Total pages in book: 190
Estimated words: 181992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 910(@200wpm)___ 728(@250wpm)___ 607(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 181992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 910(@200wpm)___ 728(@250wpm)___ 607(@300wpm)
An emotion flickered in Grayden’s hazel eyes too fast for me to process it. “If you’re trying to manipulate Addison into demanding I leave, it won’t work. She knows better than to talk without legal representation present.”
“As I said before, she doesn’t need it—I just mean to ask her a few questions.”
“Go ahead,” Grayden invited, his tone as smooth as the short brown hair he’d slicked back. “But I’ll be right here while you do.”
Lowe’s gaze narrowed. “How do you think my niece will feel when she hears you rallied to the defense of a woman she hates? Do Felicity’s feelings matter to you at all?”
“You won’t guilt-trip me into walking out of here.”
“You turned your back on Addison once before. What’s the difference?”
Oh, low blow. Accurate, though. Once, it would have stung to be reminded that Grayden had broken every promise he’d made to me when he’d scuttled back to his ex-wife. But now? Now I could think of him and feel nothing—no regret, no sadness, no anger.
Lowe sniffed. “Who is it you’re really protecting, I wonder? Her, or Dax Mercier? Are you worried she’ll spill something about your old buddy that will put him in prison where he belongs?”
Grayden’s eyes flicked to the manilla file the sheriff held. “You don’t know that Dax has anything to do with that.”
“It has his name written all over it.” Lowe turned back and pulled something out of the file. A photograph, I realized, as he held it up.
Damn. The dude in that picture had taken one fuck of a beating.
“Tell me, Mrs. Mercier, how would you feel if someone had done that to one of your loved ones?” asked Lowe. “How do you think his family feels? Do you really believe your husband should be allowed to get away with that?”
What I believed was that the guy had brought this on himself.
“Did the victim finger Dax as the culprit?” Grayden interrupted.
Lowe’s face tightened. “No.” He dropped his arm to his side. “He claims he remembers nothing. But it’s fear keeping him silent.” Lowe tilted his head at me. “Is that what’s keeping you silent? Or do you just not care?”
I kept my expression neutral as I stared back at him, honestly wondering if he truly thought I was going to tattle.
“Obstructing justice is a serious crime, you know,” Lowe warned me.
“So is wasting police time,” Grayden chipped in. “That is essentially what you’re—” He cut himself off as the door swung open with a squeak of hinges.
A tall, suited-up, familiar figure loped inside. Dax. His mismatched gaze locked on me, glittering with anger, and gave me a quick head-to-toe inspection. Satisfied I was fine, he drank in the rest of the room. His eyes briefly narrowed on Mimi—whose smirk slipped away—and then lasered in on Lowe with a predatory focus.
Dax coolly hitched up a brow at him. “Want to tell me why you’re harassing my wife?” he asked, a deadly note to that otherwise velvety tone.
The sheriff straightened his broad shoulders. “Questioning her over a crime doesn’t count as harassment.” Again, he held up the photograph.
Dax’s expression didn’t alter in the slightest as he studied it. He then looked at the sheriff blankly.
Lowe’s mouth went tight. “If you didn’t personally do this, you had one of your people do it,” he upheld. “Either way, you’re responsible.”
Grayden cleared his throat. “You said yourself that the victim named no one. You have no proof that Mr. Merc—”
“I don’t need proof,” the sheriff snapped. “This reeks of Dax. He wanted revenge, and he took it. That’s his pattern.”
His expression still inscrutable, Dax looked from him to the deputy. “You can leave now.”
I almost snorted at how readily the deputy headed for the door.
Lowe, on the other hand, jutted out his chin. “You can’t throw me out. I’m not done questioning—”
“If this was about merely investigating a police matter, you wouldn’t have sought Addison out here at an event she’s managing,” said Dax, an edge of agitation to his words. “This is you using your authority to yank her chain and cause issues for her company. Simple. And I won’t tolerate it.”
Lowe’s nostrils flared. “You’re not above the law, Mercier, you are—”
“Rapidly losing my patience with you,” Dax finished, his face hardening. “You really don’t want me to push me further. Not unless you want certain things about you to come to light. Your wife might be interested in hearing that your Saturday poker nights aren’t really poker nights at all, though some ‘poking’ is involved.”
Watching Lowe’s face flush, I inwardly smiled. He should have expected that Dax, who made a point of sniffing out the secrets of his adversaries, would have something on him.
“You’re still here. I’m struggling to understand why.” Dax pursed his lips. “Maybe you’d prefer it if I made a call to your wife here and now.”