Page 127 of Monk

The officer’s face turned an even deeper shade of red, almost purple now, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. A vein pulsed visibly at his temple. “This is not a joke!”

Angel swallowed his bite, took his time wiping his mouth with the back of his free hand, then grinned up at the officer with that infuriating smirk I knew so well. “Could’ve fooled me.”

I turned, scanning the rest of the room. Neville was backing slowly away from three women—all of them pointing their fingers at him, all of them talking at once. Their voices were rising in pitch and volume, creating a chaotic symphony of accusations and outrage.

“—and you got arrested!”

“—don’t you dare lie to me!”

“—You mind if I Insta this?”

Neville held up his hands defensively, his eyes wide, his expression panicked. His face had gone pale, and beads of sweat were forming on his forehead. “I swear, I didn’t do anything wrong!” he protested, his voice cracking slightly. “This is all just a huge misunderstanding!”

An officer stepped between them, trying to restore order, but the women weren’t having it. They leaned around the officer, still jabbing their fingers in Neville’s direction.

They just kept shouting, their voices overlapping into incomprehensible noise. I couldn’t make out the specifics through all the chaos, but it was clear that Neville had managed to upset all three of them simultaneously, which was honestly impressive in its own terrible way.

Across the room, I saw Ashe, Fifty, Bongo, and Lips—all of them standing in a line like some kind of defiant wall, arms crossed tight against their chests, glaring at the half-dozen officers surrounding them. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. Nobody was backing down.

“We need you to cooperate with us here—” one of the officers started, his tone attempting to sound reasonable but failing to hide his frustration.

“No,” Lips said flatly, cutting him off mid-sentence. His expression didn’t change. He didn’t even blink.

“Sir, if you refuse to answer our questions—” another officer tried, stepping forward with his hand raised in what was probably meant to be a calming gesture.

“I said no.” Lips’ voice was ice cold now, each word deliberate and final.

The officer’s jaw tightened visibly as his patience was clearly wearing thin. A vein pulsed at his temple. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

Fifty leaned forward slightly, his massive frame casting a shadow over the nearest officer. His voice dropped to a low rumble that somehow carried across the entire room. “Good.”

And standing off to the side, watching the entire shit show with an expression of pure disbelief, was Chief O’Rourke. He had his arms crossed tight against his chest, his jaw clenched, his head shaking slowly back and forth, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was witnessing. Like he’d seen a lot in his twenty-three years on the force, but this? This was something else entirely. His eyes swept across the chaos—the overturned furniture, the broken glass, the screaming witnesses, the whole goddamn circus—and I could practically see him calculating how much paperwork this was going to generate.

Our eyes met across the room. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to. Didn’t even uncross his arms or change his stance. The look on his face said it all:This is your mess now.And maybe a little bit ofI told you this would happenmixed in there too. That signature O’Rourke expression that combined disappointment, resignation, and just a hint of dark amusement at my expense.

I turned away, my gaze sweeping the room again, searching desperately through the sea of uniforms and badges when I saw him.

Whisper. He was being hauled out of an interrogation room by two agents, his hands cuffed behind his back, his lean frame tense and rigid as they gripped his arms. His expression wascold and unreadable, that familiar mask he wore when he was trying not to let anyone see what he was really feeling. And as the door swung open wider, I caught a glimpse inside the cramped, fluorescent-lit room.

John. Handcuffed to the metal table, his wrists raw and red from the restraints. Glaring up with pure defiance at an ATF agent who was bent over the table, his meaty hands planted on either side of John’s arms, his face inches from John’s, shouting something I couldn’t hear through the thick glass and metal door. But I could see the veins bulging in the agent’s neck, the way his mouth twisted with each word.

My blood turned to ice. Then it boiled, white-hot rage flooding through my veins.

I didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t stop to consider the consequences or the fact that I was surrounded by federal agents. I pushed through the crowd, shoving past officers and agents who barely had time to register what was happening, my heels clicking sharply and purposefully against the tile floor. And then Ikickedthe interrogation room door open with every ounce of fury I possessed, letting it slam against the wall with a deafeningBANGthat echoed through the entire building.

The noise behind me—the shouting, the chaos, the overlapping voices of a dozen different conversations—instantly quieted as every head in the precinct turned toward me.

The agent interrogating John straightened, his expression shifting from anger to surprise. “What thefuckis going on here?” I demanded, my voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

The agent’s eyes narrowed. “Ma’am, you need to leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said, stepping into the room and letting the door swing shut behind me. “And you need to step away from my client.Now.”

The agent’s jaw tightened. “Your client?”

“That’s right.” I walked toward the table, keeping my gaze locked on his. “And you are in direct violation of his Sixth Amendment right to counsel.”

The agent’s face flushed. “We’re in the middle of an interrogation.”