Page 84 of Brutal Ice

She grabbed Royal’s arm. Held tightly. She stared straight up at him. “I’m not letting you get locked up.”

He smiled at her. “You’re safe.” She was safe. Beautiful. Determined. Strong. Alive. What would I have done if she’d been the dead body in the trunk?

Violet shot onto her toes. Her hands curled behind his head, and she dragged his mouth down to hers. She kissed him. Hard and deep and wildly. Right in front of the reporters and the cops.

“Move,” Curran snapped.

She slowly let Royal go.

Then she spun to face the crowd. “Royal Boudreaux saved my life tonight! He’s a hero, and the cops are locking him up.”

“Freaking fabulous,” Curran groused. He pushed Royal forward.

Royal advanced, but his eyes slid back to Violet.

Fragile, breakable Violet. With blood on her body and her clothes. Looking like a weak victim, but speaking so clearly. “Royal has been protecting me. Guarding me.” She peered into the biggest camera. “He’s been my bodyguard since my abduction. He’s a hero. Not a criminal. Hero. If it wasn’t for him, I’d be dead.”

The cruiser’s rear door was open. Curran guided Royal inside.

Royal kept watching Violet. “She can’t be left alone.”

“I have a feeling she won’t be.”

Violet turned her head toward Royal. “His only crime is stopping the man who came at me with a knife. So why is Royal being sent away?”

“You have a few more crimes than that one, but still, nice touch. She is painting one stellar picture of you. Royal, hero extraordinaire. The press will eat that shit up.” Curran slammed the door. He slapped the top of the car. The driver was already in place. The young cop started the engine and drove the vehicle forward. Royal kept his eyes on the person who mattered.

Violet.

The reporters closed in on her.

Chapter Seventeen

“She made you into a freaking hero.”

Royal rolled back his shoulders. His neck ached. The chair was stiff as hell. And the weak coffee in front of him had gone ice cold.

He’d been at the station for most of the night. Cooperating. Or, at least, giving the appearance of cooperating. He needed to see just what the cops had on him. That way, he could launch his own attack. So he’d been talking a bit—and letting the cops talk more.

“Violet. She made you a hero.” Curran hauled out a chair across from Royal. He sat down at the narrow table. Ran a weary hand over his face. “Your picture—blood-covered, brutal you and fragile Violet—that picture is all over the Internet, FYI. All over every TV news show in the nation. The world is calling you a hero. I’m getting pressure from my boss to cut your ass loose when just yesterday, I was being told to lock you up at all costs.”

Royal tilted his head. “Funny how things can change.” He smiled at the detective. “Take you, for example. Who would have thought that you’d be leading the charge against me so passionately? And to think, I considered you a friend.” He put a hand to his heart. “It hurts. Right here.”

Curran’s gaze cut to the right. To the one-way mirror that hung against the wall. Then he looked back at Royal. But Royal got the message.

We’re being watched.

Like he hadn’t already figured out that shit. What was this? His first time in interrogation? Hardly. He knew exactly how to play this game. Royal let his hand drop and released a dramatic sigh.

“We found the camera,” Curran revealed.

Royal didn’t change expression. “Uh, good for you?” He cleared his throat. “What camera?”

“The one out at the winery. Did you forget to move it?”

He hadn’t forgotten. But when he’d gone back, it had already been removed. “Sorry. I’m having trouble following along.”

Curran’s hands flattened on the table top. “Then let me draw you a map.”

---