Craving Hawk (The Aces' Sons 3)

I sat down at the table and put my purse on the floor next to me while Lincoln got situated.

“I just wanted to ask you a few questions, Ms. Hawthorne,” the detective told me as he sat down across from us. “You really didn’t need a lawyer present.”

“Mrs. Hawthorne has been advised by her legal counsel not to speak with police without her lawyer present,” Lincoln said blandly, setting his folded hands on the table.

Detective Robertson cleared his throat in annoyance and gave a small nod.

“Do you know Mark Phillips?” he asked, without any build up whatsoever.

I looked at Lincoln the way he’d told me to the night before and caught his nod.

“Yes,” I answered. “He was a teacher at my high school.”

“And what did he teach?”

I waited for Lincoln’s nod. “He taught English literature, I think.”

“You think?”

“Well, it might have been creative writing. I don’t remember.”

“And were you in his class?” Robertson asked.

Lincoln nodded.

“No, I wasn’t.”

“But you saw him around school?”

Lincoln nodded.

“Yes. It isn’t a very large school.”

“And did you ever see him outside of school?” the detective asked.

Lincoln shook his head. “Mrs. Hawthorne’s private life isn’t up for discussion,” he said flatly.

I swallowed hard as the detective’s eyes narrowed.

The questions continued that way for over an hour. He asked me questions about my old high school, the schedules, the teachers, what year I’d graduated. I answered all of those. But any time he asked something that came too close to me personally, Lincoln shot him down.

It was like a tennis match. Detective Robertson would ask a question, and I’d look at Lincoln. He’d either nod or shake his head, I’d answer or Lincoln would answer, then we’d be on to the next question. Over and over and over. I had no idea how I would have managed it if Lincoln hadn’t been there. Even after dealing with Grease and Casper the night before, I’d been completely unprepared.

When we finally left the police station, I was completely drained.

“You did well,” Lincoln said as we walked to his car.

“Thanks. Holy shit, that was intense.”

“Yeah, I had a feeling they’d go hard,” he mumbled, unlocking his car.

I snorted at his word usage. He normally sounded so proper.

“I put in a motion to have the case dismissed,” he said as soon as we were inside his car with the doors closed. “And I called the DA last night and told him the case was bullshit.”

“Oh,” I mumbled, buckling up. “You can do that?”

“Their evidence is nonexistent,” he said in annoyance as we pulled out of the parking lot. “I’m not sure why they narrowed in on your husband, but they don’t have anything on him. That entire arraignment was absurd. They had no grounds to arrest him.”

“So they don’t have anything?” I asked, turning to look at him. I’d barely heard a word about what was happening with Tommy’s case. I knew he was trying not to worry me, but it pretty much had the opposite effect.

“Some kid saw Tommy and the teacher arguing in the parking lot of the school. Tommy slammed the teacher into a car, another teacher broke it up, and that was that,” he said, glancing at me then back at the road. “But that can be explained away. Tommy’s little brother and three other members of his family had just died. His mother and older brother were in the hospital. Not only is that enough of a reason for him to become…emotional, but if it went to trial, no juror would be unsympathetic.”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “That was a rough time.”

“I’m sorry,” Lincoln said. “I heard you were friends with the little brother. Michael?”

“Mick,” I corrected. No one called him Michael.

“Right.”

“Is that the only thing they had?” I asked as we turned up the road toward the club’s gate.

“Everything else is circumstantial at best.” He scoffed. “Tommy can’t tell them where he was two years ago, because no one knows where they were two years ago. Mark Phillips had a stack of Michael Hawthorne’s school papers on his home desk. Odd? Yes. But not outside the realm of possibility, the guy was a teacher.”

My heart started to thump hard in my chest.

“They’re scrambling. Trying to find something. They won’t.”

“Oh,” I rasped, nodding as the prospect on the gate swung it open and let us through.

“The call will come in today,” Lincoln told me easily. “They’ll drop the case.”

We came to a stop in the forecourt of the garage and I gave Lincoln a quick smile as I climbed out of his car. “Are you coming in?” I asked, grabbing my purse off the seat.

“No, I’m going to go back to my hotel and change.”

I looked him over. “But why?” I asked. His suit was dark gray and it fit him perfectly from shoulders to ankles. He was seriously rocking the thing.