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I’d bust their balls if they did.
And Rafe’s grin doesn’t seem to be doing the job.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. Who did you say you were?” The grizzled police officer pushes her glasses up her nose and glares at him, strangely immune to what I’m told is a killer charm.
But what do I know, right?
“We are involved in the case,” Rafe says. “We—”
“The answer is no.” She pats her gray hair that’s pulled back in a bun that looks bulletproof. “This isn’t a social event. If you were needed for the case, you would have been formally called in.”
“But—”
“Rafe,” I tap his shoulder. “Let me talk to her.”
&nb
sp; He shoots me a look that says he thinks I’m crazy. Yeah, no arguing with that. There’s a reason I wanna go back to that therapist, something I’d avoided for years.
Dakota strokes her hand down my arm. “Explain it to her.”
I squeeze her hand and step in front of Rafe to face the glaring woman behind the desk. “I’m Zane Madden.” Her eyes widen as she looks up and further up, taking in my piercings and hairdo. But I don’t give her a chance to get worked up about my appearance. “I’m the one who filed a report against Kenneth Shaw and stirred up this case. We were the ones who found those kids in his basement. We are involved and need to speak with the officers in charge.”
“I see.” The police officer leans back, both her brows raised. “Interesting. But you have already given your testimony about finding those kids, haven’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Then why are you here, Mr. Madden?”
“Those kids…” Dakota presses her smaller body to my side, a warm presence. She makes me stronger than I ever thought I could be. “There are things that need to be discussed.”
“Detective Wesley Logan called us about it,” I lie to the woman. “I think we are expected.”
After all, there is still the case of Tyrese Weir that Wesley did call us about.
The ruse seems to work. She sighs and lifts the receiver of an old gray phone and barks something into it. Then she leans back, seemingly satisfied, and jabs a finger at me.
“Detective Wesley is waiting for you. Building next door, first floor, room two hundred and twelve. And…” She nods at me. “That’s a cool Mohawk. Love your style, boy.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
What the hell?
Rafe hauls me out of there, thumping my back, his shoulders shaking, and the girls giggle all the way out.
“See?” I finally manage as we climb the steps to the building next door, and pull Dakota closer to me. “Some women have damn good taste.”
***
“This is highly irregular,” Wesley Logan says, sounding like a constipated old man, although he doesn’t look a day over thirty. A constipated thirty-year-old with a parting in his dark hair. Very Clark Kent. “And I’m not the person you want to see.”
“Says who?” I mutter, pulling chairs for Dakota and Megan. “I’m pretty sure we asked for you by name. As for irregular…this whole case is a fucking mess, right?”
He straightens the collar of his shirt and gives us a wary look. “Mr. Madden, you and I didn’t talk on the phone at all. I tried your number, but—”
“His phone was off,” Rafe interjects, “so you called me. You told me about your intention to investigate the disappearance of Tyrese Weir.”
“Oh, you’re Mr. Vestri.”
