She was also wearing an expression that stated flatly she was freaked.

She’d heard about her friend.

He made it to her, put a hand in her belly, and shoved her back into the room, stopping her and dipping his face to hers.

“Brush your teeth. Come to introduce yourself. Excuse yourself to make coffee. This all will give me time to feel them out and I’ll get the story,” he ordered.

“Corinne,” she breathed out in horror.

He cupped her jaw in both hands. “Brush your teeth, Kathryn. Take your time. Pull it together. I’ll keep them occupied.”

She nodded.

He should let it go.

But it was now very clear he could not let it go.

“Cisco is a bad guy,” he said gently.

She nodded again.

He touched the tip of his nose to hers and he liked it that she did not hide that settled her, before he took his hands from her, turned and walked swiftly to the living room.

He hit the room intent on making a number of points very clear.

He didn’t delay doing that.

“We were still in bed. Ryn’s gonna brush her teeth and make coffee. Then she’ll talk.”

Point 1: She’s mine.

Point 2: This means you’re on my turf.

Point 3: This is going to go like I want it to go, and if it doesn’t, I’ll stop it.

That last point was inferred, but he saw it register and didn’t like the sour feeling in his gut that they didn’t hide they didn’t like it.

He could get they wanted to talk to her.

He could get they’d want to know why Cisco talked to her.

But any cop with a possible witness who might conceivably have reliable intel on a decent lead for a homicide would not walk into a woman’s house on a Sunday morning and not like the fact her man was demonstrably protective about the fact there were cops on his woman’s doorstep on a Sunday morning.

Mag had shared with the team that Cisco told Ryn he’d been framed.

By dirty cops.

Not a one of them believed this story.

But Boone could not shake the feeling he was standing in Ryn’s dark cave of a living room.

With two dirty cops.

“You are?” Mueller asked.

“Boone Sadler,” he answered.

“How long have you known Kathryn?” Bogart asked.

“This is pertinent to your business here, how?” Boone asked back.

“He’s just making conversation,” Mueller mumbled.

“No, he wasn’t,” Boone returned.

Mueller, cottoning on that Boone was not just any protective boyfriend, started to study him a lot more closely.

Time to make another point.

“You know Mitch Lawson and Brock Lucas?” he asked.

Now it was both men focused more closely on him.

“Different shop. We’re Englewood PD. But yeah, we know ’em,” Mueller said.

“Yeah, they’re tight with my boss.”

Mueller shifted.

Bogart’s scrutiny of Boone intensified even further.

Yeah.

They also knew Hawk.

Point 4: I work for Hawk Delgado. Mitch Lawson and Brock Lucas are decorated cops on the force, they’re his closest buds, and so no shit will be eaten this morning in Ryn’s living room with you trying to show what you think are your big cop dicks.

He felt her before he saw both men’s eyes go to the doorway as Ryn walked in.

She went right to Mueller, hand up. “Sorry. We had a late night and lazy morning. I’m Kathryn.”

Mueller took her hand, tipped his chin down. “Detective Lance Mueller.”

She nodded, pulled her hand from his and offered it to Bogart.

“Detective Kevin Bogart,” he said when he took it, and Boone clocked the asshole’s eyes drifting to her tits.

Ryn didn’t miss it.

She pulled from him a lot less friendly and went to Boone.

He clamped an arm around her waist.

“I’m going to make coffee really quickly. Do you two want coffee?” she asked Mueller and Bogart.

“They’re not staying that long,” Boone said.

She looked up at him and then looked to the men. “Okay, I won’t be long. Please, take a seat.”

He gave her a squeeze and she looked back up at him.

“Baby, they’re not gonna be staying that long,” he repeated.

“Right,” she whispered, skimmed her gaze through the cops and muttered, “Be right back.”

She took off.

Boone crossed his arms on his chest.

“We have a number of questions,” Mueller warned.

“Maybe, but it still won’t take long for Ryn to answer them,” Boone replied.

“And you know this, how?” Bogart asked, and Boone didn’t miss his snide tone or that he phrased his question like Boone phrased an earlier one.

He ignored the guy and looked to Mueller, who was good cop.

Or acting like it.

“When was this woman killed?” he asked.

“We tend to be the ones who ask the questions,” Bogart replied.

Boone looked back to him. “I can pull up the Post online and find out so I’m not sure why you won’t just tell me,” Boone pointed out.

“Last night. ME’s preliminary puts time of death between nine and eleven,” Mueller answered.

“Where?” Boone kept at him.

“Her master bath,” Mueller shared.

“How?” Boone asked.

“Back of the skull. She was on her knees.”

“Execution,” Boone murmured.

Mueller gave a short nod.

“Husband out of the house?” Boone asked.

Bogart spoke up.

“They’re perverts,” he sneered. “He was somewhere probably getting fucked up the ass by a bitch in leather and a strap on.”

“Kev,” Mueller muttered, then to Boone. “The Mortons have an open marriage. He had a date. He shares that Mrs. Morton knew about it and approved.”

This was a lot of detail to convey to a civvy, which part had to do with Mueller covering for Bogart being a dickhead and part had to do with the fact he knew they were going to leave, and Boone was going to be on the phone with Hawk, Mitch or Brock before they were out of the front vestibule, so he’d find out anyway.

“So he’s alibied,” Boone noted.

“He found her and called it in,” Mueller shared. “This happened around one. He fucked the scene. Open marriage or not, he came unraveled. Tried to give a woman without half her head CPR.”

“Christ,” Boone bit.

Mueller’s chin suddenly jerked up, his gaze going beyond Boone, and Boone turned to see Ryn coming through the dining room.

She hit him, her front to his side, and shoved the fingers of one hand in the back of his jeans, her other hand she set to his stomach, and he curled an arm around her shoulders.

“Coffee’s on,” she told him.

“Right,” he replied.

She turned to the cops.

“This is very upsetting about Corinne,” she declared.

“We can imagine,” Mueller mumbled, then, distinctly, he said, “It’s our understanding two nights ago you went to Mrs. Morton’s house and there, you met a client of hers.”

“Brett,” she confirmed.

Boone held her closer.