Page 30 of His Lovebug

I leaned in as close as I could to the protective barrier. “I don’t think you understand. This isn’t up for debate. Either you let me into the room where he is or I will force myself through you to get to him.”

Her chin firmed. “Is that a threat, sir?”

The room fell into heavy silence, the quietness a deafening hum, as if everyone was waiting for the inevitable. I was ready to fight. I didn’t care what I had to do to get to Quin, even take out officers.

Quick footsteps echoed behind me, then someone was at my side. “What Mr. Coltrane means to say is that Mr. Kiskadden deserves representation, and I am his lawyer. You have no right to question him without me present.”

I glanced at the man beside me and realized who I was looking at almost immediately. West, one of our lawyers. He worked tirelessly to get us out of any trouble we might find ourselves in.

West exuded seriousness, looking every inch the attorney he was. His dark medium-length hair—a little lighter on the top—was combed to perfection, and he had a neat beard.

“I’m Caleb Weston. As Mr. Kiskadden’s attorney, I demand you take us to him. Now. Or anything he says may not be used in a court of law. I assume you know the Miranda warning?” West raised his chin in challenge, his bluish-brown eyes narrowing.

The cop sighed. “He isn’t under arrest, Mr. Weston.”

“I don’t care. He’s being questioned, and I should be there.”

She huffed, holding up a finger as she picked up a phone. She turned her back toward us and murmured quietly so we couldn’t hear her before she replaced the handset and crooked her finger.

“Come on.” Moving toward a set of doors to the right, she kept an eye on us as she entered a code in a keypad nearby, then jerked one open. “Follow me.”

I stiffened and glared at her back, ready to tell her what I thought of her.

West placed a hand on my elbow, shaking his head sharply, and shifted in closer. “Colt,” he whispered, scowling. “Unless you want more trouble for your wife, let me do the talking. I’m the lawyer.”

I made a gruff sound in the back of my throat that faded into a sigh. “Fine. But if they upset Quin, I’ll kill them.”

“Please don’t.” He gave me a long look of warning. “It’s easier to get your wife out of this situation than defend you for murder.”

I would’ve taken the chance if I didn’t know how pissed Quin would be at me for doing it, so I kept my mouth shut as the officer led us through the station toward the interview rooms. As soon as she opened the door, I shoved my way in.

Quin glanced up from where he sat at a steel table in a gray plastic chair. “Matt!” He jumped to his feet and flew at me, and Igrabbed him tightly, hauling him up into my arms. He buried his face against my neck and didn’t sob like I’d expected.

“I’ve got you, Baby Girl.” I pressed kisses on his cheek. “I always have you.”

“I love you,” he whispered.

Someone cleared their throat, and I glared over Quin’s shoulder at the detective. The moment my gaze met his, though, I grunted.

O’Neill. Fuck. Of course it had to be O’Neill.

I placed Quin back on his feet and plopped a kiss on his mouth before I focused on the detective and his partner. O’Neill was a hard-ass, and he was as old school as they came. Not only was he a homophobic asshole, he was also just a plain old ordinarydick. His partner, Hanlon, was ten times better to deal with.

“O’Neill. I wish I could say I was surprised.” I stroked Quin’s lower back and guided him to the seat while I stood at his side, even though there was a second chair. I wasn’t going to give the detectives the satisfaction of sitting down. By standing, I had height over them.

O’Neill understood my game, though, and he stood, kicking his seat away. “Matthew Coltrane. This yours?” He waved his hand coldly toward Quin, his mouth pressing into a thin line on his wide face. He hadn’t changed much since the last time I’d seen him, still the same asshole. It seemed as if he’d gotten vain recently because his hair was dyed a brown that was definitely unnatural. I couldn’t imagine he had anyone to try to look good for.

My spine turned rigid and I gritted my teeth. “This beautiful man is my fiancé.”

O’Neill grunted and crossed his arms. “We believe your...partneris involved in a murder.”

“I’m not,” Quin argued, slapping his hand on the table. “I told you everything I know. The man who was dumped on my car is a stranger, and I don’t know why they shot up my vehicle. I can’t tell you anything else. I was having a get together with my best friend. We were wedding planning.”

“Were you questioning him as a suspect?” West asked from beside me. I’d almost forgotten he was here, but he strode over to take the vacant seat next to Quin. “Without his lawyer?”

“He didn’t want one,” O’Neill snapped.

“You told me I didn’t need one. You said I was only being questioned as a witness.” Quin pointed a finger at him. “Are you saying you lied?”

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