Say No More

by Rose, Karen

  ‘Hell of a way to focus,’ Rafe snarled, stopping the video. ‘Jesus, I want to fucking kill him.’

  ‘I think we all have received that message,’ Irina said, putting teacups on the table. She poured a cup for everyone, then returned to her seat to sip her tea. ‘But I’d like to hear where he was going with his story. If you boys can’t listen to him without dreaming up ways to commit homicide in ever-increasingly clever ways, then send me the link, Raphael, and I’ll listen on my own.’

  Rafe slouched in his chair, chastised as she’d intended him to be. ‘You’re right, Mom. Sorry.’

  ‘Drink your tea. It’s calming.’

  Rafe sniffed at the brew suspiciously. ‘How calming?’

  She swatted at him. ‘Not that calming. I wish I’d never told you all that I drink my special tea for my arthritis. Now be quiet – if you can – and play the video.’

  ‘Busted,’ Sasha whispered loudly, making him snort out a laugh. Which his bratty but very sweet sister had also intended. ‘Take a breath, Rafe,’ she said, sobering. ‘You’re no good to Mercy going all He-Man and the Masters of the Universe on this kid’s ass.’

  Rafe did as both women recommended, taking a breath and sipping his tea before hitting PLAY.

  The video turned out to be a vlog of sorts with more than ten thousand views. Rafe figured that most of them had happened since the article was posted the night before. Jeff Bunker wanted to ‘know the survivors’ and to follow their ‘healing process’.

  ‘Sonofabitch,’ Rafe muttered. ‘He’s not interested in healing. He’s only interested in himself.’

  ‘Shh,’ his mother admonished. ‘Listen, son.’

  Rafe and Gideon scowled at each other before turning back to his phone like they could summon Bunker or something. He had to hand it to the kid – he talked a good talk. Anyone who hadn’t actually read the hateful trash he’d written might see him as a stand-up, earnest college kid who wanted to change the world.

  Rafe didn’t care what BS the little bastard was spewing. If he got his hands on Bunker, he’d tear him limb from limb.

  He was saved from listening to any more when the doorbell rang. ‘I’ll get it,’ Rafe all but snarled, shoving away from the table, giving his phone one last look that he wished could kill. At least he was doing better than Gideon, who sat with his fists clenched, desperate rage stiffening his body.

  Trying to calm himself, Rafe opened the door to find Erin. And a kid.

  The kid. Jeffrey Fucking Bunker.

  Fourteen

  Granite Bay, California

  Sunday, 16 April, 6.50 P.M.

  Jeffrey Bunker, that sonofabitch. Rafe’s vision hazed with red and he’d fisted Bunker’s shirt before he could stop himself, lifting the kid to his toes. ‘You little fucking shit,’ he hissed through clenched teeth. ‘You dare show your face here? Are you insane?’ He gave Bunker a shake.

  Then reality began to seep into the fog of his fury. Bunker was gasping for air and an older woman behind him was shouting for him to take his hands off her son.

  But it was Erin’s calm voice that finally got through. ‘Put him down, Rafe. Now.’

  He released Bunker, pushing him away with another snarl. ‘What. The. Fuck, Erin?’

  Erin exhaled heavily. ‘Fucking hell, Rafe. What’s gotten into you?’

  ‘It’s him,’ Rafe spat. ‘Bunker. The guy who ruined Mercy’s life for a fucking story.’

  Bunker was panting, running trembling hands through his hair. His face was ghost white. ‘I’m sorry. I just came to say I was sorry.’

  Erin handed Rafe an envelope. ‘It’s for Mercy.’

  ‘I expected better from you of all people, Erin,’ he spat. ‘You saw what this did to her. I don’t want to hear his sorries and I don’t want Mercy to have to see his fucking face.’ Rafe snatched the envelope and tossed it back at Bunker. ‘Get out or I’ll tell her brother that you’re here. He might not be as controlled as I am.’

  ‘He didn’t do it!’ the older woman shouted. ‘Dammit, could you just listen for a minute?’

  ‘Didn’t do what? Didn’t interview a sex offender and publish his video? Didn’t violate Mercy again? Next he’ll be claiming he didn’t kill Quill Romero.’ Rafe took a step back, ready to slam the door in all their faces until he realized that this guy would be wanted by NOPD as well. ‘André! You need to see this.’ He was furious at Bunker, but Erin . . . My God. She’d betrayed him.

