“Of course, I’ll come over right now. Don’t say a word to the detectives, do you hear me? Not a word. Tell them you have the right to wait for legal representation. I’m grabbing my briefcase now. I’m coming.”
The line went dead and I let out a deep exhale of relief. I trusted Madden as much as I trusted Slater. It had taken a while for Slater to come around as a decent person, but that had nothing to do with me. He’d been sorting out his own issues with Madden at the very same time I started at NGPD. When the time was right, though, he’d asked me questions and I’d answered. We’d become comfortable with each other—until he’d been shot and effectively put off the job. He hadn’t been fired, but he’d chosen to quit the force over taking a desk job, from what I understood. I respected Slater for that. And Madden was a good man too.
I hung up the phone and shoved myself to my feet. My knees were wobbly and I took a deep breath to center myself. My chest hitched tight, pulling at my lungs until it hurt to breathe. I knew what this was: a sign I was close to panicking and triggering the attacks that came with my PTSD. I hadn’t had one in a long time—years—which was why I was allowed on the force. As long as I did my required counseling sessions and showed no signs of losing control I was fine.
Today I was pretty fucking far fromfine. I made my legs move and walked toward the interview rooms where I knew the detectives were waiting. When I opened the first door, no one was there, so I went to the next one. The bald detective—Monroe, I remembered now—stared at me with mistrust. I nodded, not sure what else to do as I closed the door and took a seat across from them.
“Are you ready to answer questions, Mr. Paxton?” Monroe asked.
“No, I won’t say a word until my lawyer gets here,” I said, but my voice was shaky, my British accent coming across stronger like it usually did when I was stressed. My father always joked and called it the British Effect.The British do the polite anger a lot better than Americans, Jay.I hated it when he called me that.
“Do you have something to hide?” Pitts leaned forward on his elbows, bushy red eyebrows furrowing together. “We ain’t got the time to mess around with excuses, Paxton. If you’re innocent, you don’t need a lawyer.”
“I’m a police officer, and before that a marine. I’m perfectly aware of what I should have, Detective, and while I am innocent, I deserve the right to have myself protected against men who want to close a case quickly.” I kept my back straight and resisted the urge to cross my arms. Cops took that as a sign of something to hide, just like a soldier would if they were interrogating an enemy. “You’re lucky I’m not calling a union rep, too. That would make this take a touch longer.”
Monroe snorted and wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. “This room is fucking hot.”
I hadn’t noticed, but I remembered hearing two of my coworkers talking about the broken thermostat a few days ago. Lips pursed, I kept silent.
The two detectives decided to ignore me after that. They conversed between themselves, and I divided my attention between listening to them and focusing on my breathing.
“This town is a mess,” Monroe said to Pitts, leaning back in his chair, causing it to squeak. “Fucking bikers. When are the feds gonna come in and help?”
Pitts snorted. “They don’t give a shit about New Gothenburg, too busy with the mobs. The bikers gotta give the feds a good reason to come in. Something that the whole country’ll notice.”
They prattled on about the DEA and ATF, and their idle chatter was frustrating. They’d found my dead husband’s body and they gossiped as though a widower wasn’t sitting across from them. Fuck the biker clubs and law enforcement’s fight with them.
“Can you stop talking as though I’m not here?” I snapped before I could stop myself. “My husband is dead.”
Monroe’s mouth twitched. “Are you ready to talk, then?”
“No, not until my lawyer gets here.”
We sat there staring at each other for I don’t know how long before there was a loud rap at the door. I didn’t jump, not like the two detectives in front of me. I’d heard the footsteps approaching and the hairs had stood up on my arms, a leftover from my years working behind enemy lines. My senses were more heightened than theirs.
The door flung open and I frowned at the man standing in the threshold. Not Madden. I’d seen him around before, though, nearly anytime a member of the Kings of Men was hauled in. I recollected after a good think that he was Madden’s boss.
Monroe’s face flushed an ugly red and I had a feeling he knew this guy too. He spun on me and snarled, “Demchenko is your lawyer? Youmustbe guilty. He only defends the worst of the worst.”
Demchenko. Right, I knew his name. River Demchenko.
River gave Monroe a bored stare through showy gold-rimmed glasses and stormed into the room, plopping down into the black plastic chair beside me. He was tall, so his knees brushed the underside of the table like mine did, and he didn’t hesitate to throw his briefcase between us and the other two cops. The sound of the case slamming against cheap wood reverberated around the white-walled claustrophobic room.
“Careful what accusations you make, Detective,” River said in a jaded tone, his words strong with warning. “Mr. Paxton is now my client, and while you interrogate him instead of doing real police work, I’ll stay here and defend his innocence.”
I stared at River and his handsome face, with cheekbones sharp as glass, and short dark hair cut close to his head. The suit he wore was snug against his wide shoulders. I’d never seen anyone quite so put together like him, but I supposed that’s what you got with lawyers.
River glanced at me, and there was something there, a sympathetic flash in his deep blue eyes, before he turned back to Monroe and Pitts. “Ask your questions but be careful. I won’t have you accusing him of a crime without proof.”
Monroe grumbled something I couldn’t hear and leaned closer to his partner to converse. I did the same with River.
“I called Madden,” I whispered.
River nodded. “You did, but he has enough clients right now. Your case is simple, and they have no reason to keep you. This farce of aninterviewwill be over before you know it. I’d rather Madden focus on the workload he has already.”
I hesitated. “I don’t know how much I can pay.”
He closed his eyes for a half a second and then snapped them open and frowned. “It’s free.”
