Page 11 of Lord of Justice

It's lonely. That's stupid, I should be grateful to be out of that holding cell, but I know what these rooms are meant to do. The shame of knowing unseen eyes are watching you. Waiting to catch you in a lie, dismissing you as trash.

Someone tipped off the police that I'd be picking up the Rolexes from that greasy douchebag. Hopefully, Roman has an attorney assigned to me and he'll be here soon. I shudder.

Anyone butAndrey, his horrible, scary cousin. I still remember him materializing from the shrubs to catch me putting the coins in my Range Rover. And his comment about locking me in the house? It almost sounded like a BDSM thing.

He's head legal counsel for Morozov Global and he is the spookiest bastard to ever walk into acourtroom. I heard he made a judge cry once.

Half an hour later I'm dozing when the door opens again and my head snaps up.

Oh shit. It'shim.

Andrey Morozov, wearing a tailored blue suit, fitting smoothly over his broad shoulders, a crisp white dress shirt, and he's fucking gorgeous. His hair is thick and blonde, and he has a surprisingly sensual mouth for a computer with legs. There's been speculation that he's not actually human at all, but instead, some arcane combination of a male model and a Nvidia supercomputer. He's carrying a briefcase and announces to someone out in the hallway, "Thank you. I'll handle this." Taking the other seat, he taps his finger on the table, staring at me silently.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Isn't there a torture where they just keep tapping until it makes the person insane? I hold out as long as I can before I lean forward.

"Are we waiting for something?"

His chilly gaze drifts toward the mirror and back again. "I was waiting for my associate to clear the viewing room and turn off the mic."

"It's always good to have one of those people in a police station," I nod.

With a sigh, he pulls a file from his briefcase and opens it, frowning as he flips through the papers. "Felony theft charges. Felonious assault against a police officer –"

"What?" I say incredulously, bending over awkwardly and trying to point to the cut on my cheek. "They slammed me up against my own car and cut my face. Exactly when in that scenario would I have had time to assault a cop?"

He shrugs, elegantly indifferent to my indignation. "They can charge you with anything they like. Body cam footage disappears all the time."

"Are you here to get me out?" The question is more abrupt than I like, but I don't need him scolding me. Those watches were worth over five hundred thousand dollars. It's a felony. I'm quite clear on that.

Ignoring me, he scans the rest of the document, flipping to the next page. "They picked you up inthatsection of Long Island?" He frowns at me. "A bit out of your usual range of sorority houses and coffee shops, isn't it?"

I start tappingmyindex finger on the table. "It was very out of character for Jackson to send me there. It was not a usual pick up. Someone tippedoff the police, they were there less than five minutes after I arrived."

"Quite likely," he agrees. After reading through the rest of the document, he places it precisely in the center of the table. Leaning back and folding his arms, he eyes me thoughtfully, his eyes drifting from my face down to my breasts and back again. If he was any other man, I'd be pissed at the disrespect. But there's absolutely nothing in Andrey's gaze that indicates he is at all impressed with what he sees.

Maybe he finds women distasteful. He looks like the type. Like sex is too messy and might stain his expensive suits.

"You would like to get out of here, I imagine," he says.

"Yes, that would be ideal," I agree, hovering my face above the table, so I could rub my eyes again with my handcuffed fingers.

"There is a problem," he says, spinning the arrest report toward me. "They're also charging you with attempted murder –"

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" I gasp. "Who did I attempt to murder? What the hell is going on?"

"It states that you attempted to shoot an innocent man with a Beretta - serial number filed off,of course - and another charge magically popped up from the Manhattan Police Department stating that you've been arrested three times -"

"I've never been arrested before!" I lean forward furiously. "I mean, Rose and I knew it was a possibility but no! My record is clean!"

"Three times before for felony theft," he continues.

I know my mouth is opening and closing like a goldfish’s, but I am so outraged that I can't even form a full sentence. "What the – How can – Sons of bitches, they –"