Raging Heart On (Lucas Brothers #2)(147)

What man could say no to that? Not me. Then again, I’m thinking I could never say no to Tess. Ever.





40


Tess


It’s that sick feeling you have in the pit of your stomach; that refuses to let you go. That fear that threatens to swamp you, buckle your knees and choke you with each step you take into the unknown. The slamming of your heart against your ribcage, so powerful, it is physically painful and the roaring of your own blood echoes in your ears. That’s what today is to me. Each step I take into the police station is agony.

We started this charade yesterday. This is day two. I’m being questioned as a follow-up to the report I filed yesterday.

“Ms. Oliver,” the portly officer at the front desk says. They know me, of course, it doesn’t even matter that I was here yesterday. Everyone knows me because my face has been plastered on the television. I’m wearing black, dress pants, a red, dress shirt with matching heels and big clunky sunglasses. My hair is pulled back in a reserved, austere look, and I appear to be every inch the cold legal professional—at least on the outside. On the inside, I’m a freaking mess.

It’s no coincidence that I am dressed almost exactly, the way I was, the day I met Max. That’s my signal to him. I don’t even know if I’ll get to see him today, but I’m hoping. He turned himself in yesterday. Marcum has a cop on his payroll, several really, but this one is a detective, and Marcum and Max decided this would be the cop who would take Max into custody. Detective Slater was a nice, older guy, and he treated Max with the utmost respect. I hope that continues, even after Max is arrested again, but I somehow doubt it. Today, I’m being interviewed, by Officer Slater’s partner; Detective Jake De Luca. He is everything that Officer Slater is not. He’s probably Max’s age or younger, he’s got jet black hair that’s trimmed close at the bottom and neat, a little thicker on the top, but styled in such a way that it stays close to the head and not a strand is out of place. His body is muscled and well defined, in a way that if a girl wasn’t so in love with Max, she might look and enjoy looking, more. He’s got an Italian-New-Yorker-transplant accent, and his voice is deep. I don’t know how he ended up in Florida, or what his story is. The only thing I do know is that Detective De Luca doesn’t like me—or at the very least, he doesn’t believe me.

“I have a three o’clock appointment,” I tell guy at the front desk, but before I can finish, the Detective is standing in front of me.

“Ms. Oliver,” he says looking me over, and the way he looks at me makes me feel as if I have a piece of spinach on my teeth.

“Detective De Luca,” I acknowledge, trying my best to sound my most condescending.

“If you will follow me,” he says, clearly unimpressed.

“Your bodyguard can wait out here,” Detective De Luca says when we reach the outside of the small interrogation room.

“And you can go f*ck yourself, Boy-o. I’m sticking close to my daughter in law,” Marcum says, and I can’t help but smile. He hasn’t let me out of his sight since Max left.

“I wasn’t aware that Ms. Oliver and Mr. Kincaid had gotten married.”

“We haven’t yet. Max felt he needed to pay his debt to society first, detective.”

“Clearly,” he says sarcastically.

His whole attitude is setting me off. I’m doing my best to hold my tongue. Alienating these people will not help Max. I need to get my man home. Marcum and I sit down at a table and wait while Detective De Luca closes the door. He sits down with a yellow legal pad and a pen.

“Before we get started can I get either of you a drink? Soda? Coffee?”

He has his own cup of coffee sitting on the table. The smell of it, combined with my nerves is getting to me, so I immediately motion my head no. Marcum doesn’t bother to answer him. He’s leaning back in his seat appearing bored as hell. I envy him because I am a step away from screaming like a banshee. There’s silence for a couple of minutes while the detective sifts through some papers. It’s probably designed to make sure my nerves kill me. That’s what it feels like.

“I have a doctor’s appointment in an hour,” I tell him, to hurry this along when it becomes apparent I may die of old age before the man gets on with it all. Marcum reaches behind me and rubs my back soothingly. It almost makes me smile. Max would hate it, but he is so much like his dad. I wonder if I have a son if he will be like the two of them. There are definitely worse things.

“Oh, that’s right. I had forgotten. You and your abductor are having a child together.”

It takes everything I have, not to flinch as his coldly delivered statement.

“Max did not abduct me. We’ve been over this detective.”

“Pardon me, your boyfriend. I know we have been over this, Ms. Oliver. I’m just finding it hard to connect the dots. There are some major holes in your story.”

“I do not see how,” I tell the *. Marcum is continuing to pet my back. I don’t know if he thinks I need calming down or not. I do. I’m about to rip this * a new one and then maybe—maybe I’ll feel better.

“Well, for starters, Ms. Oliver, why did you not go back into the main entrance of the jail, where you would most assuredly be safe? Why follow the inmate further into the jail?”