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Not that weirder things hadn’t happened in my life. Particularly in the past year. After all, it wasn’t every day that you legally bound yourself to an ex-lover as part of a fallback marriage pact.
I looked at Mimi. “We’ll talk again soon.” I waved my hand at the door.
Still smirking, the brunette folded her arms and gave a little head flick that made her chin-length layers dance around her face. “I’d prefer to stay. This looks like it might be fun.”
God, I needed to cut that bitch up at some point.
For now, I switched my attention back to the two men who were deep in an argument. A deputy sheriff looked on, seeming intent on not getting involved—well, most cops swerved getting on my husband’s bad side, and this little scene would sure piss him off.
“I’m only here to ask her some questions, Grayden,” the sheriff insisted, his large fists perched on his stout hips. “She doesn’t need a lawyer present. And if shedid, you wouldn’t be able to act as one for her—it would be a conflict of interests, given your past history.”
“I’m not leaving, Lowe,” Grayden asserted, a stubborn upward tilt to his chin as he drew himself up to his full height, placing him a few inches over the sheriff.
Exasperation rippled across Lowe’s jowly face. “Has it occurred to you that she might not want you here? I have to say, taking into account the way everything played out between you two, I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t.”
An emotion flickered in Grayden’s hazel eyes too fast for me to process it. “If you’re trying to manipulate Addison into demanding I leave, it won’t work. She knows better than to talk without legal representation present.”
“As I said before, she doesn’t need it—I just mean to ask her a few questions.”
“Go ahead,” Grayden invited, his tone as smooth as the short brown hair he’d slicked back. “But I’ll be right here while you do.”
Lowe’s gaze narrowed. “How do you think my niece will feel when she hears you rallied to the defense of a woman she hates? Do Felicity’s feelings matter to you at all?”
“You won’t guilt-trip me into walking out of here.”
“You turned your back on Addison once before. What’s the difference?”
Oh, low blow. Accurate, though. Once, it would have stung to be reminded that Grayden had broken every promise he’d made to me when he’d scuttled back to his ex-wife. But now? Now I could think of him and feel nothing—no regret, no sadness, no anger.
Lowe sniffed. “Who is it you’re really protecting, I wonder? Her, or Dax Mercier? Are you worried she’ll spill something about your old buddy that will put him in prison where he belongs?”
Grayden’s eyes flicked to the manilla file the sheriff held. “You don’t know that Dax has anything to do with that.”
“It has his name written all over it.” Lowe turned back and pulled something out of the file. A photograph, I realized, as he held it up.
Damn.The dude in that picture had taken one fuck of a beating.
“Tell me, Mrs. Mercier, how would you feel if someone had done that to one of your loved ones?” asked Lowe. “How do you think his family feels? Do you really believe your husband should be allowed to get away with that?”
What I believed was that the guy had brought this on himself.
“Did the victim finger Dax as the culprit?” Grayden interrupted.
Lowe’s face tightened. “No.” He dropped his arm to his side. “He claims he remembers nothing. But it’s fear keeping him silent.” Lowe tilted his head at me. “Is that what’s keepingyousilent? Or do you just not care?”
I kept my expression neutral as I stared back at him, honestly wondering if he truly thought I was going to tattle.
“Obstructing justice is a serious crime, you know,” Lowe warned me.
“So is wasting police time,” Grayden chipped in. “That is essentially what you’re—” He cut himself off as the door swung open with a squeak of hinges.
A tall, suited-up, familiar figure loped inside.Dax.His mismatched gaze locked on me, glittering with anger, and gave me a quick head-to-toe inspection. Satisfied I was fine, he drank in the rest of the room. His eyes briefly narrowed on Mimi—whose smirk slipped away—and then lasered in on Lowe with a predatory focus.
Dax coolly hitched up a brow at him. “Want to tell me why you’re harassing my wife?” he asked, a deadly note to that otherwise velvety tone.
The sheriff straightened his broad shoulders. “Questioning her over a crime doesn’t count as harassment.” Again, he held up the photograph.
Dax’s expression didn’t alter in the slightest as he studied it. He then looked at the sheriff blankly.
