The Sabrina Vaughn series Set 2

by Maegan Beaumont

  His admission made her think of her old captain and his love of verbal abuse. Mathews had hated her—blamed her for everything from a colleague’s gruesome murder to the sour milk in his refrigerator. She imagined that attending her funeral had made him year. “I don’t consider your prior experiences to be limitations.” She smiled when he looked at her. “I see them more like insider information. The only reason I didn’t push it before now is because when I brought it up, you seemed a bit... tender about it.”

  “A young woman was kidnapped, raped and tortured for nearly three months because of my sloppy police work,” Santos said, the line of his jaw drawing tighter and tighter with each word. “And then, to top it off the sick asshole who does it slips through my fingers and skips on home... and keeps up with the raping and killing for another decade and a half.” He looked away, casting his gaze up the ravine again. “Tender isn’t the word I would use to describe how I feel about what happened to Melissa Walker.”

  “Is that why you have such a hard-on for Paul Vega?” she said plainly. “Because you think the same thing is happening now?”

  “Christ,” Santos muttered, shaking his head before shooting daggers at his partner over his shoulder before turning his gaze on her. “That punk needs to learn how to keep his mouth shut.”

  Sabrina turned, looking in the same direction. Behind them, Ellie and Alvarez stood close together, talking to each other in hushed tones. Neither of them looked happy. In fact, it looked like they were in the middle of a pretty bitter argument. Deciding to give them their privacy, she turned toward Santos. “Alvarez was less than forthcoming when it came to answering my questions,” she said, failing to mention that his partner’s helpfulness ended when her questions about Ellie started. “All he did was mention that Vega was briefly involved in a particularly nasty case you worked a while back and that his family made it disappear. I put the rest together on my own.”

  Santos nodded, tipping his head slightly. “You sure you didn’t pack your Magic 8-ball?”

  She cut him a slight smirk. “Trust me, if I had my Magic 8-ball, finding this guy would be a hell of a lot—”

  Her phone let out a chirp and she gave Santos an apologetic smile while she unclipped it from her belt. It was a text from Church. Two words.

  Graciella Lopez

  47

  “You want to explain what we’re doing here, Agent Vance?” Santos said from where he stood beside her, hand settled on the grip of his service weapon. Instead of answering, Sabrina knocked again, her knuckles stinging as she rapped them against the beveled glass set inside the door. She did want to explain. She wanted to tell Santos everything, to explain what was happening but there wasn’t time.

  Shadows shifted inside the house, along the glass and she took a step back, her hand finding the grip of her Kimber, wrapping around it, squeezing it like she was saying hello to an old friend.

  Admit it. You miss this. The hunt. The capture. The kill. We’re the same, you and me. Two rotten peas in a fucked up pod.

  “I’ll explain later. For now, just follow my lead,” she said, a fraction of a second before the door opened. She hadn’t expected Graciella Lopez to be the one on the other side of it but she felt the disappointment anyway when a woman she’d never seen before opened the door. “Good afternoon, we’re here to see Paul Vega.” She tapped the badge strung around her neck, causing the woman’s eyes to bug slightly. She hesitated for a moment before moving away from the doorway, to let them in.

  “Please wait,” she said aiming her request at Santos before she hurried down the hallway that fed into the foyer.

  “Now can you tell me what the hell is going on?” Santos hissed at her as soon as the woman disappeared.

  “Have you ever had dealings with someone called Nulo?” she said instead of answering his question. “It would have been close to twenty years ago.” From somewhere inside the house, she heard a soft knock followed by the softer murmur of voices. “He would have been a teenager around the time Melissa Walker disappeared, used to hang around St. Rose.”

  “Nulo?” Santos shook his head, looking confused. “No. Who is he?”

  That is the question, ain’t it, Darlin’?

  “What about Tomas Olivero?”

  Now recognition flickered across his face. “What does he have to do with Vega?”

  “So you’ve heard of him?” she said, even though it was obvious who he was.

