The Fearless King (The Kings #2)(88)

He hesitated, and finally nodded. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is.” Journey pulled him down until he was even with her. “Besides, I have Frank Evans in my corner. How could I not come out on top of this shit show?”

“I’m in your corner and you’re in mine.” He pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “Call your brother and update him. I’m going to take care of this, Duchess. I promise.”

*



“Tell me what happened.”

Frank pinched the bridge of his nose and bit back a sigh. He hadn’t really expected the cops to believe his and Journey’s story, for all that it was true, but he’d overestimated his patience—and how long it would take his attorney to show up. All he could think about was how shaken and exhausted Journey looked when they’d led her to a separate room for her own version of this particular hell. She needed him, and he was stuck talking to this fucking detective. “I’m not saying a damn thing without my lawyer—which I’ve mentioned several times at this point.”

The detective ignored that, musing aloud, “Seems you and Elliott Bancroft had some bad blood. A man like you dating his girl. Father’s not going to be too keen on that.”

Patience.

It didn’t work. All he could see was the shadows beneath Journey’s eyes, hear the hopelessness in her voice when they’d been clinging to those fucking cushions and praying like hell his men would show up in time. She’d been so afraid, and he hadn’t been able to assuage those fears a single damn time since they’d been together.

She’s alive. That’s all that matters.

“Did you give Journey King medical attention?”

The detectives exchanged a look. “The girl’s fine.”

The door opened and a small Chinese woman strode through it. “You two—out. You—stop talking.”

Thank fuck.

The detectives grumbled, but Frank had never seen anyone contradict Naomi Jiang when she got that look on her face. His gratitude dried up when she leaned a hip against the table he was handcuffed to and scowled. “You really stepped in it this time, Frank. Since when are you dating Journey King?”

“That’s relevant…how?”

“It’s relevant because the King family generates its own media circus just by breathing. Being accused of murder—or being a victim of kidnapping—only adds to the flames. Tell me exactly what happened so I can get you out of this mess.”

“So you can get us both out of this mess.” He held her gaze. “She’s with me. That’s not up for negotiation.”

“For fuck’s sake,” she muttered. “Look, you’re not even in hot water at this point despite how it looks.” She motioned at the cuffs. “You kept your mouth shut, and I could deal with a few racist cops in my sleep.” She glared. “Your girl is not my problem. Keeping you out of jail—and out of a potentially harmful media storm—is.”

“Fix it, Naomi.”

“Fine.” She pushed off the table and smoothed her hands over her impeccable deep blue dress. “You’re both lucky that fixing these things is what I do. Hang tight and don’t say another word, or I swear to God, I will shove you onto a plane to a country without extradition today.”

The threat didn’t mean a damn thing. Between his injuries, several witness accounts about Elliott’s behavior toward Journey, and other testimonies about what happened today, the detectives would reach the truth. Eventually. He was just fucking tired of waiting. Journey needed food that didn’t come from a vending machine and the space to settle her nerves after everything that had happened.

He fully intended to provide her that safe space.

First, he had to get them the fuck out of this police station.

An hour later, Naomi had managed exactly that. She walked Frank and Journey to the entrance to the station and pointed an imperious finger at them. “Stay in town. Keep your noses clean. This isn’t over, but once they compile the evidence and follow up on all the information you shared, you should be in the clear.” She narrowed her eyes. “Unless you’re lying to me, in which case we have bigger problems.”

Frank wrapped his arm around Journey’s waist and tucked her against the side of his body. They both wore the ugly gray sweat suits the cops had provided to replace their soaked clothes, and the material scratched at his skin. “I know better, Naomi. We both do.” Journey nodded in confirmation.

That seemed to satisfy Naomi—marginally. “I don’t expect them to haul you back in before Monday, so we’ll set up a meeting to go over any developments. If something changes, you call me first, and don’t you dare talk to anyone without me. Got it?”

“Got it.”

She nodded. “Then get your asses out of here. You both look like shit.” She turned on her expensive designer heels and marched away to terrorize someone else.

Journey huffed out a laugh. “I like her.”

“Of course you do. She’s fucking terrifying.” He kept his arm around her as they descended the steps and waited at the curb for the car service he’d called. “Let’s get you home and showered and fed.”

A car pulled to the curb, but it wasn’t a stranger behind the wheel. Bellamy King leaned over and rolled down the window. “Get in. We have a situation.”