  And then he met his partner’s dark eyes. And her mostly patient expression. Which morphed to sympathetic as they stared each other down.

  ‘He’s just come from Molina’s office,’ Erin said quietly. ‘He came clean and his story matches up. The Feds are piecing the rest of it together as we speak.’

  Rafe’s gaze flicked to the red-faced, angry woman standing behind Bunker, hands protectively clutching his shoulders. Then he looked – really looked – at Bunker, who was crying, his body a trembling, shaking mess.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Bunker whispered. ‘I didn’t do this. Not the video part anyway. The rest of it . . . I did the article. Most of it. But I didn’t kill Miss Romero!’

  ‘You just made the anonymous call to NOPD,’ Rafe said flatly. ‘From Sacramento.’

  Heavy footsteps fell behind him, and then André Holmes was shoving past him, going for Bunker, just as Rafe had. But Erin stepped in front of him, staring up defiantly.

  ‘Hold on there,’ she said, her voice still calm. It was the same voice she used to defuse hostile situations. The same voice she’d used to talk a jumper from the Foresthill Bridge. The same voice she’d used to calm Rafe whenever he’d lost his temper over the past year.

  André’s chest was pumping, his rage palpable. ‘What the fuck is this, Sokolov?’

  Rafe glanced behind Erin at the Bunker kid, who was cowering in fear. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said, feeling some of his reason return. ‘It seems we have a new complication.’

  André stepped closer to Erin, glaring down at Bunker. ‘Start talking, asswipe.’

  Erin placed a palm on André’s chest. ‘Back off, sir.’

  André started to snarl at Erin, but she whipped out her badge at the same time Rafe said, ‘She’s my partner. Detective Erin Rhee, SacPD Homicide.’ He frowned at Erin. ‘You should have called first. Given us a heads-up.’

  ‘I can see that now,’ Erin said wryly. She looked over her shoulder. ‘You okay, kid?’

  ‘No, he is not okay!’ the older woman shouted.

  ‘Mom, chill,’ Bunker said stiffly. ‘I’m not hurt.’

  ‘He would have killed you,’ the woman said hoarsely. Now that the situation was cycling down, tears gathered in the woman’s eyes.

  ‘No, I wouldn’t have,’ Rafe said, still angry, but no longer out of his head with it. ‘What the hell were you thinking, coming up to knock on my door? And what were you thinking, Erin, escorting them?’

  Erin lifted a brow, her whole demeanor going frosty. ‘I was thinking that my smart, rational partner might like to hear the truth.’

  ‘What’s going on here?’ Gideon said, joining the welcoming committee. He didn’t shout, though, so maybe he’d heard what Erin had been saying.

  Erin exhaled again. ‘Okay, let’s start over again. I should have called first. I didn’t know you’d figured out that Mr Bunker here had made the anonymous call to NOPD, or I would have handled this differently. Mr Bunker, Mrs Bunker, you have my sincere apologies.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Bunker said, his voice like gravel. High-pitched, squeaky gravel. Rafe wasn’t sure how the guy managed it. ‘If I was in their place, I would have done the same thing. Well, maybe not the same thing, because I’m not a million feet tall and can’t bench-press a draft horse.’

  ‘Yep,’ Gideon said dryly. ‘This is the anonymous caller, all right.’

  Twin flags of color st
ained Bunker’s pale cheeks. ‘I told Special Agent Molina what happened. She didn’t arrest me.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ Rafe drawled. ‘Now tell the rest of us what the fuck is going on here.’

  ‘Language, Raphael,’ Irina tutted. She pushed them out of the doorway and onto the front porch, pulling the door closed behind her. It opened right back up, Sasha and Daisy following her. Daisy grabbed Gideon’s arm and hugged him to her side. Sasha stood next to Rafe, arms crossed over her chest, glaring daggers, first at Bunker, then at Erin.

  Irina sighed loudly. ‘First of all, my seventeen-year-old daughter is upstairs studying. I know she hears the F-bomb at school, but I’d prefer she not hear it at home.’

  Rafe almost rolled his eyes, but caught himself in time. ‘Yes, Mom.’

  Irina shot him a glare that said he’d be in deep shit later. ‘Second, we have two grieving women here who have had enough stress in the past day to last the rest of their – hopefully – very long lives.’ She turned her gaze on Erin. ‘You really should have given Raphael fair warning.’

