She watched them, gaze flicking from one to the next to the next. Brunswick lingered near the open doorway, arms crossed. While one guard stood watch, the one who’d opened the door dragged a chair into the cell. St. John followed him into the glass enclosure, dismissing the guard with a nod.
Even though he was disheveled and covered with debris from the explosion—possibly even wounded—there was no masking Killian’s strength and confidence. Or the power he wielded. He stood with his hand on the back of the chair, barely giving her a glance before he turned to the trio outside the door.
“I’ll be perfectly fine.” His tone brooked no argument.
“I’m sure Mr. Tremaine would prefer I question the suspect,” Brunswick said. “He put me in charge of the investigation.”
Dizzie would rather talk to Killian than the weaselly assistant. Not that anyone asked her.
“He won’t mind if I take this,” Killian said. “For Portia and Tommy.”
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.Were they both dead? Dizzie gulped and gripped her hands tighter. Her knuckles whitened. This was going from bad to worse.
Brunswick and the guards didn’t immediately move. “If I have a problem, I’ll send for you. As we discussed.” Killian’s voice carried anger and an undercurrent of violence.
The guards looked from Killian to Tremaine’s assistant and back again.
“We’ll be right outside.” Disapproval and something Dizzie couldn’t identify dripped from the assistant’s voice.
“The two guards are enough,” Killian said. “I’m sure other matters need your attention, given tonight’s events.”
Leo Brunswick pursed his lips, but said nothing else. Apparently, he wouldn’t risk pissing off one of the company’s primary investors.
The guards positioned themselves a few feet down the hall on either side of her cell. Brunswick glared at Killian again. Killian looked back with no expression. With a huff, Brunswick tugged on his jacket and retreated out of sight, leaving her alone with Killian.
For the first time since they’d joined her, she understood that the real threat wasn’t Tremaine Security. The man in front of her had power, with a capital P.
For all intents, she was alone with one of the most powerful—and handsomest—men on the planet. Under other circumstances—say, not locked in a glass prison—this might be a dream come true.
Instead, the situation was more like a nightmare. Ripples of fear coursed through her system and she struggled to maintain her outward appearance of calm.
Killian flipped the chair around and straddled the seat, resting his arms on its back.
She wasn’t taken in by his casual demeanor. Too much blood and dust on his clothes for that.
He sat a few feet from her. His deep brown eyes held anger. Pain. And…was that concern?
Dizzie shivered and struggled not to fidget under his intense gaze.
She looked away, staring into the empty cell to the right while she waited for him to speak.
The guards weren’t paying any obvious attention. The assistant had disappeared down the hall. Alone with Killian St. John and no one to advocate for her.
She should have run the first time Alice told her to stay put.
“What’s your name?” Hardened steel replaced his usual silky-smooth tones. The urbane rogue she’d interacted with at the gala was gone. In his place was a coldly superior member of the ruling class.
Refusing to be cowed, she lifted her chin and met his gaze. “Dizzie.”
“What’s your real name?”
Dizzie bit back a snarl. “Thatismy real name. My only name. Check my records.” Everyone called her Dizzie. They always had. If she had another name, she didn’t think anyone knew it.
He studied her for a long moment. “You were at the gala tonight.” A statement, not a question.
She nodded.
He raised a brow.
