The Sabrina Vaughn series Set 2

by Maegan Beaumont

  “What about you, Mr. Vega?” she said as soon as Ellie was gone. “Did you know the victim?” Something was going on between Vega and Ellie, she just couldn’t figure out what.

  “Me?” Vega leaned away from her as he said it. Guilty people did that. Tried to physically distance themselves from the truth.

  Reading the situation perfectly, Church stepped forward. “Mrs. Lopez, I’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind,” she said, her tone easy and non-threatening. Even though the old woman didn’t respond, Church took a seat on the ottoman in front of her, flicking her a glance before bouncing it to the man standing in front of her. She’d caught it too—Vega was hiding something.

  “Mr. Vega, would you mind stepping into the foyer with me for a few minutes,” she said, gesturing toward the open doorway Ellie had just disappeared through. Despite her words, it was clear she wasn’t making a request. She was giving him an order.

  Vega hesitated, like he was going to refuse, but thought better of it. “Of course,” he said, following her into the foyer. “But, to be honest, I’m afraid I won’t be much help. There isn’t a whole lot I can tell you.”

  “You can start with answering my question: did you know the victim?” She nailed him with a glare she hadn’t used in well over a year. One that said lying was useless.

  “How can I answer that?” He said, running a hand over his short, dark hair. “I don’t even know who the victim is.”

  “Preliminary ID says she’s a missing person by the name of Rachel Meeks,” she told him while watching him closely and she wasn’t disappointed. Whether he knew it or not, he’d just answered her question. Not only had he known Rachel Meeks, he’d had some sort of relationship with her.

  Best watch yourself now, Darlin’. This one wouldn’t know the truth if it walked up and slapped him the face.

  “Like Ellie said, we all went to high school together,” he said, shaking his head, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “And I don’t think—”

  “Where were you when Mrs. Lopez discovered the victim?” She cut him off before he could say it. He was about to ask for a lawyer. Once he did that, she was done asking questions. While it was perfectly legal for her to question a witness without legal counsel present, she was walking a thin line and they both knew it.

  “I—” He hesitated again before giving her a defeated shrug. “I was in my study, answering e-mails. Graciella poked her head in to tell me she was going home and I offered to drive her but she declined. She said she’d rather walk—I’m assuming so she could stop at the shrine and light a candle for Hector.” Hector must be the jammed-up grandson. He shrugged. “Anyway, she left. Next thing I know, she’s back… and screaming.”

  Sabrina listened to his story, trying to find an angle. “Do you always do that? Give your maids rides home?”

  “Graciella isn’t just my maid,” he said, his tone suddenly going defensive. “She was my nanny. She raised me.” Whether she’d meant to or not, she’d hit a sore spot. “And I’m through talking.” He reached into the snap pocket on the front of his shirt and pulled out a card of his own. “If you want to talk to me again, you’ll have to set it up through my attorney.” No sooner did she have the business card in her hand did he move toward the front door, “I’ll see you out.”

  Before she knew it, she was turned out like a stray cat, left to wait for Church to finish her interview with the witness on her own. She glanced down at the thick, satiny piece of cardstock in her hand, running her thumb over rich, raised letters.

  Arturo Vega esq.

  Attorney at Law

  “Agent Vance?” There was only one uniform attending the door—the other would have left with Ellie to transport the evidence back to the crime scene. The skies had finally opened up, letting a loose a torrent of desperately needed water. Whatever evidence the CSU techs hadn’t managed to lift before now was washed away.

  “Yes,” she said, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the din of falling rain.

  The uniform looked over his shoulder, like he felt guilty for what he was about to do.

  “There was someone here to see you,” he said, his tone telling her whoever it was, he didn’t approve. “He asked me to give this to you.” He thrust a piece of paper at her. “Said he needed to talk to you.”

  It was phone number, scrawled on the back of a fast food receipt—one she didn’t recognize. She was about to stuff it into her pocket when she caught the short message and name that accompanied it.

