky-drawl of his voice as a pool of molten warmth deep in my gut. “But is there any way we could get everyone to stop saying my name wrong? It sounds weird the way y’all are sayin’ it.”

“Hmm. Yeah. I’ll…I’ll bring it up with my parents,” I reply, briefly closing my eyes to more fully enjoy the feel of being cuddled up close to him. “And they can be the one to correct the detective, unless you’d rather. If he gives in and we wind up talking to him, that is. If he doesn’t, well… It’ll be a bit of a moot point now, won’t it.”

It’s rather amusing that, even as we’re the key players at the center of the little drama playing out in this hallway, we’re currently being overlooked while my parents and the lead detective are locking proverbial horns.

“So, really, we have nothing to lose by walking out of this building right now,” Dad says. “All that remains to be seen is if you’re willing to bend your rules enough so that you can salvage any sort of a win from this whole situation.”

“A crime… A crime has been committed.” The detective blusters.

“Not by our son.” Whoa, Mom could go all mama-tiger when needed. Who knew?

Since Mom looks all ready and willing to eviscerate a foreign police officer, Dad shifts gears to be a bit more conciliatory. “As he stated, Phoenix and Mr. Delacroix are willing to help. Nobody is saying that they want to stand in the way of justice. They just have one little request for accommodation. Surely, that isn’t too much to ask.”

The detective opens his mouth to, more than likely, launch his next argumental volley, when Mom delivers a verbal blow thatbrings the whole thing to a screeching halt. “And if it is, the only words you’ll be getting out of the boys is ‘goodbye’, as we head on back to our hotel. We’re done discussing this. Either you work with us, or we’re done. We don’t need to be here; we have better things we could be doing with our time. Either you agree or we’re leaving. And if you think about holding us here…I would think again.” Those who think my father is the ruthless one in our family have never met my mother. “I’m confident that the Consul will back us up and intercede with your superiors if needed. And ifshe’snot enough of a deterrent for you…I have a few Congressmen, a couple of Senators, and the Vice President of the United States on speed-dial. I’m sure any of them would be more than happy to consult with your government as to the care my son should be shown.”

Speed-dial may be a bit of exaggeration, although I have no doubt that Mom does indeed have a direct line of communication with all of the people she named. While Dad and I work to strengthen and make money for our company and its employees, Mom works even harder to give that money away through philanthropic efforts, and she sits on the board of more charitable organizations than I care to count.

The poor Consul looks terrified to have been thrown into this fraught confrontation. She’s probably aware that she is but a minnow thrown into shark-infested waters. “Naturally, um, as the advocate forallof the U.S. citizens who find themselves in Brazil…I will, uh, of course, do my best to stand behind Mr. Wilding." Idly, I wonder which of the two of us she’s referring to, me or my father. “Er, all of the Wildings. And, um…Mr. Delacroix?”

It really is a good thing that Jackson has us in his corner. I have a feeling that if it were him meeting with the Rio police by himself, not only would he have immediately been whisked away to a police station, but I’m sure the U.S. Consul wouldhave promptly washed her hands of him and never given him a thought again. It’s not as though he’d have to worry about being punished or anything, since he hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s not a criminal. He’s a victim in this whole situation, same as I am. But who knows how long he’d be caught up in the inexorable grind of an investigation. He could’ve been stuck here in Rio for the foreseeable future.

Detective Carvahlo is probably at risk of breaking a tooth if he clenches his jaw any harder. I can definitely tell that it’s galling him to be confronted with my demand and then have my parents back me up on it. He’s probably wishing that he could throw us all into Guanabara Bay and watch our bodies sink to the bottom, eventually to wash out into the Atlantic.

“Fine.” His voice is so clipped that there’s barely a trace of his gruff accent. “If those are the terms…I suppose we shall have to deal.” His acquiescence is clearly a surprise to his second in command. It looks as though they’re about to furiously object, but Carvahlo raises a hand in the air to halt their words before they can hit the air. “I, for one, realize that the most important thing here is to apprehend the criminals. However that needs to come about…so be it. I would like to find them and stop them before they have the opportunity to hide, regroup, and kidnap some other poor, unfortunate individual. Protecting the ‘innocent’ is the duty I’ve been honored with.”

The edge of sarcasm he imbues the word innocent makes me think that Detective Carvahlo would no longer offer that particular designation to me.

“Let’s get this over with then, if you don’t mind.” Carvahlo motions again to the conference room closest to us. “In there please, gentlemen. The both of you. Together, apparently.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

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