Page 18 of Who's Afraid of the Big, Bad World

“That was fast,” Rochelle said.

“They’re bringing in another officer to talk to me. Apparently, the one I spoke to wasn’t capable of taking my statement.” Violet glowered. “I have no idea why.”

Noah had a good idea why. She’d either pissed them off or scared the crap out of them.

She cocked a thumb over her shoulder. “You’re up. Good luck. American cops are dumb as dirt.”

“Iwasan American cop,” Noah reminded her as he levered himself out of the chair.

She simply stared at him as though he’d proven her point.

“Where are they?” he asked.

“First office beside the stairs.” She looked at Rochelle. “And just a heads-up. From the behavior of the cops out there, I’d say police royalty has arrived. Guy’s in uniform and doesn’t look happy. Must be the big boss.”

“Great.” Rochelle fastened her suit jacket before following Noah to the door. “I’ll head him off. You’re on guard duty, Violet.” She gestured to the room where Annabelle slept. “Nobody goes in or out.”

“Got it.” Violet sat at the desk, her back to the triplets and her eyes on the storage room door. “As long as I don’t have to deal with Copy, Paste, Repeat over there, I’m fine.”

“We heard that,” one of the triplets said.

“The rest of you,” Rochelle said, “carry on in here and monitoring the law enforcement personnel upstairs. We’ll postpone our briefing to later today.”

There were nods of agreement as Rochelle headed out of the room.

Noah followed her into the hallway. “Has it occurred to you,” he said, “that the owner of the building may not like the fact we’re moving in?”

Her expression hardened. “She doesn’t have a choice.”

As Rochelle went to introduce herself to an unhappy police chief, Noah let himself into the small office by the stairs and shook hands with the two detectives. One was around Noah’s age, and the other a kick-in-the-ass off retirement. They had the sharp-eyed yet world-weary look of cops who’d seen pretty much everything.

“Take a seat.” Detective Johnson, the younger of the two, gestured to the empty wooden chair across the desk from them.

McMillan studied Noah with open curiosity. “Atlantic City cop, huh?”

“Twelve years,” Noah said with a smile. “Made it to detective.”

Johnson smiled back. “We looked into you. You had a good track record before you left the department.” He glanced at his partner. “Benson Security is an interesting choice.”

McMillan shifted in his chair, his shirt straining over an ample belly. “Most cops wait until retirement before going the rent-a-cop route.”

Noah wasn’t offended. He understood their cynicism. When he’d been on the force, he’d encountered his fair share ofsecurity officers who thought they were full-fledged cops. Or worse, that they were better.

“I wanted a change of scenery,” he said easily.

Johnson tapped his pen on the open folder in front of him. “I’m sorry about your wife.”

Yeah, they’d done their homework on him. Made Noah wonder what they’d managed to dig up on the rest of his new team. From their position, the Benson Security Houston team must seem like a bunch of criminals and burned-out cops.

Noah nodded, acknowledging the detective’s condolences. “Do we have a problem here?” He was tired, sore, and not in the mood to tiptoe around the issues.

Johnson’s expression suggested he appreciated getting to the point. “Mac and I were discussing the new players in town. You’ve been here about five minutes, and already, bullets are flying.”

“Hey.” Noah spread his hands wide. “The Demons attacked us. It was shoot back or lay down and die.”

Johnson’s lanky frame was perfectly relaxed as he smiled. “We’re not questioning the shooting. It was definitely justified.”

Inside Noah, a wary tension uncoiled. Although he knew he was in the right, there was always a question mark over these things until they were thoroughly investigated.