  We need to talk.

  —Croft

  23

  First Val’s little sister and now Jaxon Croft. In the space of a few seconds, it became abundantly clear to Sabrina that as far as the case went, she wasn’t going to be catching many breaks. The only difference between Croft and Ellie was unlike Ellie, Croft had recognized her right away. And judging from the note in her hand, he hadn’t changed much in the two years since she’d last seen him.

  As usual, he wanted something from her. Something she would more than likely be hard-pressed to give.

  “Thanks,” she said stuffing the scrap into her pocket before turning and making a mad dash through the downpour, heading for the car. There was no doubt the officer who’d talked to Croft would tell his superior a reporter had come sniffing around, looking to talk to the FBI. That wasn’t going to sit well with the locals, especially after Church had made it clear that handling the media would be their job.

  Not trusting herself to remain calm, Sabrina used the cell Michael had given her to send out a text to the number Croft left for her.

  What are you doing here, Croft?

  She waited less than thirty seconds for a reply.

  Meet me at Luck’s. 10 o’clock and I’ll explain.

  Luck’s. Of course Croft would want to meet her at Luck’s. It was the restaurant she’d worked at when she lived here as a young woman. Where she’d met Val. It was the place Wade had found her. She’d be heading home from work when he’d abducted her. Dragged her into the dark and kept her there.

  Before she had a chance to respond, another text came through.

  It’s important.

  She laughed, unable to hold it in anymore. Important? Yeah, extortion and blackmail usually were. It was nearly six in the evening now. Four hours would give her plenty of time to figure out how she was going to shake Church.

  As if the mere thought of her could conjure her into being, Church appeared. Darting off the porch, she make a run for the car, calling over her shoulder to someone standing in the open doorway of the house. She caught a glimpse of Vega, silhouetted against the lights inside the house. She couldn’t see his face but Sabrina was sure he was looking at her.

  “Holy shit,” Church squealed as she flung the door open and dove into the driver’s seat. “It’s like the end of the world out there.”

  “No,” she answered vaguely, attention still trained on the cell screen. “Just Arizona monsoon season.” Another text came through.

  It’s about Wade.

  “You get anything useful out of Old McDonald?” Church said, running a hand over her face, trying to squeegee the rain off her skin. Sabrina didn’t have to look up to know she was trying to get a glimpse of the phone’s screen.

  “Just that he knew the victim,” she said, stabbing her thumbs against the cell’s touchscreen, punching out a text before she could change her mind. “And the number for his attorney.” Beyond the window, the darkening sky continued to pour. Rain and thunder so close it shook the car she sat in. Before she could change her mind, she hit send.

  I’ll be there.

  24

  You sure about this, Darlin’?

  The voice inside her head had been trying to talk her out of her meeting with Croft for hours now. Logic told her it was just her subconscious, warning her Croft couldn’t be trusted. That the last time she’d trusted him she’d regretted it but now, like then, she ignored it. Meeting Croft was risky but so was refusing him. He’d r
ecognized her. If he wanted to make trouble for her, he could… and it would be the last thing he ever did.

  In the end, she’d decided to try honesty for a change and tell Church what was going on. She’d been less than pleased to find out they hadn’t even made it a full twenty-four hours into their investigation before she’d been recognized. “Let me go instead, I’ll find out what he wants,” she’d said in the same easy tone she’d use to describe garroting someone. “Report back before you know it.”

  Now there’s an idea. Let your new partner do your dirty work, Darlin’.

  “Yeah—would that be before or after you killed him?” she said, while she pulled on the only t-shirt she’d packed, along with a pair of worn jeans.

  Church shrugged. “Probably after.”

  Sabrina shook her head. “Working with you is like working with a psychotic toddler, you know that right?”

  “Thanks,” she said, sounding genuinely pleased by the comparison. “What does he want, anyway?”

  It’s about Wade.

