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Jamie glanced at Madison and frowned. “C’mon, Mads, you don’t need to hear all that.”
“But Lars,” she protested, glancing over at him.
I sensed Lars’s silent surprise that she didn’t want to leave him.
“Win will take care of Lars.” Jamie assured her.
“C’mon, Carrot, let’s go,” Ryan said, putting his palm on the small of her back to nudge.
“We can’t just leave,” Rory protested.
“We’ll wait in the hall.” He compromised.
“Better make it the waiting room. Satan’s out there,” Rush added.
Both girls seemed torn, but Jamie was adamant. “Get to stepping, baby. You too, camera girl.”
“You’ll stay?” Madison asked Wes.
I grunted. “I’ll take care of Lars. Not Wes.”
They both continued to stare at Wes for reassurance. Rude.
“I’ll stay.” Wes assured them.
On their way out, Madison stopped in front of us, reaching out to lay her hand on Lars’s arm. “We’ll be outside.”
He swallowed. “Uh, thanks.”
“Drink your latte,” Rory instructed, going as far as to retrieve it from the bathroom counter and hand it to him.
Kruger and Prism followed the four out into the hall, and when they were gone, the officers stared at Rush, Wes, and Max.
“We were at the airport,” Max said, gesturing between him and Wes.
Everyone glanced at Rush, who was unbothered. “I can corroborate that dude Oskar is a violent asshat who belongs in jail. Plus, I know what he looks like.” Then under his breath, he mumbled, “More than I can say for you.”
“And how is that?” the officer asked flipping to a new page in his notebook and looking at Rush expectantly.
“Can’t you just use your cell?” I wondered. Pen and paper were just so old school.
“I like writing,” the officer snapped.
His partner seemed to think that was super funny but did his best to hold in his amusement.
“He came to our dorm room last night. Flashed some photo and told me he was Lars’s brother,” Rush explained. “I let him in. I didn’t realize I shoulda put my fist in his face.”
“By him, you mean Oskar Johansson?” the officer clarified.
“I prefer to think of him as a waste of space, but yeah.” Rush allowed.
The other officer, who was clearly of this century, pulled out a cell phone and tapped on the screen, turning it around toward Rush. “Is this who you saw?”
Rush leaned in and looked at what I assumed was a photo. “Yeah, that’s him.”
The photo was turned toward us. “This is who was at the airport this morning?”
“Is that a mugshot?” I asked, taking in the white background with height markers behind the man who stood staring vacantly at the screen. His dark-blond hair was buzzed short, and I didn’t like his ugly face.
