“What’s the kid need an attorney for?”
Calder turned to look at the detective, not relinquishing his hold on Robby or the dog squirming between them.
“Because he’s a celebrity and there’s a dead body in his apartment. I just want to make sure he isn’t about to be railroaded for what was clearly a home invasion.”
The detective scoffed. “You’ve seen one too many movies, buddy.”
Calder scoffed. “I was a Texas Ranger for over a decade. I know exactly how these things go. He’ll be happy to answer any questions down at the station with his attorney present. Take it or leave it.”
The detective turned around, muttering under his breath as he walked away. Calder turned his attention back to Robby. “They are probably going to photograph you, and they’ll likely collect your clothes as evidence. I’m going to grab something for you to wear home. Don’t move, and don’t talk to anybody.”
Robby just nodded, his red eyes glassy.
Once an officer had escorted Calder to collect Robby’s necessities, he carefully took the dog and placed him in his crate, which still sat where Calder had left it three days ago. Three fucking days. Why couldn’t this have happened the night Calder was there?You snuck out on him. Left him with a note. He still would have been alone when he was attacked.
Robby almost had another meltdown when the detective told him they’d have to escort him to the precinct to preserve any evidence on both him and the dog. Calder assured him he’d meet him there with the boy’s attorney, a man named Stanton Fields. Calder had never heard of him, but his name sounded lawyerly, so he’d just have to trust that Linc knew what he was talking about.
Hours passed as Calder sat outside in the waiting room of the precinct with the now processed Casanova. Robby wasn’t alone in the interrogation room. His attorney had arrived about an hour after Calder, but the detectives were leaving Robby to wait, likely hoping to rattle the kid. They clearly didn’t understand who they were dealing with. Robby couldn’t hurt a fly. Except, he had. He’d killed a man and, just four days ago, had assaulted an officer. Shit.
Calder was playing a game on his phone when the plain-clothed detective from the apartment stomped his way into the lobby and stared Calder down with daggers in his eyes. “Come with me.”
Calder frowned but complied, gently slinging Casanova’s crate over his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“The kid’s refusing to speak without you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you,” the man grumbled.
Odd, but okay.
Outside the door, the detective shoved a fat finger into his chest. “One word out of you and you’re back on the bench. Got it?”
Calder merely nodded. Once he entered the room, Robby’s shoulders sagged, his relief evident. He took the bag from Calder and pulled the ugly mutt free from his canvas prison, snuggling him close.
Calder took a seat beside him, his stomach churning as he looked around. All of these rooms looked the same, smelled the same. They all had the same eggshell-colored walls and uncomfortable plastic and metal chairs. They all smelled faintly of stale sweat and bad decisions.
The detective sat opposite Calder, Robby, and his attorney, flipping a switch on the table that turned a green light on. “This is Detective Michael Grady interviewing Obidiah Shaw. Also present in the room is his attorney.” He looked at the older man with his salt and pepper hair and thousand dollar Brooks Brothers suit. “State your name and title for the record, please.”
“Stanton Fields, litigator.”
The detective rolled his eyes. “And also in the room is…”
He flicked his gaze to Calder. “Calder Seton, private investigator and personal protection agent.”
Calder’s response had Grady sneering as if Calder had said he was a professional kitten mangler. He was used to it. It didn’t help that Calder had lied to the man upon their first meeting. Robby had likely explained that Calder was not, in fact, his boyfriend, but then again, maybe not. Was that why Robby had asked for him, had called him and nobody else?
Beneath the table, Robby’s leg jiggled fast enough for him to power all the electricity in Los Angeles. The boy looked two seconds away from having a stroke.
“Obidiah—” Grady started only to be cut off immediately.
“Robby. My name is Robby. I had it legally changed.”
“Robby,” the detective said through gritted teeth. “Now, would you please explain what happened in your apartment?”
“I don’t know what happened,” Robby said, his voice thick. “My friends, Wyatt and Charlie, came over last night and we were drinking wine. A lot of it. When they left, I fell asleep on the couch. I didn’t even walk them out, I just passed out on the sofa.” Robby swallowed hard, his hand stroking Casanova’s fur almost compulsively.
Calder slid his hand beneath the table and pressed down on the boy’s jittering leg. He released a shuddering breath.