  Erin dropped her eyes. ‘I know. I’m sorry, Irina.’

  ‘I hope so.’ Irina extended her hand to Bunker’s mother. ‘I am Irina Sokolov. You are Jeff’s mother?’

  The woman shook Irina’s hand warily. ‘Geri Bunker. We didn’t know that any of Miss Romero’s family would be here. We are very sorry to disturb them in their grief. But my son wanted to make things right with Miss Callahan.’

  Irina tilted her head toward Bunker. ‘You are all right, yes?’

  Bunker nodded shakily. ‘Yes. Ma’am,’ he added when his mother nudged him.

  ‘Good. I would like to invite you in for tea, but I think we should hear what Mr Bunker has to say first. Quickly, young man. This détente is fragile.’

  Bunker shot her a grateful look. ‘Okay. I started this article, then found out that Miss Callahan lived in New Orleans. I went there – on my own. My mother had nothing to do with it. I kind of lied about where I’d gone.’

  ‘Because you are only sixteen and she would have said no,’ Irina said logically.

  ‘Exactly. Ma’am. I talked to Miss Callahan’s exes, and one of them sold me the video, but I did not put it in the article. My boss did.’

  ‘You gave it to your boss,’ Rafe said coldly. ‘What did you think would happen?’

  ‘I didn’t give it to my boss,’ Bunker insisted. ‘He called the guy who gave it to me and got his own copy. I gave my copy to the FBI. I didn’t use it.’

  ‘Why not?’ Rafe asked, still unconvinced. Until Bunker’s eyes filled with tears.

  ‘I couldn’t. I saw how she looked when that killer was dragging her from the hospital in February. How . . . empty her eyes were. I didn’t think the video was consensual, so I didn’t use it. I didn’t know that I didn’t think it was consensual yesterday, but I knew it was wrong.’

  Rafe stared at Bunker, trying to parse that last sentence. Bunker stared back, tears now streaking down his face. Rafe sighed. ‘Okay. Assuming we believe you, why didn’t you turn the video over to the cops right away?’

  The kid’s gulp was audible, but he straightened his spine. ‘I went back to Miss Callahan’s apartment to ask more questions of her neighbor, because she’d said nice things, but the accounts of the others were so contradictory that I needed more information. And I found her dead. Miss Romero, I mean.’

  ‘And didn’t call the NOPD until this morning,’ André snapped. ‘She’d been dead for thirty-six hours.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Bunker whispered. ‘I’m so sorry. I was scared and I freaked out and did the wrong thing.’

  ‘What made you call it in?’ Irina asked gently.

  Bunker looked at his mother. ‘My mom. She found me passed out drunk and talked sense into my head. So I called the cops and reported the video. It got taken down right after.’

  A harrumph came from the ground next to the front porch. Karl stood there, arms crossed. ‘I wondered why it was so easy to have it taken down. I thought my attorney had developed the voice of God or something.’

  Rafe studied Bunker carefully. Now that he wasn’t crazy with anger, he could see that the kid appeared sincere. ‘Why were you so scared?’ he asked, his own tone softer.

  Bunker visibly relaxed. ‘Because I saw the guy coming out of Miss Romero’s apartment. He looked . . . like, crazy happy. Emphasis on crazy. He scared the shit out of me.’

  Erin cleared her throat. ‘Mr Bunker positively ID’d Ephraim Burton from a photo array.’ Her gaze rose to meet André’s. ‘And, according to Agent Hunter, he ID’d the roommate of Mercy’s ex-boyfriend.’

  Bunker whipped around to stare at her. ‘The roommate?’

  Erin nodded. ‘When you asked about Mercy, he figured he might make a dollar or two from the video he’d copied from Stan Prescott, the video that was surrendered as part of Prescott’s plea bargain.’

  ‘And Prescott was not Mercy’s ex,’ André growled. ‘Prescott is a slimy scumbag who roofied her at a party. She’d never seen him before or after.’

  Bunker closed his eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’

  André appeared unmoved. ‘You should have. You should have cross-checked.’

  Bunker looked even more devastated. ‘That’s why I went to see Miss Romero. To cross-check.’

  André started to speak, but Irina hooked her arm through his, patting him. ‘You cross-check before you publish,’ she said, her tone severe but controlled. ‘I hope this is a mistake you will never make again.’