  Santos nodded. “He was a foreman for Vega’s operation. He’s the one who found Rachel Meeks... he was killed a year later,” he said. “Stabbed to death outside a local bar.”

  “Olivero is the one who found Rachel Meeks?” The revelation hit her hard. “That wasn’t anywhere in the report.”

  Santo’s expression soured. “He was paid to recant—”

  “I thought I made myself clear, Agent Vance,” Vega said as he came appeared at the mouth of the hallway. “I told you that I won’t be answering any of your questions without my lawyer present.”

  Sabrina nodded. “So you did,” she said, reaching into her pocket to pull out her cell phone and the card he’d given her yesterday. She dialed the number on the front of card and listened to it ring.

  “This is Arturo Bautista,” a smooth, deep voice came at her across the line, sounding almost as if he’d been expecting her call.

  “Mr. Bautista, This is Agent Sinclaire Vance with the FBI. I’m calling on behalf of your client, Paul Vega—” she said. Vega opened his mouth and she held up a finger to keep him from talking. “He’s being taken in for questioning for the rape and murder of Rachel Meeks and he’d like very much for you meet him at the station.”

  48

  After depositing Vega in one of Yuma PD’s interrogation rooms, Sabrina took herself back to the conference room she and Church had been given as a basis of operations to wait for his lawyer to make an appearance. It’d been over an hour since she called him to let him know that they had his client in custody and still no sign of him. She’d spent the time learning everything she could about Paul Vega.

  Through the open blinds that covered the window, she could see Santos and Alvarez. The young detective sat on the edge of his desk, arms crossed, head bowed while his partner stood over him, hands wadded into fists, jaw clenched so tight it barely moved while he spoke.

  As soon as they had Paul Vega stowed in the backseat of her car, she sent Church a text.

  Bring her to the station for questioning

  After a few seconds of thought she sent another one.

  Bring the box too

  She had no idea how Santos would react to finding out that not only had Wade returned to Arizona and committed multiple murders, that there was evidence to support the theory that he’d also been involved in what had happened to Rachel Meeks in 2000. She knew how’d she reacted when found out that what Wade’d done to her had been the beginning of decade long killing spree. If her experience was any indication, it wasn’t going to be pretty.

  She could still see Michael standing at the foot of her porch, glaring up at her, watching her fall apart after he told her that the man who’d spent 83 days raping and torturing her had continued hunting and killing even after she’d been presumed dead. That he’d taken his little sister, Frankie.

  You think he still hates you for it, Darlin’? You think maybe, sometimes, when he looks at you and smiles, he’s thinking about killing you for what you did to poor little Frankie?

  “Shut up,” she said quietly, closing her eyes for a moment, hands fisted in her lap. “Just shut the fuck up.”

  Truth hurts, don’t it? He’s probably glad you’re gone. I bet he sleeps better at night knowing you’re out here with me, getting what you deserve—

  “Hey.”

  Sabrina opened her eyes and turned to find Church wedged into the space between the door and its jam, watching her. How long she’d been there was anyone’s guess.

  Long enough to know you’re shithouse crazy.

  “Wh
ere have you been?” she said, each word laced with barely contained frustration.

  Church flashed her a sugary smile. “Awe, did my Kitten miss me?”

  “I’m not your kitten,” she ground out, careful to keep her tone from spiking. “I texted you almost two hours ago.”

  “You gave me quite the honey-do list, partner.” The smile on Church’s face faded slightly, “I’ve been busy.”

  “I’m sorry—you’re right.” She forced herself to relax, to pretend she wasn’t scrambling to keep herself together. “Did you bring Graciella Lopez in for questioning?”

  “Yeah, about that...” Church said, slipping fully into the room before shutting the door with a sharp click. Snugged against her hip was the box Croft had given her the night before. “She’s gone.”

  You sure you want to open that thing again? Play show and tell with what’s inside? Let everyone know exactly what I did to you?

  “Gone?” She tore her gaze from the box and focused her attention on Church. “What does that mean—gone?”

