Free The Broken Angel by Monica La Porta Page B

him. Barnes’s northern accent become more pronounced when he was under pressure. “I’m on my way, but if you remember, I was there until the wee hours of the morning.”
    “Don’t make me wait. We have guests.” Barnes had whispered the last sentence.
    Twenty minutes later, he knocked at his boss’s door already knowing who would be waiting for him. “Quintilius.” He nodded at the massive visitor filling Barnes’s reinforced chair.
    The werewolf looked over his shoulder. “Angel.”
    Samuel tried to ignore the subtle hint of sarcasm packed into that single word that had once defined him, but that was now a joke.
    “Quintilius is here in lieu of the shifter community and he has a few questions to ask.” Barnes looked like he needed a shower and one more cup of espresso. Behind his desk, several empty paper cups smeared with dark brown stains attested he had never left his office.
    Before the third degree started again, Samuel raised one hand to say what needed to be said first. “I’m sorry for your loss.” The boy had been an idiot, but life was holy to him, and he would have wanted him alive.
    Quintilius turned on his chair to better look at him. “Thank you.”
    Samuel grabbed one of the chairs resting by the wall and angled it toward the werewolf. Barnes was there only to witness the conversation. Samuel knew his boss wouldn’t be able to put a word in edgewise once the werewolf started his inquisition.
    “I’m asking for your removal.” Quintilius had a cup before him, and its contents sloshed as he rearranged his body. From the way his free hand was grabbing the armchair, it was evident he was trying to rein in his legendary temper.
    Samuel inwardly groaned. “I understand.”
    “And you don’t have anything to say about it?” Quintilius looked first at Samuel, then at Barnes, finally back at him. His eyes were round and gleamed with rage.
    Samuel stretched his legs before him. “I have a lot to say about it, but you’re grieving and you want my head.” He inwardly swore at his choice of words, while the werewolf stood so fast his chair fell backward. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Barnes grow paler, and his hands fumbled on the table as if considering doing something about the mess they were in. Samuel rose from the chair and slightly bowed to the werewolf. “I apologize for speaking out of turn. Ask me anything and I’ll answer with the truth.” He could see the werewolf’s hair rising on his head as he closed the gap between them, ready to hit him. Samuel didn’t move a muscle.
    Barnes left his desk to stand beside Samuel in a show of support he wouldn’t have expected from his boss. “Quintilius, we’re all on the same side. We all want to understand what happened to your nephew.” He went as far as to lay his hands over the werewolf’s forearms. “You told me you wanted to talk to him. Let’s talk.”
    Quintilius growled. “Ludwig, stay out of it.” But he stepped back and slowly retrieved his chair from the floor.
    As Samuel had expected, several hours passed before he was released from Barnes’s office. The werewolf had him repeat what he had told his boss. Barnes offered to give Quintilius the recording of the previous session, but the werewolf didn’t want to listen to reason and kept Samuel there longer than necessary.
    When he finally reached his own office, Samuel checked if Martina had called him. He’d had to leave his cell phone behind before entering Barnes’s office, and the whole time Quintilius fired questions at him, he had been thinking about her. He was disappointed to see that the only calls he had received were from Alexander, Ophelia, and even one from Marcus. His friendship with the centurion was recent, but he had come to appreciate how uncomplicated the man was when compared to the other two. He called Martina’s cell and left a message saying he would swing by in half an hour. Barnes’s call found him halfway down the hall, a few steps