  Suddenly, her new honesty policy began to chafe. “He didn’t really say—just that it was important.”

  “So, he wants to meet you but won’t say why?” Church shook her head, skeptical. Whether it was because she didn’t trust Croft or because she could smell the lie, Sabrina couldn’t tell. “Smelly fishy, Kitten. Just stay here—let me take care of it.”

  Sabrina laughed. She couldn’t help it. The truly insane part of it all is that for a few seconds, she actually considered it. “This is where I’ll be,” she said, bending over to write Luck’s address across the hotel notepad tossed on the nightstand. “If I’m not back by midnight, you can kill him—deal?”

  Suddenly all business, Church glared at her. “I’m being serious, Sabrina. I was sent here to do a job and despite my recent, lackluster performance concerning your family, I do my fucking job.”

  “Your job is to make sure that the fact I’m alive remains a secret,” she said, applying logic to the situation. “Croft isn’t going to sell me out without at least telling me what he wants… besides he played it smart. He approached a local officer and asked him to deliver a message to me.” She shook her head while she shoved her foot into first one boot and then the other. “Croft isn’t stupid. Someone knows he’s here,” she said, jerking hard on her boot laces, pulling them tight. “If he disappears or turns up dead, that little note he passed to me is gonna pop up. That uniform will remember and he’ll say something and then I’ll be questioned. If that happens, it’ll only be a matter of time before everyone knows who I really am.”

  Church glared at her for a few seconds before flopping back on the bed. “Fine, if you’re gonna be all logical about it.” She sighed. “Midnight—and not one minute past.”

  Exiting the car, Sabrina could see nothing about the place had changed. Large, rumbling tractor-trailers waited in line at the weigh station while others filled up on gas for the next leg of their trip. She could see lot lizards—what truckers called prostitutes who frequented truck stops—moving from parked vehicle to parked vehicle, looking for someone to buy what they were selling.

  Someone ought to warn them about how dangerous it is out here for a woman, all by herself…

  She walked across the expansive parking lot, dodging raindrops on her way to the brightly-lit brick and glass building. Sabrina yanked open the door, setting off the automated chime. Out of nowhere, a perky hostess appeared. She was young, almost as young as she’d been when she worked here. Her starched, white uniform looked brand new and the bright green four-leaf clover on her breast pocket had the name Lauren stitched across the front of it. Over twenty years and the uniforms hadn’t changed.

  Behind her, a man in a pair of dress slacks and a white button-down wiped down the lunch counter. The badge clipped to his shirt was engraved with the name Manny. It took only a few seconds to recognize him as the busboy she used to work the late shift with.

  He stood taller than she remembered, thicker around the middle. Softer. Gray threaded through the dark hair he’d always kept short but he essentially looked the same. He turned toward her just a bit, still wiping at the counter. She could see his badge with the word manager under his name.

  “Can I get you a booth, sweetie?”

  The hostess was talking to her, calling her sweetie, even though she was practically old enough to be her mother. “Yes,” she said, glancing at the large shamrock-shaped clock that still hung over the counter area. It was a quarter to ten. “I’m meeting someone—”

  “Oh,” the hostess said brightly, tucking the menus back into their holder. “Is it a gentleman? Dark hair? Dreamy brown eyes?”

  Dreamy? As far as she was concerned, Croft was about as dreamy as a bout of dysentery but she nodded. “That’s him.”

  Of course Croft beat her here. He had an annoying habit of always being two steps ahead of everyone else. He was like Ben that way.

  “He’s waiting for you in back,” the hostess cocked her head to the side, jerking it toward the back of the restaurant. Croft was sitting in a corner booth, watching her. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  Ain’t too late, Darlin’. You can still leave. Let that crazy gal kill ‘im before he mucks everything up.

  She thought about the last text Croft sent her. It’s about Wade. Croft was reckless but he didn’t have a death wish. No way he’d play that card unless it was true.

