Page 1 of Mad Love

CHAPTER 1

RYAN

“Lawyer,” I drawled, drumming my fingers on the edge of the metal table and eyeing the officer who’d just stepped into the interrogation room. He was easily in his early fifties, with thinning, greasy silver hair and a pot belly that said he was more likely used to chasing donuts with coffee instead of actual criminals. The tarnished name badge pinned haphazardly to his chest read BURKE.

I’d already spent forty hours in the county lockup, and I was fucking over this bullshit. I knew they were flexing their little muscles, proving that they could hold me for up to two days before officially charging me for a bullshit crime.

Okay, maybe not entirely bullshit, since I’d definitely had a hand in Adam Kindell’s death, but there was no way they could actually know that. Whatever evidence they thought they had didn’t exist; my team didn’t make mistakes.

Officer Burke smirked, like he had all the power here, and leaned against the wall. “Thought you might want to know we’re moving you to central booking.”

I grinned, my shoulders bunching and my wrists inadvertently pulling on the metal cuffs that secured me to the table. My hands had started to go numb over an hour ago, but no way was I letting this asshole know I was in pain. Besides, this was better than the holding cell I’d been sharing with six other guys. “Fantastic. When does my ride get here?”

His bushy brows slammed down. “You’re not going home tonight.”

“Yeah, I got that when you mentioned central booking,” I said, speaking slowly so the moron would understand even as my pulse started racing. Fuck. I needed to be finding Maddie, not trapped in a cell. “It smells like puke and fish in this room. Seriously, is Febreze out of the budget? I’m happy to buy you a few cans if you can’t afford it.” This room fucking reeked, and considering the amount of sweaty locker rooms I’d been in over the course of my life, that was saying something. Then again, it was moderately better than the stench of piss and shit and stale body odor in the cells.

His pudgy cheeks turned red. “Fucking rich prick. Think Daddy’s money will fix everything.”

I ticked up a finger. “No, no. I’ll pay for it out of my own money.” My gaze swept down his frame, taking in the well-worn uniform that ballooned around his legs and dirty shoes. “Hell, I’ll even throw in extra so you can buy some clothes that fit, Officer Burke. Unless you prefer looking like a circus tent.” My lips curved into a vicious smile as his face turned a mottled shade of red.

With a snarl, he rounded the table and yanked me up by the front of my shirt. The cuffs dug harder into my wrists, cutting off what little blood flow to my fingers was left. I let him, hoping he’d throw a punch. I’d take a beating if it meant I could get out of this station with a few bruises so I could look for Maddie.

Besides, no way could he hit harder than Court or Royal, and fuck knew I’d taken more than enough punches from them over the years.

I smirked at Officer Burke like this was any other day. “Tell you what, I’ll spring for a bottle of mouthwash, too.” I wrinkled my nose and turned away.

Officer Burke roared, pulling back a fist, and I fucking grinned.

Do it, asshole.

If he hit me, I’d be out of here before my lawyer could say police brutality.

The door to the interrogation room swung open. “Burke!” the man in the doorway barked. “Take a walk.”

Burke sneered at me and shoved me into the chair. It rocked onto its back legs from the force, and I sighed, rolling my eyes. All I’d needed was for Officer Burke to lose his shit just for a second, and he’d have punched my ticket to freedom.

Oh, well.

I kept smirking and even managed to waggle a few fingers. “See you later, Burke.”

The officer glared at me—like that would instill the fear of God in me or some shit—and stormed out of the room.

The man who had entered looked like more than an entry level beat cop, with his three-piece suit, gelled hair, and loafers that actually shined.

I met his gaze. “Fed?”

He gave me a bland smile, not bothering to tell me I was wrong. “Agent Paulson. Mind if I take a seat?”

“By all means.” I looked around the barren space, with its cinder block walls, chipped floor tiles, and questionable stain in a corner near the door. “I’d offer you a cocktail, but my butler has the day off.”

“Damn,” he mused, and sat with a sigh. “I had my heart set on a vodka tonic.”

My smirk widened. “Funny. A fed with a sense of humor.”

He made a soft tsking sound. “And you’re just another rich punk who thinks he can write a check to make this go away, but I’m here to give you some friendly advice.”

I cocked a brow. “Oh?” This should be amusing. This guy had no fucking clue who I was.

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