Page 177 of Sins of a King
“No need. My client is leaving the premises. No criminal charges have been filed.”
“You know the FBI has its own jurisdiction,” Winters spat.
Masterson was a tall man, who seemed to grow even taller. He looked at me, his brown eyes shrewd. “Sasha Petrovich informed me that you were roughly handled outside of The Rex Hotel. Tell me, Mrs. Campbell, how did Mr. Winters treat you?”
“Inhumanely,” I said automatically. “I was fed once and had only one bathroom break.”
“All in eight hours,” Masterson said with a rueful shake of his head. “And he didn’t let you make a phone call, did he?”
“No, he didn’t,” I said.
“You son of a bitch,” Winters growled at Masterson.
Flynn finally reached out to me and pulled me into his side, but I refused to melt into him. Strength was the only character trait Winters responded to.
“You want to file those criminal charges, and we’ll be having a different discussion. Until then.” Masterson nodded at me. Flynn took my hand, and we headed toward the elevator.
I looked over my shoulder at Winters and smiled. “A pleasure. As always.”
Flynn barked out a laugh. The elevator dinged, and then the doors opened. “Say nothing,” Masterson said. Flynn’s hand tightened on mine as my eyes took him in. He looked like he’d healed completely from the bullet to the shoulder, but I wouldn’t know until I got his shirt off, and my hands all over him. We rode the elevator in complete silence to the lobby, and when we made it outside, I took in a breath, no longer breathing stale, circulated air. Our car was waiting for us, idling, and I could almost make out the form of our driver through tinted windows.
Flynn opened the door for me, but before I climbed in, I turned to Allen Masterson. He was no fool—you didn’t get to be the best criminal defense attorney in the country by being stupid. “He won’t stop.”
“No,” he agreed. “He won’t. We need to have a meeting to discuss strategy and everything that went on while you were in that building. I need you to write it all down, okay?”
“Okay.”
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he promised, reaching out to shake my hand and then Flynn’s.
“Can we drive you somewhere?” Flynn asked him.
“No, I have my own car waiting for me. Tomorrow,” he said again before striding away, strong and confident.
“Car,” Flynn ordered me gruffly.
I scooted inside and Flynn followed, sitting so close that our thighs touched. The car pulled away, and Flynn rolled up the partition so we had privacy.
“Barrett,” he whispered.
My mouth met his, and I sank into him, greedily soaking up all the comfort he offered me. His hands wove through my hair, and his lips gentled, moved, and brushed across my cheek. “I think we’ve established we’re stronger together than apart, aye?”
“Yes,” I agreed. “I was on my way to Scotland. I missed you.”
“I missed you.”
“Winters accused me of killing Dolinsky. How would he know such a thing?”
I stared up at him, Flynn’s hands still holding the sides of my face. “Because a man of ours who was on Brad’s trusted team tipped him off.”
“What?” I asked, my eyes widening. “But—”
“It was part of the plan.”
“Plan? You mean, you wanted Winters to arrest me?”
Flynn’s hands dropped, but only so he could grasp my shoulders. “Not you,” he said curtly. “Me. We had our man tell Winters I was the one who killed Dolinsky.”
“I don’t understand,” I said, shaking my head. Everything was so muddy. Layers and layers of deception. “When he picked me up, he said I was under arrest for Dolinsky’s death.”