  ‘No, ma’am,’ Bunker whispered. ‘I won’t.’

  Rafe frowned. ‘So the guy who made the video, who assaulted Mercy, did not sell it to Bunker?’

  Erin shook her head. ‘Nope. Prescott has been in Europe for the past three weeks. He might have had contact with Mr Bunker, but it doesn’t appear so.’

  ‘All my conversations were one-on-one, in person,’ Bunker said, looking disgusted with himself. ‘Dammit. I believed him. And it wasn’t a dollar or two. I gave him fifteen hundred.’

  André whistled. ‘Where’d you get fifteen bills, kid?’

  ‘From my editor. He wired it to me. And when I held the video back, I guess he decided to take matters in his own hands. I’m sure he figured since he’d paid for it, he was going to use it.’

  ‘Do you still work for this . . . online trash magazine?’ Irina asked, her description of the gossip blog dripping with contempt.

  ‘No, ma’am. I quit. I . . . I just wanted to tell the story. I thought other survivors might get inspiration. But I fu— messed it all up.’

  ‘Yeah, you did,’ Rafe said with a sigh. ‘Why are you here now, though?’

  Bunker bent over to retrieve the envelope that Rafe had thrown back at him. ‘I just wanted someone to give this to Miss Callahan.’

  ‘I caught him trying to come up the front walk,’ Erin said quietly. ‘I called Tom Hunter to verify what he said, and Tom did. I should have called you too, Rafe. I’m sorry.’

  Rafe took the envelope from Bunker. ‘I’ll see that she gets this. And I’ll tell her what happened before I do. If she wants to see you, how should she contact you?’

  Bunker patted his pockets. ‘Mom, you got a pen?’

  His mother rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, Jeff. I have a pen. I have paper, too.’ She found the items in an enormous handbag and gave them to her son.

  Bunker scrawled his name, email address, and cell phone number on the paper and handed it to Rafe. ‘I really am sorry. When I saw that the guy trying to take her at the airport was the same guy I saw coming out of Miss Romero’s apartment, I . . . well, I guess I froze.’

  ‘He’s a dangerous, terrifying man,’ Gideon said quietly. ‘It’s best that you didn’t confront him. Did he see you?’

  The color that Bunker had regained in his face drained once again. ‘I do
n’t think so.’

  ‘Is my son in danger?’ his mother asked, her face also growing very pale.

  Rafe wanted to shake them both. Duh. Burton’s only killed five people in the last two days. That they knew of. ‘It’s possible. It depends on if he knows that you’re the one who turned him in for Quill Romero’s murder. If he figures out you saw him, then yes.’

  ‘Can you give him protection?’ his mother asked, fear in her eyes.

  There was quiet for a long, long moment. ‘I can talk to my lieutenant,’ Erin finally said. ‘It would be best if you found a place where you could lay low for a little while.’

  ‘I have to work,’ Mrs Bunker protested. ‘I can’t just leave town.’

  ‘Don’t panic until I have some more information,’ Erin soothed. She turned to Rafe. ‘We square, partner?’

  Rafe nodded. ‘Yeah,’ he said, relieved that it was true. ‘Thank you.’

  Irina tipped Bunker’s chin up and to the side, studying his throat. ‘Are you all right, son?’

  Fucking hell, Rafe wanted to groan. What had he nearly done?

  ‘I’m okay,’ Bunker said again. ‘And I’m not going to sue, so don’t worry about that. If Miss Callahan were my sister or my . . .’ He searched Rafe’s face. ‘Whatever she is to you. Girlfriend? And if I were Miss Romero’s family? I’d do the same thing.’ He waved his hands airily. ‘Again, if I were the Incredible Hulk. Otherwise, I’d just pen a letter to the editor.’

  If the kid had been being sarcastic, Rafe would have been able to hold on to his anger, but Bunker was so damn sincere. ‘Thank you,’ Rafe murmured. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Bunker tentatively smiled. ‘It’s okay. You’ll explain to Miss Callahan?’

  ‘I will. I promise.’

  Granite Bay, California

  Sunday, 16 April, 7.10 P.M.

  ‘What the hell?’ Ephraim muttered from Sean MacGuire’s upstairs window as he watched the scene unfold on the Sokolovs’ front porch. Rafe Sokolov had lifted that kid by the shirt collar – right off the ground – with one hand. Only to shove him away when a small woman stopped him. The kid looked shaken and terrified.