Some detectives came by with Amy’s lawyer in tow after another hour, and Rusty and Cross were separated to run through their story half a dozen times each. At least, Rusty assumed Cross was getting the same grilling. The lawyer stayed with Cross, but she told Rusty to stay silent until his own representation arrived. Another equally glacial woman showed up about fifteen minutes into Rusty’s stonewalling to stand at his side and gave him permission to speak. Just as well since he wassweating like a pig. Casey would tell him to cooperate with the law, but he was in Cross’s world now, not Casey’s.
After running through the events, the cops moved on from a basic “What happened today?” to “Did you talk to Tyler Wellington in the past week?” and “What did you know about Wellington’s finances?” and “Did you tell Wellington where you were going today?” and “Do you know who supplies Wellington with meth?” His lawyer told him not to answer and called a halt to the interrogation.
“This is starting to sound like a witch hunt, gentlemen,” she said. “Let me remind you my client is the victim here.”
The detectives protested, rephrased, then reluctantly left. Rusty bounced up to follow them out but the lawyer got in his way. “I’m going to go touch base with Ms. Nelson,” she said. Rusty had been sitting in a vinyl chair by the empty bedside and she pointed at it. “Stay put. There’s a bit of a crowd outside. We have a guard on your door, for now.”
“I want to see Cross.”
“It’s my understanding that Mr. LaCroix was heading down to imaging to check his ankle. You should get notified when he’s back in his room.”
“I don’t have my fucking phone!” He paced to the window, ignoring the chair.
“Ah, of course. I’ll send someone with a burner for you.”
“I could just go to his room.”
The lawyer pointed at the chair again. “Stay put. We’re managing the publicity well at the moment. Don’t do anything foolish.”
Like going to see my boyfriend? Who I just got kidnapped with?But Cross still wasn’t officially out, and Rusty had no idea what publicity crap she was talking about, so he glared at her retreating back and stayed put.
Some undefined time later, he was going crazy pacing a groove in the floor when the door of his room opened. Past the middle-aged man in a fancy suit coming in, Rusty could see the bodyguard standing relaxed in the hall, so he figured it was someone who was supposed to be there. “Hey, did you bring me a new phone?”
“I did.” The man had a smooth voice with a hint of a Québécois accent. He reached into his pocket and held out a phone.
Rusty took it, stared at it. “This is an iPhone, not a burner.”
“I thought you might prefer this.” The sharply dressed man met Rusty’s gaze, his eyes intent. Dark gray eyes flecked with amber…
Rusty took in the man’s compact build and dark receding hairline and had a sudden suspicion. “Who are you?”
“I’m Pierre LaCroix, RJ’s father.”
He doesn’t like to be called RJ.But Rusty wasn’t about to make trouble if Cross’s parents had finally shown up for him. “Good to meet you, sir.” He held out his hand.
The pause before LaCroix took it and shook hands was brief, but Rusty didn’t miss it.
He let go, stepped one pace back, and said, “I’m Rusty Dolan.”
“Yes. I’ve had several reports about you. You’re living with my son right now.”
Rusty really wished he could say,“And fucking him,”but he just nodded, and waited.
“You’re in a lower hockey league, correct?”
“I’ll be at training camp with the AHL Tornados.” That was only a small exaggeration.
“They don’t pay well, I understand.”
“I’m used to living cheap.”
“But not when you’re with my son.”
“No. Cross’s place is ridiculous.”
“Do you plan to continue to stay there when he’s healed and no longer needs you?”
“No longer needs you”sounded like a deliberate dig, but Rusty kept his voice even. “That’ll be up to Cross. And where I end up playing. We might get an apartment closer to my team, since he’ll be out on long-term injured reserve for quite a while.” He and Cross hadn’t talked about this shit, but LaCroix didn’t need to know that.
