Page 5 of Devil's Iris
I relax slightly. Their voices carry easily over the constant noise from the holding cells. Even if I wanted to ignore them, it would be impossible with how loud they’re speaking. But then my blood runs cold as it sinks in: there’s a potential murderer sharing a cell with my little brother.
Ethan might be an idiot, but he’s still just a kid. A kid who’s probably scared out of his mind right now.
Before panic can swallow me whole, a new officer walks in holding up a cell phone, shaking his head as he catches the tail end of the conversation. “Unfortunately, he’s not going to jail. I just got a call that his attorney is on the way.” He pauses. “It’s Romero Lombardi.”
Most of the officers groan in unison, and the room actually quiets down a little as even the detainees fall silent to listen. The sudden silence is almost more unsettling than the noise.
Romero Lombardi.That name sounds familiar. Where have I heard it before?
“That bastard will get him out, and he’ll kill another person,” an older cop predicts, rubbing his temple tiredly.
A lawyer who can get murderers released? I perk up, and almost immediately I remember why I recognize his name. He’s that hotshot defense attorney who somehow gets criminals acquitted left and right. Brilliant, ruthless, and charming are some of the words newspapers use to describe him.
His name is practically legendary in Brownsville, which is a hotbed of criminals. If you ever get tangled up with the law, he’sthe guy you pray to afford—though rumor is his retainer fee costs more than most people make in a year. Probably more than I’ll earn in a decade. Whoever this murderer is, he’s either rich or has friends in high places.
My gaze drifts to the station entrance.Could I possibly turn this into an opportunity?If he’s coming here, he’ll have to walk right past me since my chair is positioned near the entrance. Maybe I can get his attention. Plead with his soft side—assuming he has one—to help Ethan and me.
I scoff silently. Yeah, sure.And why would he give a damn about some broke woman and her idiot brother?
But Ihaveto try. I need to make him care enough to want to help. Somehow.
The wheels in my brain start turning, running through scenarios and discarding them just as quickly. I’m so lost in my scheming that I almost miss the moment when the station door swings open.
But I don’t miss him.
Jesus Christ.
Goosebumps ripple across my skin, and my lips part involuntarily as I watch him stride towards the officers with the kind of confidence that makes the air itself seem to bend around him.
It’s not even his looks that have me spellbound—though he’s undeniably handsome. It’s the way he carries himself, like the whole damn station belongs to him and everyone else is just borrowing space.
My gaze drifts down, tracing the clean lines of his suit jacket before settling on the tailored trousers that showcase a tight ass, one that definitely didn’t come from sitting behind a desk all day. The fabric fits deliciously, custom-made to perfection—from those broad shoulders right down to his long legs. I swallow, my throat a little dry.
Then there’s his hair. Black and neatly styled, swept awayfrom his face into a side part so precise I have the ridiculous urge to mess it up just to see what he’d do.Does it always look so immaculate?I blow a stubborn bang out of my eyes, suddenly way too aware that my sad little bun is slowly unraveling.
As if all that weren’t unfair enough, he has the eyes to match.
Sharp green eyes—deep, emerald green—sweep the room, and even though they never once land on me, they pull me in with their magnetic beauty.
It doesn’t help that he’s tall,reallytall. The kind of height that makes me feel small just looking at him. He must be six-five, maybe more, and the realization makes my belly flutter in the most embarrassing way. As a five-eight girlie, I don’t often have to crane my neck to look at a man.
I’ve never met him before, but there’s no question in my mind who he is. This has to be Romero Lombardi.
He stops directly in front of the officer who mentioned receiving his call. “Detective James? Romero Lombardi. We spoke on the phone.” He shifts his briefcase to his left hand and extends his right to a slightly dumbstruck Detective James.
“I know–I know who you are,” the officer stammers, shaking his hand.
“Excellent. I understand my client was arrested based on circumstantial evidence?” It’s phrased as a question, but he doesn’t pause for an answer, continuing in that smooth, dangerous voice. “You and I both know that circumstantial evidence is not proof of guilt. It’s a cloud of baseless assumptions.”
Detective James stiffens, obviously offended. “Circumstantial evidence isstillevidence. And it’s not just that. We have motive, opportunity?—”
“And no direct connection to the crime scene or the victim within twenty-four hours of his death. My client has an airtight alibi.”
Holy shit, he’s good.My heart starts hammering against my ribs. I’m a sucker for a man who's hot and brilliant. It’s a lethal combination.
“So what are you saying? That we just let him go?” another cop interjects, glaring at Romero like he’s personally responsible for every criminal who’s ever walked free.
And then Romero does something that sends heat spiraling through my body: he chuckles. He actuallychuckles. My own lips curl up as I watch him, waiting with breathless anticipation for his response.
