His Dangerous Love On Ice (Olivia and Zane) novel Chapter 150

Olive’s POV

“Her attorney will be here shortly,” Zane said, completely ignoring the question. “We’d like to wait for him before she answers any questions.”

The officer’s expression shifted to something that might have been annoyance.

“Detective Harrison just wants to ask Miss Monroe a few questions-”

“Which she’ll be happy to answer once her legal representation rives,” Zane interrupted smoothly. “Unless you’d prefer we leave and reschedule for a time when our attorney is available?”

It wasn’t a question. It was a challenge,

The officer stared at Zane for a long moment, clearly trying to decide if this was a battle worth fighting.

“Have a seat,” he finally said, jerking his head toward the plastic chairs. “Someone will be with you shortly.”

We sat down, and I realized my hands were shaking.

Zane noticed immediately. He took my hand again, his thumb stroking across my knuckles in a soothing rhythm.

“Breathe,” he said quietly.

I tried. Pulled air into my lungs and pushed it back out. But it fell wrong. Too shallow. Like I couldn’t get enough oxygen.

“Olive.” His other hand came up to tilt my face toward him.””Look at me.”

I met his eyes.

“You’re okay,” he said firmly. “You’re going to walk in there, answer their questions honestly, and walk back out. That’s it. They have nothing on you because there’s nothing to have.”

“But what if-”

“No what-ifs.” His jaw was set. Determined. “We deal with what is not what might be.”

The door to the station opened, and a man in an expensive suit walked in.

He was older, maybe mid-fifties, with silver hair and the kind of face that suggested he’d spent decades in courtrooms destroying people’s cases.

“Mr. Mercer,” he said, walking straight to us. “Miss Monroe.”

“Richard.” Zane stood, shaking the lawyer’s hand. “Thanks for coming on short notice.”

“Of course,” Richard turned to me, his expression professional but not unkind. “I’m Richard Davis. I’ll be representing you today. Before we go in there, I need you to tell me everything that happened last night. Don’t leave anything out.”

I glanced at Zane,

He nodded once. Permission.

So I told Richard everything. The blind date my mother had set up. The dinner at Luiz de Vont. The conversation about Klaus. The way Judy had said things that made me uncomfortable. How I’d left upset and driven home.

Richard listened without interrupting, his expression giving away nothing.

When I finished, he was quiet for a moment.

“Did anyone else see you leave?” he asked.

“The restaurant staff. The valet. I gave my keys to the valet attendant when I arrived.”

“Good. That establishes a timeline.” He pulled out a notebook and started writing. “What time did you leave?”

“Around eight-thirty. Maybe a little later.”

“And you drove straight home?”

I hesitated.

That’s when I’d encountered Nikolai in the parking garage.

Should I mention that? Would it help or hurt?

“Miss Monroe?” Richard prompted.

“I went to the parking garage,” I said carefully. “There was someone there. A man named Nikolai. He works for Mr. Mercer. We spoke briefly, and then I drove home.”

Richard’s eyes flicked to Zane.

Zane’s expression was unreadable.

“Nikolai can verify she left when she said she did,” Zane said. “And that she was upset but unharmed.”

Richard nodded slowly. “That’s actually helpful. Gives us a witness to your state of mind and establishes you left the area well before the time of death.”

“Do we know when he died?” I asked.

“The detective will tell us when we go in,” Richard said. “But based on the fact that they called you this early, I’m guessing it was sometime late last night or early this morning.”

My stomach twisted.

While I’d been at home having makeup sex with Zane, Judy Byron had been dying.

“Miss Monroe.”

A detective had appeared-tall, Black, probably in his forties, with tired eyes that suggested he’d seen too much.

“I’m Detective Harrison. Thank you for coming in. If you’ll follow me?”

Richard stood immediately. “Richard Davis, Miss Monroe’s attorney. She’s prepared to answer your questions.”

Detective Harrison’s eyebrows raised slightly, but he nodded.

“Right this way,”

We followed him through a maze of corridors to a small room with a table and four chairs.

Interview room. Interrogation room. Whatever they wanted to ill it.

I sat down, Richard on one side, Zane on the other.

Detective Harrison settled into the chair across from me and pulled out a recorder.

“This interview is being recorded,” he said. “Miss Monroe, do you consent to this recording?”

I looked at Richard.

He nodded.

“Yes,” I said.

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