  “It means I was already at her house when you texted me,” Church said, sliding the box onto the table in front of her. “The place was completely empty. Neighbor said a truck pulled into her driveway around 3AM and a bunch of men piled out, loaded her up—along with everything she owned—and left.”

  Always one step behind, aren’t you, Darlin’?

  Sabrina was out of her seat before she had time to think, Wade’s laughter bouncing around her skull, pushing her past Church to fling the door open. She strode down the hall, aware that the heated conversation between Santos and Alvarez had dried up and they were both watching her, mouths hanging open.

  “Agent Vance?” Santos called out to her a moment before she ground to a halt outside the interview room they’d put Vega in. “Agent—”

  Her hand closed over the door handle, she jerked it upward and the door flew open to reveal Paul Vega, pacing the short length of the room, thumbnail anchored in his mouth while he tried to chew it off. The second the door opened, he stopped pacing and dropped his hand to look at her.

  “Is he here?” Vega said, aiming his gaze past her, trying to glimpse salvation. “Did my attorney—”

  She jabbed a finger at the chair he’d probably vacated the moment they closed him in. “Sit down.”

  “No.” Vega shook his head. “You can’t do this. I invoked my right to an attorney,” he said, a slight tremor in his voice. “I’m not going to say a word until he gets here.”

  “That’s fine.” Sabrina smiled, aware of the small crowd that had gathered in the hallway behind her. “As a matter of fact, I don’t want you to say a word. I just want you to listen.” She jabbed her finger at the chair again. “You should really take a seat, Mr. Vega. You’re gonna want to be sitting once you hear what I have to say.”

  Vega clamped his mouth shut and circled the table to do as he was told, glaring at her the entire time. They stared at each other for what felt like forever before he finally cracked. “I don’t—”

  “Shhh...” she said, pressing the finger she’d used to point him into his seat to her lips. “You don’t get to talk. You get to listen.” She leaned against the doorframe, listening to the mumble and whispers of the small clutch of uniforms and detectives standing behind her. The majority thought she’d lost it. Santos included.

  “While you’ve been pacing around like a caged animal,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ve been doing my homework on you... you’re a very interesting man, Paul.”

  Vega opened his mouth but she wagged her finger at him. “Hush now,” she said and he closed it with an angry snap. “Your father was the first of three sons and head of the line for the family business but after your mother died, he started circling the drain. Stayed too drunk most of the time to give a shit—about you or the business. When he got passed over in favor of your uncle, he took off. How old were you? Two? Three years old?”

  Vega peeled his glare from her, sticking it to the wall in front of him instead. “Fuck you, lady,” he snarled at her. “You don’t know shit about me or my father.”

  “I know he blamed you for your mother’s death. I know he took one look at you and decided that living a life in third-world squalor was preferable to being your father.” She pushed herself off the door jam, letting her arms fall to her sides as she moved toward the table he sat at. “I know that your uncle took you in. Raised you. Gave you the business when he retired.”

  He shook his head, jaw clenched. “Graciella raised me,” he ground out. “And my uncle didn’t give me anything. I earned every square inch of it.”

  “Funny you should mention her,” she said, giving him a brief half-smile. “Mrs. Lopez is gone. Let me guess... Mexico?”

  Vega’s head whipped in her direction, mouth opened again but this time he clamped it shut before saying a word.

  “How’d it go down, Paul? You sent her there—set her up real nice and pretty in appreciation of all those years of keeping your sick, twisted behavior a secret.” She shook her head, the half-smile planted on her mouth at odds with the frigid glare she was icing him with. “Gotta hand it to you, I figured you’d just cut her up and dump her like you did the rest of them.”

  He looked like she’d just spit on him. “I’d never hurt Graciella,” he said to the table between them. “And she knows that.”

  “I bet Rachel Meeks thought she knew the same thing,” she said evenly, jerking his gaze upward.

