Butch didn’t deign to answer. He just stomped out after Monroe and Dotty.
The detective followed them.
Ink grimaced. “Sorry. He’s not the person I was hoping we would be dealing with. Reeves is currently busy with something else, so we were given Jackson. He’s not a terrible detective, he’s honest and generally fair. Sometimes he’s just a bit of a dick.”
Addie nearly smiled at that honest assessment.
“A bit of a dick?” Cash repeated. “He seems like a supreme dick.”
“The king of dicks,” Ralen added.
“The dickiest of the dickheads,” Addie said.
They all looked at her, and this time she did grin.
Ralen let out a hoot. “That’s it, Trouble! He’s the dickiest of the dickheads.”
Ink just shook his head and left.
Monroe’s interview seemed to take a while, and Addie started to get restless. Standing up, she paced up and down the room.
When Monroe returned she was pale-looking, and Addie moved over to her. “Are you okay?”
By this time, her throat had nearly completely shut down on her, and she coughed after speaking.
Dotty, who’d entered soon after Monroe, walked over to her with a sharp look. “What’s going on with your voice? Are you losing it?”
Addie nodded. Her throat felt like it was on fire. But it was so irritating to stop and try to find something that she could communicate on.
“Stop talking, okay?” Dotty ordered.
She was aware that her cheeks were growing red, but she nodded again. Dotty was only trying to be helpful.
“Addie, are you okay to talk to the detective for a moment? We’ll find that same tablet you used before. Cash and Ralen will go with you?” Ink asked. “I’ll be there too.”
She nodded again and followed them all out. At the door, Cash took her hand in his, squeezing it and giving her a wink.
Ralen stuck to her other side, so they were flanking her like bodyguards.
It made her feel special, and that was a heady feeling, she had to admit. They entered Ink’s office, sitting on the sofa and chairs.
She’d snuck her squishy into her pocket and reached in to squeeze it as she felt her anxiety getting higher and higher.
Now, she really wished that she’d bought that hoodie with the squishes in the cuffs.
It would have been far more discreet than what she was doing right now.
The detective’s gaze went to her hand immediately, and his eyes narrowed. Uh-oh. Did he think she had something in there, like a weapon?
“It’s a stress ball,” Cash told him.
“What?” The police detective asked. Why couldn’t she remember his name? Oh, Jackson. That was it.
“A stress ball,” Cash repeated.
“Ah, right. Some of my colleagues have those on their desks.”
They did? Okay, she didn’t feel like such an idiot then, and she pulled the stress cube out of her pocket.
