His Dangerous Love On Ice (Olivia and Zane) novel Chapter 149

Olive’s POV

The phone slipped from my hand and clattered onto the hardwood floor.

I stared at it lying there, screen still glowing with the detective’s number, like it was a bomb that had just detonated in my living room.

Dead.

Judy Byron was dead.

And I was one of the last people to see him alive.

My brain couldn’t process it. Couldn’t make sense of the words the detective had just said. Incident. Early this morning. Security footage. Questions.

“Olive.”

Zane’s voice cut through the static in my head.

I looked up at him—still shirtless, still in just his jeans from last night, hair messy from sleep and sex and everything we’d done in the hours since he’d shown up at my door.

He was staring at me with an expression I’d never seen before.

Not angry. Not cold.

Terrified.

“What happened?” he asked, and his voice was so controlled it was almost scary. Like he was holding himself together by a thread.

Judy Byron.” The words came out broken. Disconnected. “He’s dead.”

Zane went completely still.

Not the kind of still where you’re just not moving. The kind of still that comes right before an explosion. Where every muscle in your body is coiled and ready to destroy something.

“What did they say?” His voice was flat. Dangerous.

“The police. A detective. He said—” I had to swallow past the tightness in my throat. “He said Judy was found dead in his hotel room this morning. And they want me to come to the station for questioning because I was one of the last people to see him.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Zane’s jaw clenched so hard I could see the muscle jumping. His hands curled into fists at his sides. And his eyes-god, his eyes went completely dark.

“Did they say how he died?” he asked.

“No. Just that it was an incident.” My voice was shaking now, the shock starting to wear off and being replaced by something worse. Fear. “Zane, they think-the way the detective sounded-hey think I might have something to do with it.”

“You didn’t.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. Absolute and unwavering.

“I know that,” I said, my voice rising slightly. “But they don’t. And I was there. I had dinner with him. I left upset. And now he’s dead and-”

I couldn’t finish the sentence because suddenly I couldn’t breath .

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

I’d just gone on a stupid blind date my mother had set up. Just had dinner with a guy I used to know. Just listened to him say things about Klaus that made my skin crawl.

And now he was dead.

“Olive.” Zane crossed the distance between us in two strides and rabbed my face in both hands, forcing me to look at him. “Listen to me. You didn’t do anything wrong. Do you understand You went to dinner. You left. That’s it. Whatever happened to him after that has nothing to do with you.”

“But what if they don’t believe that?” My hands came up to grip is wrists. “What if they think I—”

“Then we deal with it.” His thumbs stroked my cheekbones, and despite everything, the touch was gentle. Grounding. “But you’re not going to that station alone. I’m coming with you.”

“Zane-”

“I’m not asking, Olive.” His eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. “You’re not doing this alone. Not the police. Not the questions. Not any of it.”

Part of me wanted to argue. Wanted to say I could handle this myself, that I didn’t need him playing protector.

But the truth was I was terrified.

And having him there-having someone who believed me without question-made the fear slightly more manageable.

“Okay,” I whispered.

He pressed his forehead against mine for just a second, his eyes losing.

Then he pulled back and his entire demeanor shifted.

The gentle, protective Zane disappeared.

And in his place was something colder. Harder. More dangerous

“Get dressed,” he said, already moving toward where he’d discarded his shoe last night. “We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

“I need to call my mom-”

“No.” The word was sharp, Final. “Not until we know what we’re dealing with. The last thing you need right now is Diane panicking and making things worse.”

He was right. My mother would lose her mind. Would blame herself for setting up the date. Would probably show up at the police station demanding to speak to whoever was in charge.

“What about a lawyer?” I asked, watching him pull his shirt over is head. “Should I-“‘

“Already handled.” He pulled out his phone and started typing. My lawyer will meet us there.”

“Zane, I can’t afford-”

“I don’t give a fuck what you can afford.” His eyes snapped to mine. “You’re not going into that station without representation. End of discussion.*

I should’ve been annoyed at how bossy he was being. Should’ve told him to back off and let me handle my own crisis.

Better to keep it simple. I went to dinner. We talked. I left. That’s it.

“Olive.”

Zane’s voice pulled me from my spiraling thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“Whatever they ask you in there,” he said, his eyes still on the road, “tell the truth. Don’t lie. Don’t embellish. Don’t try to make yourself sound better or worse than you are. Just answer their questions honestly and directly.”

“Okay.”

“And if they ask you anything that makes you uncomfortable, anything that feels like they’re trying to trap you, you say ‘I’d like to speak with my lawyer before answering that.’ Understood

I nodded.

“Say it, Olive. I need to hear you say you understand.”

“I understand,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

He reached over and grabbed my hand, threading his fingers through mine.

The touch was possessive and reassuring all at once.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said again. “Remember that. No matter what they imply or suggest or try to make think. You. Didn’t. Do. Anything. Wrong.”

The police station came into view-a massive concrete building hat looked exactly like what it was. Cold. Imposing. Designed to intimidate.

Zane pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine.

For a moment we just sat there, his hand still holding mine.

“I’m scared,” I admitted quietly.

“I know.” He brought my hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to my knuckles. “But I’m not letting them railroad you. I promise.”

We got out of the car and walked toward the entrance.

Zane’s hand found the small of my back, guiding me forward, and I was grateful for the touch. For the reminder that I wasn’t alone in this.

The lobby was exactly what I expected. Fluorescent lights that made everything look washed out. Hard plastic chairs bolted to the floor. A reception desk behind bulletproof glass.

Zane walked up to the window with a confidence that suggested he’d done this before,

“Olive Monroe,” he said to the officer behind the desk. “She’s her regarding the Judy Byron case. Detective Harrison called her.”

The officer glanced at me, then back at Zane, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if he looked familiar.

“And you are?”