  His head came up. “This is about Rachel?” he said, aiming a look out the door and into the hallway. He was looking for Ellie, she’d bet her life on it. “I don’t know what you’ve—”

  “It’s about all of them, Paul,” She sharpened her glare, let it dig under his skin until he was fighting to keep himself in his chair. “All the women you’ve killed.”

  Vega shook his head, palms pushed flat on the tabletop between them. “I didn’t kill anybody,” he said, tearing his gaze away to look at his hands.

  “Maybe you didn’t.” Sabrina shrugged. “Maybe Nulo did the killing.” She said the name casually, watching Vega carefully for his reaction. “Is that how it goes, Paul? Is Nulo the one who has the guts to do what you can’t?”

  The name had his head rocking back on his neck, eyes narrowed. “Where did you—”

  “Please tell me that you haven’t been questioning my client outside my presence, Agent Vance.”

  Sabrina looked up to find the man she’d seen standing over Father Francisco in the garden at St. Rose earlier that morning. He stood in the open doorway, a gaggle of cops behind him, watching the exchange with an odd mix of awe and apprehension.

  She smiled as she stood. “I asked your client several times to be quiet,” she said with a shrug. “He’s not very good at following directions.”

  Bautista flashed a set of bright white teeth, suit crisp despite the wet, oppressive heat outside. “Apparently, neither are you,” he said, motioning for Paul to stand up. “Come on, Paul, we’re leaving.”

  She watched as Vega pushed himself away from the table and stood. “What were you doing at St. Rose’s this morning?” she said it on impulse, not really expecting an answer.

  Surprisingly, Bautista smiled. “I suppose I go to church for the same reasons most practicing Catholics do,” he said his tone telling her that the question was ridiculous. “Good afternoon, Agent Vance.”

  “I’m going to find her, Vega,” she said, all pretense at humor stripped away. “I’m going to find Graciella and when I do, she’s going to tell me everything.”

  Vega stopped in the doorway, despite the protesting jerk Bautista gave his arm. He gave her a quick, cold smile before he let his lawyer pull him down the hall.

  49

  Berlin, Germany

  As soon as the elevator door slid closed, Ben reached into his pants pocket and retrieved the strange-looking key he’d taken from his father’s desk. It’d been little more than childish impulse that’d pushed him to do
it. Curiosity over what kind of things his father kept hidden behind locked doors.

  He opened the access panel next to the rows of lit buttons and lifted the key, fitting the blades into an oblong opening in the panel as wide as his finger. Giving it a turn, he watched the illuminated buttons go dim. A second later, the elevator car began to move. It traveled downward, passing the ground floor and underground parking levels.

  “Okaaay...” he said, hand moving to his waistband out of habit. There was nothing there. He’d stopped carrying when he agreed to his father’s insane plan.

  People have to trust you, Benjamin. They have to see you and feel safe. How can they do that if you’re armed all the time?

  Thinking about the conversation now, he almost laughed. Instead, he reached into his pocket again and pulled out the folding knife he’d used to break into his father’s desk. Flipping it open, he pressed it close to his thigh, concealing it from view while the elevator descended further and further.

  “Curiosity kills more than cats, Bennie-boy,” he said out loud and this time he did laugh. Mason used to say that to him when they were kids. The hand he had wrapped around the hilt of the knife started to ache, responding to the memory. His fingers had started to stiffen from lack of use, the thick pad of scar tissue in the middle of his palm thickening and hardening as months of inactivity floated by.

  Golf games and fundraisers were making him soft.

  He flexed his fingers, felt the crackle and pop under his skin before he tightened them until his knuckles screamed and the palm of his hand felt as if it wanted to split wide open.

  The elevator stopped moving a moment before its doors slid open. He reached up with his free hand pulled the key from the access panel, exiting the car seconds before the doors crept closed.

  The room was large—stark white. Walls, floor and ceiling insulated in a slick, shiny material. He recognized it for what it was almost instantly. Lifting his arm, he turned it, moving the sleeve of his suit jacket to get a look at his watch. It had stopped.