Page 182 of Sins of a King

I frowned. “Didn’t he have one the other day when he questioned me? He said I was under arrest for the murder of Igor Dolinsky. I assumed he had a warrant. He isn’t that stupid, is he?”

Masterson grinned, pure wolf in a suit. “The reason he held you so long and wouldn’t let you call a lawyer was because he was waiting for a judge’s signature.”

“You mean he scooped me up before he had the power to?” I demanded, anger radiating through my body.

“Yes.”

I looked at Flynn. “I’m going to destroy him.”

“I like your wife,” Masterson said as a waiter put down a dish in front of him.

“Makes two of us,” Flynn answered.

“How did you know that? About detaining me while he got the signature?” I asked.

“I can’t say,” Masterson said.

Fair enough. We all had our secrets, we all had people in our pockets.

Lunch was a quick affair and after we said goodbye to Masterson, Flynn turned to me and asked, “You ready for this next part?”

“Ready for all this to be over with.”

Did mob bosses get their happily ever afters? Guess I was about to find out.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” Adam Richards teased as he embraced me. “It’s been how many years?”

“Two, I think,” I said.

“And you called me because you want something.”

“You’ll want this just as much as me, I promise,” I answered, pulling back. We were in the privacy of the penthouse suite with Sasha and Brad standing guard at our door. No one was getting past them. Contingency plan, considering I expected Fred Winters to show up randomly. He had a habit of doing that.

“Adam Richards,” I introduced, “my husband, Flynn Campbell.”

“Husband?” Adam asked, reaching out a hand toward Flynn. “Why didn’t I hear anything about this?”

“It was quick,” I said, waving my hand evasively.

“Is that why you called me? You want a wedding announcement inThe New York Times? I have no jurisdiction over the wedding section.”

“You think I care about that?” I demanded, putting my hands to my waist.

Adam and Flynn laughed. “Guess not,” Adam said.

“Can I get you something to drink, Adam?” Flynn asked, heading toward the bar area.

“Sparkling water, thanks.” He set down his messenger bag, pulling out his pen, paper, and iPhone to record the interview.

“Hen?” Flynn asked me.

“Sparkling water,” I said with a small grin. “How have you been, Adam?”

“Good, busy,” Adam said.

“Sheila?”

“All good. So tell me why you didn’t go through with a society wedding,” Adam asked me, taking his water from Flynn with a smile of thanks. Flynn handed me my glass and then sat next to me on the couch, his arm on top of the cushion, his fingers tickling my shoulder.