“He doesn’t know I’m here, Linc.” I wince. “No one’s coming for me.”
“He knows,” he mutters as he slams the door shut.
I want to scream. Or stomp my foot. Or findsomethingthat isn’t bolted to the floor and chuck it at Decker’s stupid face.
Gritting my teeth, I drop back down onto the bench, cross my arms, and scowl.
Decker settles behind the small desk outside my enclosure, kicks up his feet, dips the chair back, and closes his eyes.
“You’re just gonna sit there?” I bite.
He sighs, his eyes still shut. “Yes, Grace. As long as you’re in that cell, my ass will be in this chair.”
I chew at the inside of my mouth. “Well… how long’s that gonna be?”
He drags his hands down his face and angles his chair up to glare at me. “It’ll be as long as I say, okay?”
I jiggle my leg, nerves creeping in. “When do I get my bike back?”
“I don’t know.”
“I really have to pee.”
He drops his forehead onto the desk with a groan. “There’s a toilet four feet to your left.”
A rusty, dirt-covered toilet anchored to the cell wall. No thank you. “I’ll go on the floor before I use that thing.”
“You do that.”
“Don’t be an asshole.”
Head lifted, he gives me his signature charming smile. “But I’m so good at it.”
The words have barely left his mouth when the angry shout of a woman reverberates across the jail.
Cursing, he pushes up from his chair. “Here we fucking go.”
“What was that?” I dart to my feet and stride to the cell bars. Is there another woman down here being subjected to the same kind ofinterrogationI was about to be?
“Reinforcements,” Decker mutters. “Donovan sent his attack dog.”
The shouting continues, every other word a curse, followed by the clack of high heels against concrete.
A woman wearing black boots and a knee-length beige coat emerges from the door leading to the stairs. From here it looks like the only thing she’s got on underneath is a short black slip. Her dark hair is pulled back into a low bun. And she looks angry as all hell.
“Decker,” she grits as she crosses her arms.
His smile widens. “Always a pleasure, Triss. Love the outfit.”
“Don’t flirt with me.” With a sneer at him, she turns my way, her eyes sharpening. “Grace, I take it?”
“Um.” I glance at Decker. “Yes?”
Brows pulled together, she approaches. “What happened to your face? Is that a bruise?” She rounds on Decker, throwing a thumb over her shoulder. “Is that a bruise on my client’s face?”
“Wouldn’t know anything about that,” he says, wearing an unconvincing look of innocence.
Triss’s features twist into an even icier expression. “Release her.”