  “Coffee would be great,” she said, moving in the direction the hostess had indicated. The closer she got, the more uncomfortable Croft seemed to get. Whether it was from the hostile glare she was giving him or if he was having second thoughts about asking her to meet him, it was hard to tell.

  “What?” she said, sliding across the worn vinyl bench. Sitting on the seat next to him was a cardboard banker’s box. The kind you used to store paperwork.

  “Hello to you too,” he said, a wry smile lifting the corner of his mouth, his dark gaze folding over her, appraising her. “You look good for a dead woman.”

  “I don’t really qualify my appearance as important, Croft.” She sat forward a bit and dropped her voice. “So, maybe you should just tell me what this is about before I lose my patience.”

  “Huh,” he said, giving her a one-note chuckle. “It’s been a while—I forgot how patently unpleasant you can be.”

  This was a mistake. She moved to stand but he stopped her, one of his arms shooting toward her, across the table to wrap a hand around her forearm. “Wait—”

  The look she gave him caused him to yank his hand back before he could blink.

  “I’m sorry—I forgot. No touching.” He flattened his hands against the table and leaned away from her. “It’s just…” he let his words die out, giving the hostess a flat, polite smile as she deposited her coffee onto the table between them. As soon as she was gone, he continued. “I was surprised to see you, although I don’t know why—this isn’t exactly the first time you’ve faked your own death.”

  “Don’t ever say that out loud again,” she said, dropping her voice low as she leaned across the table. “Not unless you’re tired of living.”

  Croft opened his mouth like was going to say something but then thought better of it. He let it snap shut before giving her a curt nod. He wasn’t stupid. He knew there was no way she could’ve pulled off her disappearance alone. Not again. Not with Michael involved.

  “Now,” she said, lifting her coffee cup to her mouth to take a sip. “What are you doing here?” She set her cup down. “No, wait—let me guess. You’re following a story.”

  Croft shifted in his seat, lacing and re-lacing his fingers on the tabletop. “I’m not a reporter anymore.” His elbow bumped against the box sitting next to him. “It’s—I…” He looked away from her, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. “I’m writing a book. True crime. About Wade Bauer.”

  Well, look at me. I’m gonna be famous.

  Sabrina felt her gut clench, instantly rebelling against the coffee
she’d just drank. “Of course you are,” she said, setting the cup down with a sharp click. Her gaze fell to the box, imagining what was inside. She suddenly didn’t want to know. “What does that have to do with me?”

  “Aside from the obvious?” Wade shrugged. “Nothing.” He sighed, letting his gaze find hers again before he continued. “But I’ve been doing a lot of research. Interviewed friends and family. Trying to get a handle on it. What he did. Why he did it.”

  Now it was her turn to laugh. “Is that all? I can answer both questions in short order. Wade abducted, raped and tortured nineteen women. He played with them. Chased them down like animals and then, when he couldn’t control himself anymore, he stabbed them to death before leaving them in the woods to rot. As for why—”

  I did it—all of it—because of you. Because you ran from me. All those girls are dead because of you. Their pain. Their suffering… that’s on you, Darlin’—every single second of it.

  She swallowed hard, forcing down the surge of rage that suddenly gripped her. “He did it because he could. Because he wanted to. Because no one stopped him.”

  “I contacted his wife. Shelley Bauer.” The words sounded like an apology. Like it was something he regretted.

  “I knew Shelley.” She’d been Shelley Keene back then—and Jed Carson’s girlfriend. How she’d gone from one best friend to the other was a mystery. One she hadn’t given much consideration. Things like that happened in small towns like Jessup. “She hated me back then. I can’t imagine that’s changed, seeing how I shot her husband in the face.”

  Croft blanched slightly, letting her know exactly how right she was. “She didn’t want to talk to me about you or Wade… didn’t want to talk to me about anything, actually.” His hands went still again. “But she sold me the key to a storage locker in Marshal for two thousand dollars.”